INSTEAD OF MONEY I WANT FAME!! BRING ON THE CAMERAS! BRING ON THE LIGHTS!

"Someone's a little flustered."

Sonic's breath caught in his throat. His fingers stilled on the keyboard, body stiff to the point of aching. He could feel the jackal's breath on his ear. Hot and damp. Chaos, was his mask off? He dreaded looking over his shoulder, so he kept his eyes forwards, locked on the screen. The cursor still blinking away in the search bar mocked him.

"I think you meant to type 'map' not 'ampa,' hmm?" Infinite said with a rumbling chuckle.

"I-I..."

"Now why would you be looking up the map to a base you shouldn't even be wandering around in?"

The blue hedgehog swallowed thickly, hands starting to shake. He dared not speak again. Infinite sounded too calm, his echoey, gravel-sharp voice dipping into a vaguely amused growl. The jackal huffed at his lack of response.

"You're going to walk on back to your room without a word," Infinite said.

The jackal leaned in further and Sonic shrank away from him, eyes screwed shut. There was nowhere else to go but closer to the desk, stomach pressed uncomfortably against the hard edge. It made breathing a little more difficult. Sonic didn't care. When Infinite next spoke, his voice had lowered a few octaves and he was practically whispering.

"Or I'll drag you there, kicking and screaming."

Sonic shuddered. He tried to steady his breathing.

"Do you understand?" the jackal asked lowly.

"Yes..."

"Yes, what?" Infinite snapped.

"Y-yes, Infinite," Sonic whispered.

"Good."

Sonic turned and slowly made his way towards the door with measured strides, head bowed. His ears were bent back, hoping it would show Infinite he would co-operate without fuss. Still, he could pick up Infinite's steps tapping across the metal floor behind him.

"I do have to commend you on your effort," Infinite said. "You got a lot further than I expected you would."

Been looking through some old notes for stories I haven't written yet. Sometimes they're quickly jotted down notes of a wider narrative with little to no detail. Sometimes, like this one, they're little scenes I thought up that never went anywhere. So thought I might share a quick little dialogue exchange for what would have been a Forces story at some point. I might use it some day, I might not. I'm hoping this little scene captures even a shred of how scary I'd wanted to make Infinite. Justice for his character, he deserved a better story and a better game. He could have been almost as terrifying as Mephiles but he missed the mark which was a real shame...

Not quite sure what I'm working on at the moment. I'm gonna have a little re-read of some stuff, see if anything jumps out at me. In a little bit of a funk recently and just trying to resist the urge to write a new story again (other than the new oneshot that's also giving me issues currently, I'm not counting that right now, I'm currently pretending like it doesn't exist, ha) or start a new re-write. The struggle is real.

Are you a fan of horribly produced crunkcore? How about crusty ass vocals over shitty synth loops? Well I’ve got the EP for you!!

After two months of screaming crying and shitting my pants I bring you MANDATE!!

(Stream on SoundCloud :P)

(From Medusa's Kiss)

...

Scott has a presence about him. It’s what gains him the respect of his team at Tracy Industries, what encourages their rescuees that Scott can be trusted with their lives. It’s what his brothers rely on in the field, and likely what his squad in the USAF listened to as well. It comes from the fact that he cares.

The secret of Scott is that it can be a curse too, caring that much. Virgil alone – and likely John – knows that it can make difficult debriefs that much harder, the lines between care and guilt and self-deprecation drawn far too thinly to even be the first outline of a sketch. For years, Virgil had been trying to take his professional grade pencils over those lines until they were dark and bold and Scott could see, and yet his brother continued to rub at them thoroughly.

We didn’t make it in time. Translation: I wasn’t fast enough. You got some graphite on your fingers there, commander.

Virgil likened his brother to a child of Atlas with the world on his back, and Scott’s presence, therefore, was a dramatic increase in pressure that manifested in the grinding of teeth, the pacing of feet against a worn floor, and an overbearing aura of protection. It was so much, so Scott, and it had served them well. It’s why, when Virgil wakes to the beeping of the infirmary, the gentle strokes of fingers through his hair, and the incessant, jittery tapping of a foot on the floor, Virgil feels just a bit heavier in the bed from the love of Scott challenging the force of gravity.

He doesn’t need to see to know it’s him, and so he calls Scott’s name through a groan and a cough.

“Here, Virg. Welcome back. Can you open your eyes for me?” His voice is soothing and quiet because he knows what Virgil is like when he wakes up, especially when he’s hurt. Virgil listens because Scott is his commander and big brother and he cares and he needs him to tone down the worry just a bit because that can’t be good for his world-worn shoulders.