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uselessundertalefacts · 2 years ago

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Undertale September Day 7 - Papyrus

aka more gratuitous breaking bad references

“THIS IS SO EXCITING!!!” Papyrus was levitating a few inches off the ground next to Undyne. His Kenny Rogers shirt was comically oversized. “FINALLY!!! I WILL PATRONIZE A DENNY’S!!!”

“Hell yeah!!!!!” Undyne cheered along. “So what’s a Denny’s?”

“IT IS THE SIBLING TO ‘WAFFLE HOUSE’,” Papyrus explained. “A PLACE OF RESPITE FOR AMERICAN HUMANS, IN THEIR TIMES OF GREATEST NEED! I LEARNED ALL ABOUT IT FROM TV.”

“Hold on! You said we were getting pancakes.”

“THEY HAVE PANCAKES!”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Undyne started sprinting towards the building, Papyrus racing to catch up.

They burst into the entrance, where a tired-looking human escorted them to a booth. Papyrus ordered a glass of milk and started bouncing on the cushioned seats. Undyne ordered a cup of tea in the local variety.

“Dunno what Liptons is,” she said cheerfully, “but I’ll try it out.”

“THAT’S WHAT I LOVE ABOUT YOU, UNDYNE!” Papyrus shouted. A few other humans glared at him, so he shouted a little more quietly. “YOUR ADVENTUROUS SPIRIT!”

“Haha, thanks, dude,” said Undyne. She started fiddling with the menu.

“AH YES! THESE MENUS ARE SOMETHING, AREN’T THEY?” Papyrus picked it up and wiggled it in the air, making a loud wobbling sound like laminated paper.

“Hah, you think THAT’S good?” Undyne wiggled her menu so hard that it burst into flames. Papyrus quickly extinguished it with his scarf.

“Excuse me!” The waitress came running to the booth, then stopped suddenly when all evidence of the fire vanished. “Uh…. Are you ready to order?”

“TWO GRAND SLAMS, PLEASE!” Papyrus handed her the menu. “EXCELLENT WORK ON THESE MENUS, BY THE WAY!”

Undyne grinned. “And pancakes for me, please! Piping hot!”

“GRAND SLAM HAS PANCAKES, UNDYNE!”

“Oh, okay! That, please!” The waitress nodded and fled the area, saying something about bringing their drinks soon. Undyne looked back at Papyrus, her smile a little more strained. “Nice human, eh?”

“I WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND WHY THEY’RE SO SCARED OF FIRE…”

Undyne sighed. “Well. It’s nice to hang out again, anyway.”

“I KNOW, RIGHT?” Papyrus whisper-yelled. “AMBASSADOR BUSINESS IS REWARDING, BUT I MISS OUR DAILY TRAINING SESSIONS! WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN UP TO?”

“Oh, you know,” laughed Undyne awkwardly. “Normal things. Like… throwing rocks. Dating my girlfriend. Cool stuff!” She picked up a handful of salt packets and started fidgeting with them.

“SOUNDS FUN!”

“Yeah, sure,” said Undyne. “Basically just as important as working with human politicians.”

“HEY!” Papyrus slammed his hands onto the table. “EVERYONE STILL LOVES YOU, UNDYNE! EVEN WITHOUT THE ROYAL GUARD!”

“Hah. Thanks, man.”

“LISTEN,” said Papyrus, in something more like a whisper than a whisper-shout. “IN THE UNDERGROUND, DO YOU KNOW WHY PEOPLE LOOKED UP TO YOU?”

“‘Cause I can smash boulders with my teeth?”

“NO! WELL, YES! BUT MOSTLY BECAUSE OF YOUR KINDNESS!” Papyrus smiled earnestly. “YOU HAVE SO MUCH LOVE IN YOUR HEART FOR EVERY MONSTER! EVERY TIME YOU SAW A CHILD, YOU’D GIVE THEM A PIGGYBACK RIDE! YOU WERE MY- I MEAN, YOU WERE ONE OF MY MANY FRIENDS!”

“Aww, Papyrus…”

“AND NONE OF THAT HAS CHANGED!” Papyrus took Undyne’s hand and squeezed it. “NO MATTER WHAT YOUR JOB IS, YOU ARE STILL AN INSPIRATION TO ALL OF US!!!”

Undyne covered her face with her free hand. “Dude, you’re being so mushy right now.”

The waitress came with two glasses and two plates loaded with breakfast food. Papyrus gave the waitress a thumbs up and a handful of gold pieces. Even if they weren’t legal tender, humans seemed to like them.

“OKAY!” Papyrus grabbed his silverware. “NOW YOU TAKE A PICTURE OF ME EATING AND ASK ME WHAT THE FUCK I’M TALKING ABOUT!”

#undertaleseptember #undertale september #undertale fic #my fic #papyrus #Undyne #they’re important to me…

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newtonsheffield · 4 years ago

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I would love to hear about post-wedding, pre-pregnancy Kate and Anthony because I love Edmund and miles and Charlotte and Mary but I would love to see Kate and Anthony in their post marital bubble just getting to hang out with each other!!!

Ugh I have left you hanging on this for the longest time, and yeah I know that there are lots of requests in my inbox much older than this. What can I say bar “I’m completely terrible”?

Hmmm It’s an unfortunate little side effect of my timeline that Anthony and Kate didn’t really have very long between getting married and Kate falling pregnant with Edmund I suppose. Perhaps I shouldn’t have done that 🤷🏻‍♀️

Anyway, here’s Kate and Anthony just being sickeningly in love.

Kate Bridgerton woke slowly, softly to the feeling of something tickling across her nose. She opened her eyes slowly, a soft smile coming to her face as she took in the sight before her. The gentle light filtering in from the window of their bedroom was casting a glow across her husband’s face, his hair falling into his eyes and her heart gave a feeble little stutter. It had been nearly three months since since he’d stood in front of hundreds of people and become her husband and still the thought of getting to call him that made a little shiver run down her spine. It was ridiculous, really. Anthony had been hers, and she’d been his, for far longer than three months. Almost as soon as they’d started this relationship they’d been settled, sure, or at least she was, that this was it. And yet, somehow signing a piece of paper had started it all again.

“Morning.” Anthony’s voice rumbled softly, his chin resting on the mattress next to her from his kneeling position by her head. Kate’s heart skipping again as he held out a single rose to her. so that had been what had tickled. “I made you breakfast.” Anthony said, standing with a flourish and producing a tray from god knows where, practically over flowing with pastries, toast, an omelette, and jesus fruit salad that appeared to be cut into intricate little shapes. Kate forced herself to sit like a human being rather then the puddle her husband was clearly trying to melt her into as he settled to tray on her lap, kissing her cheek as he settled beside her, his left arm over her shoulder, their fingers intertwining wedding rings bumping together happily.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Kate forced herself to say, her tone coming out much softer than she intended. Anthony scoffed. “A man can’t make his beautiful wife breakfast with no ulterior motive? Sad. Anyone would think I’ve never done anything for you Katie.” His lopsided smile probably would have made her legs a little wobbly had she not already been sitting down. Kate hummed, picking up her fork “I’m not sure I can say that after last night.” And damn him, she could see the smug smile on his face from the corner of her eye, the way his chest puffed a little with pride as he leaned close to her ear. “I’d be more than happy to do something for you again this morning Mrs. Bridgerton.” his voice like gravel, sending another little shiver through her, and honestly she couldn’t tel if it was the promise behind his words or the name that did it. Kate handed him a slice of toast as she skewered the omelette. “Hmm let me eat first and then maybe I’ll thank you instead. Cut please.” She said the last words as a little command, Anthony’s hand shooting out to cut the omelette with the knife, his toast clenched in his teeth, their left hands still locked together. And it should have been awkward, eating with one hand, half your body tied to another person, but they felt so ridiculously in sync these days, that nothing ever was.

Companionable silence filled the room for several moments. “You’ve really outdone yourself this morning Bridgerton. the lamination on your croissant is impressive.” Kate said lightly admiring his handiwork. “Only the best for you, Kate. I have standards to maintain if I want to keep the mantle as England’s best husband.” His hair was in his eyes again, ridiculously boyish and charming with the stupid grin on his face. “The best hey? Was there some sort of poll I’m not aware of?” Kate said, unable to resist the tease. “Well I certainly haven’t heard any complaints. Unless God, Anthony. God, Ugh YES,” His voice doing a terribly good impression of her breathy voice his eyes sparkling with delight as she felt heat rise in her cheeks. “Is suddenly a complaint?” Kate cleared her throat “No, I suppose I don’t have any complaints. Do you?” Anthony’s grin was nearly blinding “With you as my wife? Not likely” And it was stupid but her breath caught at the way his heart seemed to beat just behind his eyes, love shining through

“Don’t tell anyone because it’s pretty embarrassing but I’m kind of in love with you.” Kate said, her own lips ticking upwards in a grin, her nose wrinkling a little, her heart leaping at the sound of his bright laughter echoing through their bedroom. “Yeah, I’m kinda in love with you too. Probably will be for a little while hey?” Kate tutted dramatically smirk still in place, turning back to her breakfast “I was sort of hoping for forever.” “Forever? I can probably sort that out for you.”

If This gave you a cavity HMU I know a pretty good dentist

#these guys are a lot #imagine being Kate's poor single sister and seeing this shit #like F**k me I guess #bridgerton and sons au #kathony #anthony x kate #anthony bridgerton #kate sheffield #kate sharma #molly's asks and answers #post honeymoon phase

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beaft · 3 years ago

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I don't know how long you've been on T (you've probably talked about it before, I just have a shit memory) but if you started recently, it's completely normal to feel a drop in your mood. The human body reacts strongly to hormonal changes even if they're necessary and good for you. So in a way, yes, it's possible that T is making you depressed, because it's a major hormonal change. But that doesn't mean it was the wrong decision or that you're not really trans. The feeling will pass eventually and you'll notice yourself actually feeling happier and more comfortable with yourself!

i don't talk about it very much on here, so it's understandable that you wouldn't have known! thank you so much for this message - it's very kind and sensible.

the silliest thing is that my current state of Having the Big Depresh is very clearly not related to my being on hormones, because a) i've been on T for eight months now, so if it was making me sick i'd have felt the effects a lot sooner than this; and b) i currently have a ton of understandable reasons to be sad, and precisely none of them are related to the changes my body is going through. i am already a lot happier with my physical appearance than i was before (and i'll be even happier when my stupid voice finally drops, instead of wobbling around like a bit of laminated paper).

looked at logically, all of this seems like fairly good evidence against the "but what if you're a Fake Tran??" theory. i think my brain just likes to beat up on me sometimes! but typing it out helps; and having other people reassure me, even internet strangers, also helps.

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unokins · 3 years ago

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No Truth Left - part 6

CW: N/A

Link to Archive

Maverick mentally shook himself. Now was not the time for self doubt. He needed to act with confidence.

Further ingraining himself into Chie's arms, he searched the pile. The pain made moving her difficult, making the simple task all the more annoying. Bodies were such an inconvenience, though Maverick knew he had dealt with such things before, however recalcitrant he had been. Pain was a sensation best experienced by those who were not him.

Several minutes of searching finally yielded a suitable result. Rings were too unnoticeable, necklaces and tiaras too bulky. But Chie's hands held up two gold bracelets. Maverick pressed a clasp and the bracelets swung open to snap around the wrist. Two thick rings of gold provided the support for the worshipping Deep Ones that danced around the metal.

Maverick clamped one on Chie's wrist, then the other. They were lightweight and ran halfway up her skinny forearms. Maverick shook her arms, bouncing the bracelets around bony wrists.

The gold shuddered and squeezed, becoming flush with Chie's flesh. Not tight enough to cut off circulation, but they no longer hung loosely. The golden Deep Ones glinted menacingly against Chie's brown skin.

That's fine, Maverick thought to himself, letting Chie's arms drop as he pulled away. The needling pain vanished and he sighed. That's fine.

Chie awoke several minutes later with a breathless wheeze. Groaning, she sat up, body shaking from cold, head pounding, and chest burning.

Took you long enough. Maverick sounded impatient and Chie sighed.

"How long was I-" she stopped, incredulousness pulling her face down as she stared at her wrists. "What are these? Shackles? How did I-" She demanded.

They’re bracelets, came the exasperated reply. They should give us some measure of protection. The Deep Ones should think we're worshippers. Well, that you're a worshipper, anyway.

"No way," Chie started, examining the jewelry. There was the latch and Chie clicked it. "Last time I listened to you, I almost drowned. These-"

She pressed the latch again. It didn't release. “Oh, come on.” She pressed and pulled the bracelet at the same time. Nothing. Using her nails, Chie dug into the hairline crack where the ends met with futility.

"Shit."

We can worry about getting them off later. Get up and move. We've got a moment alone.

She could feel scrapes on her belly, shoulders, and legs throb. That tunnel had been so- Don’t think about it. Her fingernails were torn and chipped from where she had- Don’t think about it. Bracing herself against the wall, Chie stood. Her legs wobbled and her head spun. What did almost drowning- Don’t think about it. If she wanted to live, she couldn’t afford to think about it.

Once the world settled, Chie clicked on her flashlight and explored the cavern. It was like many of the other tunnels she explored earlier, just wider. Sloping walls surrounded her, and a few puddles dotted the floor. The piles of gold were new. Some stood at knee height, others stacked in disarray to waist height. They dotted the tunnel like haystacks in a farmer’s field, and Chie weaved around them, trying not to disturb them. The air was brisk and waves lapped against stone gently. Even though the rank, fishy odor still hung in the air, it wasn't as overwhelming as the island's topside.

As Chie passed one of the many piles of gold, she lingered. Admiration for the details was marred by a feeling of grotesque discomfort. It almost felt as if there was something more within the angled lines and swirling metal, as if she should be putting something together. But the more she tried to piece something together, the more it slipped away.

Shaking her head as if that could rid her of the unease, Chie took a step forward and felt her leg buckle. She shut her eyes, bracing herself against a stalactite as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Her throat still stung from earlier, and she didn't want to vomit again.

Keep moving, Chie, Maverick prodded. She could almost feel him poking her in the small of the back.

"Give me a minute." Slow, deep breaths. If she took it slow, she'd be fine.

We can't afford a minute. Move!

"I almost died, Maverick!" Chie snapped at him. "I almost died." Chie blinked back tears and focused again on breathing. It came crashing back with terrifying clarity, refusing to be ignored. Her shoulders shook. "I need a minute."

And the more time you spend moaning about it, the more likely something will find you.

Chie's muscles tensed. "If I'm not moving fast enough, why don't you take control and move me?" Chie paused for a remark, but none came. "If I'm such a spineless pushover, then take my body from me!"

Maverick was silent. Chie didn't push him, slipping to the ground.

"I almost fucking died and you just..." Chie laughed weakly, running her hand over her face. Did her parents know where she was? Her friends? Would they have spent years wondering when she'd come home, only for her corpse to be stuck in a flooded tunnel surrounded by monsters? "I'm- I just-"

You're alive. Maverick sounded chastised, and his words had the strained tone of someone who wasn't used to being patient. Steady yourself. Spiraling won't save you.

"You suck at giving advice," Chie muttered. Maverick didn't reply and she was thankful. A moment for herself wouldn’t kill them. While water dripped from the ceiling above, she could hear no slapping footsteps approaching.

Chie breathed deep, and slipped to the ground, pulling her knees up to her chest and burying her face in them. Would she lose everything important to her? The burning in her chest refused to relent, and Chie coughed. She coughed again, as if there was more water to expel, and tears tracked down her cheeks again. She didn’t want to be here, where monsters were real and death was closer than she ever imagined.

Several minutes of feeling sorry for herself wasn’t as fulfilling as she thought it would be. When the tears ran out, and Chie’s breathing steadied once more, she just felt hollow. There was nothing for her here except answers as to why this happened, and she wouldn’t find them sitting on the ground and moping. Chie pushed herself up. She was still alive. She kept moving. Maverick's satisfaction hummed from within.

Turning a corner led Chie to a new, larger cavern. Smooth ceilings sloped down to walls filled with both carvings and multiple tunnel entrances. Large pillars, boasting more of those strange carvings, ran from floor to ceiling, and Chie wondered if they were the same pillars she saw on the surface. Perhaps giving them a wide berth was the smart idea.

The back of the cavern opened to the vast ocean stretching beyond the reef. There was no shore, just a short, sharp drop from rock to water. Shadows from the overhanging cliff danced on the murky water. Thankfully, no Deep Ones stalked the area. Chie picked her way to the ocean, weaving around shallow pools and discarded gold jewelry.

While the gold was stacked more orderly against the stalactites and carved rocks here, they had been set aside like a child's least favorite toys. Grime marred the jewelry, and bits of ill-looking moss had begun to grow at the bottom of some of the piles. She frowned, running her finger along the maze-like lines of a beautiful tiara. A thin layer of muck was cleared away from the once gleaming surface.

Chie, look up!��

Her head twitched, and Chie’s eyes widened with awe. While she had seen boats run through the river Miskatonic, she had never seen a ship like this before. It was more decay than wood, and a large hole gaped in the bow where it was moored against the cavern's stone floor, several dozen feet from a stone dock. One large mast jutted up from the deck, the other two broken fragments of what they once were. White sails were rotted to grey tatters that clung stubbornly to their riggings. No longer fit for sailing, but Chie was in awe of how majestic it must have been decades ago. The name Sumatra Queen was faded but still visibly painted on its side.

Chie paused in front of the ship, shining the flashlight up into the massive hole. Shadows clung to the dark wood, but she could see stairs leading to the rest of the ship.

To your right.

Chie looked over to the dock. Next to the dock stood a metal and plastic folding table that held a battery powered lamp, papers, and pens. As she walked over to it, she saw more sturdy nylon rope on the dock. A frown tugged at her lips.

Let’s see what these say.

Chie turned on the lamp and picked through the papers. Laminated star charts, maps, spreadsheets, and receipts littered the tabletop and the more she looked, the more confused she felt. She examined a star chart, eyes methodically moving over the grid.

“While I’m not an astrology buff,” she started, glancing over another chart. “I should be able to pick out some constellations. But I can’t find anything, not even Polaris. Do you recognize anything?”

Vaguely, Maverick replied with a hum. It’s… strange. I’m not too sure what, exactly, I’m looking at.

“...Stars?” Chie asked as she looked at receipts. Iron, chisels, old books…

I don’t think they’re any stars of this world, Chie.

“We are not going to unpack that right now,” she replied bluntly, tossing the receipt back down. “Just who are you, Maverick?”

Wish I knew. He paused. Hey, there’s a letter.

Chie picked that up. It was less of a letter and more of a to-do list. Hastily scrawled notes, some scratched out, others circled, covered the paper. Some of it was illegible. Other parts didn’t even seem to be written in English.

“Gather materials. Prepare the gates,” Chie read out loud. “Innsmouth, Arkham, Ipswitch…”

Looks like the rest are just coordinates. Probably not near any cities, Maverick said.

Chie pulled out one of the maps and picked a coordinate. “Here,” she said, pointing to a red circle drawn on the map. It was a few miles into the open ocean, just off the Devil’s Reef. “And… Here. Dunwich.” She frowned, pulling up a world map. “This one has marks… all over the place. More in America, some in the UK. Russia, Brazil, Antarctica, Egypt… More just… in the ocean. What is this?”

I don’t know. With each question Chie asked, Maverick’s annoyance flared. But I do recognize the name Ipswitch.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Chie said, looking at the to-do list again. Contact J.H., contact N, find M. “I went there for a school trip once. Decent sized town. Nice historical district.”

No, I mean it feels… personal, in some way. I remember… an address. Maverick paused, and Chie could feel him thinking, almost mouthing the words to himself to pull any more familiarity from them. 97 Washington Ave.

“Hm…” Chie lingered on the to-do list.

We need to go there next.

“Hold on,” Chie said, shaking her head. “I thought we were supposed to get answers here! We just have more questions! I can’t just go galavanting all over Massa-”

The gentle hum of an engine cut her off. It was quiet, but fast approaching, the sound echoing all through the cavern. She couldn’t see it yet, but knew if she didn’t hide somewhere fast, it would get her.

Chie dropped the list and stepped away from the dock. She lingered. That was an actual boat. With an engine. No fish monster would need a boat to travel over the water. Which meant people.

The engine’s puttering grew louder.

No, Chie, Maverick cut in. You need to hide. You don’t know who these people are. And if they’re coming out to the Devil’s Reef, they’re going to be trouble.

“We’re out at the Devil’s Reef,” Chie returned as she held up her hands, bringing the bracelets into plain sight. “And what was the point of putting these on if you want to hide? If this person thinks we’re on their side, maybe they’ll help us.”

He’s going to hurt us.

“Maybe they’re just a fisherman. Maybe they saw our boat. ”

Chie! Go hide!

>Hide >Wait

#horror #writing #horror story #choose your own path #choose your own adventure #original writing #ocs #original characters #lovecraft #lovecraftian horror #lovecraftian #lovecraft horror #let me know in the replies or reblogs what they should do #thank you everyone who continues to read my writing #no truth left

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spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years ago

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Let's Not Go There

The reason it is hard to believe in the fantastical and unnatural is because you either always only hear of bizarre phenomena that other people experienced, or whatever you experienced was so strange that it is easier to bend over backwards in the effort of coming up with a rational explanation.

My experience defies every possible explanation, and it is why I have developed such a fascination with the concept of other-worlds, astral travel, and parallel dimensions. And I am not alone in this. I cannot chalk it up to mere hallucination. I cannot consider it a case of my mind breaking, for I have no history of mental illness diagnoses, nor have I ever experienced anything like it in the decades that followed.

It all happened in the 1990s. In a place that already feels surreal and otherworldly to begin with.

Of all possible places, it happened in a shopping mall.

Abundant optimism was something you could taste in the air back then. It smelled like bubblegum and stale air-conditioned air and tasted like buttery popcorn. Maybe this is just nostalgia blending with the idiocies of being a teenager, but these are the scents and sights as I remember them back then.

Gentle music underlined by mellow saxophones and sleepy guitars playing in the distance, escalators rolling along at a plodding pace, aesthetically pleasing fountains with their hypnotic water streams, and strategically placed plants that laminated an otherwise cool and heartless architecture, consisting of shiny floors and cubic intersecting spaces occupied by temples of commerce.

The internet was still around the corner, waiting to be discovered on a wide scale, and computers dwelling in blissful isolation of networks stood on display in electronics stores like some sort of technological marvel, even though they chugged and struggled just to spit out pixelated screensavers. While we are at it, try to imagine how almost nobody had a cell phone back then.

Storefronts displayed flashy fashion, an announcement in a melodious voice that I completely ignored echoed from loudspeakers every now and again, and the palette of garish colors and exotic shapes overwhelmed my senses but also always drew me back, luring me to return every week when I had time outside of school and homework.

A texture of voices and motions constantly thrummed in the air, somehow soothing and always vibrant; of many people speaking just loud enough that you could catch a word but never the meaning, and shuffling through these seemingly infinite hallways, in and out of shops, loitering around on benches, or where the smells of ice cream or pizza drew them in like flies to honey.

As much as it was a ritual to visit this wondrous world once a week, my allowance was limited, so I had to save towards certain things and just spent time here with friends, strolling about and admiring things and dreaming of owning items I would never need, but desired, nevertheless.

One of the bookstores at that mall belonged to my personal highlights. Something about the soft carpeted floors that swallowed loud sounds, the muted warm light, the red velvety chairs to sit upon, the rustling of pages, and the smell of freshly printed paperbacks and hardcovers alike, sliding in and out from shelves as people inspected their covers or flipped through their contents.

On that day, my friends and I—because I never went here alone—had already spent hours wandering through the mall, window-shopping, and staring dreamy-eyed at its many meaningless wonders, and our legs were all wobbly from all the walking about.

They had decided to spend the rest of our time at the arcade to get some pizza and play some video games, and I fully intended to rejoin them once I had doubled back to said bookstore to pick up a novel I had been thinking of plunking down my meager cash for.

A rare time and circumstance to be alone here, like this, but there it was. That was when it happened. Creeping and unfathomable, I felt my stomach knot for no apparent reason.

Bought the book I had been eyeing for weeks now, for a collection from the same author I had started reading almost a year ago, eager to uncover the secrets that would unravel once reading it, page by page.

Handing over the cash, hearing that register churn and clink as I received a few coins as change, the smile of the cashier’s friendly beautiful face smiling at me in a rehearsed but pleasant manner. Nothing out of the ordinary. All as it should be.

Yet some inexplicable tension remained even as I exited the bookstore. As always, I felt a little pang of buyer’s remorse, thinking that I might have saved every penny for something better, something more practical. As such, I stopped right outside the entrance to the shop, without apparent reason. Dead in my tracks, pondering if I had done the right thing.

With the water fountains nearby sparkling, people walking past me wrapped up in idle conversation, and the dreamy elevator music reaching my ears, I dug around in the thin plastic bag from the bookstore. Crammed around in it until I found the receipt and looked at it.

And that—that right there was what was wrong.

Only now did I realize how I had bought the book almost blindly. I stared at the flimsy piece of paper and ink in disbelief. The printed symbols on the receipt did not look like numbers or words I could comprehend. Or, hell, like any human being could understand. Just like alien writing that did not belong. The more I stared at it and tried to decipher any meaning, the more my vision blurred and a sharp pain, like a knife sliding right into the back of my head, started to split my skull.

A shopping mall being what it is, you can see motion all around you but just organically tune it out without thinking about it. Something needs to be special or highly unusual to grab your attention, but exactly that happened to me just then.

I saw motion behind me—right behind me—in the reflection of the bookstore’s front window. Eyes. Before I could identify any face to go along with it, the figure melted into the blind spot exactly behind me and only then did I feel a gust of warm breath against the back of my neck.

Terrified, I swiveled and found nobody to be standing immediately behind me. People passing me by gave me funny looks as I kept swiveling, and I am quite sure that I must have looked like I had lost my mind.

When I beheld my reflection in the storefront window again, as if I could possibly see that non-existent mystery person there, something else caught my eye.

The store brand logo on my plastic bag looked different. Similar enough in all key ways to not immediately pay attention: similar shapes, similar color, a typography that resembled the way it should look. But the words were all different. Instead of the name of the bookstore chain, it read, “Look closer.”

Shooting a glance at my bag—not in the window’s reflection but at the actual bag—it looked normal. Just like the logo should, reading the chain’s name as it should. I could feel the blood draining from my face once my gaze wandered back to the window and I could only see that phase again.

Look closer.

The saxophones leading the elevator music in the background seemed to swell while I stared. My own heartbeat in my ears drowned out the idle chatter of any people nearby, and I knew what I had to do.

I stepped up to the storefront window, oblivious to anything on display beyond its glassy surface. Focused only on the reflections, I held up that receipt to it. Sure enough, I could read something on it now, as if the window and its reflections served somehow as a decoding lens.

Look to your right. Step through the exit.

I had to read it multiple times to know I was not dreaming or hallucinating. But I remembered how I could never read in my dreams, and everything else around me just felt and sounded so normal. So real.

The sweet perfume of someone passing me by, the squeak of someone’s sneakers streaking against waxed floors, and a fuzzy something that resisted being compartmentalized into any of the five senses.

Real.

Look to your right, the message read.

As I followed that instruction, I saw the glowing “EXIT” sign, nestled in the wall in between two stores. It looked so unfamiliar in that moment, but also like it perfectly belonged. Had it always been there, and I never paid attention to it? Probably.

Step through the exit, the message had continued. Its words echoed in my mind, riding on the idealized reflection of my own voice.

I looked around but anybody nearby just went about their lives, ignoring me. So, I pushed, and the door emitted a chunky metallic sound as it yielded, letting me enter the fire escape hallway. Another chunky sound accompanied it closing behind me as I entered.

That dreamy texture of mall music and a multitude of people wandering around was muffled by the door, insignificant in comparison to the echoes of my shoes tapping against a rough concrete floor. This hallway in and of itself already felt like another world entirely, one that bled into the world of the shopping mall and vice versa.

Everything was much brighter in here, illuminated by fluorescent tubes running along the entirety of this narrow hallway. A cool air breezed past me as I wandered deeper down its length.

Just like in the fantasy and science-fiction adventure stories I loved so much, I felt like I was fulfilling some sort of prophecy and, hell, my dumb teenaged brain told me that I was born to do this. Meant to do this. Not once did I stop to question the madness of any of this.

Somehow, against all reason, it all made sense.

Yet even as I believed to be feeling the draw of destiny, suffused with purpose, my heart raced. Some other part of me instinctively knew that something was deeply—utterly—wrong.

As I turned a corner, I gazed upon my horrid destination.

A door, covered in black vines with leaves so thin and sharp in definition that they could have been razors. Worms wriggled on the floor around it, near where a crack should be. No handle or knob adorned the portal’s face. But it throbbed with a pulse of its own, out of sync with its own heartbeat. Vein-like tendrils, black, and pulsating, ran from the epicenter of this otherworldly door, entrenched in the wall around it, as if it had infested the plaster like a disease, spreading slowly.

I turned to run, but the lights on the ceiling at the end of the hallway where I had come from now flickered out, dead. One by one, they plunged the hallway into a growing pool of darkness, speeding up as they approached.

Any courage to explore the thin veil between worlds or whatever lay beyond, it now all melted away instantaneously.

Darkness, from which I could hear the mall no longer, and only imagine what things now lurked inside of it.

Or that dark door.

I fled forward. Nearly cried as I scrunched my eyes shut and heard the squelching sounds of things getting squished underneath my shoes, as I felt the delayed burn and sting of many little cuts—like papercuts—flaring up as I pushed against that black door with all my might.

It gave way more easily than I had expected and I stumbled forward into the unknown.

Still blind by own volition, I sensed far softer grounds underfoot, where grass rustled with each of my steps and wind whistled through alien leaves all around me.

When I dared open my eyes again, I found myself in a gloomy clearing, underneath a low, dense canopy of trees, with no door or any mall in sight. Another world. Pink birds chirped with foreign sounds, and insects I never would have dreamed of crawled in the dark dirt between plants.

Panic fully gripped me and dulled my senses to the point where my gaze swept all around me, full circle, multiple times, until I spotted a pair of eyes staring at me from beyond the gloom, swallowed by shadows cast by the foliage. Glowing yellow, and curious. Unblinking and oh-so-hungry.

“Do not look at me,” a hissing whisper came from those eyes.

Though I could see no mouth, I could hear the rows of sharp teeth through which those words traveled to reach my ears.

“Do not look at me,” it repeated. “Or I will eat you alive.”

More than anything, I tried to hold back tears, but they flowed despite my effort.

“I just wanna go home,” I pleaded with Yellow-Eyes.

Although I averted my gaze, I could feel a sinister smile creeping across its face as it replied, now adopting a melodious and mocking tone that seesawed between idle amusement and deadly threat.

“You look like a plump little beanstalk, yet you talk like one of us.”

I looked for places to run, but knew in my heart of hearts that Yellow-Eyes could run faster than I. And that no matter where I ran, I could never hide from such an abomination.

“You are not so pretty yourself, you know,” it said, as if it could read my mind. “But no matter. You fit right in with us. You could carve your own little kingdom from the mountains and the trees here.”

The tree trunks here all looked thick and ancient, yet they presented gaps in between them, wide enough for me to flee through. Not that I harbored any hope of making it. Every time Yellow-Eyes spoke to me again, it crushed every shred of anything even so remotely resembling hope inside its hoary maw.

“But you are afraid, which I understand. I have passed through that same door, before. Of strange steel, and cold, sleek surfaces; where odd squeals travel through the glass to meet my ears and mock me. ‘Open me,’ they screech! ‘Explore the other side,’ they demand.”

To blot out its damnable rambling, I covered my ears, but it was too late. The voice of Yellow-Eyes had entered my mind. I have a hunch as to why, but at the time there was no understanding why I suddenly felt like we were kindred souls, Yellow-Eyes, and me.

Averting my gaze for so long, and with the circle of trees spinning around me as I grew dizzy, I lost track of where this entity prowled. Another gust of warm breath hit the back of my neck, provoking every hair upon it to stand.

“I have glimpsed your world, and you have now glimpsed mine,” said Yellow-Eyes. “I can show you the way back if you invite me across the threshold.”

I wanted to deny it. Turn it down. Its words rang hollow, dripping with venom. In between the lines it spoke, I felt something dark and old and wicked.

“Thus, you need not deal with the things that dwell hither, like the Way King, or the Red Carpenter, or the Unbirthed Paddock-Watcher. The River of Lions, the Green Cairn, or the Castle of Thorns. I could show you such wondrous place, but would you resist their call? Would you survive their grinding teeth, their toxic breath, their maddening words?”

Maddening words Yellow-Eyes provided plenty of already. My heart raced, but those names and those places, they somehow beckoned me. I yearned to explore this world, to uncover its mysteries. It fascinated me as much as it instilled pure dread in my heart.

How alien it all felt, how wrong. Underneath it all, I did just want to go home.

“Please,” I whispered.

That whisper sliced through the air like a blade. The strange forest went silent. All I could hear was Yellow-Eyes breathing, faster. More excited.

I said, “Come with me, across the threshold. Just help me find home.”

That warm breath brushed across the back of my neck again.

“Oh, my pleasure. My leisure. Let us depart with haste, lest the Blighted Sparrow of Shadowy Waters return here to roost and interfere.”

Rubbing the tears from my eyes until my vision had cleared enough to see, the door stood there again—in the middle of the eerie clearing. Worms wriggling beneath it, the solitary door connected to no building, no walls, just wreathed in black vines, as before. Throbbing and pulsating as if alive.

Or had it been there all along? Had Yellow-Eyes hidden it from me somehow?

“Waste no time! Go! Open that door,” Yellow-Eyes hissed, making no effort to sound enticing anymore. Just exuding malice with each syllable.

And I did.

Once more, I cringed at the disgustingly soft grounds where worms squished under my shoes wherever I stepped to near the door, but I kept my eyes wide open this time. I gritted my teeth as I could watch the edges of those bladed leaves, almost translucent, cutting the surface of my exposed skin as I pushed against the door.

A dark void yawned at me from beyond the portal, not a gloomy clearing. I sensed something even worse than Yellow-Eyes, lurking in that deeper shadow. Then it retreated. Fluorescent tubes sprung to life, one by one, and bathed in light a long hallway of white plaster walls and concrete floor before me. I fled inside before the final lights flickered on and despite not hearing any sound to indicate it, passing that threshold of worms and razorblade vines, I knew the door closed behind me on its own.

And with me, this time, traveled Yellow-Eyes.

Greeted again by the chunky sound of the handlebar opening the fire escape door from the narrow hallway, I emerged into the shopping mall again.

Muddy brown discoloration clung to the edges of my sneakers, and I saw tiny streaks of crimson upon the sides of my hands where the leaves had cut me. The bag with my new book drooped lazily from my wrist, but the logo on the plastic looked normal now.

Had it ever appeared otherwise?

Of course, as I wandered through this temple of commerce in a daze, slowly shuffling my way towards the arcade to meet back up with my friends, I questioned my sanity. I wanted to tell them what had just happened, but I also did not want to.

I am surprised I am even telling you, now.

But someone needs to know. Because what you described—it reminded me of this. I can see the signs.

It reminded me that every time I look into the mirror, I see those yellow eyes flash. I see my own lips curl into a sinister smile that it is not my own but inhabits my face against my will. Well, that is not entirely correct, because I did invite Yellow-Eyes along.

And my fascination with the concept of other worlds is not some idle hobby.

It is an obsession.

So, if you know something I do not—if you have an even inkling about how you might cross over, then you need to tell me. Try to remember what exactly you were doing, what time of day, even what you were smelling or thinking. You need to tell me.

Right now.

Because both old Yellow-Eyes and me, we want to return there. See how much has changed in the past decades.

And if you don’t want to talk, well…

Let’s not go there.

—Submitted by Wratts

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otterplusharchive · 4 years ago

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seeing an image of m*chael the m*gnus archives is like seeing an ex who you had a messy breakup with in public. i am in the grocery store shopping with my boyfriend wen ning and were debating on what vegetables to get when m*chael walks into the same aisle and we make eye contact and he starts just making the sound of laminated paper wobbling before turning around. we get some lettuce and leave quickly

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fleckcmscott · 5 years ago

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Watch What Happens - Chapter 4

Chapter links: 1, 2, 3

Summary: Arthur, an aspiring comedian, has struggled to find normalcy and compassion his entire life. Y/N, a hard-working paralegal and transplant to Gotham, has just been put on a case for the Wayne Foundation. When they meet, unexpected sparks fly.

Chapter warning: Swearing

Words: 2,803

A/N: The joke Arthur comes up with in the third part of this chapter doesn’t completely work with a “Y/N,” because it uses the OFC’s name for alliteration. (The OFC version of this fic is posted on AO3.) Sorry!

It was Saturday. Y/N was supposed to have the day off, but she’d spent her Friday night reading parts of the Wayne file. It had been engrossing. From what she’d gathered, the foundation wanted to convert the rent-controlled housing buildings into a medical clinic. The buildings in question had all but been abandoned, the motions claimed, and were in serious disrepair.

The current owner’s response had been lackluster - a counter-motion stating both the addresses in question were up to code and actively being used. But they had neglected to provide more than a couple leases or rental agreements. She wasn’t surprised. The motions were dating back two years. She could imagine the current owner, a family that had had possession of the buildings since the late 1800s, was running out of funds. Their most recent filings were done without a lawyer.

The addresses were about two miles uptown from her apartment. Seeing at least one of them would give her a chance to determine what the actual situation was. And it gave her a good excuse for a brisk walk. She checked the clock as she finished her coffee: 7:13 AM. Good. She hoped it was early enough to visit one of the buildings and look it over without being noticed. She slipped on a thick coat, grabbed her purse and an umbrella, and headed outside.

Gotham was dreary this morning, an unpredictable drizzle. She still wasn’t use to the city’s typical Eastern rain. At least it wasn’t snowing yet - Patricia had told her winter seemed to come earlier every year. This was the one season she missed being further South. The autumn lasted for weeks back home; she’d still be wearing a light jacket.

She eyed the architecture as she walked. It became less decorative the further she went. Gone were the porticoes and fancy facades of the wealthier parts of the city, replaced by simple brick and concrete. There was a brutality in how quick the change was, as if the builders thought people in cheaper apartments couldn’t enjoy aesthetics. Parks and artwork grew rarer, too, until the area was almost totally devoid of public spaces.

Letting out a breath, she approached one of the apartment complexes. The four story building was uncharacteristically stout for Gotham. A tenement covered in graffiti. Walking around it, she lightly inspected the foundation for faults that would be obvious to her layman’s eyes. There were no cracks, no chunks appeared to be missing.

The front door was ajar, held open with a triangular piece of wood. She gingerly pushed it open, trying not to make any noise, and let herself in. The entrance was in some disrepair. Dark green paint peeled in the corners of the lobby, the laminate floor was coming up in some places. The florescent lights were on, though, and the floor was shining. Whoever lived there cared enough to clean the place.

The stairs were solid when she stepped on them, the railing a bit wobbly but sturdy enough to put her weight on it. As she reached the second floor, she wondered where the Wayne Foundation had gotten the idea that this building was abandoned. She walked down the hall, noticing every name plate and personal touch - a postcard of a sunny place here, a wreath there - on the doors.

“Hey, who are you?”

Y/N stopped and turned to the direction the voice had come from. An elderly woman stood there, newspaper in one hand, pink robe being held closed by the other. She looked displeased.

Fuck. Y/N cursed herself, both for being too bold and being too stupid to think about being seen by a tenant. She gave the woman a friendly smile and approached her. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, ma'am. My name is Y/N. I just wanted to see-”

The woman’s face softened. “Oh, you’re not from Renew Corp.?”

Y/N furrowed her brow in confusion. “Renew Corp.?”

“Yeah. They keep harassing us. You hold on a minute.” The woman disappeared for a moment, closing the door.

Y/N sighed and leaned against the wall. She didn’t want to stumble onto anything crazy; she just needed to gather evidence to support the Wayne Foundation’s position. She wanted to do her job and do it well. Rubbing her face, she could already feel a headache coming on. The first Wayne case she was entrusted with, and she was already finding leads she didn’t want to.

God dammit. She knew she wouldn’t be able to let this go.

As soon as the woman returned, Y/N straightened up. “Here you are,” the woman said, handing her the letter. “They keep sending them in these red envelopes. As if that could scare me. I lived through the war.” She laughed to herself.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile back as she read the addressee’s name. After opening the envelope, she scanned the letter. “Ms. McPhee, may I keep this?”

“Go ahead. I’ll get another one in a few days,” Ms. McPhee answered.

Y/N tucked the letter in her purse. “Thank you.”

Ms. McPhee nodded. “Sorry about earlier. We don’t get many visitors here.” She gestured behind here with her thumb. “Do you want to come in for a cup of tea? I have a cat. You’re not allergic, are you?”

Y/N took a step back, placing a hand over her chest. “I’d love to but I have to get going. Would it be alright if I dropped by sometime? Asked a few more questions?” There was a pause. At Ms. McPhee’s expression, Y/N added, “Bring some tea biscuits along?”

That got her.

~~~~~

On the way back to her apartment, while still in Otisburg, Y/N decided to treat herself to breakfast. A couple of diners lined the streets, but food from a greasy spoon wasn’t what she was looking for. A bakery would work; she could get something light and sweet. A donut shop caught her eye. And her nose. She peeked in through the old, warped windows. Lackluster lighting, just enough film on the glass to make her question the place’s health inspection certificate. She’d found her joint.

The row of people waiting against the wall surprised her when she went inside. After a few moments deliberation, she decided to stay, not having concrete plans for the rest of the day. Copies of the Gotham Gazette were piled high, not yet in their display case. Shuffling along as the line moved forward, she grabbed a paper and started reading the headlines: “Thomas Wayne - Will he or won’t he?;” “A New Day for Gotham;” “New Budget Cuts Risk Safety.” God, news like this made her wish she gave less of a shit. She closed the paper and looked up towards the entrance, the bell above the door ringing endlessly as more people poured in.

And there he stood. Good hair, Tan jacket. He was leaning against the wall, seven people down from her. She noticed he was wearing a brown cardigan and button-up shirt. His hair was a little damp, probably from the weather. It didn’t affect his good looks in the slightest.

She hadn’t expected his eyes to dart to hers so quickly.

Heat rose to her cheeks. Dammit, she scolded herself. You’re staring at him again. Leave the man alone, you idiot. She tried to focus on the menu hanging overhead.

That focus failed utterly when she saw him sidle up beside her in her peripheral vision. He stopped about two feet away. As it had at the store, it took him a few moments to speak. “Hi,” he said.

“Hey,” she replied, eyes still averted. “Fancy seeing you again.”

“Yeah.” He looked up at the menu, too, but she wasn’t convinced he was reading it.

She allowed herself a glance at his profile, long enough to realize it was a mistake if she wanted to stop ogling him. She was close enough to see the hint of laugh lines at the corner of his eye, the rounded tip of his nose, that damned jawline. She swallowed and looked down. His hand was worrying his pocket. The tension with which he held himself was obvious. It was hard to figure out if his hesitancy was peculiar or adorable. She decided it was both. “How was your TV dinner?” she asked.

“Fine. They’re always the same. Yours?” His deep voice was slightly raspy when he answered.

She gave a small shrug. “It didn’t kill me.”

The man chuckled at that and flicked his eyes to her for a moment. “Good.” The line moved forward and he stepped with her. “You should get the-”

“Hey, buddy,” a voice from the back bellowed. “You can’t just cut in line.”

The effect on Good hair, Tan jacket was immediate. He stiffened even further, cheeks turning pink, his jaw clenching. He briefly brought his hand to his mouth and winced. As he spoke, softly but loud enough for the asshole in the back to hear, his eyelids fluttered shut. “I wasn’t cutting. I just wanted to say hello.”

The fact that he responded surprised her. She liked it. When he started to turn towards the end of the line, she stepped closer to him. “What do you want? I’m next in line.” When he didn’t answer, she said, “I’ll grab it. It’s no big deal.”

He blinked at her before digging into his pocket and handing her change. "Cinnamon sugar. I was going to suggest you get it. It’s the best one.”

Smiling, she nodded. “Thanks for the recommendation. It’s my first time here.” She extended her hand to him. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

He looked at her hand before grasping it gently with his. “My name’s Arthur. Arthur Fleck.” The smoothness of his palm was warm on hers, the fingertips of his long fingers resting against the back of her hand. “I’ll wait outside.” With that, he released her and left.

After getting their order, she left the shop to find the morning’s drizzle had turned to a steady rain. Arthur was standing under the shop’s awning, smoking. She thought she’d detected the scent of nicotine. And maybe some cologne. “Here. You got the last cinnamon sugar.” She started to hand him the donut.

He shook his head. “I’ll take the other.”

“I hope you like chocolate.” Y/N gave him the small wax paper bag. “Can you tell me where the nearest subway is? I need to head home.”

“Newkirk Plaza.” His brows knit together and he looked down as he took a long drag off his cigarette. “I could walk you there?”

She noticed he’d said it quickly, as if he didn’t want to lose courage. She took the umbrella from inside her coat and opened it, then stuck her arm out so he’d have room to share it. “Sure. That’d be great.”

“Yeah?” He laughed softly, surprise on his face. “Okay.” Cautiously, but with some eagerness, he stepped under her umbrella. He seemed to hold his breath as they started walking in the direction of the train station.

They strolled in companionable silence. As each block ended and another began, she found herself wishing he would talk. He’d invited her on the walk, after all. Maybe she could bring him out. “Have you in lived in Gotham long?”

He flicked his cigarette on the ground and let out a small huff. “All my life.”

“You’re a real Gothamite, then. I’m a transplant. Moved here about a year and half ago.”

“Oh yeah? Where from?”

“Boonville, Missouri.” Waving her hand dismissively, she continued. “Trust me. You’ve never heard of it.”

He looked at her, studying her face for a moment. “You don’t have an accent,” he said.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “That’s intentional.” She adjusted the umbrella in her hand. “I made sure to lose it as a kid. When I eventually moved away, I didn’t want to be out of place. It’s nice to be anonymous.”

Arthur took out another smoke and placed it between his lips. “But why come here? It’s so cold. People are mean. The garbage strikes…” He lit his cigarette. “It’s rough.”

“Believe me. Small towns have their own problems. They’re just not as visible. And everyone knows each other. God, it’s disgusting.” She laughed, then. “No, I really love it here. Best decision I’ve ever made.”

He shook his head, the corner of his mouth rising. “Hm.”

When the sign for Newkirk Plaza was in view, his steps slowed. Y/N noticed. He must have enjoyed walking with her. She liked it, too, which felt odd, since he was a stranger. Odd but good.

Arthur stopped as they reached the entrance to the station. He looked away from her and down the stairwell, as if what bit of confidence he had was ebbing. “If you go down these stairs, you can pick which line you want.”

Y/N nodded and smiled. “Thanks for the stroll, Arthur.”

“Yeah.” After a few beats of silence, he gazed back up at her. “You know, I do stand-up comedy?”

She looked at him in disbelief. This guy? This bashful guy got up on stage in front of people? “Really?”

“Maybe you could come see a show sometime,” he said.

She studied him for a few moments. The slight puffiness under his eyes, the tiredness in his face. The way he stood there, waiting for her reply with cautious hope, gave him an air of quiet fragility. Even though she was intrigued by him, she wasn’t ready to give her personal information out. Not yet. She wracked her brain, trying to think of a kind but honest answer. “Well, my job is going to be bringing me to this area again soon. When we see each other, you can tell me when and where, okay?”

He smiled slightly at the non-committal response. “All right.”

Y/N tried to hand him the umbrella. “I suspect you have a ways to walk.”

He put his hand up, then pulled the hood on his jacket over his head. “It’s okay, I just live over on Anderson.”

“Oh, okay.” She cleared her throat. “Well, I’ve gotta go. See you around, Arthur." She started down the stairs, then turned to him again, blushing lightly as she met his eyes. “Thanks for the donut, too.”

~~~~~

Arthur felt like he could take on the world (or at least Gotham City). The nice woman from the store had somehow wound up in his nearby donut shop. He’d said hello. They’d gone for a walk. Shared an umbrella. Had a conversation. He hadn’t fucked up.

When at the train station, he’d been tempted to follow her, not wanting to lose the connection they’d had. But he’d trailed his neighbor, Sophie, to work one time in a pathetic attempt to ask her out. He hadn’t worked up the nerve to do it by the time they’d reached Sophie’s place of employment, so he’d turned around. That evening, she had knocked on his door and explained, with more kindness than he deserved, that he’d alarmed her and following her was inappropriate. Even though he had been embarrassed, he appreciated her taking the time to spell it out for him.

He was determined not to do something that stupid with Y/N.

Sophie. Y/N. What was it with woman with (Y first initial) names? They’re both saucy and sweet. Laughing lightly, he exited the elevator and headed towards his apartment.

“Mom, I’m back.” After hanging his jacket, he put the donut on a small plate and cut it into bite-sized pieces. That would make it easier for Penny to eat. He poured her a cup of coffee and headed into the living room.

His mother was asleep in the easy chair. “Good Morning Gotham” was playing on the TV. Arthur approached her gently and shook her shoulder. Her eyes slowly opened. It took a few seconds for her to focus on him. “Oh, Happy, did you check the mail?”

“It’s too early. The mail hasn’t come yet.” He put the plate in her hands. “Here. Eat this. I’m going to do laundry. I’ll be in the basement.”

She kept her eyes on the television when she gave her delayed answer. “Okay, Happy.”

Arthur stepped by her, basket in hand. On the way out, he grabbed his pen and journal. Once the laundry was on, he sat in a chair across from the machine and opened the worn notebook across his lap.

He thought of Y/N for a while, then his upcoming job at the children’s hospital on Wednesday. He’d been practicing his magic tricks, but would end with a dance. He loved working there. The kids were always so happy to meet Carnival the Clown. Maybe the upcoming week would be decent. A little kinder than most.

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @clowndaddyfleck @stephieraptorr

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x ofc #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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sorakingdomhearts · 4 years ago

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I just finished watching all of the Kingdom Hearts game cutscenes in 16 days! Under the cut, my super-long analysis post.

This was such a bad idea and also the best I’ve ever had. I can no longer tell the events of separate games apart, other than the stuff I added to this post’s draft while watching, but it’s given me so much to do in the quaran-times.

I would say my favorite games at this point are KH3, BBS, and 358/2 Days. I actually played through KH3 to like 90 something percent so I’m most attached to it, but storywise Aqua, Ventus, Roxas, and Axel/Lea have the best plots. If I had to pick a top favorite, other than Sora(because. Well. Sora’s my chosen middle name for a reason) I would say it’s Axel/Lea, and Aqua is the world’s closest second.

My favorite Disney worlds are probably Traverse Town for the music, Nightmare Before Christmas for the costumes(both the wintery ones and the spooky ones), Disney Town for the character appearances and aesthetic/colors, and BH6 for the plot/dialogue. Honorable mention to Hunchback of Notre Dame for being the only one I hadn’t heard about before starting this journey AND being a friend’s current hyperfixation so I got to share hyperfix joy with them for a bit.

I think Aqua has the best voice in the series. Especially with BBS 0.2/KH2.8 there’s quite a few scenes where the only dialogue is her talking to herself and she’s got such an emotional, pretty voice to pair with her heartbreaking journey home.

Axel/Lea’s relationship with his name is the same as a trans person with their deadname and I love that for him. For example, in the end of Dream Drop Distance, he gets frustrated with Riku not knowing it’s changed to Lea again but gives up on correcting him because the rest of what’s going on is more important. I’ve definitely done that with people deadnaming me.

On the other side of that coin, in ReMIND Demyx struggles to remember it’s Ienzo, not Zexion, but he corrects himself over and over. He doesn’t seem to want to deadname Ienzo, he just hasn’t gotten used to it yet. I think that more than anything else is what proved to me personally that Demyx really was trying to do something good.

Also, with Axel/Lea, can he not make bad jokes IN THE MIDDLE OF HIS OWN DEATH? Hello?! I said this on Twitter but hey, buddy, I love you dearly but now isn’t the time.

Xion’s name is pronounced she-on, not zee-on like I thought when I read it. Idk why I thought it was that way when I read it printed but it’s not.

Donald is always cute, all the time, and he’s cutest when he and Sora are squabbling like little kids. I love him. Or maybe that’s the Ducktales fan bias creeping in...

Speaking of HEY, WAS ANYONE GONNA TELL ME HDL AND SCROOGE ARE IN MORE THAN JUST THE KH TRILOGY?!?! What a pleasant surprise to see Scrooge in BBS and to visit Disney Town.

Nobodies make the wobble sound of laminated paper being shaken. I keep thinking about that for no reason.

Does anyone else think Riku saying he can “smell the darkness” on people in ReCOM is weird? Am I just really late to the party, or are we just going to ignore that? Yeah? Okay.

Aqua’s end of Birth by Sleep has some of the sweetest, most poetic dialogue in the series imo. When Aqua and Mickey are talking about Ven, and Sora and Riku talking about hurt within the heart? Yeah. I’ll cry.

Also, another sad scene: Isa and Lea as kids when Lea explains his whole “get it memorized” thing is so he can be remembered and live on, if need be. I cried real tears at that one.

Conversely, some of my favorite sweet scenes are: in the beginning of BBS when Aqua tells Ven and Terra they’d “make the weirdest brothers,” Sora meeting Santa in KH2(I think?) which reminds you hey, these are children, the scene right after they find out Goofy’s not dead and Donald flips out, Lea summoning his Keyblade for the first time(powermove,) and of course the series of reunions in KH3. There’s at least a solid scene or two in each game that really warms my cold sad heart.

Speaking of the KH3 reunions, the best one I think was Xion, Roxas, and Lea’s. At least with Aqua/Terra/Ven they started out with hope, and Aqua and Ven at least had the ability to hold onto that hope to get them through. The ex-Nobody crowd really didn’t have anything. Just the promise that they’d meet again, and maybe not even in this life. I will cry.

Some of the voice casting is surprisingly great. Like, Nala’s voiced by Vanessa Marshall, who did Gamora in the GOTG tv series. Love her. And Hynden Walch who does Starfire is the Alice voice at one point which was such a pleasant surprise.

Also hey, Zachary Levi went so fucking HARD on his voice work. Even Rapunzel has some lines that fall a little flat compared to the tone of the original, like the KH version of the “first time outdoors” sequence. But Flynn Rider has this consistent energy to him that I really love.

In ReCoded I really liked the second-person Mickey narration. Idk why. It just made me super happy.

Hercules is a movie that frequently becomes a level in these games and like every time they continue that trend of Phil’s “I got two words for you” joke like guys, wasn’t the thing in the original that it translated to two words in Greek? Not that he couldn’t count? Anyway that’s the best reoccurring joke. I hate it and love it in equal measure.

One of the frequent things in KH that I love is there’s this sense of ridiculousness to it. Like, it’s a lovely story with excellent worldbuilding and character designs, with a brilliantly complex plot, but like. You get into scenarios like the end of ReMIND, and Sora’s time-travelled to save his dying and sorta already dead friend(Kairi). He’s cradling his other dying friend in his arms and talking about how he found his way to them by tracing the connections between their hearts. Beautiful, poetic, showstopping, right? Except it’s Mickey motherfucking Mouse. You can’t find this anywhere else.

Speaking of ReMIND, the part where Sora connects all the keyhole things? It looks like a starry sky full of constellations? Yeah. Holy fucking SHIT is that pretty. I literally had to pause it twice to absorb the visuals in that scene.

To end off, here’s some of my pride headcanons: Terra and Xion are trans, Ventus and Riku are nonbinary, Saïx/Isa is agender, and Sora is genderfluid. Axel/Lea is pan, Kairi, Riku, and Sora are poly, and Aqua is bi. ((I definitely have more of these but these ones I think are most important.))

#kingdom hearts #kh #mine!

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diyunho · 5 years ago

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The Joker x Reader - “ Nobody” Part 1

After not feeling well for months, The Joker finally found out why: the life threatening condition is so serious there’s only a 50/50 chance of survival. Dealing with a brain tumor is not going to be easy, that’s why The King of Gotham asked his half-brother Arthur to help Y/N while he’ll undergo treatment.

The Joker yawns, repositioning his head in your lap.

“You want a small pillow?” you pause the movie you’re both watching and he refuses.

“No,” J stretches on the couch. “These are soft enough,” he pokes your thighs and you squirm, ticklish to his touch.

Suddenly, the cell phone chimes and J reaches his hand to grab it from the table.

“Arthur is here,” he announces. “He wasn’t in a hurry, hm?” The Joker mumbles while getting up.

You decline to comment and do the same because you can hear the elevator going up to the Penthouse. You could say the anticipation is making you a little bit nervous: you’ve been with J for about 10 months but you’ve never met Arthur. Probably it’s safe to assume they are not very close yet soon after finding out about the illness, The Joker contacted his sibling to let him know and sure enough he agreed to come over and help.

Although Mr. Fleck is three hours late, it doesn’t mean he is trying to back out on his promise.

The elevator opens and Arthur emerges dressed in one of his red suits, anxiously passing his fingers through his curls. J wants to criticize and his brother is in no mood for a lecture:

“Before you lash out, I was delayed by an unexpected issue!” he keeps talking and walking in your direction. “My apologies.”

“What issue?” J growls and Arthur extends the palm of his hand, firmly shaking yours, definitely not waiting for an introduction: “Hello there,” he smiles. “I’m the older, smarter, funnier and more charming version; you must be the better half.”

“Riiiiiight…” The Joker rolls his eyes, annoyed.

“Y/N,” you smirk at the man’s remark and he lets go of your hand, explaining his delayed arrival:

“Don’t get worked up, kid. One of my projects required immediate attention and I had to sort it out.”

You expect The Joker to protest the nickname but he doesn’t mention anything: Arthur always called him that since they were teenagers and your boyfriend is used to it. Doesn’t bother him at all.

“Do you want a drink? Are you hungry?” you offer and he nods a no.

“I’m good; thanks,” he takes a sit on the nearest armchair and the couple reprises their position on the sofa.

A few moments of silence before Arthur decides to talk about the reason why he’s at the Penthouse.

“Sooo… What did the doctors find out? How bad is it?” he inquires and you unconsciously cling to J’s arm, not willing to hear about it again.

“The brain tumor is too big, I can’t have surgery yet. I already started with lower doses of medication 20 days ago, I have to gradually build up to the higher doses so my body can handle it. Soon I’ll have chemo every 3 weeks, then every 2 we…”

A low chuckle and Arthur covers his mouth in horror.

“Sorry…” he has a chance to whisper before bursting out laughing.

“Here we go…” The Joker crosses his legs, patiently waiting for his brother to finish his outburst. The King of Gotham may not be an accommodating individual, but his sibling’s condition is something he has always tolerated without any problem.

“I’m very…” Arthur tries to speak but the strenuous sounds he makes at the end of each cackle prove how much he’s struggling to control his inappropriate amusement. “…s-sorry,” he continues to snicker while digging in his pocket for a small piece of laminated paper. He finds the item and hands it over to you; you curiously inspect the writing: it basically explains his neurological disorder in a few words.

“It’s fine, J told me,” you return the information to its owner.

“I can’t believe you still have that,” The Clown Prince of Crime huffs as Arthur is slowly regaining his composure.

“I’m very sorry,” he emphasizes his regrettable outpour. “You were saying?”

J deeply inhales and reprises the briefing:

“I’ll have to do chemo every 3 weeks, then every 14 days until the tumor shrinks enough to be operable. I guess I have a 50/50 chance of surviving the whole thing, that’s why I asked for your cooperation in helping Y/N oversee my affairs. I will get worse before I might get better, thus here we are.”

Arthur pulls tissues out of the box next to him and gives them to the devastated Y/N: The Joker didn’t notice you are quietly sobbing by his side.

“Please stop crying,” he kisses your temple, avoiding your emotions like he regularly does. The best option is to divert the gathering towards another topic. “We got ready one of the bedrooms upstairs for you; I hope that’s up to your standards.”

“My standards are normal,” the truth is blurred out. “You’re the fancy one, kid. That’s why you’re The Joker and I’m Joker; I don’t need any glorification. Plus, I didn’t oppose when you picked this half of town and left me the other.”

“You’re an idiot!” the green haired man stands up from his spot, wanting nothing more than to retreat to the master bedroom after an exhausting day.

“Runs in the family,” Arthur nonchalantly hints and you snort, blowing your nose in a tissue.

“Keep your mouth shut!” J advices and you have no clue he’s referring to more than just the constant bickering going on between them. “I’m calling it quits, are you coming?”

“I’ll have a smoke on the terrace first, “Arthur searches for his pack of cigarettes and you believe this is the perfect chance to chat with him:

“I’ll stay with our guest, alright?”

“Suit yourselves,” The Joker grumbles and you follow his brother outside on the huge patio.

“I forgot how nice this is from the 30th floor,” Arthur stirs the conversation while lighting up a cigarette.

“Yes, it’s a lovely view,” you wipe your tears and he resentfully mutters:

“I fucking hate this town…”

You sigh, not wishing to interrupt in case he has more to add and the plain inquiry catches you off guard.

“How are you holding up?”

The question resonates in the awkward stillness and Y/N elects to bring him up to date.

“I’m doing the best I can under the circumstances. He’s not doing well…” you sniffle and Arthur pays attention to your confession. “The medications may be in low amount, but they are strong; they make him very confused at times, plus the side effects of the tumor… he forgets things, he has no idea where he is or… or… who I am. The doctors advised that when it happens we have to go with the flow and not push for him to recall details. His brain is under a lot of pressure and this is only the beginning.”

Arthur blows smoke up in the air, displeased with the news about his younger sibling.

“Shit, that’s rough…”

That’s surely the understatement of the year for the heartbroken Y/N.

“When he doesn’t recognize me, I tell him I’m nobody, just a person taking care of the place and he doesn’t even know the difference. I suggest you avoid any type of confrontation while he’s like that; please generalize everything you articulate and don’t complicate the situation.”

“Of course… Yeah, yeah, of course,” he is fast to agree with your guidance.

“Thank you,” you sincerely show your gratitude because you appreciate his presence. “I think I’ll join him upstairs; tonight he’s beginning higher dosage on his pills and he might have a reaction.”

“I’ll stay and finish my cigarette,” Arthur scratches the scar above his lip. “Which bedroom is mine?”

“Fourth one on the left.”

“Perfect, I’ll find it,” he waves as you return inside, eager to check up on The Clown Prince of Crime.

**************

“What the … t-the hell?” The Joker stutters, groggy from the strong medications swallowed a few hours ago.

You barely distinguish his wobbly silhouette standing by the bed.

“What’s wrong?” you turn on the lamp on the nightstand, instantly aware of his wet boxers.

“I d-didn’t make it to… to the bathroom,” J seems out of it, yet at least he realizes that much.

“Oh, it’s totally fine,” you maintain your cool and jump off the sheets, rushing to help him. “The doctors warned accidents could happen since the drugs are making you dizzy and super drowsy. Let’s step in the bathtub, shall we?”

You take his hand and lead a compliant boyfriend to the master bathroom; sometimes it’s easy to deal with him in this state, sometimes it’s not.

Luckily tonight he’s obedient.

You turn on the water and he tightly holds his boxers while you attempt to yank them off him.

“Who…who are you?” The Joker sulks, unhappy with your movement.

“I’m nobody,” you reply and manage not to cry at his disorientation. “I’m here to help you, ok?” you calmly try to reason with his baffled mind.

“I… I… I don’t want you to see me naked,” he complains and Y/N has an easy solution for the apparent controversy.

“I’ll close my eyes, deal?”

You do as vowed and J lets you undress him, finally ending up in the bathtub for a quick, relaxing soak.

“You want bubbles?” you glance at him once the body is submerged under the warm water.

“No…” he yawns and you fold a towel, placing it under his head in case he’ll pass out.

“Where… where am I?...”

A faint knock at the door and Arthur talks in a low tone:

“Everything good?”

“Yes, we’re fine,” he distinguishes your reply; he just returned from the underground garage with his suitcase and discerned the commotion: made him wonder if his assistance was necessary.

“Who was that?” The Joker enjoys being pampered by the stranger he doesn’t recognize for the moment; apparently forgot about shyness also because he has no objection to the sponge bath now.

“The maintenance guy,” you lie without blinking while pouring more shampoo over J’s toxic green locks.

*************

10 am

Arthur joined you and The Joker in the kitchen less than 5 minutes ago; he positioned himself against the counter, this way he has a broad perspective of the whole space. He sips on the fresh coffee, observing the scene unfolding at the table:

J is reading a magazine and you feed him breakfast, caressing his hair every few seconds. You didn’t mention anything about last night; he woke up feeling a bit better and it’s safe not to agitate him with useless facts.

“Are you hungry?” you address Arthur and he lifts his shoulders up, undecided.

“Maybe… I’ll munch on something shortly.”

“Hurry up before it gets cold,” you encourage him and The Joker is already as crabby as he can be.

“Stop bugging him! If he wants to eat, he’ll eat!”

“I’m not bugging him,” you defend your action, upset at J’s feisty attitude.

“She’s not bugging me,” Arthur tucks a rebel curl behind his ear, disapproving of his brother’s assumption.

“I’m not,” you sweetly smile and The Joker slaps your fingers away from his hair.

The cheerfulness dies on your face and you get up, kicking the chair in the process.

“I’ll bring your morning meds,” you enunciate and leave the kitchen in a hurry.

“Goddamn irritating,” J hisses at your behavior and Arthur can’t zip it.

“Are you stupid?” he sucks on his cheeks and that definitely gets your boyfriend’s attention.

“What did you say?!”

“I’ve been here for minutes and she didn’t take a single bite out of anything, too preoccupied with making sure you eat. Do you even notice how she looks at you?” he raises his voice. “So I’m asking you again: are you stupid?”

“Excuse me?!” J abandons his seat and the threatening demeanor queues Arthur about the imminent scuffle, not that he’s willing to avoid it.

“I wasn’t clear enough?” the latest provokes his sibling. “ARE. YOU. STUUUUPID?” he repeats, cracking his neck with anticipation.

You are coming downstairs with the meds and the ruckus happening in the kitchen makes you speed up.

You are certainly not disappointed at the show: J and Arthur are wrestling on the floor, relentlessly hitting one another.

“Stop it!!” you shout and your plea is ignored. “Stop it!” you insist when you detect Arthur’s bloody nose and J’s busted lip. “Are you deaf?! Stop it!!”

This is the last drop: after another shitty night and the stuff you endured recently, you are completely lacking any kind of patience for anybody’s nonsense.

You toss the vial with The Joker’s tablets on the counter, snatch the ice bucket from the freezer and fill it out with water. The ice cubes float in the clear liquid: the 8 gallons metal container is pretty large since it’s used for J’s grape juice cans.

You thud on the marble floor and dump the freezing concoction on top of the two heated fighters, the sudden shock from the unexpected impact being enough to halt the brawl.

“Ugg!!” J rolls on his back while Arthur crawls by the stove. “What are you doing, Y/N?!” he yells and you storm out, firmly squeezing the ice bucket to your chest without realizing.

The loud bang of a shut door bears witness of your justified rage concerning the altercation; how can you not get mad at such crap?!

Arthur seeks for his beloved cigarettes in the interior of his orange vest, triumphantly lightening one after failing the first trials.

“I like her,” he puffs the fumes out, leaning towards his brother because J is gesturing for the bud.

The Joker takes a deep drag, admitting for once:

“Me too.”

“I thought you quit,” Arthur points out.

“I did,” his brother answers, glaring at the ceiling. “Clean up this mess!” he orders and continues to smoke.

“Nope, we should let fate determine,” the older sibling suggests and J falls into the little trap.

“Rock, paper, scissors?”

“Ready?” Arthur smirks and counts. “1…2…3!”

“… … … Dammit!” The King of Gotham cusses.

“Have fun, kid!” the winner plucks the cig away from J. “Gimme, these are bad for your health!”

**************

“Are you in here?” The Joker sneaks in his office and watches you patrol around the desk, still vigorously attached to the infamous ice bucket.

The lack of reply makes him approach the distressed woman; you avoid gazing his way at all costs.

“I need my pitcher,” he sniffles and Y/N disregards his sentence. “You’re aware I like to use grape juice on ice for those bitter capsules. There’s no bucket and no ice in the freezer so… what am I supposed to do? Skip my morning remedy?”

A hint of lowered resistance and he’s taking advantage of it.

“My lip hurts,” he rubs the swollen, red spot. “I need ice for this too.”

You place your precious bucket on top of some folders, cautiously examining the superficial cut.

“Stitches won’t be necessary,” the obvious result updates a pouting J.

“Are you sure?” he plays dumb and wraps his arms around your waist. “Take a closer look, I can’t afford to walk around with chipped dignity.”

You peck the unharmed corner of his mouth, mad you’re giving into such cheap amendments.

“I’m positive…”

The Joker grins and kisses you, entirely convinced it wasn’t hard to get under your skin.

“You’re not going to leave, are you?” he rests his forehead on yours and Y/N is speechless at the question. “This is the tumor talking, obviously,” J fixes the tiny mistake when he sees your reaction.

“Obviously…” you whisper, sadly reckoning he purposely avoids any type of sensitive debate about your future together.

The Joker though is carefully listening to Arthur mumbling on the hallway, suspicious at the meaning.

“Is he eavesdropping?!” you focus on the faint words also and it clicks for J.

“Cut it out!!!” he screams while Mister Fleck is not phased, joyfully concluding the ceremony the couple didn’t agree to.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you Nobody and Joker!”

“What was that?!” you crinkle your nose, puzzled.

“He has a minister license and never used it; he tried to hitch me with my ex too,” J clarifies his brother’s odd conduct.

“You may now kiss the bride!” Arthur shouts and The Joker had enough:

“Shut the fuck up!!!”

“What am I supposed to do with my license then?!” the wavy hair pops in the door frame.

“I don’t care!” J snarls, fed up with his sibling’s persistence. “Go pester someone else!” the door is slammed in Arthur’s face; fortunately the 42 years old is not the type of man to be easily offended.

He adjusts the pieces of tissue sticking out of his bloody nose, proudly holding the minister accreditation at eye level.

“I got myself a sister-in-law,” Arthur chuckles at his achievement, impatiently searching for a pack of cigarettes in the pocket of his red jacket.

Also read: MASTERLIST

You can also follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

#the joker x reader #the joker fanfiction #the joker imagine #the joker arthur fleck #the joker jared leto #the joker joaquin pheonix #the joker #joker fanfiction #joker arthur fleck #the joker suicide squad #joker suicide squad #mister j #Mistah J #arthur fleck x reader #dc #dcu

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organon-bailiff · 4 years ago

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who are you? (know the mun meme)

Name/Alias: media

Sun Sign: Scorpio

Height: 5′8″

What’s your middle name: Claire

Put your spotify/apple music on shuffle. What are the first 6 songs that popped up?: uhhhhh I don’t really use spotify sooooo how about the first 6 songs that pop up on youtube for me, ready as I’ll ever be, my family, DK west rap, move it, say so, and super business dancing night

Ever had a poem/song written about you?: nope, I’m usually the one writing those

When was the last time you played air guitar?: ... I have no idea

Who is your celebrity crush?: all my crushes are fictional, this aint fair

What’s a sound you hate; sound you love?: you know how you take a piece of laminated paper and wobble it, that sound I love. Scraping against a chalkboard is meant for hell.

Do you believe in ghosts?: somewhat, possibly, probably. Can still remember the time I high fived a ghost

How about Aliens?: yeah, if the universe is so huge there’s bound to be something right

Do you drive?: I have a car ....... but no license ..... but I got a car

If so have you crashed?: nope, never been in one

What was the last book you read?: does Fruits Basket count?

Do you like the smell of gasoline: yeah, I won’t go snorting it but it is an interesting thing to get a whiff of every now and then

What’s the worst Injury you’ve had?: I’ve broken my wrist once because a friend convinced me to roller skate on the very slippery rink and to go along the back wall that had absolutely nothing for me to grab onto, and also I had no idea what balance was. That was a fun start to summer.

Do you have any obsessions right now?: Deponia, Hazbin hotel, NSR, resin crafts those are just so aesthetic

Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong?: not really, I tend to relax after a certain point and just move on.

In a relationship?: single as a bonus bag fry

Tagged by: @destroyseverything

Tagging: @pumpkin-spiced-ocs

#tag meme #mun stuff

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kamuwrites · 7 years ago

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In the Bag, Ch 6/10 (a One Piece gen cat fanfic)

Fic Summary: All pirates have hordes of treasure. It just so happens in this life, cats are the treasure in Luffy’s.

Chapter Title: Merry Whatsit Things

Words: 2048 (Not the game)

read on ao3

Buggy used to live in a lot of shitty places while on the run from the cops when he was a sprouting young criminal. He liked to think he escaped that life once he established a rule of terror in an unknown East Blue town with a name not worth remembering anymore.

A few years of living as boss gave him a shady construction business in which he was rolling in dough. The whole shindig had illegally imported explosives and everything. Hell, he even provided dental to his workers slash underlings. His life was great.

Straw Hat ruined that window of bliss with his literal homewrecking.

When did the kid even have TIME to hotwire a bulldozer and level his entire base? He had to have stayed in town for two hours at most!

Buggy almost forgave Straw Hat. It took a country bumpkin maniac with a destructive streak to make him realize just how small his worldview had become. Sheesh, he used to have big dreams and shit. The kid reminded him by smacking him in the face like they were basic punks duking it out on the streets.

The kid packed a hefty punch, but Buggy knew he could take it. Later. After the bruise healed.

So yeah, Buggy tried to slash the kid’s tires after finding out where he worked. ‘Tried’ because motherfucking Benn Beckman caught him in the act. He was one man he did not want to cross. Anywhere Beckman was at, Red Hair certainly would be hovering around nearby. The pair were mushy and together like that, reminding single people everywhere that they were SAD, ALONE, and in his case ANGRY. Bastards.

“What about that fling with Alvida?” Luffy asked, interrupting the beautiful monologue of his worthwhile career in crime.

“Work buddies. Don’t shit where you eat,” Buggy sniffed.

Alvida told him the things Luffy did when he disbanded her gang. Frankly, he thought they didn’t measure up to the deeds Straw Hat did to him. It looked like Luffy turned her life around for the better, if the kid couldn’t recognize her from the pig she once was. He avoided a kick to the crotch after that.

Now that he thought about it, Buggy himself was profiting from the waves that kid brought to his nowhere nook town. He’d never tell the brat, but Luffy had punched the idle satisfaction from his body that day.

“Hm,” Luffy said, watching a fly buzz by as he ate.

Buggy could see his reply fazed through him. Anything not concerning meat and cats were filtered out of his brain.

“Speaking of places to eat,” Buggy said, watching Luffy perk up immediately. “You need to get out of this place. I killed like five roaches on my way to kitchen.”

Luffy let Robin, one of the newer additions, settle into his lap. “Whaddya mean? Here is fine,” he said.

“Uh, kid?” Buggy said. He gestured to the peeling walls and the paper panels lined with cat sized holes. Half of them were repaired with index cards and duck tape. “Your house is falling apart. You have a bug problem. I think a freaking rat scuttled past my ankle when I was taking a shit in the toilet. Not a mouse. A RAT.”

Luffy tilted his head. “Robin and Sanji can take care of them. They’re both former barn cats,” he replied.

“Your water doesn’t spit out hot anymore,” Buggy said.

“I can go to the public baths,” Luffy returned easily.

“There’s no AC,” Buggy tried.

“We can open the doors and hang up the mosquito net,” Luffy put forth.

“Kid!” Buggy shouted. “There is MOLD infesting the kitchen ceiling.”

Buggy took brief satisfaction at the way Luffy hesitated. The feeling was short lived, however. He had to break the bad news to Luffy, which was as unpredictable of a situation as predicting a storm. The guy would either take it like a champ or refuse to budge.

...Or, Luffy would make this godawful devastated face like someone had told him one of his cats had died. Buggy HATED the possibility of that outcome. He always knew to avoid it whenever he brushed the topic of family. Despite being unfazed even in the face of death and the muzzle of a gun, Luffy still had hang ups like anyone else.

And Buggy would completely take full advantage of that, if only the threats of an internationally wanted fugitive and the hellstorm that be a retired ATTORNEY GENERAL weren’t breathing down his neck…

Oh, and Shanks could go fuck himself. Those crow’s feet and bleached gray hair all the way down to Beckman’s roots? Nuh-uh. Buggy ain’t taking a part of that circus, not yet.

“That’s not good for you or the cats,” Buggy continued, pushing the Monkey D. elders and the inevitable forthcoming of old age to the back of his mind. “The kitchen is where everyone eats. Not all of the furry things have strong immune systems, not like you.”

Luffy’s face was doing that thing where he was thinking. All signs pointed to this being a herald for bad ideas.

Buggy already made it this far. He might as well finish his guilt trip to the end of its bittersweet journey.

“Straw Hat Luffy,” Buggy said, standing up and heading toward the front door. “You can do better.”

Of course, that was where the metaphorical bad weather ended for a while.

Buggy assumed, with the radio silence, maybe Luffy decided to be sensible for once. Hey, he might even listen to Buggy’s advice and Buggy could rein it over his head forever!

Nope. Someone chose the absolute WORST outcome to come to fruition.

Monkey D. Luffy made his choice, on his own terms.

“Call on line 3 for you…” Mohji said to him one day.

Buggy, like the inattentive fucker he was, didn’t notice how pale his underling looked. He had to go ahead and take the call like an ignorant fool.

“I’ll give back the bulldozer in two days,” Luffy started.

Buggy hurled the entire phone set against the wall.

***

The village mayor had to be certain.

“Are you absolutely sure this is a cat?” Dalton asked the young man.

“Yeah! Geez, I know what’s a cat and what isn’t!” Luffy said.

Dalton looked over at the pudgy hooved animal. It watched him with clear wide eyes from its place in Luffy’s lap, as if daring him to contradict its adopted human.

“It has hooves,” Dalton said.

“He’s self-conscious about that.” Luffy nodded. “He’s not as polycrocodile as Nami and Robin are.”

“No tail?” he asked.

“Chopper is the opposite of Usopp!” Luffy exclaimed with a laugh.

Dalton frowned. “He’s a baby now, but he’ll probably grow horns in the future when he turns into an adult,” he persisted. How would this kid explain that?

“Horns?” Luffy lifted Chopper to look him in the eye. “Are you going to grow horns, Chopper?”

The goat-cat blinked slowly at Luffy. He turned his head to look at Dalton and then turned back to Luffy.

Chopper bleeped.

“He says sure, but they’ll fall off on their own,” Luffy said.

Dalton was at an impasse. He had troubles accepting that someone could be so stubborn about an animal’s presumed classification. Was it against certain animal laws if he just let this boy take a wild deer-goat-cat as a pet?

“No worries, Bull-guy,” Luffy assured, stretching to pat him on the shoulder. “Doctor-lady told me Chopper is a cat. I’ve never seen a cat like him before, so I guess I haven’t seen ‘em all!”

Their resident doctor and veterinarian told Luffy this? Dalton had never questioned her expertise in animal care before, but what would she gain from teasing a young boy from out of town?

“She approves of you taking him with you?” Dalton sighed.

“Mm! I told her my new place is near the sea and mountains, so she Hail Mary-ed Chopper into my arms and told me to get out! You should visit once we’re done building,” Luffy said.

Luffy placed a creased card onto Dalton’s palm. The paper shone in laminated purples, yellows, and reds with a splash of brown. It was all backdrop to a cheery lion shaped cleverly like a sun or a flower.

“The ‘Thousand Sunny’,” Dalton read on the other side.

“For the thousands of sunny days ahead of us,” Luffy followed up, swinging Chopper around in a circle.

It made sense with what Luffy wanted to do with the animal sanctuary. He briefly thought maybe he caught onto what Dr Kureha had intended in leaving the goat-cat-dog-deer to Luffy. Their small suburban town in the cold north was no place for an active animal that belonged in the wild. In an animal sanctuary, Chopper would have a better and longer life than the one he had with his herd, or so the Doctor had bitterly told him while drunk.

“Will Chopper have a lot of friends?” Dalton asked.

Luffy stopped and set down Chopper, who wobbled on shaky legs before collapsing onto a nearby pillow. The goat-cat-dog’s tongue stuck out as he tried to regain his sense of balance.

“You bet! There’s Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Sanji—”

Dalton listened as Luffy told him of their happy and growing family.

“It sounds fun wherever you guys are,” he said once he found a gap in one-sided conversation.

Luffy beamed. “That’s right!” he agreed.

Dalton stepped up and patted the young man on the back. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at the approaching people, more particularly the grumpy doctor refusing help from the younger veterinarians around her.

“Take care of him. I know Chopper has dealt with plenty of coldness in his life. He could use a lot of warmth from now on,” he said as he turned Luffy to the arrivals.

“Nami! Sanji!” Luffy took off toward the sleeping cats being rolled into the waiting room. He barrelled into the hovering veterinarians in his haste. The room quickly filled with many protests.

“You brats! Don’t wake them! They just came out of surgery and need rest!” Dr. Kureha whipped out a pair of latex gloves and whacked the jumpy young man with them.

“They’re okay now?” Luffy peered at the cats on the cart, taking care to keep his voice significantly lower.

“Yes, you impatient buffoon. Sit with Chopper, I need to pack and write up the basics for his care and the cats’ aftercare for you before you take off.” She waved the boy away and glared at the surrounding vets. “You bunch need to leave me be before I bring out the meter stick.”

Taking heed to the woman’s hand inching toward her hip where she kept the retractable not-weapon, the vets scattered.

Dalton felt he had overstayed his welcome. He headed toward the glass doors of the clinic, before someone cleared their throat behind him.

“You must’ve distracted the brat well enough, if he managed to stay in this room for four hours straight without interrupting me,” the doctor said, one hip and an eyebrow cocked.

He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.

“I think it’s the other way around,” he admitted.

She snorted. “I’m a creature of solitude, so I know when someone isn’t. That boy,” she jutted her chin at Luffy attempting to imitate Chopper’s hops, “is someone who loves and needs love. I’d almost think he’s more animal in that aspect, but most humans need others to live fully. Otherwise, we’d die before our time.”

“Is that so?” Dalton took vague amusement as Chopper perched on Luffy’s shoulder like he was a mountain face, accidentally knocking over his hat.

“Of course. I’m an old woman who has found the secret to longevity. However, I haven’t found the right way to love Chopper in the way he needs. That’s why I’m allowing Straw Hat to steal my cute apprentice.” Dr. Kureha chuckled at Dalton’s baffled expression. “He’s very good at fetch, that Chopper.”

As if to demonstrate, Chopper jumped down and presented Luffy the hat in between his teeth.

“Cats don’t do fetch,” Dalton reminded with a twinge of his lips.

“Oh, shut it, brat,” Dr. Kureha said to the noises of amazement and praise filling up the small clinic waiting room.

TBC

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #monkey d. luffy #dalton (one piece)#tony tony chopper #kamu fic

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hhopp · 8 years ago

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#26, #38

Cas nearly dropped his keys as he opened the door. He was juggling all of his work papers, his laptop, everything. He’d barely had the time or presence of mind to grab his phone before he was taking off through glass doors, let alone sort out his belongings.

“Dean?” As soon as he was inside, he let everything tumble to the floor. He barely heard it all crash in his haste to make his way across the apartment. Dean wobbled out of the bathroom, eyes red and dripping. He had his arms clenched tight around his middle, and oh God, please don’t let that be blood on his shirt. “Dean, c’mere, let me see.” He shook his head and hugged himself tighter.

“It’ll just make you disappointed in me.”

“It won’t, I promise. You couldn’t disappoint me. But you’ve got to let me help you. C’mere.” Dean didn’t move, but didn’t protest, and Cas took his chances and edged closer. Gently, he tugged at one hand. It came away from his waist with little resistance. He looked down at the wrist. Jesus, this was pretty bad.

“That one’s worse,” Dean choked out.

“Can I see the other one?” No response, so he squeezed the hand he had tightly. “It’s okay. I’m not mad at you.” Eventually, Dean let go of himself and held out his arm. He was right, it wasn’t as awful as the first, but it was still bad. “Dean, sweetheart…”

That was when he broke. Cas got an armful of sobbing boyfriend and stumbled at the weight. He’d been doing so well. It had been months since the last time, he’d been going to therapy and taking his medication and everything. Why now?

He mumbled little comforts for a good five minutes. Dean just shook against him and buried his face in Cas' neck. He let his blunt nails scrape up and down against the soft material of a Zeppelin t-shirt.

“I’m sorry, Cas, I’m so, so sorry. I—” Cas hushed him.

“You don’t need to be sorry. I’m not upset with you. We can work through this, we always do.” Bottle-green eyes blinked up at him.

Dean had been struggling since he was a teenager. His mother had been gone for years and his consistently-drunk father didn’t pay much attention to anything other than his next bottle. The cutting was more recent, starting around the time his little brother had gone off to college. Cas had come into the picture about two years after that. They moved in together after Dean’s last roommate, Charlie, died in a hit-and-run three days after his birthday. A few months later, they went out for coffee and Dean spilled his tale. Cas had been helping him fight his monsters ever since.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” They shuffled to the kitchen. Dean hoisted himself up onto the counter while a silent Cas rummaged under the sink for the first aid kit. He resolutely ignored the tears in his own eyes as he pressed a cloth to Dean’s wrists. The blood stopped coming after a few moments, they really hadn’t been bleeding that badly. He’d made a lot of cuts, but none of them were deep. “This is going to sting.”

Dean dug his teeth into his lip. He breathed in sharply when the cool disinfectant hit, but he didn’t hiss. The gauze unrolled easily from the spool, forming thick bracelets around the narrow red splits. Cas was almost done, tearing a piece of tape to hold down the bandages, when Dean grabbed his hand.

“Please,” he whispered, fragile voice cracking like ice on the word.

“Please what?”

“Get angry. Please. Yell at me, or…” His eyes were starting to moisten again.

“Why would I yell at you?”

“Come on, yell at me. Get mad. Get angry. You’ve got to be angry at me. I did this. I did it to myself, I relapsed, you’ve gotta get mad.” He began curling Cas' fingers into a fist, squeezing it tight in his own hands before looking back up. “Please, Cas, yell. Hit me. Something, please.” Cas didn’t say a word. He stood, stock-still, as Dean tugged on his arm, letting the loose fist he’d created hit his shoulder. “You need to be mad at me.” He kept going, sobbing out nonsense and smacking Cas’ hand against himself. He kept re-curling the fingers into a fist every time they slackened. Cas stood, numb, and tears finally started rolling out of his eyes.

When Dean hiccuped, he came back to himself. “Baby, no.” He gathered him up into his arms. “Dean, I’m not going to yell at you. I love you. I’d never hurt you. I promise. Please, you’ve got to stop doing this to yourself. Look at me. Look at me, I’d never hurt you. I’m not angry.”

“Please, Cas.” The words came out muffled in his shoulder.

“Shh. Shh, shh. I’ve got you. I’m never going to let you go, I’m not going to be upset with you. Never going to hurt you, Dean, I love you too much.” He pulled away, tugging at Dean’s shoulders to get him to let go. His face had given up on tear tracks; now, there were just two thick highways of damp skin trailing from cheek to chin. He raised his thumb to wipe away a few hot droplets. “Let’s get you a glass of water, okay?” He squeezed Dean’s hands (God, there was blood stuck under his nails) and offered a trembly smile before turning away.

He pulled a tall glass from the cabinet by the fridge and had to set it down on the counter because his hands were shaking so bad. He clenched them together and took a few shuddery breaths before picking it back up and filling it.

“Thanks.” It was near a whisper. Cas nodded and pulled a dishcloth from the drawer. He dampened it and reached to dab at Dean’s cheeks. If he could just get rid of the tear tracks, just make his red eyes and red arms all better, it would all go away. Dean would be okay. He’d be happy, they’d be able to be happy together without shadows lurking in every corner. “Cas.” Just wipe away the tears and the blood, just scrub it all away and it’ll be normal. “Cas, please.” The glass clunked onto the laminate and he startled. Dean reached for his hands.

“Sorry, I just— I shouldn’t’ve… I’m sorry.” Dean slipped off the counter and wrapped his arms around him. Cas buried further into the embrace. He shook, hard, and could feel a damp spot growing on the well-worn cotton, but he didn’t really care. Dean was still, just clutching him tight. He didn’t really know when, but eventually they dropped to the floor. Cas’ tears dried up and he tugged Dean onto his lap. “I’m not upset with you. I’m upset with me. I just want to make you better. I don’t want you to hurt anymore, and I wish I could do more to help you. I love you and I feel so helpless watching you like this.”

“You deserve more than me.”

“Never. I love you. And we’re going to fix this.”

“What if we can’t, Cas?” That wasn’t a thought he could handle right now. So he hummed vaguely and tilted Dean’s head further into his shoulder. He let his thumb brush back and forth against the bristly little blonde hairs at the back of his neck.

After some time, he murmured, “Then we’ll figure something out. We always have, right?”

“You promise?” Dean mumbled. Cas stilled in his movements for a second. Then, pressing a kiss to his temple, he whispered,

“Yeah, baby, I promise.”

#tw #self harm #request #hdaat #26 #38

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sirgyrodegearloose-archive · 8 years ago

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Really Long Character Survey

Rules: Repost, don’t reblog. Tag 10! Good luck!

Tagged by @themisfitmouse

Tagging: @genius-vondrake, @amadeus-aerinstat, @alphagearloose, @unclescrooge, @askflintheartglomgold, @thesmallestarchitect, @tempest-loupnoir, @the-queen-needs-us ...I can’t really think of two more people to tag who haven’t already been tagged by somebody else.

((Hoooo boy there's gonna be so many headcanons in this.))

BASICS.

FULL NAME : Gyro Percival Gearloose

NICKNAME : Gyro, G

AGE : 28

BIRTHDAY : September 18th

ETHNIC GROUP : Uh... chicken? I guess I kinda headcanon that he's got some Italian in him, but other than that, idek man.

NATIONALITY : American

LANGUAGE / S : English (possibly others, but that's woefully all the mun is fluent in)

SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Bi

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Also bi

RELATIONSHIP STATUS : Single

CLASS : Uh... upper-middle, I guess? I mean, he's gotta afford all those parts somehow.

HOME TOWN / AREA : Duckburg, Calisota

CURRENT HOME : A workshop/barn on the south side of Duckburg, near the river

PROFESSION : Inventor/Repairman

PHYSICAL.

HAIR : It has never been consistent. Like... in DuckTales and the related comics, it's orange. In some of the old comics, it's light brown. In the Italian comics, it's bright blonde. I just... I have no idea, my dudes. Gyro's addicted to hair dye or something.

EYES : Blue

NOSE : He's a bird. He has a beak.

FACE : Uh... round? Covered in feathers?

LIPS : Again, he is a bird.

COMPLEXION : Pristine white feathers.

BLEMISHES : ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

SCARS : He's got a good few nicks on his hands, and probably a couple of other random scars from miscellaneous lab accidents, but nothing major. Plus, it's not as if you could see most of them anyway.

TATTOOS : None.

HEIGHT : 5'5"

WEIGHT : Uh... I dunno, probably around 130-140? Gotta take into account that his bones are probably hollow.

BUILD : It varies. In some comics he's kind of plump, and in others, he's like a scarecrow. I'm gonna tentatively put him at athletic, with a little bit of a paunch?

FEATURES : Big blue eyes, (usually) bright orange hair, slightly curved beak, glasses.

ALLERGIES : Blueberries, but he doesn't bring it up unless he has to.

USUAL HAIR STYLE : He basically just rolls out of bed and runs his fingers through it a couple times.

USUAL FACE LOOK : Lost in thought

USUAL CLOTHING : Hat (with chin strap), button up shirt (usually pink, red, blue, or yellow), open black vest, jeans or khakis, work boots.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR / S : Failure, mostly.

ASPIRATION / S : He wants to discover as much as he can, for discovery's sake. To do things before believed to be impossible just to say he did.

POSITIVE TRAITS : Generally cheerful, independent thinker, kind, clever, creative

NEGATIVE TRAITS : Easily frustrated, bottles his feelings until he explodes, tends to run from his problems, occasionally forgets to take care of himself

MBTI : ENFP, but only just barely (x)

ZODIAC : Virgo

TEMPERAMENT : Sanguine (x)

SOUL TYPE / S : Creator (no surprise there), followed closely by Educator and Helper (x)

ANIMALS : Apparently he's a Zebra (x), which is not necessarily something I would have chosen but I guess it fits? (x)

VICE HABIT / S : Can be kind of lazy sometimes, major sweet tooth

FAITH : "The Powers that Be"

GHOSTS ? : Skeptical, but willing to be convinced

AFTERLIFE ? : Who knows?

REINCARNATION ? : He wouldn't discredit it.

ALIENS ? : YEs

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT : He doesn't really bother himself with politics.

ECONOMIC PREFERENCE : ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

SOCIOPOLITICAL POSITION : Everyone deserves to be treated with basic decency. Beyond that, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

EDUCATION LEVEL : I'm gonna go ahead and say he's got a Master's in engineering, and then a bunch of random courses he thought would be interesting but don't actually add up to any kind of extra degree.

FAMILY.

FATHER : Fulton Gearloose

MOTHER : ??? Gearloose (Until I find a canon name, I've called her Tallulah)

SIBLINGS : It's implied he has at least one sibling, since he's got a nephew in some of the comics, but I don't think they've ever actually been seen

EXTENDED FAMILY : Ratchet Gearloose (Grandfather), Copernicus Gearloose (Great-grandfather), Descartes Gearloose (Great-uncle), Newton Gearloose (Nephew)

NAME MEANING / S : Gyro, as in gyroscope or gyrosphere. Gearloose, as in a literal loose gear.

HISTORICAL CONNECTION ? : His great-grandfather assisted a gentleman thief in the 1920s. Long standing family ties to Scrooge McDuck. Gyro himself is a knight of the kingdom of Quackalot thanks to time travel shenanigans.

FAVOURITES.

BOOK : Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

MOVIE : Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back

5 SONGS :

Why Does the Sun Shine? by They Might Be Giants

Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger by Daft Punk

Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds by The Beatles

Poison by Alice Cooper (kind of a guilty pleasure)

Don't Stop Me Now by Queen

DEITY : ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

HOLIDAY : New Years

MONTH : I don't think he really has a favorite month.

SEASON : Spring

PLACE : His workshop

WEATHER : Partly cloudy, 68F, low humidity, light breeze

SOUND : Clocks ticking, birds singing, keyboard clatter, that wobbly sound that laminated paper makes

SCENT / S : Freshly cut grass, sunscreen, baked goods

TASTE / S : Fresh fruit, anything sweet

FEEL / S : The weight of a wrench or a hammer, the texture of blueprint paper, working outdoors in the sunshine (or by a window), laying in a hammock

ANIMAL / S : Dogs, bees, butterflies, songbirds

NUMBER : 42

COLOUR : Orange

EXTRA.

TALENTS : Not sure if you'd really call it a talent, but he's canonically ambidextrous.

BAD AT : Cooking, singing

TURN ONS : Not getting into that here.

TURN OFFS : Not getting into this either.

HOBBIES : Baseball, soccer, fishing, bug catching

TROPES : Cloudcuckoolander, Gadgeteer Genius, Mr. Fixit, Identical Grandson, and probably a whole lot more that I can't be bothered to keep looking for.

AESTHETIC TAGS : Tools, metalworking, robotics, clockwork, spring and summer landscapes, baseball, soccer, orange, circuitry, beaches, Arthurian legends, medieval weaponry, castles, old sci-fi, space, cyberpunk, steampunk, science labs, dragons

GPOY QUOTES : ??

FC INFO.

MAIN FC / S : Rick Moranis

ALT FC / S : Don't have one

OLDER FC / S : ...Older Rick Moranis?

YOUNGER FC / S : ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

VOICE CLAIM / S : Well, his last voice actor was Chris Edgerly in the remastered game, but I don't think it's been confirmed yet who his new VA will be.

GENDERBENT FC / S : Don't have one

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 : If you could write your character your way in their own movie , what would it be called , what style would it be filmed in , and what would it be about ?

A1 : I have no idea. It would probably be a campy, 80's style sci-fi though, like Honey I Shrunk The Kids or Weird Science.

Q2 : What would their soundtrack / score sound like ?

A2 : Lighthearted, but with a sense of wonder. It would make occasional use of odd instruments.

Q3 : Why did you start writing this character ?

A3 : I had just rediscovered DuckTales and Tumblr RP blogs were starting to become this big thing that everyone did so I just sort of jumped on the bandwagon.

Q4 : What first attracted you to this character ?

A4 : I've always loved nerdy, quirky characters. Being a ginger doesn't hurt either.

Q5 : Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5 : He is usually portrayed as having human-like feet, which makes no gotdang sense. The ducks have duck feet. Cats and dogs have paws. Other chickens have chicken feet. BUT LET'S MAKE GYRO A WEIRD MUTANT, MWAHAHAHAHAHA! ...How about no? I'm just... completely disregarding that as canon unless there's an explanation for it. I'll even take a one off, throwaway comment. Otherwise, y'all can fight me.

Q6 : What do you have in common with your muse ?

A6 : A tendency to get way too invested in a project and forget to do things like sleeping or eating a reasonable meal.

Q7 : How does your muse feel about you ?

A7 : He doesn't know I'm there, and I intend to keep it that way for now.

Q8 : What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ?

A8 : He has had some truly memorable relationships and interactions with other muses throughout my time playing him, and I don't think I could adequately cover all of them in just a little survey post.

Q9 : What gives you inspiration to write your muse ?

A9 : I've got a playlist of songs that remind me of him that I listen to sometimes. Other than that, I find inspiration for Gyro in some of the weirdest places, like my history textbook the other day, or a particularly scientifically inaccurate episode of Danger Mouse I watched the other day.

Q10 : How long did this take you to complete ?

A10 : About two hours.

#ooc #tagged as me #headcanons

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