I feel like Shadow only sleeps well when he's with someone else. So the whole fam takes turns being his bedtime buddy. Though Knuckles gets the role the most because he's the least likely to get seriously hurt if Shadow does end up having a flashback nightmare. And I think it takes awhile for Shadow to get comfortable with Tails simple because Tails' scientist side accidentally triggers him sometimes.
(this is all platonic, please do not tag as any ships other than Tom+ Maddie)
Alternatively while he's willing to sleep alone and tried to at first, they soon realized he almost never got good sleep and often woke up grumpy, or so worn out he wasn't really responsive.
Just wrote 1200 words of Kelrec having a PTSD attack 🤩
For a fic I started working on earlier this week (almost done now) that's akin to TNG Data's Day. BECAUSE if we're to believe that Kelrec actually has a solo workout scene next season (according to Raoul's trainer) that got me thinking of the actual possibility of an episode centered around Kelrec/the War College and showing what a day in their lives are like...
So, taking from the TNG writers playbook, I'm writing a story in the perspective of Kelrec's daily log.
Fandom/Characters: SPN - Gabriel, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel
Word Count: 2,689
Warnings and Tags: Trickster Gabriel, later seasons, pranks, fluff, an attempt at humor, cursing, drinking, bonding, brotherly banter
Summary: Bad things tend to happen when Gabriel is bored, at least to Sam and Dean and their resident angel. Written for the @spnsummergen request: Gabriel getting bored and deciding to mess with Sam, Dean and Castiel.
Author Notes: It's Reveal Day for @spnsummergen! I said I missed writing him, and I meant it. When I saw this pitch hit request, I couldn't not instantly grab it like the greedy little Gabriel starved guy I am. Though one of your other prompts also really is eye catching and if I ever have free brain space I might need to ask you about writing it. Thank you so much to @huntressandlioness1 taking the time to beta this last minute! I appreciate you endlessly. I'm so happy I could finish in time and I really hope you enjoy your gift! ❤️
Read a snipping from, I Was Bored, Rated Teen, below or in full on my Ao3.
*note, this story (and all of my others) on Ao3 is locked for registered Ao3 users.
I Was Bored
Sam's hands shuffled through his duffel, brows pinching along with his lips.
"Dean!"
"What?! You ready?"
The frown in his lips didn't lift, looking around his bedroom, wondering if he had left them somewhere else.
"Did you take the hex bags I made?"
Dean stopped outside his door, bag slung over his shoulder. "No," his face contorted in confused offense. "Why the hell would I? You're the one who's all… witchy." His fingers wiggling in Sam's direction.
Sam's face fell into a flat expression at the motion, and Dean shrugged with a shake of his head, about to keep walking when he paused.
"You pack the snacks?"
Sam had looked away from him, trying to see if he had left them on his desk. He had at least found the book, they needed to banish a spirit they had to clear as they worked their way east, and the salt pellets he had packed for their second hunt, the night before. He sighed, not finding them but doubted he had time to make another set of protection bags before they needed to go. At the question he looked back up confused as he turned back to his brother.
"You do snacks," he reminded, unsure why Dean would want to switch now. "That's always your job, Dean," he added, studying Dean's face before his eyes squinted when his brother didn't offer any reason. "Did you eat all the road food last night while you were watching movies?"
"No," he answered instantly, but then paused.
Dean's lips swished from side to side, he wasn't really sure. He had been drinking a lot, up late, and he tended to munch when he got into a marathon. He cocked his head to the side, trying to think past the haze of cheap whiskey, Star Trek, and laughter. His brows lowered.
Why had he been laughing so much watching Trek movies alone?
"Maybe," he corrected before he shook his head, most of the night was a blur. "I guess so," he grumbled, he must have, he sighed at himself. They'd just have to stop and buy more on the way."We'll make a stop. You ready? Cas said he'd meet us for the second hunt."
"Fine," Sam sighed, grumbling under his breath about having to take an extra stop on such a long drive. "At least I can remake these when we stop," he added, finishing packing a few more things in his duffel bag while combing a hand back through his hair.
The taller brunette grabbed the rest of the ingredients he still had out and pulled his bag over his shoulder. He had wanted to test them, and a simple salt and burn sounded perfect for a trial run for protection. Dean waited for him by the doorway as Sam shut off his light and joined him.
"Can't believe you ate all the snacks," Sam huffed as he closed his door. "How are you not sick? Or hung over?"
"Iron stomach," he patted his abdomen, "and years of practice," Dean chuckled, starting down the hall.
"Not sure you should be proud of that," Sam quipped, walking behind his brother as they made their way to the garage.
Dean rolled his eyes at his brother's teasing smile. "Yeah, well, what kinda witch loses hex bags?" He grumbled, glancing over his shoulder at him.
"I am not a witch," Sam stipulated, "and I just… misplaced them."
"Misplaced, right," Dean snorted, stretching out the last word as he nodded his head with all the patronizing spirit the older man could muster.
"Shut up," Sam huffed, pushing at Dean's shoulder as they got into the garage, hoping the double header hunt would be as easy and the long drive relaxing as they hoped.
I tried writing a Deltarune thing, but it wasn't really up to my standard of Deltarune fanwork, so please have this one salvageable scene for a fanmade Chapter 5 scenario. It's got everything, OK?
Context: A Dark World opens in the middle of the festival, within the festival grounds, because the Knight is testing the bounds of the power of darkness and shadow or whatever it is. Susie isn't here yet because something happened at home, so Kris and Noelle had to go together due to Carol's influence (and Toriel being hungover agreed to it).
Kris had little choice but to take Noelle onto the party again. Of course, Ralsei was surprised at Susie's absence and Noelle's presence. Though the two healers knew little about each other despite meeting once before, their cordial personalities allowed them to get along fine and call each other by name.
Though there was still very much a Susie-shaped space that needed to be filled.
The landscape was quite interesting, much to expectation. The festival grounds were transformed into a livelier version of itself. There were ever-changing halls and a variety of Darkners. As predicted, the Lightners assumed this was all due to the ongoing festival.
The awkwardness and discomfort came back, though, when the group reached Asgore.
"Oh, Kris, there you are! I was looking for--" He turned around and gasped. "Asriel?!"
Ralsei was very much not Asriel-shaped, despite what Noelle or Asgore might think. Kris grimaced when the Soul whispered, "I told you so!" over and over. But Asgore immediately invited Ralsei over and sat him in his court of sentient flower Darkners. Initially, Kris had planned on pretending this was all a dream, so the Asriel thing did work to their favor, begrudgingly so. Ralsei initially went along with it, but he became more and more upset.
Noelle was adamant on proving the Dark World was not a dream, though. While working nonsense chores for Asgore, the Soul moved Kris to a balcony overlooking the garden and eavesdropped on Noelle's conversation with their dad.
"This… this place… it's all real, right?"
"Of course. After all, it was a place like this that took your sister. But nobody believes me."
Kris immediately took hold of the Soul and drag themselves to another portion of the Flower Castle. Despite the pain, this was a better way to make sure the Soul could do little. Everything was proceeding as planned, after all.
The Soul, though, was also gaining more and more power, the more Dark Worlds it went to. If Kris could control their right hand, the Soul controlled the left. Once the Soul left Kris, things were bound to get troublesome.
The struggle continued for a few more suffocating moments. With little choice, Kris let go, but they fell into a deep body of water.
Great.
Both entities still weak from their standoff, neither could make their body move against the current. What now? Was this the end of all their struggle against fate?
A figure in the dark emerged. The revitalized connection with the Soul offered a name: Onionsan from the lake? But no, the lake was all the way across the festival grounds. Surely, the fountain wasn't that strong just yet? Haha, the dark was making Kris imagine things…
But a clawed hand grabbed their wrist, and Kris resurfaced with their savior.
"Susie?!" both they and the Soul exclaimed.
"What the hell…" Susie grunted, "Is today really just a bad day for both of us?"
There was no time to lose, though, because the dark currents were still pushing them further and further into unexplored territory. The Knight did warn Kris of permanently being lost in the dark. Together with Susie, Kris and Soul fought hard to swim to… anywhere out of water.
Fortunately for them, a swan boat appeared. Susie hauled their bodies onto it, and the world slowed around them.
"Sorry, I'm late," Susie whispered between her gasps for air. "I had a… situation at home."
Kris managed to smile. "Same."
Susie laughed. Despite not being able to breathe much, she still laughed. Whether at the irony of the situation or her own experienced, she laughed.
"Banger festival, isn't it, Kris? Who knew the Knight had the audacity to make a fountain in such an open space."
Kris agreed. It was a risky plan, but it was an amazing adventure so far. Minus the struggle with the Soul that led them to almost drown in fake water, that was.
"That means everyone's here, huh? Including Ralsei? Awesome! If we can't take him to the festival, take the festival to him."
Susie might not follow the script, but her contributions to the play never disappoint.
(Somehow it ended up as more unsettling, also check the tags)
There’s something about Peter
(I don’t mean any harm to the people this is based off of, and claim nothing except for the story)
There was something about Peter.
Tony had seen the change, he’d been there from the beginning. It started off slowly, a quick flash of something across his face, letting things drop where he would have caught them.
A smile that was a bit too wide, and so blindingly white under the stage lights. The fans ate it up anyway, standing almost transfixed as he danced around like a leaf in the wind.
He looked over to Peter anyway. Under the dimmed lights he dressed like a streak of void painted onto the normal workings of a stage.
When his head was turned, at least. With the makeup he was more reminiscent of a lit lamp post. Tony shook away that thought. As if hearing him, said lamppost turned his head to face him. He looked like he was about to say something when the curtain came up, flooding the stage with white light.
Showtime.
They started off just fine, everything was going smoothly. His hands were gliding over the keys, drummers were playing when drummers should, bassists and guitarists were doing what was rehearsed. He let his mind wander for a bit, they’d been playing these songs for long enough that muscle memory could kick in. His mind always wandered back to Peter though. As if tethered to him. He glanced over to see that he was now engrossed in mowing the lawn of wires across the stage. Alright then. Everything as planned.
A third of the way through the set was where things started to go downhill. Everyone was playing well, that wasn’t the issue. However the atmosphere seemed more charged now, more electric than at the start. Small tendrils of shadow seemed to creep up from between the keys, brushing over his fingertips and coiling around his wrists. Almost keeping them in motion.
He worriedly looked over to the others.
Steve looked fine as he leant into the light for his solo. Mike and Phil seemed to be facing the same sort of troubles though. Not in that they couldn’t play, but that they couldn’t seem to stop either. Then there was Peter. He seemed to have become taller and leaner as the song went on. His form stretched and warped under the multicoloured light. He still sang. He still played. Something uncurled in the back of his mind, whispering that it was all fine. Tony wasn’t so sure.
As the show went on, the strange happenings seemed to reach new levels of odd. Now even Steve was affected, as the shadows bent and twisted around him. Tony looked down to the audience. They were still swaying with the music and the lights, they seemed to bask in the chaotic atmosphere, but they always did. That song ended. Silence. Then applause. His head was aching now, his hands were completely still under the blue light. Shadowy coils still looped around them, now making their way up his arm. A strange hush fell over the crowd now. They were worshippers, and the stage was their altar. If that made them their gods he didn’t know. Thoughts were wildly running through and around his head. Panic was lapping at his throat. Everything else was still.
“Old Michael walked past the pet shop, which was never open”
Supper’s ready. Tony shut his eyes and drew in a deep breath. Peter did too.
“Into the park which was never closed”
His eyes were closed. Did that mean he was the pet shop? His thoughts were hazy.
“And seeing the park was full of very smooth, clean green grass”
His eyelids cracked open. Light flooded in once again. Time slowed to a crawl.
“He took off all his clothes, and began to rub his body into the clean, wet, green grass”
Clarity after the delirium. How can he say that so seriously? Tony wondered.
The crowd clung onto his every word and movement. Even the breaths between each. The monologue was over, now the real show began.
His hands were moved into position on the guitar. Across the stage, several other pairs of hands were readied. Peter stood still.
He started singing. Shadows pulled his fingers up and down on the fretboard. Smooth as silk strings. His thoughts racing listening to Peter, trying to ignore the panic setting in once again.
“It’s been a long, long time”
He sang it almost directly to him. Or that’s how it felt. He set down the guitar with hands that should have been shaking.
The song was played, and the atmosphere only turned more surreal. Shifting and changing lights washed over a shifting and changing stage. Shadows carved keyboards into strange sculptures. Guitars were made and unbraided while being played. Drum fills rolled as waves through the sea of audience members. Singing and shadow melted together to bind the musicians and crowd. Verses bleeding into choruses then into sections and instrumentals. Hands melting into instruments. Cries from the crowd becoming a dissonant haze of noise. And above it all, a clear echoing voice. A whistle. Another change.
Keys to door to frame to change.
Voice, vines, ropes, signs.
Faces, masks, dresses, songs, flutes, flowers, more change.
Tony drew in a shuddering breath. Focusing on the ordeal that was about to unfold. He couldn’t even find the keys, yet the right notes still flowed freely from his fingers. Shadows turned his head to the warped figure centre stage.
Peter stood with his arms raised above his head. Coils of shadow extended from his shoulders like wings, climbing into the curtains and crawling towards bandmates. Fiery golden eyes were arranged behind him like choirboys. His costume glittered in the supernatural light. The atmosphere was heavy and still around him, despite the chaos of the rest of the stage. In the storm’s eye stood Peter, or what looked like Peter. Immune to the carnage as the sole cause of it. The song still continued. The crowd still cried out for more.
Tony’s head was pounding. Like an icepick holding the weight of the world was poised over his skull. Images of past times and performances flashed behind his eyelids in a disorienting light show. An ancient presence settled around him as the music swelled to a crescendo. Its powerful voice sang out from all around him.
“There’s an angel standing in the sun”
There it was, Tony thought. He kept looking and feeling the music around him. It was impossible not to.
His hands shook as he played the final minutes of the song. The pressure seemed to ebb away.
It was over. He let out a long breath.
The lights dimmed as the crowd roared in approval. Peter said something to them and then bid them goodnight, walking off the stage. The rest of them followed suit, Tony trailing behind the rest. Already, memories of this performance were slipping away with the crowd’s noise. As he walked back to the dressing room, he could only try to remember the room number where they were staying.
