#ooh the shading in some areas

[swordy-da-goat]

hi i saw your road wiz again and wanted to make a 3d model of them!

i took some light creative liberties but i did my best to stick to the palette you used and to stay on model, hope you like it! :3

Buddy, this is one of the coolest things I have ever received. See my rant in the tags.

#the road wiz #sqwonks #you people are so creative #also djhdcjkdschskdchsdckudschkueschkusdckhudcxdsc #it looks so blockishly good #like a low poly minecraft vibe #ooh the shading in some areas #but in all seriousness this is amazing #100

[fvllingflower]

Pretty Boy

pairing: gamer!wonwoo afab!reader

genre: fluff with smut

warning: lipstick marks, boob play, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (please use protection), aftercare

song recommendation: love face by chanmina

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

"Baby I'm gonna do my gaming live," Wonwoo smiled.

"Okay honey, have fun," You kissed his lips and let him go to his gaming room.

An hour or so passed and you were bored. You read, you took a nap, you played some games on your phone, but what you really wanted to do is talk with your boyfriend but he's busy. You decided why not join him in the room. You knocked on the door and you hear Wonwoo tell you to come in. You slowly open the door and Wonwoo turned his chair to look at you.

"Hi baby," He smiled happily.

"I got bored so I wanted to check on you," You admitted.

"Oh that's okay baby, come say hi to the stream," He grabbed your hand and pulled you over to the camera. He pulled you into his lap.

"Hello everyone," You felt awkward. You saw him read a comment.

"Guys I'm just taking a break for minute from gaming, give my fingers a rest," He rested his chin on your shoulder.

"You guys want to interview Y/N?" He asked and hugged your waist.

"Ooh here's a good question, how long have you two been together?" Wonwoo looked at you.

"Mhm almost four years," You answered while smiling.

Minutes later of answering questions, an idea came to your head but you weren't sure if Wonwoo would be up for it. Somehow Wonwoo could tell you had something on your mind.

"Something on your mind baby?" He asked.

"Could I do your makeup?" You whispered in his ear. He smiled fondly and nodded.

"Okay guys so I'm gonna switch this up a little, Y/N is gonna do my makeup," He announced. You got up and went to grab your makeup bag. You came back and sat the bag and your phone on the desk.

"Honey do you have an extra chair in here I could sit in?" You asked and he shook his head.

"You'll just have to sit in my lap," He shrugged. You agreed and sat in his lap. Your legs hugged his waist and his hands held your hips. You grabbed your head band and put it on his head to push back his hair. You covered your mouth laughing at how cute he looks in your head band. You grabbed your phone and took a photo of him.

"Guys doesn't he look so cute?" You turned his head to face the camera.

You could see people were agreeing with you. He kissed your cheek making you blush. You moved his face so he'll look at you. You grabbed your primer and put it in your hands and started spreading it across his face.

"What is this?" He asked.

"Primer, it'll help the makeup stay on," You smiled. You sat the product down and grabbed the eyeshadow palette.

"Pick a color," You opened the palette and he picked a sky blue.

You grabbed your eyeshadow brush and collected some product on the brush. He closed his eyes as you applied the blue shade on his eyes. Once you finished with eyeshadow, you grabbed the eyeliner and gave him a little wing. He opened his eyes when you finished and looked at the camera.

"How do I look guys?" He asked with a smile.

In your makeup bag was Wonwoo's concealer and so you pulled it out to use. You applied the product to the areas that needed it, which wasn't much. You blended the product on his face and then added blush. Finally you did his eyelashes and put a red lip on his lips, and now you were done.

"You look so pretty," You cupped his face. He pecked your lips and looked at the camera.

"They say I look pretty as well," He smiled at you. You kissed his cheek and hugged his neck. You took the head band off of him and placed it onto the table. You messed with his hair and tried fixing it to look less messy. You grabbed your phone and took a photo of him with his makeup on.

"Okay I'll let you finish gaming," You got off of his lap and kissed his forehead.

"Okay baby, I'll be there soon," He smiled and kissed your hand.

You smiled and walked out of his gaming room with your makeup bag and head band. You put your stuff up and rested in bed. You scrolled through videos on your phone, waiting for Wonwoo. Some minutes passed and Wonwoo walked into the shared bedroom, still with the makeup on. You climbed out of bed and went to him.

"You done?" You asked and he nodded. He held your waist and you wrapped your arms around his neck. He placed a kiss on your lips.

"You look so pretty," You whispered. He kissed you passionately. He pulled your shirt off and started pressing kisses down your body, leaving red kiss marks across your body. He placed his hands on your boobs and started playing with them. He pinched your nipples making you whimper. He went onto his knees and pulled your underwear off. He pressed kisses on your thighs before making you sit on the edge of the bed. He spread your legs open for a space for his head. He licked a long strip against your folds making you grip his hair. He pulled one leg on top of his shoulder and pulled you closer to him. He started eating you, greedily. He wanted to taste every fold, every crevice. He wanted to taste you unravel on him.

"Fuck Wonwoo," You whined as he continued tasting you. You felt the knot in your stomach tighten before you knew it, you made a mess on his face but he could care less. He cleaned his face up after licking up every bit of your release.

"You taste so good," He grinned and kissed you passionately. You could taste yourself against his lips but you don't care. You grabbed the collar of his shirt as you two kissed passionately. You pulled his shirt off and he pulled his sweats off.

"I didn't know wearing makeup like this can get you so turned on," He whispered against your lips.

"Can you blame me? You look so pretty," You threaded your fingers through his hair. You kissed him softly.

"Wonwoo," You pulled away from the kiss.

"What is it baby?" He smiled.

"Please— please fuck me," You breathed.

"Mhm maybe I'll just leave you like this," He smirked.

"Please— need you so bad," You begged.

"Since you asked so nicely," He pulled his underwear off. He started rubbing his penis against your folds making you whine. He suddenly pushed himself into your hole.

"Wonwoo!" You moaned loudly.

He started thrusting fast already making you a mess. He pinned your hands above your head with his hands. You wrapped your legs around his waist to feel him deeper. You could feel him hitting your gummy walls. Your head was tossed back and your back arched due to pleasure. You knew he enjoyed the sight of you becoming a full mess. You love how you could feel the passion in his thrusts, passion to make your legs feel numb and making you be a complete mess. Before you knew it, you came all over him but that didn't stop him. He continued thrusting, he loved the look of pleasure and sensitivity on your face whenever he thrusted into you. To him your pussy was like a drug, he couldn't get enough of you, of your moans, of your whines, of your pussy.

"So pretty," He groaned. He continued thrusting until he released inside you. He fell back onto the bed next to you. You laid on your side and hugged him from the side.

"You did so good baby," He whispered and kissed your head. As soon as you both calmed down he got up and cleaned you up and washed the lipstick stains off your body. You got up and changed into clean clothes and so did Wonwoo. You grabbed your makeup wipes and sat down with Wonwoo and helped wash his face.

"There's my natural pretty boy," You cupped his face and smiled.

"Mhm I love you," He pecked your lips and hugged your waist and you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"I love you too," You kissed him once more.

#jeon wonwoo smut #seventeen scenarios #seventeen smut #svt smut #wonwoo fic #wonwoo smut #wonwoo thots #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Mr. Moon and Sun

Debut: Wario Land 3

Hey gamers! There was a solar eclipse yesterday! Did you get to see it? I saw the sun become a little crescent shape. How the tables have turned! If you don't know what an eclipse is, please refer to the boss battle with Mr. Shine and Mr. Bright in Kirby's Dream Land 2. Mr. Shine (the moon) can hover in the sky, and Mr. Bright (the sun) can go to one side of him, creating bright light that can cause damage if Kirby is not in the safe zone created by Mr. Shine's shade. Maybe Kirby would be safe in the light if he had extremely dark glasses made specifically for this purpose, but he doesn't, so he should not look at the sun. Don't look at the sun please!

You can look at Sun from Wario Land 3, though, as well as Mr. Moon from Wario Land 3. I hope they're not upset I spent their introductory paragraph talking about a different sun and moon duo! It is so funny the moon and sun are made into a binary, considering the real sun could effortlessly defeat the real moon if it was alive and mean. Here, though, the moon is the one with the advantage, being named Mr. Moon, while the sun is just Sun! But maybe one day his full name will be Mr. Sun Moon...? Ooh la la! Ok guys, let's get a silly one before I talk about the gameplay!

Heehee! Very nice! Mr. Moon and Sun only appear in some uncommon sky areas, where they will mess with Wario, because everything in the world is out to get him, and he probably deserves it regardless of context. You know the deal. They are Enemies. Both will chase Wario and shoot their own projectiles: Sun shoots fireballs that set him ablaze, which makes sense since the sun is a Fire Orb, but Mr. Moon shoots stars, which electrify Wario! Stars don't do that! And what's this floating rock doing with stars? Why doesn't the actual star of this pair get stars? Sun/Moon dichotomy really is so silly when you think about it to any degree!

I am glad the wiki has a gif of Mr. Moon, because I love the way he turns sideways! Don't tell Sun, but Mr. Moon is my favorite because of this. I just love how he is a mere crescent, but with a sort of aura to fill out the same space as Sun.

These sprites were ripped by ShyGuyXXL, who I must thank even MORE for making these two kiss! Earlier I explained what an eclipse is in gamer terms, but in science terms, it is when the sun and moon kiss each other, and it is specifically in a gay way every time. Sorry to Straight Sunmoon Shippers! Just the way it is!

#mr. moon #sun #wario land #wario land 3 #wario enemies #mario #mario enemies #mod chikako

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Silly little idea: mc who climbs trees, like li turns around for a minute and BAM they're in a tree, how did they get there? Nobody knows, will they try to convince their partner to come up with them? Absolutely

-🦴

The Arcana Mini-HCs: When MC likes to climb trees

Julian: at this point it's turned into an ongoing comedy improv situation. MC disappears, Julian starts shading his eyes and scanning the nearest treetops, and then either challenges you to get down from the crow's nest and duel him like a true pirate or starts quoting the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet

Asra: purposefully chooses routes that they know have plenty of climbable trees just for the joy of watching you have fun. often climbs with you, but is more likely to take a short nap underneath while you explore or invite you to jump down while he slows your descent with magic and catches you (and yes, Faust always joins you)

Nadia: perplexed. that's not what trees are for, MC. is there something you're constantly looking for up there? won't you tell her what it is so she can get it for you? is this your unique method of securing alone time? a bit unorthodox, but if it's personal space you want she can find you something comfier and more private ...

Muriel: he lives in the woods. this is slowly turning into an hourly occurrence. he can climb trees pretty well, too, but he's not really used to doing it for fun. what's nice is that he can ask you to scan the surrounding area from your vantage point. what's not as nice is your new habit of jumping down and expecting him to catch you (he does)

Portia: ooh, her too, her too! Ugh, this is so much fun. you know what would make this even better? some tea. oh! and a picnic. oh! and some books! it's not long into your relationship before you two develop a habit of spending your afternoons off at the top of your favorite tree in the palace gardens with a book picnic

Lucio: abandonment issues go brrrr (joking). seriously though, would it really be so hard to let him know in some way that you're about to squirrel up a tree and effectively disappear from view?? Not only are you making him panic, you're setting off the dogs and now one of them is barking in circles while the other tries to climb up after you

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana game #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

[charmandabear]

Office Hours - Chapter Nine

Summary:

After getting some guidance from Shadowheart and Karlach, you and Astarion sit down for a much needed conversation.

Pairing: Astarion/f!Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4.9k Tags/Warnings: none (for this chapter, see AO3 for a full list)

It's happened. I've left the realm of vampire smut and gone full-on vampire romance. Go check out Zaria for more amazing screenshots of the professor.

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

There’s a knock on your office door as you’re packing up, getting ready to leave. Your heart skips a beat before you remember that he’s not usually one to knock. You look up and see Shadowheart in your doorway, long silver braid swinging down her back. You eye her suspiciously.

“It’s an awfully long walk from the Divinity School...” you say slowly, your tone playfully accusatory. She pretends to be affronted, holding her hand to her chest.

“How dare you, can I not drop by my best friend’s office at the end of the day?” she says with an artificial gasp. 

“And just maybe sneak a peek at the hot TD in the process?” you smirk at her and she flashes you a cheeky smile. 

“I mean if we happen to wander past the set... design.. workshop on the way to your car, I wouldn’t say no,” she says in a sing-songy voice, and you laugh at her attempt to correctly name the location where Karlach works.

“The scene shop is in the literal opposite direction, but we can pretend like it’s not,” you quip and gesture to the chair in front of your desk. “Sit, I’m just gonna be a minute longer.” She daintily perches on the arm of the chair while her eyes scan the various show posters on the wall.

“Ooh, Venus in Fur, what’s that one about?” she asks innocently and you scoff as you slip your laptop into your bag.

“Don’t be coy, Hallowleaf. I want details. What happened the other night with Karlach?”

She fiddles with the end of her braid and tries to hide her smile. “Nothing too exciting,” she sheepishly admits. You swing your bag over your shoulder and smugly narrow your eyes.

“Mmm-hmm. Well let’s go casually head over to the other side of the building, away from the parking lot.” You try to suppress your shit-eating grin as much as you can, but you still see the tips of Shadowheart’s ears tinge pink. 

The two of you walk across the lobby of the theater and into the backstage area towards the scene shop. You pass through the wide double doors and see Karlach sitting on a stool, elbow resting on her knee, while she talks to Fytz, the shop supervisor. When Karlach spots you, she puts her arm up and waves.

“Hiya, soldier! Nice of you to visit!” She clears her throat in an attempt to sound cool and disaffected as she adds, “Hey there, Shads. Good to see you again.” You hear a little giggle escape Shadowheart’s throat that you know she will absolutely deny if you bring it up later.

“Hey Karlach, Fytz. How is the build for the new play going? What’s the name of the playwright again?”

“Barcus Wroot. The set has been a nightmare to put together, we’ve never had to deal with so much welding,” Fytz says with a heavy sigh, jokingly wiping sweat from her brow.

“But man is that little freak a riot,” Karlach adds with a bellowing laugh. “He’s been great to work with, I’m glad we chose him for the new play slot.”

“I’m so excited to see it. Shade, you should come with us to opening night,” you say, turning to Shadowheart. “It’s an absurdist comedy called The Tinker, and it’s fucking hysterical.”

“Yeah, you should come with us!” Karlach squeals enthusiastically. 

“Sounds like a lovely time,” Shadowheart says coyly in an attempt to not give away her hand, but you’re fairly certain that her feelings for Karlach could be witnessed from outer space.

“Oh, and soldier, you never filled us in on what happened with Dammon! I saw you two leave together,” she adds suggestively, and the guilty pang returns. You mentally acknowledge it and return your focus to the conversation.

“It’s far less interesting than you think, but maybe this should be discussed over drinks instead,” you say with a smirk. “Fytz, would you like to join us?”

“Oh, thank you for the offer, but I shouldn’t. I’ve got the feller and a little one to get back to,” she replies genially. Shadowheart frowns and fiddles with her braid.

“I’d love to go, but my bank account would be none too pleased with another trip to the Elfsong,” she says, her voice brimming with regret. 

“Well I’ve got some brewskies at my place if you don’t mind sitting on the floor. I’m still waiting for my couch to be delivered,” Karlach adds brightly, and you feel Shadowheart’s energy change very quickly.

“That sounds fine!” she responds almost instantaneously, and you try not to giggle. She hates beer, and you can’t exactly picture her sitting on the floor.

“Great!” Karlach beams and hops off the stool, sending it scooting backwards with a metal screech. “I’ll text you the address,” she adds to you, then shoots a quick wink at Shadowheart, causing her to flush a deep pink. 

***

This is your first time at Karlach’s, and you’re surprised by how quaint her house is. She lives in a little cottage outside of the city with an overgrown garden out front. When you and Shadowheart approach the door, you hear a deep woof from inside even before you ring the bell.

“No, Clive, get back!” Karlach’s voice rises above the din of the dog’s barks. She opens the door a crack, clearly blocking the creature behind her. “I hope you’re okay with dogs,” she shouts. You can feel Shadowheart stiffen; she had a nasty run in with a wolf as a kid, and large dogs still make her nervous. You surreptitiously grab her hand and give it a quick squeeze.

The two of you slide through the narrow opening to keep Clive from running outside. His appearance surprises you; a dark brown chow chow, at first glance you almost think he’s a small bear. He’s jumping up on both of you excitedly and Shadowheart nervously takes a step back. Karlach notices her apprehension and sharply commands Clive to sit with a snap of her fingers.

“Oi! Clive!” she barks at him, and he immediately settles down and stares at you with black beady eyes, tongue lolling out of his mouth happily. “He’s very friendly, he just gets excited to meet new people,” she adds in apology.

“Gee, I wonder where he picked that up from?” you tease, and Karlach throws her head back with a laugh. 

“Go on into the living room, I’ll grab us some drinks. Shads, do you want me to lock him up?” She checks in with Shadowheart, her brow furrowing with concern. 

“No, no, don’t worry about me!” she squeaks out. Then, after taking a moment to compose herself, she continues, “I’ll be fine if he continues to sit nicely like that.”

“Y’hear that, Clive?” Karlach addresses the dog and he looks back at her blankly, not a single thought between his fuzzy ears. “Ya gotta sit nicely or else the pretty lady won’t come back. Oh and Shads, go ahead and grab a dining room chair if you don’t want to get dog hair all over that cute dress.” Karlach flashes a toothy grin and Shadowheart responds with a look that almost makes you feel like you’re intruding on a private moment. 

You awkwardly clear your throat and they both jump slightly, almost like they had forgotten about you entirely. You head into the living room, sitting on the round orange and yellow rug beneath the coffee table. Shadowheart follows and grabs one of the mismatched wooden chairs at the dining room table, bringing it over to where you’re sitting.

“Gods Shade, you must be down real bad, you don’t even like beer,” you whisper, keeping your voice low so Karlach won’t hear you in the kitchen a room over. She shushes you with her hand, nevertheless.

“I’m always willing to try new things,” she responds haughtily, but her wrinkled nose gives her away. 

“At least you can maintain your dignity and not sit on the floor,” you tease, shoving her knee. 

“Hey, I’m a big fan of sitting on the floor. Picnics? Wasting away the hours in a little garden? I’m just not now, because,” she hesitates, eyes darting to Clive, who is still sitting obediently by the door.

Karlach returns with three unlabeled bottles and places them down on the table. You and Shadowheart each take one, and she eyes the dark brown glass warily.

“My friend Aradin makes these in his basement. Well, ‘friend’ might be pushing it, he’s a bit of a twat. But I’ll be damned if he doesn’t make a good craft beer,” Karlach says with a laugh and holds out her bottle to toast. The three of you clink and you take a sip. It’s dark and sweet with a rich finish. Shadowheart takes the smallest of sips and tries to mask her disgust with a smile. Karlach either doesn’t notice, or pretends not to.

“So soldier, fill us in, what happened?” She curls one leg beneath her and rests her drink on her other knee, leaning forward excitedly. You shake your head, disappointed that you’re about to dash her dreams.

“I mean, literally nothing. We kissed, I freaked out, and he drove me home. I feel bad, too, he’s such a cutie and I feel like I led him on.” You frown, his words still echoing in your head. It’s not manipulative to not know what you want.

“Oh, he’s a big boy, he’ll get over it. He certainly doesn’t have a lack of suitors banging down his door,” Karlach says with a laugh. Shadowheart puts her beer on the table and crosses her legs, clasping her hands together around her knee.

“What freaked you out, was it Astarion?” she asks, her lips pursed. You take a big sip to avoid answering the question right away.

“Yeah. It still felt unresolved with him, and that wouldn’t have been fair to either of them. Any of us, to be honest.” You fidget with a loose thread in the spiral rug and you can still feel Shadowheart’s gaze boring into you.

“And now?” she asks pointedly, and you respond with a noncommittal shrug.

“We talked. He apologized. Now I just need to figure some things out,” you reply vaguely. Shadowheart lets out a cackle.

“He owes you so much more than just an apology after the shit that he’s pulled,” she sneers and Karlach snickers.

“A boatload of flowers, at least, and unlimited foot massages,” she says with a nod, taking a sip of her beer.

“I mean yes, he did more than just apologize,” you say, shaking your head. “We talked and realized we weren’t as much on the same page as we thought we were. He thought we were playing a game, we just didn’t actually talk about it beforehand.”

“Seems like a pretty fucking important step, if you ask me,” Shadowheart snarls, and Karlach’s eyes flit over to her, the corner of her lip tugging upwards.

“Is it a game you’d wanna play if you were in on it?” Karlach asks, tilting her head. You let out a heavy sigh.

“That’s the thing, yes,” you say despondently.

“Then why d’you sound so sad about it?” Karlach presses and you curl your knees into your chest.

At some point in the conversation, Clive pads over and sits between you and Shadowheart, the picture of perfect behavior. She doesn’t even register that he’s near her - she’s too focused on you.

“I guess,” you start, scraping your nail along some residual glue on the bottle from the previous label. “I’m working on accepting this new part of me. This thing about me that he discovered before I did.”

“What, that you like it a little rough?” Karlach asks with a salacious wink, and Shadowheart picks up her bottle again to hide her reddening face behind it. Clive shuffles over to her and rests his chin on her lap. She absentmindedly scratches behind his round, bear-like ear.

“I mean sure, if you want to be crass,” you mumble, still slightly embarrassed. 

“Wait, but hold on,” Shadowheart interjects, waving the hand holding the bottle. “What about the potion he slipped into your food?” Karlach’s jaw drops.

“Soldier, he spiked your food?” She sounds horrified, and you wonder why it didn’t upset you as much as it probably should have. 

“Listen, I know it sounds bad, but I don’t think it was that sinister. It was a charm person potion, which to my understanding isn’t super potent,” you say as an excuse, but the words ring hollow even to your own ears. You’re not sure you fully understand the effects yourself.

“And what does it do, exactly? I can never keep track of these new potions they keep coming out with,” Karlach asks, and you pull out your phone. You type ‘effects of charm person potion’ into Google and look at the results.

Rhetsim’s Charm Person Potion:  Instantly make yourself irresistible to anyone!  Subdue any who might hold hostility toward you and  make yourself just a dash more charming to them. Effects last for one hour. Potential side effects include dizziness, nausea, and the  drinker might know they’ve been charmed after the effects wear off.

You frown at your phone, possibly even more confused than ever. 

“It seems like the primary effect is to make the drinker... less hostile? I had never shown him any hostility - well, at least not after the first time we slept together.” You chew on your lip, and Shadowheart scoffs.

“Come off it, Tav, you’re constantly hostile towards him,” she cackles and you scowl.

“He still could’ve just talked to me first,” you grumble, unwilling to admit that she’s right. Karlach and Shadowheart speak over each other in enthusiastic agreement.

“Oh absolutely, 100%, he definitely should have.”

“Besides, what kind of damage could I possibly do? Look at me, I’m not very threatening.” You gesture at your 5’2” frame and Karlach laughs.

“Anyone could be threatening enough with a stake,” Shadowheart shrugs and takes a sip of the beer before remembering she doesn’t like it with a face.

“Sorry, what?” Karlach’s mouth is agape, and Shadowheart looks at you apologetically.

“Shit, sorry, do people not know?”

“I genuinely have no idea, I don’t know why it took me so long to get it. I feel like it’s pretty obvious the second you notice the signs,” you laugh. It’s not like he works very hard to hide the bite mark on his neck.

“So Cardigan’s a vampire... huh, I feel like that explains a lot,” Karlach says and you can see her mentally cataloging the same things you did when you first found out. “I guess I can’t blame him for being cautious. We can’t help who we are. Or what’s been done to us.” Karlach’s eyes grow glassy and suddenly she’s very far away. Clive leaves his post at Shadowheart’s side and immediately goes over to Karlach, licking her face. She comes back to reality and laughs into his fur, giving him chin skritches.

“So what’s next for you two?” Karlach asks, setting her beer on the table so she can pet Clive with both hands. “You both want to get freaky, but you just need to talk more?” Shadowheart makes a face of distaste.

“I mean what do you two actually know about each other? How many conversations have you had that weren’t just foreplay?” she asks, and you open your mouth to protest, but quickly close it again.

She’s right. You can’t think of a single conversation that you’ve had with him that wasn’t brimming with sexual tension. The closest you’ve gotten was when you taught his class, but even then you only kept it in check for the sake of the students.

“Quick, what’s the unsexiest date you can possibly think of?” you ask suddenly.

“The museum?” Karlach asks, and Shadowheart looks at her coquettishly.

“I don’t know, I think the museum is pretty romantic,” she says, her voice bordering on a purr. Karlach’s ears flush a violent purple and you clear your throat for the second time that night to remind them of your presence.

“Maybe bowling?” Shadowheart suggests, completely disaffected by the puddle she just reduced Karlach into.

“That’s not a bad idea,” you muse. “It would help if you two were there. Then you can also give me your more candid opinions,” you offer, and Karlach pulls herself together.

“Ooh, group date! I can invite Wyll!” she says excitedly.

“I don’t want him to feel like a fifth wheel,” you say, scrunching your nose as you think. “I suppose I could invite Gale, that wouldn’t be weird, right?”

“No way, the more the merrier!” Karlach lights up while Shadowheart gives you a tight-lipped look. She knows about the weirdness that Gale has caused in your relationship with Astarion, but she refrains from saying anything, at least for now.

“Gods, I haven’t been bowling in ages,” Karlach says, fully oblivious to the silent exchange between you and Shadowheart.

Your phone lights up with a text from Astarion. Your heart leaps into your throat - you don’t think he’s ever texted you before. Karlach and Shadowheart both crane their necks nosily.

You swipe open your phone to see a picture of His Majesty gnawing on the corner of a heavily scratched and chewed 48 Laws of Power.

-He agrees with you on the merits of this book.

You let out a sudden laugh that causes Clive to jump slightly. You turn your phone around to show them the picture.

“Oh my gods, is that his cat?” Karlach giggles, and Shadowheart rolls her eyes.

“Looks like a weird little rat,” she says, and you protectively take your phone back.

“Shut up, I think he’s cute,” you say defensively.

-Clearly he’s a man of good taste.

“Look at that smile,” Karlach hums, and Shadowheart smirks. You stick your tongue out at them and turn your attention back to your phone. You stare at the brief exchange for a moment, take a breath, then text him again.

-Do you mind if I swing by? I have thoughts too big for text messages.

-Most thoughts are. You’re most welcome to.

“I’m going to head out, I wanna go talk to him before it gets too late,” you tell them, hoisting yourself to stand.

“Aww, c’mon, we’re having a great time!” Karlach whines.

“Yeah, and I haven’t finished my beer,” Shadowheart adds, holding up the full bottle.

“Well, Shads, if you wanna stick around, I can always drive you home later,” Karlach says, her voice heavy with suggestion. 

“Alright, alright, I can take a hint,” you laugh, holding up your hands. They both make halfhearted protestations. “Stay safe, you two. Shade, text me when you get home. You know, whenever that might be,” you wink and head out the door. It’s barely closed behind you when you hear the telltale smacks of kissing.

***

You’re unsurprised when he opens the door before you get a chance to knock. Your heart is threatening to jump out of your chest and he’s expecting you. You feel something clench deep in your core when you see him. Hair slightly tousled from a long day, top few buttons of his shirt undone, sleeves rolled up just past the elbows. He looks like he could’ve just stepped off the cover of a GQ magazine.

“Come in,” he waves you inside, and you can see the eviscerated copy of the book still lying on the floor. His Majesty is curled up a few feet away, purring contentedly. You sit on the couch, resisting the urge to curl your knees up into your chest.

“Would you like me to sit beside you, or...?” he asks vaguely, and you gesture to the spot on the couch next to you.

“No, please, sit, it’s your home. You should at least be comfortable,” you laugh without much humor. He sits stiffly, almost like he’s afraid to spook you.

“So what are these ‘big thoughts’ you’re having?” he asks, and you force yourself to look at him, despite your discomfort.

“Being with you feels... different... than anyone else I’ve ever been with,” you begin slowly, and he watches you intently. “And I had a hard time dealing with that. And no matter how good you make me feel, it was outweighed by these feelings of disgust and loathing I had for myself. 

“The reason why I was so mad that night after the theatre, besides the fact that it was tailor-made to piss me off-” you throw him an accusatory glance and he shrinks from your gaze. You soften. “Sorry, I-”

“No, don’t apologize,” he says quickly. “Please, go on.” You take a deep breath and continue.

“Because even that was proof that you know me better than I know myself. I couldn’t let myself fully succumb because I was worried about what it would say about me, as a person.

“I’ve never been with someone who is so completely attuned to what my body wants that they know things before I do. And that’s cool! And, like, also terrifying? Almost like there was a conversation happening without me.” Astarion shifts uncomfortably. 

“So, anyway...” you finish lamely, not wanting to say anything else before you give him a chance to respond. His red eyes are round and watery, his brow canted upward into an expression of concern. After a moment, he speaks.

“You are the most expressive person I’ve ever met,” he starts quietly, and you almost need to lean forward in order to hear him better. “You wear your heart proudly on your sleeve, and that’s something I admire about you. I’ve never been very good at genuinely expressing emotions, even before...” he trails off, but the meaning is clear. Before he was turned.

“I’ve carefully constructed the persona that I show to the world. Centuries of crafting the person people see me to be so that I’m always in control. And you saw right through that. Immediately. And I believe you hated me because you could see how disingenuous I was at all times.”

“I didn’t hate-” you start to say and he looks at you over the top of his glasses pointedly. “Okay, well. I think that was as much about me as it was about you, if not more.”

“And because I’ve spent so many years desperately trying to control how people see me,” he continues in spite of your interruption, “I find it rather freeing when I have the privilege of controlling you. I’m able to stop worrying about myself for once, and just focus my energy on you.” 

His lip quivers and he takes a shaky breath. “That only works, I suppose, if you want me to take control. I thought you did. I’m so deeply sorry.” He looks away from you.

“But that’s the thing,” you place your hand on his chest to call his attention back to you. You feel a flutter of motion, his blood moving slowly through his unbeating heart. 

“That’s the thing,” you repeat yourself softly, your gaze fixed on the point of contact. “I did. I do. Want that.” Your eyes flit up to his face. “I’m just... coming to terms with it.”

The two of you sit together for a moment, your hand pressed to his chest, until his skin has absorbed its warmth and they’ve reached the same temperature.

“It’s just nice to not have to think for a bit,” you finally say, pulling your hand back into your lap and he lets out a small shudder at the loss of contact. “To let my brain go blank. To not have to make a decision. To just... be.” The words feel new even to your own ears. Without thinking, you kick off your shoes so you can bring your knees up into your chest. 

You look back up at him, your expression suddenly cold and serious.

“But I need to know I can trust you, Astarion.”

The two of you stare at one another for longer than you can count. He finally breaks your trance with a steady nod.

“I understand. And I’m willing to do what it takes to earn that trust.” He hesitates, then takes off his glasses to really look at you. “You... you’re incredible. You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.”

“I do too. More than anything,” you respond quickly, and you see the tension in his brow melt away.

“And maybe what ‘real’ looks like, at least for now,” he says, his voice much more steady, “is to be together without sleeping together, for as long as you need.” You sit back on your heels and chuckle.

“You know, that almost sounds like a challenge,” you say a little breathlessly. You want nothing more than to tear at his button down, for him to flip you on your back and to fuck you mercilessly. But he’s right. If this is going to be real, whatever that means, then you need to discover what the relationship is outside of sex. And more importantly, you need to figure out what exactly it is that you want, and how to communicate it.

“You don’t need to figure it out all on your own, you know,” he says, and you snap your attention back to him.

“You did it again. That thing where you’re basically reading my mind,” you pout slightly, but soften at his sheepish grin.

“I told you, you’re very expressive.”

The two of you sit in silence again, and you wiggle your toes absentmindedly against the goldenrod couch cushion.

“I probably shouldn’t ask if I can kiss you,” you murmur, paraphrasing his words from the other day.

“Whatever it is that you want, darling,” he says, and you look up at him mischievously. 

“Well you tell me, you’re the expert. What do I want?” you taunt, feeling emboldened by the conversation. He smiles dangerously. Suddenly his hand is twisted into your hair, holding you but not pulling, and his lips graze the sensitive skin below your ear.

“I can think of a few things, love,” he purrs, his nose tickling your earlobe and his fangs barely scraping your artery. Your breath hitches and you shiver audibly. You let your body arch into him, yearning for contact. He lets out a low chuckle. “But perhaps what you need is a different story.”

He holds your chin lightly between his thumb and forefinger and kisses you gently. Your hands move to cup his face, your left pinky lightly skating over his scar. He breaks the kiss but keeps your face close to his as you steady your breathing.

“I hate it when you’re right,” you rasp in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Something you’ll have to get used to, I’m afraid.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and lets you go. Your mind flits back to the conversation with Shadowheart and Karlach. You need to have an opportunity to get to know him in an environment where you won’t end up like this, barely able to keep your hands off one another.

“Do you want to go bowling?” you ask, and he blinks at the sudden shift in tone.

“What?”

“Bowling. With Shadowheart and Karlach, and some other friends. And me, of course,” you mumble the last part, almost embarrassed by the instinct to clarify.

“I- I suppose. I don’t know if I’ve ever been,” he says with a frown, and you suppress a laugh.

“You’ve never been bowling?” you ask incredulously. He glares at you.

“Can you possibly imagine me in a bowling alley?” he scoffs, and the laughter bubbles out of you. You break down into a fit of giggles at the mental image of someone as refined and sophisticated as Astarion in a dingy, sticky-floored bowling alley.

“Alright, you’ve made your point,” he mutters and playfully pushes your face away. Your giggles eventually subside, and the two of you are back to sitting in slightly awkward silence.

“I should probably leave,” you finally say with a sigh, slipping on your shoes. He nods and stands up to walk you to the door. You linger for a moment longer in the threshold.

“Yes, darling?” he asks as though you have more to say. You do. So much more. But the words are swirling around your head in a jumbled mess, and you couldn’t make sense of them even if you wanted to.

“Nothing. I’m just... thinking.”

“I’ve noticed, you’ve been doing that a lot these days.”

You scrunch your face in annoyance and he smiles. He kisses your forehead again, and you lean into his touch. You look up at him and your breath catches in your throat, and before you can stop yourself you’ve flung your arms around his neck and started kissing him hard. He presses his hand into your lower back and you whimper into his lips. You finally wrench yourself away, panting, and you admire his puffy lips and dazed expression.

“Right. Bowling. I’ll text you,” you say breathlessly.

“Bowling. I... look forward to it.” The lie makes his voice sound stilted. You flash him one last smile and tear yourself away from his doorway before you do something you regret.k

#astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate fanfiction #astarion ancunin #astarion smut #baldurs gate smut #fanfiction #smut #professor astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x you #bg3 au #college au #bg3 modern au #astarion x tav #astarion romance #office hours #baldurs gate au #astarion angst #enemies to lovers

[tainted-liquor]

Oh, Odogwu!...⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ft. 42Miles

...₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

ingredients: sugar, kisses, and a lil bit of smiles!

TWs: Cussin', Outta pocket Miles, Spanish that you CAN'T 'translate'

A/N: Nigerian Reader, but the plot isnt centered around her being Nigerian

You twirled around the hallway, your royal blue ankara print flowing at your sides and arms with every move you made. It was culture day at Brooklyn Visions Academy, and today's one and only goal was to show up and show out for your heritage. There was a Nigerian pin attached to the left side of your dress and another little flag painted on the side of your cheek you had done at the face painting table. There was music blaring from specific areas, beautiful shades of rainbow decorating almost everyone, and an atmosphere of joy and pride consuming the school as everyone scrambled to find their bird of a feather. You had roughly thirty minutes before you all got ready to head to the gym for the assembly and some games, but right now your main focus was finding your man.

There was a loud uproar of male voices coming from the lunchroom, waltzing in to see the entire cafeteria covered in flags of many different countries. It was beautiful, with everyone joining in joyous conversation and proudly exchanging facts about their culture. Amidst the cheerful commotion, you managed to pick out Miles at a large round table, actively engaging in what looked like a heated discussion, making wild gestures with their hands as they spoke like that would solidify their point. You quickly jogged over, mini heels clicking with each step forward. As you got closer, you realized that they most likely weren't arguing due to the occasional laughter and smug grins they sported.

"Si maldito mamabicho y los cerdos hablan-! Oh shit, hey Mama" Miles immediately dropped his sentence, softening his tone as he saw you walk around the table in pursuit of him. He spun around on his chair, hugging you around the waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck and took advantage of this being the only time you'll ever be taller than him. "Ooh, look at my wife. Looking all good in her culture" He muttered, making no effort to hide the fact that he was checking you out. You grinned from ear to ear, doing a little spin and showcasing your beaded earrings as you took in his little outfit. He was wearing a predominately white outfit, with a neat button-up and a red piece of fabric tied around his neck and waist.

"Thank you, thank you!" You giggled as Miles pulled you on his lap, resting his chin on your head. "You look good. Reaaal good. Who you wearin'?" You asked as you leaned back onto Miles's chest. "My Ma. Jibaro pride, baby!" He chuckled, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. "Yo, Miles. DON'T THINK WE FORGOT CUZ YOUR GIRL PULLED UP!" Some kid yelled at the opposite end of the table, sporting a similar outfit to Miles accompanied by a Puerto Rican and Dominican pin. "Ay, shut that bullshit up I wanna talk to my wife" he giggled, flipping off the poor boy at the end of the table.

"How you feelin', mama? You comfy?" He asked, used to seeing you in baggier or longer clothing. "I got a sweatshirt in my bag if you need it" He reassured. "Yeah, I'm fine! Thank you Obi'm" You smiled, gently holding Miles's hand and brushing over his semi-bruised knuckles as carefully as possible. You let the group entertain each other, feeling Miles stare cupid arrows into the back of your head. "I love this dress on you so much. Like you're really just so pretty" He suddenly stated, hugging you as tightly as humanly possible.

You gasped quietly as Miles lifted you up, silently taking you with him as he walked upstairs to the library. "Ok nigga you didn't have to kidnap me" you joked, clinging onto Miles's shirt while he practically sped through the hall. "I did though. I wanna spend time with my girlfriend, so that's what I'm gonna do" he shrugged, grinning down at you as he kicked open the doors to the library. You sighed, sitting down at one of the library booths and adjusting your pin. "So how's your day been so far Mrs. Morales?" Miles teased, placing a little kiss on the back of your hand and sitting down next to you.

"Ugh, I'm havin' so much fun. I didn't even know we had other African girls here!" You exclaimed as you leaned your head on Miles's shoulder. Miles smiled at your response. He was happy because YOU were happy, he loved seeing that precious smile on your face and would do anything in the world to see it as often as possible. "Yeah, there's an assembly after. They 'sposed to pick niggas out from each area or something and then they're gonna start a competition. You should go up" he shrugged. "HEYYY! You lost it, oh. You think I want to go up in front of the ENTIRE SCHOOL?" You sucked your teeth, judging his audacity with a livid side-eye.

"Tch, you buggin'. You not trynna rep your country in front of the whole school? Insane." He whispered as he slipped his hand in yours, quietly egging you on. "Actually, lemme borrow this real quick" He 'asked' as he took your little green and white pin, stationing it right next to his mini Puerto Rican flag. "I gotchu, don't worry"

"You don't have to, it's fine love!"

"Nah, cuz if my wife has such beautiful culture why would I not wanna show it off?"

Taglist

@ashsostrange @chessbox @faeriesoiree333 @janaeby @kxllanxtdoor @fivestardior @an1bara @bachirasegoist @milesnanana77 @niaurluv

#atsv #across the spiderverse #into the spiderverse #miles morales #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles #e42 miles x black!reader #e42 miles

[chrisevansleftpeck]

Winter Stubble

Word Count: 816

Content Warnings: Kissing, cheeky comments ;)

(only good ones of him with more facial hair were him in prison being a sad boi so lets all pretend this gif is accurate for my sake)

You pressed your ear against Spencer’s chest, relaxing into him further. You and Spence were snuggled up together on his couch, the large, cotton, flannel-pattern blanket you bought him for Christmas draped across the both of you. It matched his apartment well and incorporated the same shade of brown as one of his leather lounging chairs. 

“This is good. Really, really nice.” Spencer threw his head back against the arm of his couch, wrapping you in his toned arms. You could tell he was still exhausted, beaten down from the case he had to work almost immediately after Christmas. 

You snuck a peek in, looking up at him from his chest. You watched his eyes fight to try to stay awake and the fluffy, sleepy mess his hair was in. He looked back at you, causing you to giggle and bury your face back into his chest.

“Hi.” He said, a big smile on his face. He scooted further down the couch so his head wasn’t thrown back and hanging off anymore. Spencer was quick to wrap his arms back around you again and placed a kiss on your head. 

You finally looked up at him again, giving in to the urge to give him a real kiss. Your arms came up from around his waist where you’d been hugging, up to his face. You cupped his cheeks and pulled him into you. 

“Ooh.” You sounded short and quick, confused. 

Spencer kissed you again, “Something wrong?” He asked as you signaled for him to sit straight up so you could sit in his lap. You wrapped your legs around him and held his face again. 

You thumbed over Spencer’s new stubble, grown in over break. He usually had stubble over his face and mustache area, but this was darker and fuller than usual. “Prickly.” You giggled. Spencer shook his head in your hands to release himself. You threw an inescapable hug at him, rocking in his lap. “You need a haircut.” You poked at him, also noticing his hair.

“I know, it requires a lot more shampoo now.” Spencer laughed, running his fingers through his messy hair. 

You continued running your fingers across his beard, “Now you get my struggle. Soft hair is expensive.” He grabbed a piece of your hair and twirled it around your finger as you spoke. 

“Want me to shave it, the beard? I can have a baby face again for a few days.” He offered, knowing he wanted to kiss you more than anything, but didn’t want to make it uncomfortable for you. 

“Hmm,” You thought, studying his face again. “Kiss me some more, then I’ll decide how I like it.” You whispered, practically into his lips. 

 “Yes, ma’am.” You kissed him slowly and deeply, humming into him against the feeling of his facial hair tickling your chin and lips. You felt him shift beneath you, trying to hide the growing feeling in his pants. You were practically on top of it, making it very difficult for you, too, to ignore. “I like this a shit ton, personally.” 

You couldn’t help but pull away and laugh. You could always tell when Spencer was really into something because he’d make a very unfiltered, un-Spencer-like comment. However, your pulling away didn’t stop him. He simply switched to place his lips on your neck. 

He hovered over your neck for a moment, “You’re going to laugh a lot in a second aren’t you?” Spencer looked up at you and asked with a smile on his face.

You nodded, “It’s gonna tickle so badly, oh my god. Get it over with, do it.” You joked, closing your eyes tightly and wrinkling your nose. 

“Okay.” Spencer warned you once more before going in. He placed a slow, sweet kiss on your neck. Your face softened at it in a way you didn’t expect. It almost felt good. No, it did feel good. Ticklish, of course, but it was the side of your neck so it was easy to get past the feeling. 

The continuation of rougher kisses against your neck left your lips parting unintentionally. You didn’t even realize it until Spencer stopped, running his thumb over the mark he left on your neck. “Sorry, the surrounding skin is a little more red than usual.”

“Oh, um, yeah.” You said playing with your hair, smiling at Spencer. 

Spencer studied your face for a minute. “You liked it.” He called you out, reading your smile easily. 

You attempted to hide your face in your hands, but Spencer was able to peel them away. “Hey Spence,” You whispered to him, now running your hands through his hair again, trying to nonchalantly work him up a little bit more. “I’d like to know how that feels in other places now.” 

“Let’s get to it, then.” Spencer said, pushing you back on the couch with a surge of passionate energy.

#criminal minds #criminalminds #criminal minds fanfic #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #spencer reid #spencerreid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #fluff #fanfiction #fanfic #domestic fluff

[arvensimp]

You writing is amazing, you capture the character personality so well.

I found an secret beach while playing pokemon scarlet and I was wonder what will a beach date with arven look like? What swimsuit will he wear? Reaction to our swimsuit? What activity will arven and reader do?

Thank you! Also, ooh! Where is it? I found a secret lil cave by the ocean just between the glacedo mountain and the orange foresty area north of the lake that I thought was pretty cool. Is the secret beach the one north of the lighthouse on the west coast? Also forgive me for not replying to a comment if you leave one! I check all my posts for tags and comments constantly, but since this is a side blog, I'm not able to reply from here. Just know that I love everything y'all say!! If you ever want to chat my inbox is open. :)

-

Beach Episode

Arven x reader, no gendered pronouns

--

When you excitedly tell Arven about the secret beach you've discovered and offer it up as a potential date destination, he is delighted. You can count on him to take care of all the planning. Truth be told he's happier that way. "Too many cooks in the kitchen," as it were. You just need to worry about driving the lizard in the right direction and picking a nice bathing suit.

When you arrive, before you even start unpacking together, he examines the area and whistles, fists on his hips.

"This is pretty nice! Not that I doubted you, of course, but usually an untouched beach is way less sandy and much more rocky and uneven than this, I'd think. Good going!"

From there, the two of you set out a massive beach blanket, big enough for both of you and a few pokemon to lounge about on. Next come the umbrellas to provide a bit of shade, as well as the folding table to house the snacks and coolers.

Arven really goes all out when he has time to prep.

Once all the set up is done in terms of the "picnic site," Arven goes ahead and changes into his swimwear. He wears just basic trunks, nothing terribly fancy, but they do have a floette print similar to that of his phone case.

He doesn't outwardly make a huge deal out of anything you wear, not thinking it's appropriate, but he's really happy to see you in your swimsuit.

Before you rush into the water, he does get a little blushy. "We need to make sure we get some sunscreen on before we get into the water, okay? I-I can help you, if you like? Not to be weird or anything."

You, of course, happily accept his help, and squirm and giggle at the cold sensation of the cream before he rubs it into your back and shoulders.

You also help him apply his own sunscreen. He pulls his hair out of the way for you, and you get to basically give him a little mini back massage as you rub him down. Arven sighs and relaxes against you as you work...

Once you're all SPF'd up, you release your pokemon from their balls, and it's basically a free for all! You spend as much time playing in the sand and surf as you like.

Arven basically plays along with whatever games you're down for. He didn't really get to play much in the water as a kid, so he's happy to learn how you did it when you were little.

You also build a couple of sandcastles together with your pokemon, being careful to respectfully knock them down before you abandon them, just in case they turn into sandyghasts.

As with any date with Arven, the main event is the food.

Your man has packed all the best for your little group of Pokemon, and then for the two of you he has fresh squeezed fruit juices, along with some pastries, sandwiches, and a surprisingly delicious pasta salad that kept super well in his new cooler that he has been really eager to try out!

The date does eventually end around the time it gets dark, but you're able to spend a nice amount of quality time snuggled up on the blankets, cuddling and exchanging soft kisses before you go.

#arven fanfic #arven x reader #arven pokemon #trainer arven #arven #rival arven

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Just Another Night at Sparky's

(Disclaimer: Ness/WaiterPat and Jack/Cabbie!Cory are not my creations. I gave Jack his name because he wasn't given one in the movie. Now, one of the characters you'll be seeing here technically belongs to me, but I don't really consider him a full fanego.)

(I was already planning to write for Ness and Jack, but after I learned how Mark was originally intended to play the role of that first security guard who died, I decided to adopt that abandoned character. Go here for headcanons and a more thorough explanation.)

(Certain plot-points in this story were inspired by @flawlessstriker and @insane4fandoms! These two are very talented artists, and I'm not sure I would've thought of such clever/funny easter eggs if I hadn't seen some of their own work, so please go check out their blogs and show them some love!)

(Trigger Warnings: food and drink, eating/drinking, implied trauma, mentions of past violence, mentions of blood, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.) 

In Ness’ personal experience, the people who dined at Sparky’s could be divided into three sections on a metaphorical pie chart. 

Twenty-four percent of customers were. . .just a little off. Not like that was necessarily a bad thing, mind you. Working in the restaurant business meant having to interact with lots of people each and every day. At some point, you’d learn to pick up on certain things that were odd in the way you couldn’t quite put your finger on (or, perhaps you just knew deep down that you didn’t want to). 

Ness strolled out of the kitchen and into the seating area, expertly balancing a tray on one hand. He approached a couple of bespectacled young women in one corner of the diner. 

Their visits to Sparky’s were a bit sporadic, but they never failed to claim that one booth in the corner that no-one else ever sat at no matter how crowded the joint was. The backpacks they always hauled along were positioned further up the booth’s seat cushions, half-open and nearly overspilling with various books. 

They always used indoor voices, but he could still pick up bits and pieces of their conversation whenever he was near. 

Tonight was no different:

“—he’ll be hungrier than usual,” murmured the one on the left, who boasted short, wavy hair that had been dyed a dark shade of violet. It complimented her shirt, which read ADOPT A FAMILIAR at the top. Pictures of creepy-looking critters were displayed beneath the message, orange-eyed and outlined by blue against the black fabric. “And he’ll need a live one this time.”

“Ooh,” replied the one on the right, who sported a yellow shirt with the screen-printed likeness of some obscure, spikey-haired cartoon character near the collar. A blonde ponytail spilled out from the back of her ball cap. “Who’s it gonna be? The lady whose eyes were found in that jar last month?”

“Nah, she’ll be in some psych ward. Too far-gone to keep on the playing board, y’know?” A sly grin etched its way across Urban Fantasy Nerd’s features. “I was actually wondering if you’d like to choose. Your guy is making the delivery, after all.”

“Ah, that’s right!” Cartoon-Fan snickered in a way that was just a teensy bit unhinged. “I can already see him slipping on some of the blood."

“Third time’s a charm?” Ness asked as he halted, carefully setting this duo’s Usual on the table. 

(Two milkshakes: one chocolate, the other strawberry. Yeah, it was kind of basic, but he wasn’t too much of a judgemental guy. Besides, Sparky’s shakes were a much safer option than the lilac-colored drinks that chicken shack around the corner had started selling. And Ness didn’t just carry that opinion because of his employment. During one of his typical night-walks, he’d passed an alley just in time to see said purple beverage oozing through said chicken shack’s windows. The strong, sugary smell wafting off it had reminded him of prion disease.)

The girls both paused. Though they smiled up at him and offered quiet “Thank-yous,” as they moved their respective, sticker-covered laptops out of the way, visible confusion mixed itself into their gratitude. 

“For the university’s creative writing contest, I mean,” Ness elaborated. “There were articles in the paper about the last two, and I saw your pictures in the list of winners. Congratulations, by the way.”

“. . .Oh,” Urban Fantasy Nerd answered, exchanging careful glances with her friend. “Yeah. Writing. Let’s go with that.”

“If anyone asks, we were also writing here two months ago,” Cartoon-Fan added with a conspiratory wink. “On Friday, between five-thirty and nine o’clock.” 

Ness chuckled, raising one hand to pull an invisible zipper over his lips. “You’ve got it. Enjoy.”

As he retraced his steps to organize some stuff behind the coffee counter, a little voice in the back of his theater-trained head wondered if the girls’ tones had been joking enough. Unlike many times before, he pushed that voice aside.

On one hand, missing person cases did always seem to pop up on the news channels a few days after the two students stopped by to enjoy milkshakes while typing away and occasionally turning the screens of their laptops toward one another. 

On the other hand. . .well, those cases were always located states and states away, typically near more seaside areas. None of them had been anywhere close to Utah. (Not yet, at least.)

Besides, even if those girls were somehow connected to more sinister things than their coursework, they were still very nice. Good tippers, too. Nowhere near the worst patrons Ness had served in his time.

The strange customers almost always seemed to come in pairs.

Like the duo of twenty-somethings from last week. One sported ginger hair and a She/They button pinned to their  jacket. The soot-stains on said jacket had been very obvious, as were the burn scars on their palms, but she’d still been a delight to make smalltalk with.

The other, a pale young man, had been much more quiet, but still friendly. He’d kept peering through the window at (what was presumably) his or his friend’s car, shakily fidgeting with the headphones around his neck, so it’d taken some time for Ness to realize that his eyes were just as reflective as mirrors.

(For the duration of their stay, the jukebox over by the counter had spat out songs that most certainly weren’t on its index cards. Fine, that might’ve caught Ness a bit off-guard at first, but he still knew to appreciate variety.)

Or the two men who’d come in a few months ago, wearing battered navy-blue bomber jackets and thousand-yard-stares. The one with a dyed-red fauxhawk had screamed and practically leapt out of his skin when Ness came over with menus and his usual greeting, but he’d apologized soon enough. After giving Ness a thorough look-over, that is.

His companion, a similarly dark-eyed man with a larynx that could only be found on seasoned musicians, had muttered, “Don’t mind him. We’ve just. . .had a bit of a rough trip.” His voice hadn’t been unkind, but he’d kept glancing at Ness whenever he thought he wasn’t looking. 

Well, perhaps that particular pair had broken the trend a bit. Because a few hours after they’d paid for their food and left, a lone traveler had come in.

His bloodshot eyes—which Ness could’ve sworn were orange instead of brown—had never stopped bulging, never stopped darting this way and that above his rictus of a smile. When he wasn’t speaking, he’d hum or murmur things with a shakiness that was typically found in rabid dogs.

He’d asked for way more coffee refills than could ever be considered healthy, as well as if Ness had seen anyone fitting the descriptions of Red-Haired-Screamer and Wary-Possible-Musician. Ness, following his instincts, had said no, to which the loner started simply shaking his head and grinning with a mouthful of teeth that looked a smidge too sharp.

Or the scruffy man who'd started coming in for breakfast every other week with his young sister in tow. He was living proof that you could recognize someone without officially knowing them. After all, it was pretty damn easy for Ness to remember almost making eye-contact with him, barely moving out of reach of his flashlight’s beam in time, and then having the seconds feel like hours as he watched him shake his head and mutter to himself about seeing things. 

It wasn’t like that’d been Ness’ first little midnight rendezvous around Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzaria. Just like how that particular man wasn’t the first security guard who’d gotten dangerously close to spotting him during his unofficial, self-driven investigations.

For the record, Ness knew that said investigations weren’t legal—especially not if you counted some of the things he’d. . .borrowed from the old animatronic jamboree restaurant—but he’d made his peace with that.

He hadn’t been sneaking around there to deal drugs or partake in any himself.

He wasn’t exactly chasing the adrenaline that always came with an evening full of ducking around corners and trying to ignore how loud his shoes sounded against linoleum floors when he rushed to find anything he could feasibly hide behind, underneath, or inside of.

He never meant any harm when it came to snooping.

It was just a simple case of having a little too much curiosity.

Thankfully, Security Guard #13 still had yet to show up at Ness’ place with some accompanying cops, so it seemed he didn’t recognize Ness as anything other than a humble waiter. (Or, if he did actually recognize Ness from that night, then he was miraculously chill enough to not bring it up and get him in trouble.)

The very first time they’d paid Sparky’s a visit, it would’ve been impossible to ignore the distinct smell that had been wafting off of Security Guard #13. It’d had a bite to it; like machine oil mixed with something much more. . .organic.

From that bleak look Ness had seen in his eyes, Security Guard #13 was most certainly NOT what anyone could call unbothered, but he was still polite. Plus, Kid Sister was the type who just deserved all the crayons in the world, what with the little masterpieces she’d decorated the paper menus with.

So, yeah. There was a genuine difference between oddball customers and customers that made you lose some of your faith in humanity. 

People who asked for trout to be blended into their yogurt parfait or for their donuts to be topped with slices of pickles that had gathered fuzz from their mysterious journeys at the back of the refrigerator were still easier to handle than people who threw temper tantrums because they didn’t get a refill in under thirty seconds. 

Back to the pie-chart—another forty-six percent of customers were perfectly decent and standard.

Plenty of the locals had a soft spot for this joint; Ness had lost count of all the times he’d been told that the pancakes served here were some of the best on planet Earth. Yeah, praise like that technically wasn’t directed at him, but the cooks were great people to work with, so it still made him happy to relay said praise to them. 

He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t awkward for someone to confusedly ask if they’d already seen him working at the bar on the other side of town. Even so, that once-a-month occurrence always left him amused rather than annoyed. If anything, it attested to that particular customer’s observation skills. 

Sure, he and Sans were identical twins—the fact that their uncle had mixed them up on several different occasions when they were little was still a running joke in the family. But it’d been years since Sans had decided to remedy that via a skeleton face-mask and a dark blue leather jacket, and he’d made a habit to don both aforementioned garments each day ever since then. (Ness was still in partial disbelief that the manager at Grillby’s was cool enough to let Sans wear them over his uniform.)

Just as many of Sans’ customers apparently ended up mistaking him for Ness. Sans got a nice little kick out of that, of course. He hadn’t just been born with a comedic heart—it truly seemed every bone in his body was a funny one. Some people would argue that he just delivered puns upon more puns upon even more puns, but Ness knew his brother better than that. 

After all, Sans had been the one to train him to deal with the last category of customers: the thirty percent of entitled neanderthals who thought treating staff as less than human would somehow magically make their miserable lives more interesting. 

“Food work is all about balance,” Sans had explained sometime after he and Ness had grown tall enough to take plates and cups from a counter without having to stand on their tip-toes. “You’ve gotta be nice and still let people know that you won’t take their crap. If they’re civil, then you’re helpful. But if they’re rude. . .” Sans had paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “. . .then you have a little fun.” 

Ness had always been a pretty fast learner. It’d taken a week or so of practice, yeah, but with his twin’s help, he’d developed a tongue sharp enough to rival any butcher knife in the kitchen.

“You use a lot of big words for a waiter,” snorted a wannabe business bigshot with a wrinkled clip-on tie and a way, waaaaaay over-gelled hairdo that spoke volumes of desperation. 

Ness, who’d been explaining the differences between certain ingredients and flavor-enhancing chemicals because Hair Gel’s girlfriend had asked a fair question about the smoothies on the menu, barely batted an eyelid when he came back with, “And you smell a lot like hotdog water for someone who apparently doesn’t work with food.”

“This was the WORST thing I’ve ever put in my mouth!” Exclaimed a woman with an unidentifiable crust caked around the corners of her eyes and an ill-fitting shirt that was advertising some essential oil brand.

“I highly doubt that,” Ness mentioned, raising an eyebrow as he took the plate (which was suspiciously much emptier than when he’d first brought it out) from her table, “but whatever you say. . .”

“Oh! Thank you!” A tiny boy who couldn’t have been older than seven chirped, bouncing in his seat when Ness placed a sundae down in front of him.

Ness had been about to reply, but the boy’s mother—a lady who was trying very hard to look posh (but not succeeding very well due her asymmetrical haircut, as well as all the little green marks around the jewelry she was practically drowning in)—cut him off. 

“You don’t need to thank him, sweetheart,” she’d instructed, reaching across the table to corral her son. “That’s his job.”

That one had, admittedly, forced Ness to take a deep breath and appeal to his higher self for a few seconds.  Despite this, he’d still made sure to look that Karen dead in the eyes when he observed, “I’m not sure what your problem is, ma’am. But it must be hard for you to pronounce.”

(At least the boy didn’t seem to be too influenced; his bright eyes were nothing but apologetic when Ness came back with the check.)

The relative silence was shattered by the jingling call of that little bell suspended over the front entrance. Ness blinked, his train of thought screeching to a halt. He glanced over in the door’s direction, grinning at a familiar sight. 

Another regular; one that Ness got to have actual conversations with on nights like tonight. 

Mason glanced around at all the empty tables, brushing back his nearly shoulder-length raven hair and quickly getting the hint that he could just seat himself.

A golden retriever trotted beside him, connected to a leash in his hand via a pink vest that’d been fastened around her shoulders and belly. It was adorned by black velcro straps that read THERAPY DOG in a bold white font. The forest-green sherpa hoodie Mason always seemed to wear was only about half as fluffy as her fur.

Ness ducked into the kitchen. No more than three seconds had passed before the last cook on duty for tonight—a lanky blonde guy who was perhaps the most unapologetically flamboyant foodie you could ever have the honor of knowing—called, “Order Up! Your buddies’ Usuals, fresh from that babbling kiddie pool of oil.”

Dylan set a triad of dishes onto a waiting platter: the first held a stack of waffles (much like Sparky’s pancakes, their recipe was a secret that his very own grandmother had entrusted him with) and fried chicken tenders. The second supported a small mound of bacon. The third was adorned by a couple club sandwiches with a side of mozzarella sticks.  

“Thanks, man. Right on time,” Ness called back as he hefted the platter up, balancing it on the anterior region of his forearm like he'd been taught so long ago, and traipsed back out. The door swung to and fro behind him as he headed over to Booth Five. 

Though she wasn’t actually in the booth, Checkers was still right by her owner’s side, sitting in a way that could almost remind you of those lion statues guarding the entrance to a Chinese temple. She spotted Ness before Mason did. Her ears perked up, tail starting to wag. Her tongue lapped in and out of her mouth like a party favor as she smiled in that way only dogs could.

Mason, who’d been gazing through the window and fidgeting with his hoodie’s drawstrings, ever-so-slightly flinched as Ness began setting the plates down on the table with a chorus of small clunks. He blinked at the food, as if suddenly remembering the weekly tradition he’d made here.

“How do you always do that?” Mason asked as he turned his head toward Ness, a small smile etching its way across his features. 

“Magic,” Ness answered. “Careful, it’s hot.”

He carried the now empty tray back over to the counter. There, his hands became a blur as he snatched up the coffee pot and produced a trio of mugs. After stirring memorized amounts of cream and sugar into the fresh brew, he returned to the table, setting two of the beverages beside the plates.

Ness hovered, his own cup of smoldering caffeine in hand, and glanced around the restaurant. Aside from Mason and those two writers in the corner (who, as Ness had learned, took generous amounts of time with the shakes they always ordered), Sparky’s was empty tonight. 

With that in mind, Ness dragged a chair away from one of the other tables, positioning it at the end of the booth. Yeah, he could’ve just sat on the opposite side of Mason, but that part of the booth was typically reserved for another one of his friends.

Subtle relief washed over Ness’ knees as he took a seat; he’d been standing and walking pretty much all day.

Mason plucked a strip of bacon from one of the plates, checking to make sure that it was nice and warm without threatening to burn the palette. He then lightly tossed it over to Checkers, who snapped it out of the air almost like a frog catching flies. She lowered her head as the treat crunched between her teeth.

“How’ve things been?” Ness inquired, taking a sip of his coffee. “The theater’s gotten busy, yeah?”

Mason nodded as he took a fork and knife into his hands, cutting a piece off of one of the waffles and dipping it into the complimentary cup of syrup. “Yeah, it really has. Feels like whenever one movie runs its course and is taken off our roster, two more pop up in its place. Especially now that Scream 3 is finally on the market."

“. . .Oh, that’s right! It is!” Ness ever-so-slightly jumped in his seat. After enjoying the first two movies, he’d been meaning to give the latest installment a look. But so far, whether it was Sparky’s being slammed on the more favorable days or Royal Edgar’s Cinema being too crowded for his liking, things had just kept getting in the way.

Acting on instinct, Ness fished a pencil from one of his waist-apron’s pockets. At first, said pencil might not have seemed like anything special. But then you saw Fabio: a priceless treasure shaped like a rubber chicken’s head covering up the eraser. Ness started spinning the pencil between his fingers, causing Fabio to wiggle as though it was alive.

“Have you seen it already? Is it good? I have so many ideas about where the story could pick up from—”

“Hey, hey. Slow down," Mason remarked with some clear exasperation. “I haven't, but I am scheduled to project its last showing sometime next week. . .” He took a bite out of one of the chicken tenders, humming thoughtfully as he chewed. He must’ve seen the glint in Ness’ eyes, because he offered a sly smirk and lowered his voice as he continued.

“Tell you what: I’ll find a way to sneak you into the projection booth. That way, we can check it out together when the day comes.” 

“Really? You’d do that for me?” Ness asked, jokingly clutching his mug in both hands and bringing it close to his heart. 

“Sure. It’s really not too different from the customers smuggling their own snacks past the ticket desk,” Mason shrugged, though his mischievous demeanor briefly turned deadpan. “So long as you don’t play detective the entire time. My boss would rip me a new one if I just paused the movie every five minutes to let you brainstorm and talk.”

Ness scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It wouldn’t be every five minutes.”

Mason raised an eyebrow. “You’re right; it’d probably be every two minutes.” He forked up another bite of the waffles, firmly ignoring the offended waiter noises. 

“Oh, and don’t try to guilt-trip me out of my food, either. I’ve already got one moocher to deal with.” Mason scratched Checkers’ ears, to which she responded via tilting her head to the side, an undeniable trace of smugness in the warmth of her amber eyes.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Ness pronounced, his voice dripping with much more sarcasm than usual, “but fine. I can work with that.” 

“Uh-huh. You’d better,” Mason snorted, reaching over to shake hands with his friend as though the two of them were lawyers who’d just settled on some sleazy business arrangement. 

Mason was a complex person. Everyone had issues, and he was no exception to that. Not like he was at all open about said issues, but once you got to know him, you’d start to see them. (Plus, that just seemed a lot nicer than describing him as a swarm of issues shaped like a man.) He was the type to constantly shift in his seat, to give most people the side-eye, to get lost in his thoughts and grimace at nothing until he snapped himself out of it. 

At least he seemed content working at the theater. Even with the spark of horror that never seemed to leave his eyes, Mason was clearly a creative bastard. Sometimes he’d bring notebooks in and take breaks from his meal to fill their pages with paragraphs or sketches. He really did seem to have the potential for acting, maybe even directing. If his critiques and commentary on the movies he had to watch from the projection booth were anything to go by, then the projects he could possibly work on would be nothing short of awesome. 

He’d actually been one of Freddy’s past security guards. Ironically enough, he and Ness hadn’t met there. Not that Ness minded, since A. if that’d been the case, there probably would’ve been way more confused screaming than there usually was at Sparky’s, and B. considering the fact that Mason’s employment had apparently lasted a whopping one singular night. . . 

Ness still didn’t know the full story, and he could tell pressing Mason for info wouldn’t end well. But with the few snippets Jack had carefully enlightened him with. . .well—

Speak of the devil. 

The front door’s bell only had about half a second to chime yet again, almost drowned out by rapid footsteps.

“You’re late,” Ness jokingly chastised as he caught dark brown skin and black hair in his peripheral vision. He shifted in his chair, moving his legs to make some room under the table as another one of his regular-friends hurried over to claim Booth Five’s empty seat. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sue me,” Jack retorted, instantly propping his elbows on the table to knead at his forehead. It took a few long seconds for him to notice how one of his favorite dishes had apparently been waiting for him. He squinted at the food, then at Ness. “. . .I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to make it tonight?”

“And yet, here you are,” Ness replied, the definition of coy with how his shoulders popped up and down again. 

Jack might’ve wanted to ask more questions, but Mason cut him off. “Look, I don’t get it either. He doesn’t know, but he just knows.”

Jack considered this, then tilted his head to convey the type of acceptance that only came when you couldn’t really question things that probably should be questioned because you already had too many things to focus on. 

“Thanks, dude,” he murmured, nodding to Ness as he plucked one of the mozzarella sticks from his plate.

Ness nodded back, taking a few more gulps of coffee. “No problem.”

Jack paused mid-bite, eyes darting over to the brew that’d been poured for him. He scrutinized it, then raised the mug up and started chugging like a champ. 

The display made Ness glad that he’d taken the time to experiment with coffee so long ago. There was no doubting how he could now calculate exactly how much time it took for coffee to go cold. Yeah, this particular serving had been fresh out of the pot a few minutes ago, but by now it had to be at optimal temperature. Neither scalding nor tepid: just nice and warm. 

After about a moment, Jack pulled the now empty mug away from his face, taking a deep breath as he set it back down on the table.

“Rough day?” Ness inquired, specific parts of his brain starting to tick. 

Something seemed off. 

It wasn’t like he had any room to talk about slight bean juice addictions. And he certainly couldn’t blame Jack for a dependency (especially since he’d even shown some undeniable intrigue at Ness’ argument that coffee was a type of soup). Sure, Jack wasn’t narcoleptic, but when a day-and-night operating cabbie didn’t have access to some perks, things just wouldn’t go well for him or his passengers. 

But whenever Jack popped in for a bite and a chat, it was easy to assume that he’d be heading home and going to bed right after his meal. Right now, however, his demeanor was anything but tired. His shoulders were rigid. His eyes were more or less threatening to pop right out of their sockets. In fact, he almost seemed to be weighing the options of never sleeping again. 

Jack chewed his lip as he glanced in the waiter’s direction. He slowly nodded. “. . .You could say that.”

Ness exchanged glances with Mason, who had obviously seen the signs for himself. As did Checkers, since she quietly maneuvered around Ness’ chair to rest her head on Jack’s lap, peering up at him with an almost human-like air of understanding. Jack didn’t hesitate to pet the shiny fur along the dog’s neck, to which her tail started wagging but she otherwise remained still.

“What happened?” Mason asked, sitting up a little straighter. “If the vibes you’re giving off got her attention, then it must be something serious.”

Jack grimaced, closing his eyes with what seemed to be more force than necessary, taking a few long seconds to rub at their lids. 

“Did you see any rabbit-shaped things out by the dumpster? I think they only come around once a month or so, but I always feel strange if I look at them.” The words glided out of Ness’ mouth and into the air before he could think. 

Self-induced humiliation wrapped its awful, clammy hands around his ribcage as two confused glances were aimed in his direction.

“. . .What?” Jack and Mason blurted in near-perfect unison.

“What?” Ness echoed, blinking as his voice instantaneously grew a smidge louder than before. He rushed to plaster his typical, happy-go-lucky demeanor back onto his face, hoping that pretending he hadn’t spoken at all would convince his friends that he actually hadn’t. 

Not only did his latest sentence sound weird as all hell, but it’d also been downplayed as all hell. Because when Ness had said strange, what he’d really meant was the pounding, churning, pummeling agony that should only ever be present in your stomach after you’ve accidentally swallowed a few dozen live rats that just so happen to be whacked out on cocaine for whatever godforsaken reason. 

And while he wasn’t a perfect angel, Ness would never wish that particular pain on anyone else. So, the fewer people who knew about the floppy-eared cryptids (which Ness could’ve sworn looked like they’d been covered in mucus) that were apparently engrossed in  gang warfare with the local raccoons, the better. 

“Ah, did you get a bad passenger today?” Ness coughed. Jack had to deal with as many entitled idiots as Ness, if not even more. Hell, taking turns venting about that stuff was something they’d initially bonded over.

He peered through the window next to the booth—Jack’s cab was parked close enough to see that there wasn’t anything to indicate an accident. Not a life-threateningly serious one, at least. 

“Not exactly,” Jack replied, following his gaze. Where Ness’ eyes were curious, Jack’s were currently anxious and mistrusting. That was another red flag: Jack may not have treated his taxi like it was his baby, but he still took pretty good care of it. “Just a few more weirdos.” 

Mason hummed, tilting his head. “How weird specifically?” He’d heard plenty of Jack’s tales from the road; as he called on Jack for rides somewhat often, he’d even ended up being part of those tales. 

Jack knitted his brows, fidgeted in place. “You don't want to know."

“. . .Then why did you make it sound so damn vague?” Mason retorted, now dripping with incredulousness. “The less specific details are, then the more they’re gonna nag at someone’s brain.”

“He’s got a point,” Ness agreed, lightly tapping Fabio’s pencil against his mug. 

“Like that’s my fault,” Jack snorted. “Most people wouldn’t believe me if I told them.”

Ness offered an encouraging smile. “Good thing we’re not most people, then.”

Mason nodded. “Damn right. C’mon, Jack; are you really saying something could top the crackhead I had to share the backseat with last month?” 

“Yes, I am,” Jack whisper-shouted through gritted teeth, “because it was a bear!” 

Silence (save for the soft click-clack of keyboards from the corner of the diner, that is).

Jack pursed his lips, looking equal parts exasperated and worried. He sighed yet again, reaching up to press his fingers against his temples.

“. . .What kind of bear was it?” Ness eventually tried. 

Mason, who’d previously been squinting while his mouth opened and closed with no words coming out, turned his head to face Ness with such speed and force that he might’ve actually given himself whiplash. “That’s the first thing you focus on?!”

Ness made a shaky lame gesture. “It’s a fair question! What’re you focusing on?” (He wasn’t wrong. There was a lot of variety among bears, after all. And a bear that lived in the woods and had huge claws and could outeat, outrun, outswim, and probably even outdrink the average person would be a lot more to handle than one of the bears that had attended the latest local Pride parade.) 

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you,” Mason declared, returning his attention to Jack, “look significantly less mauled than most people who get close to bears! Seriously, how is your face still connected to your skull?!” 

“I didn’t mea—!” Jack was about to go on the defensive, but stopped short. “What, were you expecting me to get ripped to shreds tonight? So damn sorry if I didn’t get the memo!”

“No! Of course not!” Mason contended. “Look, you can’t just say you had a run-in with a bear and leave it at that!”

Jack threw his hands up. “Well, I told you you didn’t want to know!”

“How the hell can we not NEED to know now?” Ness pointed out. Though he was growing just as confused as Mason, he tried to keep his voice even.

Jack gave him an exhausted look before craning his neck to rest his head against the booth’s seat, staring at the ceiling. 

“It was a huge robot,” he finally clarified. “Looked like it’d been at the bottom of a scrap heap for years; I’d guess it was older than my dad. But its eye glowed blue like the machines inside it were still working. It made the car shake—I’m honestly surprised the back tires never gave out. And God damn, the smell. . .rust and blood and mucus, I swear!”

Now it was Mason’s turn to go rigid. A tidal wave of emotion seemed to sweep through his features; first surprise, then recognition, and then dread. He placed a hand on the nearest corner of the table as if to steady himself. 

“It was wearing a black top hat and bowtie, wasn’t it?” He murmured. It sounded much more like a statement than a question, and the way his tone had become so hollow didn’t help.

Jack lowered his head, clearly unsure whether or not to make eye-contact as he nodded. 

“Sounds like the way Freddy was designed. . .” Ness mused without quite meaning to. 

Memories of the huge sign that had been built to loom over the old pizzeria’s front entrance flooded into his head. The blinking lights that bordered the establishment’s title and seemed to chase each other around and around and around. The life-sized cutout of the one and only Freddy Fazbear himself, using one paw to adjust his bowtie and the other to wave, seemingly beckoning customers to wander inside. 

Those memories dissolved as Ness winced and glanced back at Mason, who was now reaching up with a shaking hand to grasp at his hoodie’s collar, tugging it to cover up the top of an old, deep scar that dragged along the skin of his neck. Ness shuffled in his seat, trying not to stare at how quickly the color drained from his friend’s face. 

Checkers was back by Mason’s side in an instant, bracing her paws against the seat as she licked at his face. Mason blinked, a huge shudder rippling through his chest as he hugged his pet.

A few minutes dragged by, feeling like an hour apiece and jeering at the trio as they went.

“So.” Mason finally announced, still keeping his gentle-yet-obviously-desperate hold on Checkers. “Let me get this straight: that. . .that thing got into your cab like it paid rent just a few hours ago?” 

Jack pursed his lips, nodding again. “There was a kid with it, too. A little girl. She didn’t even seem scared at all. The whole ride, she was smiling and hugging the bear’s arm—”

“Wait, you actually drove it somewhere?!” Mason demanded.

Jack sputtered. “What other choice did I have?!”

“I mean, that’s kind of literally his job,” Ness mentioned. 

True, he was grappling with the fact that he and his friends had apparently been transported into some cheap bizzarofiction novel. And yet, somehow, this wasn’t even the craziest story that’d been relayed to him from a customer. He peered down at Fabio as though it was about to start contributing to this conversation. “Where did you take them?”

Jack raised an eyebrow at Ness (which he guessed couldn’t be helped. Ness already had an idea, but it was rude to just assume, wasn’t it?). “Where else? That old pizza joint you’ve been trying to write an encyclopedia on.”

Mason was about to say something else, but stopped short in favor of turning his shock toward Ness.

Ness raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “Look, I know you don’t like that place, but just remember that I don’t question what you do with your free-time.”

“That’s right. And even if you did, you wouldn’t have to, because I don’t spend my free-time poking around the fourth Circle of Hell!” Mason snarked. 

“I won’t lie and say it’s not creepy,” Ness admitted, unable to stop a chill from racing down his spine at the memory of the restaurant’s grimy wall posters, the draft that always seemed to be in the air over there, the disturbingly sour tang of what he’d hoped was just ancient pizza sauce, “but that still seems pretty harsh.”

Mason gawked, fragments of words leaking through his teeth.

“If we’re looking at the bigger picture,” Jack coughed, probably attempting to steer Mason away from a potential stroke, “then nothing really happened tonight. The bear didn’t even make a peep the whole time. I didn’t get hurt, and that girl didn’t get hurt. She even left a handful of change when we got to the restaurant.”

Ness squinted and tilted his head at that. As far as he knew, the rules Jack applied to his cab were pretty lax and basic, but he’d always been firm on never taking money from lone child passengers.

Then again, if the child passenger in question was traveling with a huge robotic animal that apparently had enough sentience to use a taxi in the first place, it was probably best to just go along with whatever happened and leave the sanity-questioning session for later.

Jack fiddled with the zipper on his jacket. “. . .That actually wasn’t even the worst part of tonight’s shift.”

Mason leaned back against the leather seat, looking very much lightheaded. His eyes bulged from their sockets as he furiously motioned for his friend to elaborate. 

Jack hesitated before explaining, “Well, once the girl and the bear were out, I decided to just call it a day. After I got far enough away from the pizzeria, I parked by one of the downtown curbs and switched the car’s sign to Off Duty. I was trying to get a catnap in—”

“It’s a miracle you could even try to sleep after that damn bear basically held you hostage,” Mason interjected.

“—when someone knocked on the window. I told ‘em to read the sign and come find me later, but they opened up the door and got in anyway. So, I was about to kick them out and. . .” Jack trailed off, shaking his shoulders as though a few dozen cockroaches had spontaneously taken up nest in his jacket.  

“And. . .?” Ness echoed, the curiosity-concern cocktail in his mind getting stronger.

“And there was some tiny doll in my passenger seat,” Jack concluded. “Looked creepy as hell.”

Ness hummed in consideration. “Sounds like it could just be a weird prank? The teens in that area are always following strange trends.”

Jack nervously shook his head. “I couldn’t see anyone outside the cab. It only took a few seconds for me to look; there’s no way anyone could move fast enough to hide after they put the doll in.”

“A tiny doll. . ?” Mason’s brow furrowed in thought for a couple seconds, then promptly returned to its collision course for Mars. He leaned over the table. “Did it have bug-eyes and buck teeth? Was it wearing one of those stupid propeller hats and holding a red-and-yellow striped balloon?”

Jack’s face contorted in confusion as he nodded. “. . .That pretty much sums it up.”

Though his expression was still grim, Mason’s fear quickly metamorphosed into some good ol’ fashioned aggravation. “That’s the bastard,” he seethed, knuckles turning white. 

Jack blinked, perplexity slowly overtaking his latest case of heebie-jeebies. “Wait, you’ve seen that thing before?”

“I have, unfortunately.” Mason grimaced. An odd type of adrenaline etched its way across his face. “Is it still in the cab?”

Jack nodded again. “I didn’t want to risk touching it.”The words were barely out of his mouth when Mason rose from the booth and stalked outside through Sparky’s front entrance. Checkers trotted after him, the tiredness of an actual nurse flickering in her eyes.

Ness and Jack basically had frontrow seats to observe their friend approaching Jack’s cab, ripping the passenger-side door open and fishing something out before slamming it closed again.

With that, Mason raced to the edge of the parking lot and proceeded to dropkick what had to be the mysterious balloon-toting doll out of sight.

Despite his shock, part of Ness still felt relieved that Mason hadn’t simply deposited it into the dumpster. Just in case those awful rabbit-looking things happened to be paying a visit tonight. . .

@sammys-magical-au @that-bat @th3w00ds @bee-the-matpat-simp @touyubesposts @crazy-obsessed-enby @i-used-to-wear-the-fedora @holyawesomestitches @s-e-v-e-n-24 @sotogalmo @ciphershadow @deethedustyassdumbass @theechoingmadness @its-a-goddamn-ass-race @zam-witch @box-goat @redd-byrd @icantmakeupagoodname @pleasedontmind-the-emerald @transparentghosty @vegaslvrr @itzqueers-blog @wannabeavocaloidmystery @shivr0ygf @ciara-clycone @not-made-of-actual-rye @m0on-shro0m @imafruitbowl @azure-trash @il0v3mus1cals @v1r-x @kafkaisnotdead @junaslagoon @alicethemenace @ilovenikkisixx @m00nlight-mexican @w0rd3855 @head-without-a-fucking-brain. @unkn0wn-nys @not-made-of-actual-rye @101k-t101 @theonlykala @dividel @riff-is-on-a-fucking-crisis @roselily2006 @max-afton @abe-the-detective-blog @floating-above-sea-level @madhare051

#my writing #my stories #fnaf movie #fnaf movie spoilers #ness the waiter #waiterpat/ness #matpat #egopats #matthew patrick #jack the cabbie #cabbie!cory/jack #coryxkenshin #kenshinegos #cory williams #mason kingsley/nightguard!mark #mark's abandoned-nightguard-cameo-character #markiplier #mark fischbach #tw food/drink #tw eating/drinking #tw implied trauma #tw mentions of blood #tw mentions of past violence

[lupucs]

Do you have any recommendations for character modeling in blender?

Ooh boy I never know how to respond to questions like that, but I'm gonna try my best and list some stuff which helped me personally, so hopefully this will be helpful to you guys too.

A lot of what im gonna say is probably gonna sound really generic but generally speaking just watching one tutorial series and calling it a day isn't gonna cut it.

Something that helped me a whole lot was having a clear goal in mind (like I remember the first thing I wanted to do was translate my OCs in 3D). Picking something I was invested in is what pushed me to do my own research (and now its Deltarune fan animations lol). Knowing how to maintain motivation and going in with the right mindset is the most important thing imo.

I use Blender for my 3D work, which is free and open source. I personally prefer it over paid software like Maya or 3dsMax, especially for modeling and sculpting (I remember I had to use Max and Maya for a while but overall it was a pretty agonizing experience to be honest, so I switched back to Blender, which just feels a whole lot easier to use for me personally lol, but really at the end of the day just pick the software you want. This is just my personal preference). If you have a potato laptop like me, I definitely advise you to use Blender tho as it is very lightweight compared to other 3D programs, plus it can do the same things and then some. Not to mention there are way more free resources on Blender stuff so it's easier to get access to the info you need. Anyways Blender-simping over, moving on!

Tutorials are always a great idea, but you're also gonna have to learn how to do problem-solving. 3D can be a really technical and rigid medium, so being patient and knowing how to do independent learning is very important. Take a look at box-modeling, sculpting, texturing and procedural shading. Unfortunately that's gonna involve a lot of annoying situations and moments of immeasurable pain, but once you're more familiar with how things work, it's super fun and rewarding!

Don't forget to have fun and experiment! It's easy to get lost and overwhelmed by the technical aspects of 3D but it's important to just let go and make silly things. Also talking to other 3d artists with similar interests helps a ton, especially more experienced ones but I am aware not everyone has access to that (plus not everyone might want that, esp when you're an introvert like me haha!)

If you gotta sell your soul to a corporation then focusing on one particular subset is gonna be useful for animation jobs, as this is what most studios want. Some artists might like specializing into just one area, and that's totally fine but for me who prefers to be a generalist, it just kinda ruins my joy for 3D to restrict myself to just one part of it. Plus if you enjoy doing what you do, you tend to learn a lot faster anyway.

This might be a bit of an uncommon take, but one of the most stifling pieces of advice I have received from industry 3D artists is to only focus on one thing (as in, only skill up your UV-unwrapping, or only do rigging, only do hard-surface modeling, only do organic environment modeling and so on). NUH-UH! Just do what you want fam. Make the spoingle-boingles pet cats. Focus on the things you like. Make barney the dinosaur destroy the whole set. Model, rig and animate them if you want. Really, just have fun. Obviously you gotta do some self-checks and see where you need to improve, and where your strengths and weaknesses are, and focusing on those areas can be very helpful. Just make sure you're having a good time doing it, and don't be too harsh on yourself. Definitely take a break if you're overwhelmed.

You don't have to be able to draw to be good at character modeling but making turnaround sketches helps me a whole lot whenever I make 3D characters. Knowing how to draw will also benefit your sense of design and shapes, as you can use your drawing skills for texturing and adding your own flair to your models.

Another thing I would do is look at other people's 3D models and study the topology and the way they model things. This also helps a lot with motivation. Obviously you don't wanna copy, just study the way other people model things and see what other talented artists come up with! There are a bunch of free Blender rigs you can download and study on your own, not to mention useful videos and streams on YouTube. The Rain and Snow rigs are pretty awesome. Some of this stuff is behind a paywall but I recommend checking out the free resources of the "Settlers" project for highly cartoony modeling and rigging (this playlist is very useful, I didn't watch all of it but some parts have been pretty inspirational to me). Also just following 3D artists you like and looking at their art for inspiration will help you stay motivated.

Hope this is useful!

#lupucs chats #anon #ask #text #character modeling #i hope this was useful because im always kinda at a loss with questions like these

[stargirlfics]

Imagine outdoor sex with Alfred in the autumn. You go out for a walk and he ends up fucking you while the leaves fall

(Also going out to an orchard and finding a secluded area where you can give each other oral 🤤)

Ooh! Taking a walk with Alfred on the grounds of Wayne Manor, admiring how pretty all the trees look with all the different autumn shades they’ve transitioned to and you find yourself making out in a secluded spot behind a wall of hedges! 🍂😍 I’d be in loveee!

It’s like neither of you can resist and you’re both dressed in layers because it’s a little chilly out but that doesn’t stop the heat from building as he presses you to him and you’re already tugging at his sweater, already in too deep and needing him right here and now

Let me give that old man some head in the apple orchard please and thanks! Something about the season just really brings out the inner slut, it really does!

Alfred delights in any opportunity he can to kneel down or lay you back and make you feel good with his mouth or his fingers (both because he’s greedy and wouldn’t be able to resist touching you too) and I stand by that! The scenery just adds to it!

#cannot wait for fall I have so many fluffy and smutty ideas to write for alfred! #alfred pennyworth smut #alfred pennyworth x reader #alfred pennyworth headcanons #the batman!alfred pennyworth

[leggerefiore]

Ooh! Another idea for MerMay, this time much cuter and more wholesome: Bioluminescence.

Again, I can easily see the purpose of bioluminescence varying depending on character and species. A way to dazzle and stun a mate, a mechanism to ward away any threats, or maybe just a useful ability for sticky situations.

My favorite use it when it’s used to convey happiness and love.

Imagine being with your favorite hybrid and it’s pure heaven. Maybe you say or do something that just has them reeling, or it’s just that there’s a sense of bliss they so desperately needed. Either way, they smile at you and suddenly their body is softly glowing with a light that shines and dims in time with their beating heart. Spots and specks decorate their body like freckles, though it looks more like a galaxy has been mapped along their entire body. You literally light up their life.

Aww….

Eelektross Emmet is one glowy boy. It has many, many uses for him. When in deeper waters hunting, he often flashes his bright yellow colours to blind and make it easier to attack prey, but he also uses it to express himself.

Such as when you brought him a pool toy, and he chased it around the waters excitedly. When he finally caught it, his yellow spots were lit up beautifully in the evening light. He also tends to light up when he's excited to see you. He's just constantly glowing for one reason or another.

For Milotic Volo, his is extremely rare. Few if any have managed to spy a Milotic's luminescence. It is used to ward away prey in deeper parts of the water or lure in a mate in a display of beauty. (Or guide a few lost Feebas back to a safer area, but Volo certainly isn't going out of his way to help lost hatchlings.) His golden tail takes to an almost impossible glow, with the accented magenta areas lit up brightly. His long, pink antennae also join the light show, making him a fierce some sight in the deep for someone looking for a quick meal.

As for you, he never admits he does it, but you have watched him light up brightly with a beautiful shade of magenta quite often. He seemingly unconsciously glows around you, further evidence of him viewing you as hid mate. The sight is always gorgeous as he swims off from the dark waters at night, with his bright colours illuminating the otherwise murky depths.

(He probably uses the enteral beauty of it all to help his siren activities.)

Incomplete Eelektross Ingo accidentally glows and then freaks out trying to hide it. He isn't playing human very well when he suddenly has an electric yellow glowing from the spattered Eelektross flesh across his body. It's almost always because he got too happy. If you just pop in at a moment he's feeling particularly lonely, he's glowing in a dark corner of the station with a flustered expression.

Pretty much all the Depot Agents already know of their fish boss.

#ingo.ima #emmet.ima #volo.ima #ingo insists hes not a fish

[stanlees-stuff]

G/t related Blind prompt pt2

alright I'm continuing this, let's go

an unwanted memory from a time mike wants to forget creeps back up to the surface and leaves him speechless.

mike tries to suppress it and focus on keeping calm but the memory only gets louder and louder with the same words repeating in his head over and over again: "Don't go"

"Mama, where are we going?" Mike said curiously as he looked up at the figure. their hand wrapped loosely around his, looking forward as if to pay him no mind.

mike turned his focus to the tall structures towering above him, they looked like a clump of blurs at first view, but as he focused, he'd make out the shape of the leaves and the texture of the bark.

"Are we in the forest?" mike turns his focus back to the lady, "ooh! are we going to pick some berries?" mike adds, eyes wide. the woman continues to walk.

mike's posture slouches and he looks down at his feet as they progressed in silence

As they do, mike looks around at the area, making out the different foliage and chirps. They eventually stop at an open area. Deep in the forest and far from home.

mike looks up to see the sun taking on a soft shade of pink and orange. he releases his hand from the woman's grasp with no effort and gets closer to marvel at the sight. It looked like a blurry mosaic at first but as he furrowed his brows and centered his gaze, the image finally revealed itself to him

Don't go.

next : here prev : here

I had a lotta fun continuing this prompt, especially the writing at the beginning, this is the middle/main part of this whole saga

AND DONT WORRY THE GIANT CUDDLES ARE COMING UP!! I just had to create this flashback to explain why mike is so scared when he and Ez get separated. That's right,✨abandonment issues✨

but don't worry , him and Ez are gonna reunite and all the trauma will magically disappear

just kidding its still gonna be sad cuz mike is convinced Ez was gonna leave him just like his witch of a mother

anyways the third part is gonna come out on the 11th of august for hug a tiny day cuz it seems like perfect timing

dang i feel bad tagging this g/t when the giant in question hasn't even made an appearance but i honestly don't know what else to tag it so bombs away

btw pls tell me if this comic made you sad, this is my first time leaning into angst and feedback would be appreciated

anyways bye >:]

#g/t related #g/t prompts #g/t art #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t community #giant tiny #g/t fluff #gt community #g/t comic #g/t writing #g/t drawing #gt #gt prompts #IVE BEEN REFINING THIS THING POST IN MY DRAFTS FOR LIKE A DAY JHSKDKJDKDSSHFJRF #THE GIANT IN QUESTION WILL ARRIVE SHORTLY I PROMISE #ocs: mike & ez

[shinygoku]

The 2 Supermarionation Thunderbirds movies of the 60′s are so easy to Vastly Improve and I can sum it up in one word: Crossover!!

To elaborate with a few more words; Crossover with the sister show that would soon be hitting TV Screens 👁👁

THUNDERBIRDS ARE GO [1966] has a plot about a manned mission to Mars, that initially fails as there was insufficient security, so they hire a ....Non-Profit Private Rescue Organisation?? Bwuh? To make sure the same two-bit domestic terrorist who’s main Deal is wearing disguises (and sometimes being armed) doesn’t stow away on an awkward flight to and from Mars.... well anyway, that rather daft plan to hire the people who should be busy with more important matters does work. They get to Mars and drive around a bit, but the Native Lifeforms of Mineral Fire Launching Snake Things scare them off. International Rescue’s actual rescue of the returning crew is very good though (albeit it’s an Operation Crash Dive copycat lol).

But, ooh! Mars? Alien Life? A Security Company being hired to supervise the launching and maybe be privy to the shocking revelations on the Red Planet? This would be SUCH a neat way to Backdoor Pilot some Spectrum action, set before the status quo of CSatM settles in... Spectrum were literally made to be an elite Security service before pivoting to having to focus so heavily on the Martian Threat!

Well anyway, let’s have a quick look’a the other movie, which was filmed at the same time as some’a CSatM

THUNDERBIRD 6 [1968] is a coma inducer of a movie, it is! Though I appreciate the attempt to have stronger focus on the characters, this is in practice only extended to a handful and leaves the others with nothing to do. The most notable part of this General Anaesthetic is Brains’ struggle to make the titular TB6 and that the Skyship One’s maiden voyage is being sabotaged by Not-The Hood and his motely crew of Imposter Crewmen, who murder and replace all the regular dudes in a shockingly cold blooded sequence by Thunderbirds standards, and this is before the cathartic finale of Thunderbirds 1 and 2 ....bombing the everloving shit out of Not-The Hood...... huh! That’s a darker shade of grey than they tend to dabble with, innit!

Hopefully you catch my drift; the crew being killed and replaced with imposters, and fiery doom befalling the Evil HQ is far more outta the Mysterons and Spectrum’s conflict playbook!

It really frustrates me that they had Carte Blanche to make whatever they wanted for these big exciting events, the movies of Thunderbirds. And they came up with some cool ideas, but wrapped it in hours of nothing significant, coming tantalisingly close to something truly special but choosing to focus on the wrong areas, like silly dream sequences or shooting lions in Africa like a fucking scumbag.

Now, TaG [66] predates the solidification of CSatM, and Thunderbird’s second season was cut short and the focus changed to an exciting new premise, but TB6 has no such excuse. If it was made to be a last hurrah, it goes off not with a bang, but like a damp squib. So many scenes go on without purpose, they even cotton on to the fact there is a Sus Imposter early-ish on but then take no action and even talk about being International Rescue in front of him! What on earth is going on, where’s the thrills, spills and automobiles that makes Thunderbirds such a cultural icon?!

I’m not saying shoehorning Spectrum into the movies we got would automatically make them better (but you’d hafta be trying awfully hard to make TB6 worse...), but rather if they had been baked in to the initial concept, with the story touching on both the similarities and the differences of International Rescue and Spectrum and how they deal with the situations presented, it would have been a radical idea that bridges the series and could whet the appetite for more of the sequel series. Instead the closest we get is that the Zero-X [or, another Z-X] made a separate mission to Mars, with Captain Black leading that mission...

There’s a lotta different ways having both Good Guy Organisations present and focused on coulda gone; cooperation or opposition, idealism vs pragmatism, the need to save every human possible and the dread of seeing the twin rings of light shining apon a rocket’s hull. It wasn’t to be, but both the series having similarities and parallels and being right next to each other still make me think they Could Have if they wanted to, but alas, they did not.

#Supermarionation #Thunderbirds #Thunderbirds are Go #Thunderbird 6 #Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons #TAG (1966) #Thunderbirds Original Series #oh god I think that's all the quote unquote Formal tags needed #I kinda have more to say but maybe in future essays #like I've ragged on the movies before and could probably again #but I wanted to stay mostly-focused here #and also I'm more into CSatM than OG Tbirds. idk how obvious that is lmao

[mercymaker]

5 and 6 for Mal pretty please!

From 20 tav questions

5. what does their tent area look like? where do they prefer to pitch their tent (next to water, covered on three sides, etc)?

It's full of herbs and books and letters. She likes reading, but it becomes almost detrimental during their travels as Mal gets almost obsessed with trying to find any advantage for their cause, which includes reading through everything they find. Letters, missives, notes left scattered around the enemy camp, etc. Some nights she just spends reading and reading until exhaustion takes her. Other nights, she's brewing potions and tinctures, preparing poisons. It helps her calm her mind because she feels like she's doing everything in her power to make them ready for a fight. And her tent sort of reflects that. It also reflects the chaos of her mind and the feeble attempts to stay in control. The books are neatly stacked, except the ones she'd been picking up. The herbs hang on a string, except the stacks she simply ran out of energy to sort through, so they're sitting on a table, wilting, rotting. Maleane prefers to stay in the shade and that's where her tent's pitched. While her sunlight sensitivity is nowhere near that of a vampire or a drow from the Underdark, she still finds direct sunlight unpleasant.

6. if they had a set of dnd dice, what would they look like?

I see her having something purple or blue! Ooh, maybe sort of amethyst-like because that's the gem she cherishes as it reminds her of her father? A quick google search and I think it would look something like this!

Either that or something to do with storms and lightning? Like lightning rippling through a night sky would be neat? Something like this, mhm!

#asks #dameaylin #oc: maleane #ask meme #thank you for the asks! it was a ton of fun trying to thing about her little tent especially!

[fevertowrite]

turtle tenderloin

Summary: Donnie doesn't remember yelling for help; he can barely register what the Mini-Meat Sweats are saying to him – if they are even talking to him – all he can hear is the ringing of his ears and his body feeling like it's on fire. He needs fresh air – he needs to get out.

Takes place in-between the episode Donnie's Gifts, where the Mini-Meat Sweats have him on a spit, ready to be cooked. One-shot

x

The multiple Mini-Meat Sweats, no thanks to the Silver Fish powers, spots Donnie, grab him by his ankle, and reel him to the ground. Hands, so many tiny hands are on him. There are too many hands that, to get away, he fails terribly. He hates being touched, and now it feels like a million little crawly hands are on him, and he wants to gag. 

Donnie doesn't remember yelling for help; he can barely register what the Mini-Meat Sweats are saying to him – if they are even talking to him – all he can hear is the ringing of his ears and his body feeling like it's on fire. He needs fresh air – he needs to get out.

He watches as he's dragged away from his brothers to when he's finally led to the big cauldron in the middle of the room. 

It doesn't register to him with what's going on; his hands are flailing, his legs are kicking, and he knows he's in a fight or flight situation. He needs to calm down. 

Don tries to find comfort in his battle shell, the tightness around his shoulders, and the reassurance around his shell; it protects him. 

It may not be enough. 

He's still not registering with what's going on; Donnie tries to think of his battle shell pressing against his own, the comfort, anything to calm him down – but he hears the recognizable pffff of his battle shell and feels the cold air wrap around his now naked softshell. 

He blinks, barely registering the fact he's on some sort of spit and keeping him on there is…sausage links? Were they cooking him alive?!

He struggles under the restraints; he's been doing that for too long now, struggling. And he's losing the battle; he should've fought the Mini-Meat Sweats before putting him on the spit; he should've done more than to be where he's at currently. 

The Mini-Meat Sweats glows and transforms back to his old Pork Rind self. 

Despite the fogginess in his mind and outgrowing fear that he has to get the fuck out, it deems to him that his brothers must have stopped fighting. It's the only reason Meat Sweats transformed back to himself, so his brothers should be coming. They're coming. 

The fear and anxiety don't stop, though; seconds turn to minutes, and Meat Sweats is prepping him; he's going to be cooked. Meat Sweats grabs a pound of butter, and Donnie wants to laugh. There's no way this guy is serious, there's no – 

Don physically gags when the butter pours on him, like gravy to mashed potatoes. He feels sick, his face paling two shades lighter. He's going to be eaten alive. 

Panicked, he lost count of when his brothers were supposed to come to the rescue. They should be in the area – somewhere. But instead, the pot's steam makes him nauseous, and the sticky butter makes him physically recoil. He hates sticky substances, feeling sticky, the smell and the heat coming below him, and can this thing stop spinning him around?

He can twist his hand and type on his tech watch despite his hands being tied. He dials Raph, desperate for someone to answer. While calling, Meat Sweats is making some seasoning; he smells garlic, onions, and paprika, and his stomach churns again – answer, please answer, please – 

"Ooh, hey buddy! Hey. Um. Really loving the gifts you got us." Don hears Raph chuckle nervously, "Yeah, we…we know how long it took you to make 'em, and it was so thoughtful." 

Whatever Raph's saying, Donnie isn't listening, "Get me out of here; he's about to eat me alive!" He yells, still struggling to get out of the sausage links. He feels the wire scrap on his softshell, he hates feeling so damn useless and asking for help, but his brothers never came for him. He can't feel bad about himself right now and can't psych himself out as to why his brothers abandoned him – his goal is to make it out alive. 

Raph doesn't hear him and asks to repeat what he said. Donnie literally wants to scream, "Where did you guys go?" He cries out, "They're gonna cook me alive!" 

Raph doesn't answer, but Donnie hears them talking. His brothers are useless, he's useless, he is done for, his heart falls to his stomach, and his ears are back to ringing. 

"Mm. A delicate soft shell. A sprinkle of paprika should unleash the flavor!" 

He comes over to Donnie, sprinkling the turtle with the homemade seasoning and some in the boiling water. 

"I promise, I won't taste good; I'm all sweaty and gross and –"Donnie is doing everything he can so Meat Sweats can back off, but it's no use. He sounds so winded and out of breath; he hates feeling weak and sounding so weak. He feels like he's practically begging, but Meat Sweats' goal is to eat him – and eat him good.

"Don't worry, Laddy, I can make anything scrumptious." He grabs a knife in one hand and carrots in another and starts chopping them in the water. "Y'know, soft shells are rare." He tells him like Donnie doesn't know, and mutant soft shells are even rarer. He sees Meat Sweats literally drool at the thought of it, and it's making Donnie sick again. 

He still struggles against the sausage links and may be a bit cartoonish, but he really did hope the butter would make him slide out of it. But nope – he's still raveled in between, and when the water starts to bubble and pop, he knows it's ready for him. 

His shell starts to burn, the steam suffocating him. He's sweating, his head starts to feel lightheaded, and he no longer struggles with the restraints. He's accepted it; his brothers aren't coming, he hears them try to make a plan, and he mutters he's still on speaker, but no answer. Finally, he closes his eyes; this is it – he's done for. 

x

After minutes, Donnie hears his brothers in the room; he doesn't know if he should yell, cry, or be relieved; he wants nothing and everything to do with them.

"Hey, Meat Sweats." He hears Mikey faintly, the steam burns his eyes, but he opens them for a quick second.

"Distraction-Jitsu!" Raph says, or at least he thinks it's Raph. But, then, someone grabs him out of the spit. He blinked a few times, letting the tears fall – he was not crying; his eyes were literally being burned.

Once they leave the room, Donnie struggles against him. 

"Hey, hey, buddy, you're okay now. You're okay –" 

"Let go of me," His voice shakes and he hears the hesitation in Raph's breath, but he needs to breathe, he needs to – 

Raph doesn't argue, and Donnie's not sure if it's because he knows better or that Meat Sweats is chasing them and doesn't want to talk about it. Whatever it is, he's thankful there's no rebuttal, and Raph lets him go. 

Donnie leans into the cool tiled floor, unknowingly catching his breath. Breathing just steam was hard; being seasoned and the butter being – and still clinging – on him was hard. He just needs a minute. 

Raph doesn't even have a minute to unwrap him out of the sausage links before Meat Sweats literally pushes him away from Donnie. He watches his brothers fight, too tired to restrain from the sausage links. Someone will get him out of it; the adrenaline wears off and leaves him in a pile of goo. 

He's gonna be okay, he tells himself; they can go home, he can take a long bath and wear his comfort prosthetic and his purple hoodie. He's okay; his brothers have his back even in moments when they fail him. 

He just needs to catch his breath. 

#tw: anxiety attack #in case cause he def is having one #anyway i had this idea for years and finally caved in #rottmnt #tmnt #donnie's gifts #donnie #meat sweats #i mean there was a good moment of him being alone w meat sweats so i had to #rise!donnie #panic #anxiety #tmnt fanfiction #donatello #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #fever writes