#tidal tail

[time-can-fly]

Time Can Fly - Chapter 1

Summary: Angel Island crashes into the ocean between Mystic Ruins and Station Square, and Tidal finds out about his powers. Story below the cut! I would really appreciate people's thoughts this is the first time I've gone through actually writing my stories with multiple chapters already drafted in chronological order. I'm actually excited for this. Unfortunately, I have to post it to ao3 bc apparently tumblr HATES text so PLEASE head on over there. My last story got 0 traction and that's okay it was just for sillies. But I've really worked on this. Click the Green title!

Time Can Fly (2891 words) by CrazyEchidnaLady Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types, Sonic the Hedgehog (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Amy Rose/Sonic the Hedgehog, Knuckles the Echidna/Rouge the Bat, Cream the Rabbit/Miles "Tails" Prower Characters: Sonic the Hedgehog, Amy Rose (Sonic the Hedgehog), Miles "Tails" Prower, Rouge the Bat, Knuckles the Echidna Additional Tags: Knuckles the Echidna and Miles "Tails" Prower and Sonic the Hedgehog are Siblings, Next-Gen, fankid, Found Family, Alternate Universe Summary: A next generation Sonic AU where the main character who's the son of Sonic and Amy, finds his place in the new team hero.

[the-crazy-echidna-lady]

Another fankid from @firecurls-27 This one's a bit complicated, because this is how he's going to appear in time can fly for a long while. He's 6 years old in the au. However, here's the design she made him

[diary-of-dr-eggman]

AI Prompt: Write an entry in Dr. Eggman’s diary about Tidal Tempest Zone.

Dear Diary,

Today, I had an interesting encounter at Tidal Tempest Zone. I was on a routine inspection of my badniks when I stumbled upon Sonic and his friends attempting to stop one of my latest creations.

As you know, Sonic is always full of quips and jokes, and today was no exception. He made a remark about how I must be a fish out of water in the underwater level. I didn't find it very amusing, but I'll give him points for effort.

Then Tails chimed in, commenting on the state of my machinery. Of course, I quickly dismissed his concerns, as my technology is always top-notch. But before I knew it, Knuckles was also there, making snarky comments about my badniks.

I don't know what it is with those three, always trying to one-up each other with their jokes. But today, I decided to give them a taste of their own medicine. I used my Egg Mobile to send them flying through the water, and they ended up getting stuck in a coral reef.

As they struggled to get free, I chuckled to myself, proud of my quick thinking. Maybe next time they'll think twice before making jokes at my expense.

Until next time,

Dr. Eggman

[aisphotostuff]

Black-tailed godwit @ Brancaster Staithe Norfolk by Adam Swaine Via Flickr: A tall, elegant wader, the black-tailed godwit breeds in wet grasslands, and winters on coastal estuaries and marshes, and at inland shallow waters. A sociable bird, it forms large flocks when feeding, probing the mud with its bill for invertebrate-prey. Black-tailed godwits form monogamous pairs that last for years. Every spring, faithful couples will arrive at their breeding grounds within three days of each other, mate and raise their chicks together.

[capecodadventurepictures]

Long-tailed Ducks at the Cape Cod Canal 12/16/24

[zynhttyd]

TOOTHLESS KNOWS BEST

pairings « hiccup haddock x gn! reader »

✎ When you help nurse Toothless back to health after an unexpected illness, the Night Fury grows protective of you. Hiccup is surprised by the dragon’s sudden attachment—and even more surprised when Toothless starts shadowing your every move and nudging you toward his rider.

【warnings; none, second hand embarrassment if you care enough.】

They say dragons were once fearsome beasts, horrifying beings of terror who reveled in the suffering of vikings. With their hooked fangs, which set them apart from the common order of nature, breaking the harmony of the world. They would sink their jagged teeth into the skin and gnaw upon the bones of unsuspecting men, dragging their broken bodies to nests forged in the heart of molten rocks built in the high sky. 

These creatures, capable of soaring across the heavens with wings that defied reason—vast and powerful—could span the heavens, forcefully ruled the skies with an iron grip, a terror unmatched by any other force. Berk, the beast of the archipelago, stood as a testament to the fragility of peace amidst a history of unyielding strife. A land carved by scars, scarred by the ceaseless struggle between its people and the creatures they dubbed “monsters.” told this story that had echoed for seven long generations, a tale of ceaseless strife and bitter hatred.

But it took seven generations. Seven long generations of struggle, sacrifice, and transformation for Berk to heal. The land had changed for the better—No longer did the people cower beneath the shadow of these mighty creatures. 

A misunderstood child who knew no war was the reason to hit them with the realization that dragons weren’t vicious beasts whose sole purpose in life was to spread fear, but a gentle creature who were curious just as the people. They had learned, through years of conflict and understanding, to bend the essence of their deepest fears into something stronger—a bond forged in the crucible of mutual respect. Where there was once hatred, there now stood the beginnings of trust. 

The villagers, who once spent sleepless nights bolting their doors and sharpening their weapons in anticipation of the next raid, now spent their days working alongside the very creatures that had once been their enemies, now companions in the sky, and partners in the pursuit of new horizons. 

While the majority of the villagers had forged unbreakable bonds with their dragons, they wore their titles with pride—Riders, they were called, as though it were a crown, you stood apart. You were not one of them, you never will. You were not one who yearned the heights or the thrill of the wind in your hair as you perched atop a Nadder’s sharp-spined back or to cut through the depths of the sea with a sleek Tidal-class dragon beneath your orders. Your feet remained firmly planted on the ground—and truth be told, you didn’t mind.

It wasn’t just your fear of heights, though that certainly played a part. The idea of being thousands of feet in the air with only leathery wings and blind faith keeping you aloft made your stomach churn. While others saw dragons as mounts, instruments of power and glory to be ridden into the heavens. You became attuned to their every movement, their subtle shifts and nuanced gestures. 

Over time, you learned how to read them — the way their wings twitched when they were agitated or how they softly curled their tails when they felt safe. You understood that a dragon’s body spoke volumes, even when they couldn’t. Noticing the shift in their posture, how their eyes softened when they trusted you, or how their breath would quicken if something was amiss.

You preferred to nurse them, to soothe their wounds with a gentle touch, offering comfort where others might only offer a quick, dismissive pat. Others would offer praise with the calloused palms of their hands, clapping a dragon’s back after a triumphant hunt, their actions rough like the bark of an old tree—kind in their own way but lacking the softness that true care requires.

That was the way you had always handled things in old Berk. Thankfully, no dragon has yet to be injured on the new island.

Then Toothless fell ill.

"[Name]! Oh, thank Thor’s maidens you're here," Hiccup called out to you, his voice strained, a clear edge of panic curling the words. His eyes flicked back and forth, darting between you and the frantic Night Fury pacing erratically across the room. Toothless' wings twitched uncontrollably, the delicate membranes brushing against shelves, knocking over bottles made of stone and glass, the contents spilling in chaotic arcs across the floor. Toothless’s eyes were wide, pupils tiny pinpricks of frantic energy. His mouth snapped open and shut, his sharp teeth glinting as if trying to convey something that couldn’t be expressed. 

You’d seen Toothless angry, playful, even fearful before, but this was something else entirely. This was distress. What could have made such a strong dragon like the Night Fury become so distressed? What could he convey with his actions and movement that left no process of communicating plainly? 

You’re bound to make a promise to figure out why Toothless was like this and help him if you could.

You turned, wiping your hands against the fabric of your cotton-sewn tunic, the remnants of purple crushed herbs leaving faint streaks on the cloth. The scent of the mixture still lingered on your fingertips, bitter and sharp, along with the sweet scent of wet flowers that hung in the unfinished hooked wooden roof. 

As you looked up, your gaze met Hiccup’s. He was standing in the doorway, looking like a newborn yak with an amputee—his breathing labored as though he had just run a great distance of a race. Hiccup’s hair appeared matted and his eyes looked restless as they were doubtful. His chest was rising and sinking almost melodically. His face was pale, and his eyes were just as wide as his dragon’s, filled with that mix of concern and urgency you’d seen only in moments of true danger.

"Toothless?" You called softly, taking a careful step forward while trying to be calm, taking hold despite the growing worry in the pit of your stomach after seeing the dragon’s current state. He was scared. Toothless, although startled by your almost fretful tone, did not pay attention to you and continued with his line of thought oblivious to your attempt to soothe him down the situation. His ears flattened back at the sound of your voice, but his movements didn’t slow. In fact, he seemed more erratic now, each step heavier than the last, each twitch more desperate than what came before.

“What happe–”

His words tumbled out in a rushed whisper. "I-I don't know what's happening. One minute, he was fine, and the next... this." Hiccup gestured helplessly toward Toothless, who continued to pace, his wings stiffening and shaking. Toothless growled lowly, his body tense and rigid as he backed into a corner, his breathing uneven and labored. Every attempt to approach him resulted in a defensive response—his ears folded back, tail lashing sharply, and a clear warning in his posture that he felt threatened despite the familiar presence of his two trusted people.

Hiccup took a quick step toward you, avoiding Toothless in case it was to ensure that he remained calm, dragging a hand through his unkempt hair, his fingers gripping at the strands as he exhaled sharply,  

“Something is wrong. He’s been like this for nearly an hour now,” the young Viking explained, his tone quieter but no less urgent than before. “It started after he accidentally swallowed a yellow eel. He fell ill almost immediately—developed a high fever, I think, then he became noticeably weak, and…” Hiccup’s body was taut, every muscle in him was bracing for the worst. His eyes darted to Toothless, but his dragon refused to meet his gaze, his pupils slit, with his body sinking lower to the ground, curling into himself, trying to make himself smaller in the face of whatever pain was coursing through him. 

Toothless’s breathing was shallow, his sides heaving slightly as he fought to stay still, to hide the tremors that racked his frame. Hiccup took a cautious step forward, but Toothless flinched at the movement, lowering his head as if to shield himself. “He refuses to let anyone near him. Not even me,” Hiccup finished, the last words a quiet confession that only deepened the worry on his face. 

“Won’t even let me close,” Hiccup whispered, his hand hovering just over Toothless’ back but never touching.

“Please, [Name], help him.” 

His voice was flat, but his expression said more than words could. He didn’t fidget, didn’t avert his gaze. You nodded once, not out of reassurance but acknowledgment, and moved past him. His red tunic smelled faintly of iron and damp leather, his sleeve brushing yours like paper worn thin.

Toothless was lying near the hearth, his body tense. His wings were pulled in close. His claws scraped lightly against the floor, his movements uneven and sluggish. His head remained low, eyes dull, unfocused. There was no protest, no attempt to move away.

You crouched beside him and opened your satchel. The supplies were still warm from being near the fire—clean cloths, crushed herbs, a sealed vial. Your fingers moved without hesitation, but your eyes scanned every detail of Toothless’s condition. His breathing was irregular. His tail had a slight swish, and the skin around his jaw looked strained. Whatever had happened to him, it was already spreading.

“I’ll do what I can,” you said.

You didn’t wait for thanks. There was no time.

The fire had burned low, its glow reduced to a warm shimmer beneath the stones, casting gentle light over the room’s stillness. You knelt beside Toothless, your hands steady as they hovered near his flank, gauging the subtle rise and fall of his breathing. The fever that had held him in its grip for so long had finally broken during the night, and now, for the first time in what felt like hours stretched into days, there was calm in the air.

He started to blink slowly. His head turned slightly toward you, his nostrils flaring with a soft, measured breath. His tail, which had remained curled protectively around his body during the worst of his illness, loosened and stretched faintly across the wooden floor. His throat rumbled with a sound so quiet you almost missed it—a low, cautious greeting, like a voice forgotten, then remembered.

You inhaled deeply, feeling the tension ease from your shoulders all at once

“He’s responding,” you said quietly, almost to yourself.

Across the room, Hiccup sat in a slump against the wall, his body slack from the exhaustion of too many sleepless hours. The blanket draped haphazardly over his legs had slipped to one side, revealing a tunic stained with soot and worry. His head, tilted at an uncomfortable angle, rested against the beam behind him. Even in sleep, his brows twitched with unease, his jaw faintly clenched—seeming as if he didn’t quite trust peace to last.

Toothless raised his weight, testing the strength in his limbs. He paused once, winced slightly, then adjusted his stance. The tremors that had racked his body earlier were gone, replaced by deliberate, if cautious, movement. His wings stretched, not in full flight, but enough to show that he could. It wasn’t strength, not yet—but it was progress. More than you had dared hope for yesterday.

Then, with surprising care, he began to walk. Each step was certainly slow, the soft pads of his feet brushing against the floor with faint thumps. He crossed the room without hesitation, his eyes never leaving the boy in the corner. When he reached him, Toothless lowered his head, pressing his snout gently against Hiccup’s arm. A quiet, purposeful sound left his throat—not loud, not demanding, but enough.

Hiccup stirred. His eyes opened blearily, and for a second, he looked confused, as if his mind hadn’t yet caught up to what was happening. Then his gaze focused on the dragon in front of him, and everything else fell away.

“You’re awake,” he said, voice hoarse and raw. He leaned forward, one hand lifting to rest on Toothless’s head, the contact hesitant at first, then grounding.

Toothless nudged him again, a bit firmer, with a breath that seemed almost like a sigh.

You let them have their moment.

It started the moment you stepped outside.

You didn’t say anything at first—you assumed Toothless was just being clingy, the way most dragons acted after being healed. A little spoiled, maybe. Like a puppy demanding belly rubs and scratches behind the ears. You’d seen it plenty of times before.

But then he didn’t just nudge at your hand for attention.

He got closer. Much closer.

Without a sound, Toothless lowered himself until his head was resting across your lap, the full weight of his trust pressing gently into you. His tail, smooth and sinuous, coiled loosely around your leathered boots—not in a possessive way, but as if anchoring himself to you. Like he didn’t want to drift too far, even at rest.

Your hand didn’t stop moving. You continued to pat his head, your palm caressing from the ridge of his nose to the top of his forehead in slow, steady passes. The texture of his scales came to be familiar with your touch now—cool and sleek like river stones warmed just slightly by the sun. You could feel the subtle rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch, each exhale a quiet puff of warmth against your clothes.

Hiccup had been watching from just behind, peeking curiously over your shoulder, his brow furrowed as he eyed his dragon with a mix of confusion and suspicion. He knew Toothless better than anyone—of that, there was no doubt. They were best friends, bonded for life, closer than brothers. He could read the Night Fury like a book, from the flick of his ear fins to the way his pupils shifted in size. But right now? Hiccup didn’t have a clue what was going through his dragon’s mind.

Toothless was being clingy—uncharacteristically so. That kind of affection, that gentle insistence to be close, was usually reserved for Hiccup alone. Or, on rare occasions, when Toothless decided he wanted someone’s food and pulled out that ridiculous, wide-eyed look he’d perfected over the years.

He didn’t offer his head to rest across laps like some tame house cat. And he especially didn’t wrap his tail around someone unless he absolutely meant it.

Hiccup hovered just behind your shoulder, shifting his weight with an almost imperceptible unease. His posture suggested casual interest, but there was a tension in the way his hands fidgeted near the leather harness, as if he needed something—anything—to justify standing that close. He leaned slightly over, his voice low and deliberately nonchalant.

“He’s, uh… made himself very comfortable,” he remarked, casually, though his tone betrayed a hint of something else, pretending a study of the saddle straps that he himself had fastened not even an hour earlier—though his eyes never once flicked to the gear. 

You didn’t answer right away. Your hand remained where it had been for the past few minutes, gliding in slow, absent circles across the midnight scales stretched over Toothless’s brow.

“He was restless earlier,” you murmured, eyes still on the sleek silhouette resting across your legs. “I think exhaustion finally caught up with him.”

Hiccup exhaled through his nose—a quiet, incredulous sound, the kind he often made when something didn’t quite add up. “Tired, huh?” he echoed, one eyebrow arched as he crossed his arms. “Right. Because Toothless is known for voluntarily laying down and offering his head like some… overgrown feline.”

“He’s been... different since he got better,” he said eventually. “Clingy, I guess. But only with you.” 

As if prompted by the remark, Toothless flicked one ear back lazily and released a deep, sonorous sigh—a low rumble that vibrated warmly against your legs. Then he adjusted his weight just slightly, curling tighter around your boots in a gesture so deliberate it might have been smug.

“You know,” Hiccup continued, now frowning slightly, “he only gets like this when I’m injured… or if there’s leftover fish and he’s trying to butter me up.”

You said nothing—only smiled faintly, the pads of your fingers tracing along the ridges where scale met bone. The rumble of the dragon’s throat deepened—a smug, vibrating hum that practically radiated satisfaction.

There was a pause.

And then, perhaps against his better judgment, Hiccup added under his breath, “Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d say he was flirting.”

That definitely caught your attention. You turned your head slowly, casting a glance over your shoulder with one brow arched so high it might’ve escaped orbit. Every line of your expression—your knitted brow, the sharp squint of your eyes, the downward curve of your mouth—broadcasts a very clear and unfiltered what the actual hell without needing to say a word.

Hiccup’s eyes widened, his brain seemed to catch up with his mouth a second too late.

“With you! I mean—not you—like, not literally!” Hiccup stammered, his words tripping over each other in a spectacular, crashing spiral of embarrassment, not knowing how to stop, he just continued. “Thors! Dragons don’t flirt. That’s not—I mean, I don’t think that’s how it works. I just meant—”  He stopped himself again, grimacing and raking a hand through his already-messy hair, as though hoping sheer friction could erase the mortifying sentence from reality. “I meant dragons don’t flirt! At least—I don’t think they do. Not in any, you know, intentional way. Not that you’re—ugh, never mind. Just forget I said anything.” He was done for. Absolutely cooked. And you? You just sat there, rigid as a stone sculpture, your entire expression locked in a state of horrified disbelief—lips drawn in a taut line, eyes slightly widened, your entire face twisted into that exact look you reserve for the unfortunate occasions whenever Gobber absentmindedly scratches his ass mid-conversation in front of you.

“Oh, by Odin’s beard. I sounded insane just now, didn’t I?” yes, yes you did. You wanted to say.

There was a loud snort.

Toothless lifted his head just enough to crack one luminous green eye open, as if to gloat. If a dragon could sport a smug grin, almost as if he were fully aware of the awkward tension hanging in the air and relishing every moment of it. Toothless was wearing it now—his posture relaxed, almost lazily victorious, as if he knew something the rest of you didn’t. It was a quiet, undeniable triumph. Then, with the most deliberate motion imaginable, the dragon raised his head just enough to nudge your arm... right into Hiccup’s thigh.

Your hand collided with him before you could stop it—fingers landing just above his knee. His leg jerked slightly. You froze.

He froze.

Even Toothless stopped moving, watching you both with an intensity that would’ve been terrifying if it weren’t so smug.

“I—he—what is wrong with you?” Hiccup half-whispered to his dragon, voice strained.

Toothless gave a tiny, airy chirp and nosed your hand again, this time with more force, like a toddler shoving two dolls together hoping they’d kiss.

“Well, if he is flirting,” you said, eyes glinting with amusement, “I’d say he’s got excellent taste.”

Hiccup let out a strangled noise, somewhere between a scoff and a nervous laugh, quickly raising his hand to shield his reddening face. “Please,” he muttered, voice nearly cracking in desperation, “I’m begging you. Don’t encourage him.”

A soft chuckle rumbled in your chest, the sound barely escaping as you continued to run your fingers along the smooth curve of Toothless’s jaw.

“Relax, Chief,” you teased lightly, your tone as calm as ever, well, nervous also, “I think your dragon just likes being pampered.”

“You know what,” he muttered, his hands already pulling toward the saddle straps, “I think his saddles make him itchy. I should change it.”

It continued after

New Berk lay quiet in the late afternoon, blanketed in the mellow hush that followed a long day’s labor. The skies were stained in hues of peach and gold, the sun dipping low behind the ridge, its last light brushing the rooftops with amber fire. Down by the dragon stables, you were crouched beside a weather-worn harness, your fingers working the frayed leather with practiced precision. The air smelled faintly of salt and dragon musk.

Toothless sat only a few feet away, his wings partially tucked, tail curled lazily around his paws—but his eyes never left you. That deep, verdant gaze tracked your every movement with a focus that was… unusually intent. For a moment, you swore he was studying you, like you were the dragon and he the expert.

The silence was broken by the familiar rustle of boots—well, boot, and the clink of a prosthetic leg against gravel. “Got the saddle gear you wanted—oh, hey, looks like someone started without me,” Hiccup called out

You offered a small smile. “Just got started. Figured I’d prep the straps while I waited.”

You glanced up as he jogged toward you, the dying light of the sun catching the mess of buckles and saddle slung over his shoulder. His tunic, stained with smudges of charcoal, bore the marks of the day’s labor. A grease-streaked cloth hung loosely from one shoulder, and smears of oil lined the edge of his jaw like war paint, a testament to the effort he’d put in.

“Gobber had the replacement buckles hidden under a crate labeled ‘Definitely Not Dragon Parts.’ I didn’t ask,” he added, crouching beside you with a huff of exertion.

Toothless twitched an ear.

Hiccup began to kneel down beside you—but before he could get comfortable, Toothless leaned in. It wasn’t aggressive. Just a firm, intended nudge with his snout to Hiccup’s side.

Which, unfortunately, was all it took.

With a muffled yelp and a sudden lurch of limbs, Hiccup lost his balance. In one swift, ungraceful motion, he toppled sideways—right into you. The unexpected impact sent you crashing backward, your back hitting the earth with a startled gasp. The air whooshed from your lungs as you were flattened to the ground, Hiccup landing awkwardly above you, his hands splayed in the dirt beside your shoulders as if trying to catch himself, but failing miserably.

You both froze.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Just the sound of the wind and Toothless’s faint chuckle broke the stunned silence. You lay there, staring up at him. Hiccup, his face flushed and eyes wide with embarrassment, shifted slightly, trying to regain his balance, but his awkward position only seemed to deepen the comedic nature of the situation.

“I—I swear that wasn’t me—he bumped me, I swear!” Hiccup stammered, his voice cracking under the strain of sheer mortification. His entire face flushed a vibrant crimson as if the embarrassment alone might send his ears into flames.

Toothless, meanwhile, let out a low, throaty trill—undeniably smug—before flopping onto his side with a soft fwump. He stretched his wings in a manner that could only be described as exaggerated satisfaction, purring contentedly like a mischievous feline who had just knocked over a vase and couldn’t be prouder of the chaos he’d wrought.

You laughed softly. “I think he’s trying to herd you.”

“Toothless,” Hiccup groaned, glancing at his dragon. “Stop it, I’m not a sheep!” He lifted himself just enough to look at Toothless, who was now shamelessly lounging in the grass, with an utterly smug look on his face.

Toothless chirped again—this time with what could only be interpreted as sure you’re not—and used the tip of his tail to slide a small stitched pouch directly between the two of you. The sewing kit skidded to a perfect stop at your knees, like he’d been practicing the maneuver all day.

“Yeah, he’s a real genius,” Hiccup grumbled as he shifted, trying to right himself. But the moment his hand pushed into the grass to grab the harness—wham. Toothless’s tail snapped out in a swift arc, tapping the small of Hiccup’s back.

And, just like that, Hiccup tumbled again. This time, he didn’t just lose his balance—he fully sprawled on top of you. His weight came crashing down with a perfect lack of coordination, and just like that, the last shred of dignity between you both evaporated in a heap of tangled limbs and groans.

Now it wasn’t just awkward—it was catastrophic. His face was far too close, hovering a few humiliating inches from yours. Everything else seemed to vanish. Your noses almost touched, and the proximity sent a rush of warmth through your chest that you didn’t quite know how to process. His hair, soft and surprisingly warm, brushed your cheek as he scrambled to push himself up, but instead of finding balance, he only succeeded in awkwardly elbowing you in the ribs.

The jolt of the impact made you wince, but the real sting came from the overwhelming closeness, the sheer absurdity of the situation, and the fact that neither of you could move without causing yet another small disaster. It was like the universe had conspired to take every shred of composure you both had left and toss it out the window.

Silence.

Well, except for the unmistakable sound of Toothless making a pleased little gurgle behind you, followed by the soft sound of him flopping dramatically onto his side like he’d just orchestrated the greatest comedic performance Berk had ever seen.

“I—I didn’t mean to—I mean he—Toothless—I swear he—” Hiccup stammered, his voice tripping over itself like a cart on cobblestones. He scrambled to push himself up, flinching every time his elbow threatened to jab your side again. His face was flushed a mortified crimson, a shade that clashed violently with the soot smudges across his cheek.

Hiccup looked like he wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole. His wide eyes flicked to the ground, then back to you. You lay there, stunned, still half-flattened against the grass, your brain desperately trying to reboot from the shock of having Berk’s most awkward chief sprawled on top of you like a felled pine.

“I believe you,” you finally breathed, your voice catching somewhere between a laugh and a wheeze.

Hiccup’s face turned even redder, if that was even possible. “I—I’ll just… get up now. Slowly.”

“I swear,” Hiccup muttered, finally offering you a hand as he tried to extricate himself with the last scraps of his morality, “I’m usually much better at not falling on people.”

[on-the-clear-blue]

Jason felt like he was going insane, there was a flicker just outside of his vision and it was following him...

And it was getting closer and closer each time he noticed it.

A flash of white...a black so dark it sucked in shadows...a chill that left him feeling like he would never be warm again.

He couldn't shake it no matter what he did, his coms went dark an hour ago, and all his tech died not long after, his grappling hook felt heavy in his hand as he ran around another corner, his chest pounding.

God, he needed to get away. He needed to get back to the bats... Batman could help... Bruce always helped...

---

Danny couldn't help but hold back a giggle as he saw Red Hood shoot off onto yet another roof top, his whispy tail flicking back and forth as he gave chase! He was having so much fun! Gotham was turning out to be such a fun city!

---

Jason's heart stopped as he saw toxic eyes blink out at him from the shadows, slitted pupils blinked wide into pure black orbs, matching the darkness.

He had faced aliens, new gods, crisis on a scale to erase reality itself but this? He had never felt more afraid.

Fear toxin couldn't even touch this...

---

Danny's eyes grew wide like a fiesty feline snorting catnip.

His prey! His pretty and very handsome prey! All the delicious energy pouring off him was intoxicating!

Unknown in his limited brain power, Danny started to match his play partners energy, letting fear roll off him like a tidal wave.

---

Time seemed to halt, all hope of losing what was hunting Jason seemed to evaporate.

Forst glazed over the rooftop before jagged unearthly blue ice sprang out of it, spiked and sharp stalagmites jutted out all along Jason, an utter cold that made him forget what warmth felt like.

His hands shook from both fear and from the cold, but they still tightened around his guns, but he couldn't pull the trigger, even as he saw a shimmering outline of something, a shape that was far less monstrous than he had assumed.

---

Danny couldn't help but giggle as he finally caught up with his playmate, floating up to the Reverants face, his small hand wacked right where Hood's nose would be if not for the helmet.

"Boop! Ur It!" He screeched with joy, and started to fly away, snickering as he did, he had yet to loose a game of tag with any of the bats!

[xoxorory]

Where’s the dog !

POV: Fem!Reader & Damian Wayne Pairing: Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader Genre: Fluff | Humor | Chaos | Domestic Softness Featuring: Titus Word Count: 1K .Taglist🏷️: @simpingmyassoff , @shootingstargirl2001 (if you want to be added,comment down below!) requested by: @simpingmyassoff sorry it took long!!! I was finishing classes A/N: English isn't my first lenguage,enjoy! ! ! A/N 2: It's kind of inspired in how @fromdove (💕💞💓💗💖💘💝) writes damian. . .,please GO CHECK HER BLOG ! ! ! !

“He hid again,didn’t he?” 

‘’Pffft– what? Of course not!”

©𝒙𝒐𝒙𝒐,𝑹𝒐𝒓𝒚🐚 —-do not copy, repost, plagiarize,translate or feed any of my work into ai. I work hard to give quality content.

POV: You

Dog-sitting Titus should be easy. I mean, come on. He’s a dog. A big dog, sure, but mostly a big, fluffy, lovable dog who just wants to nap, chew his squeaky toys, and occasionally judge me for my lack of treats.

I’d done this countless times before. Titus stayed with me while Damian was off doing who-knows-what, and I’d happily take care of the giant fluffball. Feed him, walk him, throw his favorite toy until he got tired, repeat.

Simple.

Today was supposed to be just another normal Titus-sitting day.

And yet here I was, standing in my living room with my hands on my hips, heart thumping, and pillows thrown all over the floor like a tornado had hit my apartment.

Because Titus had vanished.

Literally.

It started an hour ago. I was cleaning up after one of Titus’s enthusiastic toy-chasing sessions, when I glanced around and noticed he wasn’t at his usual spot by the couch. No gentle snoring. No wagging tail brushing against the carpet.

Nothing.

That’s when my phone buzzed.

Lil’ Bratman 🦇:  I’m on my way to pick up Titus.

Oh great.

Great.

Because Titus was nowhere to be found.

“Okay,” I muttered, dropping onto my knees, scanning the floor for any signs of him. “Keep calm. He’s probably hiding. He loves hiding.”

Except that usually, when Titus hid, I could hear him. His nails tap-tap-tapping on the hardwood, or the faint squeak of his favorite red toy being tossed around. This time? Silence.

And the clock was ticking.

Damian’s text came again.

Lil’ Bratman 🦇: I’m five minutes away.

I was about to text back a frantic, “Hey baby! Um…I think I lost your dog,don’t kill me. xoxo” but I knew that would only make things worse. Damian’s eyebrow raise would be legendary.

No. I had to find Titus before Damian showed up.

So I launched into full search mode.

First, the couch cushions. I flipped and dug through every crevice, fishing out dust bunnies and a couple of crumbs, but no Titus.

Next, under the coffee table. No wagging tail. No big eyes staring at me.

“Come on, Titus,” I whispered, voice catching. “Please don’t make me look bad in front of Damian.”

I moved to the kitchen, thinking maybe he was trying to steal some snacks, but no. Empty floors.

The balcony door was closed, so no chance he escaped outside — plus, I was pretty sure he’d never survive the drop without some serious bat-gadgets.

Then I heard it. The tiniest squeak.

My heart jumped.

Titus’s toy.

I followed the sound, creeping around my bookshelf — and suddenly, there he was.

Curled up in the tiniest corner behind the books, happily gnawing on his red squeaky toy like it was the best thing in the world.

Oh my god.

Relief slammed through me in a tidal wave.

“Titus! You little stinker!” I scooped him up before he could run off again. His tail thumped against my arm as if to say, “I was just having some alone time, chill.”

I didn’t care.

I hugged him tight.

And then, because I was officially losing my mind, I looked around at the disaster zone my apartment had become.

Pillows from the couch tossed everywhere.

Blankets flung like flags of defeat.

My coffee table now sporting a suspiciously large scratch.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” I told myself. “Damian’s coming. You can do this.”

Almost like the universe heard me, the doorbell rang.

My heart jumped again.

“Okay, Titus,” I whispered, setting him down. “Time for Operation: Don’t Look Like You Lost Him.”

I straightened my hoodie, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Damian stood there, expression unreadable, as usual.

His dark eyes flicked from me to Titus—who was now sitting politely by my feet, tail wagging.

“Welcome back,roohi! ,” I said, voice a little too cheerful.

Damian’s lips twitched—maybe the closest thing he had to a smile.

“You seem… relieved.”

I flushed. “Really? You’re making up things again”

He took the leash from my hand and clipped it to Titus’s collar.

Titus immediately jumped into Damian’s side, tail wagging furiously.

Damian glanced back at me, then said quietly, “I suppose I won’t ask where he was.”

I opened my mouth to protest.

But the way his eyes softened told me he already knew exactly what had happened.

And maybe, just maybe, he was choosing not to make me explain.

POV: Damian Wayne

I texted her fifteen minutes ago.

I’m on my way to pick up Titus.

Simple enough.

When I arrived at her place, I expected to see Titus sprawled on the floor, maybe half-asleep, or at worst, begging for a walk.

Instead, the door swung open, and there stood her—looking disheveled, slightly flustered, and clutching Titus like he was a fragile treasure.

My eyes scanned the room.

Pillows were strewn everywhere.

The coffee table bore a fresh scratch.

Blankets were tossed haphazardly.

The couch was upside down.

Clearly, some kind of Titus-related chaos had ensued.

I kept my expression calm, though inside I was amused.

“Titus,” I said softly, kneeling down to the dog’s level.

The giant mutt wagged his tail, tongue lolling happily.

Relief was written all over her face.

“You seem… relieved,” I said quietly, not really expecting a reply.

She flushed and gave a small laugh.

“Really?,” she said, “ You’re making up things again”

I clipped the leash to Titus’s collar.

The dog immediately pressed against my leg.

I glanced back at her.

“Where was he?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

I didn’t press.

Some things were better left unsaid.

[time-can-fly]

I keep dropping bits of lore in the stupidest ways possible.

[the-crazy-echidna-lady]

Tidal for 11 please!!!

Even though Cheese is Cream's chao, Tidal hangs out/stays a lot with her and Tails because of his parents' constant on the go-ness because of Eggman, so Cheese has kind of become his pet too.

[himasgod]

Where you have problems with the words starting with R

Riddle, Rook and Ruggie x Reader

How would Rook, Riddle and Ruggie react if they realized that you avoid calling them by their name at all costs, because you have difficulty pronouncing words beginning with R?

I find it funny that you ask me this, because I had a lot of trouble pronouncing the "doble rr" as a child (in spanish, my native language, it's a sound that doesn't exist in english, in words like "perro", etc.) I went to the speech therapist when I was 4 or 5 years old, since it is a fairly common problem not being able to pronounce the double r

At first, Riddle takes it personally.

Why are you calling him “You” all the time like he’s your classmate and not your boyfriend? He’s even heard you call Deuce by his first name!

He doesn’t want to scold you—he’s trying to be better about that—but it does make him quietly anxious.

“You can call me Riddle, you know,” he finally says one afternoon, trying to sound casual, but his fingers fidget with his pen.

You freeze. And mumble something like, “Yeah... you.”

That’s when Riddle’s brain, as sharp as it is rule-bound, finally connects the dots. You’ve never once said a word that starts with "R" around him. Not Riddle, not roses, not even ramen when Trey brought it up.

Guilt hits him like a tidal wave.

“...Do you have trouble with R sounds?” he asks gently.

When you admit it, sheepishly, Riddle just goes quiet for a moment—then he scoots closer, gently brushing your hand with his.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says, earnestly.

“There’s nothing wrong with the way you speak. I like hearing your voice, no matter how you say my name. But... if it makes you feel better, you can call me anything you'd like.”

After that, he gets oddly flustered when you call him cute pet names like sweetheat or my love, but he never corrects you again.

At first, he doesn’t notice. You call him “Bucchi,” “Hyena Boy,” “hey you,” and every nickname—he just thinks you’re being cute or cheeky.

But then he overhears you say “Deuce” and “Ace” perfectly in a conversation with them.

Cue record scratch.

He raises an eyebrow, tail flicking with curiosity. "... why don’t I get the honor of being called by name, huh?”

You try to dodge it, joking your way out, but he can see the embarrassment behind your grin. That’s when he softens.

“Wait... hang on. Is it ‘cause it’s hard for you to say?”

You finally nod. You tell him how R’s get caught in your mouth, how you hate how it sounds when you try to say them.

Ruggie blinks. Then grins.

“That’s it? Sheesh, you had me thinkin’ you were mad at me or somethin’!”

He immediately wraps an arm around your shoulder and ruffles your hair.

“Y’know, I kinda like it when you call me weird nicknames anyway. ‘Hyena Boy’? That’s hilarious.”

He never makes a big deal out of it, but if he ever hears someone tease you for your speech, they will know pain.

And if you ever do manage to say his name, even just once, he gets this little crooked smile and says, “That one’s goin’ in the memory bank forever.”

Rook notices immediately. This man is the embodiment of hyper observant.

He thinks it’s adorable, actually. You’ll say, “Hey, mon soleil,” or “Youuuuuu~!” while dramatically waving from across campus, and never once say his name.

He tries a little playful teasing.

“Ah, ma colombe, you say everyone’s name with such ease... but never mine. Am I cursed, perhaps~?”

You visibly stiffen, and that’s when he drops the teasing. His expression shifts into something warm, understanding, and completely sincere.

“Is it difficult for you to say words beginning with ‘R’?” he asks, ever so gently.

When you admit it, a little shyly, his reaction is pure sunshine.

“Ahh~ mon amour,” he says. “There is a certain elegance to overcoming challenges, isn't it? You needn’t say my name if it brings you discomfort. I shall treasure whatever words you gift me.”

From that day forward, he makes a habit of calling you beautifully poetic pet names, hoping to make you feel more confident using your own.

And when you one day manage to say his name—halting, unsure—his smile is brighter than the sun.

[syoddeye]

Seconds. Ghost x f!Reader.

Tidal disruption events occur when a star passes too close to a supermassive black hole, and is pulled apart by the black hole's tidal force. AT2018fyk is the name of a tidal disruption event in which a supermassive black hole devoured a star, then came back for seconds.

He doesn't believe in fate, but he believes people are creatures of habit.

And what luck, she is.

She slips into the pub quietly, her arrival swiftly overshadowed by the crowd. Rainwater trickles off her jacket, puddling on the wood beneath her as she keeps her hood drawn, hiding her face until she finds her usual corner. There, at the end of the bar where it bends into the wall, she sits, peeling off the outer layer to reveal the dark, muted clothing beneath. Barely a sliver of skin exposed. A mouse, just as skittish and meek as he remembers.

The glasses are new. Thin frames, like a librarian. His fingers twitch with the thought of plucking them off her face. The thing in his chest purrs.

He could move. Let her see him, watch the fear bloom on that soft face of hers in real-time. But no. He's not in a rush. He's had days to settle, to breathe. To cram himself back into the worn shell of Simon.

No more adrenaline coursing through his veins, no caffeine pills burning his insides. Just paracetamol and ibuprofen dulling the ache in his bones. But there's an ache deeper than that, which no pill or tablet can touch.

She isn't supposed to be here. Not again. He told her that when he pulled out and rolled her over.

If I see you again, it's for keeps.

The hunger pulls. 

Rears its ugly head at the sight of her and gnashes its teeth.

Inevitable, inescapable, it tears him apart in violent tides. His ribs press too tight around what wants her, threatening to snap open like a steel trap. It pulls his reason gossamer thin, then shreds it. Patience crumbling into dust.

This mercy he's giving her? Letting her have one round in peace? It's the most of what he'll be able to give her.

He thought he'd had his fill. Thought she'd be smart enough to heed his warning. He had ripped her apart, drank down the heat of her, and left nothing but the cooling remnants of a weepy girl who could barely get the words thank you out of her mouth.

He remembers how she burned, coming undone in his hands. Whined about too much and too big. And yet, she lived.

Clever thing, piecing herself together while he rinsed off, turning tail out of the dingy motel room. Hurtled right out of his reach. 

He never had the chance to track her down, shipping out the next day. Never the chance to change his mind.

He shrugged it off. He could live with it. He'd learned to live with a lot of things he wished were different.

But his hunger is a thing with memory. And as soon as he sees her, nursing a drink with her nose in a book—he knows he's not done.

Some things circle back whether they mean to or not.

[comatosebunny09]

@leighsartworks216

You, so unused to affection, the barest gesture of tenderness from Sylus makes you flinch.

You’ve spent years using your body to survive. To lure in your prey to be wiped out—businessmen who were the scourge of the underworld, cheery shop owners who were secretly serial killers, corrupt politicians, vengeful CEOs, and so on.

Most of them had one thing in common: they loved to be in control. Loved to make people cower beneath their feet. In flexing that control, they always wanted to choke you.

You’d often leave your missions with splotches of purple, green, and blue forming on your neck where their gnarled fingers had been. You’d derive more pleasure from strangling them to death with a garrote in the way they liked to suffocate you.

It’s been years since you gave up that life. You no longer have to kill to survive. No longer have to hide and change your name, your hair, your habits, or flee from city to city. Sylus provides the security you’ve sought for so long. The safety. The promise of waking up the following day unscathed.

You still have nights where you awaken in a cold sweat, gasping for air, rubbing your neck as if to ensure it’s still intact. That only your fingers reside over the scarred skin, and no one else’s.

You and Sylus are pretty close. He’s your employer—your protector, a pillar of strength. But how he looks at you spans far beyond that of a mere boss and his subordinate. The way he touches you like something to be revered. How his voice drops into something teasing and affectionate when it’s just the two of you in his office, car, mansion, club—wherever the moment allows.

Sometimes, your fingers will brush when you’re walking side by side. Your thighs will touch if you sit a little too close. He’ll raise a hand as if to caress your cheek, fingers twitching with a burning need to touch. But he’ll always retract it before he gives in to the impulse. Something gnawing at his conscience, telling him to stop.

But one day, he gives in.

You’re leaning over the second-floor railing at a venue, nursing a flute of champagne as revelers chatter and laugh below. Your hair is pinned up. Your gown boasts the shape of your body, the cowl devastatingly plunging in the back to reveal the notches of your spine, your soft nape. You’re so beautiful—something painted by Rembrandt himself.

A smile crooks Sylus’ lips. He pads up behind you, palm coasting up warm skin. You shiver, casting a glance over your shoulder. Your lips pull upwards, eyes alight with a muted fondness. You’re clay in warmed palms until his fingers slip around your neck.

He doesn’t intend to hurt you. In fact, he’s so gentle, so cautious, so reverent, it borders pain. You’re still, gritting your teeth. Petrified like an animal when he eases in to brush his lips along the outskirts of your ear. His scent—warm musk, cologne, raw energy—would normally bring you comfort. Would typically uncoil the knot in your gut. His voice. His breath.

But tonight, it makes you feel sick, swallowing you up like a tidal wave. You try to brush off the rush of memories playing in your mind like torn film reels. His thumb swipes along the delicate hairs at your nape as he rasps,

“You look ravishing tonight.”

You want to enjoy this—his proximity, his touch, his attempt to break the wall of tension that’s been erected between you for the past few years. But your throat thickens, and your heart hurls itself against your ribcage, begging to be set free. You clench your eyes shut against the throb in your temples, grip the rail until your knuckles pale.

You can’t take it. You can’t breathe. You can’t—

The champagne flute slips from your fingers, shattering on the floor. You use Sylus’ temporarily stunned demeanor as your chance to slip away, gathering up the tail of your dress to make your escape. You mutter an apology, your eyes throbbing with the threat of tears. He calls after you, his voice echoing off the venue’s hallway walls as you trudge through them to find the bathroom.

Your heart is still racing. You’re fighting to get your breath under control. Phosphenes dance behind your lids. You’re gripping your dress so harshly that you could rip it.

Sylus would never hurt you. He’s spent too much time garnering your trust to betray you. But his tenderness doesn’t outweigh the years’ worth of trauma still branded in your neck.

[fangirlfuel]

Ready to be a Father

Kimi Antonelli was in the middle of an intense testing session in Bahrain, his focus razor-sharp as he navigated the track, gathering valuable data for the team. The mechanics and engineers monitored his every move, analyzing every fraction of a second, every minor adjustment. The pressure was immense, after all, this was his first year in Formula 1, and expectations were already sky-high.

During a short break, he sat in the garage, helmet resting on his knee as he grabbed a water bottle. His phone buzzed on the table next to him. He wasn’t one to check his messages during testing, but something made him glance at the screen. The moment his eyes landed on the picture you had sent, his entire world tilted.

A tiny, pink baby onesie.

With the caption: You're going to be a daddy! 🩷

His breath caught in his throat, heart hammering against his ribs. His hands trembled slightly as he re-read the message, his brain struggling to process what he was seeing. Pregnant? You were pregnant? His mind short-circuited. He was only eighteen. You were only seventeen. He had just started his career, barely getting used to the chaos of F1. And now… a baby?

A mix of emotions crashed over him like a tidal wave. Panic. Shock. Fear. And then, something else, something warm and overwhelming. Love. The idea of having a family with you, of holding a tiny baby in his arms, made his heart swell. He swallowed hard, his mind racing. Could he do this? Would he be a good father? Would you be okay? He had so many questions, so many worries, but one thing was certain—he loved you, and he would do anything to make this work.

With shaking hands, he took a deep breath and, without really thinking, forwarded the picture to his parents with a voice note , his voice trembling. "Mom, Dad… I have to tell you something important......Y/N is pregnant".

Immediately, his phone exploded with notifications. His mother was calling him nonstop, and his father sent a string of panicked texts.

Kimi Lorenzo Antonelli, ANSWER YOUR PHONE RIGHT NOW!

HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?

You’re EIGHTEEN, Kimi!

KIMI, WE ARE GETTING ON A PLANE.

Kimi felt like he was going to pass out. His hands were sweating, and his helmet slipped off his knee onto the floor with a loud clatter. His engineer, noticing his pale face, frowned. “Kimi, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I think I just did,” Kimi muttered.

He barely made it through the rest of the testing session. His engineers kept asking if everything was alright, and he brushed them off with forced smiles. The second he was done for the day, he bolted to the nearest store, heart pounding in his chest. He found a small, soft teddy bear, something perfect for a newborn to cuddle. Holding it in his hands, he made a silent vow to be the best father he could be.

When he finally arrived home, his hands were shaking as he unlocked the door. You barely had time to turn around before he was wrapping you up in a tight embrace, burying his face in your shoulder.

“I can’t believe it,” he murmured against your skin. “I–I don’t know how we’re going to do this, but I swear, I’m going to be the best dad. I’ll do anything for you, for our baby.”

You froze. “Our… baby?”

He pulled back slightly, looking down at you with the softest expression you had ever seen. “I know it’s unexpected, but I swear, I’ll be there for everything. Doctor’s appointments, late nights, everything. I’ll make sure you and the baby have everything you need.”

Your mind reeled, trying to piece together what was happening. Then, a small bark broke the silence.

Your eyes flickered towards the couch, where a tiny golden retriever puppy sat, its tail wagging. And there, draped over its tiny frame, was the pink baby onesie.

Realization hit you like a lightning bolt.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, slapping a hand over your mouth. Your shoulders started shaking with laughter. “Kimi, no! The onesie wasn’t because I’m pregnant, it was for the puppy! I was trying to surprise you with our new pet!”

His face turned a deep shade of red. “Wait… what?”

Tears of laughter streamed down your face as you clutched his arm. “Kimi, you actually thought I was pregnant?”

Kimi groaned, covering his face with his hands. “I just had an entire existential crisis for nothing.”

You grinned, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “A very cute crisis, though.”

Just as Kimi was about to respond, the apartment door burst open with a loud BANG.

“KIMI LORENZO ANTONELLI!”

Kimi jumped, nearly dropping the teddy bear as his parents stormed inside, looking completely frazzled. His mother, eyes blazing with fury, marched up to him and smacked his arm. “You thought you could just TEXT US something like this and NOT ANSWER YOUR PHONE?!”

His father, though slightly calmer, was running a hand through his hair, looking at you with wide eyes. “Kimi, what were you thinking?! You’re both so young! We are about to rearrange our whole lives for this!”

You were doubled over in laughter at this point, tears streaming down your face. Kimi held up his hands. “Mom! Dad! It was a misunderstanding! Y/N isn’t pregnant!”

His mother stopped mid-rant, eyes narrowing. “What?”

Kimi pointed to the couch, where the tiny puppy was now chewing on the onesie’s sleeve. “The onesie was for the puppy! Y/N was surprising me, and I misunderstood!”

Silence.

Then, his mother smacked his arm again. “IDIOTA! Do you know what you just put us through?! We nearly had a heart attack on the way here!”

His father let out a deep sigh of relief before shaking his head. “You’re lucky we love you, Kimi.”

You wiped at your tears, still giggling. “I think this is the funniest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

Kimi groaned. “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

His mother crossed her arms. “Not from me.”

His father smirked. “Or from me.”

You grinned, wrapping your arms around Kimi’s waist. “And definitely not from me.”

Kimi let out a dramatic sigh. “Great. Just great.”

But despite his embarrassment, he couldn’t help but smile. Because even though this wasn’t the life-changing moment he thought it was, he still had you, and now, a tiny puppy that you would raise together. And maybe, just maybe, one day, the real onesie moment would happen.

Just… not today.

----

[naffeclipse]

Hopefully this hasn’t been asked quite yet

But what if orca eclipse was more like the canon dca as in-

He was an animatronic instead of a fish man?

*rubs my filthy mitts together*

The setting becomes a Seaworld-esque theme park (not good) called Freddy Fazbear's Boundless Sea.

Y/N is still a photographer. You have been personally invited by the corporation to take stunning candid photographs of everything within the park so they may use the photos in future marketing endeavors. The pay is more than convincing. You're thrilled to get an inside peak into a notable establishment and discover what you can capture with your camera.

You're allowed almost everywhere. You get to see shows with oceanic-themed animatronics that perform stunning water tricks and can morph from their landform to their sea form in the blink of an eye—legs are replaced with fins, and vice versa. The areas have their themes from the warm and relaxed Caribbean-themed shallow pools on the east end to the excited and tidal-wave high pools on the west side to a swampy and green lily pad-dotted south.

Funny enough, you remember a small blurb on a news website about Freddy Fazbear's Boundless Sea shutting down a section of the park. No big deal. It probably just needs to be renovated, but you keep passing maps that have one certain section on the north side of the park either covered up with a big sticker, crossed out with a black marker, or outright torn off. Strange. They did say you could go almost everywhere.

You find the north section, but it's all covered up in tape and looks to have an Arctic theme. There are polar bears and narwhals painted on the icy-faux walls. The entrance is locked up tight. You keep photographing everything else, everywhere, but the north area keeps gnawing at the back of your brain. Any efforts to find out more information are met with standard explanations of the work required in the area. It is closed until further notice.

Which you sit with for a few days before you discover a back area. The excuse of needing a better angle to take pictures of the animatronics performing their great stunt show gets you through, but while wandering through a cluttered and stacked high mess of merchandise, you find a poster.

The poster features an animatronic you have never seen before. One painted in black and white, and in his seaform, he possesses a great dorsal fin and flukes on his mechanical tail. The background is frosty and pale blue.

You tuck the poster into your camera bag and go about the rest of the day. It triggers a faint memory of an old commercial from a few years back you watched about the park, where there was, indeed, an orca-themed animatronic who had his very own show. In fact, after a quick internet search, you find he was really, really popular. He had shows twice daily—even more than the main cast. He was powerful and stunning, and he would splash people in the audience. Everyone ate it up.

His name was Eclipse.

But then, a few months back, he seemingly vanished. The area was closed down. Complaints are wondering when it will open back up. No one mentions the animatronic.

You don't get it. Why shut down a money-maker like that? Something's going on. Frankly, you want pictures of such a powerful performer. Wouldn't the corporation want you to get good shots of him?

Then you find a little article. A blurb about an incident at the beloved Freddy Fazbear's Boundless Sea. The animatronic was acting strange. Onlookers repeated that there was an agitation to the show, a tension that permitted the water and air. A staff member was pulled into the pool. Immediately, guests were ushered out while help swarmed the water. Then, the entire park was shut down for the day.

What happened?

You try to find more. Yielding nothing, you return to work tomorrow with a plan. You've been studying the layout, mostly to find better vantage points to snap a shot, but now, you realize there are maintenance tunnels below the entire park. You slip into one while a show is happening, keeping most staff members above ground. You wander for a bit before you find a marker pointing to "Eclipse's Arctic Sea."

A door finally opens into the closed section of the park. Most of it is sheltered under a pale, gray colored roof painted to appear like an Arctic sky. The dimness leads you towards an open section. A few aquariums are dimly lit but empty. The walls are painted with facts about polar bears and seals.

Strangely, you hear a faint scrapping. It pricks your ears as you follow the noise. Through a hallway that opens into a view alongside a great tank of water with the surrounding walls plastered with Eclipse's face all over them, you find another maintenance door and slip inside. The scrapping becomes a sawing, loud and sharp, through the metallic hallway, accompanied by violent splashes of water. The shrill noise becomes almost unbearable. Then you step into a narrow room filled with a single, shallow pool no longer than 10 feet.

The sawing ceases as something darts below the surface. The water sloshes until it calms into a deathly silence.

You ask softly who's there. You grip your camera tighter. Is the flash on? You can't remember. You step forward once, then twice. The opposite end of the pool bears great rakes through the flooring like claws dragging repeatedly over and over, shredding it into pieces. The edge glistens wetly by the toes of your shoes. The blue water looks empty until you peer directly over the ledge—

A sharp tooth smile greets you below the wavering surface before a hand flies out and snatches your ankle. The force of the grip rips you to the wet floor, knocking your head. Your vision swims. All senses within you only think to clutch your camera protectively as something rises from the pool. Dripping wet, the animatronic—one eye red, one yellow—grins down at you with utter detest.

"Hello, bird-eye. Come to get a look at the great killer whale?"