PupDoc0916

I’m just a woman who fell into the Sonic Fandom thanks to the movies and my boy Knuckles. I mostly express myself and the love for my characters through fanfiction. I’m very new to tumblr but look forward to getting to know all the talented artists and writers on this platform. Feel free to ask me anything, give me a prompt of interest, or just generally share anything!

[willgrahamscock]

how are you gonna be 31 and posting fandom content bro leave it to the teenagers

People 10 and 20 years older than me are writing your favorite fanfics, and drawing your favorite characters. You'd have no fandom without the people you think are 'too old' to have hobbies.

[emachinescat]

This mentality is so insanely frustrating. Why do teenagers think that people have to give up their hobbies, give up fun, when they reach a certain age? Like??

When I was a teenager writing fic, I remember finding out that one of my favorite authors was in her 50s and that just was SUCH a revelation for me!! What do you mean, 50 year olds can write fanfic?!? Does that mean I can write fics when I'm her age?? That's AWESOME! I seriously looked up to her so much. And now I'm 35 with a husband and kid, and I'm still writing fanfic and posting fandom content - and I have no plans of stopping!

If you try to drive 30+ people out of fandom, you're going to lose the backbone of said fandom!

[evilwriter37]

The ageism in fandom is fucking insane. It’s strange that people seem to have the idea that fandom was created by and for teenagers… It was not. It was created by adults. How would we have ao3 if only teenagers were in fandom?

I don’t want to sound like I am hating on younger people in fandom, but god, y’all need to stop it with the ageism. You don’t have to give up what you love once you’re an adult. Honestly, the belief that you have to is pretty bad. It sounds like it would make people afraid of aging. Granted, modern society is so very afraid of aging.

Don’t give up what you love just because you’re an adult. You don’t have to. And don’t try to force others to do it either.

[mama-qwerty]

Keeping Watch

Batten sat perched on the edge of the crow’s nest, her legs crossed, wings moving in short, lazy sways. The sky was blue, the clouds large and puffy. They cast shadows on the water as they drifted over the Angel’s Voyage, and from this vantage she had a clear view of the whole deck, as well as the sea around them.

The ship rocked gently in the soft waves that pushed her, and the bat made minute, unconscious adjustments to her position to keep her balance. It was second nature, not only in the slight shifts of her body, but also her wings. Having a few extra appendages than most folk made her more graceful and sure footed, so to speak. Even this high.

Movement on deck below her, and soon the sounds of angry voices floated up. She glanced down, always up for some good gossip or public displays of embarrassing arguments, and found her captain and first mate gesturing wildly toward each other, caught in the heat of battle.

Again.

Sails Tails flew toward her, the fox’s twin tails spinning like a propeller, and the look on his face told her she wasn’t the only one growing tired of this near constant conflict between the two people who supposedly cared more about each other than anyone else.

“What’s got ‘em all riled this time?” she sighed as he landed in the nest.

“Who knows,” he said, crossing his arms on the lip of the rail and leaning forward. They both watched as the two in question kept up with their agitated movements, while Black Rose attempted to play peacemaker nearby. Catfish stood off to the side, trying to blend in with the deck and pretend he wasn’t paying attention. “Scar came stormin’ out first, with the cap’n hot on her heels.”

Batten rolled her eyes. “They’re hopeless. He musta said somethin’ stupid.”

“Maybe.” Sails shook his head. “But Scar c’n be kinda sensitive sometimes. Take things the wrong way an’ get herself worked up over nothin’. ‘Specially when Dread’s involved.” He paused, flicking his eyes to hers. “Don’t tell ‘er I said that.”

She snickered. “Nah, ye’re right. She can.”

They watched for a moment, as the fight below seemed to reach a crescendo. More wild gesturing, louder voices, and Scarlett stepped forward and got right in Dread’s face. Rose was attempting to referee, with little success.

Batten let out an amused huff. “Ten coppers she slugs him.”

Sails chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, she usually goes dead silent b’fore throwin’ a punch. Too ramped up fer that.”

There were indeed no punches thrown, and after another few moments, things seemed to have started calming in a rare instance of cooler heads prevailing. Rose was talking, her hands clasped before her in a calm manner, looking back and forth between the cat and echidna.

Batten gave a soft hum. It wasn’t necessarily unheard of for the two to settle things without coming to blows, but she had to admit, it was fun to watch them go at each other like mortal enemies sometimes.

Movement caught Batten’s eye, and she looked away from the scene below to follow a large shadow moving over the water.

No, wait a minute.

It was moving under the water.

Her brows furrowed, and she followed the shadow for a moment, flicking her eyes up to check for any clouds overhead that may have simply caused some odd refraction in the waves. There were none in the right place, and the shadow moved counter to the direction of the wind.

“Sails . . .” she started, but was interrupted by a loud shout below.

“THAT’S IT! YE’RE DONE!” Dread bellowed, and Batten looked down to watch as he lifted Scarlett off her feet, holding her over his head as he walked toward the rail. She must have said something, some scathing parting shot that snapped through that tentative calm and reignited his anger.

Sometimes that girl didn’t know when to keep her mouth shut. Especially with him.

Scarlett was still arguing, twisting and turning in his grip to try and free herself. Rose followed, her voice rising in an attempt to intervene. Dread wasn’t having it.

“Ye c’n come back aboard when ye got this bug outta yer ass!”

Batten’s eyes widened, and she looked back to that shadow.

It was coming toward the ship.

“Dread, don’t!” she called, right before he hurled Scarlett over the side.

She cartwheeled through the air—Dread’s strength was legendary, and he hadn’t gone easy in his toss—and she hit the water in an undignified sprawl, causing a very large, very loud splash. The water swallowed her for a few seconds before her head popped back up, hurling obscenities at the echidna practically before she took another breath.

Dread was laughing—hands on his hips, head tilted back, thoroughly amused by his own antics. Catfish looked like a spooked deer, unsure whether or not to help Scarlett back aboard. Rose was downright pissed, and punched Dread’s arm before crossing her own before her.

That shadow came closer. Now that she had some scale, Batten could see just how large it was. And that could only mean one thing.

“Sails, weapons!” Batten ordered, before she launched herself off the nest, heading straight for Scarlett.

The fox leapt out of the nest behind her, screaming at the top of his lungs, “KRAKEN!!”

Heart pounding in her ears, Batten sped toward Scarlett. The cat bobbed in the water, her argument with Dread apparently forgotten when she’d heard Sails’ cry. She spun in a circle, treading water and looking around herself, trying to pinpoint the threat.

When she saw Batten coming, she raised one arm up toward her. Batten reached back, closing the distance quickly.

And that’s when Scar was pulled under.

“Shit!” Batten hissed, pulling up short to hover over where she’d last seen Scarlett. Dread bellowed the cat’s name, before it was drowned out by other voices. Batten risked a quick look back and found the rest of the crew trying to keep Dread from diving into the water himself. She could imagine the arguments Rose would offer, mostly to the tune of “Ye ain’t a fish, ye fool! Ye can’t help her if ye drown tryin’!”

Looking back to the water, Batten ran through her options.

Option one, she could dive into the water to try and pull Scarlett to the surface. But if she did that, her wings would be wet, and it would be harder to fly them both back to the ship. Not to mention, that would put her in the range of that beast’s tentacles, too.

Option two, she could head back to the ship for weapons and reinforcements. All she had on her at the moment was a small dagger in her belt, and that wouldn’t do much against a kraken. But what if Scarlett resurfaced just as she flew away?

Option three, she could simply stay and wait, hoping Scarlett could somehow make her way back to the surface.

And despite the feeling of helplessness that conjured, that was truly the only thing Batten could do.

“C’mon, Scar,” she whispered, eyes flicking across the water in the hopes of spotting a flash of orange. “C’mon, girl. Ye ain’t goin’ down that easy.”

The water churned beneath her. Sails was hurrying closer, carrying a cutlass in each hand, and a small cylinder in his mechanical hand on the arm gadget attached to his belt. He tossed one cutlass to Batten, and they both took up positions hovering over where Scarlett had disappeared.

They didn’t speak. They knew the truth that hung between them.

The longer Scarlett stayed under, the less likely she’d ever resurface.

“Too long,” the fox muttered, casting a nervous side glance to Batten. “She’s been under too lon—“

A long, low pitched growl sounded from beneath them, and the water churned more violently. A black slick rose to the surface, just before Scarlett broke through, gasping in a deep breath. She held her dagger in one hand, and the end of a tentacle in the other.

Batten and Sails exchanged a shocked glance.

Then they were moving.

Batten swooped down and grabbed Scarlett, yanking her out of the water just as a stubby tentacle oozing black gore split the waves. Sails moved in to slash at it, drawing its attention so Batten could pull Scarlett to safety.

Not wanting to be thwarted, or maybe out for revenge for Scarlett’s hack job, the kraken breached, crashing out of the water before coming back down and hitting the water’s surface with a loud slap. The resulting waves, and flailing intact tentacles, knocked Batten sideways, and she dropped Scarlett before she could right herself.

Scarlett flailed as she fell toward the water again, a tentacle reaching for her to snatch her out of the air. Before it could latch onto her, Sails zipped through, grabbing her by the ankle and evading two more tentacles as he came around to head for the ship.

Batten was just about to follow, when a tentacle smacked her out of the sky. She hit the water, losing hold of her cutlass and giving a cry before getting a mouthful of saltwater. She pushed herself upright, spat out what she could, and coughed to try and clear her airway.

A shadow fell over her as a large tentacle took aim to force her under.

She’d just enough presence of mind to try and scramble out of the way, when Sails flew directly overhead. He still held Scarlett by her ankle, but the cat now wielded the cutlass. As they passed the attacking tentacle, she slashed it clean through, drawing an angry, pained cry from the beast.

Without pause, they made a run for the creature’s head. Scarlett slashed and hacked, and once she’d opened a gash near the thing’s eye, Sails gave the small cylinder a sharp twist, before tossing it inside the wound.

Then they came about, and Scarlett pulled Batten from the water as Sails flew them back toward the ship as fast as his tails would go.

They’d just about made it when the kraken exploded.

The thing about Sails was, he was smart. A genius, in fact, when it came to gadgets and contraptions. And one such gizmo was what he called a flashbomb—a small container filled with gunpowder and some other choice minerals, that produced a blinding flash of light, as well as a concussive boom that worked very effectively to stun enemies if they were unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of it.

And if that aforementioned boom happened to occur inside a very testy kraken, the result was . . . messy.

The three crashed to the deck just as the first bits of kraken meat rained down. Chunks splattered across the ship, bounced off the sails, and splashed in the water around them. Batten righted herself enough to look out in the water, and watched as what remained of the beast slowly sank below the waves.

Then the rest of the crew descended on them, hugging and laughing and checking for injuries.

“Sails, you little genius!” Scarlett laughed, before grabbing the kit in a tight hug, and planting a kiss on his forehead. The boy laughed, his muzzle blushing hot at the attention.

“Ah, weren’t nothin’ special.” He rubbed the back of his neck, flicking his eyes away.

Scarlett ruffled his bangs before turning to Batten, pulling her into a hug, too. “Thanks for watching,” she said, her voice softer. “I owe ya one.”

Batten gave a soft laugh, hugging her friend back. “Ye saved my skin back there, too. Think we be even.”

A tighter squeeze and the two pulled back, only for Dread to push his way forward. Scarlett’s face pinched, and she gave him a sour look. “I’m still mad at you—“

That was as far as she got before the echidna pulled her into a hug, holding tight.

“Don’t care,” he said, his voice rough. “Be mad. Jus’ keep breathin’ while ye shoot daggers at me.”

Scarlett wanted to stay mad. Batten could see her trying. But eventually, as happens with these two idiots, that anger faded, and Scar reached around to hold onto Dread. Their bond was always stronger than whatever foolish argument they’d thrown themselves into, even if they tended to ignore that fact when screaming at each other loud enough to wake the dead.

“Right, then,” Dread said after a moment, pulling back and helping Scarlett to her feet. “Now that that little bit o’ excitement be done, think it be time t’ find friendlier waters.” He looked to Batten and Sails. “Ye both done good t’day. All three o’ ye head below an’ get yerselves cleaned up. The rest o’ us will clean the kraken guts off the Angel, an’ then we’ll see where the wind takes us, aye?”

The crew nodded, calling back various “Aye” responses. Dread nodded again, and something unspoken passed between him and Scarlett before he released her hand. She walked over to join Batten and Sails as they headed for the door that led below deck.

“What were you and the cap’n arguing about earlier?” Batten asked.

Scarlett shrugged. “He accused me of stealing a bottle of his best rum.”

“Did ye?” Sails asked as he held the door open for the ladies.

“Course I did,” Scarlett said, offering them a little smirk. “It’s under my bunk.”

Batten and Sails paused, exchanging a glance. Scarlett looked back, offering a little smile and wink.

“C’mon,” she said, tilting her head toward her cabin. “I think we’ve earned a drink after all that.”

Another glance between bat and fox, before they smiled, shaking their heads.

“Hopeless,” Batten said, a little laugh in her voice. “Utterly hopeless.”

[pupdoc0916]

This was so cute! Loved the characterization and adventure!

[pupdoc0916]

I saw a post on Reddit that once again debates if Knuckles is the strongest character in the Sonic franchise. And I am so tired of people disrespecting him by even hinting that he is weaker than anyone else.

Knuckles is described on many sonic official bios and sonic channel as being as strong as Sonic is fast. Therefore if Sonic is the fastest thing alive, knuckles is the strongest.

That’s it. That’s official.

If people want to head cannon their fave characters as being stronger, that’s fine. But spreading it as fact feels like it’s only there to disrespect my boy. Hasn’t Sega already done that to him enough?!?

Off rant train.

[mama-qwerty]

So, in the series, Knuckles was told to make himself at home. He was having trouble adjusting to a calmer domestic life, and Sonic encouraged him to relax and enjoy his time here, where he's safe and didn't have to be on guard all the time. Sonic's heart was in the right place, he just wants Knux to feel comfortable. Knuckles took that advice to heart, and meditated on what "home" meant.

And he did this. Recreated a gladiator fighting pit in the living room, so he could feel comfortable.

I know the consensus is that he (likely) left his village when he was really little, and ended up in the arenas, fighting much larger and stronger opponents. The fandom likes to take that delicious angst and explore the boy's leftover trauma resulting from it, and the fact that he made what is essentially a kill-or-be-killed arena in his living room to 'feel at home' is prime fodder for the straight-to-therapy pipeline.

Hell, he also made an Iron Throne for "his" place at the table, citing his role as Champion to justify it.

And, naturally, many of us latched onto that, holding it in our greedy little mitts as evidence that he's so incredibly traumatized and feeding the angst machine for years after.

But a couple of us were chatting in the Knuckles server, and a thought occurred to me.

What if his time in the arenas wasn't as traumatizing to him as we think?

The conversation started out discussing his unique speech pattern. The formality, the theatrics, the near constant affirmations of his own strength and abilities. Do all echidna speak like that, or was it just a Knuckles thing?

I theorized three possibilities:

1 - It could simply be because he's got who knows how many languages floating around in that noggin of his, and he's picking through them to try and figure out what he wants to say in English

2 - He picked up the very dramatic, theatrical kind of speech from the arenas, listening to the announcers build up the fighters before they come into the ring. It's very likely he was built up a lot considering his species, particular skills, and young age

or 3 - that's just the way Knux is. He's dramatic as hell and it would amuse his father greatly at the things he used to say

@mushroomflood and I tossed around the second possibility, and the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.

It's very possible that the time in the arenas may have been 'good' for him in a way. If indeed he left home when he was very young--not long after the tribe battled Longclaw--he may have been having real trouble trying to continue his people's quest. Maybe feeling defeated, like he didn't know what he was doing, just wandering blindly, a little kid at the mercy of a cruel galaxy. But then the arenas nabbed him and made him fight. Yeah, in the beginning he likely got thrashed, but over time he may have had his confidence built based on what the announcers were calling him. "The little warrior, last of his kind, strongest of them all!" "Little fists, big strength!" "Don't underestimate this little guy!" Ironically, their overly dramatic and theatrical claims may have been just what he needed to pick himself up and see himself as something worthwhile. Something strong and fierce. And that is what really reinforced this whole 'warrior' mindset into him. Sure his people were warriors, but I'm sure there was more to them than just that. But over time, as his life revolved around fighting in the arenas, that warrior role became warped, both by the announcers and what little he truly remembered of his tribe.

He was so young when he was taken in. Sure, it wasn't an easy life, but from his pov, they taught him to fight. To be strong. To survive. He was just a wee thing when he started out in the galaxy (we're assuming), so having a 'home' of sorts, where he was put in with other warriors--like his tribe was--may have felt familiar. Safe.

While he likely wasn't treated well, especially in the beginning, once he got stronger and tougher, he probably rose in the ranks and got better rations. He was their star, and even if they didn't exactly treat him like royalty, he knew he was their star and may have reveled in the attention. He was a fierce warrior, just like his father would have wanted. Maybe after some time, though, he became bothered that he had put his quest on hold for so many years. He was much stronger now, capable of taking care of himself. And this could have added to his more naïve mindset while with Robotnik. He hadn't really matured in a way that taught him 'street smarts' so to speak. He was a prisoner, even if he didn't realize it.

(Hell, for all we know, he willingly joined the arenas, hoping to prove his worth as an echidna warrior.)

In the prequill comic, he was recaptured to fight in the arenas and felt annoyed because it interrupted his quest. He felt he'd outgrown the arenas, they didn't offer him challenge anymore. He'd learned all he could from them, he was moving on to finish his people's quest.

It bothers him when the others bring up his time in the arenas as something to hate. He won! He was the toughest! Not all survive who enter the arena, and he did! He was their youngest fighter, and they taught him, trained him, just like his papa would have wanted. He learned fighting styles his people never knew. Every injury was a lesson, every defeat a chance to do better next time.

Why does everyone look so aghast? Have they no faith in his skills?

And even when it's explained to him, how a boy his age shouldn't have been pit against others in fights to the death, he still refuses to see it as what it was. "Honey, you were just a child. They shouldn't have done that." "Yes, I was a child. One who would have surely died had they not taken me in and taught me to fight." "Sweetie--" "Do you think I had any right to be on my own in the galaxy? Seeking clues to the Master Emerald's whereabouts? People spat upon me, cursed me. Because I was echidna. Because the owls spread rumors and lies about my people for generations. Had the hunters not seen my potential, I would have been killed, long ago."

And this circles back around to a few of my other posts regarding the feud between the owls and the echidna. I would have no problem believing that the owls vilified the echidna, spread stories to the rest of the galaxy about them, making them the bogeymen to be feared and hated.

We're not privy to why the echidna made the Master Emerald in the first place, nor what transpired to make that one echidna use the power in the end. (If he even did! Again, we only have the owl's mural to go by, which could have altered or completely fabricated the details of what truly happened. History is written by the victors, and all that.)

So, it could very well be that Knuckles doesn't see his time in the arenas as bad. Those years formed him, made him strong, saved him in a way. Why waste time sitting around talking about them as if they were something to be ashamed of, or hidden? He's proud of what he accomplished! He rose to the challenge put forth, and proved that he is strong and brave.

To outside views, that's a horrible life for a child. But to him, that was just life. That was home. He doesn't understand why others are so upset about it, if he himself isn't.

Which makes it all the more sad.

[mama-qwerty]

Thinking too hard again.

Buckle up for another long one.

Can we talk about how Sega's been treating Knuckles lately?

Okay, so backing up, first we have this absolutely fantastic short, which treats Knuckles with respect.

Everyone was stoked not only for the game, but because LOOKIT! Knuckles is featured in his own short, with beautiful animation, great writing and voice acting, and shows him as the steadfast, inquisitive, gentle, caring, yet badass guy he is. He didn't go looking for a fight, but one found him and he was more than happy to end it as quickly and efficiently as possible.

It was promising that maybe, maybe Sega was starting to pull him out of the one-note joke they'd made him into. The punchy guy who only exists to say something borderline rude, be cranky, and punch things.

This is the Knux so many of us know him to be and it was a step in the right direction to make him into an actual character and not just a butt of jokes.

But then . . . this happened during Tailstube #12. (Time stamps 2:00-3:12)

What was that? He's the joke again, the guy Sonic and Tails call when they want to try out some psychological trick. And just as he's feeling good, feeling like maybe they truly care, they cut him off, hang up on him, and leave him hanging.

How would that make him feel? Like they only call him if they need him for a fight, or to make fun of him. To have a laugh. Honestly, no wonder he's cranky, if that's the only reason his so-called 'friends' reach out.

And before that, there was this little bit on a Twitter Takeover:

He truly does sound depressed, like he maybe views himself as the joke others see him as. Even when Sonic and Amy try to intervene, it's said in mocking tones, like that was a joke in and of itself.

"Be nicer to your fans!" "What about your, heh, uplifting personality?"

Where's the concern? The attempts to build him up? "You also guard the most powerful gem in the universe, and have helped us save the world many times!"

No, instead they criticize him for not being 'nice' and give a smirky kind of comment about his personality.

(Yes, I know, these are all written for the lolz and aren't any real indication of the characters' mindsets, yadda yadda. But I wouldn't be me if I didn't deep dive into the underlying meanings of the writing and dialogue choices.)

Most recently there's this bit of dialogue from the Chaotix Casefiles #1 (Time stamps 14:50-16:50)

"Call me when there's something I can punch."

Really? Really??

Sonic Prime was just as bad, with Prime Knuckles being boiled down to "I don't need the details, just tell me who to smash."

Literally.

That's all he said in Sonic's little visions of his friends.

Why has he been reduced to just the angry punchy guy? There's so much more to him, so much history and mystery to explore with him, and Sega seems content to just chain him to his island, and make him think with his fists when he eventually does show up.

I get that he could be confident to the point of arrogant. I get that he could be a hothead. I get that he's strong and a great fighter.

But that's not all he is, and watching Sega boil him down to very stereotyped "meathead who thinks with his fists" character is disappointing.

Maybe it's because he and Shadow have personalities that kind of blur together, and they're trying to differentiate them. But I have my opinions about how Shadow is handled too, and it's doing both of them a severe disservice to have them behave in such flat ways.

Knuckles deserves better. He deserves more respect, more depth, than he's been shown in canon for a long while.

[mama-qwerty]

Sketching went really well tonight!

Y'all get the full page!

[appendingfic]

huh i like the "swoop" in her hair, sets her apart a bit because as i'm sure you discovered Sonic-style heads are hard to distinguish

[mama-qwerty]

They very much are. I am extremely conscious of her various physical traits, because I want her distinct from Rouge or Blaze or Sally or the other girls out there. But I also want her easy enough to draw without getting bogged down with too many details.

Think I'm dialing it in.

Thanks!

[frostycherry]

I love this idiot very much

[frostycherry]

Him.

[mama-qwerty]

WIP

They're fighting again.

[mama-qwerty]

@mushroomflood brought up the fact that Knuckles likely couldn't read or write the language on the surface, which would make him feel ashamed of his ignorance. Vanilla and Cream would likely help him in this regard, judgment free, and it spawned a little scene in my head.

I love thinking about Knux acting younger than his years, and especially if he's faced with the fact that he can't read, can't write, and is clueless to a lot of the things Cream knows. I love the mental image of Vanilla being so motherly toward him, helping him without making him feel small or foolish for not knowing already.

I see him standing in the living room after Cream runs off to wash her hands before lunch, and Vanilla peeks in to see Knux sitting there with one of Cream's books in his lap, his brow furrowed as his eyes flick over the page, trying to decipher the strange markings beneath the bright pictures. He recognized that animal, it's a flicky, but the word beneath it is strangely shaped, and he couldn't even hope to wrap his tongue around those letters and say them properly.

Vanilla moves in, and he straightens when he hears her, acting like he wasn't just puzzling over a word in a children's book.

"Tails tells me you've studied Echidnan, in the ruins up on your island," she says, speaking softly as she sits next to him. He nods, not looking at her. "Did it take you long to learn our language?"

He shrugged. "Eggman taught me when he found me. It wasn't that hard, really."

Vanilla nodded, looking down at the book in his lap. She pointed to the flicky on the page. "What's this called in your language?"

He hesitated for a moment. No one had ever asked that before. "Texotl."

She nodded again, and tried to pronounce it. It didn't come out right, and he smiled. "It may be hard for you. Echidna tongues are . . ." He blushed, not sure if that was an appropriate topic to discuss in mixed company. ". . . shaped different."

Another nod from the mother rabbit. "Do you recognize our writing?"

Knuckles pulled his lips tight. His cheeks burned. If he said no, would she laugh? Her daughter, a child much younger than himself, could read them. Would she think him stupid if he didn't?

When he'd taken too long to answer, he felt a gentle hand on his wrist. "It's all right." Her voice was soft and kind. "It's no shame to not know what you've never been taught."

This was foolish. He didn't need to waste her time like this.

"I should go." Knuckles moved to set the book aside when Vanilla reached out to hold it more firmly in his lap.

"Would you like to learn?"

He froze, swallowing hard. If the others found out he needed to learn from children's books, what would they think?

"We can make a trade," Vanilla continued, her voice still kind. "You teach me your words for things, and I'll teach you ours. It will be an exciting exchange of information, hmm? No one else knows Echidnan, do they?"

He couldn't look at her. He shook his head. "Just me."

"Well, then, if you would be kind enough to teach me, it's only fair I return the favor, yes?"

A long, tense silence stretched between them.

Before Knuckles finally, almost imperceptively, nodded.

~~~

I love the idea that when he gets around Vanilla, he just kind of regresses and becomes so much younger, thriving on being mothered, being loved like a child. He'd never had that in all his years, and there's something about someone older caring about him, making sure he's okay, that ticks some boxes he never knew he had.

[mama-qwerty]

Come With Me

Dread and Scarlett.

Inspired by this post over on the dumpster fire website.

Bad ending after the Devil's Lighthouse Incident.

~~~~~

The sun beat down on the boat, and the lone passenger lying on the deck rolled to her side, curling into a fetal position to shield her eyes.

Her stomach ached, almost grinding against itself in its eager request for food. She felt the growl vibrating in her gut, the sound so loud to her ears. But there was no food to answer that call. Her stores had run empty days ago.

All she could do now was lie there and listen to her stomach complain.

There was no wind again. Scarlett wasn’t sure which of the gods she’d offended to have such still waters, but considering how things had gone, it was likely she was on the shit list of every last one.

Of course, it wasn’t like the wind would help, anyway. You kind of needed a mast and sails to utilize it. And she had neither.

Hells, it was a miracle the boat was even still afloat. The mast had nearly punched a hole through the hull when it was snapped off, and she could hear water sloshing around beneath the deck she lay on.

Not enough to sink her.

Yet.

Only time would tell if she sank before dehydration took her first.

Her belly gave another loud growl, and she curled tighter.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

She and Dread had left that port town they’d grown up in not quite three years ago. Searching for adventure, for treasure, for fame and fortune. Two stupid kids whose sense of adventure overrode their self-preservation more times than not. There’d been close calls before, times when one or the other had nearly met Death face-to-face. But they’d always come through it. Together they could conquer anything.

Except this.

Because everything had gone so sideways, so off the rails, everything she’d ever known, ever believed, had been torn to shreds.

They weren’t together, not anymore. She’d been on her own, floating on this battered heap of wood for . . . gods, how long had it been? She wasn’t sure. Weeks, she thought. But the days and nights tended to blur together when you faded in and out of consciousness due to lack of food.

The boat jostled a bit as something bumped against the keel. She was in open waters, no land for miles in any direction. And it was too intentional a knock for it to be accidental.

It was him. Coming for her again.

A sound left her. Part whimper, part groan. “Go away.”

The bump came again, a harder jolt. With her ear pressed against the decking, she heard boards groan and creak in the hold beneath her. The boat listed to the side slightly before righting itself. It took longer and longer for it to find balance again. Not a good sign.

“You’re not him,” she said, her voice hardly more than a dry croak. It’d been at least two days since she’d run out of clean water, and longer still since she’d had food. The fish around here had long since vacated the area.

When there was a large predator prowling around, prey animals tended to skedaddle.

The boat listed again, harder, and there were splashes behind her as something hauled itself from the water. She didn’t have to look to know what it was.

A hard, wet slap sounded on the deck behind her, and she rolled slightly to find a headless tuna lying there, still twitching slightly. Her eyes flicked up to the figure leaning over the rail, his bottom half hidden by the gunwale as he hung onto the outside of the boat.

There was a cocky grin on his lips, and they were parted just enough for his longer, sharper teeth to poke through.

“Ye gotta eat, lass.”

Dread’s voice was still there, but it was buried beneath something else. Something wet and ancient and mocking. His eyes, the ones that used to be such a pretty shade of violet, were bleeding red around the irises now.

They should have never gone after that Lighthouse. Never tried for that damn rock at the top.

“You’re not him,” she said again, and the smile faded slightly from his face. That gave her a little feeling of victory, and she turned to curl up again. “Leave me be.”

All was still for a moment, before more splashing and rocking as the thing that wore her best friend’s face returned to the water. A second later and there was another splash as he resurfaced right in front of her, hauling himself over the rail to land on the deck.

Dread’s top half was still mostly echidna, albeit one with longer, sharper teeth and more piercing eyes. But his bottom half was a mass of writhing tentacles, pulling him along with a smoothness that was as eerie as it was graceful.

“Always gotta be so damn stubborn, doncha?” he asked, stopping before her to hunker down and grip her chin with a hand. “Ye wanna die, Scar?”

His fingers were cold against her, and she used what little energy she had left to pull herself away from him. “Better than what that rock did to you.”

A sneer crossed his face, and he straightened, looking down at her with contempt. “I still be me, ye fool. The Beauty jus’ made me better. Stronger. Jus’ like we always wanted.”

“I never wanted this,” Scarlett said, pushing herself further away. She bumped into the tuna corpse and shuffled around it. “I liked you just fine the way you were. You were my best friend. I trusted you! I . . . gods damn me, I loved you. I didn’t want this.”

“Well, maybe ye shoulda thought ‘bout that b’fore ye left me t’ die on that sprig of island.”

The words fell from his lips like ice, and his eyes bored into hers as he moved closer. His dreads moved as though underwater, even though no wind pulled and played with them.

Her chest clenched tight, the breath stuck in her throat. She stared at him, gaped at him, before pushing herself to unsteady feet to face him head-on, just as she always had.

“That is not what happened, not even close!” she said, her teeth grit and adrenaline giving her a little shot of energy to properly convey her anger. “You were acting weird before we even got close to that island. And once we made it past those jagged rocks, you jumped overboard to swim the rest of the way! That Shard attacked me! You were gone before I even knew what was happening, and the damn thing all but threw me back out to sea. I’m lucky the boat stayed in most of one piece when it was all over.”

Dread’s eyes flashed, actually glowed, as he moved closer, his lips curling up in a snarl. “Ye’re a liar. Ye left me there. Ran away. We was s’posed t’ be a team, have each other’s backs, an’ ye ran like a coward.”

She snarled right back at him. “I didn’t run. I was cast aside. That rock wanted you, and I was in the way.”

He chuckled at that, shaking his head as he bared his teeth. “It called to me, aye. Drew me in ‘cuz I were the only one who could get t’ it. Me. It be me destiny. ‘Cause I be strong. It told me.”

Scarlett blinked, her eyebrows raising. “It told you . . .”

Oh, this was bad. Stories about that Prism Shard were always vague in their descriptions of what it could do, because truth be told, no one actually knew. Anyone who’d tried for it either failed long before they’d even gotten to the island itself, or died in their attempts to retrieve it. It had been one of those stories whispered over too many drinks at the pub for decades. The mysterious glowing rock floating atop the spire on this little speck of land. The Devil’s Lighthouse.

But looking at Dread, at the man who’d been with her since they were both children, and seeing how that thing had changed him, warped him, she really wished it had just been another story that turned out to be nothing but a myth, like so many others had been.

Because the truth was so much worse.

“You’re insane.”

He blinked at her for a moment, before laughing. A loud, mad laugh, one that made the fur on the back of her neck stand on end.

“Nay, I feel more like meself than I ever have. This be what I been meant fer, all along.” His laughter died down, and he looked at her like a shark eyes a fish. “Gotta protect what be mine, aye? An’ ye ran b’fore the fun started.”

Any other time she may have tried to calmly talk him down, try to get him to see reason, but right now, the insanity of this entire situation—coupled with the dire circumstances of her own impending demise—had left her no more patience to give.

She gestured down to the tuna currently attracting flies at their feet. “If you’re here to enact some kind of vengeance for my apparent betrayal, then why were you trying to feed me? Why waste so much time when you could have simply torn the ship to pieces and watched me drown?”

He paused at that, the snarl fading as his brows furrowed, just slightly. He seemed confused almost, at the things she was saying. There was a flicker of something in his eyes, recognition maybe, and he tilted his head slightly. “What?”

It was a sound of honest confusion, but Scarlett, never one to back down once her ire was good and stoked, pressed on.

“You want revenge? You think I ran and left you to whatever that damn Shard did to you? Fine. Rip me apart. I’m dying anyway, and this boat will last another few days, tops. Just give me one final mercy and make it quick. Then you and your Shard can go off and live happily ever after.”

The words acted like a slap to him, and he jerked back as his expression changed. His muzzle smoothed out, and the glow faded from his eyes.

His reaction made Scarlett pause. He’d been following her for a while, she’d known he’d been there, but he hadn’t done anything threatening in all that time. He’d simply circled her, called to her, tried to care for her in his way. She’d thought it was simply some cruel trick of the Shard, wanting to use Dread to hurt her, but maybe it was some element of his protectiveness over her still fighting whatever that damn rock had done to him.

Maybe he truly was still in there.

It was a hope she clung to, because honestly, what else did she have to lose?

She let out a tired sigh, her energy fading as her anger waned. “Dee,” she said, her voice softer as she took a shaky, hesitant step forward. “Please. We can fix this. You and me, we can do anything if we work together, yeah? We can find . . . I dunno, we’ll find something to fix you. To put you right.”

Dread continued to stare at her, his brows furrowed. Then something about his face changed, became softer somehow. More him. “Fix me?”

She nodded, moving closer still. Part of her warned this was a bad idea, this was a trick, but she ignored it, every last bit of hope in her heart reaching for him. “You and me against the world, yeah?”

He let out a shaky exhale, before swallowing hard. “. . . aye.”

“We don’t need anyone else,” she said, and stumbled forward slightly when her foot bumped against the tuna. Dread caught her, holding tight. “We got this. We can beat it. We don’t need anything else. We don’t need that Shard.”

There was a heartbeat where he looked like himself again. When he looked at her, the violet in his eyes growing back. His hands trembled slightly against hers, and the hope in her chest bloomed, warming her heart.

Then he blinked and it was gone. He was gone.

“No one else,” he said, his grip tightening painfully. “But that Shard be mine. Mine t’ protect. T’ keep.”

The warmth in her chest died, and she tried to pull away, to put distance between them again. This wasn’t her Dread. This was a monster wearing his face. “No, let me go—“

“The Shard be mine,” he said again, his lips splitting into a wide, almost insane grin. “Mine forever. Ain’t never gonna let no one take it from me.”

His tentacles moved, wrapping tightly around her legs, her waist, holding her in an iron grip. Panic churned in her belly, reaching up to wrap icy fingers around her heart. Her throat tightened, and she would have cried had she any spare moisture left in her. “Dread, no, please, I don’t want your Shard, keep it, just please, let go—“

“Mine. I found it. It belongs t’ me. Forever.” His voice dipped to a gravelly hiss as he leaned closer, his eyes locked onto hers. “Jus’ like ye.”

Those three words broke through her struggles, and she froze, staring at him with wide eyes.

Oh. Oh gods.

This was worse than thinking he was lost. That he was going to kill her.

Because Dread, at his core, was a selfish bastard. Kept what he deemed ‘his’ close. Protected it fiercely.

And before the Shard, Scarlett had been his to protect. To keep.

He wasn’t gone. Not completely.

But this was worse.

Before she even knew what was happening, Dread released her hands and dropped to the deck, pulling himself to the rail with strong lunges. She was dragged along behind him, trapped in his tentacles, her claws digging fruitlessly into the wood, scratching long, deep gouges in her panic.

“Dread, no! NO! Dread, DON’T!”

And then he was over the side, hauling her down after him, beneath the waves.

Her screams echoed long after she’d been dragged down, where her best friend pulled her deeper and deeper and deeper. Toward a glowing Prism Shard, tucked far beneath the surface, where he could keep it, and her, safe.

Forever.

~X~X~X~

“We’ve gone too far from safe waters.”

The captain flicked his eyes to the crewman at the bow. Otherwise a good man, but prone to believing any tall tale he hears in pubs as he wastes his coin on cheap booze and cheaper women. “Don’t tell me you believe those stories.”

“Heard tell there be monsters here, Cap’n.” The man turned to the captain, his eyes wide and fearful. “Huge beasts that tear yer ship t’ shreds, laughin’ as they do.”

The captain shook his head with a scoff. “Superstitious nonsense.”

“S’posed t’ be from a Prism Shard.”

“Fuck’s sake, Jonah, that story’s been goin’ ‘round for nigh on a hundred years, now,” the captain said, moving closer to his crew mate. “It’s a wives’ tale, meant t’ scare kids and fools alike.”

Jonah didn’t look convinced. “Sun’s goin’ down. Wind’s dyin’, too. Bad omens.”

“Sun always sets at the end of the day, son, ain’t no sign of bad things t’ come.” He clapped the younger man on the shoulder. “And the wind’ll come again. Think you’re lettin’ your imagination get the better of ya. Too many stories over too many pints, yeah?”

Silence answered him, and the captain had to admit . . . there seemed to be something heavier in it than before.

The two men stood at the bow for a long moment, watching as the last of the light bled from the sky. Darkness fell, and the silence seemed overbearing.

No wind. No waves. Just . . . stillness.

Something bumped against the keel. The ship rocked slightly, not enough to be concerning, but enough to be noticed.

A splash near the aft.

Another bump, this time against the starboard side.

The captain’s hand clenched a little tighter on Jonah’s shoulder. “Mayhap we should get the lads up. Just in case.”

Jonah nodded, and the two turned to head toward the door that led to the crew quarters, where three other men slept below, when the water surrounding the ship suddenly began to swirl. The ship spun in a lazy circle, causing the two men to stagger and grab hold of the rail to stay on their feet.

“What the—“

The captain’s words were cut off as a hand appeared on the rail, large and stinking of deep water. He and Jonah sucked in sharp breaths, pushing away from the rail with wide eyes. The ship dipped forward as a second hand joined the first, and a creature that looked spat from the depths of the deepest ring of hell itself hauled its bulk up.

Jonah staggered backwards, but the captain was frozen to the spot, staring at the beast with wide, unbelieving eyes.

It stood taller than a man, and twice as broad. Fifteen feet tall, maybe as high as twenty. The ship dipped and groaned under its weight, and the creature shifted to keep upright. The thing’s eyes were blood red, with a mouth full of razor sharp teeth. It was smiling, and uttering a noise that could have been the bastard child between a laugh and a growl.

Its torso looked fairly recognizable to most bipedal species, in that it had two arms, thick and powerful, with two equally powerful looking fists tipped with sharp claws. There were what appeared to be tentacles jutting from it’s heavy skull, wiggling and swaying as if leaves caught in a soft breeze. The dozen or so tentacles that supported it squirmed and writhed beneath it, looping around a nearby barrel and breaking it to splinters with a sudden squeeze.

“My waters,” it said, and the sound of that voice threatened to drive the captain mad. It squirmed and vibrated and felt like each syllable somehow made it into his ears, digging into his brain like hungry worms.

Jonah had been right. These waters were cursed, guarded by monsters likely created by the Prism Shard of legend. Creatures that used to be mortal, but now walked the line between this realm and the next.

A scream behind him, and the ship dipped in that direction, tearing the captain’s attention away from the abomination before him.

The scene that greeted him wasn’t much better.

Another creature, slightly smaller than the first, but similar in the fact that its upper half looked somewhat identifiable, with a torso and arms, but instead of a mass of tentacles on its lower half, it had a body that looked not unlike a lobster tail. The end of which was curled up beneath the belly, with four pairs of long, articulated legs jutting from the sides, allowing it to climb aboard the ship. It perched itself atop the wheelhouse, and grinned down at the still screaming Jonah.

This one laughed as well, but the sound was more like the rattle of dry bones, which was horrifying in its own right.

“Ours,” it crooned, and hauled back one of its sharp legs to spear Jonah straight through the chest.

“No!” The captain spoke before he realized it, and ended up with a tentacle wrapped around his throat. He sensed the creature behind him move—or maybe the tentacle dragged him closer, he couldn’t be sure in his terror—and soon the stench of still water filled his lungs.

“Ours,” the first one responded, those large hands wrapping around the captain’s torso, holding him in place as they watched the second creature climb down enough to uncurl its tail.

The captain watched in horror as four smaller creatures scurried off, obviously the offspring of this pair, sporting a mishmash of arms and tentacles and legs and tails, combined with whatever species each of these larger creatures used to be. The young hurried over to descend upon Jonah’s still twitching body.

There was the sound of tearing, of eating, and a few weak cries from Jonah, before he mercifully went still.

“More,” the second creature said, before bashing the door leading below to the crew quarters to splinters. The creature fully landed on the deck, and herded the larger two of the young toward the new hole. The look on its face was almost loving, in a monstrous way, like a mother lion teaching her young to hunt. They went, hesitatingly at first, before crowding down the stairs.

New screams broke the newly fallen night air.

Time passed agonizingly slowly, and the captain staggered on his feet as darkness colored the edge of his vision. The two remaining young feasting on what used to be Jonah had their fill, and fought over one of the man’s femurs. They growled and snapped at each other, uttering what could have been words, but he was either too terrified, or too close to passing out to decipher what they may have been.

The stronger of the two yanked the femur out of the other’s grip, causing the loser to whine and give a sharp cry. The mother creature uttered a soft sound, what could have been a purr in other circumstances, and moved closer to scoop up the little one, and cradle it to her chest.

The screams from below faded into nothing.

Silence once again. The captain’s heartbeat was loud in his own ears.

After a time, how much he couldn’t say, the rest of the young returned to the deck. They were covered in gore, licking their lips as they returned to their mama. Touching each one gently, wiping a few smears from their faces, she gathered them all back onto her tail once more, curling it back against her belly to tuck them in safely.

Then she turned her attention to him.

The tips of her legs made sharp sounds as she moved closer, digging dents into the decking from her weight. Lowering herself to look the captain in the eyes, he held his breath. Hers were just as red as those of the one behind him, but there seemed more intelligence than either of their appearance would suggest.

The tentacle tightened around his throat, an obvious sign from her mate to encourage the captain to behave himself, lest he find himself dead sooner than he expected.

Not that he posed any threat to either of them.

“Captain?” she asked, the word sharp and clipped, but still recognizable.

He tried to nod, but found it impossible with the tentacle around his throat. “Y-yes.”

Her lips stretched, although if it was for a smile or smirk, he couldn’t say. “Our waters.”

“M’sorry,” he managed, his voice cracked and strained. “M’sorry. Meant no harm.”

“Liar.” The voice came from behind him, the smell making him wince. The female made a sound, snapping her teeth at her mate, causing him to quiet.

“I swear,” the captain said, and he felt tears trickle down his cheeks. “I swear. Didn’t know. Please.”

She tilted her head, seeming to study him for a moment, before she flicked her eyes up, to her mate behind him. Something unspoken passed between them, and the tentacle loosened. The male released his grip, and the captain staggered on his feet, pulling in a deep, shaky breath.

Were they sparing him?

“Th-thank you,” he whispered, nearly bending over in a deep, submissive bow. “Thank you, thank you, thank—“

His gratitude was cut short when she took a step back and lifted one leg high in the air, before plunging it straight through the deck, puncturing the hull. Water splashed upward, covering the deck in seconds.

She didn’t take her eyes off him.

“Swim.”

A sound behind him, and it took him a moment to realize the male was laughing.

Stunned, the captain stood there for a moment, looking back and forth between these two monsters. Then he staggered to the rail, hefted himself over, and swam like his life depended on it.

He wasn’t sure how far he’d gotten before he heard two large splashes behind him.

But when the tentacles wrapped around him, stilling his legs and trapping his arms, he had enough sense of mind to cast out a prayer to the gods, to save his soul before sea water filled his lungs.

He could still hear laughter.

~X~X~X~

The threat was gone.

They returned home.

To the trench, deep underwater.

To the calming colors of the Shard.

His mate swam next to him, their young tucked safely against her belly. She’d switched to holding them with her legs, wrapped around her, allowing her tail to help her keep pace with him as they descended through the dark water.

As they returned to their den, she moved closer, nuzzling her snout against his. Then she moved off, giving the Shard a wide berth, as she always did. It was tucked into a small cave at the heart of the trench, carefully hidden from prying eyes. One would need to be nearly on top of it before they'd catch a glimpse of that shimmering light.

And if any were that close, they wouldn't see the light of day again. He would make sure of it.

His mate moved further in, releasing their brood to swim and play in the safety of the enclosure. The bio-luminescent algae that covered the walls of the rocky trench cast a soft blue glow that softened the darkness, and he took a moment to watch his young tackle and play with each other, chasing the few creatures that found refuge this deep. Their bellies full, they would play for a bit, before settling down for a long rest.

It made his heart warm to know they were safe.

Looking past them, he found his mate moving further into the dark crevasse. She tucked herself into her usual spot, a crack in the wall barely large enough for her to fit these days, her arms wrapped around herself and tail curled up tight.

She wasn’t happy. Hadn’t been for a long time.

But he loved her. She was his, and he needed her near.

Moving closer, slowly, so she could send him away if she chose, he settled before her, reaching out a hand to gently stroke her cheek with a knuckle. She tightened her grip on herself for a moment, before turning slightly to open her eyes and peek at him over her shoulder. Her pupils reflected the soft light surrounding them, and her irises were blue again now that the Shard's call had been answered. This deep they looked the color of the ocean during a storm—beautiful and dangerous.

He offered her a smile, a small one, a gentle one, reserved only for her. One that said he was here, he'd always be here, and she was safe.

She stared at him for a long moment, her brows twitching slightly. Her lips pulled tight, and she flicked her eyes over his shoulder, toward where the Shard sat.

He'd always sensed a hesitation from her about it, and sometimes caught her looking at it with a strange expression.

A wariness. Unease.

Fear.

It always left a pain in his chest.

He shifted his position, blocking her view.

Her eyes returned to his, holding them for a long moment. She sat very still, as though unsure what to do. Would she pull away? She sometimes did. Tucked herself into this little hole and refused to come out for a long time. He never forced her out. Just stood watch outside, occasionally reaching a tentacle out to caress her carapace to let her know he was still there.

Sometimes she'd attack him. Her face would twist into an expression that hurt his heart, one that showed anger and grief and pain and regret, and she would lash out, teeth grit and ears flicked back, legs flared in an aggressive stance. He never fought back, just dodged the attacks until she’d worn herself out, usually ending with her retreating to her little hidey hole.

She hadn't done that since the little ones came, but she still thought about it sometimes. He could read her even now.

The moment stretched between them, and he let it. Let her show him what she needed.

And after a few more seconds, her brow relaxed, and her expression turned to one of resignation. She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch.

His heart twisted. He hated that resigned look. Hated it.

He gently pulled her from the crack, and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest in a tight embrace. She shivered in his arms. Not from the cold of the water around them—they’d long since become accustomed to that—no, this came from within her.

Sorrow.

For this life they lived. For the one they'd lost.

For the ones they took.

She always withdrew after attacks on the surface. After the Shard called upon them to defend it. Her heart warred with her actions. Always had.

He wished he could help her. Make her see.

See that all this was because he loved her. Everything he'd done was to keep her safe, to keep her with him. To be strong enough to protect her, always.

He didn't remember much of the before time, long ago. Bits of memories, feelings mostly. Feelings of inadequacy, of fear. Because he worried for her, worried he could never keep her safe. Worried that she'd be taken from him, and then he'd have nothing.

The Shard had called to him, all those years ago. And he'd felt drawn to it. To protect it.

But it had simply fed into that desire to protect her, first. It had given him the means to do so. To grant his greatest wish.

It had changed him, changed them both, granted them long life and eternal devotion. They could stay together forever, and all they had to do in return was keep the Shard safe.

But what good was all that if she was so miserable? If she hated what she'd—what they'd—become?

He held her tighter. She wrapped her arms around him, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. Her nose nuzzled against the small patch of scales that had developed there, warm despite the freezing temperatures of the depths. Her chest hitched, and body shook with sobs that would never be given sound. Not down here.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he'd done the right thing.

If he would make a different choice, given the chance. Knowing what he does now.

And as his mate cried in his arms, holding him tight, he knew, in his heart, he wouldn't.

Because he was a selfish bastard. And he kept what was his close.

He protected his treasure.

Not the Shard, although he was bound to it for protection.

No.

His treasure, the thing that drove him, centered him, kept him fighting, was her.

And it always would be.

So he held her as she cried. Knowing he'd saved them, he'd damned them, he'd devoted himself to her until the end of days, and chained them both to that glowing rock she tried not to show her hatred for.

He held her, loving her so much, and hoping to all the gods who'd give his prayers an even passing glance that she didn't hate him for what he'd done. That she'd forgive him for loving her enough to doom her to this life she never asked for.

But he did love her. More than anything. More than everything.

And he hoped that was enough.

[frostycherry]

Him.

[pupdoc0916]

I love the idea of Knuckles being an accidental chao dad due to all of the water babies residing all over the island.

He is THE chao dad. He deserves a “Best Dad Ever” mug. A present on Father’s Day. He may not mean to be but he is so good to them. Knuckles the chao dad is everything ❤️

[mama-qwerty]

I am once again reminded of the existence of this masterpiece.

[pupdoc0916]

One of the best media representations of Knuckles ever. He is devoted, caring, and loyal…but it also highlights his strength (I mean how cool is it when he punches the edge off the cliff??), battle prowess, intelligence and power. Here to hoping this characterization continues. He deserves his time and deserves to be highlighted as the amazing and dynamic character that he is!

[mama-qwerty]

Resurrection

The second part to Desperation.

~~~~~

Birdsong.

It was faint, muffled, like he was hearing it from underwater.

He couldn’t open his eyes. Couldn’t lift his head. His entire body felt heavy and numb, and none of his commands worked to move an arm, a finger. So he just lay there, trying to figure out why he was hearing muffled birds if he were dead.

A groan in front of him. Louder, less muffled. Shuffling movement, and a hiss, like someone pulling in a breath between clenched teeth. Another groan, louder now. More movement. Hurried.

Then, retching.

Coughing.

Another groan.

Familiar.

Still his eyes wouldn’t open.

A soft thud, then harsh breathing. Long, deep inhales. There was a soft wheeze on each exhale. This went on for a long moment, and the fog began to overtake him again.

“. . . Dee?”

That single syllable cut through the haze in his mind, a sharp blade slicing away the frayed edges of unconsciousness. Because it wasn’t just any noise, wasn’t just any sound, it was her voice, her nickname for him that he never allowed anyone else to use.

He wanted to respond, to open his eyes, to reach for her. But his body still refused to obey, and he simply lay there, listening as she called to him again, her voice soft and shaky and edged with what sounded like pain, but gods above, it still sounded like the finest bell, the most beautiful song he’d ever heard.

Scarlett, his Scar, had spoken. And his name was the first off her tongue.

Dread screamed at his body to move, to speak, to react, to do something, but it stubbornly refused each order.

After another moment, Scarlett seemed to decide he wasn’t going to answer, and instead he was treated to more grunts and groans, more sounds of movement. Her breathing was harsh and ragged, as though each shift of her body brought a corresponding ache. Another episode of retching and coughing, before the sounds moved further away.

His heart raced in his chest—at least he thought it did. At the moment his body was dead weight, and he couldn’t actually feel anything.

Okay, so . . . not dead? He supposed they could have simply been in some kind of afterlife. A purgatory, of sorts. The birds were odd, but considering he’d never been dead before, he wasn’t exactly sure what was normal for this situation.

But Scarlett was alive, or at least awake, so the details didn’t really matter to him right now.

The fog tried to settled over his mind again, and he fought it. Strained his ears for her, trying to decipher what she was doing. There were a few more thumps, accompanied by a grunt. A softly hissed curse floated to him, and he would have smiled had he had control over his lips.

Being dead apparently hadn’t softened her temper any.

A silence settled over them then, and Dread listened to her breathing. Steady, though strained. She still had that little wheeze on each exhale. There were no more sounds of movement, and that soft rhythm of her breaths helped the fog overtake his mind.

Sounds drifted, and he was pulled back under shortly thereafter.

~X~X~X~

Wind in his fur. Soft and warm.

Shadows moved behind his closed eyelids, light and shade shifting with the breeze.

Now he felt his heart beating, fast and hard, and his body didn’t feel as heavy as before. He was on his back, he could feel the ground beneath him, his head slightly elevated in relation as though he were propped up against a headboard while lying in bed.

He wasn’t dead. That much he was sure of. The pounding in his head verified that, as well as the way each thud reverberated down his spine. His muscles ached, gods did they ache. Every.single.one, as though a pair of giant hands had wrung him out like a wash rag.

He commanded his eyes to open, and this time they obeyed, although it took a few seconds for the lids to finally lift. And then it took a few more blinks before the world stopped being fuzzy shapes and colors and settled into focus.

They went wider when the scene before him registered completely.

They were still in the clearing from the night before—had it been just last night? He wasn’t sure—only now it was day. Somewhere around noon if the shadows were anything to go by.

Scarlett sat a little bit away with her legs tucked beneath her, scraping out the pulp from one of those coconut/apple things with her fingers. She moved stiffly, obviously feeling just as sore and achy as he did. Once she got a bit separated from the shell, she brought it awkwardly to her mouth, pulling it in with her tongue.

He was reminded of when they were children. There were times they’d go without food for a day or more, and once they’d finally found something, all semblance of manners went out the window in favor of simply shoving it down their throats as fast as their empty stomachs ordered.

His tongue refused to move, his lips still mostly numb. He wanted to call to her, but all he could manage was a sound that seemed the bastard offspring of a whine and grunt.

But it served its purpose, and Scarlett turned in his direction. There were hollows beneath her eyes, and she looked paler than she should, but she was awake, those beautiful ocean blues of hers were open, and she was looking at him.

She swallowed, licking her lips before speaking.

“Hey.” Her voice was soft. Weak. “Gonna hurt like hell when your body starts waking up.”

The words were strained and trembled as they fell from her tongue, a few syllables dropping as she spoke.

He didn’t care. By all the gods, he didn’t give two shits about the pain or the aches or whatever his body did. She was alive, he was alive, they’d come out of whatever that poison did to them. Once they were on their feet again, they’d find their boat and get the hell away from this gods forsaken place and holy hell every damn nerve in his body was screaming!

It felt like the absolute worst case of pins and needles when a limb falls asleep. If those pins and needles were dipped in acid, and shoved three inches deep into each and every nerve in your body.

She must have seen something on his face, because she cradled the fruit to her chest, and half crawled, half dragged herself over to him. Her expression said this was a chore, her body still feeling the effects of the poison in her system. The black spot was still on her neck, but the thin tendrils had faded.

“It’ll get worse before it gets better,” she said, setting the fruit aside as she came up next to him and took hold of one of his shoulders. Uttering a grunt, she rolled him slightly to his side, away from her, and even through the pain he could feel her hands shake. “Open your mouth or it’ll come up your nose. And that shit burns.”

With some effort he did as she instructed, opening his mouth right before his stomach revolted. There was the burn of bile, and then the remains of whatever he’d eaten last splashed forth, he honestly couldn’t remember what it had been. He coughed, tried to spit, before another wave hit the ground.

Scarlett held him steady as he twitched and heaved, rolling him back only once it seemed his stomach had finally settled. She dragged her sleeve across his mouth, wiping away any remaining vomit-tinged spittle.

“Just like the first time we got drunk,” she said, her voice rough, but as soft as a whisper. A shaky ghost of a smile pulled at one corner of her lips. “Was a little more enjoyable, then, though.”

He tried to laugh, but all that came out was a little puff of a breath. It was just like her to try and lighten the mood, to perk his spirits. Even now. His hands twitched and jerked as he tried to regain control over them.

Gods he wished he could move. Say something.

She quieted, either because that little bit of interaction had exhausted her, or because the severity of their situation hit home, he wasn’t sure. But she sat there, looking at him for a long moment. Her brow wrinkled just slightly, a cloud of something crossing across her face. Dread knew her well enough to read that expression.

Guilt.

She thought this was her fault. That she’d done something wrong. Caused this.

Gods he wished he could move.

In a blink she’d schooled her expression once more, reaching for the fruit behind her. She dug into it with her fingers, before bringing a little of the pulp to his mouth and bumping it against his lips. “Kinda tart, but better than puke aftertaste.”

He lowered his jaw, and she gently placed the fruit on his tongue. She didn’t withdraw her fingers right away, instead holding them there, likely to verify he was capable of swallowing properly without choking. Closing his lips around them, he kept his eyes on her as the juice trickled down his throat.

The moment could have been much more intimate, if the situation were different.

If they both weren’t barely functioning after being poisoned and a half-step away from death, in other words.

They sat there for a long moment, Dread’s throat working to swallow the juice. His tongue moved, mushing the fruit against the roof of his mouth, before swallowing that, too.

Scarlett withdrew her fingers, scraping out another bit for him and placing it between his lips. This went on for another few moments, her feeding him little bites of the strange fruit, before she sat back a bit, letting out a shaky sigh.

“Our treasure hunting is not off to a very stellar start.” She dropped her eyes to the fruit, picking out a bit for herself. Into her mouth it went, and she licked her fingers, her eyes still downcast.

Dread couldn’t exactly disagree, even if he could speak.

Because, yeah. This whole thing had been a pretty serious clusterfuck.

A moment of silence stretched between them, and she wouldn’t look at him.

“I know what you did.”

He blinked, staring at her.

Scarlett looked up then, her eyes going to the discarded pod he’d used to follow after her in apparent death. “That thing has the same smell as the dart.” Turning slightly, she looked over to where the rest of the plant stalk stood, at the edge of the weeds around the clearing. “Some kinda plant toxin. Paralyzes the prey. Slows their heart and breathing. Makes ‘em look dead.” She shook her head. “Or maybe we’re bigger than its usual prey and it worked differently on us, I dunno.”

She paused, sitting still for a moment, staring at that plant. Then she blinked, and turned back to him, her brow furrowed again. “Shouldn’t’ve done it. Damn fool. Wouldn’t’ve been worth it.”

Dread opened his mouth to argue, to tell her she was full of shit, that this hadn’t been some stupid dare gone wrong or whatever foolish antics they’d gotten up to as children. This had been real, life and death, and only when she was fading had he realized that, realized this wasn’t some game anymore. That the stakes were much, much higher, and he’d been prepared to step up and take whatever punishment came for his failure to keep her safe.

Was prepared to follow her, no matter where she led him.

Because, gods, after all this time he finally understood. He wasn’t the leader, he’d never been the one in charge. She was. Her calmer head, her attention to detail, her caring heart. They guided him, gave him the courage to jump into adventure. The safety to be himself.

She made him feel confident enough to be who he truly was.

He wanted to tell her all of this and more, to wipe that damn look off her face, but his voice hadn’t returned as of yet, and he only managed out a rough croak. She shook her head as though he had spoken, her face clouding with guilt once more.

“Was supposed to be our first prize,” she said, her voice cracking. “Start getting your name out there. Show the world you’re not just some cursed thing they thought you were.” Her lips pulled tight, throat moving as she swallowed. “Should’ve known I’d screw it up somehow. Never was very brave. And you . . .”

Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head, dropping her eyes back to that pod.

“. . . you would’ve died for nothing.”

Okay, that did it.

With a great herculean effort, Dread forced his body into motion. It was less of a controlled function and more of a clumsy lunge, but he literally threw himself toward her, ignoring the protests of each and every muscle. Scarlett uttered a surprised squawk as he hit her in a body slam, sending them both tumbling back to the ground.

“Dread! What the—“

“Shut up.” The words came out as a low growl through grit teeth, his body screaming at each movement. He wrapped his arms around her, tucking his nose into the crook of her neck as he closed his eyes. “Jus’ shut yer mouth.”

It felt like she wanted to fight him for a moment, try to push him off—he was a big guy, it couldn’t have been comfortable for her—but instead, she wrapped her own arms around him, tucking into the crook of his neck.

They stayed like that for a few long moments, just holding each other, trembling as their bodies fought through the remnants of the poison in their system. Dread took in her scent, the one he knew just as well as his own, the one that meant safety, meant acceptance.

Meant home.

Scarlett didn’t speak. Didn’t try to break the heaviness, didn’t say something snarky or light. She just laid there, holding him just as tightly as he held her.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was feeling in that moment. Relief, of course. Gratitude. Guilt. But bundled in there was also sorrow, and an almost overwhelming urge to just take her and settle on some island in the middle of nowhere. Some place he could keep her safe, to prevent anything like this from happening again.

Because he’d seen a future without her, for just a moment. And he hated the person he would become on his own.

He was her protector, and she was his conscience.

And neither would survive without the other.

A soft, stuttery scratch of a croak sounded nearby, and they pulled apart just enough to turn and look. The frog Dread had seen stung last night was twitching, its legs flicking in jerky motions as its chest heaved. It took a moment, but it managed to get its legs beneath itself, pushing into a sitting position as it dealt with its own painful resurrection.

That seemed to break whatever spell had been over the two of them, and Dread slowly, almost reluctantly, released her, bracing himself on extended arms over her in a kind of pushup. His arms trembled, but if she noticed, she didn’t mention it.

He watched as she wiped her eyes, drying the dampness that had trickled down her muzzle. His own muzzle felt suspiciously wet, and he shrugged to dry it on his shoulder.

They didn’t mentioned that, either.

After a silent moment, Scarlett let out a soft sigh, looking up at him with a tired expression. “What now?”

Dread didn’t respond right away, his eyes flicking to the frog as it tried, in vain, to hop away from them. When he spoke he didn’t look at her.

“Reckon we oughta try fer th’ treasure again. Now that we know what th’ traps look like.”

Her brows furrowed in his peripheral, but she didn’t respond. He knew she’d go if he asked. If he got it into his fool head to head back to that blasted temple, she’d be right there behind him again. Despite what happened yesterday, she’d follow him without question.

It was both endearing, and infuriating. To know that she was so dedicated to him, so loyal, that she’d put herself in harm’s way again, just to seek out some treasure. She should stop him, give him a piece of her mind, rip him up one way and down the other with that sharp tongue of hers for his foolishness, his impulsive stupidity.

His failure to protect her.

And, normally, she would. She’d never been shy about snapping at him—sometimes with a good slap upside the head for good measure—when he’d dragged them into some stupid situation that anyone with half a brain would see was a bad idea from the get go. She’d follow, make sure he didn’t get his fool self killed, but be right there with the “I told you so!” when it went to shit.

So, she wouldn’t normally hold her tongue to call him on his idiocy.

If she didn’t already believe what happened yesterday was somehow her own fault.

She let out a soft sigh beneath him. “S’pose there’s at least one less dart to worry about.”

He turned to look down at her. Telling her she wasn’t to blame wouldn’t do any good. For all her spunk and sass and fire, Scarlett struggled with anxiety and insecurity. A lack of confidence in her own abilities that drove Dread mad. She didn’t see herself like he did, didn’t understand why he stuck with her.

Sometimes he just wanted to scream at her. Shake her. Make her believe him when he told her she was just as competent—no, moreso—than him. That he was strong, sure, but she was smart.

Clever. Capable. Calculating.

Able to look at a problem from a different angle and come up with a solution that didn’t involve fists or reckless impulsivity or stubborn brute force. And that was something he envied.

He wasn’t brave. He was reckless.

She was brave. Because she was scared, terrified sometimes, but did it anyway.

He wanted to tell her all of this. But it wouldn’t do any good.

She’d never believe him.

He was her protector. Even if it was from herself.

Dread pushed a smirk in place, letting himself fall to the side and roll on his back. He closed his eyes, letting out a soft snicker as he spoke. “Damn, woman! Can barely move an’ already ye’re ready tae head back an’ face danger like . . . well, like me!”

An offended huff reached him, and he cracked one eye open to peek over at her as she cast her own eyes skyward.

“Oi, don’t insult me,” she said, some life returning to her tone as she righted herself, reaching for what remained of the coconut/apple fruit. “Thinking this thing would make a pretty satisfying sound when I bounce it off your thick skull.”

He gave a mock gasp, lifting his head just enough to peg her with a shocked look. “Ye wouldn’t dare!”

Scarlett lifted it as though contemplating the proper trajectory. “Keep talking and we’ll see.”

“Horrible woman,” he muttered, letting his head drop back down. “Evil, vile, retched woman. Have half a mind tae jus’ leave now. No treasure fer ye!”

“Mmm, that’d be a more effective threat if you could walk.” She paused. “Well, if either of us could, honestly.”

Silence settled over them for a few moments, as Dread tested his range of motion. All limbs present and accounted for, and each one obeyed his commands. Sort of. The pain was still there, but fading, and he pushed himself to sit with his legs stretched before him, bracing himself with his arms.

The frog called out, and they turned to watch as it gave an experimental hop. More of a lope than anything, but it seemed satisfied with the movement, and continued on until it disappeared into the tall grass.

The silence between them was heavy. Expectant. Dread tipped his head back, watching the canopy above them shift and sway in the breeze. Scarlett picked at the last of the pulp in the fruit, before tossing the shell aside.

“Not sure it would be a good idea to head back to the temple in our condition,” she said, her voice soft. “Don’t know about you, but I’m feeling . . .” Her brows pinched as she searched for the right word. “. . . off.”

He considered her words. Oh, there were plenty he could use to describe how he felt in that moment—vulnerable, unsteady, shaky. Scared. But he supposed ‘off’ was a good enough one to cover them all.

“Aye,” he said with a sigh, head still tilted back to look at the leaves above. “Thinkin’ I had enough excitement fer one day.”

Silence again, and Scarlett scooted closer to him, mimicking his pose and letting her gaze follow his. “We could try again when we’re feeling stronger.”

He nodded, his eyes never straying. “Aye. Could.”

Frankly, the idea of trying again—anywhere, not just here—didn’t appeal right now. Not after what happened. He supposed that would likely change as time went on—it was easier to dismiss something with enough distance, after all. He’ll convince himself that this hadn’t been that bad, that he’d overreacted. And honestly, she’d likely do the same.

But right now, while it was fresh, he wanted to remember. Needed to, in fact.

Dread blew a long exhale through his nose, and he lowered himself back down, laying on his back once more. “Think I be good right here fer a bit, if I were honest. Tis a beautiful day, an’ I ain’t trustin’ that all me muscles be workin’ proper, yet.”

She watched him, studied him, almost. The girl could read him just as well as he could read her, and he knew she was picking up every tiny hint he didn’t even know he was dropping.

After a moment, she laid down next to him, folding her hands over her belly as they looked up at the canopy.

“Wasn’t your fault.” Her voice was soft.

“Not yers, neither.” His was the same. “But let’s just lay here, ye an’ me, an’ stop thinkin’ fer a while. Aye?”

A tall order, honestly. Scarlett’s middle name was practically ‘overthinking’. That brain of hers seemed to always be working, rolling things over, twisting them this way and that, until she either worked herself into a tizzy, or a self-depreciating spiral. Neither of which were a pleasant thought, and he’d spent years learning how to keep her from doing either.

Dread was ready to distract her, to needle her or pummel her with bad jokes, when she sighed and spoke.

“Okay.”

It was soft, but not in a defeated kind of way. Not in a “Fine, you win” kind of way. Her tone was something different. Relieved, maybe.

So Dread let out a sigh of his own, tucking one arm behind his head as he reached for her hand with his other.

“There’s me girl.”

The tension from the last day or so faded as they lay there. They didn’t speak. Scarlett squeezed his hand once or twice, and he gave a squeeze back when she did.

Maybe they’d try for the temple again. Tomorrow. Maybe.

Or maybe they’d just get back on their boat and quietly leave this place behind. For a while.

And maybe they just needed to lay there in the clearing, watching the breeze play with the leaves above, and simply be.

[pupdoc0916]

A happy ending! My heart thrives on angst with a happy ending ❤️

[mama-qwerty]

Desperation

Dread ran.

The trees blurred by, towering over him, blocking the light from the sun as it sank closer to the horizon. This island was an overgrown jungle, the air thick and humid, each inhale feeling like he was breathing through wool as his chest heaved with quick, ragged breaths.

“Shit!” he hissed, pulling to a stop as he swiveled his head around, trying to get his bearings. He was normally good with direction—Scarlett used to say he had a built in compass in his head, one that always pointed true, letting him know which way they’d come and allowed him to lead them out of any situation safely.

But there was nothing normal about this situation.

Scarlett hung limp over his shoulder, slipping slightly from his frantic sprint. He shifted her back into place, tightening his arm around her waist, while his other hand gripped her legs, keeping her steady.

He needed to get her out of here. Needed to get back to the ship, back to civilization for help. But he’d gotten turned around in his panic, and now felt the seconds tick by with agonizing speed.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Their first real adventure, first attempt at hunting down treasure, and everything had gone so sideways so quickly.

Dread turned, the compass in his head spinning wildly. Which way? Everything looked the same around him. He honestly couldn’t even tell which direction he’d just come from.

They’d pushed their way through the thick brush to find that damn temple, that tempting ruin that held a treasure whispered about behind cupped hands. No one had managed to get to it, and with a confidence only a couple of eighteen year olds could manage, they—or more specifically, he—had convinced themselves they could succeed where so many others had failed.

Stupid. He’d been so gods damned stupid.

He uttered a soft growl. Standing here wasn’t going to help her. Dread picked a direction and ran.

The light was fading quickly. He needed to find his way back to that little sloop they’d managed to get their hands on. Barely bigger than a dinghy, honestly, but it was theirs; their way out of that shitty port town they’d grown up in, their chance at freedom and adventure. Their first step toward living the lives they’d always dreamed of.

Look where that had gotten them.

Gotten her.

Dread ran faster.

After a few more minutes, he pulled to a stop again, his chest heaving. This wasn’t working. He should have been out of this jungle by now, should have at least found the beach if not the exact location of where they’d come ashore.

“Shit!” His voice broke on the word this time, the panic wrapping icy tendrils around the knot in his chest. Scarlett was dead weight on his shoulder

don’t say dead she’s not she’s not

and he had to focus to loosen his grip on her. There’d no doubt be bruises on her waist and legs from how tightly he’d been holding her. Gods, she’d never let him hear the end of that.

she’s not dead please gods

He’d come to a stop near a small clearing in the center of some larger trees. The part of his mind that sounded like Scarlett told him to stop, to take a moment and get his bearings again. Make a plan. Running blind in a thick jungle at night wouldn’t do anything productive, no matter how much his panicked brain tried to urge him back into motion.

Gritting his teeth, Dread stepped toward the largest of the trees. He wanted so badly to just keep moving; there wasn’t time to stop and think. But he listened to that part of him that sounded like her, that was the calm to his storm, the focus to his chaos.

Moving slowly and carefully, Dread shifted his grip on Scarlett, tipping her forward and cradling her head as he lowered her to rest at the base of the tree. She didn’t stir, didn’t make a sound. One would think she was simply asleep, exhausted from their day of treasure hunting.

If one were to ignore the black spot on her neck, where inky lines creeped beneath her skin. Visible even through her light orange fur.

He should have been more careful. Should have listened when she told him to slow down, to watch for traps.

But he didn’t. Too excited for that damn treasure.

A puff of air, a soft zip of something passing by his head, followed by a sharp gasp from her as the poisoned dart hit home in her neck.

He’d yanked it free only a second later, but the damage had already been done. She’d placed a hand there, her eyes wide with shock as she looked at him, right before they rolled back, and her knees gave out.

She was in his arms before she hit the ground, and he’d run faster than he ever had before.

And now look at them. Lost in this damn jungle, night falling, and Dread at a complete loss for what to do.

Every nerve hummed beneath his skin, his muscles tense and practically vibrating from the worry, the fear.

The guilt.

He needed to do something, but everything he’d done up to this point had been wrong. He’d led them here, he’d marched in without a plan, he’d ignored any warnings about traps. And if he didn’t get his head out of his ass and find their way out of this, Scarlett would die.

She would pay the price for his arrogance.

“No,” he said, his teeth grit and fists clenched. “That ain’t gonna happen. It ain’t!”

He punctuated his claim by slamming his fist into the nearest tree. It all but exploded, shattering into a rain of splinters. Some sort of fruit fell with the wooden shrapnel from the tree, something like a cross between a coconut and an apple, falling to the ground and cracking open with a wet smack.

Dread’s chest heaved once again, this time from rage.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Clutching his head, he tried to push back the absolute fury building within him. At the world, at himself, at her. He clamped is eyes closed tightly, blood pounding in his ears, drowning out everything else.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He pulled his hands back, looking down at the large mitts, thick and powerful. Strong. Capable of breaking boulders, of fighting off enemies, of keeping them both safe. It had just been a few years ago when his incredible strength had developed, turning the tables on the bullies and the perverts and other ne’er-do-wells who tried to take advantage of a couple of mangy orphans.

Dread liked that feeling. It felt good to be strong. To feel like you were in control of your life for a change. Like you could handle things that came at you, and no longer had to run and hide. No longer had to be afraid.

But now those big, strong hands shook, turning wavy as his vision blurred with tears.

He was so strong. He could protect her, now. Keep her safe.

With a grunt he reached up and wiped his eyes dry.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

your fault it’s your fault

He needed to think. To focus. To stop rushing off half cocked and try to think like her. To look at things logically, stepping back to see the details, the little things that gave a hint to a solution. A way out.

But every time he tried, his mind would replay the sound of her gasp. The way she’d looked at him, right before collapsing in his arms. The way she’d felt, limp and lifeless on his shoulder.

He couldn’t think. Couldn’t focus. Every fiber of his being was urging him to grab her and keep moving. They’d eventually come out of this jungle at some point, right? Find the beach, find their boat, and get her somewhere for help.

Scarlett didn’t have time for calm thinking.

Dread wasn’t a thinker, anyway. He was a doer. The one who jumped into things, trusting that everything would work out. They usually did, after all, no matter how impulsive he behaved. Things would work out. They had to.

Except . . .

Things usually worked out because Scarlett was there to pull him back. To come up with a plan when his habit of ‘jump first and think never’ got them into hot water.

Dread turned and looked down at her, lying so still at the base of the tree. The black tendrils beneath her skin didn’t look like they’d spread any farther, or so he thought in the dying light.

“Scar.”

His voice sounded loud in the quiet of oncoming night, and he refused to acknowledge the slight shake in it. Moving closer, he went to one knee next to her. Was she still breathing?

“Scarlett.”

A little stronger that time, and he reached a hand forward, before hesitating and pulling it back. Lowering himself further, Dread pressed an ear to her chest.

A heartbeat. But faint. Slowing.

He pulled back, face pulled into a grimace.

“C’mon, Scar, wake up.” Reaching out again, this time he made contact, gripping her upper arms and giving a little shake. “Scar, ye gotta wake up. Ye gotta tell me what tae do.”

No response. Her head rolled limply on her neck, and his stomach rolled at the sight.

“Wake up.” He spoke through grit teeth, his jaw clamped so tightly it was a wonder he didn’t crack them. “Wake up, ye fool girl. I need ye, gods damnit. I ain’t good at this part, this be yer end o’ things, ye gotta think o’ somethin’ and tell me what tae do! Anythin’! Promise I won’t call ye bossy ‘r naggy ‘r know-it-all, jus’ please, c’mon Scar, wake up!”

The panic was coming back, and a sudden urge to shake her as hard as he could flashed through his mind. To just shake and shake and shake her until she woke up. To scream in her face, curse her foolishness, demand she open her eyes, for the love of all the gods open your damn eyes!!

His body tensed, trembling at the mental image that conjured.

He could see himself doing it. See how she jerked like a rag doll in his grip, her head whipping back and forth, until there was a faint snap as her neck broke.

Slowly, gently, Dread lowered her back to the ground.

He released her arms, and stepped back a few feet.

She remained still.

“What do I do?” he whispered, looking around the clearing helplessly. “She’s . . . gods above an’ below, she’s . . .”

The word caught in his throat. Threatening to choke him. Suffocate him.

He swallowed hard, letting out a shaky exhale.

The urge to move had gone. Now he seemed paralyzed by the reality of their situation.

He’d never felt so scared. So unsure. So helpless.

After everything they’d survived, everything they’d faced, this seemed a spit in the face. They were supposed to travel the world. See wondrous things. Sail the seas and find treasures no one else dared search for.

One little dart had destroyed everything.

Night had fallen completely, and the moon lifted above them, filtering through the clearing’s canopy. He watched as the light danced across the ground, and his eyes adjusted to the low light, pupils dilating wide. The jungle’s nightlife came alive, with the sounds of frogs and other critters calling out to each other in the darkness.

A particularly close chirrup of a frog drew Dread’s attention, and he turned, watching as the little creature hopped through the weeds at the edge of the clearing. It paused, called again, and then hopped forward. Another call, another hop, and then something moved in the flora nearby.

Before Dread could blink, one of the taller plants with small bulbous pods bent forward, spearing the frog with one of its long nettles. The animal gave a surprised squawk, and tried to hop away, but it lurched to the side instead, its hind legs kicking twice more before laying still.

Dread stared.

Moving slowly, he approached the downed frog, toeing it closer to him to stay out of range of whatever that aggressive plant was. Once within reach, he bent and picked it up, handling it gingerly as it lay limp in his hands.

“What in the hells . . .”

Rolling the little body over, he found the puncture wound, and his eyes went wide.

There were thin black tendrils spreading from the wound. Just like on Scarlett’s neck.

That plant must have been what whoever set the traps had used in their darts.

Dread looked back over at Scarlett, lying just as still as the frog in his hands. He wished this new piece of information were helpful. Wished it gave him some insight into how to fix it. How to help her.

Looking back at the frog, he watched as its breathing slowed, the rapid rise and fall of its chest fading to inhales with longer and longer pauses between them. Until they stopped altogether.

He stood there for a long moment, watching. The frog did not stir.

In that moment, two things became clear to Dread.

Thing one, that even if they managed to find the boat, it was a three day sail back to the nearest island. And that was with the wind at their back the whole way.

Thing two . . .

Scarlett didn’t have three days.

She likely didn’t have three hours.

She was going to die on this island, because she’d believed in Dread. Because she’d trusted him. Because she’d followed him, no matter where he’d led her.

You and me against the world.

He looked back to her, lying there so still.

What would he do with himself without her? Keep sailing? Keep adventuring? See everything they were supposed to see together?

All he’d ever thought about as they were growing up was getting out of that town and seeing the world. Seeking adventure. Being someone important.

But he already was someone important. To her.

Adventure didn’t mean anything if he had no one to share it with. Seeing new things was hollow without his best friend by his side.

He was supposed to protect her. He’d promised he would.

And he’d failed.

Dread looked back to the frog in his hands.

They’d promised they’d stick together. That they’d always be there for each other, no matter what.

“Ye an’ me against the world,” he whispered, running an absent thumb over the frog’s belly.

He hadn’t been alone for over eight years. And thinking about it now, thinking about having to face the world on his own again, figuring out where to go, what to do . . .

It terrified him.

“Likely get meself killed without ye,” he said, turning back to Scarlett. “C’n be a damn fool, if I were honest. Pick the wrong fight, step on an obvious trap, get me head snapped off by some kraken ‘r somethin’. Never had a lick o’ sense.”

She didn’t respond.

“Ye were the only one who ever saw me as somethin’ worth savin’. Not jus’ a dread child. Somethin’ t’ be feared and spat on. Nay, ye . . .” He let out a soft exhale, shaking his head. “Ye saw me. An’ no matter where I dragged ye, what danger I seemed determined t’ seek out . . . ye were there. Always followin’. No matter what.”

He paused, looking back to the frog in his hands. He ran this thumb over it once more, before nodding, heading over to where it had been stung.

“Reckon it be time fer me t’ follow, now.”

Moving with a stern determination, Dread reached forward and snapped off one of the pods before the plant could strike. He held it gingerly in one hand, the frog still in his other. Something black oozed out the back of the pod, and he grimaced unconsciously as he moved back toward Scarlett.

“Thought we had more time,” he said, gently setting the frog against the base of the tree, before settling down on the ground next to Scarlett. “Woulda liked to see more with ye.”

He laid down next to her on his side, and gently rolled her so she was on her side facing him. They used to sleep snuggled together for warmth and safety, and this felt heartbreakingly familiar. Grabbing her wrist, he draped her arm over his waist. “Ye wait fer me, y’hear?”

Without giving himself time to rethink it, Dread jabbed the plant’s nettle into his neck. There was pain, then a cold numbness spread alarmingly quickly down his body.

He threw the pod away, and reached forward to cradle the back of her head, pulling their foreheads together. Closing his eyes, he focused on her, on the feel of their foreheads touching, as the poison seeped into his system.

“Ye an’ me against the world,” he whispered as his mind grew fuzzy. “An’ whatever comes after.”

He held her like that, his body growing heavy, his thoughts fading into nothing.

A moment later, and the darkness dragged him down.

[pupdoc0916]

This story hit me in the feels this morning. Loved it.

[mama-qwerty]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Now for your reading pleasure on ao3.

[pupdoc0916]

This is an amazing read. Highly recommend!