#post prime arc

[darth-sonny]

Prime Leo AU Ficlet

Content/Trigger Warnings in the tags

Leo wakes up with his shell to the wall and feels a bit chilly.

His vision takes some time to properly clear up, but the blurry colors he can see give him some odd sense of… familiarity. As if he’s been here before. He rubs his eyes, blinking once, twice, three times until it becomes clear where he is.

He’s in the kitchen of the old lair. Or, what he assumes to be the kitchen of the old lair. Without the cupboards, appliances, and heating installed by dad and Donnie over the years, it just looks like a weird empty room. Leo gets the feeling that if he were to walk out and explore his old home, he’d just see the bones, the base for the home he’s known for thirteen years. He leans his head back, scales resting on the cool wall.

Looking down, he sees that he’s wearing the thick, heavy hoodie Donnie made for him with April’s help. Huh. So, this must be a dream, because Leo only wore that hoodie when he went to bed. Moving his legs, he sighs a bit in relief at seeing that he’s still wearing sweatpants. He’s not in the mood to see all the scars he has on his legs.

He’s not in the mood to see any of his scars in general. But so far, he’s been doing a great job of ignoring them and the problems that they caused. Mikey’s attempts of tricking him into a session with Doctor Feelings get thwarted every time by a conveniently placed Donnie, who claims that he’s just making sure that Leo’s vitals don’t go crazy.

Leo’s thankful for the saves. He can’t stomach a meeting with Doctor Feelings. He’s pretty sure he’d hurt Mikey in some form of way if he had to, and he didn’t want to do that.

Hurting his brothers, his dad, April, Casey, Cassandra…

After waking up with horrible wounds and scars all over him and seeing his family burst into tears when he said hello for what felt like the first time in months, the last thing on Leo’s mind was hurting his family in any way.

A baby’s cry snapped him out of his thoughts.

Turning his head to the left, he saw a semi-run down cardboard box.

The cries came from there.

Was he in a memory? He remembers dad saying that he and his brothers all slept in a cardboard box back when they were babies small enough to fit in the palm of their dad’s hand.

Crawling closer, Leo was ready and expecting to see four baby turtles wiggling around and about to start crying altogether. It was something that drove Splinter up the wall when it came to them; if one of them started crying, then a chain reaction would be set off and not even a minute later, they all ended up crying. Leo and his brothers, thankfully, broke out of that habit once they hit the double digits (sans Mikey, the more empathetic brother/son).

So imagine his surprise when he looks inside the box and doesn’t see four baby turtles, but only one.

Himself.

He’s burrito-wrapped with a light blue blanket, waving his little arms as best he could and screaming his little lungs out. His itty-bitty face is scrunched up, massive tears spilling out of his eyes.

Leo doesn’t remember being a loud crier. That was either Mikey or, on occasion, Donnie. Contrary to popular belief, Leo used to be a quiet baby. He hardly cried, mostly fussed, and said almost nothing until he was four-years-old. Then he started talking and he never stopped.

Gently picking up his baby self, Leo racked his brain for any information on infants. He’s familiar with pediatric care (there was no reason for him to learn it, but he still picked it up just in case April and Sunita ever adopted), but for basic baby care, Leo was lost as hell. Deciding that he had no other better idea, he loosly unwraps the baby and begins to rock him.

He was incredibly little. His head was smaller than the palm of Leo’s hand, and his bitty arms don’t even wrap halfway around Leo’s neck.

Was he really that small back then?

Leo wishes he could go back to those times, where the only thing he and his family had to worry about was if it would get too cold for them to go outside.

Everything seemed so simple back then.

It hurts to think back to those times.

The baby stopped crying by now, letting out small hiccups and garbled chirps as he tightened his grip on Leo’s neck. Though, not by much. Baby strength doesn’t help the little guy out at all.

Laughing just a bit, Leo gently unwraps his baby self's arms around him and lays him out on his legs.

“Are you feeling better now?” he asks, keeping his voice low to not startle the baby.

A fussy churr escapes his little beak as he wipes his face with his blanket-covered hands. Leo smiles a bit at the sight. Grabbing the edge of the blanket, he assists his baby self with the task, earning a happy little chirp and a giggle as a thanks.

“I was really cute back then, wasn’t I?” he says, booping the baby’s snout with a finger, earning another giggle. His eyes fell on the hand and arm he lost more than six months, opening and closing his fingers to enjoy it. It was a dream, after all, might as well have this moment to himself.

“You really should enjoy having both of your arms, y’know,” he says while grabbing his baby self’s tiny, chubby, blanket-covered legs. “Because, from me to you, it sucks losing one of them.”

The baby opens his eyes…

…and Leo feels his blood freeze.

He was expecting to see black eyes. Black eyes that would later develop into one blue, and one brown.

The baby’s eyes are red. A familiar haunting red that stares back at him from the mirror, glowing no matter where he is, and reminding him of what happened to him. Of who happened to him.

Leo takes a good long look at the baby, finally noticing the markings over their eyes. They were jagged, almost fancy in a way, and while looking similar to his own, they were pink. His were red.

The blanket fell away from the baby’s hands, revealing the dark ombré they ended in. The color made him sick. It was the same color of the arm that grew out of his stump. The arm that he was stuck with because he was too much of a coward to ask Donnie or Draxum to cut it off.

Gently, he unwraps the baby from the blanket.

Their feet were the same; green scales ending in a dark ombré color. Their tail was longer than Leo’s, almost the same length Raph’s was back when he was a baby. The tip was covered in that same. Damn. Color.

The baby blinks at Leo once, twice, three times, before a wide smile overtakes their face. A gurgly giggle escaped their throat as they stretched their arms towards him, their hands making grabbing motions. The baby’s tail began to wag rapidly.

They’re looking at him with so much love, and happiness, and trust, and adoration…

The same way dad said Leo looked at him when he was freshly mutated.

Leo feels sick.

The baby chirps, churrs, and continues to giggle.

They’re adorable. And they look so much like him.

Leo gently rewraps the baby with the blanket before placing them back in the box.

He then runs to the corner and throws up.

The baby looks like him.

Their eyes are red, their hands and feet and tail have the same color as the arm Leo now has...

All Leo can throw up now is stomach bile.

He can hear the baby crying out for him, and he’s horrified that a part of him wants to go to them, cradle them in his arms, and soothe them.

Leo pinches his arms.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up…”

The baby’s cries grow louder. “Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up. Wake. Up!” he continues, rocking himself back and forth. He ignores the chirps, the crying, the confused noises the baby gives off. Ignores how he wants to go over there and hold them. Ignores everything and anything and simply focuses on waking. Up.

“It’s not real, it’s just a dream, it’s not real, it’s just a dream, it’s not real, it’s just a dream…”

The baby keeps crying. Louder and louder.

“Stop, stop, stop, stop…!”

It isn’t until he feels someone touching his shell – in that same way that makes him briefly relieve that damn fucking beach – that he jolts awake and punches the bastard on the snout.

…

……

………

“Ow,” Donnie says.

Leo blinks.

His brother is sitting in front of him, eyes watery as he holds his snout in his hands. He can see blood trickling through the gaps of his fingers.

“Shit,” he mumbles.

He tries to crawl his way toward Donnie, but his twin stops him with one bloody hand.

“It’s good. It’s fine,” he says. Leo can’t help but scoff at that.

“You’re bleeding,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, well.” Donnie tips his head back, one hand still on his snout. “I should've seen that coming. Physical touch is a no-no for you, you’re easily startled, and you have a mean left hook. Really should’ve seen that coming.” Leo watches his brother make some faces at the ceiling before sniffing loudly. Donnie lets out a hiss. “Hm. Nope. That was a bad idea.”

“Sorry,” he says, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie. He scowls slightly at his glove-covered right hand, physical proof that he’s now awake.

“Don’t be. As I said, I should’ve seen that coming.”

He looks around, noticing that his bed (in actuality, it was Donnie’s bed. But Donnie gave it to him after it became clear Leo wasn’t moving back to his own room, and made himself a new one) was unmade, the blanket (it wasn’t blue) appeared to have been haphazardly thrown onto the floor.

Leo opens his mouth to ask what happened, but Donnie (a now new believer of “Twin Telepathy”) beats him to it.

“You had a nightmare. It was bad enough that you threw up on the floor and started shaking.”

“Oh.”

That explained it.

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Donnie says. “Everything you did was a normal reaction.”

Leo doesn’t say anything.

Donnie tilts his head forward to look at him. He stopped bleeding by now, but he looks concerned.

“What, uh, what was it about? The… the nightmare.”

Leo blinks.

What…

… What was his nightmare about?

He…

He couldn’t remember…

“I… I don’t know. I forgot. Sorry-”

“I said to stop apologizing.”

Leo closes his beak.

Donnie sighs and gets up, motioning for Leo to follow him. They walk out of Donnie’s room and into the medbay. Leo tries not to wince at being back here again. It’s his medbay, but… having been here far too many times has put something of a damper on its allure.

“Do you still feel like throwing up?”

Leo nods.

Donnie hands him some antacids and a water bottle. He watches as Donnie moves around to gather some tissues to stuff them up his nostrils.

“What about the… bile in your room?” he asks. Donnie waves his hand dismissively.

“It’s fine. I’ll just send one of the DeeDees to clean it up.”

“The… what?"

“DeeDee!” Donnie says proudly. “Acronym for Disinfectant Droid. It’s an army roomba-like robots I built specifically to handle intestinal messes! Very handy and useful, I will say.”

“Oh.” Of course Donnie would build such a thing. “How many are there?”

“As of right now, a dozen.”

“You’re building more?”

“One never knows.”

Leo finishes up the rest of his water bottle.

“I don’t want to go back to sleep,” he says, stuffing his right hand into the pocket of his hoodie, and the left into his sweatpants’ pocket.

“And you won’t!” Donnie sweeps his arm in a flourishing movement, leading his twin out of the medbay and into the TV room. “I’ve been hooking this baby up to connect to my computer so we can play all the games I have there without having to grab two chairs and huddle up around the monitor.” He then produces two controllers out of nowhere. “And, luckily for you, I just about finished these bad boys when you woke up.”

Leo looks at the controllers, then at Donnie, then at the massive TV on the wall, then back at Donnie.

“Can we play Minecraft?”

“Absolutely.”

Twenty-five minutes later, Leo is punching a squawking and enraged Donnie into lava, ignoring his threats about how he’ll kill his parrots with a smile.

[son1c]

so, the thing about the megaflora in boscage is that, even though it’s incredibly strong, it’s not particularly smart. they’re plants after all, and so their “thoughts” mainly just consist of violence in service to obtaining food, and violence for the sake of violence. that changes when shadow shows up though.

through their shared black arms dna, the plants are able to connect with him, and they start poking around inside his brain. they see all his thoughts, all his memories, learn what he learns, know what he knows… and suddenly, the megaflora is extremely smart. smart enough to realize that having a mobile unit, not tethered to roots, and with a mouth that can speak for the collective, would be beneficial. so they smother shadow into submission. there’s just too many of them to hold back, once they decide they want him.

once he’s assimilated, they continue to learn more from him, and one thing in particular stands out: the creation of their world. through the eyes of shadow’s memory, they see sonic shatter the paradox prism, and thus, create boscage maze, and therefore the megaflora themselves. this leads the megaflora to the conclusion that their true creator is not gerald, the loathsome traitor who abandoned them, left them to starve, and now seeks to destroy them with project halcyon, but instead sonic.

the megaflora get a sort of reverence for him… “shadow” tells sonic that he forgives him for shattering the prism. tells him it was a good thing, actually. and that’s when sonic starts to clue into something being seriously wrong. frankly, he liked it more when shadow was upset with him... because at least that was really him :(

[descendant-of-truth]

I MISSED SHADOW BEING A SMUG LITTLE SHOWOFF SO MUCH

Something I think that a lot of writers get wrong about Shadow (whether it was influenced by Sega's strictness or not) is that they tend to write him as just an opposite character to Sonic, and he does have elements of that. But he's also supposed to be a parallel to him.

All that confidence and sass, the cheeky poses, the way he clearly delights in showing off his skills and having a good tussle? Those are all Sonic traits.

They're meant to be each other's match in not just their abilities, but also their attitudes. And they used to bring out their similarities in each other, too - in SA2, Shadow is all business and brooding except for when Sonic shows up. Then it's like a sleeper agent kicks in and he neglects everything he was just doing to mess with him and prove how cool he is, it's actually comical.

But for years now, we've mostly had Sonic be the only one of the two to have fun when they fight, or be snarky, while Shadow's just been. so serious all the time. Maybe they'll give him the occasional comment or one-liner, but it still felt kinda... off, somehow. And I think it's because they didn't really lean into his Sonic-isms as much.

Meanwhile, there are several poses/expressions he makes in this episode that are extremely easy for me to imagine Sonic doing too, and it's great! Shadow is having fun again!! That's all I've wanted for years!!

[iwozlegit]

|| 🍍• All of y’all out here acting like you’re the top Megatron apologist of all-time like it’s a personality trait…

…when this motherfucker exists

[brainworms-all-night-long]

Look at my self indulgent dishelved sewer rat-looking fursona for Jinx boy (they look better on most days but y'know)

Cutting this off now cuz I'm fairly sure I'll be adding more to this in a reblog later

They/them for this creation of mine for epik and deep lore purposes that I will not write out rn because if I commit to the bit it would end up being 4am with me having to go to school by 6

All the context you get for now is that since the reference image is from the last episode, my guy(gn) here is after one severe beating from Knux(Ekko)(<-reason why the tails look so beaten and you can't see it but one is missing, see; angst reasons) an arm length explosion from their own bomb(realized way too late that the bomb actually blew up on Jinx's right hand side, way too late as in, half of coloring finished already. well in my AU it happened on Nine's left hand side!!!) and a bunch of Dark Gaia juices(Shimmer)(<-will think about the technicalities of thisnkater) injected into them as an effort to keep them from dying

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

hi. here's a little over 5k words for the modern human au! entirely unedited, as usual! you'd think this is a full oneshot... ha... no... i actually have some warnings for this one - hospitals, panic attacks, major character injury / discussion of death / clinical description of injury.

in short, my writing comfort zone <3

~

The dial tone plays, and Barnaby looks down at his phone. Call ended stares back at him under Wally’s cheerful profile picture.

“He hung up on me,” Barnaby states. His lips twist and he tosses the phone onto the couch with a snarl of, “That little bastard.”

“Hey now,” Howdy says sharply, frowning at him. “That’s our friend you’re talking about.”

“Like he doesn’t deserve it! All I do is be supportive, understanding, and worry about his damn well being. And then he goes and acts like my very much well-founded concern is an attack!”

Howdy’s frown softens as he watches Barnaby pace, gesturing wildly.

“I love that RV. Maybe not as much as Wally, obviously, but it pains me that it needs to go. And it does need to go! Thing’s becoming a damn deathtrap.” Barnaby pushes his hair back and huffs. He glances at Howdy. “Right? I’m making the right call, here?”

“Of course you are,” Howdy says. “But-”

Barnaby cuts him off. “I tried to be nice about it. I tried to warm him up to the idea of retiring Home, yaknow? And what does he do instead of handling it - he revs up the tin can and runs. Home shouldn’t be started, let alone driven. It’s dangerous.”

It’s extremely dangerous. Wally is skilled at driving it, but no amount of skill will save him if it breaks in the middle of the freeway. What if the engine catches fire? What if a tire pops, or comes loose? Home is old, and wasn’t made to crumple in a crash. Barnaby doesn’t even know if the airbag still works. It’s not safe. 

The thought of Wally bringing Home hurtling down the freeway at ten at night in a - quite honestly - not great mental state turns Barnaby’s stomach. 

“I just wanted him to come back so we could talk about it,” Barnaby says. “I let him keep worming his way out of a serious conversation and now - now he’s -”

“Running away,” Howdy finishes. The point of his pen taps a rhythm against his notepad. 

Barnaby jabs a finger at him. “Exactly. One tough, necessary decision and he turns tail. This isn’t gonna go away if he skips town! Not to mention how he isn’t giving a thought to how this might affect the rest of us.”

“Especially you.”

Barnaby throws his hands up with an indignant look. “Now not only do I have to hunt him down-”

“That would be a we scenario, Barn.”

“But we,” Barnaby concedes, “gotta try to knock some sense into that thick skull ‘a his, and drag him back home - kicking and screaming if we hafta.” 

Howdy’s pen taps faster. “What if he doesn’t want to come back?”

“What if he-” Barnaby stops short and stares at him, wide eyed. 

That’s not. 

That wouldn’t happen, right? Wally would come back in the end. He wouldn’t decide to up and leave entirely, would he? He is in Home… all the essentials he needs are in that RV. Barnaby sits down heavily on Howdy’s threadbare couch. “What if he doesn’t want to come back.”

Wally would have to come back to clear out his studio - he’d never abandon his art. Then they’d have to go through everything inside the house and see what he wants to take, since not all of it is Barnaby’s. A lot of it is shared, so they might have to bargain on who gets what. 

Then they’d all have to watch Wally get into his motorhome and drive away. Possibly for good. 

Barnaby would be alone in that big house with Welcome, knowing that his closest companion is out of his life. Living somewhere else. It's sickening. 

“I’m sure it won’t come to that, Barn,” Howdy says, watching him with furrowed brows and a deep frown - if Barnaby were feeling like himself, he’d crack a joke about him emulating Frank. “I can confidently say that Wally loves you more than that old RV.”

Barnaby snorts. “You sure about that?”

“Unflinchingly. Believe you me, he’s going to wallow for a day or so, and then Home will come rumbling back down your driveway like it never left.”

“I wish I could have your faith,” Barnaby mumbles. He exhales and picks up his phone. No missed calls, no messages. “Maybe if I call him and ask him to just come back, no strings attached, he will.”

“That’s the spirit! Save the talk for another day - tell you what, I’ll help you corrall him so he can’t escape the conversation. I’ll tie him to a chair and bar the door if needed!”

“Good luck with that. Kid’s slippery.” Still, Barnaby hits call again. It rings only a couple of times before a robotic automated message states the caller as unavailable. Barnaby doesn’t enjoy being upset with Wally. However, it feels like his blood is simmering, and the wall is starting to look like great target practice for his phone. He grits his teeth. “He turned off his phone.”

From the corner of his eye he sees Howdy’s eyebrows shoot up as the man turns back to his paperwork. He exhales a controlled breath and writes something down. “I have to say, I’ve never known him to be such a-”

“Pain in the neck?” Barnaby offers.

Howdy clicks his tongue. “You said it, not me.”

“Yeah, well, he’s full of surprises.” Barnaby lets out a frustrated huff. He’s half tempted to run Wally down right now, but he wouldn’t even know where to start. There’s only one freeway out of town, but it goes both ways, and it branches. Wally would have hit one of those branches by now, and who knows which he took. North, south, east, west. Deeper into the woods, or towards the city? To the coast? Somewhere else entirely?

He has to face the facts - there’s nothing to do. He just has to wait until Wally pulls his head out of his ass and realizes how stupid and insensitive he’s being. Those are two words Barnaby would never normally use to describe Wally, but after tonight? They seem fitting. 

Barnaby can’t even muster up guilt for thinking such harsh things. He tried to be nice. He was patient. He’s always kept a lid on it whenever Wally frustrated him, which doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. And what does he get for caring? For being tactful and careful about a shitty situation? 

Avoidance, a shove, and a cut call. Wally left Barnaby’s been left to stew in his own anger and worry. Right now, he’s inclined to lock up that worry in a tiny box in the back of his mind. 

Barnaby pushes himself up with a grumbled, “I’m makin’ some coffee, want some?”

“If you’re offering then I will not decline.”

Barnaby pretends not to feel Howdy’s eyes following him to the apartment’s tiny kitchen. It’s hell to maneuver around in, and the frustration of bumping into something every five seconds only makes Barnaby’s mood worse. By the time the coffee is brewing, he’s ready to punch the cabinets. He won’t, but he wants to. He’d regret it immediately, but he stares at the chipped paint and fantasizes. 

The coffee machine breaks after brewing a whopping single mug. Barnaby stares at it for a long moment, and tallies up the consequences of taking a hammer to it. In the end, he just clenches his fists for a long moment and counts to ten. He takes the mug and sets it in front of Howdy, then goes to the window to brood. Thankfully Howdy is too reabsorbed in his work to notice beyond a mumbled thanks.

For the next hour, Barnaby’s thoughts are entirely composed of Wally. Different scenarios of what might happen next, how Barnaby might handle those situations without shaking Wally for doing something so needlessly reckless, and cruel daydreams of setting Home on fire. Barnaby wants to feel bad about that. He doesn’t. That damn RV has caused two different rifts between Barnaby and Wally - and Barnaby was the one to fix both of them, because both times Wally just left. 

He gets it. He really does - for a time Home was all that Wally had. It’s been with him since Wally was thirteen, and if the thought of retiring it to a dump makes Barnaby sad, he can only imagine how much it distresses Wally. Well, he can do more than make an educated guess. Wally practically told him tonight, if not with words than with actions.

Still. They’re adults - Wally is older than him, if only by a handful of months. When does Barnaby ever ask something of him? When does Barnaby ever push? Why can’t Wally see that Home is becoming a liability, and why won’t he listen? Barnaby can’t make it make sense. 

Wally has always been more inclined to avoid conflict, but this is too far. Barnaby swears, when he tracks Wally down he’s going wring that scrawny little-

His phone is ringing. 

Barnaby lunges for it, relief dousing his anger. He picks it up, ready to give Wally a piece of his mind and then beg him to come back-

“It’s an unknown number,” he says, shoulders slumping. Of course it’s an unknown number. Wally wouldn’t change on a dime and decide to be considerate for once. He exchanges an exasperated look with Howdy and declines. He goes to set the phone down - the number calls back.

“That’s one determined scammer,” Howdy says. He leans back in his chair and holds out a hand. “I’ll deal with ‘em.”

Barnaby is all too happy to hand it over. Let the poor sap on the other end of the line deal with a master swindler. 

“Howdy-hi, how can I help?” Howdy starts with a mischievous grin thrown Barnaby’s way? He leans back in the chair and hums. “Who, may I query, is asking?”

All at once, the ease drains out of Howdy and he stops fidgeting. He sits up, already looking at Barnaby with a paled expression that has something cold slithering down Barnaby’s spine. Something is wrong.

“He’s right here.” Howdy holds out the phone. His throat works uselessly for a moment before he plainly states the obvious, “It’s for you.”

Barnaby takes it, his mouth abruptly dry. Howdy is already up and moving - grabbing his coat, his keys. “Hello?”

“Is this Barnaby Beagle?” a professional feminine voice asks, tinny through the phone.

“B. Beagle, yeah.”

The woman introduces herself as the nearest city’s hospital, and Barnaby’s heart drops through the floor. She asks him to confirm that he’s Wally Darling’s emergency contact. He confirms, his voice sounding distant to his own ears. Howdy takes his arm and gestures to his shoes by the door, spurring Barnaby into motion.

“Is he okay?” Barnaby manages to say. He puts the wrong shoe on the wrong foot and almost curses aloud as he switches it. 

“Mr. Darling was involved in an automobile accident,” is all the hospital employee says. “He was brought in a few minutes ago.”

Barnaby steadies himself against the doorjamb, choking on a whispered, “Oh, god.” 

Keys jingle as Howdy opens the door and pulls Barnaby through, then locks the door behind them.

“But is he okay?” Barnaby asks again as they hurry down the short hallway to the stairs. 

“I’m not at liberty to disclose that information at present.”

It’s bad. It has to be bad if they won’t say anything over the phone. He must be silent for too long, because Howdy takes the phone, tells her they’ll be there soon, and hangs up. He tucks the phone into Barnaby’s pocket before opening the door to the store’s back lot. 

The frigid air slaps the shock out of Barnaby, and sensation comes flooding back in. He grabs the keys out of Howdy’s hand and strides to the car with long, powerful strides that would leave anyone shorter than Howdy in the dust.

“Are you sure-”

“I’m driving,” Barnaby growls, cutting Howdy off.

Howdy makes a disapproving noise, but relents. They get in and Barnaby adjusts his seat with harsh movements, jabs the key into the ignition because Howdy’s car is a dated hunk of junk, and peels out of the parking space before Howdy even has his seatbelt all the way on. 

Howdy clings to the ceiling handle as the car tears down the mostly empty street, going at least ten miles over the speed limit. Barnaby doesn’t know exactly where the hospital is, but he knows how to get to the city. They can figure it out from there. Several people honk as Barnaby brings them flying onto the freeway. 

“Holy Marilyn marmalade!” Howdy screeches as they narrowly avoid side-swiping a minivan. 

Barnaby ignores him and cuts off a pickup to get into the right lane for the interchange. Howdy whispers a string of something high pitched and strained and clings to the handle with both hands. 

It takes him a moment to parse out the constant ramble as, “-pull over pull over pull over pull over-” Two honks and a squeal of tires as Barnaby almost causes an accident, and Howdy yells in a louder and deeper tone than Barnaby has ever heard from him, “PULL OVER!”

Barnaby clenches his jaw and cuts across the carpool lane’s double whites. It only takes a moment to reach the shoulder. Howdy leaps out of the passenger seat as soon as the car stops, marches to Barnaby’s side, and wrenches the door open.

“Out,” he snaps, breathing hard. “Barnaby, I swear to all things priceless, get out. “

Barnaby meets his steely gaze for all of a second before unbuckling and getting out. Cars whip by. Howdy huffs at him and slips into the driver’s seat, muttering about recklessness and disasters and if you would wait to try and kill us until we’re right outside the hospital, if only to save us the ambulance fee-

When Barnaby gets into the passenger seat, Howdy waits for him to buckle in with fingertips drumming on the steering wheel. He merges onto the freeway smoothly and carefully. They go slower than the speed Barnaby had them flying down the asphalt at, and it makes something deeply impatient itch in him, but it’s safer. 

“I know you’re upset,” Howdy says, eyes still fixed on the road, “and I know that you’re scared. But what in hell’s bells was that, Barn?”

Barnaby side eyes him and grimaces, folding his arms. “I don’t know. I’m sorry - I shouldn’t have put you in danger like that.”

“You put yourself in danger too, you know.” Howdy sighs and relaxes his grip on the steering wheel. “We’re of no use to Wally if we get ourselves in a crash. What would he say?”

“Whatever he’d say would be hypocritical,” Barnaby says before he can think better of it.

Howdy glances sharply at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“He..” Barnaby’s voice fails on him, and he swallows hard. “He was in an accident.”

Howdy is silent for a full few seconds before he exhales a thin, pained sound. “Oh, Walls…”

He must not know what else to say, which is good and well, because Barnaby doesn’t either. A long few minutes pass of silence. Headlights of passing cars on the other side of the freeway flash over them before plunging back into darkness. The dials on the dash glow. The check engine light is on. They’ll need to get gas in order to make it home. 

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you’re thinking,” Howdy says. He’s tapping the steering wheel again. “It’s likely just a few scrapes and bruises, at worst a broken bone. Nothing Wally can’t handle, and certainly nothing to be concerned over.”

Barnaby can’t bring himself to agree. Maybe… maybe if Wally was driving slowly… but that wouldn’t matter if someone crashed into him with enough force. Home is a large, sturdy vehicle, but it isn’t invulnerable. Wally certainly isn’t.

Without the distraction of driving, all Barnaby can think about is the what ifs. Yeah, what if he’s only a little bit hurt, but what if it’s worse? All of the worst images Barnaby can think of roll through his mind like a messed up movie reel.

Wally dead on the scene, caught in a hunk of twisted metal. 

Wally, choking on his own blood in an ambulance, dying en route to the hospital.

Wally flatlining on a metal table. 

Wally’s small body covered with a sheet-

“Almost there,” Howdy says, slowing at a stoplight. It bathes them both in red. Barnaby didn’t notice when they got off the freeway. 

Barnaby squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead to the cold window. After a moment, a slender hand rests on his thigh and squeezes. It’s such a small, stupid thing, but Barnaby breathes a little easier. 

Despite the drive down the freeway feeling like it took hours, the drive through city streets to the hospital passes in a blink. Before Barnaby knows it the car is spiraling up to an upper floor of the parking garage. The floor is mostly empty - Howdy pulls into a spot right by glass double doors. 

Barnaby gets out a split seconds before Howdy, staring at the pristine white walls just inside the doors. In a moment he’ll find out if it’s not that bad, or if he’s about to have the worst night of his life. He’s been to a hospital twice. The last time was for Howdy, but he went with the knowledge that it was only a precaution. The other time was for Mama’s health scare. 

That had been terrifying. The waiting, the wondering, the too-bright hallways and the staff’s rigid smiles. It ended well, but it had still been horrible, and hospitals took center stage in some of his recurring nightmares. Barnaby never wanted to see another loved one in a hospital bed again.

Looks like he doesn’t have a choice. 

Howdy comes around from the driver’s side and lays a hand on Barnaby’s shoulder. “If you need a moment to-”

“Nah,” Barnaby says, his voice rough. He nods and adjusts his sleeves. “Better rip the bandaid off.”

They go into the sterile maze. The bright overhead lights dazzle Barnaby’s eyes after being in the dim parking garage, and he grimaces at the strong odor of antiseptic and floor polish. Howdy makes a beeline for the nearest receptionist and talks to her in rushed, low tones. 

Barnaby shuffles after him, rubbing his shaking hands together and eyeing every person in scrubs that walks past. Something beeps somewhere. He thinks he hears someone crying. This is a place without color, art, or happiness. 

“This way,” Howdy says, walking past him and tilting his head at the elevator. Barnaby follows, feeling like a lost puppy dropped at the side of the road. 

A nurse gets into the elevator with them and politely smiles before staring at the floor counter and pretending they don’t exist. It’s fine with Barnaby. If he has to make small talk right now, he might actually snap. The man’s pink scrubs are almost an eyesore in the harsh lighting. 

The elevator dings, and they all get out on the same floor. Howdy reads door plaques and wall signs like a hawk, his head turning on a swivel as he reads everything at lightning speed. Barnaby nearly has to jog to keep up with his hurried pace. 

Howdy changes direction without warning and heads straight for a door at the end of a short offshoot hallway. Barnaby reads the sign next to the door.

[can’t remember if it’s icu or the other thing, research later]

It’s bad.

The waiting room is small - longer than it is wide, and there’s a woman sleeping in a chair in the corner. It looks nicer than the emergency room, or where Barnaby waited to see his mama. The benches have colorful cushions, and the walls are a pastel green instead of white. There’s an abstract geometric painting on the wall next to the woman. 

Barnaby slowly takes a seat on stiff cushions, watching Howdy talk to the receptionist from afar. He nods and pats the counter before joining Barnaby. He sits close enough that their legs press together.

“Someone will get us up to speed as soon as there’s news,” Howdy says. “I tried to pry some more out of him, but he wouldn’t give up another word.”

Barnaby nods, staring down at his hands. His nail polish is already chipping, despite Julie painting them only last weekend. Barnaby picks at the bright red on his pinkie until Howdy pulls his hand away and enfolds it in both of his own. 

When Howdy takes a deep breath, Barnaby finds himself mimicking him. Their gazes meet - Howdy’s is unflinching, and steady. He smiles and runs his thumb over Barnaby’s knuckles, soothing the nervous trembling, and Barnaby is struck by how darn grateful he is to have Howdy with him. 

If he had to do all of this alone… Barnaby doesn’t think he could. Either he’d have gotten himself into a crash to join Wally, or he would still be sitting in his car, staring at the hospital doors. He doesn’t have the courage. But Howdy does, and Barnaby loves him for it. 

For once, Howdy lets the time pass in silence, though after a long stretch of indeterminable time he gets up to pace. The bench cushions are high quality, but they start to feel uncomfortable. Barnaby doesn’t dare go for a walk. At least they’re not the usual waiting room chairs - he’d rather stand than try to fit into those plastic, narrow things. 

At some point the woman in the corner wakes up. She startles seeing two strangers in the room with her, but quickly ignores them. Barely a few minutes pass before she leaves, mumbling something about coffee. She doesn’t come back. Barnaby spends a while wondering why - did she go home, or wait somewhere else, or did she receive news in the halls?

Howdy sits down again and starts typing furiously on his phone. When Barnaby gives him a curious nudge, he quietly explains that he’s texting the group chat. Barnaby feels a twinge of guilt at that. He completely forgot to let everyone know that there’s a… situation. Who knows if any of them will see it until morning. 

Message sent, Howdy gets up to pace some more. His rhythmic gait gives Barnaby something to focus on, seeing as the clock on the wall is silent, and the receptionist seems to be sleeping. Barnaby could probably pass time on his own phone, but every second spent distracted is a second he might miss someone coming to tell them…

What? Tell them what, exactly? That Wally is okay? That he can receive visitors? 

That he didn’t make it?

The door opens, startling Barnaby to his feet. Howdy scurries over from the far side of the room and rests a steadying hand on Barnaby’s lower back. A woman clad in blue scrubs enters, reading something on a clipboard. There are shadows under her eyes, and she looks beyond exhausted. Barnaby can sympathize.

“Mr. Beagle?” the doctor asks, looking between them. When Barnaby nods, she smiles thinly, gaze flicking briefly to Howdy. “Hi. I’m Dr. Allen. Before I disclose any sensitive information, I’d like to confirm what your relation to the patient is.”

The question gives Barnaby pause. He’s always had a difficult time putting his and Wally’s relationship into simple terms, because it’s anything but. Wally is his best friend, his dearest companion, the man he lives with and can’t imagine being without. 

“He’s my partner,” Barnaby settles on, because it’s a good umbrella term. Partner can mean a lot of things, and people don’t usually pry for specifics. “We’re as good as family.”

Dr. Allen writes something down on her clipboard. “No worries, I’m not going to kick you out if you’re not - you’re his emergency contact for a reason, after all. It’s just basic information that I’d like to have on hand.”

“Course - so how is he?” Barnaby cuts straight to the chase. He’s not in the mood for niceties. 

“Well, Mr. Darling is certainly giving us a run for our money,” Allen sighs. “He’s not out of the woods yet, but I believe he’s gotten through the worst of it.”

“He’ll make it?”

Allen offers another tight lipped smile. “We’re doing our best.”

Barnaby has seen enough hospital dramas to know that we’re doing our best means no promises, prepare for the worst. Howdy must feel the tension gripping him like a vice, because his hand slips from Barnaby’s back to his hand. 

“What are his injuries, if I may?” Howdy asks. 

“I’m not sure-”

“Please. We’d rather know than wonder.” 

Allen looks between them and sighs again. She flips a page on her clipboard. “Unfortunately, there was a bit of time between the crash and when emergency services were called. Between blood loss and the near-freezing temperatures, Mr. Darling developed mild hypothermia.”

Wally was dying, cold and alone in the wreckage of his home for who knows how long before anyone came to help. Barnaby sways in place, and Howdy helps him sit down on a bench instead of the floor. Allen looks apprehensive.

“Keep going,” Barnaby rasps. He needs to know.

Allen doesn’t look happy about it, but she continues. “Mr. Darling also suffered several low-grade lacerations from shrapnel, some fractured ribs, a compound fracture in his left tibia, and currently unidentified damage to his right hand and lower arm.”

Barnaby swallows a mournful sound. That’s fine, it’s fine. Broken bones heal - Wally will be painting again in no time. 

“He also developed an intracranial hematoma. It’s been treated, but we won’t know the extent of the damage until Mr. Darling wakes up.”

“What is that?” Howdy asks before Barnaby can figure out how to speak again. “Intracranial hematoma - tell me if I’m wrong, but that sounds like a head injury.”

“It is - in layman’s terms, it’s a brain bleed. Head trauma can cause bleeding inside the skull, which puts pressure on the brain. We caught it as quickly as feasibly possible, which should raise his chance of a full recovery.” Allen flips the clipped page back into place. “There may still be lesser complications and injuries we haven’t been able to diagnose or address yet. I’ll be forward with you - this is one of the worst crash cases I’ve seen in some time. Mr. Darling was lucky to be found alive.”

Allen goes on to offer platitudes that Wally is a fighter, and easily answers the flood of questions Howdy has about the mentioned injuries. It all sounds distant. Underwater. The room is too small and the air is stale - are the vents working? Is there a window they can open?

In a blink - and yet the conversation lasts ages - Allen promises to come back with more information as soon as she has it. She smiles one last time and leaves. 

“Barn?” Howdy sounds muffled. “Barn, are you alright?”

What kind of question is that? Of course Barnaby isn’t alright - his best friend is dying, likely on this very floor. There’s a chance he’s already dead. Barnaby might have already lost him, he just doesn’t know it yet. 

Mr. Darling was lucky to be found alive. 

One of the worst crash cases I’ve seen in some time. 

Mild hypothermia - brain bleed - lacerations - fractures.

Lesser complications and injuries we haven’t been able to diagnose or address yet.

We’re doing our best.

“He hung up on me, the little bastard-”

Barnaby is up and out the door before he registers moving. He staggers down the hallways in a blur, everything swirling together into a mess of sight and sound as his lungs struggle to get a full breath. He bypasses the elevator and takes the stairs down to the level they parked on. 

The cold air does nothing to help him breathe. Barnaby chokes on it as he leans against the rough wall grasping at his chest. Howdy is there immediately - he must have been on Barnaby’s heels the whole time. 

“Talk to me, Barn,” Howdy pleads, a hand on the back of his neck and the other over the one Barnaby has on his chest. “What is it - you’re not having a heart attack, are you? Tell me you aren’t, I can’t handle that right now.”

Barnaby doesn’t know. Maybe? He feels like he is. He can’t breathe. He tries to say so, but the ragged gasps his breathing has devolved into doesn’t allow it. Howdy must know something he doesn’t, because he doesn’t run to get a doctor.

“How can I help?” he asks instead.

“Don’t - don’t - know,” Barnaby wheezes. 

“Okay, alright, don’t worry, Barn, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. Let’s try, ah - what were the steps? I didn’t exactly write them down, though in hindsight I should’ve - that’s not the point! It was… what a time to take after Eddie’s memory-”

It shouldn’t be helping, but Howdy’s constant stream of words grabs Barnaby’s attention. He manages to inhale nearly a full breath before it stutters back out and he’s struggling again.

“Breathing!” Howdy says. “Yes, that was it - Barnaby, I need you to focus on me. Copy my breathing.”

He sucks in a slow, dramatic breath through his nose and exhales just as slowly through his mouth. Barnaby catches on and tries to mimic him, but-

“Can’t, I ca-an’t,” Barnaby says. His chest hurts. 

Howdy presses their foreheads together. “Yes, you can. Come now, Barn, in… out. Simplest thing in the world.”

It doesn’t feel simple, but Barnaby tries. It feels like forever before he manages a full inhale. He butchers the exhale, but Howdy praises the minor win before launching right back into measured breathing. 

Barnaby finally manages a slow inhale and exhale, and suddenly it feels like the pressure filling his chest has vanished. He slumps against the wall, worn out. He puts his hand over Howdy’s mouth in the middle of another dramatic demonstration.

“You’re alright now?” Howdy says, peeling his hand off. Barnaby nods, and Howdy leans next to him with a whoosh. “Thank the stock market - I was starting to get light headed.”

It takes another few minutes for them to catch their breath. Barnaby straightens enough to rest his head on Howdy’s shoulder, breathing in his cheap cologne and homemade laundry detergent. Howdy cups the back of his neck and massages the tense muscle there. 

“This will all turn out okay,” Howdy promises. “Wally is stubborn - I think we both know that well enough. By this time tomorrow we’ll be moving forward.”

Barnaby wants to be that optimistic, but this is real life. For all they know, moving forward means making funeral arrangements. His breathing stutters and he forces it to even out before he can start hyperventilating again. 

A car pulls into a parking space with a gravelly sound. Barnaby pays it no mind until Howdy makes a surprised noise - Barnaby looks up, and his stomach churns.

Frank, Eddie, and Julie are all getting out of Frank’s car. They’re all in various states of dishevelment. Frank’s hair is a mess, and he has what looks like Eddie’s company jacket thrown on over his pajamas. Eddie is in little more than a shirt that says male? lol, more like mail! and boxers - he’s even wearing slippers instead of shoes, and his hair flops over his forehead in soft tufts. Julie’s hair is still in curlers, and though she’s wearing shoes, she’s in a too-long shirt over sweats that don’t belong to her. They’re paint-stained. 

They rush across the parking lot, all worried faces and tired eyes. They’re already asking what happened, is Wally okay, Sally is getting Poppy, they should be here soon, has there been any news-

Barnaby lunges at the nearest trash can and vomits.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

VIOLATOR!! DESECRATOR!! TURN AROUND AND MEET THE HATER!!

VEEERRRY HAPPY WITH WILLIAMS LIL SCARY ARC. HORROR MOVIE BOY. LIL ZOMBIE GUY. UNDEAD AND PIIIISSED OFF LIKE CMAAAHHHNNN I HOPE HE KEEPS THAT CHAINSAW FOREVER. IF YOURE UNDEAD CAN YOU STILL GET A NICOTINE ADDICTION? I SURE HOPE SO!

[rqg179]

i will say though that brennan revealing last episode that kipperlilly has been going to guidance counsellor for anger issues since freshman year has absolutely ruined me for seeing her as actually evil. i cannot believe that a teenage girl with anger issues is irredeemably evil i just can't

[grimreaperofroleplay]

(mention of torture and Skybound)

Hey y'all remember that one time Jay died? No? Good. cuz he's apparently the invincible one he doesn't die. As a Jay enthusiast I'm surprised to say he survived Skybound with only Slight scaring and terrible mental mindset unlike some ninja's (Zane)

But seriously tho Jay to my knowledge has not died (not in game) once he's come'd close but never actually dies, his ass survived Naddakan alone for like however long that was, not to mention the torture and physical work he has to do, and then there was prime Empire where he ran a practical stan group of jays which now that I mentioned it, it does not get mentioned enough

can you imagine how the first interaction went??? Like omg, he would have been like completely surrounded by people asking him questions and probably also just yelling his name. I have a feeling he'd be very confused by this despite being proud that there's a group that loves him so much they played him as their avatar in the game

I feel like Jay at many times is very overlooked, but honestly if you ask me skybound was a season of destruction probably also one of the darkest seasons from back then before like the reboot I feel like if I wanted to compare skybound with another season I feel like I wouldn't personally be available to do that cuz I can't think of another season that could possibly dig a whole gave in my mind after watching it, and like the problems correlating with a lot of things and whole season there is a lot of serious topics in that season unlike a lot of the other seasons actually, and honestly that just knocked the grave further down into my mind it's not six feet underground it's 12 ft underground it's embedded in my mind in a way I can't describe

This is just honestly a rant about Jay cuz why not?? I haven't been active I get my physical activity rant on and on this account that's going to be about Jay

[onewingedsparrow]

I never noticed this before but man, even right in the beginning of the Pilot episode of RiD, the faithfulness to Optimus that Bumblebee has shows itself so well.

No sooner does 'Bee register that his vision of Optimus Prime is telling him to go to Earth than he revs up and rolls out, just like that.

Strongarm has apprehended Sideswipe, and dealing with him ought to be 'Bee's top priority; but no, Optimus' command pulls rank, even though Bumblebee is the only one to hear the silent, wordless order.

Naturally, Strongarm calls out about sticking to protocol; but Bumblebee knows this directive from Optimus is urgent, so he doesn't even stop running. He simply calls back over his shoulder that he's gonna meet her at the station, and keeps right on booking it towards where Optimus told him to go.

And the scene could have ended right there, showcasing Bumblebee's dedication, and cutting to him entering the building where he finds the Space Bridge. But no, the scene takes it farther than merely that; it shows us that 'Bee runs across the street.

Doesn't even transform. Doesn't stop to think. Just runs right out into the open road, in the middle of busy traffic, dancing around collision after collision...and then almost gets hit by a truck.

And Bumblebee, a war veteran, and proven police officer, has this "deer in the headlights" moment where this big semi is coming right at him, high beams on—and he stares at it for a breathless, drawn out moment.

Bumblebee does not freeze in combat. This is not a moment of fear. If you watched TFP, if you know Bumblebee, you understand. instead, here, you can practically follow his train of thoughts even as they roll through his mind. This truck...honking at me...headlights so bright...is this another vision of Optimus, perhaps? No. Looks like it's not. Guess I'll keep moving.

This storyboarding of this show is so good. Bumblebee doesn't think twice about anything; he just knows that Optimus needs him—so he goes for it with everything he's got. Whether that's leaping at Skyquake despite being told to stay hidden, soaring over the Omega Lock with Star Saber in hand, or bolting across multiple lanes of oncoming traffic to get to the the building that Optimus pointed him to...Bumblebee will do it. No second thoughts. I really admire his character for that faithfulness to Optimus Prime...and it pleases me to no end that it displays itself so clearly even in Bumblebee's very first moments in this series.

[clonememesfrikyeah]

Alpha-17: “We’re gonna have to name this kid eventually, suggestions?”

Fordo: “Killer?”

Alpha-17: “No.”

Fordo: “ Skull crusher!”

Alpha-17: “No, something nicer.”

Fordo: “Fine, dream killer. How about Elroy? Or Bitsy? Or Arnold? Bugsby? Crawdad? Scissor hands? DeVito? Antidisestablishmentarianism? What about Bieber? Do any of those tickle your fancy?”

Alpha-17: “What The hell is wrong with you?”

Fordo: “Ive got it! Marlboro!”

Alpha-17: “Absolutely Not! We’re naming a person here, not a pet! And even if this was a pet they deserve a more dignified name than those!”

Fordo: “God, you’re such a fun sucker. Well, that and… other things.”

Alpha-17: “The fuck did you just say about me!?”

Fordo: “Oh, noting but the truth.”

Alpha-17:”….your lucky there’s children around or else I’d shove your own foot so far up your ass you could taste it. Get tf out of my nursery.”

Fordo: *flipping him off as he walks backwards out* “This is why Jango doesn’t love you.”

[darth-sonny]

Would you like to info dump anything about prime Leo 🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤

*takes the microphone* I dooooooo~~ mostly Post-Prime stuff since that's currently been on the brain

Leo watches absolutely hard-core movies or videos. stuff that makes you question why it was even made. HOW was it even made. he watches it all. he doesn't care if someone walks in on him watching it he'll keep going. desensitized in the worst way possible

he will not leave any situation that makes him uncomfortable. is he's in the middle of a group hug, and he feels like he wants to run away, hide in a cave, cry and throw up and scrub at his skin until it's red and bleeding and crying........ he won't do that. he'll stay and take it. he's been conditioned to do so

he hides away in small rooms due to a newfound hatred for large spaces

never leaves the lair. no matter what, he won't leave. Donnie and Raph had to bring in Hueso to assure the bone man that Leo was okay since Leo refused to leave to visit the yōkai

[cw/tw for the next few bullet points]

unknowingly does self-harm. it happens since he's developed a habit of scratching himself, specifically around the neck or arms. and since his Kraang arm has pretty sick claws, he ends up hurting himself a lot. he doesn't notice due to his recently enhanced healing factor

is somewhat suicidal. as in, extremely low sense of self-preservation. combined with bullet point #2, it is not pretty

he will seek out situations that make his incredibly uncomfortable. again, it's because he's been conditioned to. he won't leave even if he wants to, and he'll seek it out even when he knows he just wants to be alone

his appetite is shit at this point. any food he eats, he'll just throw back up. he'll throw up due to the smell alone. the only food he can safely eat is ice cream, so the freezer is chock-full of it

[cw/tw over]

you won't see Leo without seeing Donnie. the guy has practically attached himself at his brother's hip. if Leo's is somewhere in the lair, chances are, Donnie's there too

has pretty vivid night terrors. either of the prison dimension or of his time with Prime. this results in him hardly sleeping

as a consequence of the previous point, Mikey and Draxum got him a mystic stuffed animal (a blue monkey because they ran out of blue unicorns). it helps dispell any nightmares or night terrors and calms him down form panic attacks

Leo named it Mister Blue Sky

(neither Mikey nor Draxum will tell him that those kinds of stuffed animals are found mostly in pediatric therapy hospitals)

stays in bed most of the time. Donnie managed to convince him to stay in his room since it has the most security. which then leads to Leo and Donnie bunking in the same room

has HORRIBLY body dysmorphia issues. wears oversized hoodies and sweatpants as a result

covers up his Kraang arm with a glove. makes it easier to stomach looking at it

hardly talks, and when he does, it's usually a mumble

touch averse. severely so

[andhyssops]

#just bestie things

[transingthoseformers]

I am now imagining that back when Optimus first got back from the Orion arc and during the start of the first battle with Megatron since then, Ratchet instantly just went "aaaand I forgot about that, of course that's back."

Oh this hit him the second after Megatron had done his usual half-flirt and Ratty heard exactly the shift in Optimus's voice as Oppy proceeded to double down and throw a flirtatious remark right back.

[iwozlegit]

|| 🍍• Ayo, is it ever like addressed how Orion Pax just spontaneously rocks up to the spacebridge showdown to confront Megatron?

Like did he just go off and seize control of a terminal or something on the warship from some unwitting troopers with his newfound firepower…?

…or did Soundwave literally see him coming, open a Groundbridge, pop his popcorn bag in the microwave and get comfy?

[keitheaverage]

Imagine being Jenny Wakeman, having not one but TWO cool purple alien girls ask you to run away with them within the course of a year, and fumbling them both. 😔

POV: you're a closeted bisexual who is still oblivious to other sapphics openly hitting on you