#let me know if there needs to be more cw tags

[shares-a-vest]

Just a Shirt (Read on ao3)

wc: 1.9k | Rated: T | cw: Mild descriptions of Steve's s4 injuries (mostly the scar on his neck), Hospital mention, Brief mention of nightmares

Tags: Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Post s4 Fix-it (Everyone Lives), Hellfire, Fluff and Angst (Happy Ending), Love Confessions, Injury, Cuddling

Eddie makes Steve a customised Hellfire shirt, just for him. Based off this ficlet/headcanon. But the BIGGEST thank you goes to @tangerinesteve (formally babydollbaron) for their incredible tags below. They gave me the biggest and softest brainworms. I hope I did your wonderful ideas justice!

“Here-p,” Eddie mumbles, pushing a too-neatly folded shirt into Steve’s hands.

“Uh, thanks,” his boyfriend hums, quirking a brow in confusion.

Eddie shrugs the whole thing off for good measure because it’s just a shirt – that’s all it is.

... But not really.

Like, at all.

He looks away, avoiding Steve’s gaze. While their relationship isn’t too new for gifts, it might be too fresh for a t-shirt that screams, ‘You are part of me and I can see that you are in pain and I think I can fix it. Nay, I need to make you comfortable’.

Yeah… it’s perhaps a little too premature for something that says all that.

So Eddie looks at the floor, his beige sock blending into the similarly-coloured carpet that lines Steve’s bedroom. His foot really only looks like an actual foot and not a patch of carpet thanks to the hole in his sock that is currently exposing his pinky toe.

It’s just a shirt, he desperately reminds himself as he catches Steve unfurling it out of the corner of his eye.

It’s just a shirt.

A customised Hellfire shirt he made especially for Steve.

One that is two sizes too big, made of the softest cotton and led to an emptying of his wallet to obtain. A Hellfire shirt that has short sleeves and a loose, scooped neck Eddie fashioned himself after borrowing a sewing book from the library. A neckline he sewed on Mrs Pemberton’s machine after crossing the trailer park and answering a slew of questions from an all too inquisitive Max Mayfield.

It’s a Hellfire shirt in its logo only – despite what his friends might think. Or the fuss all his pea-brained lost little sheepie buddies kicked up along the way.

They have been a total nightmare these past few weeks, scheming and plotting and sabotaging like a little hoard of gremlins. But Eddie supposes he can really only blame himself.

He should have never said anything, never asked Gareth for the original master copy of the Hellfire logo he knows his best friend keeps filed away in secret on the rare occasions they let in new members. Or to get new t-shirts printed in instances of spilled beverage-based stain emergencies. But then Gareth of course squealed to Jeff, who teased Eddie mercilessly before blabbing to Freak, who, well… Freaked about the possibility of a jock joining Hellfire.

The shock. The horror! Oh, the humanity!

And then came what was nothing short of a campaign via Dustin, Mike and Will, all collectively working to not only prevent Eddie from something he wasn’t even going to do in the first place but to also create a drama so seismic that rumours got around the whole of Hawkins that one Eddie Munson would no longer be running his little ‘demonic’ social club.

Or at least that’s what Wayne said Ernie at the plant had told him that his son had said.

The only thing is, Eddie feels more than a little sorry for Lucas Sinclair, a kid now sulking around, utterly crestfallen that his favourite Laundry Basket Friend isn’t also secretly a full-blown nerd.

It’s just that Eddie wanted to give Steve a nice, soft, comfy shirt he had hoped he would look at just like he is right now.

Besides, Steve had admitted that he liked the Hellfire logo months back when they first started dating. Told Eddie it was, “So creative, man”, after expressing some mild disappointment that he hadn’t shown up for their first date wearing it.

He smiles at the memory, Steve’s eyes lighting up as soon as he hopped into the Beemer, far too eager to head off to Benny’s Diner that he hadn’t even bothered to let Steve chivalrously walk up to the front stoop of the new and improved Casa de Munson.

“Eddie…” Steve says, his voice just above a whisper and sounding just as soft as the too-important shirt in his grip.

“Don’t worry,” he snorts, “I’m not making you join or anything it’s just… You said you haven’t been sleeping well…”

He gestures with his hand, searching for the right words. Better words that won’t sound so monumental and weighted as Steve’s eyes trail right along the shirt’s scooped neckline.

The hem is probably a little flimsy, but hopefully, Steve won’t fucking claw at it like the old Tigers gym shirt he almost tore in two a few weeks back after bolting upright in a sweat after a nightmare. That is what did it – really set Eddie on his mission. Seeing Steve’s sniffles turn to tears and how he tried to hide them away, shrugging Eddie off before rushing to the ensuite bathroom.

He had come back a few minutes later, eyes red as he hugged his arms across himself, appearing small and frightened but acting cold as ice.

“Yeah…” Steve nods before mouthing what appears to be the word, “soft”, as he balls the fabric between his fingers.

“Hell, I know you haven’t been sleeping,” Eddie continues to ramble, “Just… tossing and turning. Also your… Y’know…”

He gestures to his own neck, referring to the still-reddened scar around Steve’s. One that Eddie knows leaves his throat scratchy and hoarse at the slightest provocation. A mark that nosey townspeople gawk at when Steve is at work, leaving him all embarrassed and well, not like Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington at all.

And Steve hadn’t even told Eddie about that part. Nope. He found out from Robin, who swung by the mechanic one afternoon, inconsolable about her best friend spending their shift at Family Video hidden away in Keith Anderson’s stinky loser palace of an office.

“Mhmm,” Steve nods, pursing his lips.

Eddie knows he isn’t mad – it’s just something his boyfriend doesn’t talk about. That he doesn’t like talking about.

He needn’t ramble anymore, really – fill the silence between them or attempt to explain himself because, in a flash, Steve slips off his tight-fitting navy polo and replaces it with his new Hellfire shirt.

And Eddie can’t help but beam at a job well done.

It hangs nicely. Loose enough to sleep in, but not billowing so much to swallow that physique entirely. The neckline sits just where he had hoped too, much lower than the regular Hellfire shirts, scooped below Steve’s collar bones so that even if it stretches in his sleep, it couldn’t possibly pull and tug at his scar.

It’s perfect.

Exactly what he wanted to give Steve, who looks down at the devilish, very metal logo – a sight that is sure to scare off his snooty parents for good if they ever see it.

Before he knows it, Steve lunges for him and Eddie feels his cheeks squish against his boyfriend’s hands as he is kissed.

And kissed.

And kissed some more.

Kisses that last for long enough and grow softer with every peck that Eddie soon feels his legs buckling and he forgets altogether what they are even doing up here, in Steve’s bedroom, in the middle of the day on a warm summer afternoon.

It’s just the he –

“ – I love you,” Steve smiles when he comes up for air and – 

His eyes blow wide in an instant.

And Eddie is sure his own do too – maybe even pop right out of his goddamn skull with an audible gasp in there somewhere as well as they both fully realise what has just been said.

Steve loves him?

Just the same as he loves Steve. So much that he is blurting it out now, in the middle of his bedroom on a warm, mid-summer afternoon – perhaps months too early when they are probably, most likely still in the honeymoon phase.

All because of one perfect t-shirt.

Steve’s brow pinches together and his jaw goes slack as he looks away.

“I…” he trails off, drumming his fingers on Eddie’s shoulders.

“Stevie...” he tuts, smiling back at him.

He steps closer still, closing any remaining space between them as he loops his arms around his partner’s middle and squeezes him tight.

Eddie backs them a step back, then another. Then another until he is at a safe enough distance to rock Steve back and collapse onto the bed.

They fall with a conjoined, “Hmphf” – one that knocks the wind out of Eddie’s already breathless lungs and has Steve momentarily distracted away from whatever inner turmoil he had going on a moment ago. As he lands on top of his boyfriend, Eddie gets a feel of the shirt, now warmed by Steve’s permanently hot body temperature. A feeling that makes it seem even softer.

Like it is already worn in and loved.

He wants to ball a handful of it up in his fist and never let go.

But Eddie forces himself to sit upright, settling down in a straddled position to hover over Steve’s clothed form. He smiles down at the sight beneath him, his giddiness short-lived and quickly fading as a big, brown and now glistening set of panicked eyes return.

“Stevie,” he whispers, running his hand up Steve’s torso.

He ghosts his fingers with a featherlight touch over the printed logo, an illustration he had first scribbled on the back of his math book in his junior year.

Eddie leans forward and takes Steve’s hands, clasping them tight and one by one, he brings them to rest above his head where his super-soft signature swoop is sticking every which way, mussed by the bedspread.

He can’t help but chuckle a little at the sight – momentarily giving into the greedy feeling he gets when he thinks about how this Steve is the one he gets all to himself.

But Steve frowns, those expressive brows looking positively pained now as if only one thing could possibly soften them.

“I love you too,” Eddie says, freeing a hand to delicately pluck at Steve’s loosened neckline, “Obviously.”

“You do?” Steve asks.

Eddie nods as a visible relief washes through Steve’s eyes, leaving his brows to soften up so much he wonders if his boyfriend might now cry.

And before he can say or do anything more, Steve bolts upright, once again leaving Eddie feeling winded and more than a lot flushed this time as he wraps his arms around him and buries his face in his neck, snuffling close like the world’s cuddliest puppy.

They stay like this for a long while, simply breathing in sync as they hold each other. And soon Steve begins to sink, his body going lax as his head slips down onto Eddie’s shoulder.

“I really wanna sleep,” he hums as tears seep through Eddie’s own plain black t-shirt.

“You wanna try now?” Eddie offers, pulling back enough to give an encouraging little smile.

Steve nods, refusing to let him go as they lower down together as one, his eyes fluttering shut when his head meets the bedspread.

“Wanna get all cozy under the covers?” Eddie continues, nudging at the bedding.

He really doesn’t want to move too much more – not when Steve looks like this.

Relaxed.

Loved.

Comfortable and wrapped up in a softness Eddie would like to keep him cocooned in forever.

But as he always does, Steve moves for them and rolls to the side. He snuggles in close, burrowing his head between the crook of Eddie’s neck and the mattress all protected and safe. Eddie palms around for the blanket and haphazardly wraps what sliver of it is free around them, shielding his partner a little more for good measure.

It’s good like this.

Calm. Warm.

Soft.

[clockwayswrites]

Specter of Starlight - Part 1

Summary:

Tim meets a specter of a ghost on a roof. He doesn't know that, not at first. At first he just meets a friend. It's only later he becomes very, very scared for him.

Content warning:

While I promise a happy ending, this fic does not start out happy. The start of this fic deals with (mistaken) suicidal ideation. Neither character is, but the assumption is made and there's a lot of internal thoughts about running into someone on a ledge in the middle of the night and how to handle that. Proceed carefully, darlings.

Wc: 666 (coincidentally spooky)

_____

Sometimes a person on a roof was just a person on a roof— someone out to get some fresh air or distance or space. Sometimes a person on a roof was a tragedy waiting to happen. As protectors of the city, the Bats had to learn to tell the difference.

They tried to stop every time that they could, just in case, but when they were in the middle of a chase or attack they had to make a call. They all had choices that haunted them. They could only make the best guess based on what they knew. Obvious apartment complexes, lower buildings, people on the phone or smoking, in the middle of the roof— if they didn’t have the time, those were usually safe to pass on. Tonight it was an office building, several stories high, a person sitting on the edge of the building as silent and still as the stone gargoyle they were next to. Tonight Tim wasn’t going to risk passing by. At least the figure was looking up and not down. Maybe it was okay. Please be okay. Tim landed lightly, almost soundlessly, on the roof. Still, he saw the shoulders of the person stiffen ever so slightly. They had heard him. Tim let the toe of his boot catch purposefully on the aggregate of the roof— let himself be obvious in his presence. He went kept wide. It was far enough away not to be a threat (that was a lie, Tim would always be a threat) but close enough that at this height he would have time to catch the person if they jumped. With ease, Tim hopped up onto the ledge and let his feet dangle out over the open air. For him the height was comforting, an old friend. “What brings you all the way up here?” Don’t ask them if they’re going to jump. Don’t ask them if they’re that far gone. Don’t cement the idea in their mind. Out of the corner of his eye, Tim took in what details he could in dim light. Dark hair— black likely but possibly dark brown. Late teens likely, early twenties if they were a late bloomer. Which was possible. They’re far too lean— lean enough to be pushing into gaunt. Bright blue eyes flicked to look at Tim and then back up to the sky. “Stargazing.” Tim stared up at the cloud cover that was so thick not a bit of starlight sneaked through. They snorted, as if reading Tim’s mind. “Yeah, it’s not being very cooperative.” There’s a subtle drawl to their voice. Midwest accent, Tim’s subconscious supplies, not a Gotham native. Not even someone who’s been here long enough to lose the accent. Just long enough to be up on a roof in the middle of the night. Their voice is almost lost in the night air even though it’s still as death. There’s not a single breeze to snatch their words away, but the voice is still just a little hard to hear. “I don’t think you’re going to be in luck tonight,” Tim replied. “Lady Gotham isn’t known to be accommodating.” They gave a long hum at that, clearly thinking something over. “Guess I’m not really stargazing then.” “So what would you say you’re doing?” Tim tried to keep his voice casual. They gave a little shrug, eyes still glued to the murky sky. “Just… wondering it must be like… to die without getting to see the stars one last time.” Tim jolted towards them instinctively, his hands gripped white knuckled tight on the ledge to avoid reaching out. Don’t do anything that might give them a reason to jump. The stranger glanced at Tim again. A crooked smile graced their lips. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Tim wants to say he’s not scared. It would be a lie. “I’m not up here to jump, I promise. I very much want to live.” Tim wanted desperately to believe that.

_____

AN: Finally wrote the start of this last night when I couldn't sleep. I gave it a rough polish so here it is! I don't know if I'll post all of it on tumblr, as I think I want to play around with chapter pacing for effect, but have this here at least. (Also I cannot tell you how many times I wrote Tim as TIme.) As always, stay delightful.

@michealawithana | @skulld3mort-1fan | @legowerewolf | @tsukihimeyfan | @bahfev

[blitzwhore]

I'm certain this has been pointed out before, but...

“Lust shouldn't be about force.”

“Oh! No! Never. NEVER that.”

When Stolas said he would never do that to Blitz, he really meant it. After all, he knows intimately well what it's like to be forced.

[lilybug-02]

Sorry to bring this up, but you used to draw with a guy under the name GameTheSoldier right? Have you seen what he recently posted?

Yes. For starters, I want to reiterate that anyone reading this post NEEDS TO BLOCK HIM. He is an online predator and emotional manipulator.

Trigger Warning Below: (Mentions of manipulation, predatory behavior, grooming, and pornography)

Me and 2 of my close tumblr friends would draw with him constantly on magma.io (all of 2022). He had strange tendencies of guilting us into drawing late into the night and emotionally breaking our characters. February of last year both of my friends came out and told me that he had been talking and drawing with them more privately. He had asked and guilted them into drawing pornography and extremely violent artworks of his and their characters. Both were underage.

I can tell you that what he has "admitted" in his most recent post is not even close to what he actually did.

Gamethesoldier, as a 22+ year old man, targeted MULTIPLE minors online, heavily MANIPULATED them, started long and serious relationships with them, and MANY more disgusting acts with pornography and gore. I went to the police last year, but was unable to get him arrested as he and his victims were in different countries and I myself was not one of his victims.

What he has done is unacceptable, despicable, and criminally illegal. One of my friends was heavily impacted by his actions and is still clearly shaken by what happened. They are at no fault for any of what he did.

For respect to my friends, I kept this quiet, deleting all of my art with him. But recently I saw he was with another magma.io group and... I could NOT let that stand. He does not deserve pity or empathy. He is a criminal and one who has manipulated minors to a horrifying degree.

I apologize for the extreme degree of this post. But I wanted to make it clear, he is not a good person.

[hollymacycomic]

Holly & Macy and Everyone Else

Chapter 4: Page 30

Start at the Beginning | About the comic | Tip-jar 

🌘 Support the comic & read the next page now on Patreon! 🌘

[esteemed-excellency]

interrupting the lovey dovey posting with The Incident

[zombiecleodoodles]

Request for some Cleo and bigb hurt and comfort based on what happened in last life

I offer no comfort, only hurt :)

[tisinoodle]

Sveta is my favourite, I love her so much

Mock cover for y’all

[pekoeboo]

another Ravenwood RP thing based on this concept I briefly touched on before. Antony ends up dead (again) as a result of this whole ordeal, as Melvin's undead form attacked him (it's kind of a long story but yeah. an undead/possessed Mel is the one they're fighting in all of this fdjkgdfg - he does get reverted back to normal eventually, don't worry).

kinda pushed myself out of my comfort zone a bit with this one, considering that like, "Mel" ended up going for Antony's throat and the idea is pretty gory in nature. but I'm quite squeamish so I couldn't really bring myself to draw much detail. still a super messed-up concept tho. ugh my poor boy;;;

this RP is always just really intense tbh, but I've been trying to get over my fear of sharing some of the more angsty or painful arts regarding the stories me and my friends come up with. these kinds of arts are usually the ones I put a lot of emotion into, so hopefully that comes through the most... even if I don't do a great job explaining things sometimes ><;;

please do not remove caption or repost. also on deviantart

[vi-enti]

how to be yourself (who is that, anyways?)

He didn’t deserve an ending just yet. There was too much to fix. / Nobody was healed and only more wounded were going to join them, but… they’d heal. They’d do it together. / Would peace be an option for all of them? / Nothing was right. / "We can make things right."

A story of survival after death, and how to forge something new after having destroyed the world. Where every awakening is a disaster waiting to happen, but not an irreparable one. Unlikely friendships, growing bonds, and some semblance of happiness; if they can bring themselves to believe they deserve it, anyways.

tldr; the remnants of despair becoming beacons of hope again, not for society, but for themselves.

how to be yourself (who is that, anyways?) - Chapter 1 - guravity - Dangan Ronpa Series [Archive of Our Own]

[kingtheghast]

"Poor little dhampir..."

(Commission for @jazzyjesse !)

[angered-box]

come get ur android his gpu is going crazy

[howlsnteeth]

finished commission for @scarsmood! they've said kin/etc tags/associations are fine!

[tapuhauko]

Hi everyone!! I'll be putting my blogs on semi-hiatus for now. I'll try to be around now and then but I got to put my health first for a bit! Details will be below the cut. Feel free to ask for my discord, I might make a 1x1 thing or a lil server for us to write in potentially! [ CW medical talk, hospital procedures, blood test mention ]

So. I had my check-up at the hospital yesterday. Had blood tested again last week for this, and got the results yesterday. Basically, all the values we wanted to go down have just risen once more. It's to do with my infection levels/CRP and my liver, both are still on the higher side and show no signs of lowering, and instead rose, despite it being two months now. It makes sense, cause my symptoms (muscle / joint / back and knee pain and extreme tiredness) have just worsened a tad too, so I feel kinda validated in a way as well? That I'm not making stuff up I mean, or that it's most likely not due to my brain's way of badly processing stimuli.

Either way, it's not good, so I now have a PET scan and an echo planned and they took more blood for testing. I'm honestly kinda afraid of what they could find given family history, but I also know it's better to just test and see than to just wait and do nothing. So yeah, that's my situation right now. I still go to my zoo work, and I still love it there, but I have to take a step back in multiple areas cause I just fall asleep after dinner and then sleep for 12-14 hours a day. It's just not healthy, and the lack of evening time to spend on hobbies has slowly dented my mood as well ;u; I'll try to be around at times, but I just need to watch my health for now ;u; I'll be around on discord a lot still, so feel free to ask for that! Once again thank u all for being patient with me!! care u all! <3

[esteemed-excellency]

Hiram's scars reference:

The abstraction scar is the oldest

He was crushed by glim in three separate occasions (it became a running joke within the yacht's crew)

He was obliterated by a chunk of his airship's deck this estival

Virginia murdered him that one time before the Marvellous

He has a lightning scar on his back (not pictured)

Plus, the only scars he got rid of with the shapeling arts:

[sammy8d257]

(re-asking because i think the old one was deleted?)

okay so i might have kidnapped mk!purple and turned them into a dragon

they bit my finger off, i don’t want them anymore

*dragon-mk!purple has challenged you to a staring contest*

Hi Fantarules! Your first ask wasn't deleted, I just wasn't able to get around to answering it because,

Well, I wanted to do this for it.

I hope you enjoy it >8)c

-( | )-

Cries of the Changed An AvM Mad King Au ficlet

Written by Sammy8D257 Inspired by @fantarules677 's Dragon MK!Purple art

Word Count: 703

CW: Descriptions of painful transformations, Human/Stick turned Animal, Body Horror, Wish for death (in response to pain), Hurt No Comfort

Summary: Purple has been feeling off for a long time. (Not canon to the main AU. Think of this as more of an AU of an AU)

[AvM Mad King AU Masterpost]

-( | )-

Purple has been feeling… off, for a long time.

Not like a headache off, though at the beginning it did feel that way, but an off that seeps into one's very core. An off that feels like something is squirming just below the surface. A writhing, slow, crawl too deep to scratch out.

Purple has been feeling this way for a long time.

They don't remember when it started. 

Was it when the pain behind their eyes doubled, tripled, in intensity before fading into a dull but persistent throb? Was it when their nails grew and sharpened into razor? Not claws. Never claws. Purple was a stick figure and stick figures had rounded hands and nails. Was it when their back tensed one day and never relaxed? They were never one to workout but they could swear layers of muscle were forming underneath their elytra straps. 

Was it when Purple no longer had to look up to talk to King MT? They were not yet as tall as the former king, their eyes level to his mouth, but height never mattered when the other was already cowering at their feet.

Or maybe it was when, after months of peace and established normalcy, one voice in a sea of thousands whispered so sweetly into the empty air of the void;

╎'ᒲ ʖ𝙹∷ᒷ↸

At the end of the day, it does not matter.

Purple does not know when it started.

But they do know it will not end well. 

Not for them. Never for them.

So here Purple stands, at the edge of an incomplete bridge. The Endermen had not yet finished connecting one tower to the other, the yellow end stone several feet below them. It didn't matter. Purple wanted to come out here to check on the progress. 

Something, anything, to feel normal.

Their stomach felt twisted, a pain worse than their inability to keep down regular food. Their muscles burned, it twitched underneath skin in unnatural ways. Their entire head ached, from their jaws to their teeth to their eyes to everything inside their skull. The dull throb now a war drum in their ears.

So here Purple stands, the spitting image of misery. 

And here Purple falls, their mind so distracted by pain that they don't notice when they start to tip.

And here Purple lands, a sickening cRACK on the cold stone below. 

Before the shock can even register, like a chain reaction, their body twists and convulses.

Skin rips, muscles tear, bones snap. The scream that bubbles to their lips does get to form before their jaw is cracked and broken.

It's agony. They're on fire. They're dying.

They're getting bigger. Dimly through their pain blurred mind, there's a horrible realization they're changing.

And it's agony.

Their muscles are reconnecting, their skin is sewing back together, their bones are reforming.

Purple does not know when it will end. They hope it's soon.

They hope they're dead by the end. But they know they won't be.

How cruel.

. . . 

. .

.

ᔑ ↸∷ᔑ⊣𝙹リ?

∴ᒷ ᔑ⊣∷ᒷᒷ↸ 𝙹リ ᔑリ ᒷリ↸ᒷ∷ᒲᔑリ

ʖ⚍ℸ ̣  ↸∷ᔑ⊣𝙹リᓭ ᔑ∷ᒷ ᒲ⚍ᓵ⍑ ᒲ𝙹∷ᒷ ╎リℸ ̣ ᒷ∷ᒷᓭℸ ̣ ╎リ⊣

ᔑꖎ∷╎⊣⍑ℸ ̣  ꖎᒷℸ ̣  ⚍ᓭ ᓭᒷᒷ ⍑𝙹∴ ℸ ̣ ⍑╎ᓭ !¡ꖎᔑ||ᓭ 𝙹⚍ℸ ̣

.

. .

. . .

Time passes. It must have.

Purple lifts their head out of a puddle of spit, blood, and an unidentifiable black oil.

Everything still hurts but their mind is clearer than it's been in a long time.

Their head feels heavy. Their entire body feels heavy. 

Wearily, they lift a hand to their face and is greeted with a sharp pain on their cheek. 

A confused growl erupts from their throat. Eyes wide, they stare down at their hand.

Not a hand. A claw.

A claw with sharpened black talons and familiar purple scales. 

They whip around, their head heavy with a muzzle. Their back heavy with wings. Their hips heavy with a tail.

A shock of purple in the spit and blood and black oil puddle draws their attention.

With their head bowed low, Purple stares at the reflection in the shiny liquid.

Their reflection.

And they roar, high pitched, scared, and mourning.

-( | )-

Miles away, resting on an obsidian pillar, the Ender Dragon lifts her head and echos the call.