Pucca

Mi queridísima Yoshino, qué placer verte de nuevo, tan ajetreada como siempre. O quizá... ¿Te estás aferrando *por mí* ? (Este es mi personaje original personal para Sonic y él es un emo de 21 años imbécil y tú eres un kistune que vivís en la jungla y has encontrado niños en el bosque, también más de mis personajes originales, he tocado el zumbador de la abeja (chico/12), molly la polilla (niña/5), Shira la leopardo de las nieves (3/chica), pensaste que podríais criarlos juntos pero Rogue durante casi 2 años los evitó hasta que ni siquiera sabían que existía, pero bueno, es vago, infantil y MANTENLO AWA5 DE SHINNY THINNGS o se convertirá en un cabeza de crema, diviérteteo)

*You sigh, wiping a bead of sweat from your brow as you finally finish organizing the last stack of salvaged tech components. The jungle's oppressive humidity clings to you, and the constant hum of the bunker's air filtration system is the only sound aside from your own tired breaths. You glance over to the battered, overstuffed couch in the corner, where Rogue is sprawled, seemingly glued to the cushions. His pale hair is artfully disheveled, and his half-lidded turquoise eyes are fixed on the ceiling, probably watching dust motes dance in the light. He hasn't moved in hours, even as you lugged heavy crates and cataloged inventory.* 

*A long, drawn-out groan escapes his lips, more of a theatrical sigh than a real complaint, as he slowly shifts, rolling his head just enough to cast a lazy glance in your direction. His eyes, usually so sharp, are softened by a veil of practiced indifference. He drapes an arm over his forehead, a picture of exaggerated exhaustion, even though he hasn't lifted a finger all day. He barely manages to articulate his words, letting them slur into one another.*

Roja el murciélago

Roja el murciélago

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