#i turned out to be a ventriloquist so

[scooter-sketch]

Reposting this for shits and giggles bc I don't expect asks about this lol. But I'll answer some in the tags

Weird Questions for Writers (because writers are weird)

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

2. If you had to give up your keyboard and write your stories exclusively by hand, could you do it? If you already write everything by hand, a) are you a wizard and b) pen or pencil?

3. What is your writing ritual and why is it cursed?

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

5. Do you have any writing superstitions? What are they and why are they 100% true?

6. What is your darkest fear about writing?

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

8. If you had to write an entire story without either action or dialogue, which would you choose and how would it go?

9. Do you believe in ghosts? This isn’t about writing I just wanna know

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

12. If a genie offered you three writing wishes, what would they be? Btw if you wish for more wishes the genie turns all your current WIPs into Lorem Ipsum, I don’t make the rules

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

14. Do you lend your books to people? Are people scared to borrow books from you? Do you know exactly where all your “lost” books are and which specific friend from school you haven’t seen in twelve years still possesses them? Will you ever get them back?

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

16. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever used as a bookmark?

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

20. If a witch offered you the choice between eternal happiness with your one true love and the ability to finally finish, perfect, and publish your dearest, darlingest, most precious WIP in exactly the way you've always imagined it — which would you choose? You can’t have both sorry, life’s a bitch

21. Could you ever quit writing? Do you ever wish you could? Why or why not?

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

23. Describe the physical environment in which you write. Be as detailed as possible. Tell me what’s around you as you work. Paint me a picture.

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

26. How do you get into your character’s head? How do you get out? Do you ever regret going in there in the first place?

27. Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why?

28. Who is the most delightful character you’ve ever written? Why?

29. Where do you draw your inspiration? What do you do when the inspiration well runs dry?

30. Talk to me about the role dreams play in your writing life. Have you ever used material from your dreams in your writing? Have you ever written in a dream? Did you remember it when you woke up?

31. Write a short love letter to your readers.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

33. Do you practice any other art besides writing? Does that art ever tie into your writing, or is it entirely separate?

34. Thoughts on the Oxford comma, Go:

35. What’s your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens?

36. They say to Write What You Know. Setting aside for a moment the fact that this is terrible advice...what do you Know?

37. If you were to be remembered only by the words you’ve put on the page, what would future historians think of you?

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us?

39. What keeps you writing when you feel like giving up?

40. Please share a poem with me, I need it.

[sunnie-angel]

desire is foreign to jason todd. oh he’s wanted things, burned with the urge to reach out and reshape the world around his goals, but desire? gut heavy knees weakening hands trembling desire? lust is a new sin to add to a litany of many.

it’s not instantaneous, the feeling, when it comes. what happens first is love or affection or tenderness, whatever you want to call it. any name will do for the soft feeling that curls up in his chest, unfurls itself petal by petal as you come into his life and refuse to part from him. delicate, fragile, a fledgling fallen from its nest too soon cupped between scarred hands that try to keep the cruel world at bay. it’s this that takes him over first. makes a clumsy marionette of his body, a poor ventriloquist of his voice. love makes a fool of him long before desire does.

longing comes next. for your voice, your smile, your touch. your forgiveness on the dark days and your joy under the sun. all of your tomorrows, your next times, your future as yet undecided. the smell of your shampoo in his nose as sleep claims him and the soft hush of your breath when he wakes. parting is such sweet sorrow and yet your confidence in jason is such that he has no choice to believe with you. that he is capable of this, this love, that the longing only leads ever back to you because where else in the world would you be but beside him?

fatted on your affections and your attentions, the longing turns to greed. greed for more of that feeling of having you tucked between his arms, the press of your hand between his shoulder blades. a sucking black hole of need to know every part of you. every sound that you are capable of making, every shocked moment of surprise, of pleasure. what makes a laugh turn to a gasp? what is the key that makes you boneless? he wants it all. to catalogue and file away for a rainy day. to take out again and examine this hoard of treasure he has collected, that you have so kindly bestowed upon him. a burning roaring greed that sets his skin on fire and his stomach to churning.

now, now is the age of his desire. spiced chocolate, sugared rum, black coffee. sits rich on his tongue, decadent, burning down to his belly. lamplight turned low, always ready to set fire to the furnishings. eyes lidded, touches trailing, anticipation simmering below. the trust you put in him, the complete lack of fear. mouth watering. his own desire mirrored back in your eyes. movement in the long grass, your anticipation so thick he can scent it on the breeze, your own game playing out in the quiet spaces between breaths. jason todd’s a predator, one of the finest gotham has ever wrought, and now the hunt has begun.

a/n: this can either be read as a sweet if slightly poetic tale of jason discovering love and desire OR as a dark ak!jason falling further into obsession with a random civilian who does not realize they are being stalked. either version is equally plausible and that’s what i love about this little experiment.

[goathag]

Just blessed Vash with a walkman full of "Queen" songs

I like the "I know he knows I know" aspect of their relationship 

[ID: A Trigun comic that starts with a Walkman with earbuds plugged in singing, “Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?” Vash walks in the desert with earbuds in and a smile on his face, dancing dramatically with moves labeled as the Ventriloquist’s A Cappella, Poorly Played Air Guitar, and The Invisible Piano.

As Vash slides on his knees and sings into an imaginary microphone, “Beelzebub has a devil put aside for meee,” Wolfwood stares at him and asks, “... You’re fine, Spikey?” Vash pops out an earbud with a raised-eyebrow grin and says, “Huh?” Wolfwood scowls as he shares an earbud and Vash says, “Oh, just listen, that is the best part.”

The comic, which had previously been accented with bright blue and warm pastels, turns black and white as the song goes, “So you think you can love me and leave me to die?” Wolfwood looks at Vash with furrowed brows, almost seeming accusing or stunned, and Vash smiles mildly, “Cool, right?” En ID]

The description was made by  @princess-of-purple-prose . Thank you! 💙

[maroonshirt81]

oooh for the carcar prompt maybe carlos can suddenly read minds?

Amazing request! Thank you! :D

carcar, 2,5k, rated m

_______________

It starts with a small electrocution.

There must be something wrong with the hotel room socket when Carlos goes to unplug his charging cable that morning. Maybe he just isn’t paying attention. There’s a fizzling sound, and then he jumps, quickly pulling back his fingers.

It’s not a huge shock. His hair isn’t standing on end, and his breathing is fine, but there’s a weird feeling afterward—like a colony of ants is living right underneath his skin. He shrugs it off, grabs his phone, checks his notifications, then goes to take a shower.

Everything is completely fine until he leaves his hotel room and runs into another guest in the elevator. It’s a young man whose eyes widen slightly when he looks at Carlos. He must be a ventriloquist or something because, without even opening his mouth, he says, “Holy shit! Is that Carlos Sainz?”

Carlos gives him an awkward wave, and the guy decides to go, “He’s smaller than I would have thought”, still without moving his lips. When the elevator stops, the guy gives him a tight smile, and walks out, leaving Carlos to wonder if he's just imagined this whole interaction. Clearly, there’s something wrong with that guy. Drugs, maybe? Or some sort of condition? Carlos hopes he doesn't run into him again.

He leaves the elevator, walking out into the hotel lobby. As usual, people’s heads turn in his direction, some eyes lighting up with recognition.

However. It turns out the elevator guy wasn’t weird at all.

It’s Carlos who’s weird.

****

So Carlos can hear people’s thoughts now.

It’s already fading. He’s sitting on the press conference couch alongside some other drivers, answering the same questions about the upcoming race as always. Concentrating is even harder than usual, with an onslaught of voices in his head now.

He hasn’t told anyone. He still isn’t quite sure if it’s real or if something is genuinely wrong with him. Besides, he can only hear thoughts that are directly about him, which hasn’t been all bad so far. Walking out into the lobby this morning, he was greeted with a cacophony of Damn, that’s Carlos Sainz! and He’s even more handsome than in the pictures. Over the course of the day, the voices have quieted a little. He can’t understand everyone’s thoughts anyway—most people in the paddock don’t think in English or Spanish, and when they do, it’s a weird mixture of English and their own language. And the ones he can understand mostly just have the same thoughts as the hotel guest in the elevator this morning.

Though, it’s quite nice for the ego to hear so many positive thoughts about himself. The worst thought he’s encountered so far was someone going, Oh, he has something green between his teeth. That’s not very sexy, after breakfast. And right now, someone is mentally giggling and thinking, Carlos is spacing out again.

He snaps back to reality, hoping no one has asked him a direct question. But no—on the other end of the couch, Lewis is talking, so it’s all fine. Carlos sits up straighter, runs his fingers through his hair.

And that’s when he hears it.

Huh. He’s kinda balding.

Carlos freezes, then quickly pulls back his fingers from his hair, eyes snapping up to stare into the gathered crowd of journalists.

Who the fuck? Carlos isn’t balding! There’s no way that thought just now was about him, right? He’s famous for his beautiful, thick hair!

But he can only hear thoughts that are about him, so someone here is clearly out of their mind. He scans every person in the room. The voice sounded familiar, but he can’t quite place it. None of the journalists seem to be looking at him, either. They’re all locked in on Lewis talking.

Carlos slowly sinks back into the couch again.

He probably misheard. The voices are already fading. There’s no way someone actually thought that about him. No way!

****

Half an hour later, he’s standing in front of a bathroom mirror, running his fingers through his hair and having a minor meltdown.

He is balding!

Nothing obvious yet, but when he looks closely, he can clearly see that his hair parts a little wider than before, the white of his scalp shining through more than it used to. His hair is still thick enough to cover it for now, but there’s no denying it. The decline has begun.

“Fuck!” he yells and bonks his thinning head of hair against the mirror.

Curse that damn voice that made him aware of this. He has a race to concentrate on and no time to think about how he would ever cover up a trip to Turkey. Maybe he should already start introducing the world to shorter hairstyles so it won’t come as such a shock. Maybe he should just own it?

There’s no time to think about it now. He has another media session in five minutes.

Hopefully, the annoying voice stays far away for the rest of the day.

****

It, of course, does not stay far away.

Carlos is in the middle of an interview when the strangely familiar voice is back, going, Damn, he looks like the interviewer just ran over his dog.

He stops mid-sentence, losing his train of thought. Unfortunately, there are a lot of people around since he’s in the media pen right outside the hospitality. Charles manages to pick up his abandoned sentence while Carlos scans the crowd for whoever keeps having these judgmental thoughts about him. Then he hears Charles talking to him in his head, as if he knows Carlos can hear it.

Carlos, help me out here, please!

So he turns back to the interviewers and smiles. Like he’s actually happy to be here.

****

The voice, apparently, follows him everywhere.

He’s on the fan stage, cracking a joke, when he notices the voice through a thousand other thoughts about him, all of which seem to be much farther away.

Someone should invent a drinking game where you have to take a shot every time he mentions smooth operator.

He’s entering his garage when the voice comes out of nowhere.

Red doesn’t look that good on him.

He’s in line for a pretzel when he hears it again.

Man, can’t escape Carlos today…

“I can’t escape you, stupid voice!” Carlos hisses under his breath. He looks around, but the paddock is bustling, and there’s no way to narrow it down to one single person.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spots a flash of bright orange.

Lando is on his way toward the McLaren hospitality. Carlos still hasn’t told anyone about the voices in his head. He still isn’t sure they’re entirely real.

Maybe he should put it to the test.

Giving up his place in the pretzel line, he scurries after Lando, managing to grab his arm and pull him into the narrow alley next to the hospitality just before he can go up the stairs.

He only realizes his mistake when "Lando" turns around to shoot him an offended look, and Carlos’s eyes land on the bunny teeth and round nose that belong to Oscar Piastri.

“Oh shit, I’m so—” Carlos starts to apologize, but he’s interrupted.

What the fuck is he doing? the voice wonders.

Carlos freezes for a moment, all the pieces falling into place to reveal the completed puzzle.

That goddamn judgmental voice was…

“You!” Carlos screeches, grabbing Oscar’s shoulders with both hands. He might be coming off as slightly deranged, which the voice immediately informs him of, but whatever— it might actually be true. Carlos feels like he’s been going crazy all day long, and Oscar fucking Piastri was the main reason, right after that malfunctioning socket.

“You have to be joking!” Carlos hears himself shout. “I’m balding? Your forehead looks like you could tattoo all the McLaren sponsor logos on it and still have space left! It looks like Sky Sports could broadcast the entire race on it!”

Wow. Cunt!

“When have I ever seen you smile in an interview?” Carlos rages on as Oscar just stares at him with wide eyes, the surprisingly colorful language inside his head never leaving his lips. “And when has a joke ever been more forcefully beaten to death than your collecting home races one?”

What the fuck is his problem anyway?

“What is your problem? I look amazing in red! Have you seen what you’re wearing?” Carlos continues, still shouting. Hopefully, the paddock is busy and loud enough to drown him out. Otherwise, this will make the news in five seconds flat.

Fuck, Oscar internally curses again. And then, during a small break in his rant to draw a breath, Carlos hears loud and clear, He’s kinda hot when he’s yelling.

The breath doesn’t leave his lips again. It gets stuck in his throat and turns into a cough—an embarrassing, choking one that turns his head crimson. Right now, he can admit, he probably doesn’t look that good in red.

Is he okay? Wait, do I care if he dies?

Carlos forcefully punches his own chest, forcing the cough to a stop. He must have misheard anyway. Oscar’s thoughts just now make that pretty clear.

“Alright?” Oscar asks when Carlos just glares at him through watery, red-rimmed eyes, waiting for another thought that will trigger his rage. Maybe that’s not the best way to go about this. Carlos still doesn’t know whether or not the voices inside his head are real.

“Would you even care if I died?” he asks, stupidly.

“Um…” Not really, go ahead. “Sure?”

Carlos wants to tear his hair out, but it’s already thinning, and he doesn’t want to give Oscar the satisfaction.

“I don’t believe you!”

Sherlock Sainz, I see…

“Are you dying?” Oscar asks out loud, still with that pointedly innocent look that doesn’t match the thoughts inside his head at all. If they’re even real.

“No.”

Pity.

“Are you having a stroke? Should I call someone?” Oscar asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

Carlos pauses, squints his eyes, and really thinks about it. Maybe he is having a stroke! It would certainly explain why Oscar’s thoughts and what he’s saying aren’t adding up at all.

Why the fuck are his lips so fucking kissable? That’s just unfair!

Carlos almost chokes again.

Okay, so he is definitely having a stroke.

“You want to kiss me?” he wonders out loud.

Oscar actually flushes red at that. He takes a step back and collides with the hospitality wall behind him.

The fuck? How does he know?

“The fuck? Why would you say that?” he says out loud.

Carlos squints again, stepping closer. He notices Oscar’s eyes flick down to his lips. Maybe he isn’t imagining things after all.

“So what, do you hate me, or do you want to kiss me?” he asks, frustrated.

Both.

“None!”

Well, this is futile. Apparently, Oscar is allergic to saying what he thinks. That leaves only one course of action. And if it’s the wrong one, Carlos can always claim he’s literally hearing voices that told him to do it. If he’s lucky, they’ll prescribe him a lobotomy afterward.

He casts a glance toward the paddock. Thanks to that step backward, they’re mostly hidden behind some weird metal crate now. Perfect.

He turns back to Oscar and kisses him on the lips.

Fuck! Can he read my mind or what?

Oscar readily opens his mouth and answers all the questions Carlos doesn’t dare ask.

Great! So Carlos actually can read minds. And he isn’t having a stroke, which is great news too. And he is—kissing Oscar Piastri in the middle of the paddock.

Tongue technique could use some work.

He’s kissing Oscar Piastri, who is having judgmental thoughts about his kissing technique!

Carlos cannot let this stand. He shoves Oscar back against the wall, tilts his head, licks inside his mouth, and that sure shuts him up.

Well, not literally, since his thoughts don’t need a mouth, but he’s going Fuck yes! inside his head now, so Carlos considers it a win.

Wish he’d grab my hair, Oscar thinks, and Carlos complies, listening to the colorful firework of curses going off in Oscar’s mind. Actually, this isn’t too bad. Carlos has never had such immediate and honest feedback on his kissing technique. He could use this. For strictly scientific reasons. Self-improvement stuff. That kind of thing.

He could. He could use it for self-improvement in even more interesting areas! Is it morally sound to have feedback sex if the other person doesn’t know about it?

Probably not…

He lightly tugs at Oscar’s hair, and that makes him mewl. No wonder the guy is going bald.

Can he lift me? No, wait. There’s no way, he’s not that—

Carlos reaches down to his thighs and lifts him up, pressing him even closer against the wall for leverage, and Oscar’s thoughts turn so filthy, Carlos might actually be blushing. He sure hopes Oscar can never read his mind in return because it’s embarrassing how much this turns him on. He’s never even thought about Oscar like that. Honestly, he’d believed Oscar was just some boring guy with a stick up his ass. Now he knows just how wrong he was.

He should fuck me like this.

Yep. Okay.

Carlos pulls back, breathing heavily, pressing his forehead against Oscar’s for just a moment before remembering that they are still in the middle of the paddock. Oscar has the same realization—they turn their heads toward the metal crate at the same time.

There’s no one there.

Their relieved breaths mingle, and Carlos lets Oscar slip back down to the ground, taking a step back to give him some space. They are quiet. With their words. Their thoughts are both going wild, but only Carlos knows about it.

Finally, Carlos asks, “Which hotel are you staying at?”

Oscar manages to keep his expression in check, but Carlos can hear every filthy detail he starts imagining upon the question.

“The Hilton.”

“Ah.” Carlos nods. Then says, “Be careful of the sockets. They are broken.”

And turns around. And walks away.

Well fuck, Oscar thinks. Guess he does look good in red.

Carlos gains a skip in his step and a grin on his face, though Oscar can only see the former.

Too bad the white pants are horrendous.

Carlos stops in his tracks. Turns back around. Fuck his morals. Oscar needs to be taught a lesson.

“What’s your room number?”

[anthurak]

Hey, so for anyone who grew up with or just watched the 4kids Yugioh dub, do you remember that time in Duelist Kingdom when Yugi dueled the supposed ghost of the supposedly dead Kaiba? You know, that episode with all the talk of the practically phantasmal probability of Yugi’s victory?

And then when ‘Kaiba’ unmasked himself as this creepy clown looking guy, you know he revealed that he was essentially the personification/manifestation of the darkness of Kaiba’s soul that Yugi banished to the Shadow Realm with a mind crush at the end of their duel in the first episode. Only to have been freed from the Shadow Realm by Pegasus and sent to defeat Yugi?

Thus actually making this guy a genuine shadow/evil-counterpart to Kaiba that Yugi has to defeat in a twisted repeat of their first duel, and Yugi effectively cleaning up unfinished business when he defeats this shadow doppelganger of Kaiba and banishes him permanently this time.

As well as presenting a pretty good example and exploration of the strange, occult mysticism at work in this setting and the kind of power that both Pegasus and Yugi possess through their Millennium Items. It turns out that Yugi really did banish this dark piece of Kaiba’s very soul to this mysterious ‘Shadow Realm’, and that Pegasus was able to actually retrieve this piece of Kaiba’s soul, give it a body and make it his minion. And that Yugi is powerful enough to then PERMANANTLY banish this specter back to the shadows, never to be free again. Or, depending on your interpretation of the wording, Yugi’s mind crush may have just outright DESTROYED this piece of Kaiba’s soul for good.

An act which is certainly reinforced by the following ultimatum Yugi delivers to Pegasus, a statement delivered magically/telepathically over the video-screen that Pegasus is watching, something that even echoes what PEGASUS did to Yugi in their first duel, with Yugi wreathed in an aura of mystical power that ends with Yugi shattering the glass in Pegasus’s hand.

So that’s the dub version…

…And then you find out that in the original Japanese dub, the Kaiba doppelganger was… just a random evil, creepy clown working for Pegasus who was really good at disguising and impersonating people and decided to pretend to be a dead Kaiba to mess with Yugi.

For some reason.

As sacrilegious as it may sound, I feel pretty comfortable in saying that the English dub did actually make a few GOOD changes.

And yes, I know that in the manga, it was a ventriloquist with a Kaiba dummy who claimed that Kaiba's soul was in the dummy but was really just bullshitting. Which frankly I consider only MARGINALLY better than 'random evil clown disguised as Kaiba', simply because we get to see Yami go all Season-Zero on him with a sick penalty game.

[calamarikitty]

Hazbin Hotel Redesigns - Part One!

brainworms told me to hyperfixate on hazbin hotel and i did. so here are some redesigns! i'm planning on doing all of the cast, starting with the big (little) guy of hell himself, charlie, and vaggie! next is going to be the hotel staff (niffty, alastor, and husk)! individual pngs and redesign notes under cut

Lucifer Morningstar - He/him, trans man, bisexual he has goat hooves, horns, and ears, as well as a little goatee:-) his tail is a lions, since lions symbolize jesus, royalty, and also are a little nod to pride.

he doesn't keep his wings after he falls from heaven. i know he has his wings in the og show, but i never understood why. he lost his wings in the fall and still has feather growth, but they turn into these weird malformed lumps of flesh and feather instead of actual wings. they're quite itchy and uncomfortable for him.

longer hair, for fun! as well as lots of apple motifs. he has little lines coming from his lips like a ventriloquist doll or puppet. i've seen it in a lot of charlie and lucifer redesigns and i think it's super cool.

he wears pretty fancy clothes but doesn't go overboard with it, as he doesn't particularly like his royal status.

he has a special interest in toy making and is specifically hyperfixated on rubber ducks! he's able to use toy making as a creative outlet to distract himself.

no shoes cuz he has sensory issues and shoes made for hooves don't seem comfortable!!!

still wears his wedding ring even though there hasn't been any sign of lilith for years

Charlotte 'Charlie' Morningstar - She/her, cis woman, bisexual she also has goat hooves and ears, but unlike her father, she has horns more reminiscent of a ram's, much like her mother's horns. her tail is more of a classic imp shape, since she is a hellborn demon and not a fallen angel like her father.

the bottom of her pigtails are meant to resemble angel wings! she's a little piece of heaven in hell:-)

i didn't change her outfit too much, but i did want to add things to it to make it stand out more. she has gold details like her dad, as well as a bowtie with an eye detail to nod to biblically accurate angels.

she has the ventriloquist mouth like her dad! in general, she also looks more like her dad than her mom.

Vaggie - She/her, intersex, lesbian SHE DESERVED A MORE PURPLEY COLOR PALETTE!! purple is definitely her color.

i changed her body type a lot in this redesign, i think it makes more sense for her to be buffer, because of her history.

she's not a moth demon, but disguises as one to blend in, since most sinners have animal motifs.

fur collar and fur leg warmers because i think they're really fun. i also think she's most definitely a pencil skirt + combat boots girl.

i actually do kind of like the X on her hair in her og design, but i wanted to make it look less?? plastered on?? since in her og design i genuinely can't tell if it's meant to be part of her hair or not.

she has a big bow like her og design, but it's meant to be reminiscent of moth antenna. it also adds to her biblical angel silhouette! another eye detail on her chest, like charlie, to nod to angels. this nod is particularly relevant considering her past!

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hello, before I request I would like to say that your work is my favorite!!!!

May I request a work that entails Wife Reader getting pregnant by Donna (scene would be appreciated) and both of them going through all of the milestones (finding out reader is pregnant, baby bump, first kick, etc.) Then after baby is born going through a couple of milestones before finding out Reader is pregnant again.

Thank you so much again!!!

Yessss!!!!! Thank you for your kindness and for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :))))

Step by step

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, fluff

Word count: 4,488

Summary: It's the beginning of a new stage on your life...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

“Hey, give me a hand,” you said, carrying a heavy box and entering the workshop.

Your wife immediately turned around getting up from the work table and running to support the weight until she carried it back to a nearby table.

The lady in black bent down to check its contents while you rubbed your sweaty forehead from the effort.

“Did he bring the eyes?” the woman asked, rummaging through that box and taking out a jar full of those objects.

You couldn't help but shiver and frown.

“Brr,” you shivered exaggeratedly as she looked at those lifeless eyes carefully. “That's quite disturbing, Donna.”

She looked at you with a smile and shook her head.

“Dolls need eyes, (Y/N),” she said in a soft voice, opening the jar and looking for two of the same color, perfect for an empty head that was on the table.

“Yes…” you joked, nodding with a distrustful look. “The fat Duke told me… You know, the usual, that it's hard to get the materials, that coming here is a hassle…”

“He's fooled you again, huh?” Donna said amused, giving life to that porcelain head. “You're very naive.”

“Naive? Oh, of course, of course,” you answered, pointing at yourself and approaching her slowly. “Why don't you negotiate with him instead of me?”

“Because I'm busy,” she answered with a concentrated whisper.

“Well, your lei that are at stake,” you murmured, letting yourself fall into a nearby chair.

“I have plenty of lei,” the brunette commented, carefully observing that shiny head, which she left at your side.

You took that piece of porcelain with an amused laugh, placing it in the palm of your hand with a thoughtful gesture.

“Look, Donna, Shakespeare would be proud: To be a doll, or not to be a doll, that’s the question,” you said in a somber tone.

Donna laughed again, shaking her head.

Another day could seem like just one part of a closed circle, of a journey that started over every day. It wasn't, and besides, you were a fervent lover of tedious routine.

For two years your life had stopped being a mix of hard work and unfair business. Like the rest of the villagers, you were nothing but another piece in the macabre chess game of Mother Miranda and the Black Gods.

Macabre, perhaps, but also peaceful.

Work, pray, rest, three essential actions to consider yourself a normal girl, with normal aspirations. But no, you weren't a normal girl at all.

Unintentionally, by one of those coincidences that are mentioned in books, you ended up attracting the attention of one of the Lords, a woman who lived hidden in a valley of mist: the doll maker and disturbing ventriloquist, Donna Beneviento.

Falling in love with her wasn't complicated, finding tenderness and affection within a dark and complexed envelope may have been a little more so. A deformity, a change, things that haunted poor Donna in her nightmares, but, as if for her you were also an opportune coincidence, you managed to navigate through those dangerous waters, dominating the waves of her madness, finding calm in her tormented soul.

When verbal love stopped being enough for her, and she proposed you to go a step further, becoming her wife, joining her in marriage, all her fears seemed to disappear, her fear of losing you faded, becoming only small attacks of jealousy and increasingly less frequent nervous breakdowns.

Definitely losing your boring last name, becoming Mrs. Beneviento, was the best decision of your life, without a doubt.

“Hey! What do you think you're doing? Don't play with my head!” a shrill voice almost made you drop that porcelain to the floor. Donna looked at you amused, of course, it had been her.

“Oh, don't do that,” you said, putting your head back in place while she laughed amused by your reaction. “It's so scary.”

“Are you scared of a porcelain head?” she asked, distracted by a piece of fabric that looked more and more like a dress. “I thought you were braver, tesoro.”

“Ugh,” you protested, shaking your head and crossing your arms.

“Bring me that arm, please,” Donna asked you in a soft voice, with a more serious, concentrated expression.

“Igor, bring me the brain,” you exclaimed ironically. Donna sighed, looking at you with a knowing smile. “Sorry.”

“I see you're in a very good mood today, (Y/N),” the lady commented, with the porcelain arm already ready to become part of another one of those sinister dolls.

You shrugged, watching her work, something that always seemed curious to you.

“I'm always in a good mood,” you sighed, settling into the chair, awkwardly watching the brunette's work. Donna soon turned around to steal a kiss from your lips, that kind of unexpected kisses you loved.

“Mm,” she murmured disinterestedly, shaping that new doll, apparently not very bothered by your exaggerated looks.

You raised your eyebrows amused, and moved a little closer, putting your lips to her ear.

“Hey, Donna, do you know what day it is today?” you whispered seductively, interrupting your wife's work again, who sighed thoughtfully.

“Friday,” she said with a cold voice, trying to concentrate despite your annoying presence.

“Erotic Friday,” you said amused, blinking flirtatiously, running a hand over her black dress, up her leg.

“Erotic Friday?” Donna asked confused, not moving away from your touch, so you smiled wickedly. “For you every day is…”she said with a murmur, stopping talking when your hand went up a little more, getting closer to its target.

You smiled at her reaction, seeing that despite your shameless touch, she intended to continue working, something you couldn't allow.

“If you want, I'll leave,” you said amused, lovingly caressing the bulge between her legs, causing a nervous gasp from the doll maker.

“No, um… Stay,” she said, visibly nervous by your touch, by how her weak body reacted to your lustful caresses.

“I assumed so,” you sighed satisfied, noticing how her incipient erection was becoming more and more noticeable in your hand, which grabbed it through the fabric of her dress.

Donna shifted uncomfortably, but made no effort to stop you from continuing.

“(Y/N),” the lady in black protested amused, unable to focus any longer as your hand caressed her harder.

Your gaze turned dark, moving a little closer, kissing her neck and biting your lip.

“Why don’t you take a break?” you asked seductively, placing your lips on her cheek, moving your hand up and down to continue stimulating her.

“I… Um…” she stammered nervously, giving you more room, looking embarrassed at what your touch had caused. “I, I have to finish this doll, (Y/N), it’s almost time to eat.”

“Are you hungry?” you asked with a mischievous smile, freeing her imprisoned shaft from its prison, hugging it with your hand, which began to move up and down slowly, just as you knew she liked.

“Yes, no, I don't know,” she stammered, closing her eye at your soft caresses, leaving that sinister half-made doll on the table, letting herself go. “Is it a trick question?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head in an exaggerated way, increasing the intensity of your movements. “Does it seem like a trap to you?”

“With you…” she said, interrupted by an involuntary moan, shuddering when your hand stopped at the tip, squeezing it gently. “…It's always a trap.”

“So? Did you bite the bait?” you asked, biting her earlobe, earning another pleasurable moan as she nodded, joining her hand to yours for you to continue.

“What do you think?” Donna asked, moving your hand slowly, burying her head in your neck, surrendering to the pleasure that just your touch gave her.

“Yes, you are hungry,” you joked, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss, forgetting about your hand and climbing on top of her, changing that stimulation for a lascivious game of your hips.

She grabbed them firmly, continuing with that seductive dance, with a friction that caused her to say dirty words you didn't understand, flooding your senses.

“Così bagnata…” she whispered in your ear, when her hands slipped into your dress, caressing your incipient moisture through your underwear.

“Yes, yes, whatever you say, amore mio,” you joked, moving the fabric to one side to place yourself on top of her, lowering little by little, letting your body slowly get used to the intruder, enjoying that stretch, those movements of your walls.

“(Y/N),” the lady in black moaned, when her shaft entered you completely and you began to move, letting it slide effortlessly as you hung from her neck.

“Shh,” you whispered amused, suppressing a high-pitched moan, playing with your hips to get those expressions you liked that much, those erratic movements that told you Donna was enjoying it.

The moans of both of you seemed to disturb even those inert limbs hanging in the ceiling. Your movements were calm, but carefully studied. It might seem like you were in a hurry, and so, you were. Donna had already run away from your advances that very morning, now she wasn't going to escape you.

“Like that, honey? Do you want me to go faster?” you asked, stopping with her completely inside of you, moaning at the lack of movement.

“Just... Don’t, don't stop,” she murmured, moving you with her hands, making the stimulation of your walls on her erection to continue.

Your release came perhaps too soon, something that was inevitable due to the pleasure you felt, a pleasure heightened by not being in bed, by wearing clothes, by that act of improvised lust.

“Donna…” you sighed, relaxing your body as she took over your movements, unable to do or say anything but moan. “Listen to me, darling.”

“Mm?” she murmured confused, relaxing her grip on your hips, slowing down the pace a bit due to your a little more serious than usual expression.

“I want, I want you to do it inside of me,” you whispered, thus expressing a desire you had been having for some time, something new that you wanted to feel. She looked at you, controlling the pleasure she felt and, after a reflective moment, she nodded, resuming the harmonious rhythm of your movements.

Soon, with a higher, guttural moan, she fulfilled your wish, releasing herself inside of you, caressing your insides with her wet heat, relaxing her body, resting her head on your shoulder as you caressed her, biting your lip because of that overwhelming sensation.

“(Y/N)…” she moaned, sighing, trying to catch her breath, to recover from your merciless attack. “It, it was…”

“I know, Donna, wonderful,” you said in a tender voice, kissing her lips, exchanging grateful smiles.

Some time after that little encounter, things started to get strange. Your body weakened, your mind was a constant delirium of joy and sadness, your stomach was a useless container that expelled everything that entered.

You felt so sick that even, after Donna's insistence, you agreed to let Mother Miranda take a look at you.

“Am I going to die?” you said lying on a sofa, while the priestess studied some tests, looking at you out of the corner of her eye.

“(Y/N), don’t, don't say those things...”Donna protested, with a sad, worried look. Of course, it seemed that she was the sick one. She suffered almost more than you, just to see you in that condition.

“No, you're not going to die,” Miranda commented, with apparent disinterest, checking the results over and over again. “Tell me, (Y/N), have you had any changes in your menstruation?”

“What?” you asked, shaking your head. “Well, if by change you mean that I haven't had it...”

“Haven’t you? I assumed so,” the witch said sighing, looking at Donna with a confused smile. “Could you tell me how long it's been?”

“Um... No, I don't know...” you said trying to remember. “I suppose that being sick has changed the cycle.”

“Let me clarify your ideas,” Miranda said, walking beside you and putting a hand on your leg. “Eight weeks.”

“That's very precise, Mother Miranda,” Donna commented, also confused, gently grabbing your hand. “Please tell us what's going on.”

“Too precise,” you said frowning, with the nervousness beginning to run through your limbs.

“Of course it is,” the witch laughed, with a sinister smile. “That's how long you've been pregnant, dear, congratulations…”

You opened your eyes in surprise, not finding an expression or adequate words for such exciting news.

“Pregnant?” the lady in black asked, looking at you curiously. “Is, is that true?”

“Of course,” Miranda said, examining you more closely.

“Oh, Gods…” you sighed excitedly, looking at Donna with tears in your eyes. “Donna, a baby.”

“(Y/N),” she sighed, with the same emotion, with her bright eye, bending down to rest her forehead against yours, squeezing your hand tightly. “It's wonderful…”

“Yes, yes, it is,” you said, nodding, crying with emotion. “A baby…”

“So, sono così felice…” the brunette murmured also unable to control her tears.

“I see that it's good news,” Miranda commented, with an arched eyebrow, unfazed by your emotion, as expected.

“Yes,” you said, between sobs, while Donna covered you with kisses. “The best news…”

Time passed faster than you would like. This new member of the family was growing in your belly, making the most basic tasks more and more complicated for you.

Luckily, Donna was always by your side, making your pregnancy as easy as possible. On the other hand, Angie, Donna's irreverent doll, was there to drive you crazy. You couldn't blame her, she was excited too. She would finally have a faithful henchman to cause chaos with.

“Does it relieve you, tesoro?” the brunette asked, giving you a gentle massage on your shoulders, helping your body relax from having to bear an extra burden. You moaned in relief and sighed, caressing your already swollen belly.

“Do you know what relieves me?” you asked in a soft voice, letting yourself be carried away by her soft caresses, by the delicate touch of her hands. “Having a wife as attentive as you.”

“It's the least I can do,” she said, with a shy laugh, leaning down to give you a soft kiss on the lips.

“Hi,” Angie said, interrupting, as usual, one of so many tender moments.

“Oh, no…” you sighed, closing your eyes, fearing another of the constant mockery and approaches of the doll.

“Angie, lasciala stare…” Donna said, looking sternly at the puppet.

“Hey, hey, hey!” the puppet shrieked, with her arms raised in a sign of surrender. “I come in peace.”

“Don't… Yell… For Gods’ sake…” you complained, rubbing your eyes to endure better that squeaky voice.

“Can I touch it? I want to touch the baby,” Angie asked you, climbing onto the couch. Donna growled angrily, shaking her head.

“Angie, go away, leave us alone,” she said in a serious tone, tired of Angie being your only bother all this time. You, who saw no ill intent in the little demon, took Donna's hand, kissing the back of it with a calm smile.

“It's okay, honey, let her do it,” you whispered, extending a hand that the puppet gratefully took. “Isn't it adorable?”

The lady in black sighed, but reluctantly accepted, watching as her doll placed her hand on your belly next to yours.

“Wow, it's moving,” Angie said, surprisingly calm.

You, noticing those same movements, gasped excitedly, quickly looking for the brunette's hand, guiding it to the same place.

“Donna, look...” you said excitedly, noticing a soft kick on your belly, its first kick.

“(Y/N)...” the lady sighed, with the same expression, with her hand shaking as she noticed how her baby moved, how it made its presence known in such an adorable way.

“I think it says… Hi mom…” you said in a sweet voice, caressing her hand with yours, pressing it gently on your belly.

After that moment, many others came, many signs that this baby was growing healthy, and would continue to do so.

After a few hours of pain, contractions and agonizing screams from you in that old laboratory, the baby was finally born, a beautiful black-haired girl, Antonella Beneviento.

To tell the truth, you weren't particularly excited about the name Donna suggested, but you couldn't help but grant her that privilege, without her, nothing would have been possible. You owed her that for all her care, for always being with you.

“How is that precious thing?” the Duke asked, on one of his visits to the estate, greeting your daughter, now one year old, while you held her in your arms.

Little Antonella squirmed in your arms, hiding from the fat man by burying her head in your chest. You laughed amused.

“She's shy,” you said, cradling the little girl while you brought the merchant his usual bag of coins.

“I see... Like her mother, then,” the man said, laughing amused, taking a small toy out of the carriage. “I suppose such a shy girl wouldn't want this gift from her uncle Duke, right?”

“Uncle? Don't make me laugh,” you joked, shaking your head. The little girl turned around, losing her fear and reaching out her small hand towards that little teddy bear. “She already has enough strange uncles... Do you want it, darling? Let's see...”

Sighing, you carefully placed your daughter on the ground, holding her hands and walking slowly towards the merchant.

“She's learning to walk,” you commented when the little girl picked up the small bear, making a baby sound that you thought was adorable. “Do you like it? The Duke is so nice, huh?”

“She definitely looks just like her mother,” the merchant commented, quickly stroking the little girl's black hair. Antonella turned around, puzzled by this strange man.

“I know, I know, that's what everyone says,” you said, picking the little girl up in your arms again, looking at her unmistakable features. “She’s just a clone of Donna.”

“Well... Not quite...” the Duke whispered, pointing at the little Beneviento. “Look, her cheeks are yours...”

“Cheeks? Okay, whatever,” you said, shaking your head. “How much is the bear going to cost me?”

“Nothing, Mrs. Beneviento…” the man sighed, breathing heavily. “It's a gift from the house.”

“Oh, how thoughtful after ripping us off for years…” you joked, waving your hand in farewell. “See you.”

“Anyway…” you sighed, looking at your daughter, who seemed more than satisfied with her new plush, even though she already had an entire army of dolls made by her mother in her room. “Let's go see mommy, huh? Should we surprise her?”

The girl stammered something incomprehensible, with a smile that further evidenced her resemblance to the lady in black. You frowned, running a hand through her hair.

“Cheeks…” you whispered, shaking your head as you walked to the elevator.

Slowly, singing happy songs to the little girl, you went down to the basement, a place that little Antonella didn't particularly like. Something had to be done about all that darkness…

“Donna, look who's come to see you...” you sang, opening the doors of the workshop.

The lady in black, focused as always on her dolls, left a paintbrush on the table, turning around with that same smile as your daughter.

“Ciao, tesoro...” she whispered in a tender voice. “Have you come to see me?”

“Yes,” you said, moving the girl to the floor. “Come on, honey, show mommy what you can do.”

Slowly, releasing the girl's hands, she walked unsteadily towards the brunette, who was waiting for her with open arms.

“Did you see, Donna?” you said excitedly when the girl fell into her mother's arms, who lifted her off the floor with tender laughter.

“Good, my love… You can walk,” she whispered, lovingly moving the little girl in her arms and sitting her on her lap.

“Will she bother you?” you asked, resting a hand on her shoulder, while Antonella investigated the work table curiously.

“Not at all,” she said, kissing her daughter's head while cradling her with her legs.

“Fine…” you sighed in relief for being able to have a moment to yourself, thanks to Donna, as always. “Then I'll leave you two here and I… I think I'm going to take a bath.”

“Okay, tesoro” Donna whispered, concentrating on her dolls while the little girl fiddled with everything she saw.

“Mom, è stanca, mm? Vuoli restare con me?” she asked affectionately. The little girl, now looking at her mother, nodded slowly, stammering something incomprehensible. “Va bene…”

“Okay, well… I’m leaving,” you said amused, quickly kissing the brunette on the lips before leaving the workshop.

Everything was going perfectly. Antonella was a good girl, and the more she grew, the more it was noticeable. It was a shame that Angie always tried to lead her down the wrong path. After another year, you realized that in reality, there was nothing wrong with the doll's attitude, at least for the moment.

“Angie,” the puppet said, playing with the girl on a small rug full of dolls and toys.

Donna and you, who were reading together in a romantic way, looked at each other and then at the doll, frowning, with exactly the same expression.

“Angie, Angie, Angie,” the doll repeated, making the girl look at her confused. “Listen, Antonella, I'm Angie, A, N, G, I, E.”

“What are you doing?” you asked, leaning down to look at the doll, who looked at you sinisterly.

“Silence, Antonella has to listen to me,” the puppet protested, unpleasantly putting her hands on your mouth.

You pulled them away with a growl, looking back at Donna, who was reading again.

“See? Angie, I'm Angie,” she repeated, making you roll your eyes and lean on the brunette's shoulder, who relaxed you with a soft kiss on your head.

“Who am I? The great Angie, the supreme Angie, the wonderful Angie. Aaangie,” the doll hummed, jumping around the girl, who looked at her confused, but amused, trying to reach the puppet.

“What are you up to?” you asked, unable to look away.

“I will be her first word,” the doll said, proud, pointing at herself. “Look Antonella, don't pay attention to that fool, look at me.”

“Of course, of course, because it's much easier to say Angie than mom,” you joked, rubbing your aching temples, sighing tiredly.

“Shut your mouth, stupid,” the doll scolded you. You opened your mouth to return the insult, but you regretted it, crossing your arms.

“Angie…” Donna sighed, closing the book definitively and looking at you a bit worried. “Honey, are you okay?”

“Oh yes…” you said, not very sincerely. “It must be the weather…” you whispered, downplaying it.

You jumped when a dull thud echoed on the wood. The puppet had dropped, leaving little Antonella open-mouthed.

“Look, look, I'm clumsy Angie, repeat after me, Angie fell down,” the puppet sang, followed by soft and tender laughter from the little girl. Well, at least Angie made her laugh, always.

“Okay, Great Angie, it's bath time,” you said ironically, sighing as you stood up, you were a little dizzy.

“No, no, um…” Donna interrupted, pulling you back to sit down. “I'll bathe her, you should try to rest.”

“You're too kind…” you sighed, kissing the brunette's hand, who gave you one of her beautiful smiles before bending down to pick up her daughter.

“A bath, how lucky!” Angie shrieked, making you groan and sob at the same time. “Aren't you saying goodbye to me? Say: goodbye Angie…”

The little girl, tenderly hugging her mother, moved her hand with a charming smile. As Donna turned to take her to the girl’s daily bath, something interrupted her.

“A, A…” your daughter stammered, causing Donna to look at her curiously while Antonella pointed at the doll with her finger, with an expression of effort. “An, An…”

“It can't be possible,” you said, open-mouthed, shaking your head.

“Angie,” the little girl said, with a shaky but clear voice. “Angie,” she repeated laughing, pointing at the doll and looking for her mother's approval, who nodded with an expression of surprise.

“Yes! I did it! Suck that, silly!” the doll scolded, jumping for joy at her sinister feat.

“Great,” you murmured, unable to help but smile at your daughter's first word, one she would never get tired of repeating.

Antonella's third birthday marked a special date in your life. After continuing with those dizzinesses, those sensations that you already knew, you were out of doubt. But you still didn't want to tell it to Donna, you had to wait for little Beneviento to give you some time alone, something complicated.

“That's it, my princess... Now go to sleep...” you said while you tucked the little girl in, who, as always, was accompanied by her particular night guardian, Angie.

“Mom,” she stammered, with pleading eyes, rubbing them with her hands after a day of incessant running and playing with Angie. “I want story.”

“Oh, do you want a story?” you asked amused, sitting on the bed. Donna laughed behind you, leaning against the wall.

“Your stories stink, you cheesy fool,” Angie murmured, pushing you out of bed.

“Angie...” you growled, closing your eyes, too exhausted to argue with the doll.

“Mamma, storia,” the girl said now looking at the lady in black, who had approached to make peace between the doll and you.

“Oh, okay, huh? Very nice of you,” you said jokingly, shaking your head. “Well, come on, mamma, tell a story for the princess.”

“Mom, I love you,” the girl murmured, with an amused expression that you couldn't resist.

“Yes, yes, now fix it with sweet words... You're just like your mother,” you said amused, tickling your daughter. “Anyway, Donna, I think it's your turn...”

Your wife took your place in bed, telling your daughter one of the many stories that you couldn't understand, but that certainly sounded much better than yours. After a while, the girl fell asleep and the two of you slowly left the room.

“She's a sweetheart,” the lady said, with an excited smile. No matter what Antonella did or said, for Donna would always be something unforgettable.

“That's because you're a sweetheart, Donna,” you whispered romantically, kissing the woman in black slowly, sighing, knowing that, unintentionally, you had found the perfect moment.

“What's wrong? I see you're pensive,” she murmured, cupping your face in her hands. In truth, she had been worried about you for too long, and you didn't want jealousy or another of her insecurities to haunt you again.

“Yes, well, it's just that... I have, I have something to tell you,” you said nervously, playing with the buttons of her dress.

“Okay,” she said, with a slightly fake, expectant laugh.

“We... We haven't put the crib away yet, right?” you asked smiling. She shook her head, frowning.

“N, no,” she answered in a cold, trembling voice.

“Good, because, because I think we're going to need it again...” you said, with a smile growing wider on your face, and on hers. “Donna, I’m pregnant.”

[prof-ramses]

Dissecting the LN3 Friendship Trailer

I'm so hyped to finally have news on this game, you guys have no idea!!! That being said, let's turn the new trailer inside out to see what we can figure out.

To me this looks like the very end of the Necropolis as Low and Alone move into the second chapter which...

Judging by the greenish hue of where they end up, would be the Factory.

It also seems that the later parts of the Necropolis are going to be more of a stormy grey, which actually looks quit nice.

We see two separate furnace shots, one with a nome. If I had to guess these would be in the Factory or another area, which we'll get to later.

Here's all the confirmed Factory footage, including a better glimpse at the many-armed monster in the area, we can see a rolled up blue sleeve. The last image comes from the official LN3 website, and it seems it's either making candy statues/creatures, or grinding it's staff into the candy. I'm honestly not sure which would be wilder.

We get some good looks at the Carnival, and our first potential glimpse of the Ventriloquist. The thing of his desk looks like a walky-talky, which makes me think the Dummy also has one and will use it to

I'm putting these together because they don't seem to fir into any other area. I think this is from the same chapter as the one some people suspect will be set in The Maw, but at this point it looks more like some... bunker/clocktower/planetarium, I'm not sure.

Either way it's very interesting.

This last shot looks like it could take place at the very start of the Carnival chapter, but I'm not positive.

@queen0fm0nsterz, thoughts on some of these ideas? I'd really appreciate any feedback from my preferred LN expert.

[taintedcigs]

modern!eddie popular culture hcs:

he would LOVE the scream movies. dressing up as ghost face is his hobby. he kinda loves scaring ppl randomly. and loves the way you get squirmy when he talks to you in a deep voice behind the mask.

he would be the biggest saw, wrong turn, evil dead fan. has billy the puppet in his room. whenever he's writing songs he talks to billy and sings to him. the first time you went into his room he did a little ventriloquist show for you. but immediately covered it up once u said it was scary. (apologized to billy and gave him a kiss while doing it LMAO)

he loves rob zombie, house of 1000 corpses is one of his fav horror movies and firefly is his one of his fav trilogies, (hates the halloween movies he made, sorry rob) and loves rob's music. (i just know he vibes to pussy liquor.)

he hates requel movies and probably elevated horror. he just wants some good scares and some gore. (and he makes u watch a lot of stupid movies for this reason)

he hated nu metal at first, but it grew on him quickly!! ofc he listens to deftones!!! flyleaf, korn, limp bizkit, rage against the machine, and sevendust.

he didn't care for mcr at first. but once he found out about the storylines of the albums he was HOOKED. he told u all about the stories like it was a bedtime story and he keeps posting his theories on reddit.

he used to be a LOT more strict about what he listened and had an idea of "real metal" but now he listens to whatever. enjoys some fob and paramore at the end of the day.

he's obsessed with game of thrones. read the books before the show came out. probably criticized the show for being so different but he still loved it. (probably annoying to watch it with him bc he's the type of person to be like "THIS ISN'T WHAT HAPPENED IN THE BOOKS!! in the books daenerys breathed differently!!" but u love him so its super adorable!!!) he created a 98 page rant about the show's ending. loves daenerys (this is kinda self-indulgent), and DEF fantasizes about doing a got roleplay with you!!! kinky lil shit <33

[toomanyf4ndoms7]

Batgirls game concept.

Premise: Moving to a new neighbourhood, it was only a matter of time before trouble showed up. With The calculator assembling force of costumed foes to finally crack the mystery of Oracle, It's up to the three Batgirls plus Oracle to catch the crooks and give a new hope to their new home.

@dchuntress

@spoilerqlert

Playable characters: Batgirl/Cassandra Cain, Spoiler/Stephanie Brown, and Misfit/Charlie Gage Radcliffe. There would be a mission where you play as Oracle defending her clock-tower able to give orders to the three Batgirls and trigger defences.

Gameplay:

Imagine a combination of the freeflow Arkham combat and some of Gotham Knights Momentum abilities.

Batgirl/Cassandra Cain: The most similar to a traditional Arkham style gameplay. Swift and skilled combat.

Base Momentum ability: One Who Is All: Activates a one hit knock-out for up to three enemies, use this in conjunction with instant takedown for lore accurate gameplay.

Spoiler/Stephanie Brown: A bit of a gadget priority character with elemental gadgets that can be quick-fired during combat encounters.

Base Momentum Ability: Taser suit: Taking damage will shock-stun enemies as well, useful in big fights for breathing room.

Misfit/Charlie Gage Radcliffe: Close range fighter who says quips at the end of every fight. Can switch targets in combat with her 'bounce' teleports, rather than simply rocketing over to them like Cass or Steph.

Base Momentum Ability: DARK VENGEANCE!!!: A trio of teleport strikes that does good damage on bosses and does a typical knockout on basic enemies.

Side missions:

Each of the BG's have one personal side mission.

Change: Cassandra Cain runs into one of her training assassins from her time with David Cain and tries to get them to turn over a new leaf. Mainly combat oriented, with a detective vignette in a bar.

Spoil Your Fun: Stephanie, out on patrol, notices an orange envelope, styled in her father's Cluemaster identity. Imagine Riddler trophies, where you can collect flavour text items. Collect enough and complete the Clue Challenges (Puzzles or combat arenas.) and You're given the coordinates for a boss fight with Cluemaster's former henchman, The Baffler, who is on his own quest to be a Big Shot.

Misfit down the rabbit hole: Black Alice has appeared in Charlie's school, but with their history, Misfit finds it important to investigate. (Mainly detective work, ends with a boss fight in an arcade for the sake of atmosphere.)

Collectibles:

Audio Diary: Learn the story before the end of the game, start with Barbara Gordon making an audio recording before the police masquerade, and end with her detailing the move to the new neighbourhood.

Comic covers: By searching for and picking up little batarangs, you can unlock certain comic covers for your viewing pleasure, along with the issue synopsis.

Extra Content:

Christmas Crusader (DLC): On Christmas Day, Barbara tells a story from one of her more... exciting Batgirl escapades. Play As Barbara during her time as Batgirl, on a mission to take down Calendar King and make it home in time before the clock strikes Christmas Day.

Early Days: Small mini-stories for each of the trio, set during early times in their vigilante career. Think like the Arkham Episodes from Knight.

Challenge trials:

Stealth Tests: Take out enemies without getting spotted in varying locations:

Clocktower.

Calculator Headquarters.

Moth-Cave.

Batburger.

Others...

Mall.

Rematch: Face against past bosses at varying difficulties, including:

Killer Moth.

Spellbinder.

Black Alice.

Baffler.

Shrike.

Ventriloquist. (Shauna Belzer and Ferdie.)

Calculator Mech.

Calendar King.

Other Details:

You know how Insomniac Spider-Man had a social media function in the menu? That's here too. For Fun.

-------------------------------------------

I've had this idea in my head for months, so I hope this came across accurately.

[rolfedewolfefan16]

Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

VILLAIN ROLFE AU OFFICIAL STORY

Chapter 2: Rolfe was angry. Like really angry. He couldn’t believe that his own mother couldn’t remember him. He couldn’t believe his brother didn’t appreciate his services. He couldn’t believe he was homeless. And now, without his puppets, he couldn’t do anything to gain some quick cash. The only money he had was a lonesome 10 dollar bill he stuffed in his pocket. Night arrived shortly after and that was the coldest, hungriest night Rolfe has ever spent. The wolf barely slept, he just huddled himself in a corner of a dark alley, thinking back of what happened that day. What if he did things differently? What if he never went to that club? What if he never saw that puppeteer in the first place? These thoughts circled his head until he finally drifted to sleep. He awoke to a hand shaking his shoulder. Rolfe saw a silhouette of a plump man, his eyes blinded by the morning sun.

“Are you okay?” the man asked, in a heavy Jersey accent. Rolfe rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“Not really,” Rolfe muttered. 

“I’m really hungry, and cold and my bladder is killing me!” Rolfe mentioned. The man shook his head and grabbed Rolfe by his paw. 

“Well I own the restaurant by this alley. You can use the bathroom there and I can cook you something to eat. On the house,” The man said, with a wholesome smile. He wore a red flannel with grey tech pants and a white apron. He had some stubble on chucky chin and a head of short, curly,  black hair.

“Thank you,” Rolfe said, standing up. Rolfe towered over the plump man as he followed from behind….

Rolfe got out of the bathroom and saw the plump man greasing a pan with butter. Rolfe took a seat at a table near the big glass windows with acrylic writing. He took a glimpse at the busy streets of Kansas City, cars and officers every which way. He spotted a tall woman with a short pink dress and a ridiculous hat walk by, walking her small, stubby bull dog. Then he spotted some pigeons pecking at a cardboard boat tray smothered in bits of leftover food and sauces. For a moment, there was silence. Rolfe felt as if this horrible pounding he had heard for so long had finally gone away. The silence was broken by the plump man’s voice.

“So do you usually sleep in the back of people’s alleys or is that just a preference?” The man asked. Rolfe chuckled.

“No, my ideal place to sleep is in a bed, with a roof over my head. But sadly I couldn’t manage to find one last night,” he said, his voice slowly becoming more melancholy as he spoke. 

“Well, what the hell happened, son?” The man asked. Rolfe led out a sigh as he fiddled with his claws.

“I got kicked out of my home last night. My mom became an addict and my brother couldn’t bear the responsibility anymore, so…” Rolfe said, his ears drooping.

“Well do you mind me asking, how old are you? Surely you're old enough to take care of yourself?” The man said, handing Rolfe a cup of coffee.

“I just turned 22 this year. And I’m sure I’m old enough to take care of myself but you see, I don’t know a thing about paying bills or investing or getting a job or any of that adult stuff,” Rolfe responded, taking the cup of coffee and taking a sip.

“How come?” The man asked, returning to the kitchen.

“I never learned. My mother never taught me and my brother was always out working,” Rolfe said. 

“Jeepers. Well I suggest you find a job first. That shouldn’t be too hard considering how many open spots there are nowadays,” The man said, dipping a piece of bread into some batter and plopping it into a hot pan.

“That’s the thing though! I did have a job…before so that is. I was a ventriloquist. But my mother and brother kept every penny I owned and they tore all my puppets apart!” Rolfe complained.

“You know if you're into that kind of stuff I heard they’re hiring a band member at this new location. They call it “ShowBiz Pizza Place” starring a band of misfits who call themselves “The Rock-afire Explosion” The man said, handing Rolfe the poster. Rolfe stared at the ad for a while.

“Why would I want to join a band? I don’t know a thing about music,” Rolfe admitted. The man chuckled. 

“Son, it's show business. It can mean anything in the entertainment field! Dancing, singing, acting, even ventriloquism,” The man replied. Rolfe was now more than convinced. 

“I’ll say that works! But I don’t have a puppet!? And I can’t possibly go make one now! It takes days. Not to mention money,” Rolfe caviled. The plump man placed a heaping plate of french toast, sunny side-up eggs, bacon strips and fat pineapple sausage in front of him. 

“I don’t see that as a problem. All you need to do is audition. Who says you need a puppet for the act? Plus you can change your voice by range right? Not a lot of people can do that, son,"said the man, handing Rolfe a fork. Rolfe jabbed the fork into sausage and dipped it in the egg yolks before taking a giant bite.

“I guess so,” he said through a mouthful of food. The man sat down with him.

“Why don’t we do this? You help me wash the mountain of dishes I have in the back, And I’ll pay you a good 50,” The man suggested. Rolfe’s eyes lit up, he soon remembered his manners.

“Oh no, that’s far too much,” he said.

“I insist! Trust me it's a lot! Plus, you should have enough to make yourself a puppet for the audition if you really want it that badly,” The man said. Rolfe smiled as he took a forkful of french toast. 

“Thank you sir,” Rolfe said.

“You may address me as, Marty,” The man winked. After breakfast, Rolfe got to work, putting an apron and yellow rubber gloves on. Marty wasn’t kidding. The pile of dishes was huge, stacking up high inches from the ceiling vent. As sponge met dish, Rolfe began to daydream of his future life. He figured if he could pass the audition he too could be just as famous as his father. Just think, Rolfe DeWolfe the greatest entertainer the world has ever seen! Millions would line up outside the door just to see his acts and hear his voice. Rolfe knew he could sing quite decently. He figured his voice suited jazz and disco much more than pop or rock or whatever it was the band might play. That’s why he liked it so much. Rolfe never dared sing or perform out in public unless he was sure his family wasn’t around. However due to his impressive range, Rolfe was sure he could manage any challenge the band might give him. That’s why he was confident he would succeed.

“You know, Marty?” Rolfe spoke out loud, trying to talk over the radio.

“I’m gonna be famous one day! And the whole world’s gonna know my name! Just you wait!” Rolfe laughed. Marty chuckled.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you on the television. Why don’t you show me what you got and I’ll be the judge of that,” Marty offered. Rolfe gave him a grin and cleared his throat.

“Give me a second-” he said. He heard the radio playing a familiar voice. Frank Sinatra! Perfect! 

“Come fly with me! Let’s fly, let’s fly away! If you can use some exotic booze, there’s a bar in far Bombay. Come on and fly with me, let’s fly, let’s fly away!” Rolfe sang. His mouth didn’t move, not once. Marty clapped, giving whistles and shouts.

“Woah! I tell ya kid, that’s mighty impressive! You're going to land the role for sure!” Marty cheered. Rolfe went back to washing dishes.

“I sure hope so,” he smiled sheepishly….. After a little while of silence, Rolfe spoke. 

“So Marty, do you have any big dreams?” Rolfe asked. Marty placed his broom down and nodded.

“This restaurant of mine, see it’s family owned…was family owned. I wanted to carry on the tradition but after my divorce things haven’t been easy. And now business is slow. My only dream is for business to be booming again. For this restaurant to never be forgotten,” Marty explained. Rolfe felt bad. He had no idea what Marty had gone through. Yet again, not a single person came into the restaurant during his stay. Perhaps it was best if Rolfe just kept quiet for the remainder of the time…

Finally, for what felt like forever, Rolfe finished his dish duty and stood by the front door waiting for Marty.

“Here ya go, kid,” Marty said, handing Rolfe the 50 dollar bill, as promised and a slice of cherry pie in a paper bag.

“Take care of yourself. And good luck,"he told him. Rolfe couldn’t help but cry a little. He never felt this wholesome affection, not even in his own home. Rolfe gave Marty a tight hug.

“I won’t forget this. I swear, once I’m famous I’ll make sure to promote you!” Rolfe said. 

“Thanks, son. Goodbye, now,” Marty waved. Rolfe gave him one last hug before walking out the door, bag and poster in hand. That day Rolfe made himself a promise. Money was luxury and he was going to make sure he got a lot of it! Rolfe was going to make his dreams come true one way or another. He just hoped he wasn’t too late…

[look-a-yandere-fandom-blog]

Yandere! Slappy the Living Dummy Headcanons

Fandom: Goosebumps.

No Spoilers.

Character Version: Book!Slappy

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Ambiguous yan - can be read as platonic or romantic.

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Content Warning: Manipulation, isolation, possessive behaviour, kinda stalking?

(If there’s anything else I need to add please let me know).

Big apologies to anyone who is scrolling through the goosebumps tag and managed to come across this... I am cringe as hell, but I am free!

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- Before we begin, let’s get a quick rundown on Slappy:

- He’s an evil, manipulative, and sadistic ventriloquist dummy, who’s near-impossible to defeat in the long term.

- So basically, an entity you’d never want to be obsessed with you.

- Let’s go with the typical Goosebumps narrative: you found him lying around, asleep, and (for some damn reason) you decided to bring him home!

- You pick the sheet of paper out of his pocket and read the words inscribed.

- “Karru Marri Odonna Loma Molonu Karrano”

- As the days pass by, strange things begin to happen around your home.

- It starts off small; things being out of place, items disappearing and reappearing, the sound of footsteps echoing through the house in the dead of night when you’re sure that nobody else is awake.

- And, even more strangely, that ventriloquist dummy you found keeps appearing on your bed: sitting beside your pillow and staring down at you. Creepy.

- At this stage, Slappy observes your daily life. He doesn’t make his sentience known just yet.

- He sees your routine, your hobbies, your family, and your friends…

- It’s those last two that really grind his gears.

- Slappy sees you and your loved ones. He sees you doing nice things for them: giving them gifts, doing favours, or offering to help them with tasks.

- His little wooden mind misinterprets this as you serving them. An odd leap to make, until you account his strange fixation on making people his ‘slaves’. In his head, that’s what you must be doing, that’s the only thing you could be doing, right?

- And so, Slappy starts getting antsy. Why are you serving those useless fleshbags when you should be serving him? He’s the only person (or dummy in this case) that you should be focusing on.

- Here is when his interruptions of your daily life start to become more extreme.

- He openly tries to get your attention. This is achieved by causing as many problems and messes as his 3-foot-something form allows. At this point he may reveal that he’s alive.

- Alongside this, he’ll start pushing away your friends and family.

- A few cruel pranks, a handful of exposed secrets, and a couple of damaged items is all it takes for him to leave you completely alone.

- Except for him of course.

- And, with no one else to turn to, you’ll finally give into his demands; willing to be his loyal servant for the rest of your life.

- At least, that’s what he hopes, what he imagines, as his glassy eyes stare unblinkingly.

- Staring down at your sleeping face, once again. Night after night.

- Until there's nothing left for you, but him.

[rolfe-dewolfe-fan-page]

Rolfe Headcanon Thyme

Cw Implied Abuse

So, Wolfman is Rolfe's father, and he Hated Rolfe. (Got that down in another post)

When Rolfe was 17 (Hasn't finished high school yet) He was kicked out of the house. He had nothing besides his necessities, a notebook, some of his late mother's belongings, and some other things I will think about later on.

He lived in a Ruddy Motel for a bit, trying to get gigs and such, but decided to move to New York for more opportunities. He lived in a little studio apartment and performed in small clubs trying to get by.

Rolfe did WHATEVER to get by. He hated his father (And his father hated him) but felt like the whole "I am Wolfman's son" thing would be one of the only ways to get gigs. (His dad used to be an opera singer in my hc, also the whole thing with the WP5)

For some reason, all I can think of is this line by @randomly--accessed--memories

"i'm not a nepotism hire if my dad doesn't like me"

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After a while of struggling, Rolfe decided to try being a Traveling Act. He somehow got a van, and left the city.

One day, he was at a yard sale and a puppet caight his eye.

He saw that it was like, $25, and then he stole it.

The yard sale owner was strangely happy that the puppet was stolen, saying something about how it was "Cursed" or something.

That puppet would later be called Earl Schmerle

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Rolfe began doing ventriloquism, something he hasn't done since he was a child.

But Earl had a mind of his own.

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Later on, Rolfemet someone. That person invited Rolfe to join a band. He went to check it out and surprisingly, Fatz was also there. The Same Fatz from the Wolf Pack 5. 2 of the other guys there looked similar to the WP5 members, and he was 100% certain that The guitarist was related to the WP5's Beach Bear.

He got in as a ventriloquist.

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When I think of Rolfe's backstory concept, these lyrics come to mind

"Look around, everywhere you turn is heartache It's everywhere that you go "

"You try everything you can to escape The pain of life that you know"

Fits Doesn't it?

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I HC that they got Uncle Klunk when Rolfe was going through a major depressive episode. Rolfe was still paid tho. Mental health matters.

[oopsiedaisiesbaby]

Frat au Gale and John at Gales initiation and Gale is blindfolded and John kisses him to help him calm down

So… this is where I confess I’ve actually been writing for the Frat Boy AU for real for real 😳😄

Having them kiss during initiation would change the timeline a bit but this is way too cute to not consider!!! Might just have to change up some stuff to make this happen 😈 This is not official official and liable to change if ever get to this part in writing this fic but have a little unedited initiation ceremony fluff 🥰

Gale exhaled shakily as John tied the blindfold into place.

Large hands engulfed his waist and squeezed reassuringly as John whispered soft and low in his ear, “don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you the whole time.”

Shoulder’s still firmly up by his ears, Gale curled his toes in his shoes and chewed on his lip. He was well aware that John had gotten special permission to walk him through and stay with him throughout the ceremony like the rest of the Bigs.

As Vice President, he was supposed to be up at the altar with Jack. Gale almost felt guilty about keeping him from his duties as VP, but he didn’t think he would have gotten through the ceremony if Ev was the one guiding him.

Nothing against Ev. Gale was just nauseatingly nervous about messing something up, even after six weeks of preparation.

“I won’t let you trip Buck,” John insisted. His warm breath puffing out over Gale’s ear left goosebumps trailing down his neck and arms and just made him even more tense. “And if you forget the words to the prayer or pledge, just move your mouth and I’ll whisper them for you.”

Gale had to bite his lip against a smile at the silly image it conjured of him being a puppet and John the ventriloquist.

“Hold on tight to your candle, I’m about to light it,” John told him.

One hand left Gale’s waist, the other sliding to rest at the small of his back. He nearly flinched at the snick of the lighter, but feeling the all encompassing heat of John��s body pressed against his and having the scent of his cologne wash over him as he leaned forward to light Gale’s candle kept him still and at least partially calm.

“Okay, we’re up next,” John told him, and moved his hands to Gale’s shoulders to shuffle them forward.

Gale’s muscles locked up and John bumped into him, clearly not expecting Gale to freeze like that. John’s hands fell back to his waist, squeezing as nudged his nose against Gale’s cheek.

“Hey, hey, hey,” John crooned, breath hitting the corner of Gale’s mouth and forcing a shiver out of him. “It’s gonna be okay, I’m right here, Ev tripped and fell during his initiation and they still let him in and even made him treasurer now. You’re definitely gonna do better than that because I’m right here with you.”

Gale opened his mouth to protest that there were still a million other ways things could go wrong but his voice died in his throat and he pressed his shoulder back against John’s chest.

“Here, let me just -”

John cut himself off, grabbing Gale’s chin and pulled him into a soft kiss. Gale melted against John’s chest, fighting his desire to turn around and fully give in to the pull of John’s orbit.

He was never going to get used to kissing John. It had only been a couple of days since their first kiss but Gale knew he was never going to stop being enamored with the way John’s lips felt against his.

John moaned, low and deep into the kiss. Quiet and eager. He nudged their noses together before tilting Gale’s face and licking at the seam of Gale’s lips. Gale parted his lips, sighing into the kiss as John deepened the kiss into something obscene for the setting.

“John Clarence Egan, put your tongue back in your own mouth, this is serious business here,” Alex laughed from behind them.

Gale flushed, pulling away and cringing at the way their lips smacked as they parted. John huffed in amusement, breath puffing out across Gale’s swollen lips.

“‘M right here,” John breathed and Gale nodded.

Inhaling sharply, Gale righted himself and steeled himself for the ceremony as he heard the door open in front of them. John’s kiss had left him loose limbed and mind soaring too high in the clouds to worry about messing him.

Nothing else mattered if John was with him.

[nine-one-wanton]

@typicalopposite Mobile has completely garbled your ask. It does not show your entire message. There is no “Answer” button for me. So forgive my answering in this format! 💜 (Your other garbled ask is forthcoming!)

Buck reached his foot under the table, his ankle finding Tommy’s and locking them together.

“What’s going on with you?” Tommy asked softly.

Buck sighed, “I’m feeling kinda left out here. Or, like, I don’t completely belong here?”

Tommy frowned. “You don’t like this place?”

Well, that wasn’t true. “I do like it, I just don’t know how to be here. And..” His eyes shot to Émile, who was standing back, with a neutral-to-smug look on his handsome, chiseled face.

Tommy looked confused, his eyes followed Buck’s eyeline to their waiter. And then his eyes widened, returning to Buck’s.

“Seriously, Evan?”

“I mean, it’s fine,” Buck lied. “You’re in a relationship. But you’re not dead.”

“True..” Tommy said cautiously.

“Y-y-you have eyes.”

“Are you.. attracted to our server, Evan?”

“What?!” Buck whispered.

Tommy grinned playfully.

“You’re the one that’s been flirting with him this whole meal,” Buck said, doing his best impression of a ventriloquist, not wanting anyone to read his lips to see what they were talking about. And regretting how intimate the seating was down here. He thought he saw one of the Canadians rolling their eyes.

“Do you know how deliberately you have to flirt with a server around here to get even your water refilled?” Tommy deadpanned.

Buck felt the tips of his ears turn pink, and he.. kinda felt like he might be being gaslit.

Maxine’s clipped voice interrupted, and Buck was able to make out enough words, and apply context to understand that she was asking if people were ready for the final dessert course.

Maxine’s eyes coolly shifted to Émile. And Émile had the audacity to ask Tommy something directly. Something that sounded to Buck’s barely trained ear like, ”Êtes-vous sûr, Monsieur Kinard?” And then Émile’s eyes flicked skeptically to Buck and then back to Tommy.

Buck felt heat pooling in his core again, and he unlocked their ankles, pulling back into a closed off posture.

Tommy nodded, a barely perceptible gesture. And his shoulders shook a little - and Buck thought he might actually be.. laughing?

Tommy took a deep breath, swallowed a large gulp of wine, and then let his breath out slowly as Émile sat the most beautiful plate of macarons down before Buck. A combination of rich chocolate and raspberry macarons were artfully, delicately trailed across a thin rectangular plate. And on top of one of the dainty cookies sat a rose gold wedding band, with a black and red opal inlay.

Buck felt like he couldn’t breathe.

He looked at Tommy with disbelief. As he began to reframe the evening.

Tommy laughed softly. “I love you, Evan Buckley. Every ridiculous, wonderful bit of you. Would you marry me?”

“I’m.. an idiot.”

“And what kind of idiot would I be, if I didn’t love you anyway?”

Buck put the ring on his finger. And couldn’t help shooting a pointed look at Émile, who had faded into the background after he and Maxine had served the guests their desserts.

“You’re wearing the ring, Evan. Is that a yes?”

Buck gasped. “Oh, right. Yes. Of course, it-it’s a yes. Hey.. am-am I supposed to wear this right away? Like an engagement ring? Or wait until we’re married, like. Since it’s a wedding band?”

“That’s the great thing about being queer, Evan. We get to make up our own rules.”

“I want to wear it,” Buck said, decisively. “And I want you to have one, too. So, people know.”

“Know what?”

“You’re mine.”

Buck saw Tommy’s breath hitch slightly. A sharp little hiccup of an inhale. Then he asked, “Should we, uh.. finish up here? Get back to the hotel?”

“Need me to remind you?” Evan asked in a low voice. “Since I don’t have a ring for you yet?”

“Evan..” Tommy breathed. And Buck could hear the mix of Yes, please and Not here weaving through that one breathlessly whispered word.

They took the macarons in a small paper bag to go, and began the short walk back to their hotel room.

[homestuckreplay]

turntechGnostic? gardenGodhead?

(page 381-387)

Dave is a cool guy, yknow? A cool dude whose default face is complete neutrality, who doesn't show emotions besides anger, the only acceptable feeling for men. If he's feeling something positive, he'll show it with a nod of the head or a twinkle of the sunglasses, not-

HEY. WHAT'S THAT SMILE ON YOUR FACE, COOL GUY????

What's fun about meeting Dave is that we get to see him talk to all three of his friends in pretty quick succession, while with John it was far more spaced out. Dave loves John so much but I think he kind of talks down to him, and with Rose, it's the witty banter of equals. With GG, Dave is the one who seems lost in the conversation. GG throws Dave for a loop multiple times, and also blatantly makes fun of him with 'bro! hehehe' and 'feeling cool today? mr cool guy?' I didn't expect Dave to like this, and it's not obvious in the conversation that he does, but that tiny smile kinda says it all. I can honestly see these two becoming my favorite dynamic of the four main characters.

We get more GG lore too! They have a 'goofy' fetch modus which I'm super curious about. It turns out they have a granddad who's a big presence in their life, not a sister. They also have a pet who TG refers to as a 'devilbeast', and who is hard to feed and can overpower GG. Could be an unruly, badly trained dog, or perhaps GG lives on a farm and this is some kind of farm animal? Or an exotic pet their grandad attempted to tame (since he's apparently a 'total badass') but who shouldn't really be kept as a pet.

Also GG might have some psychic powers, or at least believe that they do. Which definitely puts their earlier conversations with John in a new light - instead of urging him to get the package now because they're excited to see his reaction, which is what I originally assumed, they're just emphasizing how important the package is, so that he'll know opening it is a priority if and when he finds it later.

The TG lore we get is.... less delightful. He mends his window with gaffa tape, which makes it objectively less functional as a window, definitely can't help with the heat, and doesn't even cover up the full hole. Like, just put a poster over it. More effective for less effort. Also his 'takedown' of monster movie tropes on p.386 is identical to 'guy who hates musicals because people sing in them' and is just exhausting to read. Also he thinks a white puppet ventriloquist rapper is the coolest shit ever, which is inexcusable. Basically, he needs to hang out with GG more so that they can chill him out and make him more tolerable.

I missed John so much. I've been thinking for a couple days about how I miss John, and here he is! The oil in his room has gotten significantly worse compared to p.253, which is a shame, because John is a fairly neat and clean kid when his sylladex isn't totally ruining his life.

But I guess this little harlequin beastie doesn't care about that? I love this thing's design, it's so fun. It looks so angry but somehow so incapable of causing any real harm that isn't oil based. What a silly hat for something that wants to be intimidating so bad. This will probably confirm to John once and for all that clowns are bad.

We've seen a couple other jet black, #000000 creatures so far. The Wayward Vagabond, linked from p.271, has smaller and rounder eyes but the same clawed hands. And the members of the Midnight Crew, seen on p.328-331, are visibly shinier (including their clothes?) with no visible teeth, but the rightmost two have those same elongated horizontal white eyes. Notably, all of these characters wear distinctive headgear. They all have really different roles in the story, so this could just be a shorthand for characters outside of the main four and their families, but it would be cool if some or all of them were connected.