#fuzz nuts

[pinkiexneomorph277]

Baby birbs

:: was bored so uploaded life stuff::

Baby budgies .

[evillillad]

look at this fuckin guy

[mercyking]

Sometimes...I live in a world where Gary King and Nicholas Angel are cousins.

And sometimes...SOMETIMES...Nicholas' uncle Derek is Gary's dad.

[marshmallow--3]

Eating a strawberry Cornetto while watching Hot Fuzz - a British crime

[zreamy]

please touch, please do it

freaky gym rat bf sunghoon except it's possible that yn is the bigger freak here......

pairing ✩ park sunghoon x fem!reader

genres: smut, pwp 🫩 (with a bit of plot..)

warnings: minors dni, freak shit, he loves her to the point of invention, sunghoon uses every pet name in the book.. and ik u can be a misandrist and still love ur man.. i'm proof, i love jake !

word count: 2,945 (do not get used to this)

author's note: ......unless jake posts a freak ass picture.. i’m not writing anything like this again 😭 i just want to say thank you to sunghoon for posting these pictures and thank you asahicore for encouraging me..

You’ve never been so glad that your past self has no way to know about the woman you’ve become—because if Little Miss Man Hater saw you now? She’d gut you. 

You are absolutely sick with love. Nauseous with adoration. Ill with warmth and affection and desire. 

And all for a man. 

It’s getting out of hand, this girlfriend thing. This attachment to Sunghoon. Like part of you is being cleaved off, hacked away at, every time he leaves your side. It’s been seventy-three minutes since he went to gym, and already, you’re cuddling your pillow, and sending him a text. 

You: Hi baby how’s your workout

Five quiet minutes tick by before he replies.

Hoonie: Arm day princess, my shit’s on fire lowkey

Hoonie: I miss you :( 

Hoonie: How’s home?

His princess — the one he misses — squeals into the pillow, feet kicking as butterflies tumble in your stomach. It takes a little while, but you manage to hold it together for long enough to take a selfie. You tug the lace neckline of your camisole down so your cleavage peeks out, and push your arms together—nature’s push-up bra. I miss you more, you write back, grinning when he heart-reacts to the photo, a string of heart-eye emojis following.

Hoonie: My beautiful baby 

Hoonie: You’re so perfect

Hoonie: My dream come true

Even the old you would crumble at that, surely. You’d have to be completely and utterly heartless not to be moved by sweet Sunghoon and the things he says. 

The picture he sends you, both pictures he sends you, stop your heart in your chest, force a gasp. 

He’s in the gym, drenched in pale overhead light, his white vest hugging every inch of the effort you now feel compelled to thank him for. His muscles are surreal, carved out and flushed. His thick, veiny arm glossy with sweat. He’s gorgeous—that’s the problem. Not just hot, but downright, drop dead gorgeous. In a way that makes your breath snag in your throat, turns your brain into mush. Sets back feminism and wide-spread misandry by at least a hundred years. 

Your past self is rolling in her pre-Sunghoon grave. 

You: ???

You: Dude I’m gonna suck that dick off the bone omg do not come here after your workout ok go straight home and think about whatever the fuck you just sent to me.

You: I’m literally gonna nut to this forever

Clicking on the photo again, you stare. Staring until the screen dims and your breath catches. Without a second thought you tug your underwear off, dark lace forgotten about between your fitted sheet and duvet. Instinctively, your thighs part for your right hand, a sigh of relief at the feeling of your fingers grazing your slit. A featherlight touch, barely there. You’re trying to savour this, taking in every single detail. Eyes catching on the sharp angle of his jaw, his smirking lips, the straight slope of his nose. Composure slips, quickly, when you let yourself fuzz at the edges, fingers quickening, breath stuttering. Vision blurring in and out of focus as your body chases, and chases. 

And then he replies.  

Hoonie: 😰

Hoonie: I’m not dude, I’m baby..

Hoonie: Fucking gooner

Embarrassment engulfs you. Wraps you up in its fiery clutch, tight and unforgiving. How humiliating, to be known so well. At once, you yank your hand from between your thighs like you’ve been burnt, and get up from the bed, scrambling for the nearest pair of shorts. It would be nice to be clothed if you run into Minjeong or her girlfriend in the middle of your walk of shame. 

You don’t. 

From the tap, cold water shocks you back into your body, settles you as you wash your hands. And wash them again just in case. Exhaling deeply, you dry your hands on the plush towel and lean against the sink to reply to Sunghoon. 

You: Calling me a gooner after sending that freaky fucking photo is crazy work

You: YOU’RE THE GOONER

You: Come over. 

You: Don’t shower..

Hoonie: 😂😂😂

Hoonie: I’m On my way! Princess don’t start without me

As soon as you heart-react to his text, there’s a knock at the front door. Sunghoon, somehow. Vest and hair still damp like he stepped straight out of the photo and into your flat. With how quickly he got here, you’re not convinced he didn’t. 

“Hey, beautiful. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” he says, breathless. 

“Waiting? It’s been, like, thirty seconds since I told you to come over.”

“That’s thirty seconds too long.” He grins, wide and boyish. “I shouldn’t have left at all.” 

You can’t resist any longer, getting on your tiptoes and looping your arms around his neck, body arching up against his as you kiss him. “I know,” you mumble against his soft lips. 

Sunghoon’s tongue slips into your mouth and over yours. Slow. Deep. Taking his time. He always takes his time with you. His sweat-slick skin slides over yours, big hands cupping your ass, pressing you into him. Grip tight, like he plans for your bodies to spill into one another, to merge into one. If only, you think. There’s no ignoring him—you couldn’t if you tried. You don’t want to. Long and thick and stiff between you, straining against his sweatpants. 

It’s a bit much for the hallway, maybe, especially with your flatmate home and having company, but he’s Sunghoon, and he’s been away, and you can’t help it. As if reading your mind, he picks you up off your feet with no strain, humming when you wrap your legs around his svelte waist. Graceful as ever, he steps out of his shoes and walks the two of you to your bedroom, lips attached the whole way. 

Safe between the four walls of your room, you pull away, speaking only when Sunghoon sits on the end of your bed. “I want..” Words escape you at the sight of him. Lips wet, parted, deep red and swollen. Cheeks flushed the same shade. Slow breaths puffing his chest and pushing it back down. “I want..” you try again, but come up with nothing. 

Holding you tight in his lap, he looks up at you. Eyes on yours, dark and insistent. “What do you want, princess?” he asks in a low voice, gentle. “Tell me what you want.”

Beneath you, his thighs are thick and solid. Big like all the rest of him. He is discipline and patience personified, all bulging muscle and taut skin. All yours.

“Just want you.”

“Always such a sweet girl, huh?” he coos, letting his hand slip up your thigh, humming when he finds the wet spot on your shorts. “You want me here, don’t you, baby?”

You nod, hips bucking towards his touch. “Need it,” you mumble, cheeks on fire. 

It’s embarrassing how much you need it. Need him. Even after all this time, he still has you wrapped around his thick finger. 

“Want my mouth? My fingers?” 

Want everything, you think, but don’t say. 

At your silence, Sunghoon leans in, lips finding your collarbone. Kissing and licking and sucking the skin there. A whimper tumbles out of you when his teeth sink into your flesh, just the way you like—just enough to sting. His thumb slips into your shorts, unsticking the soft cotton from your dripping core and finds your clit quickly. 

You shudder on his thighs as he grazes your slit, dragging a slow strip back up to your pulsing clit. Pressing wet circles over it as he kisses a trail up to your ear. He sucks your earlobe into his mouth, biting. “No panties?” he mumbles, your skin muffling the question. 

Relieved, needy, you sigh, sinking into his hold. “Touched myself before you got here. When you sent those photos,” you admit.

Those photos. Where to start? Sweat-damp white tank clinging to his ever-expanding chest. Veins pressing against his skin. Smirk on his face knowing you’d like what you saw. Those biceps. Flexed. Massive. Glistening. 

A huffed laugh hits your ear as he sits up. His lips curve into a smile, half-proud, half-smirk. “My dirty girl,” he says. “So good and all for me. Such a lucky guy, aren’t I?” 

You feel insane when he praises you, hearing those words from him, such filth from such a pretty mouth. Carnal need overtakes you, forces your hips towards his, craving friction. Craving him. A staggered gasp from your parted lips at the feel of him, hard and throbbing against you, the manifestation of how badly he wants this, wants you. 

Taking your flushed cheek in his large palm, Sunghoon’s thumb strokes your cheek, and he slows down on your clit. “I’m all yours, baby. Anything you want, I’ll give it to you.”

Your heart does a leap in your chest, hammering wildly. “Arms,” you say dumbly, fingers digging into his triceps. “Want your arms.” 

Arching a thick brow at you, he repeats, incredulous, “You want my arms?” Confusion paints his handsome face as he takes his hand from your shorts. 

You hum, chewing on your bottom lip as you slowly drag your nail up to his shoulder. His breath gets caught, chest shuddering under your touch. “I want to ride your huge arm.” Even as the words come out, you have no idea what that would even look like. How it would feel. All you know is that you want it, and you want it now. 

“Alright, bunny,” he starts, a faint smile on his lips as he tilts his head. “I’m not sure I can give you that.”  

Heat curls around your stomach at the nickname. “You said anything..” Pouting, you trail off. 

“I did, didn’t I?” Sunghoon brings his pussy-glazed thumb to your lips. “Suck, baby,” he mumbles, leaning on his palm as you take his wrist in your hands, tongue swirling his fingertip.

“Such a pretty little thing, aren’t you? Such a perfect girl.”

Watching through half-lidded eyes, he groans when you take his whole finger in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you suck your heady taste from him. “Mm. That’s it, baby, Just like that.”

Bobbing your head, you hold his gaze. Every inch of you aches with want, burns with need to replace his finger with his cock. Until his lips quirk into a crooked smile, a breathy laugh slipping out of him.

Eyes wide, you pull his thumb from your mouth with a wet pop. A thick string of spit still binding you to it when you ask, “What is it?” 

“Do you trust me?” His voice is a low rumble. 

Scorching heat laps at the base of your spine as you nod. “Mm.”

Sunghoon’s smile turns wicked. He is the picture of lust. Of all things indecorous. You’re almost scared of what he’s going to say next. 

“I know how we can do it.”

“Do what?” 

Patting your thigh, he mumbles a simple command. “Up, baby.” His eyes trail your body when you stand, not a sliver of your skin unseen by him. “Fuck,” he groans. “You’re so beautiful.”

Shy, you turn your face from him, catching his reflection in the mirror. Catching the swift movement of his palm over his lap, his cock.

“This’ll only take a minute, alright? I’ll be quick.”

Sunghoon stands up when you nod, both hands on his waist while looking down at the bed like it’s a puzzle to be solved. True to his word, he sits on the floor and settles with his side against the bed frame in one fluid, deliberate movement. He raises his left arm, bending it at the elbow and resting it on the mattress beside him—bicep flexed and thick and waiting. 

And immediately, it clicks. 

“Sit, baby,” he says gently, before you have the chance to speak. “I want to see you ride what’s yours.”

You’re frozen in place, jaw dropping as you look down at him. Your Sunghoon. Pouty lips and mussed hair. Adoration in his big brown eyes. He reaches up, hands on your thighs, and pulls you towards him, one slow, awestruck step at a time. 

Sunghoon tugs at your shorts. “Let’s get these off, yeah?” he asks, brows raised. 

He pulls them down when you nod, and you step out of them when they hit the floor. Arm on the bed again, he mumbles, careful, baby, as you step over his legs and kneel on the mattress. With his arm between your thighs, you catch his expression. Slow blinking eyes stuck on you. Teeth digging into his bottom lip. You could cum right then and there at the sight alone—it’s a wonder that you don’t. Sunghoon nods, ever so slightly, but it’s enough to make you sink onto him, sticky and so wet against his warm skin. At the contact, you both shudder, a gasp from you and a groan from him as he curls his fist against the duvet. 

You roll your hips, slow and experimental. Once. Twice. Stomach turning at the slick grind of skin on muscle, clit catching over and over on the thickest part of him. You’re already shaking. Whining. It doesn’t help when he tenses, lifting his arm a little so you can grind down into the curve of him even harder. 

“Good girl,” he mumbles, a fucked out and wrecked look on his face just watching you. Gaze following your throbbing core and the mess you’re making. “There you go, bunny. That’s it.”

You nod. That’s it. Moaning as you speed up, rhythm growing erratic. Heat washes over you, spreading from the inside out, coating every fibre of your being. How did anything exist before this? And how will anything exist when it’s over? 

To steady yourself, you grab a fistful of Sunghoon’s long hair, relishing the way he winces when your nails graze his scalp. A grunt from deep in his chest. He talks you through it, gentle as always, coaxing you towards your release one praise at a time. His sweet girl. His baby. 

“Look at you using me like this,” he breathes. Through squinted eyes you see his tongue slip out to wet his lips, your heart racing in response. “Take it,” he says, your name sweet from his mouth. “I’m yours. All yours.”

The only word you can say is his name, crying out over and over on trembling thighs. White-hot pleasure courses through you, growing unbearable, tearing you apart with every movement. Every slip of your cunt on his bulging veins and coiled muscle. You can’t hold back any longer, can’t keep it in. That searing heat. Sharp. Blinding. Ripping through you, splitting you apart right there on his arm. Arched back. Twitching hips. Clutching his shoulder with both hands, your head falls forward as his palm holds your hip, guiding you. 

“Don’t need to hold it, okay?” he murmurs, flexing again like he knows exactly what you need. “I’ve got you, princess. Let go for me.” 

And you do. 

A moan tears from your chest, raw and high and broken, as an endless wave of pleasure crashes over you. Bone-deep and tingling. Every inch of your body set alight as you ride out your orgasm with curled toes and wildly bucking hips. It takes a while to pass, leaving you stunned and silent when you finally manage to stop moving. 

Spent and starry-eyed, the only sound in the room is your breathing—shaky, desperate. You let yourself fall backwards, sinking into the mattress, whole body still trembling, pussy still quivering. 

“You okay, baby?” 

Nodding, you lean up on your elbows. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Just.. Fuck.” 

Sunghoon’s eyes are wide, pupils blown as he pants. “You were perfect. Did so well.” The words come out quietly, gaze stuck on his arm, the mess you left behind. With a thick finger, he grazes through it, bringing it to his mouth for a taste. A full-body flush sets you ablaze at the sight, a satisfied groan filling the room as his eyes screw shut, brows furrowing. 

“Taste so good,” he says, words garbled around his finger. “Always taste so good.”

Wasting no time, he wipes up the rest, pressing four fingers on his tongue as his eyes flick up, catching yours. He looks like he’s about one second away from eating you alive. 

And you’re not wrong. 

Sunghoon wraps his arms around your thighs, pulling you towards the end of the bed. Towards his mouth. Unwavering, his gaze doesn’t leave the spot between your legs. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” His breath fans your wet core.

Squirming against the mattress, you shake your head. “Not now, Hoonie. I think.. I think I’ll die if you do that now.” 

At this, his eyes meet yours. “Aw, bunny,” he coos, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, biting your soft flesh until you whine. With his tongue, he soothes the stinging spot. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” 

Dazed, you let out a breath, chuckling. “No, baby. I don’t think so,” you whisper, arms outstretched. 

You wrap your legs around his waist when he crawls over you, pulling him down and digging your face into the crook of his neck. Over and over, he kisses the top of your head, each one softer than the last. “My sweet girl. I love you, baby,” he murmurs into your hair. “So, so much.” 

Tuckered out, you nod slowly, letting his heady scent consume you. “I know,” you tell him, meaning it. “And I love you.”

Sunghoon rolls onto his back, holding you into his chest, fingers stroking your hair. The last thing you hear before you fall asleep is the steady rhythm of his heartbeat matching yours.

© zreamy (2025), all rights reserved. do not repost, translate, or plagiarise my work. do let me know your thoughts !

permanent tag list: @asahicore @ikeublr @loverseon @dreamy-carat @littlefluu @cherrymxxnie @mrloverboy3000 @blooqz @immortalonie @enhastolemyheart @fancypeacepersona @heatrache @kxwinasblog @kimjkejyy @anofi

[rafeys-sweetie]

𝐖𝐚𝐤𝐞-𝐔𝐩 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 ౨ৎ

Summary: JJ Maybank never thought he’d end up in a Kook mansion, much less holding a newborn at 5AM while trying not to wake her exhausted mom.

Pairing - JJ Maybank x Kook!Reader.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

The crib squeaked at exactly 5:02 AM.

“Shit,” JJ whispered, eyes cracking open, immediately going into silent panic mode. He froze, barely breathing, eyes darting to your sleeping form right next to him.

You were dead asleep finally. First real stretch you’d gotten in days. You were curled up like a cat, looking completely done with the world, hair everywhere, one arm flopped over the side of the bed like you’d melted into it. JJ wasn’t waking you up. No way. Not after pushing out a whole baby and spending every night since half conscious, half leaking, and 100% exhausted.

The crib squeaked again.

And then came The Noise that little baby grunt. The warning shot.

He cursed under his breath, yanked the hoodie on from the floor, and stumbled over to the crib. His baby. His freaking baby. Still felt fake saying that.

There she was. D/n. Wrinkly and perfect and already looking like she ran this entire house. Her tiny face scrunched up, your nose dead center, and that pouty mouth threatening to explode into a scream.

“Oh, come on, dude,” JJ whispered, scooping her up with two hands like she was made of glass. “What happened to sleeping through the night? Didn’t we just talk about this?”

She blinked up at him like he owed her money.

“Alright. It’s cool. We’re cool. Just me and you. Mom’s off duty.”

He grabbed the little bunny plush this bougie thing your mom bought from some French baby boutique. Probably hand stitched by angels or whatever. JJ still thought it was kinda creepy. But hey, it kept her quiet.

He gave the baby a little bounce as he padded barefoot out the room.

“Welcome to JJ Maybank’s late-night stroll,” he whispered. “Starring: one extremely tired dad, one very demanding potato with fists, and one extremely haunted mansion kitchen.”

Downstairs, he hit the kitchen lights and blinked like a mole.

It was still wild in here. Spotless. All white marble counters. That stupid fridge that made noises when it opened. Cabinets full of dishes that matched. Like, full sets. It wasn’t even the same planet he came from.

JJ opened the pantry. Stared.

Rows and rows of cereal boxes.

Not knock off brands. Not “Sugar Rings” or “Frosted Flakes but Sad.” Nah.

Real shit.

“Okay, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he said out loud, looking down at his daughter in total disbelief. “You’ve got… Lucky Charms. Cap’n Crunch. Cinnamon Toast Crunch. You have options.”

She blinked. Made a little gurgling noise. Might’ve almost puked. It was unclear.

“Bet you won’t ever have to mix powdered milk with tap water in a measuring cup. Spoiled little thing,” he muttered, but his voice was more in awe than bitter. Kissing the top of her small little peach fuzzed head.

Nine months ago, he was living in a tiny ass room with holes in the walls, eating stolen peanut butter with a spoon. Now he was barefoot in a kitchen that smelled like lemon cleaner and luxury, holding a baby who looked like the best part of the one girl who ever believed he was worth more than the garbage his dad left behind.

He grabbed a clean bottle from the drying rack, filled it up like you taught him. The baby made a grumpy squeak.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re hungry. Don’t get your designer diaper in a twist.”

He took her outside, bouncing her with one arm as he slid open the patio door and walked down the stone path toward the lake. Your mom’s flower beds were pristine, not a single weed in sight.

JJ snorted.

“Your grandma hires people to trim the bushes. I used to mow yards just to pay for a new surfboard leash. This is nuts.”

The baby yawned dramatically.

“You’re unimpressed. I get it.”

He sat on the wooden bench by the lake and let the silence settle. Sun hadn’t quite risen yet, but the sky was hinting at it orange and pink bleeding across the water.

He looked down at her again. Little fists balled up on his chest. That ridiculous bunny tucked next to her. And for a second, the sarcasm drained from his face.

He just looked.

“You’re mine,” he said quietly. “Like, really mine.”

It still didn’t feel real. Him, a dad. In a nice house. With a family.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted, rubbing her back slowly. “Pretty sure I’m just winging it at this point. Your mom’s the smart one. I’m just the dumbass who brings comic relief.”

She made another squeaky noise, and he cracked a grin.

“See? You get it. You get me.”

The sun started coming up over the lake, gold light sliding across the surface.

JJ leaned back, daughter tucked in his hoodie, hair a mess, heart thudding.

He didn’t have to run anymore.

Didn’t have to dodge cops or his old man’s fist or wonder where his next meal was coming from.

He had you. He had her.

And it scared the shit out of him.

But he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Guess we’re both stuck here now, huh, kid?”

She just stared up at him and let spit fall out her mouth.

JJ wheezed.

“Alright, damn. Weird way to say you love me but I love you to.”

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

Deal With The Devil

Chapter 1: The Deal

Pairing: Fae!Hyrule x Reader

Warning(s): Eventual smut and some yandere themes

Notes: This came to me at 3am in a fever dream after getting both my flu and covid shots, so enjoy!

Main Masterlist | Fic Masterlist | Next Chapter

There was something horribly wrong with the forest at the edge of your village.

Whispers of creatures, lurking among the shadowy boughs or dense shrubbery, circulated the community like the chilled winds from the North, digging icy, fearful tendrils into the hearts and minds of your fellow villagers. Tales of dark magic were becoming as common as talk of upcoming weather, and yet, nothing was done about the supposed horrors prowling the doorstep of every self-respecting individual. You heard rumors of dreadful skittering atop thatched roofs in the market, basket piled so high with vegetables and honey that the weight threatened to send you tipping to the thin ground, and murmurings of Hylian-adjacent silhouettes in fog-frosted windows.

It was a load of bull, as far as you were concerned. Well, maybe not the warnings of not straying too deep into the forest, because it was common sense, but you were more than skeptical on the tales of witches and demons--or, as of late, fae folk. Not the sweeter-than-sugar fairies that strayed behind your home, eagerly accepting the food you placed specifically for them, but actual fae; tricksters, deceivers, murderers.

Besides, with your budding merchant business, it seemed counterproductive to refuse to enter the woods. How else would you gather your herbs? Your mushrooms? Your wild nuts and berries?

Which is probably why, when you sent the mayor's son packing after another painful courting attempt, you had no qualms about slipping into the comforting shadows of the trees, the twittering birds and rustling leaves your only witnesses.

You hummed softly, letting your feet carry you down the well-worn path, gaze softly scanning your surroundings, flicking from the colorful flowers to the downy moss, sticking to brown-gray bark like a blanket of fuzz. It never hurt to be aware, though you couldn't shake the dull feeling of being watched. It started slow, a mere drizzle on your senses, but the familiar tingle of your spine was getting harder and harder to ignore with each step you took.

With a soft shake of your head, you turned off the path, b-lining for a thick tree on the edge of the unknown. A cluster of silent shrooms grew among the tree's gnarled roots, and you eagerly plucked them from the earth, gently stuffing your prize into the satchel slung across your chest with a satisfied hum. Your neighbor, Jayrie, had mused about the lack of 'unusual' ingredients in the market, and you'd been hoping to find something to surprise her, if only in the hopes of tempting a few extra rupees from her pocket in a bribe to find more.

Seconds passed, then minutes, and the day slipped away before you knew it. With a fattened satchel and soft grin, you trotted back home, completely missing the shadowy figure crouched among the tree branches, honey-colored eyes trained unblinkingly on your form.

Hyrule licked his chapped lips as he sat on the thick branch, the bark rough through the fabric of his pants. It wasn't an unwelcome sensation, especially when he had something far more important to focus on. The tendons in his back flexed when a soft hum filled the air, followed by the gentle crunch of boots against trampled, dead grass.

It was you. Because of course it was. It always was.

Hyrule felt his heart clench, ears swiveling to catch every huff of breath and mumbled word that fell from your lips, as he curled a bit in on himself. His mouth opened, several words hissing past pearly teeth, and the glamor surrounding him thickened, ensuing that he would be imperceptible to even the most skilled magic users, which you (thankfully) weren't.

It wasn't his fault–he thought as you walked a bit further, immediately dropping down to pluck the mushrooms he had magicked just for you this morning–or, well, not really. It was his fault, however, for getting attached after witnessing you go out of your way to feed the fairies that dared stray into that blasted village, cooing softly to them in the safety of your backyard, nestled on the very edge of the settlement. He watched you tend to his sisters for far longer than he cared to admit, and, when your reoccurring presence in his glade grew noticed, it only went downhill from there.

It wasn't long after he began observing you did he realize that he had... well, he couldn't quite describe what the feeling was, but it was profound. Consuming in a way that left him with the embarrassing ache to touch you, even though every fibre of his being screamed for him to cease this senseless involvement immediately. He was fae and you were Hylian; it would never work, never mind the context that 'it' insinuated.

You stood up, humming some incomprehensible melody, and Hyrule stiffened atop his perch, pointed ears twitching as another, senseless feeling bubbled in his chest. It would be so easy to return the song, to chime to your lead. He wouldn't even need to retract the glamor! But the risk...

When you patted your satchel, the tone of your song changing to something distinctively pleased, turning on your heel to return to the village, Hyrule let himself slip from the branch, landing soundlessly on the soft grass as he began the ritual anew. You were a merchant, which meant you frequented the forest quite often in search of items, and he was more than happy to provide if it kept you coming back, just so he could follow you to the tree line, where he would linger until you were no longer in sight.

It was pathetic, he knew, but when was the last time a Hylian had treated the fae folk with even a modicum of respect? Of kindness? He certainly couldn't remember, and Hyrule prided himself on his memory.

The fae's steps were light, honed from years of sneaking around, as he trailed after you, careful to duck behind the nearest tree when your vigilant gaze strayed even an inch too close. While he was positive you were a kind, sweet, perfect soul, he knew it wouldn't end well if you discovered you were being followed, which was the last thing he wanted.

As the color of the sky faded to a soft pink, flecked with fiery oranges and blazing reds, and the sun dipped below the cradle of the horizon, Hyrule found himself standing a few trees back from the edge of the forest, eyes trained on your swaying form as you trotted to your house, which bordered the tree line by a few hundred meters. You were still humming, though the song was different. Slower, gentler. Hyrule was embarrassed to wonder if you would sing for a fae.

His wings ached for freedom, just as the magic thrumming in his veins begged him to return to the wilderness. Your village was a strange, terrifying place, and he hated it with every fiber of his being. Hated how quick they were to judge, to spread those horrendous rumors. Granted, many of them were true, but it was a matter of principle.

Hyrule shook his head. His canines, longer than the average fae, sank harmlessly into his bottom lip at the foolish desires rolling through his mind. The fae stole one last look in your direction before disappearing into the forest, the scent of wildflowers and fresh rain filling his senses; a storm was coming, but he wasn't worried. He never was.

That night, Hyrule sang for a Hylian.

This is for the Hyrule thirsters <33

[yifftwiceplz]

well those are pretty normal impressions of us but im assuming this is only gonna be an issue in your day to day life right since whats the consequences of being a bitch for a couple seconds on tumblr nothing trust me been there done that everybody still somehow thinks im nice

that being said im gonna take this opportunity to call you babyfaced and say you should grow a beard

I have sufficiently calmed down now.

Unlike you, I have to consider the words I say all the time and by hampering my ability to communicate without some form of self editing I’m just going to say all the finpulsive shit that comes to mind because I don’t normally want to call you oar Dirk a disingenuous ass who has never experienced a reel emotion because you’re so far up your own self that you cannot comprehend that other people exist or that I think your facial hair looks bad and you should shave.

[moonlight-records]

Secret Santa| MS36 (HAC #11)

pairing: ms36 x reader

summary: Mercedes is doing secret santa for their holiday party which is fine, typically. What happens when by some stroke of luck, you get your long time crush?

warning: fluff!

fc: none!

wc: 1.5k

a/n: day 11 of moonlight records holiday advent calendar!

day 1 | day 2 | day 3 | day 4 | day 5 | day 6 | day 7 | day 8 | day 9 |day 10 | current day | day 12

“...The limit for gifts is £100. Once again, this does not mean you need to spend £100 on a gift but if you want to buy something a bit more expensive you can.” Toto continues on. You, by some miracle, tune your boss out as you look back down at the folded piece of paper in your hand. It feels like it’s burning into your skin as you watch Toto drone on about the rules of secret Santa. 

“Finally,” you’ve never been more excited to hear those words leave your boss’ mouth, “do not share who you got for secret Santa!” Toto explains before staring at all of you and gesturing, “open them.”

You watch all your co-workers around you start opening their pieces of paper. All of them, in their own form, are tucking themselves away to read the name and you simply look down at yours before finally opening it. 

Mick Schumacher.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper with wide eyes looking at the paper. It was only your work’s secret Santa but you had to get it right. How else were you supposed to try and impress your crush if you didn’t nail Secret Santa right.

Sitting in the factory parking lot, you browsed your phone frantically searching for anything at this point. The party was tomorrow and everyone was raving about how good their presents were and you had nothing.

Somehow three weeks flew by and you still hadn’t bought your secret Santa present. You had found a lot of potential gifts but nothing really screamed Mick and it was driving you nuts since this was all you thought about when you weren’t at work. For fuck sake, you finished your holiday shopping for all your friends and family while trying to find the perfect Mick for gift but anytime you didn’t have money or the excuse, you could always find something for Mick. You were starting to accept the fact that you were going to botch this one attempt with Mick and make a fool of yourself in front of him.

Hitting your head gently against the headrest you sigh softly. Looking back at your phone, you refresh Facebook Marketplace and scroll through before seeing it. Your eyes widen as you read an ad before putting your phone into your cup holder. You start your car and you’re off. 

You manage to get to the location in 30 minutes. Getting out, you make your way into the building and talk to the first worker that’s available. You explain your situation and how your secret would absolutely love this and take such great care and has so many already but they’re with his family and how he’s been always talking about one. After a lot of paperwork and talking, you finally secure the gift. Getting your gift carefully in the passenger seat, you thank the worker once again before climbing into the driver seat and heading to the store to get a few last minute things to make a little basket for this gift before heading home.

You’re up late building your basket. Taking a step back, you smile at your hard work and how it’ll finally pay off. “Perfect.” You say aloud before laying down on the couch, too tired to make it to bed as you happily drift off to sleep, excited for tomorrow.

To say that everyone was more excited about the holiday party than anything else was an understatement. Honestly, it was a miracle that Toto didn’t get so annoyed at the entire company for horribly pretending they were working. It seems that the factory did annoy him enough that he had everyone go home early to get ready for the party. You thank Toto as you leave the factory before going home and changing for the party. 

You check yourself over and brush your red dress of little fuzzes that got on it. Putting your tights on, you slip some spandex on before your boots before gathering everything and packing the car. Coming back, you carefully grab your present and make your way back to the factory for the party. You park and grab your gift as you head inside, thanking a coworker who held the door open for you and find a table that’s tucked away closer to a corner and put your gift down, admiring how fast Toto and some workers decorated the factory. 

As more people arrive, the more lively it becomes before the party is in full swing. You have a drink in hand as you talk to some of your co-workers, occasionally glancing back at your gift that’s still resting on the chair. When you’re not overly anxious about your gift, your gaze finds its way to Mick and you can’t help but admire him. A stupid love sick smile appears on your face before his eyes meet yours and he smiles at you. You blink before smiling back, shyly waving before glancing away as your face burns in embarrassment. You look back and see Mick excusing himself from a conversation with Lewis and Bono as he starts making his way over to you.

Shit.

You brace yourself to embarrass yourself before Toto is loudly calling for everyone’s attention and everyone freezes to listen to Toto. You feel relief run through you but it’s short lived as he announces that dinner will be ready in a few moments so while everyone waits, they can finally exchange their gifts. You stand frozen as everyone erupts into chatter, zooming around to find their secret Santa. You turn to look at your gift before there’s a tap on your shoulder before turning and blinking. “Mick!” You were sure as hell he would’ve gone to find his secret Santa. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Mick smiles. He glances down at the box he’s holding, fidgeting with it slightly, “so um.” He offers the box to you a bit more rigid than he wanted and winces internally, “for you.”

“Me?” You ask, surprise, as you take it. “I–I was your secret Santa?”

“Yeah. Which–works because…” Mick’s voice trails off as you carefully untie the ribbon. You glance up seeing Mick shift anxiously before looking back down and opening the box slowly and gasping. Inside the box was a gold jewelry set. Simple gold hoop earrings along with a gold necklace that had your initials on a charm with hearts surrounding them. “Oh Mick,” you whisper after finding your breath again. Looking at him you’re smiling wide. “It’s beautiful. Oh–thank you so much. I’m. I’m truly at a loss for words with how beautiful it is–”

“Then go on a date with me? Please?” Mick blurts out.

“What?” You look at Mick. 

You’re both staring at each other with wide eyes. You’re staring in disbelief because you don’t think you heard Mick right and Mick’s staring at you with a sheepish smile because it seems that this wasn’t exactly how he wanted to ask you. “Me?” You point to yourself. “You.” Pointing to Mick, “a date?”

“Yeah. If you want, which I really hope you do. Though it’s totally fine if you don’t!” Mick says quickly, “might make things awkward. I don’t really want it to be but that’s also fine and–”

“Mick!” You finally cut him off. “I would love to go on a date with you!”

“Really?!”

Nodding excitedly, “yes!”

“Great!” Mick beams as he follows you to your seat. He’s rambling off date ideas before stopping when his eyes fall onto your gift basket. “Oh! Did you make this? This is so cute! Who’s it for?”

“You.” 

It’s Mick’s turn to be surprised as he points to himself. “Me? You had me for secret Santa?” He laughs when you nod, “Well, what are the odds of that?” He goes to pick it up but stops when you gently put your arm out and instruct him to just open it. He raises a brow but he does slowly before gasping and covering his mouth. “Oh my god. Y/N–are you serious?” He stares at you in awe before turning back to the sleepy Saint Bernard puppy who’s in the middle of a yawn as she looks up. She immediately wiggles in Mick’s gentle hold before cuddling into his chest and wagging her tail. “Y/N I–I don’t know what to say. How did you–”

“No kill shelter that was already overflowing. Someone had brought this litter in and given them away for free. I found the ad at the last second and the little girl was one of three left. It took a very long conversation and many pictures of you and your family dog for them to agree but they did. Completely free so I really spent all the money on stuff you’d need for her.” You gesture to the basket. 

“Y/N, this is the best present anybody could have gotten me.” Mick says earnestly, “I really don’t know what to say or how to thank you–”

“Maybe we could have dinner at your place and do some training with this girl,” you explain while petting the pup, “and we could call that our first date, yeah?” Mick looks up from his cooing and gushing over the pup. “Deal.” 

[xvazx]

The Beauty of Our Chaos

WEDDING DAY - TIL DEATH DO US PART

Prev. Part / Next Part

A couple of hours had passed. The energy in the living room was thick—nervous, restless.

Was it canceled?

Was Missy okay?

Were we about to stop a very expensive, very pink party?

We were nervously fidgeting—twirling our hair, bouncing knees, refreshing Bella’s location every five seconds like we were tracking an Amazon order.

To kill time, the group devolved into chaotic hypothetical questions.

“Okay,” Mariel said, flopping onto the couch with a sigh. “Would you rather be a famous porn star or an escort—if the pay was the same and you didn’t have retouch?”

“Porn star, hands down,” Kaylee added before anyone else could answer. “At least in porn, the actors are required to be super hygienic and you get a glam team.”

Several girls nodded in agreement.

The boys looked mildly confused.

Then Damien, sitting on the armrest of a loveseat like a chaos gremlin, broke in. “Okay but real question—best Power Rangers intro theme?”

Most of the girls blinked like he’d spoken Latin.

“I didn’t really watch it,” one admitted.

“I only liked the pink one,” another said.

But some of the boys immediately joined in.

“Time Force,” Mark said.

“Nah, Dino Thunder, easy.”

But then, like some cruel cosmic joke, Luigi and I both said it at the same time:

“SPD.”

Our eyes locked. Oh no. Stop. You’re mad at him, remember?

Then Georgina’s phone started vibrating. Bella’s name lit up the screen.

We all gathered like moths to flame. She put it on speaker.

Bella’s voice came through, frazzled but clear. “Okay, quick update—Missy’s stable, but she’s being kept under observation to find the cause.”

A collective breath. Relief, even if it was laced with a little dread.

“Apparently,” Bella continued, “they think it’s food poisoning. But she swears she hasn’t eaten solids since yesterday.”

Oh, but she did drink something.

“The matcha,” I whispered to Georgina.

I sprinted to the fridge and yanked open the door. There it was: the glass pitcher. I poured it into the sink—and saw it.

Stuck to the bottom of the pitcher. White clumps. Floaters. The top had this thin film of gray-green fuzz.

“Oh —mold,” I gagged.

Mariel turned pale. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“I think her nut milk fermented into something,” Georgina told Bella. Then she stepped away to speak privately, voice hushed, back turned.

A minute later, she came back, eyes wide.

“She’s got a bacterial infection from spoiled nut milk,” Georgina said. “They’re doing a gastric lavage. She’s not coming back.”

Everyone went silent

“She’s not coming back.” I repeated.

“Karma,” Mariel muttered under her breath.

Luigi looked around, trying to mask his panic. “What are we supposed to do? People will start showing up in, like, a few hours.”

Georgina straightened, flicking her ponytail like she was announcing a game show twist. “Bella said someone can replace Missy.”

There was a pause.

“Great!” I said, too focused on the logistics. “Let’s get you dressed and—”

Then I felt it. The glares. Every set of eyes turning toward me like I had just volunteered myself for human sacrifice.

“What?” I asked.

“You could do it,” Georgina said sweetly.

“Yo?” I asked on a stereotypical loud tone “No.” (Me?)

“There is no better option.” Georgina looked around at the very confused and slightly offended group of girls.

“I’m suspended, remember?”

“She said anyone,” Georgina insisted. “The rules don’t matter anymore. We are against the clock.”

“I don’t even rank in Delta Nu hierarchy,” I argued. “In that case, you should do it or a senior.”

“You planned everything. You know the steps, the order, the cues,” Georgina explained, getting closer. “Please?”

The group looked at me. Half pleading, half daring.

Then my eyes found Luigi’s.

“I mean…” Kaylee looked at the boys. “Unless y’all aren’t on board?”

“This is gonna be awesome,” Damien grinned.

Luigi shrugged, pretending to be unfazed.

Then the chanting started.

“Do it! Do it! Do it!”

I sighed, deeply and dramatically, and raised a hand like a reluctant martyr.

“Fine.”

A cheer erupted like I’d just announced a new music festival.

I took a step forward, and barked: “All right, everyone! Get in your positions! I want this whole shit ready before 8PM! Go go go!”

Luigi smirked. “The fake wedding is back on!”

People clapped. Someone popped a can of beer in celebration.

I turned to leave, but not before he called out, “Hey!”

I turned around, and there he was again holding that stinkingly cute yellow flower. Trying again to give it as a peace offering.

I sighed and took it from his hand.

He smiled, “See you at the altar.”

“Whatever,” I muttered.

The girls dragged me upstairs like a prize-winning sheep. Suddenly, I was surrounded by sorority sisters who treated me like a mannequin. Hair, lashes, bronzer, blush, chest shimmer—yes, that’s a thing—lip plumper, and glitter in places I didn’t know could be glittered.

“I didn’t sign up for this when I applied to UPenn,” I mumbled under my breath.

“Don’t move.” Kaylee said while pinning the little veil.

Someone knocked on the bedroom door.

Minutes later, a senior girl walked in holding the dress.

Missy’s dress.

I blinked. “Where’s the bottom half?”

“That is it,” she said, holding it like it was made of gold.

I stepped into the slip of fabric and someone yanked the corset strings hard enough to compress a lung.

“Ya se les hizo costumbre,” I hissed. “I’m gonna pass out.’” (This turned into a common habit)

Once it was on, I stood in front of the mirror.

Short. A little slutty. Like the Bride of Chucky…

“You could wear bike shorts,” Kaylee offered.

“I could wear a hazmat suit and it still wouldn’t cover this.”

“You are taller than Missy,” Mariel said. “That’s why it looks tiny.”

“And I’m about to be even taller in these stilettos,” I added.

I glanced at myself in the mirror again.

“Delta Nu should make me a legend after this,” I joked.

And then we heard footsteps downstairs. Guests were arriving. The DJ had finally set up. Music was playing. Lights were being tested.

It was happening.

I wasn’t ready.

I was freaking out.

But there was no turning back now.

Ten minutes before showtime, I met Georgina near the stairs.

She looked flustered, half-sprinting in her little kitten heels.

“Guess what—the officiant is here,” she announced breathlessly, eyes wide. “And he asked for Missy. I told him about the switch.”

I blinked. “Wait, he’s real?”

“Apparently. And he asked if the ‘clients’ have IDs since the name of the bride changed.”

“Why would he need IDs for a fake wedding?” I asked, confused and slightly panicked. “I’m not American.”

Georgina just shrugged like this wasn’t exactly her jurisdiction. “He said it’s policy.”

I turned toward the stairs. “Then I’ll talk to him—”

Georgina grabbed my arm. “Not before the cue! Remember, you’re entering from the side path through the backyard. Big reveal and all that.”

Right. I forgot.

Suddenly, a stampede of girls in fake bridesmaid in tiny dresses swarmed in. Their excitement was so intense it bordered on violent.

“What do I do about the officiant?!” Georgina asked as the mob carried me away.

“Convince him to do it without the IDs!” I called back.

Downstairs was chaos. Who would’ve thought all UPenn alumni would come for a fake wedding and booze.

I crouched, waiting with the fake bridesmaids and frat bros with energy drinks.

This was what my full scholarship paid for.

From inside, I heard the first cue: “Bottoms Up” by Trey Songz.

I peered around the corner just in time to hear, “It’s Mr. Steal Your Girl…”

The song was the groom’s entrance.

Georgina jogged back to us, breathless.

“He agreed to go along with it and he’ll ‘talk to you later,’” she panted giving me the little pink bouquet and moving to her position.

Then the second song started:

“24K Magic” by Bruno Mars. The bridesmaids and groomsmen began their little runway walk, hyping up the crowd. People clapped. A few screamed.

Joshua, the frat house dad and my makeshift escort, straightened his bow tie over his Nirvana shirt. He turned to me and offered his arm. I hesitated, then looped mine through his.

He nodded. “You can do this.”

Then came my cue.

“Don’t Cha” by the Pussycat Dolls.

My heels clicked against the stone path as I walked out to “Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?” I could feel everyone watching. The music, the lights, the drama—it was absurd. And yet, somehow, my body just did it. Stilettos nearly betrayed me halfway down the aisle, but I recovered like a runway professional.

And there he was. He wore a backwards cap, and a simple blazer over a tshirt. Waiting at the altar with a goofy grin, hands in his blazer pockets, looking both smug and dumb enough to be cute.

Then I noticed the officiant.

He was dressed like… Elvis. Or a deranged impersonation of him. The hair was plastic. The jumpsuit had glitter.

Where had Missy found this man?

I swallowed hard.

I was about to have a fake wedding with my situationship, who I may or may not hate, officiated by a man impersonating a dead rock star, in front of a group of sorority girls and frat bros… oh and a shit ton of people who paid to watch this.

LUIGI’S POV

I stood up at the altar, trying to act chill even though my palms were sweaty and my mind was racing. I gotta hand it to the girls—when Delta Nu throws a theme party, they succeed. The backyard was transformed into some kind of chaotic, glittery fever dream: lights, ridiculous floral arches, heart-shaped everything.

I watched as the “bridal squad” began making their entrance, strutting down the aisle to 24K Magic. I was half-laughing, half-impressed. We didn’t even rehearse and they were nailing it.

But I knew who was next.

And suddenly, I wasn’t laughing anymore.

Thank God—or fate or karma or whatever—for Missy’s bad milk. I wasn’t thrilled she got sick, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved. Because now, I was standing up here with her. The girl I’ve been trying to forget but can’t. The one who ghosts my texts —willingly crushing my ego—and lives rent-free in my head anyway.

And then it hit—the next track.

“Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me…” blasted through the speakers.

And then she appeared, turning the corner on Joshua’s arm.

And holy hell.

She looked like she’d stepped out of a music video—and not one of those soft-focus wedding ones. No, more like the steamy kind you watch on mute when your parents are home. The tiny corset dress, the mile-high heels, the way her hair was perfectly messed up…

“Did you break up with the blonde one?” the fake Elvis asked, leaning in close.

“She got sick,” I whispered.

“Aren’t ya glad,” he grinned, winking at me like we were friends. Then he held up his fist. I bumped it without thinking.

“Gotcha, bro.”

She reached the altar and stood beside me, eyes flicking everywhere but mine.

Fake Elvis launched into some ridiculous opening monologue, grinning like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. “We are gathered here today to witness the union of…”

He paused trying to read our names

“Wow, these are some international names.”

We both corrected his pronunciation.

“It’s Man- gi-oh-ni” I separated the syllables phonetically.

“It’s not that hard, is (Y/L/N), work that tongue.” (Y/N) clapped back.

“Right, right,” he said, waving his hand like we were nitpicking. “Representing Phi Kappa Psi, we have Mr. Italian Stallion himself—Luigi Nicholas Mangione!”

The crowd went wild. Someone from Phi shouted “That’s my boy!”

I sighed. This was going to be a long five minutes.

“And representing the Bunny House, the señorita herself—Mrs. Hot Stuff (Y/Full N)!”

She visibly cringed. I almost laughed. Her sorority sisters screamed her name.

Fake Elvis cracked a joke about Greek life feeling like summer camp and then—God help us—started asking which of our ethnic backgrounds was more hairy. We exchanged a glance that said, Is this really happening?

“It’s you, isn’t it Eyebrows?!” Elvis pointed at me.

(Y/N) snorted, then covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. I shrugged defeated.

Then came the “vows.”

Fake Elvis stepped forward, motioning for us to hold hands.

We hesitated, then did.

“Repeat after me,” he said, turning to me. “I, Luigi, take you, (Y/N), as my wife…”

I repeated, feeling weirdly formal about it.

“And pledge to keep our fights messy and our sex dirty.”

I paused, blinking. Laughed. Turned to her—her face was red and she was biting her lip to suppress a scream. I repeated it anyway, smirking.

The crowd erupted with laughter. Fake Elvis winked again.

Then it was her turn.

“I, (Y/N), take you, Luigi, as my husband…” she said, voice shaky but still somehow bossy.

“And solemnly promise to use your body as I please. Within reason.”

She rolled her eyes, then repeated it without the last part. “And I solemnly promise to use your body as I please.” she declared.

We waited for the last part but it never came.

The crowd whooped. Elvis clapped. “Wow, okay. You go girl!”

He asked for the rings and Damien swaggered forward with two ring pops like they were family heirlooms.

We opened the wrapping. She looked at both and quickly switched them.

“It’s candy,” I said, confused.

“I want to receive the green one,” she said without even looking up.

Fake Elvis wiggled his eyebrows. “Now I see who is in charge.”

The crowd roared.

We exchanged ring pops with ridiculous solemnity. Mine was blue raspberry. Cool.

Then came the signing. Elvis presented a hot pink certificate that looked like it had been made on a Canva template. We both signed. My handwriting looked like chicken scratch.

“I thought you were engineers,” Fake Elvis said. “You write like doctors.”

Our “witnesses”—Damien and Kaylee—stepped up and added their scribbles to the certificate.

Then came the moment of tension. "Whoever has any objections, speak now or shut the fuck up."

We both scanned the crowd. She even did that classic side-eye glare. No one moved. Just the sound of someone opening a beer.

“Then, by the power vested in me—by no one—I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Elvis declared.

The crowd lost it.

“You may suck your faces off!”

They started clapping their thighs in a drumroll. Cups clinked. Someone yelled “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

I turned to her. She looked flustered but trying to act cool.

“You forgive me?” I asked quietly, leaning close.

She raised a brow. “Try harder.”

So I did.

I grabbed her, dipped her like I was in a telenovela, and kissed her.

She yelped on the way back up. “¡Esa mano!” (Watch that hand!)

I had no clue what it meant—but I didn’t care.

BACK TO (Y/N)

It was done.

We had just pulled off the most ridiculous, over-the-top fake wedding in Greek Row history—for a crowd of half-drunk college students who were really just here for the free booze.

After the kiss—yes, a kiss—it was photo op time.

While we were posing, he leaned in close, his breath warm by my ear.

“Is that a newlywed glow,” he murmured.

I rolled my eyes. “It’s glitter.”

As the flashes died down and the crowd lost interest, the real party kicked off. I hadn’t eaten all day—my last meal had been a string cheese at 10 a.m.—and I was starving. I made a beeline for the snack table like a woman possessed and found a sad collection of off-brand chips and a lonely bowl of guac that had definitely seen better hours. I grabbed a bag of chips anyway and ripped it open.

Luigi appeared beside me, again. He was like a shadow I couldn’t shake.

“Could we talk?” he asked, quiet.

I groaned internally. “Five minutes, just five, I need food, please.” I didn’t have the energy. Not yet.

That’s when Damien bounded up to us, grinning ear to ear, holding a bright Tupperware container.

“Are those brownies?” I asked, eyes lighting up like a cartoon character.

“They are, but—” he started to explain.

“Don’t care.” I yanked the lid off and grabbed one like I was looting. One bite in and my soul left my body.

“This is magical,” I said, licking my fingers and reaching for another. “You should try them.”

I held one out to Luigi and he took it without question, popping it into his mouth.

“Mmm,” he said mid-chew. “Okay, that is good.”

Damien looked mildly alarmed. “Okay, enough, enough.” He snatched the Tupperware from me and left. “You guys should be careful.”

“What?”

Damien left and I was left with Luigi, alone, again.

He was still chewing. “So we’re fake married now.”

“Yeah, crazy,” I mumbled, savoring the last crumbs of the brownie like they were gold dust.

He hesitated, then said, “If there’s any way I could prove how sorry I am—”

But the conversation was cut short when a wave of screaming drunkards descended on us like we’d just been crowned prom king and queen. Before I could protest, hands were under my arms, lifting me into the air. Luigi was hoisted beside me. The crowd was chanting something like, “Union of the houses! Union of the houses!”

“Watch the skirt!” I screamed, clutching the hem like it was my last line of defense.

Once safely back on solid ground, a group of frat guys presented what could only be described as a portable drink dispenser with two attached tubes. It looked like it had been built in a garage by someone who failed chemistry. They handed one tube to me and one to him, the crowd counting down like we were about to bungee jump.

“Three, two, one—!”

We turned the spigots and chugged.

I don’t know what the liquid was—maybe jungle juice, maybe motor oil—but it burned all the way down and tasted like regret.

“That was disgusting,” I coughed, wiping my mouth. I dropped the tube and walked away, reeling.

Mariel, Kaylee, and Georgina found me by the edge of the dance floor, all of them already giggly and slightly buzzed.

“Oh my god, Fake Elvis was so weird,” Kaylee said.

“Like uncomfortably weird,” Georgina added.

Mariel snorted. “And this party is actually insane. I’m not convinced the DJ isn’t a high schooler.”

“You just drank like six shots at once with that tube thing,” Mariel pointed out.

I groaned. “Ugh. So gnarly. I might throw up.”

“Okay, important things first,” Kaylee said, shifting her tone like a news anchor. “Has Luigi tried talking to you?”

“Oh boy, has he,” Georgina cut in before I could answer. “The yellow flower was him. And he’s been following her around like a very confused golden retriever.”

“Have you talked to him?” Kaylee pressed.

“No,” I said flatly. All three of them stared at me like I was the most frustrating protagonist in a rom-com.

“What? Should I?”

“Yeah, why not?” Kaylee asked. “He’s clearly trying.”

“There’s a lot going on,” I deflected weakly, glancing around.

“She’s going to fold,” Mariel sang under her breath.

I shoved her lightly. “Wey.” (Dude)

“I think you should,” Georgina said, more seriously.

The others nodded in agreement. I looked away, heart thumping. I wasn’t ready to admit I still thought about him. About that text he sent. About how he looked when he said “If there’s any way I could prove how sorry I am.”

“Maybe after some Bacardi,” I said, giving a shrug and leading the way to the drinks table.

The house was pure chaos now. Music was blasting, someone was dancing on a coffee table, and people were jumping into the pool in full outfits.

I poured some Bacardi into a red solo cup and added diet coke. Took a sip. Refreshing

I scanned the crowd.

And there he was. Luigi. Leaning against the wall with a solo cup in hand, surrounded by his friends but clearly not listening to them. He was watching me.

Lets get this over with.

I moved through the crowd, dodging tipsy dancers and balancing my drink like it was sacred cargo. A couple of girls I didn’t know paused to compliment me.

“You look so pretty, girl!”

I smiled and thanked them, brushing imaginary dust off my dress even though I knew it was just layers of highlighter and alcohol courage.

Eventually, I stood in front of the group of guys.

“Think I owe you a chat,” I said simply.

He gave me that crooked half-smile. The one I hated. The one I liked.

“Can we talk in private?”

“Yeah, let’s go.” He motioned for me to follow, and I did without hesitation.

“Be careful with the honeymoon phase, guys!” Damien called out behind us, lifting his drink like a toast.

I flipped him off without looking back.

We walked past the DJ booth, past the couples making out against walls, until we reached the quieter front part of the house. The porch lights were softer here. There was a streetlamp nearby casting a pale yellow circle onto the sidewalk.

We sat down on the curb, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. Just two college kids, dressed like Vegas elopers, under the stars.

“A promotion,” I blurted.

He blinked. “Sorry?”

“My dad. He got a promotion. They offered him a work visa,” I started, finally letting the words come out. “After the divorce, I lived with my mom until 9th grade. But my dad convinced me to apply for a student visa to study in California. His boss’s daughter went to St. Trinity. That’s how I got in. Through contacts.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Then, in a low voice, “I feel like a jerk.”

“You should,” I said, not even meanly, just… fact. “But still. Maybe I was a little overdramatic. Me and my big mouth.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he replied, glancing sideways at me. “At least not in that context.” He gave me a wink.

I gasped and shoved him. “Cabrón, bien chillón que estabas.” (Asshole, you were a whiny bitch.)

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he laughed, raising both hands.

I shook my head and sighed. “I think the best thing would be to leave it behind. Start over.”

“Or maybe,” he said, shifting closer, “take it from where we left off?”

I looked at him, really looked at him. For once, he didn’t have a smug expression or a half-hidden joke. He looked… hopeful.

“Maybe it’d be too pressured,” I said softly. “Now we know we can talk through our differences. Let’s just… give it a try.”

“Cool,” he said, the relief almost audible.

“Cool,” I echoed.

Who was I kidding? I was already halfway into it again.

I smiled, leaned in, and kissed him. Just a small peck. Just enough.

Then I stood and tugged his hand. “C’mon. Let’s go back.”

He was still smiling when we walked back to the backyard.

“Done already?” Damien said as we re-entered the chaos, raising an eyebrow. “That was only, like, a minute, my guy.”

“If I remember correctly,” Luigi shot back, “you sprained your foot in this pool, didn’t you?”

“Don’t know what you mean,” Damien replied, feigning amnesia.

Kaylee appeared with a bottle in one hand. “We were about to start Never Have I Ever. You in?”

“Sure,” I said, sliding down next to her.

The game began in classic fashion: reckless, inappropriate, and increasingly loud.

“Never have I ever gone skinny dipping,” Mark started.

A few people drank. Not me.

“Never have I ever had sex in my parents’ house,” someone else said.

Most people drank. I stayed dry.

Then came: “Never have I ever had a crush on a friend’s family member.”

Oh boy.

I sipped.

Mariel turned toward me instantly. “Who?”

“Your cousin from Florida,” I said nonchalantly, then turned to gauge Luigi ’s reaction.

He was pouting. That involuntary gesture he did when something annoyed him.

Is that jealousy? Huh nice.

Then I turned to Mariel. “Wait… who’s your crush?”

“Your dad,” she said with a completely straight face.

The crowd exploded with gasps and screams of laughter.

“Wey nooo,” I cried, throwing myself backward dramatically. (Dude, no!)

“Not like that!” she said quickly. “I’m just saying, he passed you some very elite genes.”

“I’m going to bleach my ears,”

“Alright, moving on,” one of the sisters cut in. “Never have I ever swallowed. Men included.”

A collective “yikes” went through the circle. I drank. So did most of the girls—and two boys from Phi.

Then Damien chimed in. “Never have I ever gotten involved with someone in this circle.”

Really?

I glanced at Luigi and saw him raise his cup and sip slowly. So did I.

I waited for the typical chorus of “OHHHHHHH”—but I noticed something else. Damien. Mark. Kaylee. Georgina. All of them sipped.

My jaw dropped.

“Wow,” Mariel whispered.

I had so many questions. But before I could get into the gossip, a sudden chill ran down my spine, like someone poured ice water down the back of my dress. My heart started pounding, and I became hyper-aware of every sound, every flash of light, every tiny noise.

“You okay, dude?” Kaylee asked, concerned.

“I think…” I said slowly, blinking at my hands, “I can hear my blood.”

“Ohhhh yeah,” Damien said, laughing too hard. “That usually happens after you eat space brownies.”

“What?” Luigi’s voice broke slightly. He was blinking more than usual too.

Clearly not sober.

“You didn’t tell me,” I mumbled, staring at Damien.

“I tried,” he said, grinning nervously.

“You want to go lie down or something?” Mariel asked gently.

“Nahhh,”. I swayed a little, then grinned. “I think I feel great.”

(Here was supposed to go a gif but I have way too many visuals 🙄)

I was woken up by the sun stabbing directly into my eyelids and the obnoxiously cheerful chirping of birds, like they were putting on a concert just to mock me.

God, why were they so loud?

Everything ached. My head, especially. My mouth felt like I had licked a chalkboard. Classic hangover. Killer grade. I groaned, tried to roll over—and then froze.

Someone was breathing beside me.

I cracked one eye open.

Luigi was right there. Shirt half-off, curls flattened awkwardly on one side, face buried into what I now realized was my almost dead arm

What. The. Hell.

I jolted, accidentally shifting the balance of whatever we were on. Suddenly, there was a sharp wobble, then a whoosh—and before I could even register what was happening, we were upside down and soaking wet.

“AH—” I shrieked mid-flip before plunging into cold water.

“Shit!” I heard him curse as he splashed in next to me.

We came up at the same time, sputtering and blinking in confusion. My hair was plastered to my face. He rubbed his eyes and coughed, water dripping from his lashes. We looked at each other like two stray cats caught in a carwash.

I spun around, trying to figure out where the hell we were.

The backyard. The pool.

Apparently, we’d been asleep on an small inflatable pool in the middle of the pool.

The sun was high in the sky now, lighting up the scene like a crime documentary. The whole yard looked like the aftermath of a zombie apocalypse frat edition. Empty red cups floated like lilies. Someone’s pants were draped over the diving board. Three people I didn’t recognize were passed out on the tanning chairs, one snoring so loudly it sounded like a motorbike.

“What even…” I muttered, lifting a hand to wipe mascara off my cheek. “F— those brownies.”

We both just stared at each other.

“Okay. We need to get out.” he made a move toward the pool stairs.

I gave him a look, water dripping off my hair. “Ya think?”

@nosebeers @mrs-cactus69 @iinfinitelimits

hi i’m Vaz, this was just a product of my active imagination, free time and the need for a better outcome. Hope u enjoy xxx

That was fun. I’ve worked on this part for sooo long.

Next chapters would be the repercussions…dun dun dun.

[egginfroggin]

Happy New Year, here's an unpolished comic about a 12-year-old having a breakdown over space peanuts with his great-aunt

Ford, sweetie, I love you, but your glasses (and that sixth finger) are going to be the death of me

Mabel, you're fine, except for your boots, why did I give you fuzzy boots, fuzz is hard

Transcription below; please let me know if I should put it under a cut, and thank you for reading! Happy New Year ^^

Mabel: "Here, try these." "You've been missing Earth foods, right?"

Ford: "?" "What are they?"

Mabel: "Nuts! They taste just like peanuts."

Mabel: "Well, almost. They're a bit sweeter, like they're candied!" "They keep pretty well, too!" "We could get a bunch to go..." "...?"

Mabel: "Hey, what's wrong, Pine Nut? Are those ones bad?"

Ford: "..." "... No, it's not that..." "Lee always liked toffee peanuts... these taste just like them."

Ford: "... Lee would love these."

Mabel: "..." "Well, then, we'll have to pick up some more before we get you home, then, won't we?"

Ford: "... Yeah..."

(program: Krita; time taken: about 8 hours 30 minutes)

[hermesserpent-stuff]

@honey-minded-hivemind

bro. this au got me crying. ahhhh I blame u and the last two songs of epic for this addition to the red eyed kitten au

Remy slips down a hall and springs upwards. He hides in a closet, panting as he tries to catch his breath. Sabretooth is insane. The man keeps on insisting that he is his child. Remy is not his child. He has a papa. And papais not a fuzz butt.

But the feral had gotten Remy off the drugs and out of restraints. Remy had been biding his time and now had taken a chance to escape. He whimpers as he touches his arm. He had cut it when a mutant had shot projectiles. He rips off a bit of pant leg and then he wraps up his arm. He hears movement beyond the door and shifts a bit. There. A vent cover. He pops off the screws and enters the vent after hiding the entrance with a box. 

He starts crawling. His brain starts whirring, clearer than it had been in days.

He knows about Sabretooth from the stories whispered by the Guild in the dark of night and in the twilight hours of dawn. A killer whose claws and teeth always found their mark. A feral that pursued his prey endlessly. The thieves never wanted to get his attention. They wanted to avoid mercenaries in general. And deadly mercenaries like Sabretooth were avoided twice over. The stories of Sabretooth come from the time before the mutants started their campaign of taking people. 

He takes a breath and hisses a little as he pulls on his wound awkwardly. He quiets as he hears something move nearby the nearest vent cover. He stays deadly still till the footsteps leave.

Remy runs into a dead end. Shoot. His body hurts, aching. He used to be able to crawl for so long�� but being tied down to a bed and drugged had not helped his physical state. Neither had Sabretooth holding him in his arms. It had only been luck that let Remy wriggle out while the man slept. Remy tenses as a roar echoes through the vents, rattling them violently. Alright. He needs to get out of the vents. He crawls out and falls out from the ceiling with a yelp. Dust and grim coats his skin and hair. He coughs bitterly and shivers. Remy is out of strength. He needs to rest again. This room… is some sort of bedroom. He drags himself under the bed and curls into a tight ball. He coughs some more, dust thick on his tongue. 

He catches a few hours sleep and then he is woken by the sound of footsteps.

“Oh! Like! Eww!! There's dirt all over my floor.”

Remy cringes away from the sound of a voice and more footsteps. The covers that had hidden the under part of the bed lift and a face peaks underneath. Remy stares back at the girl with wide terrified eyes. His empathic abilities are going nuts, and his fear soaks the air around him. Her eyes soften.

“Hey. Hey. I won't hurt you.”

“Non. Lies.”

He whimpers and pushes backwards. His back hits a wall. The girl shushes and whispers. 

“Hey. Im Kitty. It's like, really nice to meet you, you know. This is my bedroom. I guess you left the dirt here, huh? I don't like dirt, but I can deal with this. Just a bit of vacuuming.”

She chatters on and on, making no more moves towards him. Remy slowly relaxes and then coughs some more.

“Oh! Its dusty under there. Of course! Lemme go get a cup of water.”

She bounces up and out. Then she is back. She leaves the water at the edge of the bed.

“So where was I? Oh yeah! I was telling you about Logan interrupting my date. Anyways. Hes so over protective-”

Remy tries to keep up but finds himself soothed by her cadence and calm. He coughs a little more and finds that he does want the water. He had not drank anything on his own… in forever. All of it had been ivs or forced down his throat. He crawls out, keeping distance between himself and Kitty. Then he drinks. The motions are familiar and clunky, like trying to use his bo-staff after weeks of a broken arm. He swallows it all down and she looks at him.

“Would you like to use my shower? We look the same size, so I could lend you some clothes.”

He flinches a little at the idea and curls up tight.

“Or not. No pressure you know. No problem!”

She's so… cheery. So so cheery for some one stuck in this place. He notes that she is not wearing one of the metal bands. Is… she must be one of them. But… there is no grabbing and hurting. He stays calm with a breath. He swallows more water.

Hes not gonna get away with her here. Maybe he should take adventadge of nice things before being taken back to the monster. 

“Bath?”

He says and then coughs again. His throat is raw from crying and screaming.

“Sure! Let me grab some spare clothes from my closet.”

He stays seated and shivering as she glances at him every once in a while while flicking through hangers. 

“Oh this will like totally make your eyes pop.”

“Dont like my eyes.”

He mutters and she pauses. 

“But theyre so pretty?”

“Dangerous.”

He corrects while staring at the bottom of the glass in his hands. If it were not for his stupid eyes his family would not have had to deal with so many issues and hiding him. He sobs dryly as he thinks of his brother and starts shaking and crying.

“Hey, hey. Its okay. You're safe here! I promise. Its all okay! Lets get you that bath, huh? Come on. Getting warm and clean will help you feel better!!”

She wipes his face with a rag. He leans into the touch a little.

“Will you let me help you up?”

He nods, giving up a little. She helps him into the bathroom and then fills the tub with warm water. She points out where everything is and then leaves him alone with the bath and the fresh set of clothing. 

--

Remy shivers as he looks at the water that is coated with filth. He dries his hair and sits on the toilet. Exhaustion hits him and his eyes start to flutter closed. 

He shakes off the feeling and slips on the new clothes, including the oversized black sweater.

A knock comes from the door.

“You good?”

He shifts over to the door, shakily opening it.

“Whoa man! Im not sure you should be standing. Lets get you seated. Here.”

She tucks him into the bed and he shivers.

“Shh. You're okay. You're safe.”

“Want… want Henri.”

He hiccups and hides his face, so tired. She starts petting his wet hair. He passes out. 

He wakes up to the sound of a growl. Terror hits his heart.

“Creed! Stop! He's scared. We’re supposed to help mutants! Not kill them with fear!”

Kitty complains. Remy shifts backwards and presses his back into the wall.

“Get out of my way cub.”

Sabretooth snarls and-

He's gonna hurt her! No! She had been nice to him. Remy springs and tackles Sabretooth with a growl. 

“Non! Non!”

He bites and tears. Sabretooth flips and pins him. Remy pants and tears stain his face again.

“Don’t. Don't hurt.”

He begs.

“Not gonna hurt you cub.”

Sabretooth croons. Remy shakes his head.

“Dont hurt her. S'il te plaît.”

Remy pants, air not quite going down into his lungs and staying. Sabretooth pauses and then noses at his head.

“Shh. shhh. No one is getting hurt. You’re a shivering cub.”

Sabretooth scoops him up and holds him close to his chest. Remy shakes. A sandpaper tongue starts moving through his hair.

“Wait! Is this, you know, Gambit?”

Right. The only name he had given them. It seems like forever since he had heard his real name. Remy curls up tighter. 

“Yeah. this is my cub. Gambit.”

A nose presses into his nose and nussles into him. Remy hiccups and tears bubble out again. Fear and longing swirl out. Sabretooth croons and just. Keeps. Touching. Him!! He shakes. 

“Hey. Mr. Creed? I got an idea. To calm him down? I know you just got him back but, it looks like holding him is making him more scared. Lets get him back to is room and Ill explain.”

“We have to knock him out.”

A new voice comes and then ice enters Remy’s veins.

--

Remy finds his brain mushing as he tries to move. Oh. sedatives. He shivers and notes that there is a blanket around him, instead of the arms that he had been waking up to lately. He blinks slowly and tilts his head to the side. Huh. He is sitting in a mound on blankets, a new bracelet on his other arm. Cold emanates from it. Drugs. He sits up a little. He blinks slowly. He is surrounded by pillows and blankets, in some sort of nest. Sabretooth is curled up at his side. The killer looks like a cat curled up like that. Remy presses backwards into the wall. He wraps his arms around himself and simply sits there shaking. He wants to go home. He misses feeling safe. He misses being able to think clearly.

“Hey. Cub.”

Sabretooth looks at him through his half closed eyes. Remy whimpers.

“Wanna go home.”

Sabretooth sighs, and rearranges the pillows, pushing more towards Remy. Remy flinches and Sabretooth pauses.

“Cub… you are home.”

“You- I! Non! I want home! I want my papa!! I want my Henri! I want my home!”

Remy warbles out and sees Sabretooth flinch. Remy presses his arms tighter to his chest.

“Gambit…”

“If you say you are my papa, why did my brother Henri have to save me from the streets? If you are my papa, why were you never there? If you were my papa, why do you let them hurt me? My papa would never let anyone hurt me. Papa always kept me safe when I made things more dangerous for him. My papa actually loves me! You dont!!”

He sobs, fisting his hands in the borrowed jacket. He turns his head away. Sabretooth lets out a soft chirp and then Remy feels a blanket tucked around him. He opens his eyes as Sabretooth shifts back. The man sits and crosses his legs. He stares at Remy with such heartbreaking longing. 

“I looked for you. I've been looking for you, cub. For so so long. I did everything I could to find you. 

I went on one mission when you were so small. Oh. you used to fit in the crook of my elbow, so tiny and fragile. You were such a small pup. But she always assured me that you were not too tiny, despite all my fears. I had such fears, but such hope. You were so fierce when you gripped my fingers and laughed at my fangs. 

I left for my job. Just to get enough money to be able to stay home and not have to leave for a long time. To be able to provide for the two that I loved so much. But when I came home-!”

Sabretooth chokes. His hand stretches out and then falls, not touching Remy. 

“When I came home, everything was torn to shreds. The door broken, the walls blacked with fire and smoke, and my mate… bloody and dead. And my cub. You… My bright ruby eyed cub that was so small and had yet to take your first steps, you were gone!! I searched. I hunted! I looked!! I spent years trying to get you back!

I thought of you at sunset when the sky reflected the colors of your hair and the sun turned as red as your eyes. I thought of you when the wind blew through chimes and I heard the phantom echo of your laugh. I thought of you when I would try to sleep, hoping, dreaming, begging that you were alright. That I was just one step away from finding you.”

Remy twitches as he can feel the genuine sorrow swirling off the man that looks like he wants nothing more than to grab him and hold him close. But… this time Sabretooth is holding himself back.

“I dreamed of seeing you. To feel your heart beat against my ear, to see you smile and laugh. I missed so much. I missed first words and steps and all the lessons I could have taught you.

All Ive ever wanted- All Ive ever needed was to find you! Dont tell me that I dont love you. Gambit. I love you more than anything. Ive been searching. Searching. Searching for you. My red eyed kitten.”

Remy blinks at the love that slams into him and wraps tightly and warmly. Creed inches closer and presses his forehead to Remy’s knee.

“Im sorry for missing so much. For going out and losing you.”

“I-...”

Remy gasps against the huge emotions that coil around him and press into him. Then he hiccups.

“Sabre’ooth. I dont know you. How can I… How can you-”

Remy coughs and then looks to the ceiling.

“I dont know you. You cant be my father if I dont know you… Its… Ive never blamed anyone for how my life ended up. I had it rough for a while, but then I had a family. One that found me. Took care of me. That knew me and let me know them. How… How can there be love with no… time? No knowledge? How can you love this much? You dont know me.”

It confuses, scares and… the small part of him that had wondered… it has a flicker of betrayal, warming slightly at this display. It is different than simply being grabbed and held and toldthat he is someones son. This is an explanation. A reason. And the love is so much more clearly on display now. Remy swallows. Sabretooth breaths, staying where he is. 

“I knew you when you were so small. I know your scent like my own. I… I would fight storms for you. Steal the moon and stars for you. I would take on the world for you, die for you. Let me love you cub.”

Remy hesitates. He then gently touches Sabretooth’s head. Then man looks into his eyes and Remy finds tears dribbling from his eyes.

“I dont want storms to be fought, or for the stars and moon to be stolen. I dont want you to take on the world or to die. I want my family. I want my brother who held me during nightmares and showed me how not to be afraid of the sun. I want my papa who sung to me when cuts were stinging and burning and who showed me how to laugh without tensing for fear of harm. I want them back. I wanna go back.”

Remy is tired. And hurting. And just wants comfort. Sabretooth sits up slowly and then Remy falls into him. His empathy draws him to the one source of positive emotion in the room. Sabretooth and his love. His mind laps it up as he curls his arms around the man, hating himself for this weakness, this desperation for something other than despair.

“Oh… my little cub.”

And Remy falls asleep.

[roman-golden-68]

A Golden Blessing, Day 1.

02/08/2025: All it took was an action and time. All it took was listening and responding. All it took was the trust between me and Ezan (@polo-drone-001) to bring about a change that would start a course of events that would change everything for me, and it all started with Ezan becoming my briefs. You see, in the Golden Team, some of the members have the unique ability to temporarily transform into the gear of another bro, and Ezan is one of those bros with that ability. However, Ezan had something planned, a blessing disguised as a trick, for his dear Roman. You see, Ezan (as seen below) has this ability to influence the genetic and physical make-up of a person when he is transformed into their gear or is in physical contact with them. Thus, Ezan planned to use this ability to give Roman his blessing. So, Ezan became Roman's briefs, and considering it was still in the twilight hours on that fateful Saturday, Roman paid no attention to his new, shiny golden briefs and just put them on. Everything was going to plan for Ezan.

You see, while Roman slept, Ezan began to get to work his blessing upon Roman. First, Ezan chose to influence the heart and soul of Roman's genetic composition, his golden orbs. With the penetration of Ezan's ability, Roman stirred in his sleep as Ezan deleted one by one all of Roman's white sperm cells. Once finished with the deletion of all of Roman's Caucasian sperm genes, he replaced them all with 100% Arabic influence, thus resulting in Roman's loads being Arabic loads and no longer Caucasian. However, Ezan didn't stop there, for he would continue to spread his influence cross Roman's junk. He would darken Roman's junk into a nice bronze color and instructed Roman's junk to produce quite the bit of steam and musk due to how over productive and hot his new Arab nuts were now. Additionally, Ezan had Roman's junk grown, making his donger growing thicker, veiner, juicer, and quite large indeed. If one were to observe Roman right now, they would think he stuff a large Sausage into his pants and two large, heavy, and swinging orange sized orbs beneath the sausage. None the less, as Roman slept, his entire complexation began to change. First, his skin grew darker, going from tanned, to light brown, to full on caramel colored. Additionally, swathes of black fuzz and hair sprouted across his body, with special focus on his chest, pits, treasure trail, and nether regions. With this new bronzed and hairy body, Roman produced quite the potent musk, reeking of sweat, masculinity, and with a hint of oceanic breeze. The hair atop his head would turn from a dirty blonde color to a solid coal black color and curl up before increasing in volume and length. His eyes would go from a baby blue to a nice deep brown. With the changing of Roman's eye color, a new Golden bro was born, but yet his name was not Roman. This new bro, one of Arabic complexation, composition, and genetics, was named Raheem. However, Raheem was not strong enough, yet, to properly overtake Roman's form. Thus, Raheem was stuck to the night shift, so to speak, where Roman controlled his body during the day, but Raheem took control during the night. However, Hamza (@goldenherc9 as seen below) had other plans.

[the-s1lly-corner]

59, 56 and 48 with the twink furry from tadc (jax)

🐀👑

Prompts 48 56 and 59 w/ Jax

Bro I'm making chicken quarters and creamy noodles I'm about to go nuts OOOUUUGH it smells so good

Prompts: holding face, tending to major wounds, teasing gone freaky (sfw/ambiguous)

Notes: gn reader, mostly jax focused, short post, written on mobile, god how I missed doing the trope posts, you're the one hurt except you're kinda not hurt because of how the digital world works?? You're hurting but not injured

CWs: suggestive but nothing explicit

48

Does NOT enjoy having his face held. The closest you'll get is snagging him yourself in your palms... maybe if you ask nicely and pathetically enough he'll humor you

Close contact and affection weirds him out a little. Makes him feel like he's on display and under your thumb. Doesn't really... enjoy it.. i mean he doesn't hate it, but... guh! He doesn't know!

Vaguely squishy... like those squish toy fidget things.. no fuzz or fur, smooth. Rubbery. Kinda sticky :(

56

Thankfully in the digital world wounds aren't fatal. One can definitely feel the pain but it typically doesn't last long- sure you'll be sore but you won't die... so... there's that at least...!

He's not the softest.. when it comes to care. He tends to fall short. Not the most... Feely in that field

He does at least check up on you and bluntly asks what you need- rest, water, things like that. Even if there's no visible wound your brain still has that knee-jerk reaction of "OH! I've been hurt!".. struggling to truly process that there's nothing to treat.. its.. weird like that..

59

Teasing is a given between the two of you. And sure most of the time it may look like bullying to outsiders... but make no mistake, he doesn't pick at your insecurities for some joke. He's a jerk but not a monster

It's... also not uncommon for teasing to twist into something else. Jokingly calling each other dirty pet names or implying that he'd get a reward if he did well on an adventure, things like that

And of course he always leans into it... it almost becomes a competition. And if it means he makes you break first he won't be (too) scared to be open about it in front of others

For once the digital worlds censor may come in handy because lord does he have a mouth

[the-flower-ranchers]

Still on recovery here, cheeks are puffed up like a squirrel’s after eating a ton of nuts :”)

All this has got me thinking, what goes on in the ranch whenever any of y’all are sick? Who is the designated caretaker? Who takes care of said caretaker when they get sick?

Idk I’m really in a sick fic vibe,,, since, Y’know,,,, liquid diet…. *sighh*

-💜

Jimmy: "As soon as you're better I'll bake your favorite apple pie to celebrate :]"

Tango: "Being sick sucks man, I probably get sick the most out of all of us."

Scott: "Oh, you definitely do. I know, because I'm the one taking care of you all the time, buggie."

Jimmy: "I help out to!" *Tango squeals as Jimmy yoinks him into his wings* "I help him warm up while he recovers!"

Tango, playfully fighting against Jimmy: "I appreciate feathery snuggles more when I'm not being smothered!"

*Jimmy giggles, letting Tango go*

Scott, helping Tango pluck loose feather fuzz of his clothes: "Yeah, Tango gets sick the most because he has to deal with human disease and blazeborn stuff."

Tango: "Humidity, strong winds, and stuff like that mess with my flames and temperature, which makes me all icky. Nowadays it's not that bad because I know how to avoid it," *sweeps his tail around his partners* "and I've got these two to take care of me <3"

Scott: "And by the off chance Tango and I are ill, Jimmy likes to go mama hen mode and love on us until we're better."

Jimmy: "I might have to do the same for 💜 until they're all healed up! Hoping its a quick recovery, dude!"

[mismatchedtwins]

Mismatched Twins - Take Four

“Tell me again why we can’t just teleport?”

The injured turtle clutches at Donnie as he leaps from one floating rock to another, face pressed against his shoulder at the sudden changes in gravity. Like any Leonardo predictably would, he’s doing his best to pretend that each jump isn’t affecting him. Donnie knows that the ribs pressed against his carapace have to be causing some discomfort, even if they do have a solid layer of plastron.

He keeps refusing Donnie’s offers to break, so Donnie presses on.

He’s only a few pounds heavier than April, probably due to the shell, but Donnie’s spent years dragging things around the lab, so he knows his endurance can last far longer than his body believes that it can. Though, it has been driving him nuts, that something about his physique has felt oh-so-remotely off since he… arrived in this prison, but he’s doing his best to think about important things.

Not the small fire burning his ankle or the nail in his shoulder every time Leon moves his arm even lightly. Things like, getting home to the brothers that watched him… transport away at April’s hands and who have probably written him off as dead.

He has to get home. They have to know he’s okay.

“Leonardo.”

Donnie grips the rock as he gets his footing, grateful for the strange pulls of gravity between the masses that occur in Dimension X and this strange, broken dimension. He doesn’t know how long he’s been moving, but the fluid jumps ease the burden.

“Ninpo… batt’ry low.” His companion sounds tired, but he’s still conscious, and that’s really want Donnie cares about. “Can’t re…charge. Need to pre…preserve it.”

“Inconvenient.” Donnie mutters as he finally locates a good area for a pit stop. “Stay with me, Leon. Just a few more bounds.”

“Not sleeping.” Leon mumbles. “Not…asleep.”

“Keep it that way.”

Donnie hurries his pace, only stopping when he stumbles and almost loses his balance. He takes a couple breathes, ignoring the fuzz in his peripheral. Leon notices and offers his continuous, halfhearted, “Put… medown. I can w…walk.”

“Don’t see much of a point.” He states cooly as he soldiers on, “We’re practically there.”

Leon shifts, “Where..?”

“Hopefully, a safe place for you to rest.”

“I don’t need-”

“I’m one word away from dropping you.” Donnie lies as he finally crosses the distance. “You’re not the only turtle who could use a break, you know.”

No snappy reply to that one. Donnie tries not to let that worry him.

He sticks the landing and then carries Leon across the homestretch. There’s a small enclosure a couple feet away, not big enough for two, but wide enough for one of them to curl up in. Theoretically.

Donnie kneels down next to it and the weight drops from his back.

He’s grateful to see an exhausted, but conscious turtle surveying him apprehensively. He looks to the side, face scrunching.

“You don’t expect me to crawl… ‘n there, do you?”

“Once I’m done with your check-up, yeah.” Donnie offers helpfully, pressing hands on both sides of his jaw and checking his pupils in the relative dark. “Because I’m going to look around and I don’t want you to be a sitting duck.”

The turtle yawns and digs his phone from his belt. It’s one of those shiny, smooth, compact phones that can do a million more things than Donnie’s glorified walk-in-talkies can do. Donnie tries not to ogle as he taps the function for the flashlight and then offers it.

He mutters a thanks and pretends like the random burst of jealousy never happened as he confirms that Leon’s pupils are behaving appropriately. He turns it off afterward upon seeing the battery was nearly halfway dead, certain that they should preserve it.

Leo doesn’t seem to share the same sentiment. Upon it’s return, he immediately opens an app to flick through it.

Donnie turns off his phone and pockets it.

He earns an indignant squawk and baps the hand that reaches out.

“Too much exposure to screen light awakens the brain.” He recites the private factoid that he has never once told his brothers ever for his own sanity. “I’ll give it back once you rest.”

“If you wanted to ditch me this much, you coulda done it back there.” Leon’s grin doesn’t reach his eyes, too laced in pained exhaustion. “Would’ave saved you some time.”

“You need a nap.” He scolds, trying not to think about how much he sounds like his own bossy brother. Oh, Leo. “And I need to confirm that we’re not going to starve here.”

“Dehydration’ll get us first.” Leon points out as Donnie moves on. That’s a morbid thought, but entirely accurate. “Not if I can help it.”

“You gonna pull water from rocks?”

“Don’t exactly have any godly powers on my side.” Donnie states wryly. “So I’ll have to make do with what I do have.”

“Which is…?”

“Science.”

“…Science.”

“Science.”

“What does that even…” Leon shakes his head. “You know what? Don’t care. Not napping.”

“And why not?”

“Cause you like jumping off cliffs for fun.” Leon pokes his face with a smirk. Donnie knocks the invasive hand away, pressing a finger to the vein in his neck. “Someone’s gotta keep you alive.”

Donnie huffs, shoving memories down when three other turtles told him a variety of the exact same thing. “I can take care of myself.”

“You jumped off a cliff.”

“Okay, technically, I only took a few steps.”

“You walked off a cliff.”

“I was testing a reasonable hypothesis.”

“Mhmm, mhm, mhm.” Leon nods patronizingly before he drawls, “Totally get that. And that’s why I’m here. To talk you out of testing dumb theories that could kill you, don’tr-”

He blinks, abruptly, body going stiff. Donnie furrows his brow at the strange slur of words, but lets him stew in his thoughts, appreciative of the new silence that comes with it.

“Okay, nap time.” Donnie proclaims when he decides that Leon isn’t going to die if his body shuts down for a bit. “We’ll keep moving once your body has recouped.”

“You really expect me to sleep here?” He eyes the hidey-hole like he expects it to turn out to be a monster’s mouth.

“Yep.”

Leon doesn’t move. Donnie scowls irritably.

“If you do not rest, you cannot heal.”

“Can and am.” Leon preens, waving a hand down his plastron. “This fine bod was made that way. Goat man says that my body’s always getting better even as I get worse.” His face blanches, “Hey, that sounds less complement-y than I remembered…”

Donnie attempts to process past the blatant ego. “Goat man..?”

“Y’know.” Leon rolls his hand. “Draxum.”

Donnie can’t fathom why this kid thinks he should know that name. “Maybe I should double-check for a concussion.”

“You telling me you’ve never heard of Draxum?” Leon gives him a funny look. “Mad scientist? Ooze wielder? Cafeteria lady? Dad-not-dad? Big part of the Mad Dog backstory?”

“See, now you’re just spitting out words.” Donnie grumbles as he cups his cheeks and lifts his head, more to annoy him than for medical analysis. “Hold still.”

Leon only waves his arms, words mashed like his face. “He t’rew me off a wroof!”

“That’s nice.” Donnie hums with a calculated condescension, smirking when his prisoner attempts to scowl. Leon shoves against his plastron and squirms free, indignant as Donnie releases him and holds up his hands in surrender. “It was awful, actually! It was a really tall building! Really tall!”

The high and whiney tint to his voice reminds him of when Mikey is in serious need of some feeling validation. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he gives him a more solmen nod instead. “Sounds it.”

He eyes him, suspicious. “I could have died. I would have!” His voice drops dramatically. “If Raph hadn’t caught me.”

“Raph catching Leos when they fall off tall buildings is a universal constant.” Donnie notes to show that he’s being very attentive. “This Draxum, scientist, lady, goat man, is not. Got it.”

Leon continues to give him the stink eye. Mikey usually complains a lot longer than this, so Donnie isn’t sure if it’s an appropriate time to move on to what really matters or not. “So…”

“Tell me a bedtime story.”

Donnie stares at him. “Excuse me?”

“You want me to go to sleep. I want you to tell me a story.” Leon decides with a bright grin. “A really good one about these brothers that you won’t stop blabbing about.”

Donnie feels like he missed something. “…Why?”

“Limited time offer, guy. Take it or leave it.”

He hesitates. “And then you’ll sleep?”

Leo lays himself down and scoots into the mini cave. With little room left, he gets comfy on his plastron, “Bedtime story. Go!”

“Aren’t you fifteen or something…”

“Less questions, more story, aaaand go!”

“I feel kinda-”

“Guuuuy-”

“Fine!”

He smirks, chin happily settled on fist.

Donnie bites his lip.

“Here, I’ll help! Once upon a- now here’s where you start- tiiime…”

Hoping to shut the turtle up for five minutes, Donnie starts telling the least daunting, embarrassing, or traumatizing recent memory that he can recall: namely, that one time Stockman turned a bunch of bugs into mutants and started robbing banks, giving Donnie the chance to save the day with his harnesses.

Even if no one mentioned that bit.

Which wasn’t important. They all did their part.

Besides, they were really cool. Mikey reassured him of that.

“…And it turns out, Raph apparently learned some super secret phrase from Splinter to help him keep calm in the battle. It really ticked Leo off that he wouldn’t share it with him.”

He chuckles as he recalls his ‘older and maturer’ brother arriving into his lab to slam the door and pathetically snivel to him about it. “Raph was super smug about it until Splin-ter…”

He trails off and his smile fades when he catches the look on Leon’s face. It disappears as he faces away, stretching his arms with a dry smirk. “You are really good at that.”

“Oh, heh-?” Donnie rubs the back of his neck bashfully as heat crawls up it. Usually, it’s Mikey who gets attention for that sort of thing. “G-Good? At-?”

“Lying.” Any humor disappears. The heat drops down and burns in his chest. Donnie narrows his eyes. “I wasn’t lying.”

“Spoken like a true fibber.”

“You’re the one who asked me to-!” Donnie starts, hand at his chest, but Leon meets his gaze cooly. “I was waiting for you to slip up.”

“Slip UP?!”

“People usually do. Especially with a lie as detailed as this one.” He squints at him. “You’re almost as good as me.”

Donnie can’t believe the audacity. “What POINT would there be in lying to you?!”

“Make me eat up your sob story so I help you out.” Leon explains simply before he shrugs. “S’what I would do.”

“It is not a sob story, and I don’t need your help!” The blaze spreads, so he wrenches himself to his feet and stomps away. Leon calls after, “Don’t go jumping off any cliffs!”

His fists clench. “I DIDN’T JUMP!”

Donnie expects him to shout after or, shell, even transport beside him since he just admitted to being a liar, but he goes quiet. Donnie gives himself a few minutes to seethe before he drags himself back to his companion. Leon’s carapace is to the entrance, body tense.

Not sleeping. More than likely pouting.

Such a Leo move…

The sudden prodding ache reminds him of his mission.

Right. Back to worrying about important things.

He exhales and shakes off the invisible hand smashing in his chest. It gives some reprieve for him to focus, trying to dig up even the smallest facts that he knew about Mikey’s stories in Dimension X.

They had confirmed that Mikey had only been there several hours, which is good, because Donnie’d had plenty of trouble calming Leo’s irrational crisis over whether or not he was still the oldest. It was way too many hours wasted on an afternoon where he actually wanted to be sleeping. He’d never have made progress if the timeline had been expanded to months. If that had been the case, Leo would have had to fork over his big brother title, as degrading as that sounded.

Donnie can’t imagine what it would have been like to be separated from his family for that long.

Mikey had been all too eager to go into deep specifics about his time in Dimension X. Donnie forgot most of the unimportant things, but he’d estimated that Mikey’d eaten all his pizza reserves with the first hour or two there. Then he’d tried a variety of… Randomly described objects that ‘looked tasty’ before he’d settled on the Squeebles.

Supposedly, they’d had the texture of milkshakes, but not any definite flavor. They were yummy, boosted his “savageness,” and didn’t appear to have any negatives effects.

It would be good information to have if there was a single glimpse of life in this place at all. Is there even a working ecosystem?

He hasn’t even seen any boom rock trees or signs of the familiar silver bases. There didn’t seem to be much of anything. Not that he misses the Scatterpillars or elemental giants or Kraang worms.

Donnie shudders. Definitely not.

Then again, if the Kraang have access to cloaking domes, then what does that mean for these Krang?

Donnie sighs. He’s getting nowhere like this.

Mikey managed to explore and master miles of Kraang territory before they reached him. Sure, Mikey had his photographic memory, but there has to be a way to get similar results. There must be a way to replicate the kind of… Oh. Hm.

Donnie checks on Leon. He remains faced away.

Good. He stretches out his arms, cracking his knuckles. Might as well try. What does he have to lose?

….Other than every trace of his dignity and self-respect.

He exhales in a huff. Okay. Head in the game. Think Mikey.

What would Mikey do?

Or better yet, what would Savage Mikey do?

Climb anything climbable. Swing from anything swingable. Wander around touching absolutely everything that he doesn’t understand. Stick unidentified objects between his toes.

….Yeah, he’s not doing that last one.

Donnie starts walking. His first instinct is to just wander, but Mikey’s more of a moth-to-a-flame kinda of turtle. So he chooses the random piece of curved metal in the distance. He ignores the knee-jerk reaction to dismiss any action that he doesn’t understand, obeying the urge to climb up and leap-frog to the next hunk.

A hollow clang greets him on the fourth landing. Donnie lifts a hand to look at the silent print left behind, brushing away more of the grime that reveals a light pinkish color. He slides down immediately, moving to the next large structure and finding a similar hunk of charred metal. He traces the bottom, where metal merges with rock, and debates how it got there. The metal almost looks seared in by some kind of intense heat. Was it purposeful?

He peeks around it, curious eyes trailing to a high point up ahead; tall but thin metal sheet slotted sideways into the ground. He fires his grapple and launches up to it, pulling himself to a comfortable crouch. His new weight doesn’t budge it, so he stands.

There’s a massive crater taken out of the island. Whatever’s left of the missing spot must be floating in the atmosphere around it. The destruction is mesmerizing. Of course, whatever the history of this dimension was, Donnie gets the feeling that it was not pretty.

He wonders if the Krang knows what it is. Maybe those horrors are part of the reason that he was so furious Leon brought him back.

Donnie’s eyes lock on movement in the distance. His eyes widen with interest and, because it’s definitely something Mikey would look into, he slides down to the ground and takes off in a sprint.

He heads towards the landmark. It’s the only chuck of faded pink with black stripes, so it’s not hard to track. He trips at the spike of pain up his leg when he nears his destination. He ducks behind a smaller rock, down on one knee with a light hiss. He wouldn’t let Leon waste bandages on it when the bleeding had already stopped.

If only the pain would copy.

Rubbing the sore limb, he peeks around with round eyes.

There’s a… creature squeezing through the doorway. It has one foreleg and two hind legs, bright pink tentacle-looking appendages sprouting from its back. The rest of its body is also a color scheme of pinks and purples, a dull yellow eye on the leg underneath the clashing jaw. It appears stuck, wiggling and gurgling and straining to get through the minuscule opening.

Donnie lowers a hand to his belt, startled when he realizes that his t-phone is gone. He knows it’s the right pocket because of the extra padding. Only Leon’s remains. He searches every pocket, horror and fury tight over his chest. How?! When-?! Seriously!?

He’s been here all of five minutes and he’s already lost his t-phone?!

That’s what he gets for harnessing his inner Mikey.

He looks back to the creature. Its struggle is becoming weaker and weaker. It raises its head and makes a high sound, like it’s calling out.

Donnie feels a tug at his heart, but he’s not stupid. He waits until the fight leaves it and it slumps to the ground, panting and gurgling, before he stands up. The half-lided eye locks on him, tentacles turning in his direction, but he keeps a passive hand outstretched. “It’s okay, little… creepy. Alien? Thing. I’m a friend.”

The creature squirms. Donnie moves over to the metal, feeling over it, searching for a way to dislodge it from the ground. He finds a corner to stick his fingers and braces his foot against a spot that’s a different tint of metal. He tenses his posture and yanks.

He cries out as nonexistent barbwire locks down on his shoulder. His vision whites and his hands cut into the metal, but he stands his ground and it eventually gives way.

He falls down with it, heavy weight bumping against his knees before hitting the ground. He quickly runs shaky fingers over his shoulder, because with his current string of luck-

He exhales in relief. Not dislocated. Better keep it that way.

Just to confirm, Donnie rolls his shoulder. Immediate pain, but the joint feels stable and nothing is oddly tingling. He flexes his fingers, reaching his arm above his head. Again, pain, but there’s apt motion.

Positives.

He can work with this.

Donnie looks up. Behind the compact metal is a wide tunnel.

Donnie can’t tell how long it is because it descends into an impossible darkness pretty fast. The creature garners his attention when it shifts. It attempts to rise, only to crumble before it can get its footing, flickering eye shutting with a gurgle. The tentacles on its back flail with a lot more life than it seems to have, extending towards Donnie as he watches curiously.

“Oh man.” It doesn’t look hurt. Donnie stands to move closer, yet unsure if he intends to offer comfort or a medical examination.

Can he rightly complete an examination of a creature that he doesn’t grasp the biological make-up of? Would this be one of those times that Leo glares at him and warns about ‘boundaries’?

That usually has something to do with sentience. Interesting query.

How sentient is it? Only one way to find out.

“Are you okay?”

The creature doesn’t answer or even move. The tentacles continue stretching out, getting tangled in one another in futile attempts to get closer to him. It’s cute, in a grotesquely ugly kinda way.

He crouches and reaches out. “Hey, there. I-”

“NINJA SNATCH!”

It’s only Donnie training that allows him to dodge the swift grasp of this entire turtle chucked at him. He gets a glimpse of the shocked expression before he’s crashing into the wall. The turtle peels off like an old sticker and falls back in his carapace as Donnie stomps over, glaring down at him. “WHAT are you DOING here?!”

“Saving you.” He winces before pointing to Donnie’s leering figure. “And, your welcome.”

“Saving me from what?” Donnie gestures to the creature. “This half dead thing that’s in desperate need of help?”

“Yes.” Leon climbs to his feet with a grunt. “That, but say it again more heroically. And with gratitude.”

“I was perfectly fine-” Donnie indignantly turns to head back to the little guy, only to fall face-first when arms lock around his leg. He yelps as he goes down. “‘EY!”

“Don’t touch it!” Leon demands. “It’s evil!”

“It’s dying!” Donnie shoots back. “Helpless and weak and pathetic and would you let go of me!?”

“Not if you’re gonna TOUCH IT!”

If that turtle had been fifty percent less heavily injured, Donnie could have pulled a couple of unsportmanshiply moves that would have set him free. Unfortunately, he has a conscience. “If you insist, then I won’t touch it. Now will you let me go?”

Leo lets go. “No problema.”

“Big problema.” He mocks. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“We made a deal! I kept my end!”

“That does not sound like a deal I’d make, no.”

Donnie bites down a growl. How is this guy a Leo again?

“What do you say we get moving. Yes? Double yes? Oh, wow, Leo, you’re such a genius why didn’t I think of-”

“We can’t leave it.” Donnie looks at the creature. The tentacles are lying flat on its back, and Donnie can’t tell if it’s breathing. Was it breathing before? “It needs help.”

“If Krang wants his pet, he can come help him.”

“Pet?” Donnie repeats urgently. “That’s the Krang’s?”

“What did you think the tentacles were? Decoration?”

Donnie hesitates as his companion sits up. “Krang’s or not, we can’t just leave it to die.”

“What is with you?” Leon groans as if Donnie was being the unreasonable one here. “Do you want to become a mindless freak?!”

“Firstly, rude. Secondly, it’s not its fault it has different sentience!”

Leon pats his legs, expression bored. “Okay, there’s no way you don’t know about the Krang infection.”

“No! I don’t!” Donnie’s heart races. “What is a Krang infection?”

Leon narrows his eyes. “The Krang stick their tentacles in you and you transform into a zombie slave. Then those guys stick their tentacles in other people. Or rip them to shreds. They probably did it to most of New York. How did you miss that?”

“Because I wasn’t in your New York?!”

Leon only frowns at him. Donnie looks back at the creature. “So- so if I had touched that…”

“You’d be infected. And I’d probably have to kill you.”

Donnie stares at him. He doesn’t smile.

“So… Are you gonna kill it?”

Leon leans to the side to squint. “Seems kinda dead already.”

“Yeah.” Donnie admits quietly. He gets to his feet and goes over, careful to keep distance between him and the limp creature.

Leon trails after him and pulls out his sword to poke it. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t look injured.” Donnie’s hand goes to his belt again, only to come up empty. “Urgh, right, no t-phone.”

“T-phone? Is that what this is?”

Donnie’s head whips around. Leon tosses his t-phone in his hand. “What’s the T stand for?” He snickers. “Turtle?”

Donnie hurriedly swipes it back. He taps the screen, only to get greeted with a countdown. “You locked me out?!”

Leon shrugs carelessly. “I’m really bad at guessing passwords.”

“You-?!” Donnie spits out a frustration sound and spins to stomp away. He ends up inside the entrance, glaring at this surroundings. The heat fades as he approaches the wall.

Leon remains outside. “Um, guy? Where… You going?”

The wall is cool metal. The entire tunnel could very likely be man, er, Krang-made. The grim on his palms says that no one has been in there for a while. “It came out of here.”

“Sounds like a good reason to head the opposite direction.”

Leon has a point. But, would Savage Mikey head back?

The dark is making his skin crawl. Especially with the knowledge that a Krang creature came out. Could there be more?

Would Savage Mikey want to know? Maybe.

Donnie doesn’t. It’s illogical. And dangerous.

And yet. And yet.

It could be beneficial. It could be part of a base or ship. It could be something else entirely. If there’s some abandoned tech in there that could answer some of his questions... That could get him home.

Should he risk passing it up?

No. He can’t. Savage Mikey wasn’t willing to let anything stop him from reaching Leatherhead.

Donnie can’t let his uncertainty stop him from reaching his brothers.

He resumes his examination and touches the black stripe. It is, in fact, not paint. “Look at this. It’s some kind of… vine.”

Leon stays in the entrance. “I have bad experiences with vines.”

“It’s a sign of life.” Donnie looks deep into the tunnel. “I want to see where it goes.”

“Just a suggestion… What if we… Didn’t? Do that?”

“We don’t have to do anything.” Donnie moves forward, switching out the phones. “You do whatever you want. We both know it’s what you’ll do anyway.”

“Aw, come on, man. Don’t be like that!”

Donnie’s confident that he has every reason to act however he pleases. Unfortunately, common sense has him hesitating.

“…What are you so scared of?”

“I’m not scared.” Leon whines, but the way he looks at the vines, fingers scratching lightly over skin, Donnie begs to differ.

He might have believed him, one broken agreement ago, but he’s tired and pained and his patience has already worn thin.

Leon’s first mistake was admitting that he was a situational manipulator. He could easily be drafting an lie or excuse right now. It could be trick, and he was not about to get played.

He was too smart for that.

Besides, he had things to do. More important things.

“You’re welcome to wait.”

Donnie glares at him, pointedly clicking on the flashlight that’s thankfully accessible from the Lock Screen, and then starts his trek into the tunnel. Leon calls after him, but since his name is not and never will be “Guy,” Donnie confidently heads into the dark.

With a soft, “eugh boi,” Donnie hears padded steps follow him.

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