#and the Paps are on the taller side

[ticklishshenanigansau]

Happy Tickletober! This year, Mod Secret has been working hard to write a comprehensive story using our list of prompts and we used a wheel to randomly assign the three of us which prompts to draw accompanying chapter art. We hope you enjoy! =3

LaughterLand - Chapter 1: Hypnosis

(story by Mod Secret, art by Mod Yosh)

"Tra la la, beware the man who speaks in hands," the River Person quietly muttered to the two skeletons from beneath their robes.

"The man who speaks in hands?" the taller skeleton began to fret. "Why is there a need to be wary? Does he not use his hands for just purposes?"

Sans sighed heavily, facing his brother with his head still cradled in his right hand leaning off the side of the riverboat.

"Bro, they’re talking about our Dad … and unfortunately there's no way to ‘beware’ of him, ‘cuz that's where we're going." He rolled his eyes before gazing back into the water.

"Oh!" Papyrus laughed. "There's no need for us to ‘beware’ of him anyways, friend." He enthusiastically tapped the River Person's shoulder with his gloved hand, making the boat driver slightly jump. "He merely wants to see us for the further pursuit of scientific discovery!"

"More like he wants to use his only family as semi-living guinea pigs." Sans couldn't help but scoff. He was getting rather tired of his practically estranged father only calling upon him and his younger brother for this kind of thing.

"Aw, cheer up Sans," Papyrus sat down next to him on the river boat, optimistic smile still beaming. "I'm sure it's not going to be as bad as the last time when he—"

"Practically switched my insides with a Snowdrake?" Sans abruptly cut him off. "Or the time he made you think you were a fish-monster who could actually breathe water? Or the time he tried to spray down our bones with a ‘heat resistance gel’? I'm just saying it's a good thing we booked it BEFORE he got out the flame thrower!"

"Alright, alright. I understand." Papyrus gently held up his hands to calm his brother down. "So his ideas of ‘quality-time’ are a little … unconventional … at best?" Papyrus's tone of voice made Sans start to question whether he was trying to convince him or himself. Papyrus shook his head decisively. "But at least he still wants to see us, and we do excellent work in helping him to better Monster-Kind."

Sans sighed deeply, pinching the space above his nasal cavity. "Pap, the only reason G wants to see us, is because he practically blew up half of his lab assistants, and the other half were smart enough to bail before he did the same to them … or worse. And it's not like we can say no, because he'll pull the whole ‘After everything I've done for you’ crap." He did his best imitation of his creator. "‘After feeding you, clothing you, and giving you the gift of life itself’." Papyrus couldn't help but snicker at Sans' nearly perfect recreation of Gaster's tone and movements.

"Call me crazy Pap, but somehow I always feel way worse coming out of the old man's place than I do going in. So this isn't exactly how I wanna spend a perfectly good Saturday when there's a bottle of ketchup back home with my name on it."

Papyrus shrugged, still trying to remain in good spirits. "You never know Sans, this time could be fun."

Sans rolled his eyes yet again, head shaking dismissively. "Yeah … we'll see."

"Welcome to Hotland," the River Person quietly spoke up after pulling their strange-looking riverboat up to the shallow port. Papyrus excitedly hopped off, and Sans begrudgingly lumbered onto the sand before flipping the River Person a coin.

"Thanks," Sans muttered, although his inside voice finished off with, "...for nothing."

"Come again sometime. Tra la la." The River Person's boat grew cat legs and scampered off down the river in the direction of Waterfall, leaving Sans truly wishing that he had stayed on the boat.

The skeletons made their way down the route they were all too familiar with, down the path towards the huge metal laboratory in the distance. Sans couldn't help but air out his collar, sweat already starting to trickle down his neck.

"It's like this place just keeps getting hotter," he sighed.

"Well it is Hotland, Brother," Papyrus replied, his grin never faltering. "Why do you wear such a heavy sweater anyways?"

"I … just feel more protected," Sans answered honestly, though saying it out loud made him feel a bit more self-conscious.

"Protected?" Papyrus repeated, seemingly surprised by the answer. "But you have me for protection, Brother! I can protect you far more than that smelly old thing!"

Sans chuckled, Papyrus's confidence really was endearing. "I appreciate it, Bro," Sans replied. "But when it comes to HIM, I feel like I can use all the protection I can get.”

They arrived at the front door, somehow Sans was never able to get used to just how much bigger it was than the two of them, as always, it made him feel so much smaller.

Well, if the door was going to make him feel this insignificant, he wasn't going to treat it with a proper knock. He raised his fist and as gently as he could, and tapped on the door with his knuckles. Papyrus was standing right there, and even he didn't hear a thing.

"Oh well, nobody's home." Sans shrugged with a half-grin making an attempt to walk away. "Can't say we didn't try, right?"

"Sans!" Papyrus responded, hands on his hips and with a tone of annoyance.

It didn't matter anyways, the brothers heard the loud creaking noise of the gigantic door beginning to open. Sans gritted his teeth. "That never works," he grumbled to himself.

They turned to see the aged skeleton standing in the doorway, his stern orange and blue eyes looking them up and down.

"Greetings, boys," Gaster spoke in his usual low tone.

"Hey, G." Sans shoved his hands into his pockets, his voice also low and unamused, not even giving him the courtesy of a glance.

"Greetings, fatherly figure!" Papyrus, on the other hand, bounced with delight and friendliness, aggressively grabbing Gaster's hand to shake it. "How nice of you to invite us into your home once again!"

No matter how many times Gaster invited them over, Papyrus always managed to surprise him with his upbeat attitude and willingness to come back. As Papyrus released his hand after giving it a thorough shake, he and Sans made their way through the door and into the lab. Papyrus's greeting leaving the scientist quite dumbfounded for what to say next.

"Right … er … come on then … uh … son—uh! Sons, I mean?" he stammered.

"Alright, let's just get this over with." Sans’s cold tone almost immediately snapped Gaster back into his usual demeanor.

"Right!" Gaster shut the door and led the brothers downstairs to the True Lab. The place where all of the tools and past experiments were kept.

Papyrus excitedly hopped into Gaster's office chair to take it for a quick spin-around, while Sans wasted no time making his way to the coffee maker. Somehow he could already tell that this was going to be a long day.

"P-2, please do try to calm down." Gaster abruptly stopped Papyrus from spinning around in the chair, allowing the dizzy skeleton to stumble away. "I'm going to need steady attitudes for this line of testing."

"We talked about this, G," Sans replied, pouring a fresh cup of hot coffee into the styrofoam mug. "We both have names, remember?"

"Right, of course," Gaster acknowledged, turning his large blackboard towards the two of them.

"Oh, and S-1—er! I mean … Sans," he corrected himself. "No coffee for today please, this test must require zero stimulants of any kind."

"Oh great." Sans bitterly placed the untouched cup next to the  coffee pot. "So what's involved for this one? The effects of sleep-deprivation?"

"Quite the opposite actually," Gaster replied, facing the scribblings on his blackboard. "For this test, I'll be putting you both into a deep trance."

"Say … what now?" Sans blinked, surely his scientific father didn't mean what he thought he meant.

Gaster moved to show off his notes and scribbled doodles on the subject of hypnosis on the blackboard. As usual, the blending of all of his ideas and hypotheses together on one cramped space made for some confusing visuals.

"I wish to know the true strength of the power of suggestion upon the monster's mind," Gaster explained. "How far can suggestion go, and just how deep a trance can one be put in before the impossible becomes reality?"

"Hypnosis … really?" Sans replied, both expression and tone deadpanned. "I give up a coffee break just so you can play with the metaphysical? This is weird even for you old man."

"Oh come now, Sans!" Papyrus approached his brother, still wearing a grin. "I think it'll be fun! Just think of the possibilities the two of our brains can come up with!" he suddenly gasped, eyes full of childlike wonder. "We could become convinced that we're flying! Or can shoot laserbeams out of our eyesockets! Or —"

"Bro!" Sans cut him off, not wanting Papyrus to get too excited as he figured whatever Gaster had in mind for them wasn't going to be nearly as adventurous as he had hoped. "You're wasting your time anyways, G. I can't be hypnotized," he said adamantly.

Gaster knew that this was going to be a tough sell, Sans wasn't one to be convinced to be put in vulnerable situations easily. But thankfully, Gaster did have the perfect idea for just how to convince him.

"Think of it this way … Sans," he paused momentarily to remember his name. "This will be the only time where the only thing that's required of you is to lay back and do nothing but sleep."

That did it. Gaster knew there was no way that Sans would miss an opportunity to be lazy. With a loud groan, Sans followed Gaster and his brother into the operating room. Gaster laid Sans and Papyrus next to each other on two large metal tables. Above them hung a large, oversized pendulum that began swinging back and forth once Gaster hit a button on the wall. The pendulum made a gentle ‘whoosh’ sound as it passed back and forth above them.

"What, are we in a giant grandfather clock?" Sans joked, albeit still in a sarcastic tone.

"This will give you something to focus on while I slip you both into a trance."

"Oooooh!" Papyrus's gaze followed the pendulum, seemingly enchanted by it. "Isn't it exciting, Sans?" He beamed. "We're about to unravel the deep mysteries of the metaphysical mindset!"

"Right…," Sans mumbled. "Let's just hope Dear Old Dad doesn't unravel our minds."

Gaster pulled out an old-fashioned handheld tape recorder and began an audio log.

"Subjects S-1 and P-2 are ready for testing," he recorded quietly. Both are resting comfortably on the operating tables, mere inches apart from one another. The pendulum has begun swinging, and I will now proceed with the restraints." Although it was difficult to catch all of what the old skeleton was muttering, Sans could have sworn that he had caught that last word.

"Whoa whoa whoa … ‘restraints’? You didn't say anything about…," Sans trailed off as he watched Gaster approach him without acknowledging what it was he had just said.

Gaster reached under the table to pull out what looked like two oversized belts. One that would cross along his upper torso, right where his elbow bent, and the other down lower across his knees. Sans despised whenever Gaster brought out these restraints, and did his best to avoid them at all cost. Gaster fastened his eldest son to the table before Sans even had a chance to protest.

"Hey!" Sans began before being strapped to the table and unable to break free. "G, I thought you were just hypnotizing us, what the hell is this for?"

"This is purely for your own safety, Sans," Gaster replied as he pulled out the straps for Papyrus. The younger skeleton never put up much of a fight, so Gaster was able to properly take his time in securing him. "Should your body obey the suggestions to move, or should anything go wrong during the experiment, you'll be safely secured to the table where you won't be able to fall off or injure yourself.

"Right … ‘safety’ … sure," Sans grumbled, not entirely convinced.

"Yes! Very thoughtful of you, sir!" Papyrus chimed in, although Sans could tell that being tied up wasn't exactly Papyrus's favorite thing to do either.

Gaster sat himself down behind a metal podium that contained buttons of different shapes and sizes, all of which had been used on the brothers before with different results. Gaster, once again, pulled out his tape recorder.

"Subjects have been restrained, now proceeding with the 'Nerve-Processing Scan'." Gaster leaned into a small microphone attached to the podium that amplified his low voice so that Sans and Papyrus could hear him clearly. "Boys, you're going to see a small flash of light, just tell me how it makes you feel."

Before either of them had a chance to question, there was a sudden brightness that filled the room nearly blinding the two of them. It disappeared as quickly as it came, but all at once, the brothers felt an overwhelming tingling sensation consuming their bones.

"What?! W-What the—?!" Sans began to grin in spite of himself. The tingles especially affected his cheeks and moved rapidly down his ribs. He felt an overwhelming urge to laugh, but he held it back as best as he could, not wanting Gaster to hear anything. But even with all his efforts, a small snicker still escaped his teeth.

Papyrus, however, wasn't as resilient. Within moments, the younger skeleton began giggling. Light snickers at first, but as the tingles spread downwards he began kicking his legs — as best he could through the restraints — and squirmed on the table.

"Nyeh-hee-hee-hee-hee!! It-It tihihickles!" Papyrus scrunched up his neck in an effort to distract from the sensations.

"Hmm, good," Gaster replied through the microphone before returning back to collecting his thoughts into the tape recorder. "Let the record show that S-1 and P-2 have still retained their sense of 'sensitivity' since the last experiment."

As the tingles began to wear off, Sans looked over at Gaster worriedly. He couldn't hear what the old man was mumbling into that old-fashioned box, but he knew that light show had to be for something.

"Pap, I've got a bad feeling about this," he whispered to Papyrus, who was still trying to shake the tingles off of his toes as he seemed not to hear him.

Gaster leaned back into the microphone, his soft and low voice lightly reverberating off of the walls.

"Alright boys, I want you both to take a deep breath and relax. Please focus your eyes on the pendulum and do not remove your gaze from it."

The brothers obeyed, Sans still muttering under his breath. "You're wasting your time old man, this is beyond pointless."

Gaster continued, "I'm going to start counting backwards from ten. And with every passing number I want you to notice a deep and pleasant drowsiness start to come over you."

"Deep and pleasant drowsiness, huh?" Sans silently scoffed. "You don't need to strap me to a table to get that outta me."

"Slowly building up from your feet…," Gaster continued. "Up through your legs and over your hips … over your spines and ribcages … spreading a deep drowsiness through your arms … up over your shoulders … across your faces … feeling your eyelids start to get heavier and heavier."

"From the way you're droning on you won't need this crap to put me to sleep," Sans quietly complained.

Although, despite the absurdity of it all, a part of him couldn't help but want to feel that 'pleasant drowsiness' that Gaster kept going on about. Despite his current situation, a nap with that kind of intensity did feel like it would be a welcomed change of pace. It had been a while since he had a peaceful rest without the constant interruption of nightmares.

"Ten.… Nine.… Eight…," Gaster slowly began. "Feeling your bodies start to drift off into sleepiness...."

Sans didn't want to believe it, and part of him surely thought that it was nothing but a trick of the mind, but he did start to feel it. A sensation, almost similar to that of a warm numbness, starting to take hold of his feet and slowly climbing up his legs and towards his waist. It was … strangely pleasant.

"Seven.… Six.… Five…," Gaster went on, his voice overtaking the room. "Slowly drifting off into a pleasant drowsiness, slipping deeper and deeper into sleep."

"This is … so … so … stupid…." But the more Sans tried to convince himself, the more he was starting to lose track of his words and drift off, doing exactly as Gaster was commanding him to do.

"Four.… Three.... Two…. You feel it start to take over your body, slipping deeper and deeper into relaxation," Gaster continued. "One…. Now your eyelids feel so unbelievably heavy, it's nearly impossible to keep them open now."

And it was. Sans couldn't keep from blinking, but every time he opened his eyes, it was harder and harder to keep them open. What was happening? He knew that if there was anywhere that he didn't feel 100% safe, it was here in his father's laboratory. And yet, it was like his body was trying too hard to convince his brain that this was the place to let it all go and sleep.

The pendulum wasn't helping much either. With every light little ‘whooshing’ sound that it made while going back and forth, it was almost forcing Sans to keep blinking, making it harder and harder for him to open his eyes back up. For a split second he glanced back over at Papyrus, but the younger skeleton was already long gone, Sans could tell by the drool starting to collect in the corner of his open mouth.

"And...."

*SNAP!*

"Sleep!"

Sans’s eyes shut all on their own. Within a singular moment … within a singular snap … he had completely surrendered full control of his body and his mind. His thoughts floated on warm fuzzy clouds of nothingness, and the deep numbness that had begun at his soles had now consumed his entire body. It was like he could feel nothing and everything all at once. But the most bizarre thing about it was that there wasn't a single drop of anxiousness, not one lingering fear, not one seed of doubt or concern. Everything was just open and free. Sans wasn't entirely sure what plane of existence he had landed on, but it was oddly relaxing.

"Take a deep breath in…." As Gaster continued, he heard the deep inhale and exhale come willingly from his sons as he spoke.

"And…."

*SNAP!*

"Sleep!"

Upon hearing the command, the brothers felt themselves drifting more and more into a trance-like sleep. The world around them began to fade away piece by piece as their minds floated through space.

"As you hear the word…," Gaster snapped very sharply into the microphone again, "Sleep … everytime you hear the word…," he snapped again, "Sleep. You feel yourselves drifting deeper and deeper into unconsciousness. Feeling 100% more relaxed and comfortable … sleep." He snapped. "Feeling nothing but the deepest relaxation imaginable. Totally still and silent … only able to hear and understand the words that I am speaking … and … sleep"

Snapping a final time, Gaster could tell that Sans and Papyrus had now fallen into a deep trance, only able to hear him, and totally susceptible to everything.

"Alright, let's begin," he spoke softly into the microphone. "I'm going to begin counting to ten, and as the numbers start to increase, you're going to start becoming fully aware of your bodies. Aware of your nerve endings … so hyper aware and fixated on all that you can feel that you won't be able to focus on anything else."

Gaster counted upwards, using his words to point out the sensitivity of their toes, their knees, their legs, hips, ribcages, underarms, necks, and everywhere in between. He was able to barely catch the brothers start to lightly twitch in their trance. The experiment was working.

"And now that you are fully alert and aware of your nerve endings and the capabilities they hold, I want to ask you a question … can you start to feel the soft caress of a little white feather gliding across your soles?"

Sans and Papyrus stiffened, it was so subtle that anyone who wasn't paying attention to them would have missed it entirely. But Gaster noticed immediately, and had no intention of letting it alone.

"Do you feel it start to dance back and forth? Gliding up towards your toes and back down to your heels?"

Sans’s toes began to curl, his face twitched like he was trying to hold back a grin. Papyrus's left foot gave a small but sudden jerk, his breathing starting to hitch and shudder.

"Does it bother you?" Gaster baited. "Is it … ticklish?"

Sans gasped sharply while Papyrus let out a little whine through his teeth. That was it, Gaster was getting through to them with the pure power of suggestion. He went on.

"Perhaps you now feel it stopping at the bottom of your toes…."

Papyrus let out a brief sigh, but Sans still seemed to be holding his breath. Gaster smiled, this was going way better than he had expected.

"No … I don't think it's stopping, it seems to be brushing and bristling along the inside of your toes."

"Nyeh-hee-hee-hee-hee!"

Papyrus finally started to lightly giggle. Sans gritted his teeth hard, his body movements turning to brief little twitches that seemed to get sharper and more panicked. Like he was trying so desperately hard to hold back. Gaster smiled, he knew it was only a matter of time before he got through to his eldest son.

"And now you can feel the feather start to slowly weave in between your toes … starting in between the spaces of your big and second toe, and oh-so-easily slipping and gliding down the rest of your toes as well."

"Eeeeeeeeeeheeheeheehee!!" Papyrus let out a shrill squeal of giggles, his toes curling in and out trying — and failing — to protect himself from the invisible feather.

"Hrrkkkk!!"

Sans's teeth pressed together so hard that it almost looked painful. Opening only to take in sharp gasps of air and try his best to steady his panicked breathing. His toes rapidly wiggled and curled inward, but no matter how hard he tried, it was more than obvious to Gaster that he was feeling the effects.

Gaster couldn't help but grin, he knew for certain that there was an undeniable way for him to finally get Sans to laugh.

"Breathing in … as best as you can through the laughter…," he continued. "You feel the feather moving faster and faster … effortlessly gliding in between your toes. And as you feel the sensation growing stronger … you find yourself falling 100 times more deeper into trance, and feeling yourself growing 100 times more sensitive everytime…."

"Grrrnnnnnnkkkkk...!" Sans groaned loudly, struggling harder than ever to resist Gaster's suggestion.

"I say…."

"Hnnnh...!!"

"The word…."

"Unnnghhh!!"

"...tickle."

Before Gaster had even finished pronouncing the word, the dam finally broke. Sans started laughing and convulsing his feet even harder. Just as Gaster had suggested, the sensitivity of his feet had more than doubled, and the imaginary feather's power had consumed him.

Gaster let out a small chuckle, satisfied with his progress … yet still wanting to see just how far he could push it.

"Feeling so deeply relaxed … and so very … very … ticklish."

"GAAH!! Hahahahahaha!!" Sans erupted in deep laughter, struggling harder than ever against the binds on his legs.

Papyrus wasn't far behind him, squealing and jerking his body around as if that would somehow distract him from the agonizing sensation on his toes.

"Feel the feather starting to glide up from the tops of your toes, all the way up towards your knees….” Gaster grinned through his words.

Gasping in panic, the brothers tried to kick and scrunch up their knees, almost unaware of the restraints holding them back and causing them even more panic.

"And as the feather swirls about your knees…," Gaster went on. "You start to feel 100% more … ticklish."

"AAH! Hahahaha! N-N-Nahahaha!! Hahaha!!"

Sans's head began to rock back and forth. He strained even harder trying to contain his laughter, seeming to struggle to get out the word "No."

Papyrus, on the other hand, seemed nearly paralyzed upon hearing the dreaded ‘T’ word. Gaster could see his legs sticking straight out as his body shook with near-silent giggling.

"Tell me…," Gaster mused. "Is this all feeling particularly … ticklish?" He dragged out the word, sounding out every letter and syllable. Making sure his test subjects heard him clearly.

Papyrus threw his head back, while Sans let out a small shriek. Both of them wracked with laughter and convulsions. While in the trance, they seemed to be completely unaware as to why their bodies weren't moving to protect themselves. Why they couldn't control or completely stop this unusual tickle attack.

Gaster observed his subjects laughing almost to tears, both fascinated and amused. He wasn't entirely sure what came over him, but something about watching the two of them being tickled just by words alone brought out a playful side to him. He grinned as he approached the microphone again.

"You now feel the feather fluttering up towards your rib cage…," he teased. "Getting all of the spaces in between, and feeling oh so very, very ticklish."

Both brothers let out two hysterical shrieks. Sans desperately pulled on the restraints holding down his arms. Panic filled his every movement as he succumbed to his frenzied laughter.

Papyrus's movements were not as dramatic — for a change. As he seemed to have given up on trying to force his body to move and just accepted the sensations, offering only spazzing twitches and jerks. His body rocked back and forth as he embraced the laughter, though it was difficult for Gaster to tell if he was actually starting to enjoy it or not.

Gaster found that he rather enjoyed the sound of his sons' laughter filling his laboratory. Usually his experiments were met with screams or protests from his boys. This noise brought out a subtle, yet joyful demeanor within him, despite the fact that he was drawing it out of them by force. Feeling cheeky, he decided to try just one more thing.

"Tickle, tickle, tickle…," he briefly teased.

Sans's head fell backwards as a silent squeal escaped his teeth, leaving Papyrus to fill the room with insane screams of laughter. Papyrus bucked and jerked, this time making a real effort to pull at his restraints. Gaster figured that this kind of increased sensitivity had finally been too much for him.

By the time Sans finally found the strength to inhale again, his sharp breathing had caused a loud snort to fall out of his nasal cavity. Gaster put a hand to his mouth in shock, he wasn't even aware that Sans was the type of monster who snorted. It was honestly adorable.

But after a few moments, both brothers really started gasping for air, Sans let out even more snorts as his inhales were getting faster. With a sigh, Gaster at last accepted that it was time to end the experiment. He raised his pinched fingers high into the air.

"And…," he paused, taking in the sound of his sons' laughter one more time.

"Stop."

He snapped his fingers, Sans and Papyrus's bodies at last began to relax and settle down. Both of them continued to take in deep inhalations until their breath was finally caught and they laid still on the metal tables breathing normally.

"Good," Gaster said to himself before approaching the microphone again. "Take one more deep breath…," he instructed, and the brothers obeyed. Once again Gaster raised his pinched fingers upwards, preparing to wake them from their trance.

"Now when I snap my fingers, you will wake and return to consciousness … fully awake … and fully aware of what you have just been through…."

Gaster snapped, preparing immediately to catch flack from Sans … but it was quiet. Sans and Papyrus's eyes remained closed. Gaster looked over at them with a confused expression. Perhaps they had not heard him?

"Awake!" he called, snapping his fingers again, but still there was no response.

He held his fingers to the microphone and snapped his fingers again. The sound echoed along the walls of the lab, there was no way anybody who was in the room could have missed it, and yet the brothers did not stir from their trance.

Gaster worriedly approached his test subjects. Putting a palm to both of their nasal cavities, he determined that the both of them were still breathing. He tried snapping his fingers exceptionally close to their ear canals, no response. He shook both of the metal tables, jerking their bodies from side to side, no response. Finally he unlocked the two of them from their upper restraints. Sitting them both up one by one he proceeded to shake them around and call their names. Even calling them by their test subject names just to gauge an angry response from Sans … nothing.

"Oh no…," Gaster breathed out. "Oh, what have I done?" He hurriedly ran to his medical tools on a separate table, speaking out loud as to try and make sense of what had just happened.

"I must have let them slip too deep into trance for too long," he reasoned. "I must find a way to wake them before this gets too out of hand."

Gaster knew that just about anything he said or did to his sons in this condition could leave their mental state quite vulnerable. He knew he had to be careful, but also knew that he just had to find a way to wake them up, and soon!

***

"Pap...?" Sans's eyes blinked several times, he rubbed his sockets wearily. "Papyrus?" he called again. His voice seemed to echo off into a far distance. He was in some sort of strange space where nothing seemed to exist … nothing but white.

Once his eyes adjusted to the strange lighting, he looked around, hopeful to find something or someone that was familiar.

"Papyrus!" he called out, once again hearing the faint echo of his own voice. "Papyrus! Can you hear me?" Nothing but white … white sky, white ground, white space. This world was strange, he just knew he needed to find answers, just as fast as he needed to find his brother.

"S-Sans?"

Sans's soul jumped in his ribcage. He looked around frantically until he spotted Papyrus stumbling towards him from a few yards away.

"Bro!"

Sans sighed with relief, meeting his brother halfway. Papyrus quickly embraced his older brother by picking him up and hugging him tightly. Normally, Sans wasn't a big fan of being picked up, but he was grateful to have some form of normalcy return to him.

"Sans … uhm … where are we?" Papyrus asked after putting him down. "What is this place?"

"I … have no idea." Sans once again resumed looking around, his gaze met with nothing but white. "I don't even remember how we got here … do you?"

Papyrus shook his head.

"I … think I remember Gaster … and...." Papyrus thought hard. "Something about a … feather … maybe?"

"Crazy old man and his experiments," Sans groaned. "Did he send us to another dimension again?"

"Oh, nonsense brother!" Papyrus insisted. "After the mess that happened last time, I don't think he'd chance that again."

"Okay, so then where are we?" Sans put his hands in his pockets, grateful at least to have his brother here, but still feeling wary.

A small breeze started to flow into the space, making the brothers freeze from the sudden movement change. But what really began to set their fears in motion was when that breeze suddenly brought in the sound of high pitched giggling.

The brothers gasped, moving closer towards each other. The giggling was gone just as fast as it came, leaving the two of them feeling anxious.

"S-Sans?" Papyrus nervously broke the silence. "Did you hear that?"

"I … think so?" Sans wasn't quite sure what to think. When it came to taking part in Gaster's experiments, he knew that anything could happen.

The breeze suddenly brought in even more giggling, making the two skeletons jump.

"Sans … was that you making that sound?" Papyrus asked hopefully,

"Bro, do I sound like my voice can go that high?"

True, these giggles didn't sound like they came from any monster the two of them had encountered. These voices were high and squeaky, they were the sound of young children's giggling. The brothers jumped with surprise as the giggling became words.

"Oooh! Lookit what we have here!"

"Two skeletons! They sure do look strange!"

It was a young boy and a young girl's voice. Sans and Papyrus fearfully looked around, but again, there was nothing but white.

"Who's there?" Sans boldly called. "Who are you?"

"I bet they're really fun to play with!" answered the young boy.

"Are they going to be our new friends?" the young girl asked enthusiastically.

"One way to find out!" the boy replied.

"Friends?" Sans asked suspiciously.

"They sound friendly enough, I think." Papyrus whispered back to his brother.

But then the girl replied with a statement that sent a shiver down their spines....

"Hmm … I wonder if they're ticklish."

[n01r-kn1ght]

I’m no expert at writing but came across an old and abandoned draft of a not official continuation of the The Party Incident and Other Embarrassing Anecdotes so I thought I’d share it

Lovingly titled:

The Sleepover Incident

a fanfic of a fanfic

Tonight was the night, you spent a good half of your day prepping your living room to sleepover perfection. When was the last time you had hosted a sleepover let alone been to one? The last one you can recall was around middle school, just before high school, with a couple of your classmates. You were giddy, though you know that movie nights weren't uncommon for you and your friends but a sleepover is a whole different ballpark. The coffee table in the living room was pushed to the side, making way for the ultimate blanket fort. The fort's main structure was made up of the couch and armchairs with your wooden easel as additional structure. The inside of the fort was the fluffiest rug you had as the base, a couple of blankets and meticulously placed pillows. As the cherry on top, you had strung up some fairy lights leftover from last Christmas which gave the fort a warm cozy glow. Smiling and nodding to yourself as you admire your handiwork.

Glancing at the clock, you had a few minutes to spare before someone arrived. Taking the opportunity to finish setting up the snacks and whipping up your infamous cracker dip. It was a recipe passed down from your favorite uncle, a simple dip with Mayo, capers, dill and walnut. Nutty, salty and dilly? What more could a girl want, if you could you'd eat it by the spoonful but then you'd get judging glances from the others. Paps especially, exclaiming "NOT ANOTHER CONDIMENT CONSUMER, YOU AND MY BROTHER COULDN'T BE MORE PERFECT FOR EACH OTHER". After setting up the snack station on the coffee table you heard the sound of familiar footsteps approaching your door, glancing at the clock the door knocked right on time. Making your way to the door, the usual scenario play out.

"knock knock".

"Who's there?" Wondering what new knock knock joke he's whipping out from the seemingly endless supply of jokes he had.

"nobel".

"Nobel who?" You asked as you opened the door.

"nobel, so I knocked", sans shrugged with that playful grin on his face, Papyrus groaned behind him. The two were dressed comfortably, Papyrus in his pjs with rubber duckies on them and Sans in a black tee and a pair of sweatpants.

You rolled your eyes playfully, a smirk forming on your face "Very funny", stepping aside to let the two skeletons in. The two walked in, with Papyrus making a beeline for your cat who was curiously poking its head out to see what all the fuss was  about.

"it's not no-bell prize worthy, but if you like it then it's good enough", giving you a nuzzle on the cheek.

A bit of warmth crept on your face "That would have been really cute if it wasn't for that pun".

Papyrus walked over with you cat comfortably curled in his arms "AGREED, YOUR ROMANTIC GESTURES ARE SOURED BY YOUR CONSTANT NEED FOR PUNS BROTHER", he huffed.

The three of you moved over to the living room, you looked at the brothers with anticipation, waiting to see their reaction to the blanket fort. Papyrus's reaction was immediate, an excited noise escaped his teeth as he gently placed the cat and bags he had been carrying down to admire your work.

"WOWIEE HUMAN, YOUR BLANKET FORT HAS EXCEED MY ALREADY HIGH EXPECTATIONS!" He exclaimed, crawling in only to be delighted even more so that he could comfortably sit without having his skull bumping into the blanket ceiling "I DON'T EVEN HAVE TO SLOUCH TO FIT IN", you felt a bit of pride.

"heh, trying to one up my fort?" Sans asked keeping his eyelights on the fort.

"Me? Trying to one up you? Please, that's a blanket statement". Papyrus poked his head out with a look of betrayal as you punned.

Sans smile grew "if you say so, I'll try not to get too wrapped up with it". With that, the taller skeleton got up and grabbed his bag to set up the food he brought on the coffee table, leaving the two punners behind.

"but in all honesty, it's a great fort, puts mine under the covers", Sans stated nodding in approval.

Your smiled softened "Come on yours was great too, especially since you made it on the fly. I had hours to perfect this, do you know how many times it collapsed on me? Be glad that I'm not an architect".

"i'd say the results would be pretty concrete, wouldn't want you to crack under pressure", you move your arm to punch his shoulder but as usual he dodged it effortlessly.

As he dodged your futile punch, you noticed the small bag he was carrying on left "it's the movies me and paps picked out" he answered the question forming in your head, he sat down in the blanket fort setting his bag aside.

"Oh? And may i know what these movies are? Well I mainly wanna know yours, I'm guessing Paps picked an adventure film or a family film", you say, sitting down next to him, your knee touching his knee cap.

"right on the money with paps", he leans back on a pillow, propping himself up with both arms behind his skull "and i ain't telling ya, these metaphorical lips are sealed".

Joining him, leaned your head against him "Oh come on, at least tell me what genre it is. Is it a comedy or one of those movies that are so bad their good".

"gonna have to get that information from my cold dead hands".

"Really now?" you lean over to face him, your hands resting on each of his sides "Wonder if i could tickle your funny bone to get that info out of you".

"do your worst, nothin gets under my skin", he said cooly.

Just for that pun, you attacked with a barrage of tickles. Fingers tickling in spots you'd typically be most sensitive to, but to your dismay his face gave no reaction except for that ever growing smug grin.

"told ya", he said before sitting up and pushing you down, effectively switching positions.

He was on top of you with his phalanges intertwined with your fingers, keeping you pinned down. His face, mere inches away from yours and his face was shadowed with only the warm lights of the fairy light illuminating the edges of his skull. His eyelights were soft and dilated, the only sound you could hear was your ever increasing breath and the sound of your soul stuttering.

Thump Thump

Your cheeks grew warmer, as he slowly made to move in closer to your face. A kiss? You closed your eyes, happily accepting a kiss. For a moment, nothing happened then you felt his phalanges leave and move to your sides. When suddenly you felt a sharp tickling sensation of bony phalanges dance across your skin under your shirt. Your eyes shot open as your burst out laughing, you move your hands to push away his but he deceptively had a strong hold of you.

"S-Sans!" you barely spat out between laughing fits, snorting in a breath "That's cheating!" he moved from your sides tickling your armpit and neck.

"what? this ain't tickling your fancy?"

"No!" you spat, feeling the tears streaming down your face "Make it stop" you pleaded.

"alright, say uncle", he briefly stopped to let that sink in.

...

You blinked, taking the opportunity to catch your breath "Are... Are you serious...?"

...

He stared at you for a moment before resuming his attack in response. A snort got caught in your throat as you sharply inhaled the air. You can feel your cheeks starting to ache from the smiling and your stomach cramping from laughing fits.

You were even getting a little lightheaded "U-uncle!" you surrendered. He quickly retracted his phalanges from your ticklish spots. You panted, taking a moment to calm down and catch your breath.

Once calmed down, you sat up face to face with him, pouting "You're the worst, catching me off guard like that".

"hey pal, just dishing back what you were serving", he chuckles.

"Ugh, to think you faked out a smooch. Unbelievable", crossing your arms.

His cheekbones dusted with a light blue, he cupped your face in his hands "if you wanted to smooch you could have just asked", he said warmly.

Thump thump

The warmth crept back in "Please", you softly said, you're lips feeling tender and tingly.

"well, since you asked so nicely", he pulls you in, his teeth nuzzling against your lips. Small warm tingles peppered your lips, you reciprocated with applying back your own pressure from your lips. You felt warm, loved and safe with him.

The two of you pull back, you're face glowing with red and warmth and Sans literally glowing. The two of you looked at each other longingly, fingers and phalanges intertwined. The quiet tender moment was interrupted with a small squeal of delight. Looking out the entrance of the blanket fort, you see Papyrus crouching down with his hands cupping his jaw. Realising the two of you noticed him, he cleared his throat and quickly left with your cat to give you space. You shook your head, chuckling softly.

[llamagoddessofficial]

@aizawasluckylady commissioned a part 2 to adorable Skull rescuing you. I love this dork, he's such a joy to write.

--

You couldn’t help it. You’d been staring on and off for almost half an hour, at the two skeletons sat a few tables from you at the cafe. It took all the courage you had in you- but it was now or never, right? You'd paid for your food, you couldn't linger any longer. You finally took a breath, shifting your bag onto your shoulder... then you walked over, approaching their table.

You didn’t know who the lanky skeleton in the orange scarf was. He had nice, straight teeth, probably thanks to the hard work of his neat silver braces- a pair of glasses were perched on his face, taped into position on the sides of his skull. He was talking excitedly to Skull, who you absolutely recognised; he was your saviour, after all. Skull had a blue beanie pulled over his cracked cranium, and wore a comfortable looking chunky grey turtleneck. He had a relaxed expression on his face as the other skeleton talked on... his mug was empty, the tall skeleton’s still full of what appeared to be hot chocolate.

Even sat down, they were both tremendously tall. Skull was your height while sitting, and the taller skeleton had a few inches on you, they dwarfed every other person in the cafe. Looking at Skull, you couldn’t help but replay being carried by him, in your mind... all you could think about was how warm his arms he had been. How secure you felt when he carried you, the sensation of relief and gratitude that rushed over you. How nice he had smelled, how lovely his voice was... how intently he’d listened to you go on and on about the most menial of subjects.

... You tried to shut the thoughts up. You didn’t want to be obviously blushing when you said hi. 

“H-hey!” Your voice cracked- embarrassing. But you tried to make up for it with friendliness, fiddling with your bag strap. “Skull, right? It’s great to see you again.”

... The tall skeleton stopped talking. Both of them looked at you.

...

... Then they had very different reactions. 

The tall skeleton’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, his braced grin rising and sockets immediately sparkling as he set down his cup. Skull, on the other hand, went absolutely stone still; his big red eyelight shrank, he stared blankly at you.

“OH!! MY GOODNESS!!!!” Not-Skull turned in his chair to face you, leaning forward and grabbing your hand with both of his, shaking enthusiastically and unintentionally pulling you closer as your whole arm ragdolled in his excited shake. “IT’S SO GOOD TO MEET YOU! I’M PAPYRUS! YOU MUST BE THE HUMAN I’VE HEARD SO MUCH ABOUT!”

You blinked. “H... heard about...?”

Skull’s eyelight jumped from you to the other skeleton. You saw his grip increase on his cup. He made a panicked noise in the back of his throat- ‘Papyrus’ did not hear it.

“YES, OF COURSE!” He sounded absolutely delighted. “MY BROTHER RESCUED YOU WHILE WALKING, RIGHT? OH, HOW ROMANTIC! LITERALLY SWEPT OFF YOUR FEET! IT’S SO GOOD TO MEET YOU, GOSH I ALREADY SAID ‘GOOD TO MEET YOU’, DIDN’T IT? I’M JUST VERY EXCITED! HE REALLY LIKES YOU, YOU KNOW, HE HASN’T STOPPED TALKING ABOUT YOU- WHICH IS VERY UNUSUAL, SINCE HE USUALLY DOESN’T TALK MUCH AT ALL!” 

Your face flushed. What? Skull talked about you? “Uh,”

“pap.” Skull mumbled, iris all but boring a hole into his brother. Sweat had appeared on his head, his expression was completely unreadable.

“HOW IS YOUR FOOT? I’M GLAD YOU GOT HOME SAFELY, IT SOUNDED LIKE YOU HAD QUITE THE INJURY. HAVE YOU BEEN RESTING AND EATING WELL? GOSH, YOU’RE JUST LIKE HE DESCRIBED! YOU SEE, I RECOGNISED YOU IMMEDIATELY BECAUSE HE DESCRIBED YOU IN GREAT DETAIL!” 

... The informational overload was getting greater by the moment. Talked about you? Described you? Was that true? You glanced over at Skull, ears burning, overwhelmed and unsure of what to say or think. He looked equally as shaken as you- he was now staring at the table, slightly quivering.

“YOU DEFINITELY MATCH HIS DESCRIPTION!” Papyrus beamed. “THOUGH MOSTLY HE JUST WENT ON AND ON ABOUT THE FACT THAT YOU WERE VERY PRETTY, AND HAD A VERY NICE VOICE-!”

CRUNCH!

... You both startled, Pap looked over his shoulder. Skull had shattered his cup, shards of ceramic falling from his clenched fist. 

...

Some people were staring. Skull didn’t move.

“OH MY STARS, SANS!” Papyrus tutted. “YOU NEED TO BE MORE GENTLE. WAIT HERE, HUMAN, I’LL GO ASK FOR SOME HELP CLEANING THIS UP.”

Papyrus stood up, and quickly pushed you into his now unoccupied seat; right next to Skull. Then he rushed away.

...

You and Skull sat in stunned silence. You were still holding your bag like you were about to leave. Your face was beet red- you were absolutely mortified, you couldn’t read Skull’s expression. It felt like a hurricane had just passed through.

... That was not how you expected that to go. You’d been imagining a relaxed meeting, a few words, maybe one or two jokes and you doing most of the talking. Maybe, hopefully, getting his number. You didn’t anticipate something like that- through all the fluster you felt terrible, like you just embarrassed Skull in front of the entire cafe.

...

“... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” “i-i’m sorry, he’s-”

... You both closed your mouths at the same time. You also both sank into your seats, with equal amounts of ‘how do I do this?’ written on your faces.

...

“... That’s, erm... that was your brother, right?” 

Skull nodded. His iris was laser-focused on the table as he continued to sweat. You tried not to think too hard about what Papyrus had said- maybe it was a prank? Siblings did that to one another, right? You had no idea what their relationship was like. As much as your heart fluttered at the idea that Skull had liked you so much that he’d gushed about you to his brother, you had to bear in mind the possibility that Papyrus was pulling Skull’s leg. Teasing him in front of someone he knew.

(... Though for some reason, you got the sense Pap wasn’t like that.)

“He seems really nice.” You said, honestly.

“he is.” Skull replied softly.

...

“... i’m sorry.” He mumbled, using his other hand to reach up, pulling his beanie down over his face, suddenly seeming like he wanted to completely vanish. “you... h-had to hear... all that...”

Is he embarrassed because it was true? You hoped so.

“... It’s okay. Really.” You tilted your head. “I-is your hand...?”

... He finally unclenched it, only now remembering his fist was still closed, shards of ceramic falling out. Luckily, he still had the tray from his order, and all the pieces bounced onto that. There wasn't much of a mess, just a sad ruined cup.

“s’fine.” Solid bone probably didn’t have much trouble with pottery. 

He looked overwhelmed.

...

“Do you wanna stand outside for a bit?”

His eyelight finally flickered over to you, widening- like clouds parting, you could see readable emotions appearing on his face. Mostly positive ones, and a flash of relief.

“yes.” He wheezed, grin raising. “please.”

The two of you stood up together, Skull leaving his coat over the back of his chair to indicate that he was coming back and wasn’t just fleeing the scene of the mug-breaking crime. It took a few seconds of navigating the small maze of chairs and tables, but eventually you found yourself outside again with your back resting against the wall adjacent to the cafe door. You gratefully took in the fresh air, Skull quickly shuffling in beside you and shaking his hand of the remaining cup fragments.

“This is much nicer.” You said, enjoying the sudden sense of space. You always felt better outside. “... Uhm... how have you been recently? We haven’t spoken since the walk.”

... Skull’s cheekbones started to colour. That lovely gentle ultramarine flush. “... good.”

...

“your... leg?” He sounded hopelessly shy. Like he was trying.

“... Oh! My leg! It’s fine now.” You looked down at the foot, tapping the toe of your shoe against the ground. “Wasn’t broken after all, just sprained. I’m so lucky you found me when you did, it didn’t get any worse and it’s healing great. It still feels a bit sore, but it should be fine in a week or so, so long as I’m gentle with it. I think I’m going nuts, though, I was told not to hike until it was healed and I haven’t seen my favourite trails once after the injury. I don’t know what to do with myself now that I can’t go walking. I’m desperate to go out, it’s...”

... You stopped yourself, losing steam, looking up to meet Skull’s staring. 

As much as his comment about liking listening to you had stuck with you... you doubted he wanted to hear an in-depth recounting of how your sprained ankle had impacted your outdooring schedule.

You glanced away. Your head was a total mess. You embarrassed Skull in front of a cafe of people, and now you were talking his nonexistent ear off about your stupid leg. You were sure you’d be lying awake at night replaying this scenario for the next several years, and though you were sure there were other ways to approach this, you were reaching the end of your ability to deal with yourself. Flustered was an understatement.

(You didn’t hear his mumble- “i’d carry you.”)

You took a breath, forcing your tone into something more easygoing, shoving your hands in your pockets and plastering a smile on your face. “Well! I-I should... get going. I've paid and all. I’m sure you and your brother have stuff to be getting on with. I’ll-”

... Skull reached out, and snagged the end of your sweater sleeve with a claw. Like a kid holding onto their parent’s arm to make sure they didn’t get too far away.

His eyelight was huge, warm in his socket and intense in its gaze. “wait.”

... He suddenly didn’t sound so nervous. Or... look so nervous. He drew a bit closer, and your breath caught in your throat.

“Oh,” you felt your heart rate pick up again, at his proximity. Did you forget something? “uhm...”

“... m’not... lettin’ you escape again.” He said, with a softly determined and unabashed look. “i like you. how you talk. and look.”

...

You went pink pink. Why... why did you like hearing that so much? The idea that he could want you around made your head buzz.

“I-I,” you so eloquently declared, brain running on fumes. “I also... like how you talk and look.”

...

If his smile was anything to go by, despite your fear he'd be let down by your brainless response... he apparently really, really liked that reaction.

“could... i, mh... ... your number?”

[tiny-sassy-aggressive]

I am living blogging my reaction to the second watch through of WDAPTEO 4 bc the first run through was so much

00:00- I screamed when I saw the notif. I was alone in the car. Just pulled up to my apt looked at my phone and screamed “ no way “ I still can’t believe we got it

00:01- hi, they are SO BEAUTIFUL I’m squealing. I cannot stop staring it’s embarassing

00:27 what’s going on here? “Nothing” my heart. The smiles

00:50 oh I am LOVING the feature wall. And fish tank reveal project??

01:00 how dare they throw THAT japhan photo up there like it’s just some example. Who the hell do they think they are- also I want that doomed hoodie :( he is snug as a bug in a rug

01:50 terror not even 2 minute in and crack

02:03 I’m sorry Dan asking Phil about TikTok stuff is precious

02:13(What is cba)

02:39 I CACKLED. Phil’s sarcastic ass omg

02:44 dans little pat

02:58 phivorce

03:05 I know the ft, they are friends of course. But seeing the messages really warms my heart. Like it’s so normal why am I emotional

03:52 of course Phil sends millions of memes

04:10 how in the fuck did Phil catch his phone what??? Ft dans face during the whole interaction.

Ad time —— 04:25. Im sorry Dan looks fucking amazing, his hair is so curled and pretty? And he looks so comfy cozy and soft??? My Dannie side is really coming out rn

04:59 handsome devil, damn straight. Love this man he’s too precious for this world

05:23 🍑

05:55 are the Brits okay??? Bone daddies?? I’m too American for this

06:30 perfectly encapsulated Dan and Phil energy

06:35 Dan saying dude scratches a weird itch in my brain

06:55 again! Totally normal to call a friend in a taxi. But this moment makes them so real in my mind like yes. Call that friend. In that taxi. Make it less awkward. Why did I like this moment so much

07:05 A PRETEND CONVO OF COURSE HE WOULD. He’s so real for that

07:34 “these are very dan and Phil”

07:42 I’m in pain. Koala content and ouch I can’t even put into words

08:44 three days without a text sounds exaggerated. Or lie. Like cmon. All those messages and convos and yall went 3 days without a word?? Sounds fake

08:58 asking what he should do for his nails!!? Again totally normal but UGH I love their friendship

09:01 also Phil coming in with a STELLAR idea, hope to see it happen

09:11 Phil’s a little shit OMG he hated the nails Dan got.

09:38: dans precious little selfies

09:44 also who tf is that that does not look like Dan

09:52 wtf do you mean that they had the same weird Swedish bakery???? 10 years apart???? WHAT THE HELL??????

10:35 fuckin nerds ft cute ft selfie

10:52 Dan in Phil’s glasses hi what the fuck? Precious. Phil loves to take photos of Dan sleeping.

11:02 jump. Scare.

11:28 PHIL CALLED HIS MOM. NURSE LESTER.

12:11 Dan stalking the ring doorbell is not something I expected?

12:20 glad to know Phil and I share that we can’t hear someone saw our name bc it’s too intimate

13:16 ordering a roast dinner is so cute idk why

13:35 jump. Scare.

14:26 I hate them :( i so long for what they have

15:04 they didn’t see death note the musical!! Haters!!!!

15:20 HOT

16:00 Phil papping Dan>>>>>>

16:20 I rewatched this part so many times. Thsi entire sequence. This whole. Dare i say SCENE. Disgustingly familiar. Disgustingly cute. I- karaoke game???? What??? It was for them

17:06 omatone :(

18:22 hot? Worrying? Hmm???

18:45 Phil is so dramatic I love him

19:01 genre to dinner? I don’t get them

19:10 DAAAAAN AHHHHH

19:20 SCRIPTS AH???????3@2/9/@/9@22929 more writer Dan

20:17 this is so familiar

20:50 this has “would you still love me if I was a worm” energy? Can’t explain

22:53 “we dan and phil-ed it” we have to steal that! Asap’

23:24 when Dan sits up he is soooo much taller than Phil but he constantly slumps down and looks up to Phil. It’s very cute to watch.

24:30 oh they are fully embracing the joint channel and slowly moving away from gaming and honestly. I’m alright with it. They look so happy

Guys this was too much. So I just started reading fanfic and these conversations were right out of what I’ve been reading which is very odd tbh? But we were fed. This was amazing content and I can’t wait to see what the writers do with this. Cheers

[sassyfrassboss]

“She was said to wear 5 inch heels and she still didn’t come anywhere close to Harry’s 6'1.”

Hi Sassy! So nice to have you and Empress back for a bit! Re: MM’s height, there are 2 events in particular where the pics show very clearly how short she actually is (imo, she’s 5'2" - 5'3"….and I say that as someone who’s 5'3"):

1) The pics from IG Toronto, their first official appearance as a couple, where she wore torn jeans, Misha’s “husband shirt,” and flats. In the pics of them walking side by side, there’s at least 10"- if not more - between her head and H’s, who’s 6'1" (when he’s not wearing his own high heels to appear taller than Travolta or William haha). That would make her at best 5'3" (and maybe even shorter).

2) The pics from the infamous “Fab Four Reunite” Windsor walk with W/C/H/MM, after HLMQEII passed. In the pics of the four of them initially walking from the car toward the crowd, MM looks like an actual shrimp compared to W/C/H, and she was wearing heels there. Even in heels, though, there’s at least 10" - 12" between her head and H’s.

And speaking about her shortness, what’s up with her stupid “pap drive” pics, where she can barely see over the steering wheel?!! She looks ridiculous, like a little ole granny who needs a booster seat. CHPs should ticket her for reckless papdriving! (Except, can they ticket someone who’s only driving around a parking lot for the pap pics?)

___

Thanks! Glad to be back for a little while at least :)

1. 

This was her famous merch outfit...I remember the hype about the shirt, jeans, and her BAG...

2. 

Catherine’s face...My God was she MAD. Meghan’s heels look to be about 3-4 inches here so that would put her at 5′6 which is comparable with Harry’s 6′3 because you can see in the next picture he is wearing his lifts.

As for the steering wheel photo...yeah. Looks ridiculous. 

[raina-at]

Taxi

Sherlock raises his hand to summon a taxi. John keeps telling him that his ability to always get a cab to stop for him is uncanny. Sherlock never bothered to explain that it’s a combination of his awareness of the rules of the flow of traffic in London and the fact that he’s quite a bit taller than John and easier to spot. The second would have hurt John’s feelings and the first would have punctured the mystique, and Sherlock thinks the reason they’ve been married for twenty years without any major arguments is that they both know how to keep a bit of mystery intact.

Today, he is especially glad for this ability as he helps his heavily pregnant daughter into the vehicle.

The driver takes one look at them and says, “No. Get out. You’re not popping in my bloody backseat.”

Sherlock turns to him and narrows his eyes. “Sheffield, originally. Wife, two children, you played football semiprofessionally but blew out your knee, you have a mistress in Hounslow your wife doesn’t know about and you’re up to your neck in gambling debts. Keep your mouth shut and your eyes on the road and I won’t phone your wife to tell her about your extramarital activities.”

The taxi driver, who’s gone white as a sheet, swallows and nods, then turns around back to face the traffic.

Rosie is watching him with an awed expression. “Sometimes you scare me a bit,” she says, then grins. “That was brilliant! I can’t wait to tell Dad!”

Then her face contorts with pain and she doubles over with another contraction. 

“Steady now, Watson, we’ll be at the hospital soon.” He settles her into her seat, then gets into the car and gives the driver the name of the hospital.

As soon as the cab moves into traffic, Rosie tilts over and rests against his side. “You texted Mark, right?”

“Yes, he said he’d meet us at the hospital.”

“And Dad?”

“On his way as well.”

Rosie’s quiet for a bit as she breathes through the pain. Sherlock can tell when the contraction fades as the tension goes out of her body and she releases the death grip she had on his hand.  Her eyes are closed and she already sounds exhausted. She’s been having contractions on and off for several hours now, but both her midwife and John recommended staying active until the contractions grew more regular, so she stayed at 221B to help Sherlock sort through some of her childhood things to leave behind in London ahead of Sherlock and John’s move to Sussex. 

“Paps?” she finally says, still leaning against Sherlock.

Sherlock hums once to let her know he’s listening.

“I’m having a bit of a problem.”

“Am I allowed to guess?” he asks, having learned form a experience that sometimes people don’t want their problems deduced, they want to tell you themselves. It took him about ten years of marriage and living with a teenager to learn this, but learn it he did.

“No,” Rosie grumbles. “It’s about the name.”

“What about the name?”

“Well…” Rosie hesitates, and then sits up to look at him. “I thought about naming my daughter Joanna after Dad.”

“Well, obviously,” Sherlock says, having guessed this about six months ago. “It’s a lovely name, your dad will be over the moon, what’s the problem?”

Rosie hesitates a bit more, then she takes a deep breath and blurts out, “I was trying to come up with a way to name her after you, too, but your names are just impossible to work with for a girl. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, but I couldn’t think of a way to do it.”

Sherlock blinks, unsure what to say to this. It never occurred to him that Rosie would want to name her child after him. Her dad, obviously, but him…

“Dad had the same problem, by the way,” Rosie adds, “he told me once that he tried to work it in somehow, but he didn’t want to name me Wilma or Willhelmina, he says no kid deserves that. But it always bothered him, and it bothers me, too. I don't want you to think I'm picking Dad over you."

Sherlock huffs a laugh and bites his lips to keep the tears he feels building in his eyes from spilling. After twenty years, it's still sometimes hard to believe that he's as much Rosie's father as John is. It still takes him by surprise sometimes that the two people he loves most in the world love him back.

“Oh my god are you crying?” Rosie exclaims. “Are you getting sentimental on me, Paps?”

“You wait until you tell Dad about your chosen name, he’ll cry like a little girl.”

“Dad doesn’t cry.”

“Your wedding?”

Rosie rolls her eyes. “That was an once in a lifetime thing.”

“And the day his first grandchild is born, who will be named after him isn’t?”

“Bet you a fiver he’ll hold it together,” Rosie says with a grin.

“Easiest money I ever made.”

Rosie laughs and settles back against him. “So,” she says with a contented sigh. “What to do about my dilemma?”

Sherlock kisses the top of her head. “You’re forgetting one thing, sweetheart. "

“What’s that?”

“Your daughter’s full name. Joanna Watson-Holmes, like her mother, Rosamund Watson-Holmes. Your dad did what he said he would. He named you after me in the end.”

Rosie smiles. “Definitely getting sentimental in your old days, Paps.”

Sherlock looks out of the window and doesn’t even try to stop himself from getting misty-eyed at the thought of his little girl becoming a mother, about this new little girl which will be his and John’s and Rosie’s together. “Don’t mention it to the cab driver.”

He can hear the smile in Rosie’s voice as she answers, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

A bit of sentimental Parentlock - or Grandparentlock, I should say.

Thank you so much @calaisreno for keeping us going!

Tagging some of the usual suspects: @helloliriels @jrow @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @meetinginsamarra @topsyturvy-turtely @thetimemoves @7-percent @totallysilvergirl @khorazir @catlock-holmes and anyone else who wants to play.

[pollyna]

notes more than anything else. (half mine and half @redhead-writes 🫶)

- Post mission de-aged Bradley, nobody knows about icemav even if they're married, and baby goose goes and calls Mav paps! and Ice dad! like 0.3 seconds a part in front of the whole fucking entire squadron;

- And maybe he de-ages to a moment when Carole was already starting to be sick, spend a lot of time in the hospital so Baby Goose was at home with Ice while Mav was in deployed and he finds himself on the carrier and Ice isn't anywhere to be seen and panics because papa papa where's dad why Dad isn't here? and everybody believes he's talking about Nick and Mav doesn't know what to do because is back is killing him but he doesn't want to let Bradley go;

- Mav literally has to pick him up because he's six and he wants to be hugged by his dad and he's wearing too big clothes and what are we playing at?

- Baby Goose is little but the carrier is full jets and be can't contain himself from pointing around and screaming "ARE THOSE PLANES? DID DAD FINALLY GET US ALLOWANCE TO FLY? DID YOU FINALLY CONVINCE HIM PAPA???" and, in the same sentence,"DID WE PAINT THE HELMET TOGETHER PAPA????"

- All in all, Bobby is the first one to get out of shock. He knows Maverick must be injured. So he talks with Bradley, introducing himself and how papa is a bit hurt, so Bob will be his own personal carrier for today. Promises that they will stay close to Maverick. Javy is next to get out of it and commands others getting food and juice, and maybe some kid clothes and tries to ask, very gently, which his Bradley's favourite food without making him noticing that they're taking Mav away;

- Natasha is inventing wild stories about dragons while he cuddles between Jake's arms, because he looks comfy, and everybody else's is there just looking out for him. Bob is the one with Maverick mostly because he seems to know if someone doesn't take the man to the infirmary, he won't go;

- there's then the small matter of Hondo calling Ice, who's in Washington D.C., and the moment his voice is on the other side of the phone Bradley doesn't hear anything else and starts crying because dad dad where are you papa is hurt please dad come to take us home. Ice is shocked. This sounds like their Baby Goose when he was little, and he can't think about Hondo pranking him on something that important. Especially when he doesn't know anything about Mav yet. So the man is on the first plane to his husband and son. It takes hours, and Bradley ends up sleeping with Mav and eats terrible pancakes cutted by little jets because Yale is that good with plastic knife and fork. And then he has this kid who's not taller than his knees that looks at him like he's his whole world and calls him dad and hugs him and oh oh god baby goose it's all okay, it's going to be okay;

- You look old dad. Were we separeted for so long?, baby goose asked, when they're both sitting by Mav. Papa looks old too, he has a lot funny lines over his face, but his voice is the same. Yours isn't what I remember it was! How could we be separated for so long? My stomach hurts so much when I think we dowhen I think we were apart! It's okay if you or papa can't take me up on your shoulder again, I still love you but please please I don't want to miss you anymore! Mav finds them like that, Bradley on Ice's lap, both of them crying softly and hugging each other. We're together now baby, everything's gonna be okay, papa and dad are here he murmurs kissing Ice's forehead and messing with Bradley's curls. We're going to fix this and when you'll be big again we're going to fix it all, I swear;

-It takes the aircraft five days to get back to coast and all the barracks are too small but the captain leaves the three of them his quarters and they sleep half on the floor and half of the bed, cuddling with baby goose and Mav feels like he's thirty again and nothing got wrong again. Ice kisses him a little harder and the whole world discovers them but it has so little relevance because, even if just for a little longer, they just want to enjoy what life gave them;

- Being ashore, with a kid between his arms and his husband's arm around his wrist, is probably one of the strangest sensation Mav ever felt. He dreamt of it for years, every time he was back from deployment and Ice had to wait him home because not even taking Bradley with him could justify their reaction. But now he has it all and they're going home;

- They fall asleep in front of the TV, dinner forgot on the table a couple of feels from them, baby Goose cuddling between Ice and Mav's chest. The next morning Bradley is back to being himself, and his first reaction is to run because that's Mav and Ice and he supposed to be resenting them but he can't move. Doesn't want to, at least for a little longer.

Loosely inspired by this fic.

[ad-kuroi]

Amneziatale Toriel, Flowey, Asriel and Asgore

And again sketches, but now a family of fuzzies and one small flower.

Toriel: ??? years old, 179 cm tall (yes, Paps is taller), wears a kind of tunic over her dress, tied with a belt, remains a kind mother.

Flowey (now): ??? years old, 30 cm tall (maybe), the petals and stem, due to an overabundance of determination, began to have red shades closer to the head and at the tips, on the cheeks like red cracks-stripes, the back has 2 leaves and 2 additional petals, which are completely red and resemble horns in some way.

Asriel once upon a time: 7-9 years old, 120 cm tall, the tips of the ears are slightly black, he wears a sweater and a friendship pendant, in his last days he wore a wreath of golden flowers.

Asgore: ??? years old, 210 cm tall (excluding horns), scar on the left side of the face from the war, always in armor, has a trident as if with spikes like his horns, hated people.

[sariels-world-ella]

I made this a bit ago never really bothered to post it but here's a reference of Sw!Fallenswap Papyrus

Infomation down below:

Basic info:

Full Name: Papyrus Gaster

Alias: Pap, Papy, F.P (outside of AU only), The orange one, the younger Gaster brother, the taller one, Mr. Gaster, Mr. Papyrus, the one with the hat, numbskull, The Great Papyrus Gaster, Uncle Papyrus

Titles: Nurse Gaster (assumed)

Biological Sex: none

Gender: unknown if he has one but he is referred to in a masculine way

Age: 94

Birthday: November 12th 1934

Height: 5ft 8in - 6ft

Weight: 23.149 lbs

Romantic preference: Neither (aromantic)

Status: Undead/Active

Birthday: November 12th 1934

Species: Monster

Type: Undead

- Variant: Modern

- Category: Corporal

Race:Skeleton (Lichkin/half-lich)

Occupation: Nurse (formerly), Cartoonist (main job), Pasta stall vender (part-time), Artist [Sculptor/Tailor/Potter/Painter/ect.] (Part-time) substitute teacher (occasional part time job) babysitter (occasional part-time job), day care worker (occasional part time job)

Known Family: Wingding Gaster (Father). Sans C. Gaster (Older Brother), Sariel Arrus Gaster (Niece), Semi Serifs “Grandpa Semi” Gaster (Grandfather) J.A River (implied?), Toriel Dreemurr (sister-in-law), MK (Step-nephew) Frisk (Step-nibling, Legal dependent in 2nd variant of pacifist ending)

Strongest magic Attack: Karmic retribution

Strongest Physical Attack: Mutilate - Use your superior undead strength to mutilate your enemy with your bare hands, deals bleeding damage

Strongest Heal: Revive - revive a fallen/K.Oed, but not dead, ally to full HP

Powers, abilities and battle information:

Stats: Hp: 23,375 Def: 4 Att: 80

Best Battle Role: Healer.

Weapon: unarmed

Armor: none

Weapon Arsenal: War Scythe Att: 55 (a two handed halberd looking weapon, he rarely uses unless in a serious battle), Smoke Bombs Att: 0, Blasters/River Withers Att: 99 (plasma-energy blaster).

Other Armors: None

Preferred weapon type: Dual-wield or two-handed weapons

Preferred attack type: Subdue/Pacify/neutralize, Magic

Battle Check Description: “Not your enemy”

Notes: works the same as it does in Undertale, though it doesn’t seem to work on Sans when Papyrus and him sparred, this either means A.) It doesn’t work on his brother for whatever reason B.) Papyrus can choose whether or not it applies C.) it doesn’t apply in sparring matches.

- Osteokinesis

- “Karmic Retribution”

“Psionic abilities”

Description: “as an undead, he has an innate ability to learn psionic powers, (Teleportation, Telekinesis, Telepathy ect.) and have 0 cool-down and cost 0 energy (or TP for juvenile monsters). As a skeleton, he has a mastery of Telekinesis and Teleportation”

- Limited Infrared and ultraviolet light vision/detection

Description: “As an Undead, besides his enhanced hearing, he also has enhanced vision, sensitive enough to detect infrared or ultraviolet light if he wishes to. Though since Papyrus is a pacifist he doesn’t use this to track and hunt down his enemies, instead he usually uses it during hide and seek or for more practical uses”

- Clairvoyance

Description: “Papyrus has the ability to be capable of perceiving things or events in the future or beyond normal sensory contact, through either full-on visions or just sensing something is amidst. Usually able to detect someone in distress or a future or present bad event going on. He is extra sensitive to ones that relate to himself or his family, able to sense his brother getting upset about something even beyond their own universe. His Clairvoyance seems to work differently than his father’s, as it is triggered much differently and not triggered at will.”

- “Incantation speech casting”

Description: “as a Lich’s kin, aka a half-lich, he can use and learn incantations like how a lich is able to do, however his incantations have more limits, cool-downs and sometimes side-effects that it wouldn’t be if he was an actual lich.”

Notes: Dragons and fairies are the major other users of incantation shouts/spells. Papyrus seems to only use, or only can use, healing incantations of any origin, with a drawback of possibly harming himself in the process.

- “Cleansing Soul” Incantation (Dragon Origin)

Incantation: “Vokrii Zii Tol Los Horvutah Ko Vokun!” (single target ver.: “Vokrii Krent Zii!)

Translation: “Revive Souls that are trap[ped] in Darkness!” (single target Ver.: Restore Broken Soul!)

Description: a special incantation in Dovahzul that can cleanse an entity of darkness and corruption, depending on how much it is corrupted depends for how long and much it cleanses them for. If unable to fully cleanse or permanently cleanse the soul it will paralyze the target for up to 2 hours, depending on how effective it was. This holds no side effects towards himself.

- “Breath of Life” Incantation (Light origin)

Incantation: “FEKI! BLAHLAH RACKABOO WOO MEKA MEEFE”

Translation: “Friend! Say hello to life again”

Description: Call into the aether for the ability to bring life back into your allies!

Effect: Group heal, brings life back into all fallen allies, as Papyrus is Undead his defense will go down by 6% for the next 2 hours he is in his target’s presence.

- Undeath:

Description: as an undead monster, due to his Elvish ancestors being cursed (or blessed depending on who you ask) with undeath, Papyrus is immortal and immune to many mortal plights, like disease, suffocation, starvation, sleep deprivation, old age, poison, and much more but it comes with drawbacks, like a weakness to things like fire, salt and silver, and due to being a skeleton, he can only truly die in battle or if his skull is completely destroyed. Any other possible undeath ending things will just incapacitate him.”

- Revoke

Description: remove all debuffs and negative status effects from all allies, 9-turn cool down.

- Protective shield.

Description: summon a shield to protect all allies for 10 turns, all shielded allies take 80% less damage.

- “Lich Soul”

Description: as a half-lich, due to his lich parent, Papyrus possesses many passive abilities a lich has, one is to have his soul persist after death and/or live outside his body and easily become a lich if he so chooses.

Usage: makes him highly resistant to soul trapping abilities, as he can perfectly function without his soul physically in his body as if it was. Though his other passives have a wide range of uses.

- “Truesight”

Description: as a Lich’s kin, aka a half-lich, due to his lich parent, Papyrus possesses Truesight, the ability to see in darkness, into the ether, and through illusions, transmutations and invisibility.

- "Child of the Night"

Description: as an undead, he is a Child of the Night, meaning he is much stronger at night, he’s immune to all dark and black magic as well as corruption related attacks, instead absorbing it, like any undead, enough could reanimate him. However, unlike most undead he is more resilient towards the white arts, but it still would harm him though it cannot kill him, but in turn his dark abilities are much weaker.

- Chlorokinesis

- Cleanse Minds

Description: Rid all party members of EMOTIONAL debuffs

Usage: this is mainly useful to get rid of fear, dazed or nausea debuffs, though Revoke has the same effect and eliminates more different types of debuffs, Cleanse Minds doesn't have a cool down.

- Revive

Description: revive a fallen/K.Oed, but not dead, ally to full HP

- "Nerves of Steel"

Status effect: Papyrus is immune to all insanity depletion or manipulation ACTs or abilities.

Revitalize:

Description: adds the regeneration effect to self or another, regenerating 5 hp each turn for 7 turns, will deal lingering damage to a undead target (unless dark/necromantic version is used)

- Omnilingual

- Levitation

- Super Speed

- Mend Flesh (Only works on humans)

Description: Heals a single human target to full HP

- Healing prayer.

Description: Heal a single ally to half health and they take 50% less damage for 3 turns.

- Necromantic Healing

Description: heal a single undead ally or self for 20 HP

- Healing Rain

Description: calling upon the skies above, he can summon a life giving rain upon all party members, however, due to his undead nature, this hurts him in the process.

- Revive

Description: Papyrus zaps the life back into a dying/fallen down ally restoring them to full health, if they are human, Papyrus can return their life force to them, causing the human’s body to reabsorb its soul.

Rejuvenate

Description: "heal 15 HP to party members and increase their HP by 20 points for 7 turns, 8 turn cool down"

- “Ray of Sunlight”

Description: call upon the sun to fuel a damaging ray of light to strike his foe, however aftershock may damage him as well. Only works outdoors during the daytime when it’s clear and sunny.

_____

● Weaknesses and Vulnerabilities: silver, skull destruction, holy water, Fire, lacks a sense of touch, taste and smell, and is vulnerable to radiant damage, Light Magic, White arts, Healing Magic, Holy Magic, purity magic

● Repellents, but not necessarily weaknesses: salt, burning sage, UV light.

● Immunities: temperature, death effects, Hunger, disease, mind-affecting effects, paralysis, poison/venom, disease, sleep deprivation, stun, corruption, dark magic, black arts, possession, drowning and suffocation.

● Resistance: necrotic damage, intoxication, unaligned magic/energy attacks, fall damage, fear inducement, emotional manipulation/alteration, physical pain, exhaustion, lava, non-silver blades that are below a 5 on the Mohs Hardness Scale (as it is not sharp enough to cut bone, but it will still do impact damage to him, so a steel or iron knife would not cut him as it has a hardness scale of 4.0, but you can still beat down on him with the blunt end of the handle.)

__

Behaviors when allies are KO-ed, or killed:

- Normal behavior:

He’ll raise his downed ally, (even if undead, with his necromantic healing) Papyrus is an extremely talented healer and it is very hard for any of his allies to die while on his team, but if they do die, he will focus more on his healer role and start using more stronger heals on his remaining allies, if he has no remaining allies, he will still keep fighting.

If Papyrus must flee, He will always transport as many allies with him to safety as he can.

Papyrus’ “nerves of steel” ability makes him immune to sanity depletion.

- Sans C. Gaster:

If downed: Papyrus will raise him back using necromantic healing, unless Papyrus also has low HP while there is no one else in the party, then he’ll escape and take Sans with him.

If killed: Papyrus will usually fight harder if his HP is high or flee if on low HP, however, he will refuse to abandon any other allies, if they are present.

- Wingding Gaster:

If downed: Papyrus will quickly raise him back using necromantic healing, and prioritize that over healing other allies including himself, unless Wingding tells him to do otherwise.

If killed: Papyrus will be absolutely terrified and flee no matter everyone else’s HP level or whomever is in the current party, unless Wingding tells him to do otherwise.

Other characters reactions to Papyrus getting downed or K.Oed

Chara (general reaction to allies stronger than them)

If someone stronger than Chara wasn’t enough to beat the opponent, Chara will think they probably won’t have much of a chance and they’ll flee unless the opponent is at extremely low HP or Chara is at Max HP.

If the character is downed, in this case Papyrus, depending on how scared Chara is and how easy it will be to escape with the ally, Chara may or may not leave them behind

Asgore

If downed: Asgore will take him to safety.

If Killed: Asgore will either flee out of heartbreak or fight harder in a grief filled rage. His sanity

drops to 15%

Muffet

She’ll be upset and have worse aim but will hit harder. Her sanity drops to 80%, this is also the only thing that can drop Muffet’s sanity meter.

Wingding Gaster

If downed: Wingding will revive him using “Undead revival” ability, depending on the situation he may order him to flee.

If killed: Wingding will resurrect him at some point, if Wingding feels like he may lose the fight, He’ll immediately resurrect him with the “raise dead” ability and order Papyrus to flee, if Wingding feels like he may win the fight, Wingding will kill/eliminate the target before resurrecting Papyrus. His sanity drops to 10% during the period of time his child is not resurrected. if he for whatever reason is unable to resurrect Sans/Papyrus, instead his sanity will deplete to -66666

Undyne

Undyne’s stats go up, but her sanity drops by 23%, she will only flee if on low HP alone and attacker’s HP is not under half health.

Sans

Downed: if the opponent has Low HP, Sans will finish them off. If not, Sans will flee to get Papyrus to safety.

Killed: Sans will be so horrified he’ll flee immediately, Sans will even abandon all other allies, unless Wingding is also there, then Sans will stay. if Wingding is not there, he’ll retreat to Wingding, wherever he may be. If Wingding (Papyrus dying second) is also dead, Sans’ sanity will drop to 0% instantly and he’ll flee, no matter his HP level or the opponent's.

Trivia:

Papyrus is the only adult member of the Gaster family to not have any children.

It's possible for Papyrus to become the last member of both the Gaster Family and the skeleton race entirely in certain neutral endings, which he takes with a heavy heart but is willing to accept it.

Papyrus is the youngest skeleton to exist and one of only 6 (pre-events) or 2 (current events, post Chara killing Toriel and leaving the underground, though technically Gaster didn't 100% die as his soul is still intact, he just hasn't been able to remanifist himself due to the crack in his soul gem) skeleton monsters left in existence.

- Papyrus is extremely skilled in the arts, though he is a notoriously bad singer.

- Papyrus can play multiple instruments but his favorite are the drums.

- Papyrus has the highest resistance to mind altering effects compared to the rest of his family

- Papyrus doesn’t drink alcohol nor smoke and finds it undignified also finds it pointless as he’s a skeleton

Sometimes Papyrus wants to admit Sans to a psychiatric hospital but he knows Wingding won't allow it nor will Sans go passively.

- Papyrus loves his brother very much, even though sometimes they fight and Papyrus will be a lot less negatively affected if Sans died than if it was the other way around.

- If Sans died, Papyrus would mourn him but be somewhat happy that their sibling codependency is over.

- Papyrus likes rock music the most, but enjoys all music as he believes all artforms

should be appreciated.

- Papyrus used to be a nurse but he didn't find it to be his passion, so he became a cartoonist for the newspaper instead but due how much free time he gets with that, he missed the busy workload of being a nurse, so he got multiple side jobs to keep him busy.

- Papyrus ABSOLUTELY hates being idle and always wants to be productive

F.P gets along with other alternate versions of him quite well, and seems to establish friendly relations with other AU characters as easily as he does with characters of his own.

- Papyrus is a social butterfly and makes friends quite easily

- Papyrus loves social gatherings, though hates how he has to drag his brother to them just for Sans to be a total wallflower there.

- Papyrus is still registered and licensed to practice medicine as a nurse in all Hotland Districts.

- Papyrus runs a pasta stand instead of a hotdog stand like Undertale Sans did.

- Papyrus’ shoes have his initials on them, with his left outsole having “P” and the right having “G”

- Papyrus loves to paint and do arts and crafts

- Papyrus likes to bake but he’s not good at making them taste good, though he is good at making them look pretty

- Papyrus is the first Biomancer in 500 years

- Papyrus can speak all languages

- Papyrus has a low amount of dark mana and possess light mana, which makes his undead weaknesses less prominent but inversely it also makes his undead abilities less strong

- Papyrus is a grandmaster in chess

- Papyrus is extremely emotionally and socially intelligent, more so than his relatives

- Papyrus is the strongest healer to exist however his undead status means his healing abilities hurt him in turn

- Papyrus very much rejects his dark nature instead of embracing it like Sans or just not caring about it like Wingding

- Papyrus is the most sane out of his family.

- Papyrus is usually referred to as the orange one, but it’s unknown if that’s even his

favorite color.

- Due to Sans’ history of being a hitman/assassin that works for the crown, Papyrus has a history of cleaning up after Sans, so Sans can move onto his next hit-target

- If Sw!Fallenswap had a dusttale/dustswap version of it, the Skelebros would not kill each other, they’ll just join the other in the killing spree with the mindset of “I guess this is what we are doing now”

- Despite Papyrus’ pacifist and caring nature, he is extremely desensitized to death and won’t be bothered when others die (unless it's a family member or a child) as it's "a natural part of life" and "as an immortal, it's necessary to learn to let go of any grief when others die around you"

- Papyrus was born in November of 1932, thus is 9 years younger than Sans

- Papyrus isn’t as close to his father as Sans is, but loves him just the same

- Papyrus is a lot more independent and social than Sans

- Papyrus takes a lot of traits from his Grandparent Semi.

Papyrus is a extremely strong healer though his downside is most of his heals do damage to him due to being an Undead

Papyrus has the most social relationships out of his family

Papyrus is the only explicitly right handed member of his family, with the rest being ambidextrous or left handed in Sans' case.

Papyrus is the only support battle role character in the Gaster Family, though the other Gaster members do have support abilities they aren't as plentiful.

Papyrus will occasionally wear feminine clothing even though he presents himself as masculine, usually played as a joke or him trying to be funny or to annoy people.

During the few times he does, he doesn't consider himself dressing feminine as crossdressing or drag because he isn't male nor female but a sexless entity, and thinks "if it is considered crossdressing then technically all the things [he] wear[s] is automatically crossdressing depending on how you look at it."

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

this is so self indulgent of me to ask but let me embarrass myself by asking for tummy kisses for Prem and Bug

FGSGHSH I LOVE YOU POSH. I'm sorry this took so long - Christ I feel so rusty - and the ending is a blunt as a gunshot, but I THINK IT'S CUTE and I hope I didn't butcher Bug too much 💖🥹

Prem is taller than Bug. That’s a fact of nature. Even on flat-feet, Prem’s a good five inches taller. But. Shit. She’s got this pair of five inch Louboutin heels—the fuckin’ sharp-an’-pointy kind, flashy black patent leather, with those retina-searin’ red bottoms Bug’d only seen in magazine pages until Prem had pulled ‘em out of her luggage. 

She wears them with a Barbie Doll heel foot on her prosthetic, walkin’ well balanced with a sleek, dark-oiled teak cane with the silver head of a mallard for a handle. Looks a bit vampiric, but not in a bad way. Sort of way that makes Bug’s mouth run dry, and reach for Price’s sipping whiskey to quench her pinching-parched throat.

“Mm?” the man hums, rubbing his recently trimmed beard, following her eyes, and then he gets that fuckin’ pinched up, pleased smirk on his face, like he knows somethin’ about somethin’. “Yeah. The heels always have me fucked up, too.”

“Piss right off,” Bug grunts, taking his glass in full, and he only chuckles to himself, joining her in watching Prem swim her way through the gallery show. Feels strange to Bug, a bit, to see Prem’s death masks mounted on black grids of metal, lit harsh and bright from above with studio track lamps—but by no means wrong. No, more was like seeing an old friend finally finding a place they belonged. Been on the woman’s ass long enough to get her to agree to a show. 

Prem—true to her callsign, Premonition, the woman that sees the future and all that lies hidden—must feel the eyes on her, because she turns her head to look over a sleek shoulder, and a smile warps her painted-burgundy lips. She lifts a hand and waves with a little wiggle of her ring finger, right at her.

Bug can just feel Price making that goddamned quokka face again, staring dead at the side of her face. She swills the giant cube of ice around the dregs of his whiskey, and she jabs him where it smarts, but only a bit, “Think Soap’s gone and let your mutt get picked up by the RSPCA yet? Or you think he’s still wanderin’ some back road like a bum?

Price shakes his head. “Nah. Dog’s fine, probably making moon-eyes at Bordelon,” he starts, but he shrugs his shoulders with a thoughtful look, “Soap’s probably up with Agnes trying to dust her crypt.”

“Oh, you dirty old fuck,” Bug snorts, pulling a face of disgust, “Agnes’s taste is so much better than that. Disgusting you’d even suggest that.”

“Mhmm,” Price purrs, leaning back against the bar, resting a hand on the small of her back, rubbing his blunt fingers into the small pad of soft pudge he finds there.

+

Prem is the one to pinch Price’s jaw, giving it a good jiggle around eleven, when the crowd’s gotten thicker with the hipster art scene rats, and she can no longer functionally give a fuck about showing face. “John. My darling. My dear love. My...sweetest, closeted Nine Inch Nails boy—”

“Fuck’s sake,” he grunts, jiggled.

“—can you please, please find us some good scran?” she finishes, leaning heavily on her cane, her weight bent toward Bug’s figure. He rolls his eyes, but there’s a smirk pulling at his mouth under the chops—just a little one, like it’s a bit shy of showing itself. Prem knows she’s won the moment she sees it, pulling him in for a *pap!* of a kiss before giving his cheek a chummy clap. “Good man, crack on.”

Bug slides right into Prem’s free side, sliding an arm around the woman’s waist as one of Prem’s snakes around her shoulders. “So, what was the trick for pullin’ that off, eh? He gives me all sorts a’shit when I try to boss him,” Bug laughs, sinking into the scent of Prem’s perfume.

“Y’just have to get his dick a little bit hard, that’s all,” Prem hums in return, waggling her brows. “You’re a dabhand at it, y’know? Just gotta harness it, eh.”

“Ooh, I’ll have to practice on that then, won’t I?” Bug is beaming, and she knows it. Doesn’t try to hide it, either. Neither does she try to hide the way that she keeps glancing at Prem’s lips when she looks up into her face, tugging her toward down the sidewalk in the direction of their hotel.

Prem’s eyes—already dark under the streetlamps, wet and deep like pools of ink—go half-lidded, and she dips her head, tucking her nose under Bug’s heavy mane of curls. Fuckin’ embarassin’ it is, how fast Bug grows wet between the legs as she feels Prem’s lips pressin’ slow and warm against her neck, where the print of her lipstick will remain hidden.

“Mm,” Prem begins to murmur, “wanted to do that feck-off bad all night. Kept seein’ you and John standin’ together, and don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Her eyes squeeze tight, still breathing against Bug’s skin. “Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about watchin’ you two fuck the daylights out of each other. Him on top, feckin’ you all slow, and hard—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Bug barks with laughter, shaking her head, yoking Prem’s throat loosely in her hand, pushing her back a bit, burning head to toe with a bright flush and a thumping desire that starts in her cunt and booms out to her fingers, toes and lashes. “Can’t even wait ‘til we’re back in the hotel, huh? We got you in that bad of a way?”

“Always!” Prem sniffs, grinning.

+

There’s only a single lamp on in the room, and Prem is wearing only her prosthetic, and her panties, with a tube of her lipstick tucked in the band. Demon of a woman had the gall to let Bug get all the way dressed down to one of Price’s black t-shirts and her drawers before she made her move. Bug had to admit, though—good fuckin’ move, that one. Might have to tuck it in her own pocket for later.

Bug snorts as Prem’s hands slide up to her hips, gripping the softness she finds there, and deeper, until her fingertips knead tight muscles. Bug’s hands slide directly to the woman’s neck, resting with her thumbs over the pulsepoint, urging her down to kiss, and Prem falls right into the trajectory of it.

“Oh, aw, feck,” Prem laughs, pulling back from Bug’s lips, and the remorse sounds utterly put-on, “I’ve gone and shitted up your face. Look at you, you’re all smudgy. Didn’t mean to do all that.”

“And you’re a shit liar, darlin’,” Bug tosses back, feeling wild as she runs wide-open, letting Prem move her back to the bed, urging her up onto the pillows.

“Yeahhh—you’re right.” Prem has the audacity to fuckin’ giggle, burying her face against Bug’s neck once again, sliding between her spread legs, her hands moving farther up Bug’s shirt, savoring the soft curve of her waist, the structure of her ribs. But, goddamn, does she touch Bug as if considering her angles and construction like a well fine piece of art, wanting to pick up the techniques to copy into her own repertoire.

Up trails Bug’s shirt, a slow and subtle climb as Prem cups her breasts, rolling her nipples beneath her thumbs, pinching and tugging them slightly. Her grin’s impossible for Bug to ignore as her lips press more and more burgundy prints into her skin, and they both just find themselves laughing for no reason at all apart from sheer delight.

Prem’s knee slides up, coaxing Bug’s legs further open, and Bug sighs heatedly with the move, letting Prem push her shirt up over her breasts. “You’re a wicked-ass little thing,” she accuses, and Prem nods in emphatic agreement as she begins to kiss Bug’s freckled sternum.

She's kissed Bug's breasts, teasing her nipples with her soft, warm tongue, leaving behind prints of burgundy lips on the areola, the bottom swells, the top. Made herself right at home, groping Bug's hips tight before she leans up enough up to smart-ass-casual swipe more color onto her mouth, leaving Bug squirming and laughing under her. It only turns into a cackle when Prem dips to her stomach, kissing a belt across her waist, her bellybutton (where she dips her tongue, causing Bug to howl a surprised laugh and buck), and just—all over.

Makes Bug's head swim, it does. “Think you're just showin’ off at this point, sweetheart,” she snorts, brushing her fingers over Prem's short curls, slipping down to draw nonsense over the nape of her neck.

“Oh, no,” Prem hums, and Bug can feel her grin as it meets her hip, “am just stallin’ for…”

The door of the hotel room groans open, and Price's heavy steps are unmistakable alongside the shuffle of a paper bag in his arms, and the wrestling-out flap of his fleece lined denim jacket snapping. He doesn't stop what he's doing, but he sure takes a long look, and Bug can't help but grin wide under crinkled eyes and stick her tongue between her teeth as she gives a little wave. “Hi,” she says, simple as can be. 

Price drops the bag on the empty dresser— they'll find out in an hour or two he'd somehow managed to find cut italian hoagies by some miracle—and he sits on the other bed, looking at them as he unlaces his boots. Prem kicks her feet up in the air, crossing them at the ankles while she pressed her cheek to Bug's belly. 

“Am I early or late?” he grunts.

“Course he don't wonder if he's invited,” Bug teases, but she continues to smile. They've all three caught each other in compromising enough positions to play grab-ass about it—Price is the only one that acts caught when it happens. 

“Actually,” Prem sighs, rising to her knees in a well practiced movement, sliding forward to kiss Bug's lips as she goes, “you're right on time.”

Prem's got the audacity to sneak launch a playful clap between Bug's legs—over her soaked, but clothed crotch—earning herself one wicked bark of indignation and a swat at her arm for making Bug's neglected pussy throb. But Prem continues regardless, ordering lightly, “Get your shite-arse over here and eat her. Poor thing's tremblin’.”

[00towns]

sleepworld, from typhoon 10

The thoughts I had this month drove through the Highway 80 in my brain without stopping for a bathroom break, so all I have to share is some fumes and crumpled wrappers. I offer this pot pourri from the endless rain of Typhoon Shanshan.

Recently, I fell asleep on the couch after dinner and dreamed that I was in the honeymoon stages of a blossoming relationship with Mark Zuckerberg. In this dream, he was taller than me, and wearing one of those textured Lululemon athletic shirts with the gridded stretch pattern, which I remember clearly because I was resting my forehead on it. It was surprisingly intimate – we were figuring out how we were going to act towards each other with a shared group of friends, who had yet to learn about our new status. Would we arrive together? Would we hold hands? I woke up genuinely nauseous, and a little dazzled. Out of respect for the fact that I can identify exactly when and where this particular anxiety comes from, I won’t name it. 

In another dream, I was sitting barricade at the Eras tour, and Taylor was getting the audience to cheer for different liberal and conservative opinions that she was yelling (yelling) between songs. At the end of the show, she formally announced her endorsement of Harris, and all of the liberal side’s lightsticks (?) lit up in yellow, and the conservatives in the crowd got to beat up everyone holding a yellow light – topical! 

One night, I dreamed that I was visiting New York City with my rich friend K. She was taking me out for a night with her friends, and I was playing it cool in that ‘I still live at home and you’re all unimaginably wealthy’ way. There was a huge smear campaign going on against her on New York influencer Twitter, TikTok, and /r/NYCinfluencersnark because she was spreading lies about the dates of Fuji Rock Festival, but I went out with them even though we were getting papped. She took me to a bar called Drunk Tattoos, where when you order a drink the bartender gives you a tattoo, so the bartender gave me a cute little fine line circle around a mole on my left forearm, handed me a lemon drop in a Dixie cup, and then charged my credit card $1200. I started freaking out, but all of K’s friends just laughed at me, so I went outside and ran into (a different, very dear) K, who was very pointedly ignoring me because I was still getting papped. This was the most distressing dream of the three, and it’s definitely the closest to reality. 

On the other side of sleep, I once woke up in the middle of the night swaying back and forth from a mild earthquake. It wasn’t the motion that woke me, but the sound of my clothes moving on the rack at the foot of my bed. It sounded like the rustling of someone in my room. There’s not much to do in that situation except wait for it to end, and then lay motionless in hyper-aware silence waiting to see if another shock will hit. Since then, I occasionally snap out of half-sleep into overwhelming consciousness with the phantom sensation of tremors, and it takes my nerves a few minutes to calm down. It’s a little silly to imagine myself from a birds-eye-view: whether there’s an earthquake or not, I wake up with a start and proceed to do absolutely nothing at all. If dreams are anxieties and these three examples are about being in a half unsettling, half boring, mostly funny reality, of course consisting of the trifecta of relationship/scene/milieu, then I fear I shall be jolted awake anytime now, the Itch revving in my chest like a chainsaw, fraught with the realization of how I am living.

relationship: i love you, my friends friends

A few years ago in B’s tiny apartment in San Francisco, having spent days on end together and running dry of things to discuss, J and I started trading stories about our friends, ones that the other had absolutely no relationship to or background knowledge on. She would get to the end of a long story, and then remember with a start, oh! This is the same friend as from [earlier story]! The network began to construct itself then, a careful cobweb of locuses, centers, and intersections to which I was beginning to feel extremely privy to. These were no longer strangers in Instagram-story anonymous soup – they were emerging as fleshed out characters. These were my friends-in-law. 

Since then, my friend’s friends have become one of my favorite can of worms to open. One that particularly makes me blush is “I think you and ____ would get along.” What a fantastic thing to say to someone! I’m immediately primed to learn more about why you think that. Am I reflected in them? Are you seeing them reflected in me? What moments, beats, portraits are making you think that? I’m often sad that I live in a different city than almost all my friends, but the friend-in-law makes reunion feel like homecoming. How are my in-laws doing? Have they been treating you with care? How have our networks reoriented since we last met? I want to know how the other people who love my friends have been loving them in the time since we’ve been apart. I want to connect dots, tie ties, bridge bridges. I want to feel closer to someone by virtue of someone else who loves them. Selfishly: could I, too, be a part of that networked gathering? Could a story involving me have been traded over the dinner table, a dot hung in the air only to be connected in a few months’ time? It’s better than any juicier disembodied gossip¹; their characters are vivid, dramatic, and story-relevant. 

This summer, I spent a lazy, domestic week in Seoul with a dear, dear friend’s family and became enamored with the trifecta of her, her sister, and her mom. A few grazed meals over the kitchen island and movie nights was all it took to see where the idiosyncrasies I love her for laid out like a breakfast spread shared between the three, each morsel a delight. I got a taste of what instincts, anxieties, responses of her closest loved ones are reflected in her, ones that I learned outside this intimate context. On one hot afternoon, we visited a show² where several of E’s mom’s art pieces were being shown, and stood in front of the pieces for a few minutes just absorbing them. She listened to passerby comment in Korean on her mother’s work, I listened to her, watched her glow with pride as we turned corners to see her mom’s art hung in gorgeous museum lighting. I think it was the closest I’ve ever felt to a friend. A few days in, E was feeling under the weather, so I went on a walk with her mom, just the two of us. When I came back, she was surprised to hear what we had chatted about – the history of their neighborhood, her work with local artists, her love for the range of mountains they called home. I laughed at her for her shock. “It was kind of just like talking to you.” 

For closer friends, there isn’t a greater privilege than learning about their families. L told me recently that at a certain level silliness can feel more intimate than seriousness; I interpret the question “tell me about your family” in that same way. It’s a question that begins as biographical information, but opens to so much more; it’s a question that means tell me about your family until it means how do you live. I’m happy to learn about your siblings, I’m happier when you can begin to refer to them by first name only and I can watch as you continue, knowing that I know who that is. It’s humbling to be placed as a single dot in a network of relationships that shape my friends, it’s a joy to be included in it at all. As my travels across Asia bring me closer to some locales and farther from others, I’ve come to understand the intimacy of my friend’s families, and even more so the question of how they ended up in America. It’s a secret, selfish sort of question, as I learn more about Asian immigration history and my community becomes a reflection of what I’ve learned. My friends are jarred treasures. I’m not sure that there’s any better way to begin to thoroughly understand someone than to engage with the context that shapes them, and the mobility to do so now feels like peeking over a wall into a secret, lush garden. City that raised my friend, how can I thank you enough? 

On the day before I left Seoul, E’s parents took us out for a nice meal. At the end, the staff chased us down to take an ice cream bar each. We stood in the parking structure, almost already too full but unable to waste them, giggling while eating with torsos stretched forwards to avoid drips on our shoes. Dear my friend’s friends and family, are the things you love them for the same ones I do? Won’t you like to share, so we might have twice as many? 

shoutout P, who is about to combine the two! can’t wait for your episode of normal gossip xoxo

Korean Embroidery in Modern Times: The Birds Trying to Catch the Sun [Exhibition]. (2024). Deoksugung Gallery, National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Korea. Seoul, South Korea. https://www.mmca.go.kr/eng/exhibitions/exhibitionsDetail.do?exhFlag=1&exhId=202302150001630

scene: looking up, moving on

a bit vague and very dramatic, i am still, as noted below, processing and processing, over and over.

This feels out of the canon of things that are supposed to happen here. It’s the lamp in the corner of the party that looks weird¹, the one that signals the beginning of the end. I am waking up in mourning for people that never existed. I’m wondering if this is a party I should have left a few hours ago, while I was still enjoying myself off the warm buzz of my last shot and the music hadn’t yet made my head pound. I feel discomforted by what has happened, I feel silly for being discomforted, I feel deeply that I should have made a cleaner exit several drinks ago. 

In my defense: what happened to controlled release? It feels sometimes as if news is something that sits on my chest while I’m sleeping, waiting for me to wake up to it staring down at me. People have become crass and awful about discussing troubling headlines, as if shock is something that happens once. I torture myself with it too, over and over, iterative and needling, as if once wasn’t enough, as if the same information will bleed any more emotional catharsis on the fifth, sixth time. I’d like to be sat down, with the exact cliche demanded of tragedy, and spoken to softly, broken news to gently, treated like a person. I’m afraid that I’ve been put down and no one will ever pick me up again. 

There are several memories that I have frozen at the moment that I heard about bad things². When my grandmother died, my parents told me and my brother in the early morning, sitting on the floor of the computer room of my childhood home. I was wearing Cinderella pajamas. On January 6th, my dad and I sat for the entire day in front of the TV in our pajamas watching the news as across the world, about thirty minutes drive from that same house, the Capitol was attacked. I had eaten a Bodo’s bagel, smuggled in my luggage from DC to Tokyo, with a not-quite-ripe avocado for breakfast. I was driving down Route 50 to my favorite dimsum restaurant when D, scrolling through the news, read out the headline that over a hundred people had died in my old neighborhood in Seoul. I think I’ll remember this, too, sitting on my brown couch in my little apartment as it dumped rain outside in the early winds of 2024’s Typhoon 10, receiving a series of misspelled one-word texts from my increasingly grating coworker, and switching immediately to Twitter³. Do you notice how these have become increasingly impersonal, increasingly cold? I have. 

It will be a while before I can move on. Too much is out of my hands, or lives in the past, or is irreparable. I’ll take this as a reminder, then: a reminder to tend towards softness, that terrible, terrible things are around every corner but our context can help us bear them together.

https://www.reddit.com/r/Glitch_in_the_Matrix/comments/30t9kd/repost_a_parallel_life_awoken_by_a_lamp/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flashbulb_memory

 I said I’d be vague, but I have to keep going on this point. Some ugly, crass people sent me some messages that would be the type of garbage included in a 2020’s teen movie montage after the main character does something that ‘goes viral’, full of shitty react faces and clickbaity question marks. I know this doesn’t sound very damning, but I hope you can understand how shitty this made me feel, and how insulting I intend this to be, in the same way that I mean ‘tone-deaf’ to be one of the most catty, insulting terms possible. You are content and your attention is fodder. 

milieu: culture vs. content

i. it's all content

Recently, I was sharing updates with L on our (mostly shared) in-laws when the subject of content creators came up. Mid-complaint, she interrupted me with a surprisingly cold take. “Gabi, you make content. You write.” I can’t ignore this point, even though I would like to be able to argue that what I write isn’t content – more reflective, time-intensive, personal than ‘content’ would suggest. But as usual, she was right. Everything is content, in both the descriptive and prescriptive sense. This is content, because I’m writing it, and this is content, because you’re reading it. 

Taken optimistically, I interpret L’s condemnation of my writing as content not to mean that what I write is drivel, but instead to mean that not all content is drivel. Content is everything. Every piece of media ever produced, with or without the intention of a consumer, becomes content the moment it leaves the hands of its creator. This feels like an important starting point, although I plan on taking it more as an acknowledgement than a practicable analytic. According to L, the yin to content’s yang is culture, and it’s a distinction that I find to be practical to make, although not quite fair given that they are in effect the same thing. I think it’s not a stretch to say that most people can distinguish between content and culture, even if their personal opinions on exactly what is what may differ. 

If the metric on which content and culture are differentiated is to be decided by something other than ‘I like this’ and ‘I don’t like this’, which I did suggest and was quickly shot down¹, a new metric should consider that content and culture exist on a sliding scale. There is culture-y content, and content-y content. I think some of best and worst of what the Internet has to offer exists in this central half of the scale – at its worst, attempting to scrape at the audiences for both sides, which in themselves often overlap, while trying to remain as inoffensive and palatable, at its best, blending together cliche yet well executed entertainment and art without underestimating the viewer. And, I have a renewed respect for those who can wholeheartedly state their love for both sides: content-y content (I love you, Never Have I Ever), and culture-y content (I love you, Tar). This is not a condemnation of taste, nor is it an attempt to defend content, but I wanted to think about why something feels to me like content or not². 

As a general starting point, I think culture/content can be broadly mapped onto form – an Instagram reel will be innately more content-y than a novel. ASMR soap cutting videos are not shy about their high-contrast, bass-boosted clickbait designed to be viewed in a loop. However, more complicated examples exist. There are carefully composed and thoughtfully written short films that just so happen to be made in vertical and posted on Reels, what about movie-length, artistically crafted video essays that get clipped up and uploaded short-form to direct more attention to the longer piece? Clearly, there’s no simple definition for which is which. If content is a feeling, then I’ll place myself in the dichotomy to argue that the divide between content and culture maps much more closely onto the work’s perception of its consumer (me) than any objective measurement, in line with that old coastal elite tendency (also me) to constantly be assessing the positionality of what we consume. Content seems to view me as a tool for its own virality and growing social capital; culture-y content seems to try and hide this fact. 

A good example of this is Saltburn. Film critic Peter Debruge argued in his negative review that the film fails to go beyond ‘basic’ story, and parrots other, more successful films with the addition of a ‘distinctive, splashy look’ to capitalize on filmmaking trends and virality³. In terms of the content-culture scale, Saltburn content-ifies The Talented Mr Ripley’s culture through its ‘big on style, thin on substance’ approach. Saltburn at times seems to be made for thirst trap edits of Jacob Elordi, hazy fancams of purple and blue gel-lit hedonism intercut with the unspecific grandeur of New England, and fantastic party themes. It’s why it birthed such a specifically counter-thematic and cringey short form trend of rich people dancing through their houses – the film seems to treat me not as an intelligent, autonomous, responsive body, but as a tool for the films own virality and marketing, hoping that I would do the work of entering the film into the zeitgeist without doing the work itself. Debruge cites Saltburn’s ‘savvy about loading the film with salty one-liners and visual zingers’ in order to ‘[oblige] [audiences] to discuss with others’ as hallmarks of what I’ll argue is why Saltburn is almost textbook culture-y content. It’s why the shock value moment holds almost as much weight as the rest of the movie: ‘Have you seen Saltburn? No, but I know about the one scene…’

Unlike Debruge, however, I think it’s a bit myopic to think this necessitates a bad rating for Saltburn, instead, I think it’s a more useful analytic when looking at our conversations surrounding pop film and the coastal elite zeitgeist as a whole. This is where it becomes useful to return to the foundation of this entire line of inquiry: everything is content, and despite any attempts to beg otherwise, the bleeding together of mediums has made it so that the screens that Saltburn may appear on are the exact same ones that might instead show endless Subway Surfers videos, Chinese mobile game ads, and stream highlights. The algorithm is less of an advanced mathematical model and more of a Nutri-Bullet set on high. The rhetorical tools that Saltburn uses on its viewer are more interesting when taken as determining factors of how it emerged as a dominant movie-flavor in the content-smoothie⁴ than just reasons why the film isn’t very good. 

 I feel like this is the divide: what constitutes content-y content and culture-y content while accounting for a vast range of individual perspectives is how the media thinks of their audience. What do creators imagine what I will do with their work? I think this analytic also works on the small scale end of content. I’m a reader of a Twitter personality-turned-Substack writer named Britney, and even had a pleasant exchange with her over DMs one time after enjoying a surprisingly candid piece of hers where I found we had a lot of shared experiences. What I was perceiving as esotericism, and my subsequent belief that her work was and would remain accessible to me, felt like an exercise in culture. I was engaging with a small (I mean small) Asian American woman writer far outside mainstream publishing who I had some things in common with. I felt engaged, responsive, and seen as a reader. Then, she did a series of increasingly corny shit online, then described me (amongst others, I assume) as ‘"fans” who formed adulatory parasocial relationships with the veneer of my personality that I parade online’⁵. When she put into words her perception of her reader – something that I feel any editing eye, or even friend, would advise strongly against – it became clear to me that this creator’s perception of her reader wasn’t really one of a thoughtful equal. Her audience is mostly their relationship to her – which is fine, sure, but does kind of irreversibly turn her work into a tool for its own promotion. Britney also seems to come to terms with this, noting ‘I’ve invested a lot into the internet, and the internet has invested back in me. For some reason, I thought this might win me some points at [large, in-person social gathering].’

If content vs culture is a feeling of interpellation by media, emphasis on feeling, I feel as if Britney’s work is content because I no longer feel like she primarily thinks of her reader as intelligent, autonomous, and with agency. It feels like content because it writes for the audience of content, seeking its own dissemination through networked publics before seeking me, its reader. After reaching a certain scale, it seems like this becomes true of all content. Because a work is indistinguishable from its proliferation, I guess it’s content all the way down. I am an extremely avid consumer of content and this is in no way a condemnation of what people, especially on the independent level, are creating. Every time I catch myself looking to hit a self-imposed deadline just to be able to say that I have, or wondering why on earth I’m on Tumblr instead of Substack, I am reminded that I too am creating content. Perhaps I shall be kinder to the GRWMers, dance challengers, and outfit of the dayists among us. 

I took an anthropology class at UVA about doing ethnography on the Internet. It was objectively one of the most interesting classes I took in the entire major, and had a fantastic reading list that essentially tackled the question of online discourse. The professor would probably find this entire project unintelligible garbage, but I just feel the need to shout Michelle out. If this writing project is content, and I am a content creator, then I must also contend with the question of what I anticipate my handful of readers will do with what they read. I don’t know if it helps or hinders that I would describe most of you as close friends, people I already respect and love. Hi, guys! Miss you all!

ii. lightning round⁷! submit yours here!

 at time of editing i think i may have ended up doing this anyway, i promised i liked saltburn

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_know_it_when_I_see_it

Debruge, P. (2023, September 8). “Saltburn” review: A vicious “talented mr. Ripley” knockoff from the director of “promising young woman.” Variety. https://variety.com/2023/film/reviews/saltburn-review-emerald-fennell-barry-keoghan-1235705894/

christ

https://www.booritney.com/p/vibecamp-3-and-me

im going to ai generate an ai thinkpiece and its going to be better than a lot of ai thinkpieces

thank u, L, for most of these thoughts + poking me hard enough on this to actually think about it

[absent-enigma]

Tiny Tentacled Menace Acquired

Mermay 2023 au undertale fic (also on Ao3). T rating for canon-typical violence and Nightmare's gang bottling up emotions/ignoring them/bad coping. And baby meroctopus Nightmare, where no one in the castle knows how or why it happened/have to figure out how to fix it.

Ch 1-5

Ch 1

Dust had to be hallucinating during his late night wandering. His aching skull pounded as he struggled to puzzle out what was blocking his way in the middle of the hall.

Nightmare?

…sort of.

Nightmare was inches taller than him. What was on the floor was decidedly more…child-sized.

Dust blinked, mind slow to inform him that many tentacles extended down from said babybones waist.

A tiny skull and ribcage hunkered down atop partially curled wriggling tentacles, small arms wrapped around those. A solemn eye light stared up curiously.

Dust wasn’t participating in drinking games with the guys ever again.

Ch 2

The babybones didn’t vanish after blinking, so Dust apparently wasn’t dreaming.

“NOW’S YOUR CHANCE, SANS! KILL HIM WHILE HE CAN’T FIGHT BACK.”

Dust ignored phantom Papyrus’s terrible advice as he crouched, holding out a hand. Dust’s static grin became strained when the babybones lashed out. Minuscule suckers on teal-tinted black tentacles clung to bone, the limbs slowly wrapping up the length of Dust’s arm, in as crushing a grip as the child could manage.

Nightmare hissed a warning as the tiny half-and-half skeleton-octopus grasped and gnawed on Dust’s hand, tentacle tips wriggling furiously.

Dust watched Nightmare ‘attack’ him, completely baffled.

Ch 3

Itty-bitty sucker imprints were left behind once Dust gently removed the tentacles.

“No!” Little fists smacked him. “No! Leggo!” The babybones was barely a foot tall, minus the tentacles, which seemed over twice Nightmare’s body length.

Dust gave the tiny skull a scritch.

A grumpy purr sounded.

Cute.

“KILL IT WITH FIRE.”

“shut up, paps.”

Nightmare twisted, tentacles latching around Dust’s neck.

“time for bed, kid.”

“No!”

Tentacles smacked Dust in the face.

“YES! SUFFOCATE SANS’ USELESS COCCYX!”

Dust wrangled Nightmare off, zipping him up in his jacket. The babybones wriggled unhappily, glumly curling up once Dust began to walk.

Ch 4

The insidious whispers of his hallucinations kept Dust wide awake.

Already, a half-mad giggling fit had begun.

Dust violently twitched when tentacles firmly wrapped around his ribcage.

“I help you.” Nightmare informed Dust solemnly.

“…don’t gotta do that.” Dust eventually mumbled, reaching up to support the babybones.

Nightmare didn’t respond, focused on balancing Dust’s negativity via siphoning off the excess.

Phantom Papyrus was silent.

Nightmare soon let out a satisfied hum before sleepily snuggling into the crook of Dust’s arm, hands tucked up against his collarbone.

Dust couldn’t help but poke a goopy cheekbone.

A tentacle swatted him.

“heh. g’night.”

Ch 5

Dust felt numb, his mind mercifully silent; a side-effect of drained negativity.

“Cold.” Nightmare wormed his little skele-octopus self beneath Dust’s shirt and into his ribcage. Nightmare comfortably curled up, tentacles settling. The babybones hugged one to his chest.

“hey, m’ribs aren’t a hotel.”

“Warm.”

“you can’t sleep there.” Dust slipped a hand beneath the tentacles. “c’mon.” Something nipped him. “…why do you have a beak like an octopus?” Dust deadpanned, prodding a chubby cheekbone. “You already have a mouth.”

“Because!”

“not an answer.”

“Is too!”

“isn’t.”

”Is!”

”nah.”

Dust grimaced when Nightmare threw a temper tantrum inside his ribcage.

[revivedtale]

Sans' Description: (art will later, hopefully, be procured)

Sans (referred to as Revenant or Rev in terms of Underverse)

He's taller than the average Sans by a decent margin and typically either wears black jeans or black slacks, depending on whether or not he feels up to dressing up or not. Similarly he wears either blue flannel with a dark blue hoodie with a black faux fur lined hood or a dark blue button-up with a charcoal vest. He also wears sneakers that he can slip on or zip-up boots, cause he's still lazy. (He's Frisk's primary guardian so Paps convinced him that he has to look nicer since he's seen with the Ambassador most of the time.)

His eyelights are Xs that change color depending on his mood (blue is default, purple is pissed, etc). His teeth also became a bit sharper, like between Fell and Classic, with fangs that aren't noticed unless he opens his jaws. Similarly, he has retractable claws on top of his phalanges.

He's got lightning shaped cracks from his eyes going along the side of his skull and his ribcage is discolored, his ribs vibrantly colored the five soul colors near his sternum but fading as it gets further away from it.

He can also have bone-wings and a tail, but without the SOULs, maintaining them is exhausting so he almost never uses them, especially when he can travel more quickly with his shortcuts.

[moonflower80]

Underforest-Chapter 9

“SAAAAAAAAAAANNNNSSS!!!”

“IZZY!”

“CORY!!”

“RANDOM KID WHO WENT WITH THEM?!”

Everyone was waiting for us when we stepped out of the forest, especially Papyrus, who came up and hugged Sans as hard as he could. "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, YOU BONEHEAD!?!" Sans wriggled out of his grasp, and began to explain our predicament. Some of the other monsters came up and congratulated me, and thanked me for getting rid of the rain. I just nodded, I didn't know what to say. Izzy came up to me, amidst the chaos, and gave me a quick thank you before disappearing into the crowd.

Later that night, I was in Sans’ house, in my room, when I heard a knock at the door. It was Izzy."So… I need to talk with you."

"So I've been thinking… you're a really cool person, and… I really want to help you, Frisk. I wanna help you escape this forest, and even help us escape. Do you mind if I travel with you?" Well, it's an idea. I thought. I already knew I was gonna say yes, however. "Absolutely!" I responded. She jumped for joy, shaking the house to its core. "Yes! Yes! Yes! Thank you!" She stopped jumping and shook my hand. "I won't let you down, Frisk!" Sans came into the room, rubbing his eye sockets. "well. i see that went well." He mumbled lazily. He perked up a bit and smiled. "well, you two have a long day ahead of you. why don't you get some sleep?" I hopped right into my bed and fell asleep before my head hit the pillow.

That night, I had no dreams. I guess the bad dreams stopped when I sent the spirit to the afterlife… or maybe I was wrong. Anyways, I woke up the next morning and headed outside only to see Izzy waiting there for me. "Ready to go, Frisk?" She said. I nodded and we headed down the path leading out of the town. We walked for a bit, and when we left the town, it got… really foggy. "What is the deal with this fog…?" Izzy asked.

"IT'S ME. PAPYRUS." The fog cleared to reveal Papyrus, wearing his battle armor, a scarf, and a sword made of thorns. "HUMAN. I WORRY ABOUT YOU. I DON'T KNOW IF YOU'RE CAPABLE OF SURVIVING OUT THERE. SO THEREFORE… I CHALLENGE YOU TO A BATTLE! YOU CAN ONLY LEAVE WHEN YOU MANAGE TO DEFEAT ME!" Izzy groaned and slapped her forehead. "Paps! We don't have time for this!" He shook his head. "NO! FIGHT ME!" A strange blackness surrounded the area as Papyrus launched an attack with thorns and rocks at us.

Izzy dodged and threw a fireball at him, while I dodged his attack. He dodged her fireball while saying "GOOD, GOOD." He threw a large blue thorn at Izzy, and she stopped moving. The thorn passed right through her as she set the ground around her on fire. "Alright! Let's kick it up a notch, Frisk!" She slammed her foot to the ground, picked me up, and threw me at Papyrus. He screeched as I nailed him directly in the groin. "ARGH, CURSES!" He threw a thorn attack at Izzy, which she dodged and threw a few more fireballs at him.

After a few more minutes of fighting, Papyrus used his telekinesis to throw me back at Izzy. "NOW… CAN YOU SURVIVE MY SPECIAL ATTACK?" He sent an array of thorns, as well as some bones and leaves at us, before sending a large row of thorns our way. I got on top of Izzy and she flew me over the thorns. "NYEH… MEGA THORN ATTACK!!!" All of a sudden, a large thorn, as big as a tree was sent hurtling towards us, which Izzy promptly flew over. After that, Papyrus looked too drained to fight. "HAH… HAH… IT SEEMS… WE BOTH WIN! HAH…" He collapsed to the ground, exhausted. "Welp. He's not going anywhere. Let's go, Frisk!"

Me and Izzy hiked through the forest for a bit, enjoying the beauty of the forest. A few wolves came onto the path, but they decided not to mess with us. Eventually, we made camp on the side of the path, as it was getting late. As I lay on a bed of moss that night, I wondered, why did the monsters want to leave? It was so beautiful here. I went to sleep, and had no dreams, unlike the other times.

After a few days of hiking, we came upon a waterfall, one taller than the trees themselves. Izzy perked up, her little dragon ears sticking straight up in the air. "That's a good sign! That means we've almost made it to the Falls Settlement!" She said excitedly. Finally! I can't wait to see it! I thought. We kept walking, until I began to feel an uneasy presence. It wasn't the same as the ghosts. This was different. Izzy felt it too. Someone was with us.

And they wanted us dead.

[pnkb1tch-archive]

of course it's the actor's luck that the poor bloke he's slammed into is none other than dani rojas, afc richmond's STAR STRIKER . of course arlo knows who he is  ━  if you're mad about footy   ( much like he is )   and you don't know the name dani rojas, arlo reckons you're   a  bit  of  a  wrongun  . luck is on his side, thankfully, as the footballer doesn't seem particularly miffed by the collision. dani grins down at arlo, an inch or so taller than him, and suddenly the actor feels as though he's found his guardian angel. okay, yes, he's being   A  TOUCH  MELODRAMATIC   , but he's had a long day and dani's offer to hide him away feels very much akin to a celestial being reaching out to pull him away from the sinister clutches of the malevolent paps coming his way. the hellish clicking of cameras is growing closer still. arlo offers dani that oscar - winning smile of his, all pearly - whites and slightly crooked canines .   ❝ if it isn't a bother, then yes, i'd appreciate it very much. they've been…incessant all day, i'm honestly even regretting leaving me 'ouse, ❞   he chuckles, aiming for playful but his voice cracks a bit, the anxiety from before creeping back up like a   spider  up  his  spine   . he takes the athletes hand and nods, signaling that he's ready to go whenever dani is.

the first thing dani thinks, beyond the wow, a proper celebrity, is huh, he's shorter in real life. arlo thompson cuts a bigger, sharper figure on the big screen. something about his facial features are more striking though, in person. “estoy bien. don't worry! it will take much more than that to knock me over.” dani taps a finger against his chest, grinning, to emphasise the point. in the distance, he thinks he might hear the familiar click-clicking of camera flashes lurching closer. “you are escaping, yes? if you would like, you can come with me. there is a bar close by, you can hide in there. the owner is very kind, and she does not let any paparazzi inside.” he offers a hand out to arlo, palm up, with a smile, so that he knows this is nothing but a suggestion that he is more than free to turn down.

[nighttimepixels]

Now I’m really curious about your height hcs for the skelebros and skeleladies! Throw us a bone and give us your ideas on the matter?~

okay, answering this separate from the previous one where i address the skeleladies height, so check out that post for those specifics ;D

as far as the skelebros, the same rule applies: i hc all monsters as being monstrous in size. humans may have skewed the lingering lore about them as years went on, but i like the thought that the one thing that truly did ring true was the stature of monsterkind being larger than life.

as for the guys, these are their relative heights i always imagine, smallest to tallest:

UT Sans SF Sans US Sans UF Sans HT Sans UF Pap UT Pap US Pap SF Pap HT Pap

... heh, that’s right - i totally headcanon Classic Sans as being the shortest of the group. ‘course, that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have a hell of a presence when he wants to ;) i also figure Axe (HT Sans) as being actually a solid deal taller than Red - almost dead in the middle between Red and Edge. with the way his world played out, his body diverted what little magic it could spare towards making him bigger and more intimidating before things got really scarce, so he’s left as being the biggest Sans - same with Crooks (HT Pap) by an even more significant margin, since Axe would’ve been giving him part of his own rations.

as far as rough height alignments go, I tend to picture it something along these lines:

Sans: 6′3″ (191cm)Black: 6′4″ (193cm)Blue: 6′4″ (194cm)Red: 6′5″ (196cm)Axe: 6′7″ (201cm)Edge: 6′9″ (206cm)Pap: 6′9″ (207cm)Stretch: 6′10″ (208cm)Russ: 6′11″ (211cm)Crooks: 7′6″ (229cm)