Hobbyist storyteller, professional overanalyzer, aroace, agenderflux, adhd, anxious, and depressed. They/them pronouns, thanks! Hey all, welcome to my blog! I mostly post art and shorts I don't feel like posting on AO3. Feel free to ask me anything - advice, clarifications, whatever. Just know the only thing I'm an expert at is procrastination. I wish you all a good and productive day!
Hey, I know there was a four reveal already (I also am a bit slow, but in linked universe) but can you please finish your Split book? ITS SO FREAKING GOOD and just… OMG PLEASE ITS EXCELLENT. (Also whats with the honking..?)
Progress on Split is ongoing, I don't have any backlog so chapters are out when I have time to finish em. That said, I'm glad to hear you're enjoying, it's been fun writing as well.
As for the honking, twas a Discord thing a while back, it's not too important.
I have no patience and want to share stuff I do, so. Have the first segment of my most recent post-Forces au, aka Artificial AU. It’ll probably be on ao3 eventually, maybe with some small edits, but for now have this mess.
The first clear thought Infinite had was surprise that he was able to have a thought. The (nope) experience he'd had before the world went dark should have killed him, he shouldn't be able to think anything.
But here he is. Thinking. Huh.
He tried to pry his eyes open, found them sticky with sleep and heavy with fatigue, and gave up. Instead he ran a physical assessment of his body - overall aches, especially bad at his wrists, ankles, and chest, but none of that was shocking (nono not a pun this time). What was more confusing was the slight resistance when he managed to shift one of his arms - bandages, he guessed, based on the feeling when he bent his wrist. Most of the way up to his elbow, too - not a sh- surprise. The others were probably just as bad.
Consciousness was already slipping through his grasp, but he had just enough time to wonder who would bother to bandage him up before he slipped back into cool darkness.
The next time, he was a little less foggy; enough to be alarmed and try to sit up. Which did not go well, as his chest screamed in protest and he froze halfway up with his mouth hanging open in a silent scream.
Hands pressed to his shoulder and back, gently but efficiently pulling him to lay back down. For the first time, he noticed how soft the pillow was. It probably wasn't really that soft, but somehow it was the most heavenly thing ever in that moment.
He shoved the thought away and forced his eyes open, muzzle wrinkling in distaste at the gummy feel of them. He could just make out a blurry red and yellow blob in front of him, but no features past that.
Dry lips opened, his voice emerging in a creak rather than words. Immediately, a straw was pressed to his lips, and he slurped greedily at the liquid offered to him until it was pulled away. He frowned, but didn't protest, instead croaking out something like a question - the words were slurred, but still words.
"Don't worry," came the response, quiet but much clearer than his own voice. "You're safe. Rest."
And while a part of him immediately balked at the idea of listening to someone telling him what to do, he was helpless to resist the darkness returning to him.
The time after that, he woke up feeling almost lucid. His body still ached, and his thoughts were a little too fuzzy to be considered normal, but he could think enough to pry his eyes open and look around.
It looked like a random bedroom, except too clean. Like it hadn't been used until now. Plain white walls and off-white carpet, a few shelves on one wall, a dresser and desk on another. The bed he was on looked like it had been dragged out from the corner to the middle of the room, so there was space on all sides. It made his fur prickle slightly but there wasn't much he could do about it.
His gaze finally fell to the floor, on the one bright spot in the room - a figure that appeared to be doing a plank. He could make out green boots and red fur, but the rest was covered by a frankly hideous mustard-colored jacket.
He spent a good few minutes just staring, trying to process why anyone would willingly wear that color (especially when it basically made them look like an off color stoplight). His pause to gape lasted long enough that the figure finished the plank and rolled over, brightening and jumping up upon seeing him.
The wolf scurried over to the bedside, pausing a beat too long before speaking. "Do you need anything?"
"To stop looking at that horrible thing masquerading as clothing."
"It's warm," he said, not looking offended in the least. "And big. Are you hungry?"
...Yes. But he wasn't eager to acknowledge that, even if it was pretty obvious that this person had been looking after him already. Especially since at a second glance, he had a vague recollection of where he'd seen him before.
Not that it seemed to matter much, since the wolf had already headed toward a box of something set against the wall, rummaging around inside until he came up with a pouch of squeeze applesauce.
"Here," he said, coming over to set the pouch on the edge of the bed. "Let me know if you need help."
Infinite scowled at him, then reached for the pouch and began fiddling with the screw top. Much to his chagrin, it turned out to be less of an absurd suggestion than he'd first thought; he could barely get the top open even with the ridiculous wings on it lending leverage. He slurped the food up angrily while glaring at nothing in particular.
The wolf stared at him in silence while he ate, expression oddly blank. Infinite finished the pouch quickly and pulled it away to scowl. "What?"
"Want another?"
"...Sure."
They repeated the process, up to and including the weird staring. This time, when Infinite finished, the wolf had a different question. "Should I still call you Infinite?"
He stiffened, suddenly on guard. Some part of him had wondered if this idiot just didn't realize who he was, and that's why he offered some sort of care, but if he knew...
"Call me whatever you want," he finally said. There was a beat of silence before he added, "Why the hell are you helping me?"
The wolf blinked. "Aren't you supposed to help people when they get hurt?"
Infinite's scowl deepened. What kind of answer - whatever. It's not like he was in any shape to refuse freely given help, much as it galled him to admit it.
"I'm Gadget," the wolf said, before Infinite could reply.
"That's a weird name." The response came on autopilot, not really the truth but the first thing that came to mind.
Gadget shrugged. "Probably. I picked it."
"So... it's a nickname?"
"Uh... don't think so?"
Infinite groaned and stared at the ceiling. What the actual hell. "Whatever. When should I expect the resistance to come throw me in a cell?"
There was a long silence. Infinite blinked and glanced over, finding Gadget rubbing at the back of his neck with a guarded look. "...Oi."
"They won't be," Gadget mumbled, his voice suddenly... distant, for lack of a better word. "I'm not with the resistance anymore."
There was another paused as that processed. Infinite scoffed and rolled his eyes. "What, did they kick their star rookie out after defeating the big bad?"
"No. I left before they could."
Yet another pause as Infinite failed to find words. He'd been being sarcastic, because really why should he believe this (apparently former) Resistance member had left their ranks and then just happened to end up taking care of him? It was a little too convenient. But from what little he'd seen, Gadget didn't seem like the sort to fake his emotions - he could see every thought running through the idiot's head in glorious technicolor - yet here he was, apparently on the verge of tears over... something. Something about leaving the Resistance.
Before he could pry more information out of him, Gadget perked up with a seemingly genuine smile. "Not important though. Are you still hungry? Thirsty? It's been a while since you woke up last time."
Infinite shut his questions back, accepting the offer of more food and water instead. He'd get his answers eventually; it's not like he hadn't worked to subtly get information from people before. Whatever Gadget was hiding, he'd find it.
For now, he'd work to regain his strength. The rest could wait just a little longer.
Gadget sat on the dresser, staring out the little window. The idyllic forest scene felt weird, considering that he knew they were still in Eggman's base, but it was certainly a better view than broken machinery.
Today had been the most lucid Infinite had been in the dozen or so times he'd woken so far, but he still hadn't pushed for more information. Not that Gadget was complaining. It was just... strange.
Still, the chance to sort things out a bit more was welcome. He'd barely had a chance to figure out how to respond to everything himself, much less how to bring it up with someone else.
There was a reason he'd run from the Resistance before they could find out. He didn't know how to talk about these things.
Gadget caught himself rubbing at the back of his neck again and pulled his hand away, stuffing both hands in the opposite jacket sleeves. That was becoming a habit. His first Resistance team had warned him about that kind of habit, and he didn't want to deal with breaking one.
He also didn't want to deal with leaving the Resistance at all, but... he doubted they'd react well when they learned what he was. He sure hadn't. It was easier to just... vanish, completely avoiding the consequences.
Finding Infinite had been an accident. He'd come here to find answers (to look at that lab that felt so dreadfully familiar); instead he'd found the jackal passed out in a room that he didn't want to think about too much, burns on his limbs and chest and vitals shaky. He'd jumped to help on instinct; after all, he hadn't been lying about helping people.
Well. Lying by omission, perhaps. He'd heard about that sort of lying. Because yes, he'd saved Infinite because he was once told that helping people was the right thing to do. But he also did it because if anyone could relate to him, could make him feel a little less alone, it might be Infinite.
After all. Even if Gadget was just a prototype, they'd been made for the same purpose.
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