#this was also posted on my ao3 as well!

[gigglee-pup]

Asking for Help

A/N

I'm alive (somehow) and this time I've got a fic! Requests are still on hold for now and I apologize but I hope you guys enjoy this little snippet lmao. (This is my first tkl fic! please feel free to share advice and critiques!)

-------------------------------------------------------------

Summary: Fan is in a HUGE lee mood. He asks Paintbrush for help! (albeit, very shyly)

-------------------------------------------------------------

Fan had a bit of a dilemma.

Well, more of a huge dilemma.

As he sat chewing on his fingernails, the red tint on his face continued to grow darker. Why couldn't he stop thinking about it? Why couldn't he stop thinking about fingers scribbling across his stomach, digging into his ribs and wiggling-

Fan quickly snaps out of his thoughts as he hears the door to his shared room with Paintbrush open. Maybe he could ask them for help...? Fan shakes his head. No, he couldn't do that!

...Could he?

"Oh, hey Fan! Not hanging out in the lab today?" Paintbrush greeted, happy to see their partner after a particularly annoying art class. Though, it was only expected when Trophy was participating. "Oh, I- no- uh, hey there-!" Fan stutters out nervously, face still a bright hue of red. All he could think about was tickles!

Paintbrush, noticing his nervous response and flushed face, decides to question him, much to Fan's embarrassment. "Are you alright?" They question, placing a hand on their partner's shoulder as they sit next to him on the bed.

Fan jumps and squeaks at the contact, quickly covering his mouth as he looks away shyly. The taller, now visibly concerned, decides to ask again. "Fan, what's going on? Are you okay?" He quickly nods his head, assuring his partner that he's okay.

Fan brings his hands away from his face, opening his mouth to attempt to form his question, but nothing comes out. "Would it be easier to type it?" Paintbrush asks gently, smiling as Fan nods his head. They hand their phone to him, watching as he retypes his question trying to get the phrasing right. He hands the phone back before covering his face with his hands and burying his head in his knees.

"Will you tickle me? o///o"

Paintbrush smiles warmly at Fan's written request and drops the phone before dragging him onto their lap. Fan squeaks and quickly uncurls at the sudden movement.

"Let's see here..." Paintbrush mumbles, wiggling their fingers just above his ribs. They watch as their boyfriend begins to squirm and giggle before any contact is even made. "Aww, giggling already? I haven't even touched you yet!"

They wait a few moments before finally reaching the shorter's ribs, scritching lightly. Fan squeals as his giggles go up an octave, his squirming turning to light wriggling. "Wahait-!" He squeaks out, grabbing at Paintbrush's hands as they begin lightly vibrating their fingers into his ribs. Paintbrush closes their eyes as they listen to their boyfriend's honey sweet giggles, beginning to move their hands up and down his ribs.

Fan throws his head back against their partner's chest as his laughter goes up in volume, small squeaks mixed into his giggles. "Faaan~! What's so funny, hm?" The blonde teases, trying to work him up. Fan whines as he shakes his head, face becoming an even brighter hue of red.

Paintbrush begins peppering kisses up and down the red head's neck, watching as he scrunches his shoulders up and hiccups. They open their eyes and can't help but admire Fan's smile and bubbly laughter. Gosh, they were so in love. They're quickly snapped out of their thoughts as the shorter pushes at their hands. "SohomewhERehe ehelse! Plehease!" Fan manages to giggle out, the rib tickles driving him up the wall. They oblige as they move their hands down to squeeze at his stomach.

Loud cackles fill the room as Fan's squirming becomes more frantic. Paintbrush chuckles softly as their boyfriend slowly starts sliding into a laying position, too weakend from the tickles to sit himself back up.

Fan's laughter begins to die down as the tickling all of a sudden stops. In confusion, he turns over to lay on his back looking up at Paintbrush. "Pahaintbrush? What are you-" He squeaks as his shirt is quickly rolled up and his wrists are snatched gently into Paintbrush's hands.

A loud shriek erupts as the blonde blows a raspberry in the center of Fan's stomach. "OKAY! OHOHOKAY!!" Fan loudly cackles out as he frantically pushes at his partner's head, unable to take any more. Paintbrush sits back up, looking down at their boyfriend's in admiration.

"You're cute, you know that?" Fan huffs in response to their words. "Shush!" He says playfully, pulling Paintbrush down to lay with him. The blonde wraps their arms around him, kissing him on the forehead. They lay in silence for a while before the taller speaks up once again.

"That was fun! Thank you for trusting me." They whisper out gently. Fan, in response, buries his head into their chest and lightly flicks them in the head. "Shh, leave me alone!" He playfully shoots out. Paintbrush chuckles and holds them closer.

"I love you, Fan."

"I love you too, Paintbrush."

[newttxt]

pls read the zosan fic “utilities included” and enjoy sanji making his own life as miserable as possible in plain view of his new roommate

from ch. 1 of utilities included (mind the tags and rating)

masterpost

[trappedinafantasy37]

We did it guys! Minthara is in the top 100 most mentioned video game characters on Tumblr, sitting comfortably at rank 55!

With Astarion at rank 1 (cause of course), Gale at 5, Shadowheart at 6, Karlach at 8, Lae'zel at 9, Wyll at 12, Halsin at 16, Tav at 19, Gortash at 47, and The Dark Urge at 67. Baldur's Gate 3 is also the most talked about video game on this platform, as well as the 6th most talked about thing on all of Tumblr!

I wish Minthara was higher, but you know what, I'm happy she's on there at all! It is also interesting that she ranks higher than Durge and that Durge is that low on the list. It's also pretty interesting that there is such a discrepancy between Durge and Gortash as Durgetash is also the 67th most talked about ship on the platform. It is quite an achievement that our favorite drow is even on that list at all.

It is all just making me think back to some of the more dejecting AO3 statistics with Minthara almost being a blip, practically a statistical outlier in some ways. Even some insignificant side characters got more attention and adoration than her, or had numbers that would compare to her. But Tumblr is a much bigger platform than AO3, containing a much wider array of topics (including fanfics). So for Baldur's Gate 3 and Minthara to stand out that much is really saying something! Reading these statistics on Tumblr does go to show that one platform does not represent the entire fandom and that AO3 is only a piece of the picture.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

How You Turn My World; Chapter 4

You finally find your way into the labyrinth, coming across some new and old faces; both friendly and malicious.

Character; Lilia Vanrouge

Content; Gender-neutral reader, reader is getting tired of being stuck here and smelling like a bog

Content Warnings; Swearing, some talk of death, reader passes out

Word Count; 2.2 K

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

As per usual, don't put my work into AI.

You were finally making some decent progress, what, with not being stuck in some bog and knowing somewhat of where you were going. A vast improvement really! Well, it would be, but unfortunately, you still reeked of rotten eggs and skunk — apparently the bog stench only got worse the longer it stayed on.

“Why did it have to dump me into the swamp,” you huffed, rounding yet another corner. “Like, it could have dumped me beside the water, but, no, no, let’s dump the magicless human right into the putrid bog water! A good guffaw, don’t you think? Ha ha ha HA!”

At least your au de Bog of Eternal Stench kept any would-be assailants away since you hadn’t run into anything (besides a rose bush, ouch) since you started making your way through the labyrinth. So maybe it wasn’t all that bad… damn, maybe your sense of smell was just used to it… hey, if stink helps you not die, then you would gladly stay stinky! Well, bitterly stay stinky is more like it.

“Assholes,” you muttered, rounding another corner. 

But it wasn’t a corner; it was a crossroad. Three paths merged off of the one you were on.

… aren’t labyrinths just one long line? THIS IS A FUCKING MAZE?! You groaned, looking at your possible options which all looked exactly the same.

Decisions, decisions, decisions. Of course nothing is easy here, no no no! Gotta make things difficult now.

The hedge behind you rustled, and you whipped around, getting into a stance where you could either land a pretty good sucker punch to the hedge-stalker or make a mad dash away. But out of the hedge crawled out a small, fuzzy, caterpillar. And back at home you would have thought it was cute, but you learned your lesson from the doors; don’t trust it, or anyone for that matter.

You looked down at the caterpillar, and the caterpillar looked up at you, blinking slowly. 

What are the chances… 

“Do you know a way out,” you asked the caterpillar, crouching down so that you didn’t tower over it.

The caterpillar blinked at you again (apparently caterpillars in the Underground have eyelids, which isn’t the weirdest thing considering everything). “No,” it chirped and continued crawling on its merry way, wherever that may be. “But you’ll find the way.” And it disappeared into the growth of the maze, humming a little tune to itself.

You sighed, and pushed yourself back up, straightening out your shoulders and looking up to the sky. “I’ll find a way,” you breathed, looking up at the cloudless sky which was starting to turn a brilliant amber with the setting sun. “I might want to find a way is more like it.”

You looked back down to the ground, looking at the three paths in front of you. They all look the same, save for the ground making up paths themselves, with the middle and right paths looking well worn with travel. And while they may be well worn, there was a voice at the back of your head that was whispering caution. The left-most path was not as well travelled, with dead vines covering parts of it.

“Hopefully you’re right, little buddy since I could use all the luck I can get.” And you made your way down the path, hoping that it was the correct one and didn’t lead you to your death or some other unpleasant thing.

…

…

Lilia was at the entrance of the labyrinth, in front of the two doors.

“Have you seen a human, about this tall, a bit of a temper, and smelling foul,” he asked the doors.

The doors looked at each other before looking at Lilia. “And what’s it to you,” they said in unison.

Lilia smiled, but it was one of mild annoyance, not joy or amusement. “Royal orders I fear. You wouldn’t want the mistress finding out about you both tampering with a royal matter, would you?” The smile turned cat-like since Lilia had backed them into a corner.

The doors paled, with the blue door speaking up. “No no, sir! We would never dream of such a thing!!! Yes, there was a human, a wretched one at that, horribly rude!”

Lilia hummed, cocking a brow at the door. “I do think wretched is a bit of an overstatement now,” he whispered to himself. “Well, tell me where about they are then. The sooner I can collect them, the better for you lot.”

The red door sighed, “Near the heart of it, they took the left path.”

Left path? Why the left path leads to… Shit. Lilia mentally groaned, knowing that regardless of the path you took, you would end up having to deal with them eventually. “Your cooperation has been noted,” is what he said though, giving the doors both a nod before turning into a bat and flying over the labyrinth, trying to find you before you ran into whoever them was.

“Please be clever enough not to die,” he whispered to no one, hoping that he didn’t have to deliver your body to the Queen.

…

…

The left path brought you to what looked like a forest; with old-growth trees, ferns and moss covering the ground, and a list mist hanging in the air. It was peaceful and beautiful, with the setting sun illuminating the mist without burning it away.

But that would not last, night was fast approaching and you had nothing to protect you this time; no rowan tree to haul your ass up, and no sort of weapon to protect yourself besides the oh-so-lovely smell of the bog to deter something from eating you. You were pretty sure it would also keep away anything that wanted to otherwise snatch you up.

“AH!” Something jumped out from a tree, and you couldn’t fully register what it was since you were also screeching, much like the creature was at you; you with fright, the creature with amusement and joy.

Two other creatures jumped out from behind the trees and startled cackling, jumping, and clapping. Together, they surrounded you, with no way to really escape them without fighting through.

… you really should have read about fae species, since you didn’t know what they exactly were, or how dangerous they were either. 

One pulled you near a pit and lit a fire, cackling in glee and dancing, trying to get you to join them. “Ah come on, human, have some fun! DANCE BABEY!!!!”

But you stayed still as more creatures came out of the shadows, dancing around the fire, giggling, cackling, and pulling a bit at your clothes to prompt you to join them. You didn’t know, cementing your feet down, your eyes watching their movements with caution.

‘Should you dance with the fae, you shall not stop dancing until you exhaust yourself. And once you wake up, you will continue dancing. This cycle will repeat itself until you dance to death.’ 

At least that was what the book said, and so you stayed still, regardless of how much the creatures pulled at you. While it looked like a grand old time, you remained where you were.

“I don’t have time for dancing,” you answered coldly, flinching from pinching fingers. You were also a bit shocked that Eau de Bog of Eternal Stench wasn’t keeping them away. Either, they couldn’t smell, or, they didn’t care that you smelled downright awful. “So this ‘baby’ won’t dance.”

And should I be offended by you calling me ‘baby’ or am I reading too much into it?

The main creature just shrugged and spun its dancing partner around. “Your loss human! More fun for us then! YIPPEE!!!” And it threw something in the fire to where you could feel the heat on your face.

What now? You were just standing there awkwardly as the creatures danced about, singing something that you couldn’t really make out. All you knew was that the heat, noise, and the dizzying dance of them was making your head pound, and throat scream in thirst. You hadn’t drank anything for over a day(?) — no, bog water did not count — and the heat from the fire made the thirst only worse. Shit.

“Ah, you don’t look too… hot there human,” one of the creatures snickered at its own joke at your expense. “Maybe if you dance with us, loosen up and have a bit of fun, then you can have a drink? Hmm? Dancing won’t kill you!” But its failed attempts at covering up its own malicious giggles were more than enough to stand your ground… which was coming at you quite fast since you practically collapsed.

Was it the thirst? The pounding migraine that wanted nothing more than to crawl into some dark hole and hide? Or your exhaustion from making that tiring trek, crawling yourself out of the bog and making the trek again, or the hours you had spent wandering around the maze with no real idea of where you were going? All you really knew was that you were now on the ground with the creatures poking at you to see if you were still alive.

“Aw, man! Are they already dead? That’s no fun!” One of the creatures pouted, raising up your arm, and you let it plop back to the ground. “Come on human! Get up! You’re not a party pooper are you?”

Scre you buddy! Can’t you read the situation?!

You were trying your best to stay quiet, which wasn’t all that hard, since all of your energy was gone. 

“They best not be,” a familiar voice called out.

From your position, you couldn’t see who it was, but you could make out the creatures jumping away from you like you were the hot fire instead of the fire pit. But someone else was approaching until you could make out a pair of shoes in front of your face.

They crouched down beside you, placing their fingers gently at the base of your throat; taking your pulse. “Hmph, playing dead, are we, Beastie?”

That irritating chuckle. The annoying nickname. Those mischievous magenta eyes that now looked at you with curiosity and amusement.

It was him — Mr. Sparkles.

And he had just blown your act of playing possum (well, not really, since you had actually collapsed).

But you didn’t say anything, instead favouring to give him a dirty look. Yet he just shook his head in jest, and proceeded to pick you up and wrap you around his shoulders and neck like some sort of bizarre ermine pelt; better than being carried like a sack of potatoes or the bridal carry you supposed.

“Her majesty sends her regards for not turning or killing her guest,” Lilia offered the creatures. It would be such a waste and pity to see such an entertaining Beastie leave us too soon now. “But do know she won’t take to their condition lightly.”

My condition? I’m not some Victorian child with some unknown illness wreaking havoc on their body you know?! But all that you did was groan and cough. You couldn’t even cough in Mr. Sparkles’ (Lilia’s) face, since you had a lovely view of the moss-covered ground and the fae’s shoes.

He patted the back of your calves, and you would have kicked him if you had more energy, but you didn’t. “Now, we really should be off, since Beastie has… an hour to get out of this maze before they turn into some sort of worm, or a hedge; never know what this old labyrinth will decide on really.” Lilia chuckled at the thought (was it merriment, or was he happy that you weren’t joining the caterpillar you met earlier?).

“No,” you wheezed. “WoRm!”

“See! They said it themself! No worm! How lovely that we are on a similar wavelength, Beastie! Marvellous even!” Lilia exclaimed, and the both of you started levitating off of the ground. “Now, do enjoy your party, Fireys!”

The creatures (Fireys apparently) groaned but got back to their party, dancing around the fire like they didn’t just try to lure you to your death mere minutes before.

“Tsk tsk, Beastie,” Lilia’s tutting brought your attention back to him and you grumbled. “You owe me two favours now, you know. Lucky that I found you… although that part wasn’t hard. I thought you learned your lesson the first time you decided to take a dip into the Bog of Eternal Stench?”

You lightly kicked him, letting your irritation be known, but Lilia just hummed. “Now now, no need to be like that! Do you want to smell like a bog when you meet the mistress? She wouldn’t take kindly to your… unique aroma.”

You hissed out a breath since he decided to pinch at your ear rather harshly — prompting for you to answer. “No,” you whispered hoarsely.

“Also, do read up on that book, since you will want to know about the government and fae species etiquette!”

From a smelly bog and fumbling around a maze for hours on end, to finding yourself being taken to fae high society… was it too late to become some worm in the maze? I think being a worm actually has a better chance of me living.

But sadly, you were saved from an eternity of being a worm. Hopefully, Mr. Sparkles (Lilia) would cover for your blunders a little for when you found yourself in front of ‘the mistress’.

...

...

...

...

To be continued!

~~~~~~~

Tags; @afunkyfreshblog @cheezy-moon @eynnwwyjth @identity-theft-101 @ithseem @lucid-stories @ryker-writes @twistwonderlanddevotee @xxoomiii

Link to Masterlist

[ryssbelle]

Poppy for N2 au, it took me so long to make her design cuz I didn't really know what I wanted to do only because I feel like her design is pretty perfect.

But then I just thought about fun outfits to give her or outfits that I would find comfortable if I was wearing them and it all came together.

Poppy here is pretty much the same as here movie counterpart, as nothing really changes on her end of things other than having more insight on Branch through his brothers, and through Lief. Shes also a bit more understanding a bit earlier on because of it but it doesnt do much to change her own character arc I would say.

Bonus

Part of Poppys design was based off a design I had made for previous rulers of Troll Village/Tree

Namely Queen Protea who I designed as Poppys grandmother

Named after the Protea flower which part of her design is based off :D

In the context of this Au Protea was the one who conceptualized the tunnels while her son, King Peppy, was the one to follow through after her death

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 5

Part 1 Part 4

Eddie’s filled a shitty back-to-school backpack with anything useful he can find. There’s more wet wipes, and gauze, antiseptic, and a hammer. He’s got a lighter, a few newspapers, and a few shitty plastic cups. In a fit of whimsy, he stuffs a pack of playing cards in there as well. 

They go.

Hawkins is bigger than he remembers. Eddie’s not sure if it’s just the fatigue, the general atmosphere of this place, or it’s just another fucked-up thing that’s just a little off about this place. Hawkins, but not.

And god, he didn’t ever think he’d be homesick for Hawkins. His trailer, sure. Wayne, of course. But Hawkins? No way.

But he’s pretty sure he’d give his left kidney to be walking down 2nd street with all its residences clutching their pearls and crossing the street to avoid him. 

The street stretches out before him unnaturally. It’s quiet. There’s ash in Harrington’s hair where he walks by his side. Eddie’s never felt more out of place in his life.

“Do you think we’ll make it back?” he whispers. It’s so quiet, it feels like his words bounce across the town, anyway.

Harrington’s gait stutters. It could be from his fucked up feet. Eddie doesn’t think so. His brows pinched, lips pursed, skin golden under its ashen sheen.

“Someone will have noticed us missing by now, right?” He doesn’t sound sure. Eddie can’t fathom why.

“It’s…Sunday, Right?” Eddie asks, not waiting for an answer before continuing, “I’m supposed to be at band practice. The guys will notice.”

Harrington nods, starts walking again. 

“What about you?” Eddie asks.

Harrington’s eyes are shifting back and forth like he’s watching the ghosts of the real world in this fucked up mirror dimension. Hell, maybe he can. 

“Nancy noticed,” he says, quiet enough that Eddie barely picks up on it. He’s looking down at his feet and he looks small. Unsure. Before he looks up at Eddie from the corner of his eye. “Right?”

Eddie looks at this guy he’s hated for years, this guys who Eddie’s sure didn’t even notice him enough to hate him back, and says the only thing he can, “Right.”

“She’s smart.”

“Wheeler seems like a baddess,” Eddie says, even though she doesn’t. It makes Harrington smile down at his borrowed shoes. 

Eddie reaches out, squeezing lightly at Harrington’s elbow in comfort before skipping a few steps ahead, feeling his ears burn red. Harrington jogs to catch back up. They walk in silence after that.

The walk down the winding path surrounding the quarry is harrowing. It’s long, sure, but the way the red sky is reflecting back off the water’s surface has his gut sinking into his boots and weighing his feet down. It doesn’t look promising.

It looks even less promising up close. But beggars can’t be choosers, and Eddie feels one second away from falling to his knees and begging to a deity he doesn’t believe in.

He pulls out one of the stupid plastic cups, toes of his boots dipping into the red water as he bends over the reservoir and fills the cup, handing it to Harrington. Might as well take advantage of his tagalong jock test dummy,, and all that. 

Harrington grabs it from him, staring down at it dubiously. He tips it sideways, eyeing the liquid speculatively as it pours out of the cup and onto the concrete at his feet. 

It’s hard to tell if it’s actually red, even watching it drip onto the ground. The light’s too fucked, but it’s at least transulscent. It’s not blood, or at least not only blood. Eddie’s more concerned about the ash mixed in, to be honest.

Harrington’s still staring down at the remains of his cup like he’s not sure what to do with it. 

“Don’t drink that,” Eddie says.

Harrington doesn’t reply, but he can feel him watching as Eddie digs through his bag, pulling out a drugstore T-shirt and the second cup. He snatches Harringtons cup from his fingers, puts the T-shirt overtop, and then puts the other cup on top of that, before flipping the cups quickly.

Some of the liquid splashes out as it pours into the second cup, but most of it makes it to its rightful destination. Eddie pulls the T-shirt away and eyes the cup. He pours it out again, humming in pleasure and there’s no ash floating in the puddle at his feet.

A glance in the original cup makes him gag. Harrington siddles up to peer over his shoulder at the congealed black sludge left at the bottom, smeared with ash and dirt.

“I’m glad I didn’t drink that,” Harrington says.

Eddie laughs, handing the remnants of the second cup back over to Harrington. The look in the other boy’s eyes tells Eddie he knows he’s the guinea pig in this arrangement, but he gamely takes a sip. Eddie holds his breath when Harrington makes a disgusted face, but when he doesn’t keel over and die, he takes another sip. 

“Tastes like shit,” Harrington says, downing the rest. 

When Eddie filters the next cup, he can’t help but agree. It tastes like too-strong coffee mixed with blood, and Eddie’s never liked coffee. 

“How’d you learn to do this?” Harrington asks as the squat next to each other, Eddie filtering water, and Harrington filling the water bottles they’d collected from Melvald’s.

“I didn’t,” Eddie says, wringing the T-shirt out. When Harrington scoffs, he continues. “I just read about it in a book one time, and thought maybe it’d work.”

Harrington snorts. It sounds like a pig. Eddie hates himself for finding it endearing.

“You’re such a nerd,” he says, nudging his shoulder into Eddie’s. From his crouched position, Eddie almost goes tumbling into the water, but Harrington snags his shoulder and yanks him abc, laughing all the while.

“Fuck off, man,” he says, but it lacks its usual heat. 

It’s hard to completely hate a guy who dragged you bodily out of a window and away from your untimely demise. It’s hard, but damn if Eddie’s not going to try.

They fill the water bottles. It takes longer than it should, as Eddie tries to find clean enough spot on the T-shirt to make filtering the water any more even possible, but they manage.

Eddie doesn’t put the soiled garment in his backpack before slinging it onto his shoulders. It’s heavier now, but something in him eases with the time they’ve gained with the water. Days of survival has now stretched out to weeks.

He thinks of that Thing again and wonders if that’s a good thing at all. With the way Harrington is grimacing as he slings his own pack onto his shoulders, he’s having similarly grim thoughts.

They both stare up at the steep path they’d come down, hours before.

“What now?” Eddie asks.

Steve sighs, and starts trekking back up the hill. Without any better ideas, Eddie follows.

Part 6

[deiaiko]

#23 - Kiss

Masterlist

Previous

Next

Let me know your thoughts in the reblogs <3

☕ Buy me coffee ☕

[magicpiano]

AU where Tucker Foley (Danny Phantom) and Richie Foley (Static Shock) are cousins.

[imclou]

I'm YN. Moon's inlove with YN

Sun (hopefully) will hop in on the band wagon Ergo: I can marry enforcer DCA. (pls accept this silly, flawed logic lol)

ALSO THESE DESIGNS ARE MARVELOUS

Bahahaha i can't argue with that logic!

But yeah you're right Firelight Y/N is a blank slate you can project onto, they're you! :D

Also thank you omggg <3 <3 <3

[wetcatspellcaster]

...Cazador's mansion be upon ye!

[chrollogy]

step on me, fatui harbinger!yue 🙏🏼

[forgotten-daydreamer]

"I hate how they're writing Damian in Batman #146, he can't be that dumb, he's so ooc."

I mean, they're writing him almost as if he were a literal child who wants, no, needs to believe that his father's ideals aren't as fucked up as his mother's, who blindly believes in the man whom he learnt to trust despite being raised with widely different beliefs and ideals for the majority of his so-far short life.

Almost as if Damian were a pre-teen, or young teen at most (because how old can he be here, 13? 14?) who desperately clings onto the belief, onto the hope that his father hasn't really abandoned him, because his father is Batman, and Batman always has a plan, doesn't he? Obscure, complex, but a plan nonetheless, and it (almost) always turns out fine, so Damian needs to trust him, he knows he can, he knows that Batman is safe.

Logically, everyone else is older; I think the one whose age he's closest to might be Tim here, who's about 18 as usual, I guess. But Damian is a child, he's a child who's overall relatively new to Batman's antics, and he's a child who (unfortunately) rarely saw the difference between Batman and Bruce Wayne, a child who rarely got to meet Bruce Wayne at all, if you think of it.

You (you readers, not the characters in the story - because it makes sense for them to be so lost in the plot of their world that they lose sight of things) cannot blame a child for being delusional for believing with his whole heart that his father is not an evil bastard who's attacking everyone, allies included, family included. Because again, Damian doesn't really have a clear idea of how Batman and Bruce Wayne differ, he rarely got the priviledge to be with his father, Bruce Wayne, and not with his work partner, Batman.

You (readers) cannot really tell me that you're putting the blame on a child for 'snapping out of it' so late.

Of course, everyone is free to have their opinions, and if you think that this version of Damian is ooc or whatever, it's a valid, let's agree to disagree. But from a narrative pov, you can't possibly deny that it makes sense for Damian to be acting like this. He's a child, a literal child.

Expecting him to regulate his emotions as well as his sibs do is messed up. Which, by the way, they don't. Dick is a mess but keeping it together - except for the whole "punching your father senseless" thing, but good for him, I'd have done the same there. Jason is a mess and doesn't try to hide it, Steph is baffled and Babs is exhausted. The others are nowhere to be seen (and I'd have done the same pt2). Tim's the only one with a plan that's actually somewhat good - hope he makes Bruce snap out of his fear-induced little gateaway once and for all.

I know not many are fans of this run, but honestly? I'm digging it, it's possibly one of my faves. I love the drama, love the angst, love the plot-twists, like Damian snapping out of it just for Zur to silence him? Backup Robin who grins suspiciously like Jason? Tim ditching his phone - which is ossibly the most shocking thing? I'm hyped as hell.

All of this endless yapping to say that, okay, feel free to hate this or whatever, but please be humble enough to admit that Damian is being written exactly like he should be. I get it, DCAU gave us "Damian who talks like an old man, who never smiles and doesn't understand his peers" and it's cool. He's a bit like that in the comics too. But newer comics have a (very welcome, imho) tendency to write him as 'awkward' while simultaneously keeping in mind that he's a teen. And it's the best thing ever.

I, for one, needed reassurance at Damian's age. I needed an anchor and that anchor were my parents - growing up, the dynamics shifted but it's not the point. At 13, 14, or whatever Damian's age is, you're just a child who needs reassurance, because you're changing, the world around you is changing, and you're disoriented as if lost at sea. Writing Damian like that makes sense, it's not even up for debate.

He's not ooc, and he's not dumb either.

He's just a child.

Feel free to dislike how they're writing him, feel free to dislike literally every single detail about everything, this is a free world. But please don't tell me that needing a parental figure to be there for you, and that siding with said parental figure no matter what because they're essentially all you got left (rip batfam I guess?) - is ooc for a child. Damian is a child, don't forget that.

[sparkles-rule-4eva]

"Sonic vs. Tails - The Ultimate April Fools Battle"

AO3 link if you'd rather read it there ;)

6:38 a.m.

Early on a Monday morning, Sonic awoke to a rocking sensation. For a moment it was nice, soothing even, and he thought perhaps he'd fallen asleep on a hammock or something.

Except, it was in fact not soft fabric beneath him, but wooden boards.

A faint smell of salt alerted him next. Then a strong gust of wind. Then the cry of a seagull.

A seagull?!

His eyes shot open and he sat bolt upright, panic immediately flooding his chest upon seeing a huge mass of water all around him. He found himself sitting in a wooden fishing boat, smack dab in the middle of it.

He jumped up to his feet with a squeak of true fear, wobbling as the rocking of the boat nearly made him lose his balance.

He raced to the pole where the sails were attached and jumped onto it, full-body clinging to it with both arms and legs. "HOW IN MOBIUS DID I GET OUT HERE?!" he yelled indignantly, as loudly as he could for having just woken up.

A snicker sounded above him, and he jerked his head up so fast he nearly got whiplash.

And whom should he see perched atop the sails post but his little brother, Tails, his namesakes waving around and mischief practically written all over his face.

"Happy April Fools," the smug little fox greeted him, still giggling.

Sonic relaxed slightly, but shot Tails a feigned death glare. "It's on," he shot back, unable to hide a smirk.

-

8:23 a.m.

He had to be subtle about this. Tails was obviously very well aware what day it was. He had to be sly.

So, for his first prank of many, Sonic ran out to buy a cheap whoopie cushion, then slipped it in the Tornado's cockpit, at a perfect angle so Tails wouldn't see it until it was too late.

He was pretty proud of himself for keeping it cool, going on runs and swinging back by the workshop every few minutes to see when Tails needed to go out for a flight.

Except it was taking too long.

If he didn't get that over with, all his time to come up with more pranks for the day would be gone. And that simply wouldn't do.

"Hey, Tails!" he called from the roof, where he'd been leisurely lounging for the past five minutes. "Wanna go for a shopping run?"

After a pause of silence filled only with the sound of some metal clanging, Tails called back, "For what? I thought we were stocked."

"No, we need more— flour." He quickly improvised, having not actually checked the pantry beforehand.

"Why do we need more flour?" Tails sounded both distracted and confused as he continued whatever he was clanging around with.

"Because bread." Sonic flipped onto the ground and leaned his head through the window. "We should make bread."

Tails finally pulled back his goggles and shot him a look. "Why do you want to make bread?"

"Don't question it, Tails! Why can't I be allowed to wanna try new stuff?"

"Because it's April Fools, that's why." Tails smirked and pulled his goggles back down, studying the chunks of metal he was abusing. "There's probably a prank waiting for me at the store or something."

Sonic clasped a hand to his chest dramatically. "You seriously think I went and sabotaged public property just to pull a prank on you?!"

Without missing a beat, and without shifting his eyes from his work, Tails replied, "Yeah."

Sonic huffed and crossed his arms. "Well, I didn't. And the only way for you to see that is to come on shopping with me. I'll even let you pick the store so that you can be sure."

Tails looked at him, arching a brow and resting one hand on his hip. "You're so random," he said, shaking his head with a grin. "You realize you can go shopping by yourself, right?"

"Well, sue me for wanting to spend time with my darling little brother," Sonic pouted, trying his best to pull off a puppy-dog-eyes look.

"Since when did you become so clingy?" Tails laughed, finally setting aside his things and flying over to the window.

Finally!

"It was inevitable. You're too loveable." Sonic yanked him into a hug, right before letting him start flying towards the Tornado.

"I don't know whether to feel touched or suspici—" Tails abruptly broke off as he hopped into the cockpit, and the whoopie cushion immediately squeezed beneath him, filling the air with its awful sounds.

His face went beet red for a moment, then he closed his eyes and sighed. Sonic had already fallen over laughing, tears springing to his eyes at Tails's expression.

"Bread, huh?" Tails sounded way too calm as he turned to face his brother, but there was a terrifying glint in his eyes.

"You bet!" Sonic laughed. "Come on, what are you waiting for? Let's go get flour!"

Tails picked up the whoopie cushion and hurled it full force at the hedgehog's face.

-

8:52 a.m.

After the whoopie cushion incident, Tails forced Sonic to go out shopping anyway. He even managed to trick him into thinking he was doing it as an apology.

Oh, was that poor hedgehog mistaken. He was so in for it. Tails had sent him out shopping— alone— so he could set up his revenge prank.

He decided to go with a simple one. Perhaps he would save the more intricate and wild pranks for later in the day.

This one would still be personal, though.

Barely suppressing a little cackle of glee, Tails snatched a large bottle of clear super glue and generously poured it all over the welcome mat at his front door. This glue wouldn't fully dry for another twenty to thirty minutes, and since Sonic was only getting one thing from the store, he wouldn't take nearly that long.

Sure enough, five minutes after he'd laid the prank, he heard the distinct BOOM in the distance of his brother's impending arrival.

Tails already knew Sonic wasn't going to notice the glue. If it wasn't immediately obvious, and he wasn't in danger, he didn't pay attention to detail like that.

The door handle jiggled for a moment, then was followed by a banging on the door. His muffled voice called, "Tails, if you're gonna send me out to buy stuff we don't actually need, the least you could do is leave the door unlocked for me to actually give you the stuff we don't need."

"Oh, dear chaos!" Tails called back, deliberately sounding way too dramatically surprised. "How did the door lock itself?!"

It didn't matter if Sonic caught on. If he was banging on the door, it was too late for him.

"I don't like your tone, young man." Sonic definitely sounded suspicious, and Tails could barely suppress his triumphant laughter.

"Sorry, Dad." With a snicker, he unlocked the door and swept it open, where he found Sonic standing with a hefty bag of flour, shooting him a look.

He was standing right in the middle of the super glue puddle.

"Seriously, bro? Locking me outside? That's the best you g-GAAUHH!" Sonic broke off as he tried to take a step forward, only to pull the entire doormat up with his foot and lose his balance. He tried desperately to right himself, but only ended up pinwheeling his arms, losing his grip on the bag of flour, and falling square on his chest. A second later, the bag of flour came down on his head and immediately popped open upon pricking his quills.

After the flour dust settled, the two brothers looked at each other for a solid ten seconds, the younger standing tall with his arms crossed and a smug smile, the older slumped on the ground, covered in flour to the point of looking like a ghost, glaring daggers.

He sneezed. "That was low. I like my kicks."

"They'll be fine," Tails insisted, brushing off the flour that had drifted into his fur. "I've got a solution that'll cancel out the glue."

Sonic shook himself off, then stood up and sneezed again. "You owe me twenty rings for the waste of perfectly good flour that we didn't need."

Tails stuck his tongue out at him, then started blowing the spilled flour out the door with his tails.

-

9:35 a.m.

Sonic took a shower after the flour incident, and he made it quick enough so that Tails didn't have any time to try anything more on him, since he was still cleaning up said flour.

Once he'd gotten out and dried off, Tails brushed past him into the bathroom, and a few seconds later he heard the shower start up again.

No way there was this golden opportunity just dangling in front of him . . .

Grinning, Sonic first went to the kitchen and hit the switch for the power hose. Next time Tails went to wash the dishes, he was in for a little surprise.

Then, very quietly, he nudged the door open to the bathroom (where Tails was still in the shower), reached in, and flushed the toilet.

A second later, there was a high pitched "Yipe!" and one very startled, very wet fox kit scrambled out of the tub at the suddenly freezing water.

Sonic heard his name screeched furiously from over his shoulder as he laughed and booked it for the front door, only to catch on the doormat and faceplant the sidewalk, his socks now stuck in the super glue still coating the mat.

-

10:14 a.m.

He deserved this fate, Tails claimed.

"It's called revenge!" Sonic yelled through the door from where he lay on the ground outside in the yard. "Sweet, totally fair, revenge! Can I have the anti solution for the glue now?"

"Nope," Tails called back.

"C'moooon. These are my last clean socks, I can't just take them off and put on dirty ones. Do you want me to defile the house with smelly feet?"

"Ohh, manipulation. That's a new one!"

"Tails!"

"Just wear flipflops. Or go barefoot. I dunno."

"I don't like flip flops!" Sonic squirmed onto his side. "And I don't like being barefoot! Running barefoot is painful!"

"Ah, well. Guess you'd better apologize for ruining my lovely shower and forfeit all your desserts to me for the next three months, if you ever want to run again."

"Sorry, who was being manipulative?"

"You were!"

Sonic huffed. "You know, I could just do laundry. Yeah. Do laundry and be free."

"Wow!" Tails sounded way too amazed. "That's so genius!"

"I'll wash all my socks! I'll wash all the socks!" With caution, Sonic forced his way back onto his feet, then hopped inside the house, doormat still attached. "I'll be free in a matter of . . . hours." He frowned. "Hey Tails, can dish soap clean clothes? And how fast does a fur dryer dry clothes?"

Tails was standing in the kitchen, pouring the remains of the flour that hadn't touched the floor into a canister. He eyed his brother for a moment, then smiled sweetly. "There's one way to find out."

Without thinking, Sonic broke into a relieved grin and started hopping his way into the kitchen. "Good, because if I have to be stuck like this for one—"

He turned the faucet on, and immediately a powerful spray of cold water shot out at his face from the power hose. He yelped and sputtered, immediately switching it off as he suddenly realized he'd fallen for his own prank.

Or, more likely, Tails had seen right through his prank, and had made him fall for it.

Sonic looked down at him, water dripping down his face and off his quills. Tails had lost his cool composure and was doubled over, squeaking with laughter.

-

10:30 a.m.

"I deserved that one," Sonic grumbled, toweling off his face.

Tails sat beside him on the porch, eyes closed in smug contentment as he brushed out his tails. "Yes. You did."

Sonic turned and grinned devilishly. "You realize this isn't over, lil bro."

Tails turned a fanged smile right back on him. "Far from it."

-

11:04 a.m.

Sonic burst through Amy's door and immediately said, "Ames, I need a favor!"

Amy nearly jumped out of her skin, dropping her paintbrush onto the carpet. She sighed, but picked it up without complaining, set it on the ledge of her painter's stand, and gave him her attention. "What's up?"

"Sorry for that," he said quickly, then added, "Could you make a batch of chocolate chip cookies, but like, make three of them with raisins instead?"

Amy wrinkled her forehead even as she smiled. "Wait, what? Why?"

"It's April Fools. I need to get back at Tails."

"Oh, no." Amy laughed as she stood up and started heading for her kitchen. "What'd he do?"

"Oh, many things." As Amy set to making the cookies, he told her all about the events of the day so far. He told her about the pranks on both sides, just to keep it fair.

Amy was aware of their April Fools traditions. The same basic thing had happened the past two years as well.

It had been last year that they learned the hard way not to prank Knuckles. Or Shadow.

"You should really learn to bake," Amy commented as she eventually pulled the batch out of the oven. "It's really very fun! And satisfying."

"You know what'll be satisfying?" He snickered. "The look on Tails's face when he thinks he's gonna taste chocolate and tastes raisins instead!"

Amy shook her head with an amused sigh. "That too, I guess."

They hung out together for another twenty minutes or so, then Sonic bid her farewell and took off back to the workshop.

-

12:22 p.m.

Tails had resumed working on whatever project he'd been doing earlier that morning.

"Yo, Tails!" Sonic raced into the room, holding the container of cookies. "Amy made us cookies!"

"Ooh, she did?" Tails immediately paused what he was doing and lit up, but then suspicion clouded his face. "Wait . . . what's going on?"

"Bro, it's just cookies," Sonic laughed. "What, do you think they're poisoned?"

Tails kept hesitating, but Sonic could see him scenting the air. Since the majority of them were chocolate chip, he was detecting that— not the few raisins.

"Okay. I'll take one," he finally relented, and Sonic handed him one with raisins.

He started heading back to his project as he took a bite, but immediately stopped in his tracks. Sonic watched him stop chewing and look at the cookie for a long moment, then turn and shoot him a deadpan look.

"You're so mean," he complained, mouth still full with the bite he refused to swallow (he hated raisins). Then he tried to spit it out onto Sonic, who yelped and raced away, dropping the container of cookies on the floor.

Tails picked it up, having already figured out that most of the others were actually chocolate chip. Jokes on Sonic, now he had all the good cookies to himself.

-

1:01 p.m.

Their prank fest had delayed lunch a bit, so Sonic (after eventually returning) told Tails to kick back and relax while he made chili.

Tails seemed a little too pleased with the idea, but Sonic barely noticed, too hungry to care.

As he stirred through the pot, Tails watched him, grinning in anticipation for the meal. Earlier, while Sonic had been lying around the front yard with the doormat glued to his socks and complaining, Tails had switched out the salt and sugar.

Half an hour later or so, they sat down together to eat. It seemed Sonic thought they had reached a temporary truce, but oh, little did he know.

Tails deliberately took his sweet time in spooning the chili onto his hot dog, eyeing his brother in his corner vision. Sonic had made his in no time, digging in with two big bites before Tails had even finished dressing his.

Almost immediately Sonic paused, blinked a couple times, then kept chewing. Then paused again, frowning.

His eyes flicked to Tails, who quickly resumed dressing his chili dog.

Sonic finally swallowed. "That's weird."

"What's weird?" Tails asked innocently, actually being subtle this time.

"Chili tastes more like dessert." The hedgehog squinted at him. "Did you sabotage the chili cans?"

Tails sniffed. "How dare you accuse me."

"Did you?"

"No, I didn't. The cans were sealed, weren't they?"

"Hm." Sonic took another hesitant bite, but stopped again, shaking his head. "This tastes so weird. Have you tried yours?"

Tails shrugged. "Try salting it," he suggested, avoiding the question.

Sonic grabbed the salt shaker and generously covered his chili dog with its contents, then took another bite, only to actually choke over it this time.

"Okay, did you—?!" He snatched the shaker again, shook a little onto his finger, tasted it, then chucked it at Tails, who laughed and dove out of the way. "You switched the salt and sugar?!"

"Well, duh!" Tails switched to hovering over the table, snickering. "There are no truces today, dearest brother!"

Sonic threw the too-sweet chili dog at him next, inevitably splattering chili over the table.

"You're cleaning that up!" Tails called in a singsong voice. "I'm going out to Josef's Pasta Alla Paccico!"

"OH, NO YOU DON'T!"

-

2:10 p.m.

They both ended up eating out at Josef's, and even though they did truly call a ceasefire for a grand total of twenty-five minutes, they split the time between actually eating and blowing their straw wrappers at people, having mini sword fights with the butter knives, and constructing architecture with the plates and takeout boxes.

Needless to say, the only reason they didn't get kicked out was probably because both Sonic and Tails were practically world-renowned.

Not long after they returned to the workshop, Sonic inevitably crashed for a nap. He usually couldn't make it through a day without a nap at some point, which was always unfortunate for him on this particular day of the year.

Tails studied him where he slept, on a branch of the tree in his front yard. He knew he'd been the last one to pull something, but hey, who said they were taking turns?

There was simply no way he was passing this up.

First, he grabbed a sharpie and very carefully drew an elaborate mustache worthy of Eggman across his brother's face. He added a few random smiley faces on his cheek and arms, as well as the phrase "SLO-MO" on one shoulder.

Then he grabbed an assortment of potato chips and began carefully stacking them on his head, in his hands, on his stomach, in an entire tower.

He made sure to take pictures through the whole process, then— leaving him there to sleep, still covered in sharpie and potato chips— flew off to print the photos.

Going above and beyond, he put the printed photos in a fancy envelope, marked them as "priority mail," addressed them to Sonic's post office box, disguised himself, then dropped them off at the post office.

An hour passed after he had done all that, and Sonic finally stirred awake.

Upon seeing the stack of chips in front of him, he promptly fell out of the tree with a yelp, and Tails started giggling.

"What did you do to me?" Sonic whined, brushing all the crumbs off his head and chest as he stood up, still groggy.

"You think that's bad?" Tails teased. "Go check the mirror."

A look of horror filled his brother's eyes, then he was gone in a flash. Tails kept giggling, and laughed harder when he heard the yell from inside: "WHY DID YOU MAKE ME LOOK LIKE EGGFACE?!"

"It's called revenge!" Tails called back gleefully. "Sweet, totally fair, revenge!"

Sonic came storming back outside. "How dare you use my own words against me."

"Sorry," Tails told him insincerely.

His brother scrubbed at his cheek. "How long will it take for this to wash off?"

Tails shrugged. "A couple days, probably."

Sonic's resulting screech was loud enough to startle away all the nearby flickies.

-

4:32 p.m.

Sonic spent at least half an hour in the bathroom desperately trying to scrub the marker out of his fur, but only succeeded in making it fade a little.

"Taking advantage of my sleep cycle," he huffed, reaching out to mess up Tails's bangs from where the fox kit sat on the couch. "So rude."

Tails tried to fix his bangs, while Sonic flopped onto the other end of the couch. "Consider it payback for you dyeing my fur green last year."

"You still looked cool, at least!" Sonic protested. "If Egghead sees me like this, I'm never going to hear the end of it."

"I looked like a lime!" Tails shot back. "I had to hide from society for an entire month!"

"It wasn't a month."

"Three and a half weeks. Close enough."

"Mm."

Tails shot him a look, and Sonic reached over to mess up his bangs again. He was rewarded with a throw pillow to the face.

Sonic threw it back, and it was just about to escalate into a fully fledged pillow fight when the doorbell rang.

Both of them froze, and Sonic zipped away in a flash. "I'm not here! You don't know me! If anyone asks, I'm in Holoska on a nice, arctic vacation!"

"Chicken!" Tails taunted after him, then flew over to the door and pulled it open to find Amy and Knuckles standing on the other side.

(Thankfully, the super glue had dried hours before.)

"Hey, guys!" he greeted them, stepping back to let them in. "What's the occasion?"

Amy said sweetly, "We just wanted to make sure you and Sonic were doing okay!" at the same time Knuckles said, "We came to supervise."

Tails rolled his eyes. "We don't need babysitters."

Amy glanced around. "Did Sonic leave?"

Knuckles frowned as Tails snickered. "I guess he did. He's telling everyone he's going to Holoska."

"You can't stop me!" Sonic's muffled voice shouted from somewhere towards the back of the workshop.

"Nobody's trying!" Tails called back, his voice catching on a laugh. "Just be sure to warn Jari-Pekka about your new look!"

"New look?" Knuckles echoed.

Amy facepalmed. "What did you do to him?"

Tails waved a hand flippantly. "It'll come off in a few days."

"And this is why we thought you two needed supervision," Knuckles groaned. "Today always gets out of hand."

"Do we need to separate you two?" Amy asked, although she was grinning.

Sonic chose that moment to burst explosively out of the closet, zip to his brother's side, and pull him close in a protective hug. "No, don't separate us!" he insisted, forcing a huge smile. "Everything's going just fine!"

Knuckles and Amy took a solid ten seconds to stare at Tails's artwork all over Sonic's face, then started laughing, albeit good-naturedly.

Tails grinned at where he was still trapped in his brother's hold, only to start violently trying to squirm away when said brother slipped a sharpie out of hiding and started drawing his revenge on the fox's face.

-

6:00 p.m.

Knuckles and Amy chose to spend the rest of the day at the workshop with them, just to make sure things didn't get any crazier than they already had. By the time dinnertime arrived, both Sonic and Tails had sharpie all over their faces, although the "art" on Tails's face could hardly be called as such. Because of his squirming during the whole process, it was nothing more than random scribbles of blue in random places on his face.

"Next year I'll dye you blue," Sonic promised him as the four of them had dinner together (after Amy switched back the salt and sugar). "We can match!"

"Pass." Tails swallowed his bite. "I'll just look like some kind of mutant smurf."

Sonic snickered. "All the more reason to do it, then!"

Amy groaned. "Boys . . ."

"Hey, we should rope you into this!" Sonic exclaimed suddenly, staring straight at Amy.

"If you want a hammer to the face next, feel free!" Amy stuck her tongue out at him, although she had to hide a giggle.

"As long as you leave me out of it, do whatever you want," Knuckles put in wearily, sounding much like a parent tired of trying to control his children.

Tails smiled at all of them. Knuckles was right; this day was always crazy, and sure, things got out of hand sometimes. But he had no regrets. It was fun. It was a stupid way of bonding with his brother, and that was something he would never regret.

A Happy April Fools Day, indeed.

[ded-lime]

some time ago god knows why i set on a journey of reading through gaster tag (with plenty of picking and choosing) and when a fic goes on about sans being depressed and trying to bring him back my mental image meanwhile goes something like this

[clarionglass]

archangel 2.0 (game master cinematic universe, part 8) | read on ao3

“Absolutely not,” Siobhan said when she rounded the corner to see Sam’s evil doppelganger coming the opposite way down the corridor. “Whatever plans you’re cooking up, I’m not in the mood for them today.”

Other Sam just shrugged at her. “No plans. Perfectly innocent, that’s me.”

“Like hell,” Siobhan replied. “You’ve already fucked with me once, I’m not believing that for a second. Why are you even here, anyway? I know for a fact you shouldn’t be filming today.”

“You people commandeered my home, not the other way around,” Other Sam said with clearly forced patience.

Siobhan just hummed in response, noncommittal and suspicious, and Other Sam tilted his head to examine her closely, then straightened, pleased with what he saw.

“You never really liked me, did you, Siobhan?” he asked, a faint smile of satisfaction playing about his lips. “You always had a feeling that something was off. You know, it's funny what the subconscious remembers, even when it didn't really happen.”

“God,” Siobhan bit out with an impatient roll of her eyes. “Fuck. Yes. I know you wiped my memory, well done you, you can stop fucking gloating about it.”

“Aw, you think I'm talking about that? Oh, no. You've seen me before. Trusted me, even.” 

Other Sam smiled, and when he spoke next, his voice was different. “Enough to vote for me, as it happens.”

“What the fuck?” Siobhan asked, genuinely bewildered, because that voice was eerily familiar. Though it hadn't crossed her mind in nearly 20 years, it used to be everywhere, back in her uni days. Political advertisements, news briefings, Question Time; you could barely turn on the TV without hearing it.

“Oh, good,” Other Sam said instead of answering, back to his usual accent and clearly pleased with himself. “I was worried I mightn't have kept the voice.”

“But that was—” Siobhan began, and faltered. It was English, for a start, pitch perfect in a way that didn't feel like a put-on accent. The range, the register, the cadence—they were all slightly different from Sam's, but somehow just as natural. Firm and authoritative, but in a friendly way. The voice of a politician you would be happy to vote for. The voice of a politician she had voted for, in fact, seventeen years ago. 

“That was Harold Saxon,” she said in disbelief. “You can't—no. Do you mimic voices, or—”

“Oh, no,” Other Sam replied cheerfully. “That was me. He was me.”

Siobhan just looked at him flatly. “You can't expect me to believe that.”

“Believe me or not, it's true,” he said. “It's a fun little thing called regeneration.”

Siobhan's eyes narrowed. “And what's that?”

Other Sam mustn't have been expecting her to call him on that, or had revealed more than he planned to, because to Siobhan's private delight, he looked suddenly uncomfortable. He folded his arms, closing himself off—but even so, was unable to fully hide his unease, fingers tapping out a restless tic on his upper arm. 

“Quirk of Time Lord biology,” he answered shortly. 

“You're not getting away with a half-arsed answer like that,” she snapped back. “What does it mean?”

He paused, weighing his words carefully, even as the jitters in his fingers betrayed him. “We don't die,” he said slowly. “Or, we do, but… it's not permanent death. We change.”

“Change what?”

Another pause, another careful consideration of how much to reveal; silence, except for that faint, almost imperceptible tapping.

“Everything,” he replied eventually. “Face, body, even the way we think, to an extent. Every single cell, overwritten.”

“Bullshit,” Siobhan breathed. But—it was just something to say. Deep in her heart, she believed him. 

Other Sam just shook his head. “I was Harold Saxon,” he said—not an insistence, but a fact, solid as stone. “You knew me, Siobhan. The whole world did.”

It was too much to be true, but it couldn't be a lie. She felt the disquiet building in the pit of her stomach, felt her own knotted fingers start to fidget, drumming out a quiet rhythm.

“Why?” she asked. “Harold Saxon was PM for a couple of days, then had some kind of mental break and was never seen again. What did you have to gain from doing that?”

“That's only what happened the second time round,” he said softly. “The first time was much more interesting.”

Something didn't feel right. The world felt unstable, like at any minute, the wallpaper that was the backdrop to reality would start to sag and peel. But Other Sam had the answers, it seemed. And there was security in knowledge. 

“What do you mean?” Siobhan asked.

“You know what happened,” Other Sam said. “Even if it didn't happen, not really. But I can show you, if you want.”

“Please,” she breathed, and Sam's exact double met her eyes with all the gravity of a black hole. 

“Do you trust me, Siobhan?”

And the funny thing was, she did. Despite it all, despite everything she knew and everything he had done, she couldn't help but believe in him. Everything he said sounded rational, reliable, reassuring—a port in the storm. 

She nodded.

“Good.” He smiled, then, slow and broad, and she trusted that, too. “I'm glad, because this might be… uncomfortable.”

Other Sam pulled out his microphone from inside his jacket pocket and aimed it at her. It made a strange buzzing noise, the tip glowing bright, and suddenly she was bent double, clutching her head as pain a thousand times worse than any migraine she'd ever had splintered through her skull. 

It was like nothing she'd ever felt before, and she couldn't escape the agonising clarity as memories she had previously believed to be whole and solid peeled apart into two mirrored pieces. 

On June 20th, 2007, Siobhan Thompson voted Saxon in the UK general election.

On June 23rd, 2007, Siobhan Thompson watched the TV in the university caf as Prime Minister Harold Saxon shot the US President dead, and the broadcast of an apparent “first contact” suddenly cut to a black screen.

On June 23rd, 2007, Siobhan Thompson watched the TV in the university caf as Prime Minister Harold Saxon shot the US President dead, then looked out upon his domain with satisfaction as the sky opened wide like a mouth, spilling out millions and millions of bladed metal spheres that laughed with the voices of children.

On December 31st, 2007, Siobhan Thompson spent the night partying with friends, ringing in the new year with hopes that 2008 would bring nothing but good things. 

On December 31st, 2007, Siobhan Thompson spent the night tossing and turning in a fitful sleep after another day slaving in the labour camps, producing resources for the Master’s war to come. Her days consisted of nothing but work and sleep, with barely a thought to spare about what the new year would bring, but if she had been pressed to name a hope—it would be for relief. In one form or another.

On June 24th, 2008, Siobhan Thompson thought about America. It held the promise of a bright future, maybe a career in her chosen field of archaeology, or maybe any number of exciting new opportunities. It would be scary, uprooting her entire life to move halfway around the world, but oh, it would be worth it. All she had to do was jump.

On June 24th, 2008, Siobhan Thompson thought one word, the one word that united the entire planet. It held the promise of a bright future, the revival of a god and the downfall of a devil, the world unfolding with possibilities outside the confines of the labour camps that were all she’d known for the past year. It was scary, placing her trust—her life—in nothing more than a story, but oh, it would be worth it. All she had to do was believe.

Both timelines were true. One had been reversed when the paradox that sustained it had been broken, but Siobhan couldn't deny that they both had happened. Impossibly, the parallel sets of memories were carved equally deep into her mind and body, the life she knew existing side by side with the ghosts of trauma.

In the present, she looked at Other Sam—the Master—with abject horror.

“You can’t have,” she whispered, eyes wide.

“But I did,” Other Sam replied cheerfully, and god, it was a mindfuck, aligning the atrocities of the year that never was with the familiar face of a friend she’d known for years. The deaths, the labour camps, the slavery, the shipyards, the radiation pits; all to feed a war that would reach across the stars, and all masterminded by the man who now stood in front of her as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“And now you’re here,” Siobhan hissed. “From fucking… god-emperor of the Earth to just working at Dropout, huh?”

“Oh, all of that was the old me,” Other Sam said innocently. “I’ve changed. In more ways than one,” he added, with that little peering-at-his-hands gesture that Siobhan recognised from the Deja Vu recording. 

She scoffed. “And I’m supposed to just trust that?”

“You did a minute ago,” Other Sam replied with a faint smile.

Her heart sank. She had. She undeniably had. She’d let him fuck with her brain without even questioning it, because when he asked, she’d trusted him implicitly, even when mere moments before she was questioning him with all the suspicion she could muster.

Which meant, worst of all, that that feeling of trust hadn’t come from her.

“How did you—?”

“The Archangel network,” Other Sam said, not even bothering to hide his smugness. “Remember that?”

Of course she did. It was the best carrier, back in the day, before it went offline—shortly after Harold Saxon was removed as Prime Minister, as a matter of fact. She’d used it. Everyone had used it.

“Good, wasn’t it?” he continued. “A low-level psychic field, moving your thoughts to exactly where I wanted them. And even though the satellites were taken down, that was still nearly eighteen months of conditioning.”

“Fuck you,” Siobhan breathed.

Other Sam grinned. “Can’t do it across the whole planet anymore, but one-on-one, well, let’s just say I have a rather… magnetic personality. So if I give you that same stimulus…”

He began drumming his fingers again, and this time, Siobhan could see it for what it truly was. Not a fidget, but a signal, written deep into her subconscious seventeen years ago—abandoned, forgotten, but never truly gone. And she had echoed it so readily, she realised, had been sucked into the pattern without even noticing. Tap tap tap tap, tap tap tap tap, tap tap tap tap.

Trust me, it said somewhere deep in her brainstem, soft and insidious and unable to be ignored. Believe in me. And—

“Stop it!” she snapped, clenching her fists to still her traitorous fingers.

Other Sam raised his eyebrows, the picture of innocence. “Stop what?”

“You know exactly what,” she growled, holding onto her anger like a shield. “The drumming.”

He laughed, a bitter little huff of a sound. “If only you understood the irony of asking me that. But fine, if you insist.”

As she felt that creeping influence leave her, Siobhan let her hands relax, but not her mind. “Don't you ever try that on me again.”

Other Sam just pulled a mournful face. “But it's so much fun!” he protested.

As Siobhan glared daggers at him, he raised his hands, palms facing outwards in surrender. “Don't worry, don't worry,” he said. “I've got places to be. In fact, you've actually given me a very good idea.”

“No, no—”

“I'm leaving you alone, Siobhan. Isn't that what you wanted?”

“No, fuck—”

It was too late. Other Sam was already walking down the corridor purposefully, ignoring her completely. With a feeling of dread building in the pit of her stomach, she pulled out her phone and began to write a text. 

---

Sam burst into the editing suite, Siobhan close behind, to see his doppelganger sitting at one of the computers with a look of quiet focus. 

He looked up when he heard the door, and seeing who had just entered, sneered. “Oh. It's the cavalry.”

“What are you doing?” Sam demanded.

His double merely gave him a cool look. “Tell you later.”

“Hell no, dog,” came a new voice from the doorway, and Sam's double blinked to see Lou, still breathing heavily from what must have been a jog from the other end of the studio. 

“Tch. You, too?”

“Course,” Lou replied, looking at Siobhan with fierce pride. 

Sam, now fully inside the room, stepped out of the doorway to let Lou enter, which he did with a glint in his eye. 

The Master merely watched, one eyebrow raised coolly as the other man walked close, staring him down the entire time. And when a fist rocketed into his shoulder, hard and accurate, the carefully-cultivated air of perfect nonconcern shattered as he winced in pain.

“That's for Escape the Greenroom, you sick son of a bitch,” Lou said, shaking out his hand. 

Other Sam frowned, rolling his shoulders back with an audible crunch. “Fine,” he shrugged, the lines of pain in his face giving the lie to his nonchalant words. “Fine. Get it out, if you have to.”

Lou smiled dangerously. “Good,” he said, and wound up once again. 

The second punch hit Other Sam squarely in the jaw, and was even harder than the first. 

“And that's for everything you did to the world. And more importantly, everything you did to my friend.” He turned back to Siobhan. “Good?”

“Good,” she confirmed. Her smile faded as she switched her gaze to Other Sam. “Get fucked.” 

“Hell yeah,” Lou said with satisfaction, and turned to go. “Yeah, you can schedule me with him for shit now,” he added as he passed by Sam, who nodded.

With a click, the door closed behind him, leaving Sam and his doppelganger, still rubbing life back into his jaw, alone in the editing suite.

“I can’t say you didn’t deserve that,” Sam remarked.

His double merely sniffed, turning his attention back to the monitor.

“So. Now it’s just us, like you wanted, what is it that you’ve really been doing in here?”

“Getting you more subscribers,” his doppelganger replied matter-of-factly. “Isn’t that something you want?”

“Well—”

“Sam,” came the cool response. “Come on. I know how much you stress about those budget meetings, because you say it’s part of my penance to pretend to be you in some of them.” His mouth twisted, and he added, “I’ve been so good about it, too. Haven’t murdered even one of your board, and it’s been incredibly tempting. But you need the revenue, you need the profits, you need the subscribers.”

Unfortunately, Sam couldn’t deny it.

“I’m doing you a favour,” his double said softly, seeing the light of resistance fade from his eyes. “I’m not hurting anyone, it’s just a low-level psychic signal that nobody will notice. Subconsciously prompting social media viewers to actually subscribe, if they like what they see. And share it with their friends, and so on. It’s all for the benefit of Dropout, I promise.”

“You know I’ve gotta suspect you’ve got an ulterior motive, right?” Sam asked.

“I know,” his doppelganger replied. “But even if you don’t trust me, and you think I’m up to something—well, whatever that is, it’s a problem for later, right?”

Sam grimaced. “Yeah, please don't ask me to trust you. Siobhan told me what you did.”

His doppelganger just shrugged. “That was then.”

“She also told me what you did about ten minutes ago.”

“Like I said,” his double countered. “That was then. But I’m grounded, remember? I have to use my talents, brilliant as they are, for good. Or whatever you call good, anyway. The good of the company, maybe, and it’s definitely that.”

“Look. I’m only agreeing because I’ve got the Doctor on speed dial,” Sam said slowly, after a few moments’ thinking time, and he watched as a grin spread like oil across his double’s face. “Don't make me regret this.”

“Cross my hearts,” the Master replied.

---

missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x escape the death beam: x brian and other sam: x

by @bloopdydooooo drawing collection: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): x part four (you think you know someone): x part five (point and counterpoint): x part six (a selection of correspondence): x part seven (all good things should have a bit of malice in them): x part eight (archangel 2.0): you are here!

[number-one-shadisper-shipper]

Turns out all I needed to get this fic finished was a road trip!

As Amy comes back from her trip of giving her love to the world, Sonic has to figure out a different kind of love: romantic love. Yeah, the sappy, gushy kind. He knows he cares about Amy, but does he love her? And if he does, is it the same as the way she loves him? And does that even matter?

Sonic always went out running whenever he had to think seriously about something. The wind blew through him, clearing his mind, and the steady beat of his sneakers on the ground beneath him helped him focus. And he certainly needed that focus now.

Amy was coming back from her trip today.

Sonic put on a burst of speed and once again checked the text she'd sent yesterday on his wrist communicator. I'm finally coming home tomorrow! My trip has been so good 😊 😊 😊 I have so much to tell you! Hope to see ya soon! followed by a bunch of heart and smiley face emojis.

Normally Sonic would've immediately shot back a Can't wait to see you! or maybe a smiley and a thumbs up. But the realization that Amy was finally coming back-- and right away-- had caused him to freeze up in panic.

Not that he wasn't excited to have Amy back. He was super excited. He'd missed her a lot while she was gone, especially with Tails off on his own adventures as well and Knuckles back on Angel Island for the time being. Amy had been gone on her trip for a while now. Sharing her love with the world.

He had gotten a few chances to see her, their paths crossing as they both traveled their own paths across the globe. Like in Chu-nan, where they met up to watch the New Year's fireworks together. A fun, perfect night. But besides those brief encounters, Amy was out doing her own thing.

And Sonic missed her.

But now she was coming back! Which meant that really important thinking-- which he'd promised himself he'd do over the many weeks that Amy was gone (and hadn't done)-- needed to be done NOW. He couldn't push it back any more.

He had to figure out what his relationship with Amy was going to be like moving forward.

It was only a decision that would affect literally the rest of his life. He could definitely get it all figured out on just one run. Heh.

Continue on AO3