#MASTERPIECE OF WRITING

[we-were-starss]

Yall need to remember that no matter how popular a fic gets (even if it’s literally the most popular fic on ao3) it still goes against fandom etiquette to publicly hate on it or say that it’s bad. Those opinions belong in private conversations or in your private bookmarks, nowhere else. Fanfics are gifts that we aren’t entitled to, and we have to treat them as such.

[sluttypatrickstar]

[uniquethingtastemaker]

This is from Vil x Reader -- Overblot Slap:

“Please, don’t look at me… Stop looking at me like that!” Vil screams, cowering away from you. “Why? I wanted to become the most beautiful in the world, but why am I so–so ugly! I’m so ugly!” 

The dorm leader clutches his hair, hyperventilating. Poisonous gas seeps into the hallway.

“Roi de Poison, you’re not ugly,” Rook refutes.

You give him an incredulous expression. Vil looks pretty ugly to you. He hasn’t looked good since you became an unwilling participant in the reality TV show that’s his life. He has such an obsessive and self-important attitude. It pisses you off. 

“Yeah! Neige and Rook didn’t drink the juice!” Kalim agrees. 

You gape at Kalim with wide eyes. Is he excusing Vil’s actions? That man attempted murder! He might not have done irreversible physical damage, but you have psychological trauma. It’s been accumulating since day one. You can’t do this anymore. You have to hit him before he overblots. As a magicless student, you’re pushed to the sidelines during overblot fights. However, you have a personal grudge against Vil. You’ve put up with his pretentious behavior in your house for a month. You’re going to express your feelings with your fists.

“Please, Vil, come to your–”

You stomp up to Vil and slap him. The sound reverberates off the walls. He stares at you. His eyes are wide, and he has a searing red handprint on his face. One of his gloved hands brushes over it in disbelief. You put your hands on your hips.

“Yeah, you’re ugly,” you confirm. “You’ve been acting ugly for a while now. You almost murdered Neige because of your stupid ego and inferiority complex. Not everything is about you. You don’t get to decide you’ve lost the competition before you’ve even performed. You have a whole team behind you. You’re not being a good leader.” 

There’s a period of silence. The dorm leader stares at you. After a moment, you slap him again. 

“Your face pisses me off,” you explain, “Get your act together and stop whining. You have other things to do, like apologizing.”

(this is the first page of the Overblot Slap fanfic. u're welcome and i'm sorry. u're going to be so mad at me. this isn't going to come out in a while. i'm mostly working on Rook x Observant Reader. Then, the Dreaming of You series... however... I will say that once I get Riddle and Azul's finished, I might work on this more)

[arahdow]

SKILLED FINGERS

Pairing. Sonic x reader, Shadow x reader, Silver x reader, Knuckles x reader

Content. fem!reader. the way they would unclasp a bra. suggestiveness, nsfw. silver’s the shortest but the freakiest hehe. kinda ooc characters. MDNI

Word count. 1.5 k

A/N. I suddenly had the urge to write about this while talking with a friend abt how there’s men who can unclasp a bra with one hand but there are others who really struggle hehe so yeah!! i had quite the time of my life writing this sjdjs and the playlist filled with sex songs really inspired me, so, here!!

+ I was quite surprised with silver’s!!!! my hands moved on its own ! and the one with shadow, i actually got inspired from a fanart i saw on pinterest 🥵 so yeah, i did my research JDJDJSJ

++ I also wrote this while being REALLY sick so forgive me if there’s something poor written :( not beta read !!

SONIC

He gets really excited, and actually knows how to do it but because he’s impatient he can’t find it in himself to take his time

Both of them came back from a mission on green hill. The truth was that Sonic had actually gone to another place for a week now, this was the first time they saw each other after a week, and spending their first moments fighting wasn’t her cup of tea.

But now they were coming home.

Panting into each other’s mouths, his body guiding her to the edge of their bed. His hands were everywhere at the same time, his heartbeat was quick as he kept kissing her. Without parting, she got on her knees on the bed, Sonic quickly followed her. 

They both were now kissing on their knees, her hands roaming around his back, playing carefully with his quills, then coming up to cup his face, caressing his cheeks. 

The blue hedgehog took the girl from her waist and pulled her close, until she was almost sitting on his lap, both her knees on the sides of his thighs. Taking her top off of her in such a hurried way, she thought he was about to rip the piece of cloth from her body. The man was so excited, impatient. Parting from her lips for a moment, his hand roamed on her back, finding the clasp of her bra quickly. 

Giving her a smirk with hooded eyes, he started moving the clasp around, back and forth, pulling, pushing. Nothing. The girl came back from her dazed state and noticed that Sonic was actually having a hard time taking the undergarment off of her. 

Waiting for a bit, looking at his concentrated eyes, she started to giggle a bit. 

“Need assistance, love?” She asked, her hand going to her own back to end the blue hedgehog’s suffering.

But Sonic had none of that. He slapped her hand away and groaned. “I can do it! I’ve taken it off of you other times, why can’t… I… Now?” He struggled, his voice getting desperate.

She let him keep on trying until she couldn't wait any more. Sliding her own hand towards the clasp, she undid the bra easily. Sonic murmured a low “mhm”, as he continued on kissing her chest, stomach, sliding down. He looked at her with hooded eyes, his face pressed against her thigh as he admired the view.

“Gorgeous.” He winked, brushing his lips on her skin as he started doing hickeys on her thighs. If there was something Sonic quite enjoyed, it was teasing. And it showed.

SHADOW

VERY SKILLED. Doesn’t exactly know why he knows how to do it, but he’s cocky about it, nonetheless.

Shadow had just gotten home from beating the shit out of Sonic. It was a hobby at this point, not even something necessary. He came through the door stretching his arms over his head as he walked into the kitchen. 

His significant other was making dinner, thank chaos because he was actually getting very hungry from the previous activities. Smiling at him, the girl looked up from the stove, as she turned it off.

“My love! How was hunting Sonic?” She asked jokingly, as Shadow got close to her, carrying her to sit on the counter, his gloved hand taking her face using his thumb and index finger to hold her chin.

“I still have lots of energy, mhm.” He replied huskily on her ear, as he kissed her cheek, then her jaw and last her neck. “Are you going to do something about it?” 

After a few more words from him and a couple of kisses down her clavicle, the room got quite hot, and it wasn’t for her cooking. 

“Mhm, Shadow… The food.” The girl tried to complain.

“Shh, I'm having quite the feast here, doll.” He replied simply, his mouth still latched on her skin.

In seconds, Shadow put his hand in front of her. She knew exactly what he wanted. Using her teeth, she chewed the tip of his white glove, taking it off slowly. His breath hitched for a second.

Because that was a rule when being intimate: No clothes between both of them. Including his gloves.

As his hands returned on her body, he touched her naked back. She quickly felt his fingers looking for the clasp of her bra. She was about to offer to take it off herself, when he found it, the thing gave in rather quickly, making her gasp.

Shadow looked at her in the eye, his eyes scanned her flustered expression and smiled cockily. Sliding the straps off her shoulders, slowly, teasingly. She could actually feel his heartbeat as her hands pressed against his chest. The hand that wasn’t sliding the strap was caressing her thigh. His lips pressed as he stared at her chest. 

A glint showed on his red irises. Oh man. 

SILVER

Not very skilled with his fingers BUT he uses psychokinesis ofc

The girl knew she wasn’t playing fair, but she wanted to push as many buttons as she could. Actually buying those pheromones she saw on the internet, and this could go either too good or nothing could happen. She didn’t believe there were any bad consequences for her actions.

Until now.

Well, it wasn’t that bad…

But the way Silver’s face was actually smashed on her neck, licking, biting, kissing and more made her brain turn into a non thinkable goo. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself, grabbing, caressing her skin, like he wanted to combine both their bodies. 

Not only that, but he was rutting against her leg, desperate whining noises coming from his throat. The girl was losing it too, but it was obvious his body was actually on fire. His cheeks blushed a pretty red, and he actually managed to drool all over her sternum.

Her hand threaded on his quills, sliding down until she could feel his chest fur. Doing an experimental tug, the man nearly came on the spot. A breathless moan left his lips as he continued panting over her, his hands positioned on either side of her head. 

The girl kissed him hungrily, getting excited by the whole situation. 

“Love…” She tried speaking but Silver grunted, taking his girlfriend with one arm under her back, making her sit in front of him. His pupils were blown and his breathing was accelerated. He had no time to think about that damn clasp, so he snapped one of his fingers, the cyan aura forming on his hand and then, the girl felt the bra fall off her chest.

Using his psychokinesis to do such a thing turned her on, she wondered what else he could do with such power.

KNUCKLES

He just rips it off

It was common knowledge that Knuckles wasn’t the most patient or delicate guy, especially when it came to having intimate moments like this one. Rouge threw a little party for her birthday, everyone was invited and, being the showy bat she was, it was quite a formal party. So the girl decided she was about to go wild with her dress.

The piece she wore was a deep green, sleeveless dress. The neck of the dress was high, the thing hugging her curves. it looked rather simple until you looked at the back of it, a slit running all down the low back. It was gorgeous, and she felt untouchable with such a piece.

Amy actually helped her choose the dress, and she also recommended using a specific type of bra so it wouldn’t be noticeable. The straps turned and twisted, it was something difficult to put on, but she didn’t mind, as long as she looked good in the dress.

And now it was time for the reveal. Knuckles actually wanted to wear something nice, so he dressed up (she helped him choose his outfit. He also asked to help her with hers but she declined saying she had a surprise for him). 

Walking out of the room, the girl walked confidently towards her boyfriend sitting on the sofa, his legs spread and his elbows were positioned on his thighs, making him lean forwards. Too caught up in his mind, he didn’t notice until the girl was beside him. She cleared her throat and that did the trick.

His eyes flew open as he got up from the sofa, walking towards his partner. 

“My… You look gorgeous.” He said, kissing her cheek, that’s when he positioned a hand on her back noticing the slit. He swallowed, nervously. “Say, doll, what if we arrive a few minutes late?”

He asked, his hands starting to roam, sitting on her butt. The girl smiled, patting his chest. “Rouge will kill us if we arrive late.”

Knuckles hissed, finding a button that undid her whole dress. “I think we’d survive.” Were his last words before he carried the girl to bed.

Kissing and palming all over her, the man took a look at her bra and without a second notice, he ripped it off from her. She let out a surprised gasp. 

“Now how am I going to use the dress, Knux!” She exclaimed, feeling him grin, his breath caressing her chest. 

“Use it without that bra, it would look better, doll.”

[cripplecharacters]

Does Your Scarred Character Have to Hate Themself?

[large text: Does Your Scarred Character Have to Hate Themself?]

(TLDR: No.)

A frequent topic that shows up around facial differences is the self-hatred, self-disgust, self-insert-negative-emotion that we must surely experience. I want to ask* writers without FDs - why? Why do you feel about us in such a way that that's the most common way of depicting us?

*- rhetorical question. I promise I know the answer, but I'm not sure if writers do.

It's frankly worrying to me. Is it really that common to assume that disabled people have this internal, never-ending hatred for themselves? The overwhelming majority of us don't. We hate inaccessibility, when people stare, or some symptoms when they get in the way, or how expensive being disabled is, but I find the concept of us being so completely disturbed by our own disabilities extremely strange. It’s “tragedy porn” intersecting “most basic ableism”.

“But trauma!”

[large text: “But trauma!”]

Trauma of what! People with facial differences don't have some sort of default trauma that we come with like it’s a factory setting. We are a group of people with tens of thousands of stories and experiences.

“Trauma of experiencing ableism/disfiguremisia” - that's better, at least this means something. If you're writing a story about this, please get a sensitivity reader with a facial difference. You can assume how we feel all you want, but in my experience these assumptions are often bizarre and unrealistic. Or just end up writing the same “disability so sad” sob story that everyone has seen a billion times. If you want to write about disfiguremisia, you need to understand the nuance and have more than just the basic level knowledge (which 99% of people don’t have either). If you can’t do that, don’t write about it. Simple as that.

“Trauma of the accident��� - thankfully, the accident is an event and a facial difference is a disability. If you want to connect these two like they're one and the same, you're almost surely going to demonize disability. People with traumatic spinal cord injuries, acquired amputees, people with TBI, people with acquired facial differences - we participate in our communities, we have hobbies, we date, we play with our dogs. Disability isn't a death sentence. Media who make it feel like it is certainly don't help people who do suddenly become disabled, don't you think?

Here's a post by @blindbeta about blind characters becoming blind through trauma that’s better made than anything I could hope to write here. I heavily recommend giving it a read.

And, I can't stress this enough - most of us didn't have “the accident”, most of us are born like this. "Traumatic scars" isn't the only facial difference that exists, far from it, it's only one of thousands. It's 99% of our representation and "representation". If you want to make a character with FD - please consider that we aren't a monolith. Just like not all physical disabilities are "wheelchair user with paralysis and somehow no other symptoms", not all facial differences are "traumatic scar with somehow no nerve damage".

The overrepresentation of it is incredibly telling, and sometimes - or very frequently - feels like the writer doesn’t actually even want to deal with us. They want to use our disability as a way to cheap drama, moral metaphors, tragic backstories. Not to represent us as living people who are much more similar to you than you apparently think.

Now, I do have enough awareness to know that that's a big part of the appeal. “Horrific Thing #2456 happens” and boom, instant drama. Of course, it's a reasonable response that they would hide their disability for years, avoid talking about it in any way, and magically change their personality to be mean and reclusive, or at least be constantly soooo sad about how much it sucks to be disabled, right?

Do I really need to say that having your character becoming disabled be the worst thing ever is ableism 101? We have been talking about this for so long at this point. Writing about the process of adapting to a specific disability is better left to people who have actual experience in it.

To give an example that will hopefully resonate more with Tumblr users, I will use the fact that I'm also gay. It's not perfect by any means but probably much more familiar territory.

Imagine, let's say, a character. He's gay. The story he's in is supposedly progressive, certainly not trying to be homophobic. The character has experienced an incident, maybe an act of aggression or a hate crime, that happened because he’s gay, which was traumatic. Happens IRL, sure. So of course the character starts hating being gay. He talks about how gross and disgusting it is, he never lets anyone know that he could be “one of them”, certainly not take a stance against homophobia. You can't mention him without mentioning the accident, they're seemingly fused together. No gay love, joy, even basic happiness, he would actually choose to be straight in a heartbeat if given the option to and complains that he can't. This is shown as a neutral, obvious thing that a gay man would do, no one comments on it. He stays like this the whole time, unless there’s a plot twist in the last 10 pages where the world is now magically perfect ("we fixed discrimination, yay!"). This is the only LGBT character in the story.

Keep in mind that there are people similar to this in real life, living with extreme internalized homophobia.

Reading comprehension quiz time: Is this, in your opinion, realistic and thoughtful representation? How does it feel when written by a cishet writer, versus a gay writer who is recalling his experiences? Do you think that it's reasonable for the majority of media representation to be like this, or very close to it? How would it affect younger gay people who might already be uncomfortable with being queer? Are gay men the target audience, or are they not even considered as a group of people who read books? Is this helping or damaging the general public's idea of how it is to be gay? Why or why not?

The Masterpiece

[large text: The Masterpiece]

From 13 to 19 of May, we are celebrating Face Equality week (what a coincidence!). It’s important to me in general - and I wish it was more important to abled people, but I digress - especially its theme for this year.

“My Face is a Masterpiece”

Great statement, it represents the community well, I do enjoy how bold it is. Very cool stuff, I love the work our advocates are doing.

But why do I bring this up?

Well, to very non-subtly show that we aren’t a self-hating group of people. We are a community, a community saying “our faces are beautiful, look!”, we are saying “treat us equally, and do it now!”. Our activism isn’t about self-disgust. It’s about fighting your-disgust. 

Why can’t writers keep up? Why are you still stuck decades behind?

Is this the only reason I bring it up?

The Call to Celebration

[large text: The Call to Celebration]

FEI, the org behind organizing it, asks a very simple question (emphasis mine):

“Why do we so often see stories about facial difference as a ‘tragedy’, when they should be about triumph?” “Calling all artists, allies, creatives, galleries.  You can rewrite the story to bring about #FaceEquality and celebrate the unique artistry found in every face. Your participation this #FaceEqualityWeek will help to tell the real story, that there is a masterpiece in every face.”

Here. We are calling for you to stop. Directly from the biggest international advocacy alliance group that's out there. If you create, this is for you.

The last argument to not have your character with a facial difference hate themselves? Because we don’t want this. We are tired and frustrated. For me personally, I’m also offended by this kind of assumption. We aren’t tragedies or cheap entertainment for abled people to pity or be horrified by. We are people, and if you can’t internalize that, you have no reason to write about us.

For once, celebrate us. Happy Face Equality Week!

mod Sasza

[hellsquills]

Reason To Believe

Man it struck me kinda funny Seemed kinda funny sir to me How at the end of every hard earned day People find some reason to believe

tw: drugs mention

Ford had been receiving mystery calls for a while. They weren't very common, but in the last seven years he had got over 50. They were all fairly similar: he would answer the phone introducing himself, then asking who was on the other side of the line, and then he'd hear some quick breathing and other assorted street noises. Whoever they were, they would always call from a phone booth, not a closed space like a house. Sometimes, especially at the beginning, Ford would wait a few moments to try to get the other person to talk; he never succeeded. Then, as time went on and he became busier with work, he would snap at the caller, demanding them to reveal themselves, because he had no time for stupid games. The worst part came later, when he was in contact with different institutions that were offering him grants and he would be forced to always pick up the phone and wait for an answer, just to be met with more sighing and silence. It was driving him crazy.

He had tried everything: he had waited patiently; he had talked into the phone in hopes the receiver would articulate a single word back; he had changed his phone number a few times and only shared them with scholars, his family and Fiddleford; he had threatened the mystery caller with calling the police, trying in vain to intimidate them... None of that ever worked. In the last few years, he simply settled for ignoring it. Not because he didn't want to know who it was, but merely because he didn't have time for another theory to solve. He had to focus on his work, and he made the stranger know just that.

“It's you again? Wonderful. Make sure you listen to me. If the next time you call I don't hear a word as soon as I pick up, I will track you down. I have the technology to do it, and I will. This is my final warning. Do you understand?”

As per usual, no answer. Ford had hung up feeling like he finally made some progress, even if that was just partially true. He had made Fiddleford aware of his situation after the previous time, in which his friend was in the room when the call came through. The taller man, as usual, had matched his curiosity and was rather interested in the mystery, and he had begun building a tracking device. With their very packed schedules it was taking longer than they initially expected, but it was coming along. It was ready just in time for the next call.

“F! Get your invention, quick!”

The aforementioned jumped out of his bed and looked under it, pulling a box with God-knows-what in it.

“Are you ready?”

“Yessir.”

“Stanford Pines speaking.”

A beat of silence. Expected.

“Stanf-”

“Sixer...”

Ford's eyes nearly popped. He couldn't believe it.

“Sixerrr... tallk t'me...”

Actually, he could believe it.

It was so obvious. Who could have access to his phone number if not the people he gave it to? Easy: someone who got it from someone he did give it to. It also had to be someone close to him: he had thoroughly insisted on keeping this number private and to not share it with anyone he didn't know about. Of course, his mother (definitely not his father) had found the legal loophole and sent it to his only brother that didn't already have it.

Now it was his time to sigh. “Stanley?”

“Heyyy... what's up, whatcha doin'? How's life?”

This was unbelievable.

“Are you serious?” he began, his tone severe but under cont– “Are you serious?!”

No more self-control. Ford had exploded, destroying any remaining patience and curiosity he had before he heard his brother's voice. Even Fiddleford had stopped in his tracks, looking at Ford like he just grew an extra head. He knew about Stanley, his friend had told him about him when he found an old picture of two identical boys on top of a boat in between all of Ford's papers. He hadn't elaborated further, and Fiddleford hadn't pried.

“It was you? All of this time, it was you who was calling me?! For what, just to play with me? Was this just a sick prank of yours?!”

“...”

“Don't you dare stay quiet now!”

“I won't... 'm sorry.”

“Yeah, I bet you are sorry. Sorry because I caught you, I presume. What sort of prank is this?”

“S-Sixer pleas’... liss'n t'me...”

“Maybe I do not want to, Stanley! I have tried to listen to you, and you would not answer! Why should I listen to you?”

The sound of a slap against flesh was his only response, followed by a loud metallic thud. For a split second, Ford's anger turned into concern.

“What was that?” No reply. “Stanley, what was that?”

“Me,” his brother said. “'m tryna stay 'wake.”

“What do you mean awake–” Ford's concern quickly dissipated. The rage that followed was like nothing he had felt in a long time. “Have you been calling me while drunk?!”

It all made sense. The sighs, the silence, the very noticeable slurring that Ford hadn't discerned due to his agitated state... and now the self-beating. His brother was drunk, very drunk, and he was dragging Ford along with him for his miserable ride. The absolute nerve.

“Are you fucking serious, Stanley?! You've been calling me for years only to say nothing, making me paranoid that someone was stalking me, making me lose sleep over this, just because you were getting drunk?! And what, you decided that being miserable on your own wasn't entertaining enough, so you would call me… for what exactly? What were you trying to achieve with this stunt? Are you that much of a coward that you wouldn't even speak as I picked up?”

More silence, only broken by a nearby motorcycle.

“You're unbelievable. Utterly unbelievable. Almost ten years and you haven't had the guts to call me once, to apologize, to even start a conversation. And now it turns out you only do not care to speak to me, but also that this is some sick joke to you!” Once again, Ford's anger was turning into something else, and he knew what it was. He tried to focus on his rage rather than on the tight feeling that was taking over his whole heart. “I don't know what compelled you to do this dozens of times, but whatever you just drank, I need you to sober up and listen: Stop. Calling me. I was already mad at you and I was already mad at the mystery caller. But knowing that you're the same person is just too much. If you want to spend your time making poor decisions and ruining your life go ahead, but don't rope me into this no more! So for the last time, what do you want?!”

Ford's ears were ringing. He didn't think he had it in him to blow up like he did, but there it was; the accumulated frustration he had been feeling for almost a decade, let loose in a few minutes. He was furious, not only at the situation, but also because he didn't want this. He didn't want to explode like that. He didn't want his brother to be the mystery caller. And, above all, he didn't want to know Stanley was only calling him while intoxicated. Like their relationship was something so unimportant that a drunken conversation would do. Like he cared so little that a drunken joke was his way of entertainment.

For as much as he wanted to hate his brother, he couldn't. He could be angry, but not hateful. He had tried for years, but just imagining Stanley stopping by his college to apologize and make up was enough to give him hope. Such useless thing, hope.

“I jus' wanna say goodbye.”

What was that? “What?”

“Goodbye, Ford.”

A chill ran down Ford's spine. He should be angry, why was Stan's voice worrying him?

“What do you mean 'say goodbye'?” His voice was way less demanding than he would've liked. Ford looked up, only to see Fiddleford staring at him with his eyes fully open. At least he wasn't the only one taken aback.

“You won't hear from me again, doncha worry.”

“Stanley, clear your drunken mind for a second and speak. What are you talking about?” Stan said he'd leave him alone, why hadn't he hung up on him already?

“'m dead, Sixer. They're gonna kill me.”

Great. Just what he needed, a paranoid drunk brother.

“Stanley, for god's sake, you're just–”

“I'M NOT DRUNK, SIXER!” Stan screamed, loud enough that even Fiddleford on the other line flinched. “They... they found me... they gave me some'ing... but I ran. I'm out.”

Ford couldn't speak. If this was his brother's last attempt to gain his pity, it was working. He wanted to believe this was some drunken delusion, but Stan sounded incredibly scared. Stan was never scared. And if he was, he wouldn’t show it. In the very offhand chance that he was right...

“They'll find me. The car's outta fuel, and I... I can't even think. Whatever they put in my arm, it's strong. I can't go anymore. I'm so tired.”

A gentle hand on his knee brought him back to his senses. Fiddleford, who was sitting right in front of him on the floor, mouthed the words what's happening?.

“'m so sorry, Ford,” Stan said all of a sudden, and Stanford's heart fully broke. His twin was crying. His brother never cried, not even when he tricked people as kids. When was the last time he'd seen Stan…? Oh. Oh, no. “For everythin'. You're right, always, like always. I tried, I really did, I promise, but I just... I couldn't even be the only thing I was born to be... a brother.”

Ford opened his mouth, only to close it again at the sound of another, harder slap on the other side of the line.

“Listen, I put all ma money on this call, so please... please don' hang up.” Stan's voice was the slightest bit clearer after that second slap, but Ford could only focus on the way his voice was raspy, shaking, and pleading. He couldn't find a single trace of lying.

I won't, he said, only to himself.

“'m so sorry for everything. Everything. Not only whatcha thinkin' 'bout.” Even through the phone, Stan could read him like a book. “'m sorry for not being enough, ever. I wasn't smart 'nough to go study with ya, or strong enough to defend ya from all those assholes at school, or rich enough to get us both outta New Jersey like we wanted.” Ford was trying to make a mental note of everything his brother was saying, and he restrained himself from denying Stan’s words. “I always knew I was useless, but... you were still with me. And I would think it was because we're just twins, but... but you would tell me you liked having me around. Even if I was useless, you wanted me by your side.” Ford could almost see his brother smile while talking about him. “I didn't get it, and I still don't. I know it's different now, and I promise, I know that you want nothing to do with me, but I... I needed to call you before I'm gone, 'cause... I love you. I love you, and I'm sorry, I'm sorry...”

With his brother openly sobbing on the other side of the line, it shouldn't have surprised Ford to find a tear running down his cheek, but it did. It was a wakeup call, a sign that time was still ticking.

“... I'm sorry, I love you, Sixer, I–”

“Stanley, where are you?”

“... what?”

“Where are you, Stanley, come on.”

“I... why?”

“Just tell me!” The anger was there, but it had definitely shifted. His worry was taking over. If what his brother was saying was true, he had to go get him right now. If he was lying... at least he could go and spit in his face in person. Unfortunately, everything in the last five minutes was telling him it wasn't a lie. “Please, before the call cuts. Tell me.”

“What, you're gonna come pick me up?” Stanley laughed humorlessly, and Ford's mind replayed some moments back in their teen years in which Stan would scoff exactly like that.

“What, you're gonna come sleep in my bed?” That time when they were 12 and Stan had such a panic attack that he would not fall asleep.

“What, you think he's wrong?” That time when they were 14 and a teacher screamed and called Stan everything under the sun for not being able to read a text out loud.

“What, you think I didn't deserve it?” That time when they were 16 and Ford learned for the first time that their father had been hitting Stan since they were little.

All those times, Ford had surprised Stan by telling him the opposite of what we was thinking: yes, I'll sleep in your bed if it helps you stop shaking; yes, I think it's wrong that a teacher insults you because you have trouble reading; no, I don't think you deserve to be beaten up by your father. His brother had been shocked to hear those words every single time, like anyone in their right mind wouldn't say the same thing. Or maybe he was shocked that it was Ford who said them. Either way, he had always reminded Stan that he had his back.

When did that turn into this?

“Do you want me to?”

“...”

“Stan, I'm going. If what you're telling me is true and you really are in danger, I'm going.”

“...”

“Stanley, don't fall asleep!”

“'m not...” Stanley's voice was tired, too tired. Ford wasn't sure who would give up first, him or the phone. “Six', I... 'm already dead. It's not worth it. I'm not worth it, and y'know it. Deep down.”

Ford closed his eyes tightly. This self-loathing wasn't new, but it was terrible timing. His brother would shut down whenever he was like this and he wouldn't speak another word on the topic. He couldn't afford that. He needed to make him talk.

“Stan.”

“Yeah.”

“You said you love me, right?”

“...”

“Stan.”

“... more than anything, Six.”

“Then if this is our last talk, please, tell me. Where are you?

“'m... in New Mexico.”

“Okay, New Mexico, good. I need you to be more specific. Albuquerque? Santa Fe? Las Cruces?”

“I don't... I can't remember...”

“Stanley, you have to. Where was the last place you went to?”

“I... was on the run. From Mexico.”

“Mexico and New Mexico are not–” Seriously Stanford? Is this the time for a lecture? “Listen, are you positive you are in the US?”

“Yeah, 'm sure.”

“Alright, so if we've established that, I need you to focus, okay? What city is closer to you?”

“I don't know, I don't know Ford.” Stan's voice was getting increasingly weaker, and now the panic was seeping through.

“Okay, Stan, listen to me.” Stanford's mind was screaming at him to comfort his brother now; he could hear Stanley's breath getting faster, and his voice was getting higher. He was seconds away from a paralyzing panic attack, and he knew for a fact that a 'calm down' would not work on him. He just had to get him to talk, answer his questions, and nothing else. “How much does your payphone charge per minute?”

“Uhh... 15 cents.”

“How much did you put in?”

“I don't know, I think... like four bucks?”

“Okay, good, we have some time.” They did not have time. “After you left Mexico, do you recall the name of any city?”

“Some... they were mostly in Spanish.”

“Okay, good. You were good at languages, I bet you know what they meant. Which ones do you remember? What did they mean?”

“El Paso. The Step… Oscuro. Dark... Corona. Crown... Estancia. Stay.”

“Alright, and the one you're in right now, is it in Spanish?”

“No, this... I stopped here... because I knew the name.”

“What name was it?”

“It's... from a book. I book you read to me.”

“What book?”

“I thought... it was funny. And I stayed here. Before the car broke down.”

“Stan, what book was it?”

“Ford...”

“Tell me the book, come on.”

“I... I can't see.”

“Stan, just tell me the book, or the name, anything! Please, just anything!”

“It's... fine. I'm sorry, Ford.”

“Wait, Stan!”

On the other side of the line, a loud thud was heard against the pavement. Ford shouted his brother's name urging him to stand up, to wake up, to please say something. It only lasted a minute, though, until the signal went dead.

[dionysiaproductions]

[hischierlin]

for all the lip roll truther's

and especially @bratbarzal @star2fishmeg

[fictionadventurer]

The best trope of all is:

Doing the right thing will have terrible consequences.

They do the right thing.

They suffer for it.

But in the end, doing the right thing allows things to work out better than they could have imagined.

[steddieas-shegoes]

When Eddie comes out to him, Steve makes a big mistake. His first reaction was to thank him for trusting him, which is what Robin told him to do in this situation.

But his second reaction was to say “I also like guys.”

Eddie blinked at him, clearly confused and defensive, like maybe Steve was making fun or not taking him seriously.

“Uh. You do?”

“Yeah man! I mean, no one else knows, but yeah.”

Eddie smiled and thanked him for trusting him with it, said they should hang out more, and recommended a queer bar in Indy if he needed a safe place to explore.

And Steve smiled and nodded like he couldn’t agree more.

As soon as Eddie was gone, he rushed to the phone in his kitchen and called Robin.

She called him an idiot, a dingus, a bisexual disaster —whatever that was—, and told him he absolutely wasn’t allowed to go to a queer bar without her.

She did at least agree to keep up the lie until he could find a way out of it without Eddie thinking he lied to hurt him or something.

But he started hanging out a lot more with Eddie and finding that they had more in common than he originally thought.

Eddie took Robin and Steve to the queer club and Steve…felt at home, felt welcomed, felt like he belonged. Robin kept giving him these looks all night, and Eddie kept dragging him to meet people who he cared about, and one of the guys on the dance floor kept pulling him out there to dance with him.

He felt free and alive and-

Queer.

It hit him as the guy, Paul maybe, was pulling him closer by his waist as his hips rocked to the beat of a song he didn’t recognize but felt like something he wanted on a mixtape. It hit him that he liked this because he liked dancing with Paul like this. He liked this because he saw himself visiting more, even without Eddie and Robin. He liked this because he could picture making out with Eddie in the bathroom.

He froze.

“You okay, sweet thing?” Paul asked him.

“I think I’m in love with my friend.”

Paul’s eyes widened momentarily before patting Steve’s hip. “Is he gay, honey?”

“Huh?” Steve was already trying to find Eddie in the crowd. “Oh, yeah. He’s here tonight.”

“Shouldn’t you be dancin’ with him then?”

Steve finally looked back at Paul, who had his hands on his own hips now, teasing smile on his face.

“Yeah. I should,” Steve thanked him, apologized for any misleading, which was immediately brushed off. Paul was here to dance, he didn’t much care for who he was dancing with.

“Send that beauty over here. She looks like she needs some lessons,” Paul pointed to Robin, who was still looking a little nervous despite the friendly bartender handing her sodas every time he passed by her.

“She’s gay, man.”

“So am I! Doesn’t mean we can’t dance!”

Steve laughed. “You’re right.”

He walked over to Robin quickly, avoided getting pulled back into the crowd.

“I’m in love with Eddie.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “I know, dingus. You literally risked your entire reputation to come to a queer bar to try to impress him.”

Steve balked. “That’s not what this was!”

“Uh huh. Well he’s sulking in the bathroom if you wanna go tell him.”

“Sulking? Why?”

“He saw you dancing with that guy. Think he assumed you were interested in him.”

“Not a chance. I prefer long hair and ripped jeans,” Steve winked. He turned to walk towards the hall with the bathrooms when Robin stopped him.

“Don’t do this if you’re not 100% sure,” she said seriously. “Eddie really likes you and it would destroy him if you were lying to make him feel better.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Steve started, but stopped when Robin gave him a look.

“You’ve literally been pretending to be queer for the last two months because he came out to you and you accidentally came out to him. You’re lucky it wasn’t a complete lie.”

“Yeah but I wouldn’t fuck with his feelings like that.” Steve knew what it was like to be led on. He wouldn’t do that to Eddie. “I’ll be careful with him.”

“And be careful with you.”

He saluted her as he walked away.

When he found Eddie sitting on the counter at the sink in the bathroom, he was swinging his legs back and forth and humming something distinctly less pop than what was playing on the dance floor. No one else was in here, but that didn’t mean no one would walk in.

He walked over to Eddie and placed a hand on his knee.

Eddie immediately stopped kicking his feet and looked up.

“What’s with the face?” Steve asked, reaching up to touch the line between his brows that always appeared when he was pouting.

Eddie shrugged. “Just not feeling it tonight I guess.”

“The music isn’t really your thing. Kinda surprised you like this place,” Steve said as his hand drifted down to his wrist. “Seems closer to a small club than a bar.”

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

Eddie’s tone was sharp, laced with jealousy. Even if Steve hadn’t had his realization five minutes earlier, he would’ve seen what that was from a mile away.

“I was until I realized I’d rather be out there with you.”

Eddie snorted. “I don’t really dance.”

“But you’d dance with me if I asked, right?” Steve’s fingers circled his wrist and he tugged Eddie off the counter. “Even if I asked you to do it right here with no music?”

“Steve, what are you doing?”

“Dancing. Or trying to.” Steve rested his hands on Eddie’s hips and started swaying them in sync with his. “It is hard without music.”

“Why don’t you go back out there?” Eddie’s hands went around Steve’s neck.

“Because you’re not out there. I don’t wanna be where you aren’t.”

“Steve-“

“You know I didn’t actually know I liked guys until tonight?” Steve huffed out a laugh. “Well, I really like this one guy. Not sure about others yet.”

Eddie was silent, but didn’t push Steve away.

“He was hiding in this bathroom though. I didn’t really think he’d join me out there, so I brought the dancing to him,” Steve winked.

“You like me? You? Like me?”

Steve nodded.

“And you just realized this?”

“Kinda.”

“In a queer bar?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s pretty gay, dude.”

Steve snorted and smacked Eddie’s chest. “That’s the point.”

Eddie moved in impossibly closer, no room for Jesus between their chests anymore. “So you lied when you came out to me?”

“I panicked! But it doesn’t actually count as a lie if I’ve seen the light.”

“Was it a rainbow light? Or the reflection of the disco ball in the glitter shorts Perry was wearing?” Eddie joked.

“Perry!” Steve smacked his own forehead. “He’s nice. Made me come tell you how I feel.”

“Oh. He did?” Eddie seemed shy for maybe the first time ever.

“Yeah. Said I should come dance with you if I’m in love with you.”

Steve hadn’t felt like this in a while, and hadn’t left his heart on his sleeve like this in even longer. As Eddie’s face went from shy to shocked to flustered, Steve thought about how long he’d been dancing around these feelings.

But no more dancing around them. Now it was time to dance with them.

“Can’t believe you just said you’re in love with me in the bathroom of a queer bar. Don’t even think they clean this place,” Eddie laughed, letting his forehead fall against Steve’s.

“I’ll tell you again outside.” Steve kissed his cheek. “And in the van.” His nose. “Your house, my house.” The corner of his mouth. “Everywhere.”

Eddie licked his lip, skipping over a soft kiss for a hungry one. It was hot, desperate, impatient. Everything Steve hadn’t known he needed.

Then again, he hadn’t even actually known he liked guys until tonight. Maybe he was just late to learn things about himself.

[deadbeatphobos]

Bang the Doldrums

Rockstar! Jason Todd x Rockstar! gn! reader headcanons

"And I cast a spell over the west to make you think of me, the same way i think of you''

WC: 200+

Would write an album dedicated to you, and the album cover for it would be something that is symbolic for the both of you (that album would then become his best-selling one and would later win a grammy for it)

Keeps your old guitar picks and turns them into a necklace, wears it every time he has a gig/concert

He's your BIGGEST fan, whenever you have a gig, he will always be there to support you, whether it's being in the front row where you can spot him cheering you on, or bringing you and your bandmates food and drinks right after your gig 

Will have your name or initials on his guitar (kinda like how Frank Iero has his ‘’pansy’ guitar/Billie Joe Armstrong having his initials on his) 

Would try to keep your relationship with him a secret, but soon people eventually caught on 

Secretly has a fanpage dedicated to you, where he posts so many edits of you, and started posting ship edits of you and him when people started catching on that you two were dating

Once people found out that both of you were dating, he immediately changed his handle to “Y/n l/n’s #1 and BIGGEST fan”, you also changed your handle to Jason Todd’s #1 fan’’ 

The day he proposed to you was the fifth anniversary of the release of the album he wrote about you. 

On the day you both got married, when exchanging gifts, you both exchanged your guitars with each other. 

Likes, comments and reblogs are all greatly appreciated <3

By @deadbeatphobos not copy, translate or post my fics on any platform without permission

[thatsitso]

Orb sketches 🌍

[adverbally]

Full Disclosure

Written for the @stmarchmm prompt “bitching/studding” | wc: 1,431 | rated: M | cw: nonconsensual studding, parental abuse and neglect, anxiety and panic attacks, vomiting | tags: studded Alpha (formerly Omega) Steve, Alpha Eddie, Steddie, early relationship, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

———

Eddie likes to think that he knows Steve pretty well after a couple months of courting, well enough to notice the odd things that form a pattern of behavior over time. He tries to dismiss them as quirks at first, or just a bad day, but it’s gotten to the point where he can’t ignore the red flags that are flapping in his face.

Like, maybe it makes sense that a big shot Alpha like Steve prefers to take the lead in their relationship. Even though Eddie is an Alpha, too, he doesn’t have much experience and he’s content to let Steve be his guide. So he lets Steve drive when they go somewhere together and open doors for him and press him against the wall to kiss him breathless.

He gets that Steve can be a little nervous, prefers to stay in control whenever possible. That’s why Eddie has only ever asked to fuck him once— the obvious discomfort and anxiety that had marred Steve’s face is burned into Eddie’s memory, and he remembers it every time he wants to suggest switching things up. There’s no point in pushing when Eddie is perfectly happy to let Steve fuck his brains out.

But the alarm bells really start to ring one afternoon in late August, when Steve comes to the trailer and has the worst panic attack Eddie has ever seen.

It’s not the first time he’s seen Steve like this, shaking and gasping for breath as he kneels in front of the toilet. There’s a certain routine to it by now, much like the one they use when Steve has a bad migraine. Eddie rubs his back while he heaves, talks to him softly, wets a washcloth to wipe the sweat and bile from his face. Steve usually comes back to himself within a few minutes, quieter and paler than before but still willing to enjoy some quiet time with Eddie.

Today, though, everything Eddie tries seems to make it worse. Steve is sobbing when he isn’t actively puking his guts out, and he physically flinches away when Eddie reaches out with the washcloth to help him clean up.

“Just go!” Steve shouts. The sound echoes since he’s still head-first in the toilet bowl, but Eddie can see his face in profile: eyes scrunched shut in misery, sucking in air through his clenched teeth.

It stings but Eddie obeys, even if he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. He slinks back to the kitchen, not wanting to go too far in case Steve suddenly needs him again. There are a few dishes to be done, the remains of his lunch to clean up, just enough to keep him busy. He’s just wiping down the countertop, cleaning up any remaining juice from the peach he scarfed down earlier, when Steve shuffles out of the bathroom.

“Can we, um.” He scrubs a hand over his mouth. “Talk outside?”

“Yeah, of course,” he agrees, drying his hands on a dish towel before following Steve out the door.

In the warm afternoon sun, Steve looks awful. His face is pale and waxy, the hair at his temples damp with sweat, and he’s swallowing hard every so often, like he’s still choking down nausea. When he sits on the front steps, he drops like his strings have been cut.

Eddie sits beside him, moving slowly enough for Steve to stop him if he doesn’t want him that close.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Steve begins, kicking the toe of his sneaker into the dirt.

“I get it. You were feeling shitty and I was making it worse.” He wonders if Steve can hear the unspoken question between the lines: what did I do?

Steve nods, still not looking up from his feet. “I have something to tell you. Something nobody else knows, not even Robin. It’s… I don’t know how to say it, really, but I’m gonna try because I think I owe you an explanation.”

Dread settles in the pit of Eddie’s stomach. If this is something that Robin doesn’t know, it must be seriously bad. Like, forced into an arranged marriage, dying of some crazy disease, apocalypse-level bad. But he can hear Steve take a deep breath, steadying himself before he dives in, so he stays quiet and listens.

“I presented the summer before junior year. My heat was miserable. Like, I know they’re not fun for anyone but it was especially bad because I was alone. My parents were out of town so it was just me, trying to make a nest on my bedroom floor with any blanket I could find.”

Eddie’s heart breaks for him at the scene he pictures– Steve aching, sweating, crying, with nobody to help him through it. He can’t think about it too hard, though, because the implications of Steve having presented Omega, gone through his heat and everything, but being so confidently Alpha now…

As if reading Eddie’s mind, Steve continues. “Of course I couldn’t hide it from my parents once they got home. They could smell it all over me. My mom just cried, probably because she knew how my dad would react.” He pauses, shuts his eyes. “I don’t know how long he screamed at me. All that shit about how his only son couldn’t be an Omega, how this was just another mess of mine that he would have to clean up. Then he locked me in my room for two days.”

“Stevie,” Eddie whispers. He can’t help it, smelling the fear and anger coming off Steve as he relives his trauma. He needs to comfort him. Thankfully, Steve takes his hand when he offers it, squeezing Eddie’s palm with clammy fingers.

“He drove me to Chicago, to some clinic where he knew the chief of designation reassignment. I was there for a month. A whole month of hormone therapy and rehabilitation to ‘fix me,’” he sneers, “turn me into the alpha my parents wanted.”

Now Eddie feels nauseous. “You were just a kid. Studding is… it can’t have been legal for them to do that, not to a minor who couldn’t consent.”

“Like they cared.” He huffs a humorless laugh. “My dad got what he paid for, didn’t he? Never mind that they basically had to torture me for weeks, pumping me full of drugs, suffocating me with my own slick, making me–” He cuts himself off suddenly, clapping his free hand over his mouth like he thinks he might be sick.

“Baby–”

“It was the peach from your lunch,” Steve confesses, voice trembling as he holds on to Eddie for dear life. “When I walked in, it was all I could smell. That's what I– my scent before, it was peaches. It was like being back there.” He sniffs and scrubs at his eyes. “I’m sorry I yelled.”

Frankly, Eddie wants to yell, too, at Steve’s shitbag parents, at everyone at that facility who hurt Steve, but that’s not going to help right now. Instead, he strokes his thumb across the back of Steve’s hand and murmurs, “Thank you for telling me.”

“Are you mad?”

Jesus. Eddie takes a breath. “I’m mad that that happened to you, but I’m not mad at you.”

Steve nods, still not looking at Eddie. “It felt like I was lying to you, you know? You were with me but you didn’t know. And I know you’re probably gonna say something about how it doesn’t matter to you whether I’m an Alpha or an Omega–”

“It does matter,” Eddie insists, “if it matters to you.”

“I don’t know yet. It’s taken me this long to tell someone, let alone figure out how to feel about it.” He shrugs. “I’m not unhappy as an Alpha but… well, who knows how I would’ve felt if I’d stayed an Omega. Maybe I would’ve hated it. But it should’ve been my decision, not theirs.”

Eddie squeezes his hand again. “Yeah, but you still have choices. If you wanted to, like, explore that part of you, try something new, I could help.” He thinks Steve gets his meaning, since a flush starts climbing up his neck. “But nothing has to change unless you want it to.”

With a deep sigh, Steve leans over to rest his head against Eddie’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

He rubs his cheek against the top of Steve’s head. Not his most subtle scent marking move but Steve needs the obvious reassurance right now. It’s gonna take time for him to heal from this, Eddie knows, and he’s gonna be there every step of the way.

[opt1mistic]

caitlyn’s lips glided smoothly over your bare stomach, leaving small kisses, on your waist, around your bellybutton, and pelvis. her hands tightly holding onto your hips, preventing you from moving away from her touch.

her mouth opened slightly, showing off her glistening, glossy, white fangs, that now were moving over the skin that laid shakily beneath her. you rose your head up, pulling your neck a bit while at it, to get a glimpse of what she was doing. and as soon as you see her fangs peaking out your head dropped flat against the mattress.

without a single warning caitlyn’s aggressive fangs bit into your skin, feeling the stings instantaneously.

the skin on your stomach was much more thick than the skin around your neck, yet somehow it hurt more down there then up here, you thought as one of your hands slipped higher on your body lightly skimming over the surface of the healing wound on your neck.

your face in a look of discomfort and incredible pain, palms itching to push caitlyn off of you, but your needs stopped you. you enjoyed the pain, the way her vulgar fangs penetrate through your skin, and the way she sucks you clean of blood, making your head light. felt so fucking good.

parts of your naïve mind told you that if you wanted to keep caitlyn you just need to say yes to all that she demands. and the other parts told you that you should run, fast and far. that her words at your heart; like a dagger laced with black poison, sucked you dry of all the warmth, and soon you would as well turn into a soul eating, killing bloodsuckers just like her. cold, mean, and heartless…

is she though?

she’s so devoted to you, cares for you, says words no one else could utter to you. buts take too much, destroys the only thing that’s keeping you alive. was being loved better than keeping your life? no, but if it’s caitlyn’s love than thats what you choose.

so you let her sting you, you let her hurt you, take from you, and reward you with love you’ve never felt before. she asks for one thing and you give it all to her. if she wants to eat you alive and not drop a single tear than so be it. as long as she makes you feel the way you feel at this very moment…

loved.

[arahdow]

BE CAREFUL WITH YOUR QUILLS !

Pairing. Sonic x reader, Shadow x reader, Silver x reader, Knuckles x reader

Content. fem!reader. fluff, tiny silly argument in shadow’s, cuddling, overall soft stuff.

Word count. 1.6 k

A/N. writing sonic was the hardest thing i’ve ever done aH idk why!! i’ll make sure to write him more often to get used to his personality aH anywaaay, again, not beta read, i’m really sacrificing my sleep hours for this one sjdjs hope y’all like it!!

SONIC

making you run and accidentally crashing with him.

“Come on! You’re being too slow!” Sonic screamed as he kept on running, his feet moving way too fast for her liking. 

Just a few days ago, the blue hedgehog encouraged his partner to go out for a run together, and she knew he was an athletic man, but this? This was torture.

“Sonic… Wait… I can’t” her feet were moving so slow compared to his, especially when she wasn’t used to running this much. 

“One foot in front of the other! Come on!” Sonic said laughing, as he ran backwards, looking at the girl. She huffed with annoyance, the hedgehog still winning even when running like that!

After a while, the blue animal ran faster and almost disappeared from her sight. The girl took a deep breath and started running faster. Somehow, the fear of getting lost in the forest making her move, helping with adrenaline. Suddenly her body was moving faster than before. Way faster! 

Her body, sadly, started to grow tired quickly because of the energy she was using. Her lower limbs suddenly getting wobbly, but somehow kept running. Out of instinct, she thought.

That was until she realized she was about to crash into a stone wall at the end of the road, it was getting dangerously close!

The girl stretched her arms to cushion the blow. A violent ‘Hey!’ was all she could hear as she crashed, not on a stone wall, but rather a soft body. Sonic’s body to be clear.

He used his own body to soften the crash, but something was wrong.

“Ouch! Wha-”

She looked down and saw one of Sonic’s blue quills stuck on her shoulder. “Damn… Ouch.” 

The animal was sprawled upon her, but quickly recovered to take a look at his injured girlfriend. “Oh, I’m sorry darling,” he said with a sheepish smile, helping her stand up, careful not to mess with the quill. “but it’s kinda your fault to run that fast, thought you were about to destroy time and spac- Ouch! Why are you hitting me!” He said with a pained laugh.

“You’re an asshole! Help me get this out!” She complained, annoyed that the man was making fun of her.

“Aw, don’t be all grumpy, I promise not to make you run again.” He said, pushing her slightly to take her to the infirmary. “Hey, maybe next time you can try Shadow’s air shoe-”

“Don’t even finish that thought.”

SHADOW

silly old couple argument

“Move.” The girl didn’t reply, her gaze focused on the tv. “Get up.”

“Git ip.” she mocked.

The black hedgehog grumbled, sitting really close to her, almost on her.

“Hey-”

“This is my side of the couch, you know that.” He said as he crossed his arms. “I don’t like this channel.”

“You don’t like anything, Shadow.” She complained, not giving him the remote.

They’ve been living together for a year, two years being a couple, and they still bickered like an old couple. It became something usual between them, and it got even worse when speaking of the sofa. There was only this purple sofa in the living room, both her and Shadow liked it, but there was just something about the spot on the far left that was perfect. For both of them.

So if they were together in the house, it was usual for them to fight over the sofa spot, like they were doing now.

“I’m feeling hot, you need to get off of me!”

“I’m not on you, you’re the one occupying my place!”

“Shadow!” she pushed the hedgehog with her shoulder, as he pressed even harder on her.

With a huff, she turned and put her hands on him to push him again, when a quill suddenly pinched her hand. 

“Ow!” She exclaimed, looking at the dark quill stuck on her. “You can have your stupid place on the couch!” the girl said as she stuck her tongue and got up to the kitchen, looking for some tweezers to take the quill out.

Not many long after, the man got into the kitchen, following her, taking her arm in his hand. “Hey-”

“I’m sorry.” He said, looking intently at the sensitive red spot on her hand. Pressing his lips, he brought her hand under the faucet to clean the wound. “It wasn’t my intention to hurt you. Please forgive me.” 

The girl snorted. “It’s alright though, I was just messing with you, but you were seriously pressed, huh? Pressed enough to hurt me.” She said with a fake tone of hurt on her voice.

Shadow rolled his eyes. “You’re not gonna let this down, are you?”

She gasped and whined, putting on a pouty face, “Ow! It hurts! Please! Why are you so mean to me?”

“Alright alright, you can have the couch for today.” He sighed, shaking his head with humor.

The girl smiled, her face expression going back to normal. Turning happily, the girl kissed his cheek before running to the couch. “Love you, Shads!” 

SILVER

cuddling after a long day but uh oh…

After a tiring day outside, he wanted nothing more than to be at home, eat the food his girl made for him and spend time with her. It was a simple plan, and the cherry on top? Cuddling with her on bed, his face pressed on her stomach as she threaded his quills.

It was a usual occurrence, both of them lying down in silence, sometimes him laying on her lap, sometimes her on his, but they spent most of their time cheek to cheek.

“Silver…” She whispered, afraid of disturbing him. But he didn’t reply, instead, a soft snore broke his silence.

The girl giggled a bit as she kept on caressing his face and quills. It was times like this where she found herself falling once again for her hedgehog lover. She was actually reading a book on her other hand, so her attention was mostly directed to it.

Being immersed on the story, she got really focused on the sentences, suddenly drifting off from her task on her other hand. She unconsciously made her limb move in erratic ways, as she tried to keep on doing both things at the same time.

That was until she felt a slight sting on her hand. Jolting, she yelped as she retreated her hand from his body. The movement was so sudden, Silver opened his sleepy eyes, sensing something wrong.

Leaning back enough so he could see his partner in the eye, he found instead a look of slight pain as she held her hand in front of her face, a silverish quill stuck on her palm.

“Oh chaos, dear, your hand!” He expressed, incorporating as he held her hand for a bit. Using his telekinesis, he brought the aid kit to bed. Doing a careful procedure, he took the quill out from her hand, making her hiss at the feeling.

“I’m sorry…” He said.

“Don’t be, it was my fault, I was completely distracted by the story.” She replied, looking at the book beside her.

Silver took a look, as he kept patching her hand. “Hey! That’s the book I recommended the other day!” 

“It is! And it’s so good! I really loved it when the protagonist saved the kids from the falling building.” 

“That was my favorite part too!” He said. Both of them laughed and kept on talking about the book. He was really happy to have her in his life.

KNUCKLES

It’s shedding season! And your roomie-bf is in the house!

Cleaning after an echidna warrior was difficult, especially when he kept bringing his dirty shoes inside her home, her food taken, and her bed occupied. But she honestly loved Knuckles company, so she carried on with it.

It was starting to get a whole lot colder outside, as the temperature began to cool down. It was that time of the year where the island became a little snowglobe, so the echidna spent more time at her partner’s home than anywhere else.

Today she needed to do the laundry, piles of dirty clothes started to form, and even though Knuckles tried to convince her to stop using clothes like him, that still wasn’t on her plans, at least not on a short term.

Sighing, she started to walk towards the laundry room, a pile of white clothes on her arms, making seeing the floor almost impossible. Knuckles was sleeping in her room, so she let him. She’ll make him fold the clothes afterwards either way. Sure, she’d let him crash whenever he needed it, but it came with a price.

Opening the door of the room, the girl stepped inside. But she wasn't ready to feel an electric pain coursing from the bottom of her feet to her core. A scared scream left her throat as the pile of clothes fell from her hands. Tripping, the girl fell on her butt with a thud. Not a second later, the echidna was already punching the laundry’s room door, breaking it. His breathing agitated as he saw his significant other on the floor.

“What happened?” He asked, worried that someone might have come into her home. 

The girl crawled, starting to search in between the clothes as she stumbled upon a red quill. Taking it in between her fingers, she showed it to the animal, furrowed eyebrows on her face.

Knuckles saw the quill with curious eyes. “You stepped on a quill of mine?” 

She threw the quill at him, half annoyed. “Of course I did! Don’t go around shedding your stuff please. Look! Now my foot hurts because of it.” She said as she looked at her now destroyed door. “And that too!” The mammal listened to her words, and before she could complain for anything else, he got closer to take the girl in his arms, an easy task for him, and brought her to the sofa. Laying her down, he put a gloved hand on his own chest.

“I’ll take care of the laundry to compensate for it.” He oathed, the girl surprised for his serious face, snorting in the process.

“That’d be nice.” She said, as she looked at her foot, not swollen or anything. “I could help you though-”

“No, you stay there.” He demanded as he strided to the laundry room.

A moment later, he came back stomping to the living room again. 

“Uhm… How does the machine that washes clothes works?”

[nibbelraz]

Airplane Bro, please write some plot