#look they're there it counts

[p4pert0wle]

I've done it,kinda

I fixed his design,perhaps

Idk it's a step up from my last attempt at him,the him in question being the fizz x ozzie child I had made

IT'S AT LEAST BETTER THAN WHAT I HAD BEFORE qwq

I'm not too sure about his outfit,I went for colors more bright to make him stand out idk man.

I changed alot of things,but not too much when it came to his body.His clothing being the biggest change,I changed his random assortment of feather colors to Fizz's hat colors and a red to match Ozzies red but made it more pinkish??

I used Ozzies other head feather color for the tips of his tail feathers,bc I wanted some kinda heart theme somewhers but I couldn't decide where.

I curved his horns back to kinda match Fizz's horns but not as big instead of the weird bull horns I was trying to give him before(No I'm not following the horn rule,I just wanted to make some fun looking horns)

And I put a lil bit of blue under his eyes bc I think it's fun :3

For the outfit,I knew I wanted to play into royal outfits but keep the poofy sleeves to represent fizz in someway(I just switched where the stripes are,with the leg stripes being on the arms and the arm ones on his pants)BUT I'M SORRY I JUST CAN'T

Like I legit cannot draw outfits or make a good outfit for the life of me the amount of struggle my brain just went through I just.Couldn't.

But I'm more proud of his design now than before,because..The stuff I was trying before I started this drawing

It's not as bad as I remember but AHG-

Idk weather or not I should keep his pupils or just don't,it'll take like actual months for me to find a design I'll fully like.He is still very much a work in progress,any oc I have is fr

Anyways just small art peices I did with him in it

I kept him orange,I was going to make him more red.But I just didn't,I wanted him to have traits from both of them but still look like his own character.

For personality I've just been descibing him to myself as 'He follows recipes to a tee but then he improvises and everything goes wrong from there' and not elaborating further.

Thank you brain

Ima say that he carries the same kinda energy Ozzie tends to,he just seems rather calm and responsible but then just has random bursts of chaotic energy.

Because while he is most likely the calmest one in the room,he's also likely to something dumb just for fun.

Idk when in the story he would come into existence,he's mostly going to be a WIP for awhile ngl

I leave now

[collophora]

Do yourself a favor and go read the entire fanfic work of @fanfoolishness

(In order: Under sun and shade, Blind Side, and Breathless (patching up is one of my fav too, I just had no cool sketch idea for it)

[fascinatedfinch]

Let me in, said ART.

(fill for Whumptober "Spirit possession")

[canisalbus]

doodle machete’s eyes (only his eyes cause I can’t draw t he rest of him) hope you like it :)

.

[sincericida]

ANDREW GARFIELD and FLORENCE PUGH for Bustle.

“'Ultimately, it’s a story about choosing the life we want for ourselves and making the most of the time we have." Bustle cover stars Andrew Garfield and Florence Pugh on their once-in-a-lifetime love story ‘We Live In Time’ - in theaters NY/LA today, nationwide October 18.”

(X)

[hangryshawn]

charmed + disarmed

[franpun]

ora ora

original comic: ↓

[queermasculine]

genuinely despise the way straight writers write about butch suffering. it's always some tired dogshit like "she was hurt by a man so now she's cold and bitter and mannish, if only she'd heal, then she'd become her natural feminine self again!" which sucks because i absolutely would love to watch a relatable butch character go through something harrowing and emerge victorious, just not if it was written by someone who seems to have misunderstood the basic nature of my existence

[greenglowsgold]

The List.

Based on the Cass Apocalyptic Series.

The first part of this has been rumbling around in my brain ever since that Super Sad Scene a month ago, but yesterday’s update gave me the other side of the coin, so to speak, and finally pulled it all together.

@somerandomdudelmao thanks for the fuel, friend

                              -----

                              Donatello’s days have become a series of checklists, as of late.

No, that’s not exactly true. His days have always been about lists: what he’s done, what he can delegate to someone else, what still needs doing. But these days he’s been doing less and listing more, piling tasks from the first category onto the second as fast as he can manage, hoping he has enough time to empty the queue.

The full catalog is written out in a series of files, reorganized for accessibility to the layperson and meticulously up-to-date as of yesterday. He meant to run through it again this morning, ensure all the relevant instruction manuals were attached to each item and double check his protocols, but he wasn’t… he couldn’t…

He’s going to die tonight.

It irritates him, his own miscalculation of the timing more than the stark presence of his oncoming demise. The latter has been inevitable for quite some time, long enough that he’s gotten used to the idea. But he thought he had another week or two, and he doesn’t like being proven wrong. He wonders if his brothers know.

Probably not. They know it’s bad now, obviously, because they’ve piled him with pillows and blankets and surrounded him on all sides, and Leo has finally gone quiet. But they trust him, they’ve always trusted him, even when they shouldn’t, so if he swears he’ll last a few more days, they’ll believe him. He thinks. He’s pretty sure. If they knew it was tonight, he doubts they would choose to sleep through it. Donnie thinks about waking them up, but only for a moment. He’d like to say it’s a noble act, to leave them in peace a little bit longer, but the truth is he’s just too fucking tired to move.

There’s something settled bone-deep in his chest, a heaviness that sits on him like a stone, a peine forte et dure pressing him down and down, stopping his voice and his breath and his heart. He wonders if this is what dying usually feels like, or if it’s unique to the Kraang. Raph would know.

He cranes his neck to the right, to catch Raph’s face out of the corner of his eye. Raph’s working eye is half-open, staring down at the floor. Donnie could ask him. (He won’t. Let him fall asleep.) The movement of his head is so slight it doesn’t even catch Raph’s attention. He’s too tired for anything more. He’s so goddamn tired.

His lists are out of reach at the moment, with his physical interfaces back in the lab and his ninpo locked behind a wall of oh-god-it-sounds-too-exhausting-to-even-try, but he memorized them all long ago.

Raphael: Maintenance (delegated to Casey, who has it well in hand). Plans (tucked away in a dedicated folder, long term, but someday they’ll have the materials, and Raph will have a proper body again, someday). Honey (yes, he passed that along last week).

Raph has access to the tracking programs, so he can keep an eye on everyone himself, even when Donnie can’t pull up locations or vitals for him anymore. He has his own space in the base once more, somewhere to close a door when he needs to (he insists he doesn’t, but Donnie isn’t a fool). He has more excuses to spend time with Casey, who’s taking over his upkeep. Donnie hopes it fills in some gaps for both of them.

He runs through the list, double checks each item. It’s his last chance to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything important.

He looks down, finds Mikey.

There’s a stockpile of the anti-aging serum in his safe, the formula in his database, plans for the permanent solution clearly labeled. As long as they have his lab, his systems, Mikey will be as young as his years. He’s walked him through the greenhouse, even if most of it is controlled by the computer system. Mikey misses the world being green; it’ll do him good to spend more time around the plants. He has his tea, his candles. He has Draxum, who by now should have received a — mildly — threatening message warning him not to pull any disappearing acts anytime soon. He has their ancestors, just a short call away.

Donnie’s sure Mikey will call on him soon. He doesn’t plan to stray far.

Up a bit. To the left. Leo.

The arm — Leo knows how to take care of it, as does Casey.

The passwords — reset, something even Leo will be able to remember without resorting to blackmail.

The schedule — reshuffled for the next few days, he’ll have a hard enough time sleeping as it is.

The photos — everything they have, even the embarrassing ones. He even managed a couple of prints, and one precious shot from their pre-apocalypse days, something for Leo to tuck into a pouch and carry with him, when they’re not around.

Raph, Mikey, Leo. He doesn’t think he’s missed anything. Donnie lets his head fall back, too exhausted to hold it up any longer.

Is it enough?

His mind stretches further out. He’s unraveling.

What about April? Her prescription is up to date, they just checked a month ago. She has the latest in his combat tech, which has kept her safe in the field this long, so he has no reason to think it will falter now. He’s leaving her a few extra pieces, since he won’t be able to use them anymore. Leo will find the time for a movie night once in a while, he’s certain, even if his taste in Jupiter Jim movies is horrendous. They still have coffee; he’d die before he let that particular supply run out. He will, actually.

Casey. Fuck, Donnie’s gonna miss his birthday. But he did plan for this, his protocols will kick in. The mask is finished, everything is in place. He’s reconfigured his workstations, fit them for a tiny human instead of a seven-foot turtle. Casey has a better head for mechanics than any of his brothers ever did. Kid likes to be useful, so Donnie’s left him as much use as he can. He’s taught him everything Casey can learn and left instructions for more, when he’s a little older and wiser. His family will take care of him, they’ll make sure he gets there.

The base. It has to hold, to give them somewhere safe. The infrastructure is sound, and they have people to manage repair work. Supplies are decent, the most critical items in stock, everything that can be made renewable is. Their allies — Leo handles interpersonal issues and leadership, but Donnie’s checked the list with a pragmatist’s eye, left notes and rankings for priority. Security is the largest concern, but he’s spent nearly half his time with his assistants since his self-diagnosis (he could have spent it with his family), running them through the programs and adjustments, trying to bring them up to somewhere in the realm of his own expertise (a fool’s errand, but still). They’ve been rigorously instructed, they understand that the little things like sleep are secondary concerns. It has to hold.

Is it enough? For them to be okay?

He’s done everything he can. He can’t do any more. So it has to be enough.

Donnie blinks, and for a moment isn’t certain his eyes will open again at the end of it. But they do. At least one more time, they obey him.

Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Home. He rolls back through the list. It’s his last chance. He can’t miss anything.

Mikey’s hand tightens unconsciously around his wrist, fingers meeting easily on either side. Donnie feels only the echo of the pressure.

Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Home.

Something bright sparks at the edges of his vision before it fades. The last gasps of a dying brain, he supposes. Synapses firing one last time before they’re snuffed out.

Raph.

Mikey.

Leo.

                                                            April.

                                                                                                                        Casey.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   Home.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    Light.

                                                                                                                         There’s light.

                                                            It hurts.

                                                            He thought dying would stop the pain, but it’s risen to a fever pitch instead. His brother’s arms are gone, but the disease wraps around him in their place, consumes him. It rages like a wildfire, burning through his center until pieces start to flake away like ash.

Oh, this is what it does, what it was built for. The Kraang could have killed him in a lot of different ways. He’d wondered why they chose this one.

He hasn’t planned for it. This is something he didn’t even know to fear.

It’s bright and it hurts but it’s quiet as he crumbles, folds in on himself like a black hole in the utter silence of outer space. It’s quiet enough that the voice that breaks through does so clear as a bell.

His head turns to follow the sound, instinct. He’s lost half his field of vision, but what’s left is enough. He looks, and finds Casey.

Casey looks at him, at him, not the body. Donnie opens his mouth to ask a question — What are you doing here? How? Why? — but something else sloughs out instead. Not blood. He doesn’t have that anymore.

Casey calls his name once more and starts running.

Donnie’s questions fold back into his mind. His mouth clicks shut, he swallows back the putrid rot and pushes himself up. His arms are shattered but they’ll have to hold him. They have to. Because Casey is here and he needs something, which means Donnie missed something, which means he isn’t done.

His spirit disagrees with him, doesn’t see the logic. His arms don’t hold.

Casey reaches to catch him as he falls, and the touch ruptures him instead. He scatters. Into the air and the ground and Casey. For a moment, he’s just pieces, fumbling around and latching onto anything that welcomes them, and Casey does that. They flow into him. They’re him. They’re…

He’s…

Casey, he’s…

Donatello pulls himself back together. Most of himself, anyway. The infection hasn’t followed him but the damage persists. He’s run through with cracks and crevices, shaking bits away into infinity with every movement. But there’s more of him here than not.

Unexpectedly, Donnie is not gone. He’s still dead, but that’s fine, he planned for that one.

                                                                                                                         Casey has him now. He wraps himself around Donnie in layers, helps hold him together with a kind of sheer will that makes up for any lack of mystic knowledge in spades. Casey asks him to stay, and Donnie takes up the task like Sisyphus sizing up the hill. This time, this time I’ll do it right.

Even better, Casey has taken him to another time, one where all of Donnie’s long-term plans are now completely-fucking-reasonable plans. Casey’s going to fix it, so Donnie can fix everything else. Whatever else needs it. He hasn’t really asked. And he knows he’s missed something, but he doesn’t think too hard about what, not yet.

First thing’s first: he needs a body.

It’s so simple to accomplish that it seems like the universe is mocking him. Just a quick 1-2-3, ticking off the list. It feels almost stupid, like running back through the early levels of a video game after unlocking all the ultimate weapons and burning through enemies and obstacles, laughing, shit, did I used to think this was hard?

In no time at all, his own face has formed in front of him.

In no time at all, he’s gasping.

It’s only been a few hours since he last breathed air, but he’s missed it.

Another thing he’s missed? Functional musculature. Casey slams into him and Donnie is startled to find that it doesn’t knock him over. His arms and legs look like actual limbs again, not fragile little sticks disguising themselves as such. He stands, dragging Casey along without a second thought. The weight barely registers. It’s amazing.

The power trip is heady, but it only lasts a few minutes before reality kicks it in the ass and pulls him back down to earth.

We lost, Casey says.

They’re dead, Casey says.

It wasn’t enough, Casey does not say, but Donnie hears it just as clearly.

All those plans, the preparations, the precautions and protocols, they only borrowed a year or two before they fell apart. He sees the timeline spiral out before him, tighter and tighter until it collapses in on itself, rendered all the more insignificant from his own point of perception. He was alive yesterday. His family is dead today.

Everything he did, it wasn’t enough. Of course it wasn’t. He was stupid to think otherwise.

(Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Casey’s still here. It was enough for him, at least.)

It cuts at him a little, to have been so wrong. But he’s strong again, now. He can take the wound. More importantly, he has another chance to get it right.

Donnie breathes. His chest expands smoothly, easily. The air doesn’t rattle in his lungs. He’s alive, he’s a genius, he can fix anything.

He pulls up a list.

[fallen6253]

About the soul-swap partners:

I love that neither of them decided to stick to their given roles.  In either universe, really.

You’ll get what I mean.

Cale, who was Kim Rok Soo, does not keep up the image of trash.  He calls himself trash, he is called trash.  He does not keep his reputation.  Not the alcoholism, and he doesn’t throw bottles at gangsters.  No, he takes care of the underworld and other nobles in his own way (ie, recruitment or utter destruction).  He does not have his old reputation in this world either.  He’s not known as this cold leader who doesn’t care when someone dies, he’s known as a brilliant young man who cares way too much.  He’s known as an idiot who would rather pass out from exhaustion a week later than leave things to fester for one minute.  

And then there’s Kim Rok Soo, who was Cale Henituse once upon an apocalypse.  (First the fuq of all, nobody knew jac squat about him in the first place, and being the son of his mother probably made him something of an automatic anomaly.  I assume just being a Thames makes you kinda weird.  But anyway!) He lived as trash, an alcoholic who threw too many bottles back and then at the wall.  Then he lived through 20 years of a losing war.  And he got tired.  Tired enough to listen to a voice in his head in his last moments, to switch worlds and bodies with some stranger.  And he chose the motto that reflects the sentiments of his soul swap partner to a T: let’s live peacefullly.

And he smiles now, as Kim Rok Soo.  He sits back in his office chair, with an easygoing attitude.  He’s not the trash that would only shout; he is sly, and he knows how to use his status to properly put punks in their place.  He’s the team leader who refuses to be mistreated by anyone.  He will not be used, he would rather do his work as he needs to.  He isn’t a lowlife with no responsibilities in the wake of a war he would be just about useless in; he has a niece he has to go home to.  He drinks casually, not too much.  And he smiles in a way that’s too bright for the cold Kim Rok Soo.  He’s too happy now to be called cold-blooded. It’s like there’s a fire in his eyes that had been lost ages ago. Something that was rekindled when he had someone to go home to.

Despite changing their own lives so much, they wound up being nearly the same as one another and that drives me a little insane.

And let's not forget the best part.  One famous line they have in common in every world:

“Should I flip everything over?”

Another thing: I think Cale's gonna start resembling Kim Rok Soo. As in, he'll start relaxing a bit as the work goes on, he'll learn to rest as he goes (as in actually rest) and delegate work properly. He won't brush past comments like he used to, he will look a person in the eye and go 'I can just leave this world and leave you to your fate' which I would love to see, honestly. I feel like their individual capacity to be petty increases with age, and that's probably one of my favorite things about these characters. So them finding new ways to piss off people who don't like them could just be made into its own series and I would sell my soul for it.

[radaverse]

When the angsty ahh aus meet

+ smol comfort bestie swap

[rimeswithpurple]

Soda Jerk

For my contribution to @carryonthroughtheages, I decided to recreate a Norman Rockwell painting. When I first saw Soda Jerk, it was actually the dog that made me want to use it. I thought it would be fun if the dog was Agatha's Lucy

Thank you so much to @iamamythologicalcreature for hosting this event!

[violetvulpini]

Proto kept saying weird shit and one day Roll decided to start demanding explanations. It did not clarify things.

[Transcript below because my handwriting sucks]

Roll: Alright, time out!

(Mega: Do you mind?)

Roll: What does that mean? Do you even know what gender means?

Proto: Heh, duh! Gender is just some dumb things human made up. And totally not my problem!

Mega: ...What? But you're a boy. That's not made up.

Proto: I'm a robot.

Roll: Okay, but you call Mega brother and me sister. Why's that?

Proto: Easy! I want to kill Mega, and you want to kill me.

Mega: No-- okay, what gender are Dr. Light and Wily? They're human.

Proto: They're scientists. (nods nods)

Mega: UGH

(Roll: hmm)

Proto: Can we fight now?

Roll: One more: What do you think humans made up gender for?

Proto: Psh. Movies, obviously.

Mega and Roll: Movies???

Proto, triple threat: I'm going to kill you.

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 Damian

If you really think about, Damian's situation in the clone^2 au is... kinda tragic? Especially in the early months of his arrival. Like,,, think about it. Damian has always known he was a clone of Damian Wayne, that he was a copy of the blood son. There was nothing 'original' about him, not even his name (of which at least Danny has that). He was just... a replacement. A disposable one, to boot.

And he knew that, to an extent, by the time he was six years old. he might not have been actively acknowledging it -- he's six years old -- but deep down he knew. And like, he's six years old. Every small child craves the love and affection of an adult, especially their parents, and even though he knew he was clone, I imagine he still considered - and still does consider, somewhat - Talia and Bruce as his mother and father. And I really doubt he was... getting it?

Now, I know Talia loves Damian, her son. At least in some interpretations she does, and in this au she does. But... a clone of her son? I'm not so certain if she would have the same affection for baby Dames as she would for Damian. I don't think she would treat him badly, but I don't think Talia would treat him warmly either. Kinda just, distant. Colder than she would have been with OG Damian.

And, I know I've mentioned Damian's arrival from Danny's point of view, and its kind of comical kind of insane from his perspective -- a little boy clone of Damian Wayne falls through a portal and immediately attacks him. That sounds like a bad joke.

But, if you think of this from Damian's point of view? It's like he just got dropped into a scary movie. Like, think about it. You're six years old, and suddenly a portal, as green and as swirling as your grandfather's pools, opens up beneath your feet and sucks you through.

After an intense bout of vertigo, you end up in a massive, urban city -- completely different from the rural mountain palace that you lived in for the last six years of your life, and in this city, you don't know any of the language. You don't know what anyone is saying, you can't read any of the signs - you are completely stranded, away from home.

And then, to make things worse, you're facing a figure with a terrifying mask and eyes as burning green as the portal you fell through. Of course Damian's first instinct, six years old, is to attack. He's terrified.

And this figure, he's not a good fighter, but he's fast, and he dodges you quickly. He grabs your sword with his hands, and tries to restrain you, saying something in a language you don't know. Naturally, Damian is just scared. He's six! He'd just be learning how to read if he was normal child going to school.

This figure halfway through the fight yanks off his mask -- he realizes you're scared -- and looking at you now, is a youthful version of your father. This is a clone of your dad, someone you have never met but, six years old, still wants to. Damian gets defensive. This is an imposter.

But this imposter eventually gets you home with him - and he's using his little box, his phone, to communicate with you through a mechanical voice speaking in arabic. and it's frustrating. The boy, the imposter, can say whatever to you just fine, but trying to talk back is a hassle and a half. He's six, he doesn't have that much patience.

He wants to go home.

And so he keeps trying to run away. He keeps trying to find out of this hellish concrete jungle, and he keeps getting lost. It's loud, and busy, and there are people talking to you and you don't understand them, and there are rules and signs you don't understand - Damian tries to cross the street and nearly gets hit by a car. He doesn't know how the road signs work, he was never taught. They didn't get to that.

And he gets lost. And it gets dark, and Damian is brave, but he is six, and this is the worst stress he's been under in all his six years of life. He wants, desperately more than anything, to go home. Why wouldn't he? The only stable... semi-stable environment he was in just got ripped out from under his feet, literally! He wants his mother.

And it's not happening.

But there's something good to be said, at least. The imposter that looks like his father always comes and finds him, no matter what. He could have left that morning, and he will find Damian at midnight, frazzled and worried, and carrying an extra jacket with him because it is cold in Amity Park and Damian is six years old.

And sometimes Damian attacks him - he's scared and stressed and he doesn't want to be here. And every time he catches the sword. Even though Damian can see it cut into his hand and pearls of blood well up and stains his fingers. Even though Damian can see him wince in pain and bite his lip, he still catches it.

But with that little box, he coaxes Damian to come back with him. It's cold, it's dark, Amity Park is unsafe at night. They can figure something out tomorrow, please. And every time, he agrees, reluctantly. And the imposter takes the extra jacket he brought with -- a flannel, a hoodie, a jacket -- and he wraps it around him. It's warm, Damian's clothes are not that thick, and even though he thinks he might hate this imposter, he still sticks close to his legs as he leads him down the street.

And sometimes the imposter carries him, because Damian's shoes are not that thick, and he cuts his foot on broken glass while they're walking home. The imposter sits in the bathroom with him and carefully cleans the cut out, and makes sure it doesn't get infected.

There's hope you know, he still has it. His mother will be looking for him. She'll be worried. He's important to them. Damian may not be the original, but he is still a blood son. He is still her son. She will come find him. This nightmare will end soon. He can go home.

And then weeks pass, and nothing. Then months, and nothing. His family is not coming for him, and it hurts. Hurts more than anything. And yet while that happens, the boy he's attacked, and hurt, teaches himself arabic in order to speak to him. He takes Damian out of the house one afternoon and buys him new clothes, or tries to. And then he keeps buying him new clothes. He gives him blankets and gives up his bed to him until they can get him one himself, and steadily he teaches Damian english.

This boy is kind. Kinder than Damian's ever experienced, and he doesn't know what to do with it. He's devastated by the fact that he is not as important to his family as his family is to him. What do you do when you're six years old and you learn something like that? When a random stranger who looks like your father is kinder to you, and cares more about you than your family did?

And then Damian tells him he's a clone. He's Damian Wayne's clone, and he tells him his purpose - that their grandfather made him to kill him. And the boy, the imposter, Damian thinks he probably already knows that he's a clone. But he doesn't say that. He just nods, and asks him if he wants to tell his original about him.

Damian says no. He doesn't want to. He's tired of living in the shadow of his original. He wants to keep this to himself. This is his. For once, all of this is his.

And to his surprise, the imposter doesn't try and convince him otherwise. He just nods, and says okay. And when Damian asks why, the imposter - his brother - looks at him and says.

"I don't care about Damian Wayne. I care about you." And in Damian's gobsmacked silence, his brother continues. He tells him that if Damian doesn't want to tell his original that he exists, then they don't need to. They don't need to worry about the LoA going after him, because clearly if his 'grandfather' needs to make a clone of Damian in order to take him out, then whatever it was that Damian Wayne was doing to keep himself safe, was working.

"Wayne already has people in his corner, he's got Gotham's army of vigilantes to keep himself safe." his brother says with his eyes as blue as moonlight. "You, however. Do not." And he continues, and says that if Damian Wayne has the same training as Damian does, then he will be fine. He doesn't need to be aware of his clone. Because if DW doesn't know about Damian, then the LoA doesn't either.

And here's the thing. Damian would not have survived in the LoA for long. Not as a clone. No matter what, he was going to die no matter what he did, and sooner rather than later. The sword of Damocles was always hanging above his head in the League of Assassins.

That portal, and meeting Danny, saved his life. There's no way around it. And to an extent Damian knows this even at six years old. He may not be aware that he would've died, but he knows that meeting Danny was the best thing to happen to him.

It's no wonder after that, that Damian is as clingy to Danny as he is. Danny is the first person he's met to offer him unconditional love, with no strings attached, only pure affection.

[sincericida]

ANDREW GARFIELD and FLORENCE PUGH for Bustle.

Read the article, because he is wonderful.

[dentist-brainsurgeon]

Quit doomscrolling besties

I am not asking