#Cage E Coyote

[skullislandproductions]

Color call outs for Cage E. Coyote (identified here as Father Coyote) for “Little Go Beep.” Looks like Cartoon Colour “cel-vinyl” colors were referenced for color fills, as well as generic color, for ink lines, for the electronic ink and paint.

[incorrectlooneytunesquotes]

He who knows does not speak.  He who speaks does not know.

Cage E. to Wile E. Coyote 

[grogusmum]

A Dark and Stormy Night (oneshot)

werewolf!FRANKIE MORALES X F!READER

W/C: 3500ish

RATED: E (18+)

WARNINGS: well, monsterfucking, oral sex (f recieving), rough sex, unprotected PiV sex (it's a fantasy y'all you know what to do!!). As always, if you see something, say something. Message me in my DMs, I'm happy to add something I missed.

SUMMARY: You stumble into a lighthouse to get out of a storm, and meet the handsome light-keeper, who has a secret, but is irresistible.

A/N: Oberyn and the Merling was technically my first foray into monsterfucking, but that was like teenagers humping in the back of a car...this is, well, it's as no holds barred as I've ever gotten. I hope it doesn't suck, lol. Anyway wish me luck! 💚

This was posted as a multipart fic, but when I finished the second part it made more sense to be all one piece. I may write more for these two, but as it stands, it is a oneshot.

You follow a boardwalk that becomes a path as the clouds roll in, obscuring the moon. You know you need to find cover before the storm.

Focusing on the shifting sand under your feet, as the rain begins, you speed up. The skies continue to darken; soon, you reach the first rocks of the jetty while the rain comes down in sheets. Looking up, you find yourself at the base of an old lighthouse. The lens swings across the black water as it lights up the dark and stormy night for those lost at sea.

Beach rose thorns tear at your sweater as you race up the slope. Beyond, scrub pines and pin oak trees create a small amount of cover; the wind picks up, but not before you hear the baying of a wolf… no, not a wolf. A coyote, there are no wolves in these parts. But there's something different about the howl; you speed up and bang on the door of the great beacon.

"Hello?" You shout, "please! Is anyone there?"

As if in answer, another howl rings out, making you jump. After a crash of lightning for good measure, you try the latch and push the door open, willing to disregard good manners. Looking for a switch or a lamp, you find only a candle in a heavy brass holder on a small shelf and a black matchbox holder attached to the curved wall. 

Running the wooden match across the strike pad, it sputters to life, and you light the candle. Slipping your finger into the brass ring of the candle holder and carrying it before you, the Gothic horror mood of the whole situation is not lost on you. With a sigh and a shiver, you wind up the spiral stairs.

"Hell-lo? I don't mean to intrude, but…" you call again and then with a chuckle in an undertone, "Our car broke down a few miles up the road. Do you have a phone we might use?"

Shivering in your soaked clothes, you reach the first level, which contains the living quarters. You can't help but rush to the woodstove, which warms the round room.

You hear a creak below as you take off your shoes and socks. Did you forget to latch the door entirely? Biting your lip in worry, you continue to listen; bracing yourself, you pull a poker from the coal scuttle.

You wait and wait. Time spins out—the only measure is your heart’s tattoo, like a rabbit's. As the adrenaline clears your system, you become exhausted. Swaying where you stand, the iron poker clangs on the pine floor, bringing you back. Deciding it must just be “old house sounds,” you move to the bed and sit, and without so much as a yawn of warning, your eyes slip closed.

In the middle of the night, you feel a weight on your chest, soft and warm. Your eyes flutter open, and blocking the light coming from the woodstove is an enormous shape pressing on you; as your eyes focus, it huffs a breath, and you recognize it as a sleeping dog sound. It's huge, with pointed ears. How did you not see or hear it when you came in? Whether a watchdog or not, wouldn’t it have come to investigate? The trunk of the animal is on you, its muzzle at your collarbone, a front leg on either side of you, fully caging you in. Your hand comes up, fingers sinking into its plush fur, like a wolf’s… you shake your head, not a wolf, of course, but those dogs that look like them. Its steady heartbeat and relaxed breathing lull you back to sleep; elk-hound, that's what the one, you think, as you drift under again.

Waking again at full light, you find yourself tucked into a patchwork quilt, your shoes placed under the stove, warm and dry, no dog to be seen. The smell of eggs and bacon draws you up the stairs, halfway up you can hear the food sizzling on the stove. You feel this need to check yourself over, but you seem fine. You fell asleep on the bed of a stranger, who is apparently back- you shake your head at how unbelievably dangerous that was. Then you remember the dangers outside… it's a calculated, if hastily figured, risk.

His back to you, in front of the stove, you presume, is the light-keeper, a cable knit sweater stretched across his broad shoulders. 

"He-hello?"

He turns, soft brown eyes, brown curls standing up as though he’d run his fingers through them just a moment ago, a sharp nose that suits him, with crease of his bottom lip that accentuates his mouth’s natural pout. Not that you had any real expectations on what a lighthouse operator looks like but... maybe like some old-salt sailor type with a beard and pipe. Silly, of course. You remind yourself that you are not a cod fish and close your mouth.

"Morning," came his rich baritone voice.

"I'm so sorry, I- I - the storm-” you stumble as you try to pull yourself together.

"Don't worry about that. I hope you slept alright. "

"I did, thank you, but  I- should get going." You start putting on your shoes, “ I really didn't mean to fall asleep, " ...on your bed.

“'S not problem, really; that was one hell of a storm last night.”

“I should go-”

Well,” he says, bringing breakfast to a simple pine table, “that's the tricky part…” 

“W-why?”

“The roads are impassable and there's more rain on the way.”

“Oh.”

“Nothing to be done about it right now,” he says, “have something to eat.”

You begin to eat, and after a bite or two, you introduce yourself.

“Where are my manners- I’m Frankie. Spending too much time on my own, I guess.”

“Are you kidding, I burst into your house like Goldilocks! Found sleeping in your bed.”

“And was it just right, Goldie?” He smirks.

You fluster a little; he is very handsome after all, and broad and was that flirting… 

“Better to be Goldilocks than Red Riding Hood, I suppose.” He says you get the feeling it wasn’t meant to be out loud. “I guess that depends on who the huntsman turns out to be…” 

He notices your eyes widen and smiles apologetically, brushing his comment aside. “Sorry, like I said, spend a lot of time on my own.”

"S-speaking of Red Riding Hood, where’s your dog? It came and slept with me last night.”

“Hmmm?" Frankie murmurs as he sets the table, "Oh, he’s- around.”

“Well, he kept me very cozy last night. What a cuddle bug; what’s his name?”

“His, um - it’s Cisco. You better dig into those eggs; they're gonna get cold.”

“Right,” you take up a fork of scrambled egg, “I will be able to leave today, though, right?”

“We’ll have to see,” is all he says before digging into his breakfast.

Frankie goes about his light-keeper duties, including hunting for his lost skiff. You aren't sure what to do with your time-

“Is there something I can do to help? I kind of feel weird just sitting around-”

“Well, the weather isn't going to let us do much outside safely, but-”

Frankie pulls off his ball cap, ruffles his hair, and plops it back on his head, thinking, “I mean, you could help clean the lantern glass …”

“Really?” You stand, excited to do a real lighthouse job. 

“Sure, hard to mess up… no offense, and safe.” 

You take no offense; on the contrary, you clap happily to yourself, to which Frankie chuckles.

After showing you the supplies and giving you a quick demonstration, he starts down the stairs to continue with his other duties and then stops and turns-

"Thanks, Goldie," he winks and then descends the stairs.

After a time, you see him out on the rocks despite the wind starting up again from the east. He must be looking for his rowboat. You decide to scout the circumference of the lantern room, looking out the windows to see if you can see the craft. 

To the northwest, you see something red against the rocks. It doesn't look good.

You step out onto the gallery. Luckily, this isn't a particularly tall lighthouse, but it's tall enough, and the iron balcony was small enough that you feel a touch of vertigo looking down. It doesn't help that the wind's really kicking up now, reminding you that this is just a break in the storm. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and open them.

"Uh, Frankie!" 

Frankie looks up, hand going to the bill of his cap.

"Is that your skiff?" You point to the red “something” half in the water. 

He hollers his thanks and jogs over to where you are indicating, and you can see his frustrated huff as his hands hitch onto his hips in a disgruntled fashion.

Cleaning all that glass takes time, and your shoulders can feel the real work of it. You stop only when your stomach screams for lunch, and you find a sandwich under plastic wrap for you, but you haven’t seen Frankie, Lighthouse Keeper, the rest of your time working on it, nor Cisco, the Lighthouse Dog. 

He had brought the boat to a shed and disappeared inside it. When and if he came out, you didn't notice. You also realize you haven’t seen any signs of a pet anywhere; no bed or bowls. When you come down the spiral steps, you smell of the concoction used for cleaning the glass and lens; watered-down isopropyl alcohol and Woolight - but mostly the alcohol. 

“You'll want to wash your hands with this,” Frankie hands you a bar of soap at the first landing of the spiral stair. “It'll take care of the rubbing alcohol smell and keep your hands from drying out.” 

Frankie gives a crooked smile of apology at your startled jump. Murmuring your thanks, you take it and smell the bar that looks so small when in his hand. Fresh. Your mind wanders to how this fresh scent might mingle with Frankie's natural one. The bubble of revery is just a millisecond and pops like one the moment your eyes land on Frankie, who looks like he knows exactly what you're thinking.

When you join him in the kitchen, where he is again standing over the stove, the delicious scent of savory soup reminds you of coming home after a long chilly walk from school. The wind is howling now, and you can hear the crash of the waves, as high tide approaches, the pound of them like rumbling thunder. Its only rival is the whip crack of the actual thunder chasing the lighting strikes illuminating the windows. 

“Where’s Cisco?”

“Weather like this he likes to be below,” Frankie says after a beat, back still turned, “I have him set up with his bed down there so he doesn’t get anxious.”

“Oh,” you feel a little more at ease about not seeing neither hide nor hair of the beast of a dog all day.

“It'll be dark early due to the storm, and I’ll have duties up above. I’m going to ask you to stay in the living quarters. I’ll sleep up there, so, um, just - make yourself at home.”  

You do your best, but your mind is on Frankie in a way that makes what you would be doing at home, not at all appropriate, even when told to make yourself at home.  His dark eyes, big hands... him calling you Goldie. How many times your mind has gone back to him asking you if his bed was just right, you dare not admit, even to yourself. You don't know him, you remind yourself.

Suddenly, there's a bang and scuffle. Then you hear a yowl.

“Cisco?” You go to the door, preparing to go down to where you assume he's been set up, but a second sound confirms it's coming from above, not below… where Frankie is.                   

You turn and look up the spiral stairs. “F-Frankie?”

Your foot hesitantly lands on the first step -

“D-did Cisco follow you? 

More shuffling and a loud thunk on the floor bring you up short. Frankie asked you to stay below, but maybe he hurt himself, or Cisco made his way up there and was scared of the storm. Your feet start moving again up the winding steps. 

You pause, your head just above the landing, eyes adjusting to the strange light of the lantern room. Instead of finding a dog, on the floor is a pile of clothes, folded neatly, with Frankie's cap placed atop it. As you look up, you see Frankie from behind, sitting in the one chair the room affords. His skin gleams with a layer of sweat, and he gives a sudden quake.

“Frankie! A-are you alright? I heard-”

His head whips around and then down as you are still only partway up the stairs. 

“I told you to sta—” the lightning flashes, and you see Frankie's eyes have changed. They are no longer warm, sweet brown but glowing amber. 

“Wh- you- you're-” Everything in you screams to run as far away as possible, but when Frankie contorts in a new wave of pain, you scramble up the stairs. He almost wails in despair as you approach the chair. “Frankie, what is happening? How can I - hel -”

“ C-can’t, go G-gold-ie, please!” 

“I don’t understand, Frankie. What’s happening?” 

The light-keeper takes a steadying breath as if fighting every molecule of his changing form, Though he knows it’s too late. Too late to shield you. 

“C-come here,” he breathes.

Lighting flashes again, the boom of thunder right on top of it. When your eyes adjust yet again, you go around the chair to face him. Frankie takes your hand; long claw-like nails have sprouted, and you have cottoned on. Frankie is - 

While he has a firm grip, he causes no pain. Your brows knot as he pushes up your sleeve. 

“I will remember,” he says, as much for himself as for you. Then he presses his nose to your wrist, inhaling deeply, and his eyes flick up to yours. The storm rages, the lens does its steady turn, and Frankie continues to smell you. He stands, eyes never breaking contact, his bare skin glistening in the light.

 You had tried not to look down at his body. But he's so close, and when he stands, your resolve breaks. Frankie is strong and somehow more broad across the shoulders than when in the confines of his fisherman’s sweater but has a trim waist. His Adonis belt is so enticing, as is his soft belly. Below that, his uncut cock has an enticing curve. Your eyes travel back up. You find his waiting for yours; he lifts his head away from your wrist and pulls; you stumble a step closer, and his face burrows into your neck. He breathes in your scent.

“Didn't harm you last night, I won't… I’ll remember, promise. You smell so good, Goldie.”

The warmth you feel low in your pelvis is combined with a shiver as you clench on nothing.

“S-so, you-your…” you stammer as his clawed hands wrap around your waist; he tastes your collarbone, licking a long stripe as he finds his way below your ear. Your knees buckle, but Frankie has a firm grip on you. “Cisco?”

“ ‘m ssorry,” he slurs, his nose nestled where your ear and jaw meet. “You taste as good as you smell, Goldie… I wonder-” 

What Frankie is wondering is interrupted by a long canine whine as he pulls back, face contorted in pain as his teeth elongate into fangs.

The blood has surely left your face, and you're shocked as you become aware that it has rushed to lower regions. You can feel the wetness between your legs, and  Frankie, closing his eyes, breathes in how your scent has changed. 

The sinful look he gives sends more heat between your thighs; you know you're soaked by now. You can still see the handsome light-keep though his eyes glow, his ears are now pointed, and his hair is shaggy. A hungry tongue moves over sharp teeth. Teeth made for tearing your throat out.

The next thunderclap shakes the lighthouse, and it's only then that he breaks his grip on you. He cries out as his body continues to transform. It snaps you out of your trance. You run down the iron stairs, passing the kitchen, down to the living quarters, and you're brought up short by a full wolf bay sounding from above. 

“What am I doing? What am I doing!?” you look up the stairs, and almost against your will, you look through the doorway to the bed—the bed where Frankie had lain atop you as the wolf. Then your eyes drift upward again, biting your thumb in indecision. Or perhaps fear at the decision you're apparently making. You slowly undress, leaving the door open; you spread out on the soft bed and wait to see what happens.

How much time before you hear the click of canine claws on the treads of each step, you aren't sure. You only know the twist of arousal you feel arches your back, and Frankie hasn't even touched you. Are you afraid? Not as much as you think you should be. It's there; this danger lights up your brain and sends adrenaline coursing through you. But he didn't hurt you last night, and he said- he-

The wolf growls around the door; he is not on all fours but hunched, one front paw occasionally touching the floor. 

“F-f-” you stammer as his front paws press heavily on the bed. He is enormous, and he hulks over you. His snout investigates every crease and crevice. You close your eyes as he noses at your mound. “-fuck.”

The wolf's tongue dips between your legs, and you gasp as your legs open like an involuntary response, and Frankie seems to seize the opportunity to open you further, pawing at your thighs, opening them, holding them where he wants them. Claws press on your sensitive skin as he laps at you.

“Frankie!” Your fingers dig into the thick, soft fur as the twist in your womb tightens and you pulse. 

How much of the man is still present, you have no idea. You are, of course, banking on it, and you figure praying to every deity that he is there, keeping the beast from tearing you to shreds, can't hurt. 

You can feel the rumble from deep in Frankie's throat, and when his long tongue breaches your pussy, he is immediately rewarded with a gush as lights pop behind your eyelids and the coil in your belly snaps.

You cry out, and he drinks sloppily at your entrance. He doesn't stop until you start to come down from your high, your chest’s rise and fall finally slowing.

Then the beast towers over you, his cock weeping. In one swift move of inhuman strength, he's suddenly flipped you onto your stomach. His large paws holding your hips, he brings your backside up, and in one fast motion, he's sheathed himself to the hilt. 

As ready as his tongue had made you, you still are stretched beyond anything you've ever experienced. He is deep inside, and his snout nuzzles into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, making you feel utterly consumed by him. His brutal pace lifts your knees off the bed when he begins to move. His rhythm takes your breath away, his length hitting that delicious spot inside you that most find elusive, and it isn't long before the telltale swell of another orgasm begins to crest.

When you clamp down around him, he howls, and you know he has come right along with you. His rhythm stutters and slows. Frankie's tongue lazily drags over your shoulder blade, and he whines as his nose nudges at your hair.  As you both float back into your bodies, opening your eyes, the round room is drenched in moonlight. The storm has passed. 

The beast allows you to roll onto your side before covering you again, as he had the night before. He gives a chaste lick to your cheek, and you huff a laugh, wondering if you will even be able to look him in the eye in the morning. But you're too exhausted and drift to sleep before shame can take its turn to feast on you.

The morning sun blazes as it has a way of doing after a storm; shorebirds herald the day, and again, you wake to the smell of breakfast, sausage, coffee, and eggs. You're again tucked into the worn but well-cared-for quilt. Your eyes rove the room as you try not to overthink, and just as you reach for your clothes (which are neatly laid out at the end of the bed), Frankie, the man, comes in with a tray heaped with food—the smell of his delicious cooking filling the room.

“ ‘Morning, Goldie.” he smiles shyly. His eyes are not quite meeting yours, and he keeps himself busy with the breakfast tray. You return his smile, somehow his sweet bashfulness making you feel less self-conscious- 

“G’morning, Fran- Fran-cisco!”

Brown eyes sparkling in response to yours becoming like saucers, Frankie's smile widens.

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[unalivenote]

literally fuck light yagamis boring beige ass if I got the death note itd be Americas Funniest Home Videos up in this bitch every day. im talking YouTube compilations of billionaires stepping on a rake and it hits them and they die instantly im talking politicians running off cliffs and only falling when then look down wile e coyote-style. im talking falling anvils and pianos im talking comically large sticks of dynamite im talking looney tunes im talking tom and jerry. cmon ryuk dont you wanna see zuck and musk do that cage match and actually fucking kill each other on live television! ill make them bite each others dicks off bro drop that shit next to my house NOW!!!!!!!!

[queer-ragnelle]

would you mind sharing your thoughts on Arthur Rex? No pressure at all!

hi anon! i would love to!!

TL;DR author thomas berger had a lot of prejudice coming through in this book at random times which will undoubtedly make this unpalatable for some readers. completely valid reason to skip this one. but if you can get past that, the characterization is interesting! i'll indicate some of favorite aspects (with spoilers) below a cut.

right off the bat i think berger gets huge props for his balanced characterization almost across the board. aside from some of his super villains who love evil for the sake of evil (morgan le fay, sir melaegant, sir gromer, sir mordred) everyone has good & bad qualities that work in tandem to create an engaging story arc.

autism be damned by boy arthur can work a kingdom! lovable weirdo from page one. picky eater, sleeps with the windows open in winter, incapable of reading emotions, blind to social cues, infodumps to whomever will listen. which leads to the fascinating handling of his seduction at the hands of his sister morgause. here arthur is a 20yo virgin (nothing wrong with that, just older than he's usually depicted at this stage which i found unique). he's oblivious to morgause's wile e coyote attempts to kill him for her husband lot as arthur gives her a tour of the castle & talks non-stop about random stuff she doesn't care about. yet...she's wooed by his adorable naivety & they have consensual sex in ignorance of their relation. however, once arthur learns of this, he's so humiliated & disgusted with himself, that he refuses to set foot in that castle again, & after falling in love with guinevere & marrying her, he stays in her castle for her own familiarity & his comfort. he's then haunted for the rest of the book by that one night & it influences his decisions forever after, eventually costing him that strategical mind which made him a good king in the first place. i found that arthur's love for guinevere was very sweet if complicated. after his tercel kills her canary, he fills a room with countless new ones in golden cages, but she's not content. it really highlights arthur's fatal flaw, that he's high-effort, yet the encounter with morgause emotionally stunted him forever, & he lacks the emotional intelligence necessary to connect with his wife. i also like how arthur handled gawain's killing of pellinore. arthur beats gawain up (lol) & yells at him that his own father (uther) was a bad guy & all he can do himself is be a better man, & gawain should be trying to be better than lot, not worse. he forces him to shake hands with lamorak & they're friends after that. 10/10 no notes all my blorbos kiss & make up. infodumping to morgause:

this then brings me to gawain who i adore in this book. he has it all. he's a total slut right from his introduction when he's not immediately available to meet the king bc he's "jousting a maiden..." he loves his brothers dearly, he's (eventually) loyal to arthur, great friends with kay & lancelot, he goes through the green knight adventure, & then eventually meets & settles down with ragnelle which was so sweet i got cavities. he has a bunch of kids with her & gets to die in her arms at the end (weeping). the narrative is generous to gawain regarding his anger toward lancelot as well which i liked. by that i mean it indicates that if either of them knew guinevere was in danger besieged by mordred, they would have dropped their fight at once to help her, but they had no idea, so they fought to gawain's death. gawain's ghost then comes to arthur flanked by his polycule of angels who are glad to have his virile prowess in heaven (no lie that is the rationale it's awesome). overall i thought he was great, very few books manage to give him a satisfying arc & this did! wedding to ragnelle:

my boy kay gets to be his best self here. right from his childhood he was dissatisfied with his humble life in wales, so when the opportunity to be seneschal for arthur arises, he puts his whole pussy into it. lots of beautiful description of banquets he makes, the whole process of his management in the kitchen as well as surrounding fields, orchards, etc to make it all happen. he even baked & decorated gawain/ragnelle's fancy wedding cake it's adorable. when meleagant kidnaps guinevere, kay had been serving the women at the time & was overcome, so he heads out immediately after her & ends up in prison beside her, where they comfort one another through the bars (makes me a little insane, their friendship was so good). the relationship with beaumains is also well-developed here, & kay is skeptical of beaumains but not outright cruel to him, & eventually warms up to him as gareth is friendly & willing to work. optimal outcome! this kay isn't as great as cherith baldry's, but he's pretty damn good considering the horrors out there. fighting meleagant:

a complex/nuanced agravaine??? more likely than you think...i adore him. funny & brooding & jealous & kind of a dummy lol but what i find compelling is that some of his dislike for lancelot stems from the fact gawain was arthur's first knight & his recognition as such is eclipsed by lancelot in both the king's eyes but gawain's own as well. agravaine even expresses that he feels as if gawain loves lancelot more than him...ouch?? he's fiercely loyal to arthur & he's appointed as guinevere's personal guard for many years. this further explains his obsession with lancelot, as it's literally his job to keep her safe/protect her honor, & an affair threatens that. later, mordred is finally old enough to come to court, agravaine is the only unmarried brother so he gets to bunk with him, & he's so excited about it bc he's been lonely since the other 3 moved in with their wives (hello??? sob??). he's got a close loving relationship with arthur which is of utmost importance to me. in the end it's mordred who manipulates agravaine into cornering lancelot. but it almost doesn't work bc agravaine is so hopelessly in love that, on seeing lancelot in his night clothes, completely loses his train of thought & lancelot smoothly talks him out of it. flawless. uncle & nephew relationship:

overall this book is deeply flawed. berger makes endless asides to mention gender essentialism, race, sexuality. it's inexcusable. but he got the characterization of my faves so right & he's dead now so i'm not giving him any publicity or money by discussing the aspects i did like. overall i do think it's worth a read.

[frischkasekuchen]

電波ロマンス(Animatronic!Reve x Reader)

Credits:

FNAF by Scott Cawthon

Fauchereve by @/kyokyo866

Warnings:

Tasing

Violation of personal space

Weird discussion of the circulatory system

Starring:

Y/N as The Nightguard

Fauchereve as Animatronic Mascot of (Unspecified Restaurant)

(Author's note: Apparently, the best way to get godly artwork from Shu and/or Pearl is to drop a Reader-insert fic. This is their song btw.)

As a fresh highschool graduate, you assumed that you had seen the worst the world had to offer. How could you have predicted that your first summer job would become a horror movie?

BANG BANG BANG. Metal slamming against your last line of defense. Soulless blue eyes looking through your office window. In the corner of the cramped cage you called your office, you whispered a silent prayer. Then, you look at your tablet.  

Five percent?! But it’s only 3 a.m!

You hear a robotic chuckle from behind the door. You look up from the tablet to glance at him. His face can’t contort to make a smug expression, but you can sense the satisfaction he gets from your terror.

4 a.m; two percent!

One percent-

NO- NO- C’MON!

You jump from your corner to station yourself by the right door.

DUUUUUUU….

Everything goes dark. Despite the fact He’s standing a foot away from you, He just-

Smiles.

Without thinking, you take a step outside.

He lunges.

You scream, and scramble down the hallway as He crashes to the floor with an awful CRASH! It makes your ears ring. 

As you dash through party room one, you hear scraping noises; He’s getting back up. Even though it would make life easier for you to leave through the entrance, He would have trouble trying to tail you out the back door. He can’t fit through the back door, so He’d have to waste time getting to and breaking through the front to catch you.

CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK.

Oh shit!

You’re forced to run into the arcade.

As quietly as possible, you scurry to a corner of out-of-order cabinets and hide between them. You get tangled  in scratchy wires that coil around your limbs like tentacles as you shuffle in a crouch. It’s an uncomfortable position, but getting out alive is far more important.

Shuffling…clunking…

It sounds… close, too close for comfort.

…Something’s coming towards you.

Someone is standing in front of you.

You look up, praying it’s human.

It’s HIM.

“PEek-A-a-A-boO.” His voice is filled with static, and cannot agree on a pitch.

You hear a clicking noise as He grabs hold of the wires and squeezes them.

A spark-

You feel a sensation like a million knives stabbing you and smell something both metallic and smoky.

You black out.

***

July 1993

“Frieeend! Whatcha reading~?”

You sighed, “A shonen magazine.”

“Oh, okay.”

You knew Reve wanted your attention, but for whatever reason, he’d beat around the bush instead of telling you straight up. Like when he used to leave candy in your office instead of asking to be friends. …Are you guys friends?

Not even four pages later, Reve called out to you in a needy whine. “Can we cuddle~?”

“It’s too hot for that!” you retorted. During your shifts, the air conditioners were cut off to save electricity. The only thing keeping you from the edge of a heatstroke was the tiny fan on your desk. It wasn’t much help though, you had to pop at least two buttons so you could breathe. “Tell my manager to let me have AC then we’ll discuss cuddling.”

Reve responded with a squeaky, robotic huff. Cute.

He stayed quiet for a while, probably stewing, as you flicked across camera to camera. When you viewed the kitchen camera, labeled AUDIO ONLY. You hear…shuffling, clunking…? Wait- is it coming from behind you?

Two frigid mechanical arms wrap around you and your chair. They feel like an ice pack.

“Holy shit, why do you feel like a fridge?” you asked in awe.

“My processor pumps a coolant through my body!” Reve said proudly. “The mechanics have to make sure I don’t overheat. I’d explode or somethin’!”

You laughed off an imaginary scenario of Reve going KA-BOOM like Wile. E Coyote. Your amusement was cut short when one of Reve’s hands left your middle and traveled upwards. The hand stopped on the left side of your chest. You trembled when Reve’s segmented hand pressed down on where your heart should be. Your breath hitched. It’s just…a little off-putting.

“Y’know, a mechanic once told me…” he tapped your chest with a finger. “This keeps up constant maintenance inside of human bodies…what is it?”

‘Constant maintenance’? Oh- they were talking about homeostasis.

“It’s beating.” Reve murmured. “Badum, badum, badum…is it a processor?”

“Oh no no no. It’s an organ.” you said. “It pumps blood around my body without any commands, it just does.”

Reve’s pupils dilated in curiosity. “What’s blood for?”

“Well, um, what I can tell you from bio class is: it gives me feeling in my limbs, kills infections and patches up cuts and scrapes.”

“Functionality, troubleshooting, and repairs…” Reve muttered to himself. His fingers still lingered on your chest. “Humans say this organ beats fast when you’re in love.”

“Yeah, in love songs.” you squeaked.

“Yours is.” Reve’s tone sounded menacing at this point. He grinned, “Do you love me?”

“No-no-I’m just nervous, that's all!” you stammered. “I mean- I like you, but love would be kind of a strong word!”

Reve got a little too close to your face for comfort.

He stared at you.

You stared back.

…

…

Does he want you to shit your pants-?

Reve pulled away, giving you space to breathe. You gasped, and sat up properly in your chair.

“Sorry if I made you uncomfy.” Reve said, twiddling his fingers. “But I do like seeing you squirm a little- if that makes any sense.”

…Is he a sadist?

Did you awaken something in this animatronic, or did the animatronic awaken something in you?

***

(The other animatronics: Do you think they've explored each other's bodies?)

[screwball-duck]

the BEST looney tunes cartoons (in my humble opinion)

after spending weeks - possibly months - curating the list of the top looney tunes cartoons, i have decided to share it with the world. i organized them based on character, and chose the cartoons that i think specifically follow this basic criteria: 1. they portray the characters in a way that is comedic and true to past writing and established character traits 2. they are entertaining, funny, and have well-executed gags 3. they give the authentic looney tunes feeling and are good representations of looney tunes as a whole if you are introducing a friend to looney tunes, or want to get into it yourself, i suggest you start with these cartoons. they are my personal favorites and i think they capture what makes looney tunes great. before i get into the list, some things worth noting: - i did not include the characters elmer fudd, yosemite sam, tweety, marvin the martian, the tasmanian devil, or any smaller characters. this was because all of these characters are usually paired with more major or more entertaining characters that i made lists of instead. i don't think these characters are enough on their own to make a separate list about, and i don't think that learning about these characters is a necessity when starting looney tunes. - if a cartoon features multiple characters, i put it under the character i thought that it represented best. for example, in porky and daffy cartoons where daffy is silly and funny, i put them under daffy. but in porky and daffy cartoons where daffy is messing with porky, and porky's forced to become sinister, i put those under porky.

finally: the list. (also a shift from my strict no-caps policy)

Bugs Bunny A Wild Hare (1940) - first appearance Hot Cross Bunny (1948) Buccaneer Bunny (1948) Rabbit Fire (1951) Bugs and Thugs (1954)

Daffy Duck Porky's Duck Hunt (1937) - first appearance Porky and Daffy (1938) The Wise Quacking Duck (1943) Duck Soup to Nuts (1944) Daffy Doodles (1946)

Porky Pig I Haven't Got a Hat (1935) - first appearance The Pest That Came to Dinner (1948) Often an Orphan (1949) The Ducksters (1950) Fool Coverage (1952)

Sylvester Life With Feathers (1945) - first appearance Who's Kitten Who (1952) A Bird in a Guilty Cage (1952) Gift Wrapped (1952) The Last Hungry Cat (1961)

Wile E. Coyote/Roadrunner Fast and Furry-ous (1949) - first appearance Beep, Beep (1952) Stop! Look! And Hasten! (1954) Whoa, Be-Gone! (1958) Wild About Hurry (1959)

Foghorn Leghorn Walky Talky Hawky (1946) - first appearance The Foghorn Leghorn (1948) A Fractured Leghorn (1950) Little Boy Boo (1954) A Broken Leghorn (1959)

Honorable Mentions* The Henpecked Duck (1941) The Great Piggy Bank Robbery (1946) Operation: Rabbit (1952) Mouse Divided (1953) Devil May Hare (1954) Birds Anonymous (1957) Robin Hood Daffy (1958)

Best One-Offs Porky in Wackyland (1938)** Cross-Counry Detours (1940) The Haunted Mouse (1941) Russian Rhapsody (1944) Dough Ray Me-ow (1948) Feed The Kitty (1952)*** One Froggy Evening (1955)

*these are cartoons that i almost picked for top cartoons, but didn't quite make the cut. but these are definitely worth being mentioned because they are almost if not equally as great.

**i know this isn't a one-off because it has porky in it, but i don't consider this a great cartoon for porky because he's really bland in it. i love this cartoon because of the ridiculous characters and backgrounds. ***this also isn't a one-off because there are multiple shorts featuring marc anthony and pussyfoot, but they're very small characters so i consider it part of that category.

[canon-vi]

Some WIA memes because i want to

---------------------------🦊---------------------------

× Mist is sad again ×

Lesya: You know... Trust... It's when cannibals suck each other

---------------------------🦊---------------------------

Vivi: Meet this is Biba(Pallete), this is his friend Boba(Mist), all the fans thought they were both fucking... ok

Pallete: what do you mean fucking '' okay "?! It is a fact!

Vivi: don't swear! Just censorship will have to be inserted... Just Lux my tik tok looks a little...

---------------------------🦊---------------------------

— But do not tell anyone! Even your sister!

Vivi: there are no secrets from her.

---------------------------🦊---------------------------

Vivi: Sister, look what a puppy I caught!

Lux: Vivi, it's a...

Vivi: Can we leave him?

Lux: Vivi, it's a coyote... How did you put him in a cage?

Vivi: I'm a Disney princess, so shall we leave him?

---------------------------🦊---------------------------

* surprise ending *

Vivi: they will bleed from my revenge...

Merciless: I say eat your porridge, come on, open your mouth, the plane is flying! Vzhzhzhzhzh!

---------------------------🦊---------------------------

E. L. A. Merciless, Lux and Pallete by @anotherrosesthatfell

E. L. A. Mist by @abloomingsunflower / @itzcherrybonbon

[jadeykitties]

its really funny that wile e coyote and ralph wolf are like... probably closely related. in the dc looney tunes comics ralph shows up to wile e's family reunion. they're on first name basis with each other and close enough to randomly decide to switch lives for a day. in the 60s beep beep the road runner comics wile e has a cousin named weed e wolf. he has an uncle lobo. theres one looney tunes short where wile e's dad, cage e coyote, appears and he has the red nose that ralph has. so how they're related is never explicitly stated, but they are...

[vicshush]

[ID: A photo of a gray cat with white markings on muzzle, feet, and chest, in an elongated wire cage with angled door at one end. A person is lifting the cage with two hands by a handle in the middle of the top. /end ID]

My sister brought her cats to visit my parents. My parents' cat was Not Cool with this, growling and muttering, but did nothing else. This display, however, was apparently enough to drive one of her cats to flee into the basement (which we thought was blocked off, but it seems that was not the case).

This moron feline proceeded to hide down there for almost 2 weeks.

He ignored calls from both of his humans, offers of treats, and a nice bed to sleep in, in favor of hiding, collecting cobwebs, and probably eating bugs. His hiding spot was located at one point, and he ran away from my sister when she tried to fish him out, to hide somewhere else never identified. Cat cams were employed to track his movements, to little avail. We hauled a considerable amount of basement junk around trying to find him. Food and water and a litter box were left out to sustain him, which he'd use intermittently, usually at times when everyone was asleep or away. My sister sat in the dark for hours, waiting for him, and he clearly saw and sauntered or skittered away from her, on two separate occasions. She set up Wiley E. Coyote level box-propped-up-with-a-stick traps.

The method that finally captured the fugitive, though, was a feral cat cage, with a pressure plate by the food dish that closed the door at the other end.

Hooray for happy endings (though now she's gotta take him to the vet to get checked over, just in case), but what a brat cat.

(Please note, from all the observations, live and via the cat cams, he did not appear frightened: tail was mid-low, but not brushed up or lashing, ears were alert, stride was open even when running from my sister. He was most skittish when the cat cams turned to follow his movements. He was pretty apparently Having An Adventure.)

[termiteterraceclub]

Termite Terrace Club - August 30th

1941 - The Henpecked Duck - Dir. Bob Clampett

1941 - Snowtime for Comedy - Dir. Chuck Jones

1952 - A Bird in a Guilty Cage - Dir. Friz Freleng

TV

2003 - Duck Dodgers Season 1: The Fowl Friend / The Fast and the Feathery

2011 - The Looney Tunes Show Season 1: Bugs & Daffy Get a Job / Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote in “Heartbreak Bridge”.

[skullislandproductions]

“Little Go Beep” audition tape from December of 1998, for the role of “Papa Coyote.” So many wonderful submissions from great actors. The part “Cage E. Coyote” ultimately went to the legendary Stan Freberg.

[incorrectlooneytunesquotes]

Mediocrity can talk but it is for genius to observe.

Cage to Wile E. Coyote 

[bracketsoffear]

My Hunt submissions that didn't make it, (2/2):

Wile E. Coyote: “For years that poor guy has been chasing the Roadrunner far beyond the call for reason, going so far as to buy countless Acme products and mountains of birdseed instead of spending that money on something he could actually eat”; basically addicted to roadrunner meat to the point of constantly hurting and humiliating himself in an endless hunt for the delicious flesh that always slips away.

T-8000 (The Terminator)

Harry DuBois (Disco Elysium): known and feared by criminals across Jamrock because of his reputation as a "human can-opener”: he used to have an absolutely ridiculous success rate at getting people to confess to their crimes. He is known for being a relentless investigator who never stops asking questions and often manages to pit suspects against each other, making them talk. An extremely talented detective who in most possible play styles will never stop chasing leads and get whoever he’s pursuing to talk; his Limbic System says of him that “He is the infernal engine, can't you see? He never stops. He only gets worse.” As a police officer, his profession is associated with The Hunt (Daisy, Basira).

The Hunter (Little Nightmares 2): A mysterious hunter living isolated in the wood, with only his hunting trophies for company, upon meeting Mono and Six, he brings out his gun with the intent to add them to his collection. His stage, The Wilderness, is littered with cages and bear traps he uses to capture (apparent) humans to kill and taxidermy them. He relentlessly pursues Mono and Six through the forest until they're forced to shoot him to escape.

Incubus (KSBD): endlessly pursuing power and conquest without any real end goal besides getting more power. Chronologically introduced as a starving kid who hacked his hair off with a rusty sword (cutting his scalp in the process) to get swordsmanship training—he is essentially characterized by an insatiable hunger. Offers power to the ambitious, at the cost of warping them into total bastards and rendering them addictively dependent on him (akin to Daisy).

.

[katpurrccino]

I built a pulping machine in totk that basically took 200 something zonaite to auto build (didn’t realize this at the time) and a silver lynel covered in the raspberry jam obliterated it. Said lynel was in a pit pretty much impossible to escape without the lynel tearing you a new hole, and I had no more zonaite to summon The Bike. Fr got link into a cage match with a lion. My hubris was no better than Wile E. Coyote trying to catch the roadrunner with a contraption only to end up pancaked against a wall

[photog-crafty]

I wanted to like the Tropos Rallye, I really did. Stratoses are cool as hell and I love '70s and '80s wedgemobiles. The Tropos was just too grippy for me, though. It was a fantastic car and was great if you liked to drive grip-style, because it was nearly impossible to get this thing to break traction, but I was just more at home in slippery V8 barges.

Whenever a moon needed exploring, the Desert Raid was ready to handle it. This odd-looking giant rally buggy was much more nimble than it let on, with acceleration that rivalled even the electric cars and massive suspension travel that let it soak up the bumpiest trails. The best part was that the body panels loved to fall off at the drop of a hat, so after a couple of tumbles you were driving nothing but a pipe frame reminiscent of a failed Wile E. Coyote contraption.

The Trophy Truck was the Desert Raid's more svelte sibling, with almost identical performance and a much more traditional appearance. I used glitches to remove the spare tires from the back in order to make it look like something out of Stadium Super Trucks. If you like high-energy videogame-style racing, I highly recommend you look that up sometime.

There aren't many games with jumping tanks in them. Metal Slug and Blaster Master are the first to come to mind. The Scarab put a smile on my face by allowing me to add GTA to that list. This one in particular is the Apocalypse flavor, with more traditional treads and armor plating. In a move even more reminiscent of Blaster Master, the Scarab is the Arena vehicle in which I first learned to fly. The shunt boost pushes your vehicle to its left or right regardless of which way it's facing, so by jumping in the air and flipping on to your side, you could shunt straight up and, with some practice, chain shunts together to effectively fly across the map like the Metroid games' Space Jump ability. I'm pretty sure a lot of randoms thought I was an actual hacker.

Take the APC, remove its weapons, then give it bigger tires and make it rounder and cuter. That's the Zhaba. This peaceful herbivore of a vehicle could crawl over just about anything and float in water to go just about anywhere it wanted, albeit very slowly. Players could even stand on it without getting knocked down as it drove at full speed. As a side note, this thing looked absolutely ridiculous with F1 wheels, too much so even for me.

The Vagrant was a vehicle I wish I had tried a lot sooner. It was a zippy little buggy that thrived both on and off the pavement, and I bought it out of boredom when I had no reason to grind or run missions. It would have made those Blaine County jaunts a lot more enjoyable.

As fun as the Zhaba was, it just wasn't that practical for daily use because of its ponderous speed. The Freecrawler was the solution, offering much of the same capability and just as much cubic-ness in a faster and more accessible package. The short wheelbase and tiny overhangs gave it amazing approach angles, even to the point of conquering city barriers if you didn't mind scratching the paint a little bit.

Anyone who's grown up in Los Santos recognizes the Dubsta in its chrome and gold forms and understands the hustle they represent. Back when heists were just twinkles in our eyes and selling Ballers and Felons for $9000 was a legitimate moneymaking method, these Dubstas, commonly known as Dubsta 2s because they used a different model than the standard street Dubsta, were highly prized because they sold for roughly $25000 each. But they were like the Romero Hearse in that they wouldn't spawn unless you had one of your own to trigger it, so in order to get that gravy train rolling, you had to know a guy. This particular Dubsta was used to spawn a great many more, both for other players to add to their own rare car collections as well as for myself to use as garage fillers, because 25K is still 25K.

This Mesa was technically a Merryweather Mesa, specifically glitched to remove the roll cage but keep the hard top. Sadly, the mall in downtown wasn't very big, so it couldn't do a lot of crawling. I even tried to emulate the teal Bikini Pearlcoat color found on some modern Jeeps, though in hindsight I think I may have made it a bit too green.

Applying suspension upgrades at the mechanic would lower a vehicle's center of gravity. This piece of information was vital for anyone intending to drive a Rumpo Custom on a regular basis. This awesome off-road van was wild to tear around in, especially while blasting its ahooga horn, but taking a turn too tight would make it topple over like an old Explorer unless you lowered it as much as you could. Glitching the roll cage and roof rack off of it to make it look more like a plain adventure van certainly didn't help mitigate that damage.