#the funniest i've ever been is when i knocked my glasses of my face and immediately said

[archangeldyke-all]

Heya! It’s 👽 again, so basically Nicole from class of 09 is really sarcastic and doesn’t seem to care much for how others feel, just saying whatever tf she wants 💀 I could give a few quotes from the game since there isn’t really much written on her personality 😭

“Why would I flirt with a guy to get a free hit of Dust-Off? You can get the whole thing at a store for, like, three dollars.”

“Sorry if I don’t want my legacy to be freaks jacking off to pictures of me.”

“How does a guy who sounds like a cartoon character also have a sex addiction problem?”

Meanwhile she says all this shit with a straight face 😭

Hopefully this makes sense! Anyway, hope you have a good day/afternoon/night!

-👽

wait now i feel like i should check out of class of '09 because some of these lines i think i've actually said that last quote verbatim to my friends hahaha

men and minors dni

sevika would think you're the funniest person she's ever met.

you're just constantly saying exactly what she's thinking out loud. and you say it all with a straight face.

you used to get into a lot of shit with your words, but with sevika by your side, giggling and egging you on, nobody bothers fucking with you anymore.

she first starts crushing on you when she overhears you shit talking a stranger. she'd never even met the guy before, but the way you were roasting him had her biting her lip to keep from laughing. she swore if she ever met the fucker she'd give him a piece of her mind. or... your mind.

when she asks you out, it goes something like this.

"so, i was wondering maybe you'd wanna get drinks some time?"

"like a date?"

"yeah like a date."

"oh. thank fuck. i've been wanting to climb you like a fuckin' tree since i first met you, sev." you say with a straight face. sevika doubles over in laughter.

sevika's not anxious, but she's not the type to cause a problem if she doesn't think she needs to. so when you're out in public, and she gets something on her food or order wrong, she always just bites her tongue and rolls her eyes.

she doesn't have to with you around, though.

"she wanted a chocolate shake." you call, knocking on the window of the drive through. "hello?! she wanted chocolate!" you say to the teenager through the glass. sevika's laughing in the passenger's seat the whole time.

silco is terrified of you. when he works sevika too hard, or keeps her from you for two many hours, he's guaranteed to find you standing in his office with a scowl on your face.

"where is she?" you ask. silco freezes in his office chair, cringing at the sound of your voice. "silco, i know your skinny ass can hear me, where's my girlfriend?" you ask. he slowly turns in his chair.

"it's good to see you, dea--"

"fuck off. y'know i could get your whole crew to unionize in two days time, where's sevika?" you ask again. silco groans.

"i need her tonight!" he complains.

"well, how do you think i feel? i can't sleep until i get all my orgasms in, and she's been too tired for sex all week!" you say. silco chokes on his tongue, then gives up his fight.

"she's downstairs!" he says, his voice an octave higher than usual. "please have her back by monday!" he calls after you as you run out of his office.

"yeah, right!" you call back.

silco just laughs.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

[thatonehorriblesibling]

When I was seven, half of my soul died and became its own entity. Ever since that day my other half haunts me.

Honestly, it's not that bad. Sure, he's a little annoying and kind of a jerk, but he's easy to ignore and sometimes he backs off without me asking. Plus he's helped me through some tough times. I'm not sure if I could call him a friend, but he knows me better than my closest one. I guess, he does act like a friend.

Sometimes he leaves, I don't know where he goes, the longest he's left has been four weeks, he refuses to tell me where he's gone, not for some cryptic reason like, "you would never understand" or "I'm not allowed to tell you". No, because apparently I'll "find out some day". Again, he's a bit of a jerk so he thinks it's funny to keep me in the dark.

Oftentimes he tells me things, things only he would know are true or not... I guess. One time after leaving again, for about three days this time, he told me I was going to hell and he was going to heaven. I don't know if that's true, not like he'd ever let me know. When he tells me those things he laughs, he laughs like he just heard the funniest joke ever, because of that, I can never tell if he's being truthful.

It's been about ten years now since that day half my soul died. I've always found it strange that he grew up with me, he died when we were seven, so I don't understand why he looks like a teenager... I thought ghosts couldn't age? Well, whatever the reason, I honestly don't care... Where would I even start looking for an answer?

He had me a bit worried today. Instead of waking up to him floating above me... Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that part, but yeah, he can float some feet off the ground, at first he could only float max five inches but he's gotten better and can go up to twenty feet now. Anyway back to what i was saying.

I woke up and instead of seeing his smug face laughing at me, or waking up to some clever insults he was laying on the ground. I got out of bed and asked him what he was doing. He looked so tired, so drained, like he just wanted to sleep, my mom is a nurse so I know the look well. He said nothing for a good minute and when he spoke all he said was "I don't want to be here anymore... why can't you just die already". I asked him to clarify what he was talking about, but he wouldn't speak, he just side-eyed me.

I get a knock on my door, it was my dad telling me to come down for breakfast. Before I leave my room, I stay with my other half for a bit. I've never seen him like this and he's worrying me. He doesn't do anything, just stares at the ceiling. I hear my dad call my name, a little more insistent this time, so I know I have to go downstairs now... Impatient ass.

After a good breakfast I went back upstairs to see what my other half was doing, he was still on the floor and he wouldn't speak. He spent the rest of the day on the floor, not moving a muscle... Does he technically have muscles?

Then at about 11:40 p.m. he got up, looked at me, and with the most tired eyes and a voice that concealed rage, he said, "We could've been at peace, but you just had to be stubborn and live." Before I could say anything or ask him what the fuck he was talking about he just left. Walked through my bed, through the glass of my window and floated off into the night sky. I don't know when he'll be back, but I'm very worried about him.

____________________________________________________

Cuando yo tenía siete años, la mitad de mi alma murió y se convirtió en su propia entidad. Desde entonces, mi otra mitad me persigue.

Sinceramente, no es tan malo. Claro, es un poco molesto y un poco imbécil, pero es fácil de ignorarlo y, a veces se echa atrás sin pedir. Además, me ha ayudado en algunos momentos difíciles. No sé si podría llamarlo amigo, pero me conoce mejor que mi mejor amigo. Supongo que actúa como un amigo.

A veces se va, no sé adónde va, lo máximo que se fuí han sido cuatro semanas. Se niega a decirme adónde ha ido, no por alguna razón críptica como "nunca lo entenderías" o "no tengo permision a decírtelo". No, porque aparentemente "lo averiguaré algún día". Otra vez, es un poco imbécil, así que le divierte ocultármelo.

A menudo me cuenta cosas, cosas que solo él sabría si son ciertas o no... Supongo. Una vez, después de irse, durante unos tres días, me dijo que yo me iba al infierno y él al cielo. No sé si eso es verdad, y además, nunca me dijera si es la verdad. Cuando me dice esas cosas se ríe, se ríe como si acabara de oír el chiste más gracioso de la historia del mundo, así que nunca puedo saber si es sincero.

Ya han pasado unos diez años desde aquel día en que murió la mitad de mi alma. Siempre me ha resultado extraño que creciera conmigo, murió cuando yo tenía siete años, así que no entiendo por qué parece un adolescente... ¿Pensaba que los fantasmas no podían envejecer? Pues, en cualquier caso, no me importa... ¿Por dónde empezaría a buscar una respuesta?

Hoy me tenía un poco preocupado. En lugar de despertándome a el flotando por encima de mí... ah, olvidaba mencionar eso, el puede flotar en el aire. al principio podía flotar a una altura máxima de cinco pulgadas, pero ha mejorado y ahora puede flotar hasta veinte pies. De todos modos, volvamos a lo que estaba hablando.

Me desperté y en vez de ver su cara de satisfacción riéndose de mí, o de despertarme con algún insulto ingenioso, estaba tirado en el suelo. Me levanté de la cama y le pregunté qué estaba haciendo. Parecía tan cansado, tan agotado, como sólo quisiera dormir, mi madre es enfermera, así que conozco bien ese rostro. No dijo nada durante un buen minuto y, cuando habló, lo único que dijo fue, "Ya no quiero estar aquí... ¿por qué ya no te mueres?" Le pedí que me aclarara de qué estaba hablando, pero no quiso hablar, solo me miró de reojo.

Escuché un toque a mi puerta, era mi padre diciéndome que bajara a desayunar. Antes de salir de mi habitación, me quedo un rato con mi otra mitad. Nunca le ha visto así y me preocupa. No hace nada, solo mira el techo. Oigo a mi padre llamarme por mi nombre, esta vez un poco más insistente, así que sé que tengo que bajar ya... Impaciente viejo.

Después de un buen desayuno, volví arriba para ver qué estaba haciendo mi otra mitad, pero seguía en el suelo y no hablé. Pasó el resto del día en el suelo, sin mover un músculo... ¿Técnicamente tiene músculos?

Entonces, a las 11:40, se levantó, me miró y, con los ojos más cansados y una voz que ocultaba rabia, me dijo, "Podríamos estar en paz, pero tú tenías que ser terco y vivir". Antes de que pudiera decir algo o preguntarle de qué carajos estaba hablando, se fue. Atravesó mi cama, atravesó el vidrio de mi ventana y se fue flotando en el cielo nocturno. No sé cuándo volverá, pero estoy muy preocupada por él.

[xoluvx]

mirrorball; t.holland

» pairing: tom holland x reader » song: mirrorball » word count: 1.1K

If you asked Tom what it was about this stranger that was making him laugh harder than he'd ever laughed in the past few months, he wouldn't know what to tell you.

Maybe it was the comforting feeling that radiated from you every time you smiled. Or the way you tossed your head back laughing like he'd just told the funniest joke you'd ever heard.

The two of you sat near the back of the crowded bar. He was leaning his elbow on the small table as you leaned your arm on the same table only a few inches away from his.

It'd been fate. Him bumping into you.

Yeah, he'd pretty much ruined your favorite shirt. Stained by the sticky glass of beer he'd been carrying and your own drink half poured on yourself. Instead of freaking out, you'd just stood there in shock. More overwhelmed by the cold liquid seeping through your shirt.

Now that you sat in front of him, the stain was like a perfectly created work of art marking your acquaintance, which quickly turned in the two of you laughing and acting like you were long time friends.

"I don't usually do this," he admitted leaning closer. Close enough for you to hear him clearly over the roaring music. The comment caught you off guard like what the two of you were doing was something out of the ordinary.

But, for him, it was out of the ordinary.

It wasn't every day that Tom Holland went to a bar and met a girl he instantly connected with. It was totally of him to spill his drink on said girl, but apart from being embarrassed, he wouldn't have taken the time to really get to know you. Because in many cases, he probably wouldn't ever see you again.

"I almost forgot you were the Tom Holland," you emphasized the last words as a small smile plastered across your face. You heard him half chuckle, half scoff. He didn't feel like the Tom Holland.

"Do you want to get out of here?" you said, the smile on your face spreading wider. Tom's eyes shone as a small set of wrinkles formed around the corners of his eyes.

"Okay," he breathed pulling out his phone quickly. He was texting someone. "Just have to let my mates know I'm leaving," he slid the phone back into the pocket of his jeans. You hopped off the stool leaving your empty glass on the table.

You led the way out, Tom close behind. You could feel him tracing your tracks. The bodies on the dance floor knocked into you and Tom quickly held your arm preventing them from knocking you all the way down. The gesture was instinctive. Natural.

When you finally felt the cold air hit your face, you breathed a sigh of relief.

"Where do you want to go?" you almost whispered looking at the fairly empty streets.

"Where can we go this late?" he asked chuckling while placing his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

You had to remind yourself you were two strangers, one who could be recognized anywhere he went. You started walking backwards waving at him to follow you.

"What is this?" he asked as you came to a stop.

"I know you're famous, but you've never seen a gas station store?" you asked furrowing your brows. You giggled shaking your head, hoping he'd understand you were joking.

"I meant what are we doing here?" he followed as you opened the door walking into the empty store bright with fluorescent lighting. Walking to the fridge with the ice-cream, you pulled out two ice-cream bars.

Tom followed you like a lost puppy until you were outside unwrapping the ice-cream handing one to him. He stared at it like he'd never seen an ice-cream bar before. "You can eat it," you said taking a bit out of yours.

"That's probably not good for your teeth," he said licking his.

Shrugging, you smiled cheekily before leading him down the street. "Where to now?" he asked. You watched him struggle as he licked the ice-cream bar which was quickly melting in his hand.

"I just like to walk," you said slowing your pace so you were walking side to side. His shoulder brushed against yours as you bit into your ice-cream bar. You eyes were set on watching the group of people walking a few feet in front of you, you didn't notice Tom was looking at you.

He watched the way you savored your ice-cream. He wondered what was going on in your head. Wondering how you could walk with certainty and with no plan. Something he always had figured out for him. Plans.

Then he stopped abruptly, cursing under his breath. Turning to him you saw some of his ice-cream decorating his own shirt.

"If you bit into it, you wouldn't have that problem." A soft laugh escaped your body as you watched him wipe the shirt with his fingers.

The two of you stood with your stained shirts and the traces of a spontaneous night. A night that neither of you wanted to be over.

"Thank you," Tom's voice was soft as he looked up from his shirt. The ice-cream had melted quickly and his fingers were a sticky mess. Furrowing your brows with a sheepish smile, you shrugged. Was he being sarcastic? You couldn't tell.

"I'm sorry," you almost whispered feeling like you'd somehow gotten in trouble.

"No, I mean thank you for this. This is the most fun I've had in a long time," he exclaimed as the two of you walked to a trash can nearby. to discard the popsicle sticks.

"Despite ruining your shirt? Which might be most expensive than anything I own," you joked watching the stain that'd only gotten worse after he tried to clean it off with his fingers. Tom chuckled and that sound made your heart warm. It was genuine.

"I ruined yours first," he shrugged as you smiled looking down at the stain on your own shirt.

When you looked up his eyes were fixed on yours. Even in the dim light of the night, you could see his eyes shinning as a small smile spread across his lips. The warm feeling in your heart spreading up to your cheeks.

"Where to now?" he asked as he stretched out his arm. His fingers were spread inviting yours to lock in the crevices. Confidently, you intertwined your fingers with his, strutting into the night not really knowing where the night was taking you, but not really caring.

folklore masterlist

[elusive---ivory]

Circus Act - 15

Y'all ALREADY KNOW!!!!! PART 15!!!

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15

Sandy couldn't help but feel a slight pain in her chest. Perhaps, second-guessing herself and her relationship with Arthur. The fact that see could see a different person in Arthur's eyes gave her chills. Of course, she adored him. Arthur was all she had.

She bit her lip, unlocking her apartment door. To her surprise, Des was already in the apartment, sitting on the couch.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sandy sneered. She see a reason for Des to even be here.

"Sandy. I was wondering where you were. I've been expecting your apology for quite some time now." Des's smile was so smug, it was unbelievable.

"I don't have shit to say to you." Sandy hissed, throwing her car keys on the kitchen counter.

"Come on. It was one time, besides you've obviously moved on. Kinda, geez, you've downgraded." Des commented, looking at a picture of Sandy and Arthur. She continued, "I understand that the gala was a disaster. I mean, how else would I expect you to act. You're insane, Sandy."

Sandy couldn't stand more of this. Des was so snarky, so fucking rude. She grabbed a small knife and hid it behind her back.

"I had to protect him, Sandy. I was sure that you of all people would understand, but clearly you don't." Des huffed. "But, I tried. I tried to be apart of your life. Dennis was way out of your league anyway. I don't get it."

"You're right." Sandy said, blankly. "I didn't need Dennis."

"That's right. See? You're getting it." Des smiled, walking into the kitchen.

"Yeah, I am. You were right all along, Des. I can't believe I didn't see it sooner." Sandy smiled, pulling Des into a tight hug.

Des smiled nervously, trying to push Sandy away. "Yeah? So you forgive me?"

"Yeah, I forgive you, Des." Sandy proceeded to stab Des in the back with the knife. Des slowly felt to the ground with an emotionless shock on her face. Sandy continued stabbing the already deceased woman that laid there on her kitchen floor.

The blood stained her dress as Sandy looked at herself in the mirror. Her glasses laid in front of her, broken. She had accidentally threw them off her face.

Sandy started to laugh. Why was she laughing? She had just murdered someone that had been so close to her for years. Sandy didn't know either.

But, she felt happy. Like a weight was lifted off her shoulders.

She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. 'Who am I?' Sandy thought to herself. She smiled to herself. She knew exactly who she was.

She stepped into the shower, feeling all the blood drip down her skin.

She then remembered. The Murray Franklin show. Sandy raced to her bedroom and turned on the television.

Arthur sat in the backstage dressing in full suit and makeup, chuckling to himself of the chaos that was displayed on the news.

He knew he caused it. He caused all of it. Arthur inhaled the smoke from his cigarette, as a gentle tear fell, dripping from the blue triangle that was painted just below his eye.

'You look ravishing.' Sandy told him in his head. He imagined her right next to him, and knowing she'd be watching him on television made him feel proud. This made him smile.

He imagined Sandy's hands on his suit, gazing up at him with her big eyes. He sat in a red chair next to a mirror, with writing in lipstick, saying "PUT ON A HAPPY FACE".

Murray Franklin then walked onto Arthur's dressing room.

"Murray." Arthur gasped. It was all unreal to him.

"Hey, it's Mr. Franklin to you, pal." Murray's manager said, rudely.

"Come on, Gene. That's all bullshit." Murray said, brushing him off.

"Thank you, Murray. I feel like I know you. I've been watching your show forever." Arthur said, remaining his composure.

"Thank you," Murray said, "So, what's with the make up? Are you part of the protest?"

"Oh no, Murray," Arthur shook his head, "I don't believe in that. I don't believe in anything."

"I just thought it would be good for my act." Arthur smiled.

"For your act? Didn't you hear? Some clown got killed-" Gene was cut off by Murray, brushing him off again.

"He's heard." Murray said.

"No, I haven't heard." Arthur intervened.

Gene sighed, frustrated. "This is what I'm telling you. The audience is gonna go crazy if you put this guy onstage. This good for a bit, but not a whole segment."

"Gene, it's gonna work. It's gonna work." Murray reassured.

Arthur started feeling gitty. "Thank you, Murray." He said, chuckling a bit.

"Got a few rules though. No cursing, no off-color material." Murray said, just before leaving the room. "Good luck."

"Wait, Murray. One small thing?" Arthur stopped him. "When you bring me out, could you introduce me as Joker?"

"Why not just use your real name?" Gene commented.

"That's what you called me on the show. A joker." Arthur said, ignoring Gene. "You remember?"

Murray looked confused for a second, turning towards Gene. "Did I?"

Gene shrugged. "I don't know."

"Well, if you say so, kid. Joker it is. I like it. It's good." Murray said, walking out the dressing room door.

Arthur smiled. "Thanks, Murray."

Once everyone left, Arthur was alone with himself. The excitement and build up in him grew. He took out a small box from out of his pocket.

A small ring sat in the velvet cushion. He smirked at it. Arthur put the small box away. He leaned back in the chair, taking out his pistol. The tip touched the bottom of his chin. Arthur felt at peace for just one moment.

It was time for Arthur to go onstage. He stood just behind the curtains, hearing the audience laugh at him. Arthur stared intently at the small crease of light, peering through the blue and gold curtains. Time seemed frozen. Everything seemed still. There seemed to be no one besides him and his cigarette.

Then, the music began to start.

Back in her apartment, Sandy was growing impatient for Arthur to show. She sat through each commercial, waiting for his segment.

Sandy sat on her bed intently staring at the television, with a cigarette lit in her shaking hand. Blood was trailed down the hall and into her bedroom. She had to get rid of Des somehow. Why not stuff her in the closet? That's where she belonged, right? Sandy's little joke made her giggle.

Beside her was one of the many clown masks the protesters were handing out. She took a drag of the cigarette.

Arthur's segment began. Sandy glared at the people who laughed at him.

It made her furious. She held onto the cigarette tightly, nearly breaking it.

"So, you might've seen that clip of our next guest. Now, before he comes out, I just wanted to say that we're all heartbroken about what's going on in the city tonight, but this is how he wanted to come out. I honestly believe we could all use a good laugh. So, please welcome Joker." Murray announced.

Sandy's eyes brighten as Arthur was introduced onstage. She smiled widely, seeing him twirl around onstage. She was greatly shocked, when Arthur kissed Dr. Sally. Sandy smirked. 'That son of a bitch.' She thought.

She burned out her cigarette, and continued to pay attention to the show.

"Are you alright, Doctor?" Murray said, on the television.

Arthur was mesmerized by the florescent lights, the audience and the stage. It was almost exactly perfect.

Murray raised an eyebrow. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah", Arthur nodded, "this is exactly how I imagined it."

"Well, that makes one of us." Murray shrugged.

The audience roared and applauded.

"So, can you tell us about this look?" Murray asked. "When we talked earlier, you mentioned that this look was not a political statement."

"That's right, Murray. I'm not political." Arthur chuckled. "I'm just trying to make people laugh." He said, in somewhat funny voice.

The audience stayed silent.

"And how that going for ya?" Murray commented.

And, of course, the audience laughed.

Arthur laughed, mocking the audience.

"So, do you got anyone watching here tonight? Any family members?" Murray asked.

Arthur stated quit for a second, still smiling. "I don't have anyone. Just my Sandy. Hi, honey." Arthur waved at the camera.

The audience awed, slightly.

"How do does Sandy feel about your career in comedy?" Murray asked.

"She loves it. She says I'm the funniest guy in Gotham." Arthur flaunted.

Murray laughed. "Okay."

The audience began to roar again.

Arthur began to look fed up.

"Well, surely, you have a joke for us tonight." Murray suggested.

The audience began applauding.

"Yeah?" Arthur chuckled. "Okay." He got out his journal.

Murray began to laugh at it. "He's got a book. A book of jokes."

Arthur stared at the page silently. The air seemed still.

While Sandy was watching, she could feel his discomfort. She wanted to hold Arthur in her arms, but he was all the way in downtown Gotham.

She grew furious.

"Take your time, you've got all night." Murray commented.

Arthur smirked. "Okay, I've got one. Knock, knock."

"And you had to look that up." Murray laughed.

The audience continued to laugh and praise Murray for his jokes.

"I wanna get it right." Arthur said, softly. "Knock, knock." He repeated.

"Who's there?" Murray replied.

Arthur began chuckling, slightly. "It's the police, ma'am. Your son's been hit by a drunk driver. He's dead."

The audience booed him.

"No, no, no. We don't joke about that." Dr. Sally scolded.

Sandy glared at the television, gritting her teeth. Her hands were balled into fists.

"Yeah, that's not funny, Arthur. That's not the kind of humor we do on this show." Murray said.

Arthur giggled nervously. "Yeah, I'm sorry. It just. It's been a rough couple of weeks, Murray."

"Ever since I," Arthur paused for a second, staring at the camera, "ever since I killed those three Wallstreet guys."

The audience gasped, and whispers scattered across the floor.

"Okay, I'm waiting for the punchline." Murray said.

"There is no punchline. It's not a joke." Arthur confessed.

The audience gasps grew louder, along with a few people telling him to get off the stage.

Sandy's anger shifted. 'What the hell is he doing?' Sandy thought to herself.

"You're serious aren't you? You're saying you killed those three young men?" Murray asked.

"Mmhmm." Arthur mumbled, confirming it to be true.

"And why should we believe you?" Murray asked, again.

"I've got nothing left to lose. Nothing can hurt me anymore." Arthur said, blankly.

'Nothing?' Sandy thought. She felt the anxiety build up in her chest.

Arthur began to chuckle. "My life is nothing, but a comedy."

The audience booed some more.

"So let me get this straight. You think that killing those guys is funny?" Murray asked, in shock.

"I do, and I'm tired of pretending it's not. Comedy is subjective, Murray, isn't that what they say? All of you, the system that knows so much, you decide what's right or wrong. Just like how you decide what's funny, or not." Arthur said.

Murray looked at him confused. "I think I might understand that you did this to start a movement. To become a symbol?"

"Come on, Murray. Do I look like the kind of clown to start a movement?" Arthur turned towards the audience. "I killed those guys because they were awful. Dennis was awful. Everybody is awful these days. It's enough to make anyone crazy." Arthur said, glaring at the audience.

"So, your crazy? That's your excuse for killing three young men?" Murray began getting upset.

"No. They couldn't carry a tune to save their lives." Arthur laughed.

Sandy couldn't see Arthur, anymore. The man onstage was someone new. Someone she had met. A charming devil in a red suit. She had to do something.

The audience booed Arthur some more.

He groaned. "Ugh, why is everybody so upset about these guys? If it was me dying on the sidewalk, you'd walk all over me. I pass you every day, and you don't notice me, but these guys, because Thomas Wayne, cried about them on tv."

"So, you have a problem with Thomas Wayne?" Murray questioned.

"Yes, I do. Have you seen what it's like out there, Murray? Do you ever leave the studio? Everybody just YELLS and SCREAMS at each other. Nobody's CIVIL ANYMORE. Nobody thinks what it's like to be the other guy. You think men like Thomas Wayne, ever think about what it's like to be a guy like me? To be somebody, but themselves. They DON'T. They think that we'll just sit HERE and TAKE IT, like good little boys, and we WON'T WEREWOLF, and GO WILD."

Through the television screen Sandy could feel Arthur choking back tears. She placed her hand over her mouth. She bit it, just slightly, so that she couldn't cry.

"Are you finished?" Murray cut Arthur off. "There's so much self pity, Arthur. Not everyone, and I'll say this, not everyone is awful. This Sandy, you were saying earlier. Surely, she's not awful."

Arthur glared at Murray. "You're awful, Murray."

"Me, I'm awful? How am I awful?" Murray said, defensive.

"Playing my video. Inviting me on the show. You just wanted to make fun of me." Arthur said. His voice was low, like the rage seeping in his eyes.

"You're just like the rest of them." Arthur continued.

"You don't know the first thing about me, pal. Look at what you did. What it lead to. There are riots out there. Two policemen are in critical condition because of what you did. And you're laughing." Murray said.

Arthur began laughing. "I know. How about another joke, Murray?"

"No, I think we've had enough of your jokes." Murray turned over to his manager, Gene, telling him to call the police.

"What do you get when you cross a mental ill loner with a society that ABANDONS him and treats him like TRASH? I'LL TELL YOU WHAT YOU GET. YOU GET WHAT YOU FUCKING DESERVE." Arthur blinked as he shot Murray Franklin in the head.

The audience began screaming, and running out of the studio.

Sandy gasped, collapsing to the ground. What she had witnessed was the beginning of something much larger than her and Arthur.

Taglist: @princessgeekface, @jokerflecker, @gloomyladyy, @memory-mortis, @joker-flecked-me, @mr--clown

[angel-alvez]

valentine’s day detective ( p. parker )

prompt: you go full on detective to figure out who left a rose for you

word count: 1238

Every year on the fourteenth of February, at least one of your classes would be interrupted by somebody strolling through your classroom and handing out different colored roses to unexpecting teenagers in your class. You dreaded the day solely because while others received pink and purple flowers, you often were given the blue ones. Sure, the flowers were sentimental and an adorable idea, but the colors: not so much.  The pink symbolized love, the purple was secret admiration and blue was friendship. It seemed to single people out too much - but it was Valentine's Day, so it was somewhat bearable.

Your biology class was finally beginning a movie that took out at least a day's worth of class, which meant that the class finally got to relax after taking a rather large abundance of notes and quizzes. The science class was actually the only class you looked forward to. Michelle, Ned, and Peter all joined you in the class, which meant that there was never a dull day.

Halfway through the class, your teacher paused the movie. Numerous annoyed groans echoed throughout the room, not wanting to have another discussion about how the most common macromolecules in biochemistry are biopolymers and large non-polymeric molecules - whatever that meant.

However, a few cheers rang about when the familiar bundle of flowers entered through the door. You mentally prepared yourself for the regular blue flower. Of course, you thanked Michelle for the flower, giving her a hug as soon as she received hers from you.

"You're the best, MJ." You smiled.

"Thank you, for both the flower and compliment. Also, it looks like you have a secret admirer!" MJ exclaimed, nudging your shoulder.

A bright smile tugged at the corners of your mouth when you noticed the purple flower laying on the lab table in front of you. It was surprising to see your name written across the tag but confused as to whom it came from. The little logo from the school's decathlon team was scribbled at the corner, giving you a narrowed down list of the potential senders.

"Looks like I'm turning into a detective today."

〔✿〕

Pouring yourself a glass of freshly made lemonade, you sat down at the kitchen counter. The flower was laid right in front of you, along with a copy of the decathlon team's signatures. It was easy to gain access to it, considering that you were a part of the group. The easy part was now over, and the investigator's part was about to begin. You already were aware that you were taking this whole thing over the top, but wondering about your admirer's identity was taking over all your attention.

Just as you were about to begin comparing the handwriting, a knock on your apartment door scared you half-to-death. Looking at the clock, you realized that your parents weren't due home for another two hours, so it couldn't have possible been them. Trotting over to the door, you stood on the tips of your toes to look through the peephole. Another smile spread on your face as you unlocked and opened up the door to reveal an unexpected guest.

"Peter! What're you doing here? I thought you had that internship thing!"

He carefully set his backpack on the floor, shutting the door behind him. "You really think I'd let my best friend search for her admirer alone?"

You shrugged. Although Peter was overly nice to everyone he happened to cross paths with, you never expected him to show up at your door and help you with your mediocre investigation. Despite your curiosity, any help was better than no help at all.

"Riiiight," You dragged out the only syllable before leading him to your little setup. "Anyways, I haven't even started and I could really get all the help I can get."

Peter nodded his head as he set his chemistry notebook on the tabletop. You furrowed your eyebrows, unsure of how he would use his science book to help you discover your admirer. Deciding not to question it, you took a bite of the strawberry Pop-Tart that you had taken out earlier. Your eyes awkwardly roamed around your home, silence being a highly unusual thing during your classic y/l/n-parker hangouts.

The poor boy had no idea what to do, considering that he was the one who had sent you the flower - quite obviously. He tried giving as many hints throughout the day as he could, but you never caught on.

While Peter had been caught up in his own thoughts, you had taken a moment to admire the doodles on his notebook cover when a certain decathlon team drawing caught your eye. Deciding to compare it to the one on the flower's tag, realization had set in that it was practically exact. Upon your new discovery, you almost choked on your Pop-Tart - and your little coughing fit scared Peter in the slightest bit. When you were able to speak again, you questioned him.

"You sent me the rose?" You stammered.

"Guilty as charged."

Peter wasn't sure what was happening, but his heart was beating a million miles an hour. He had basically just admitted his feelings to you and, so far, he was getting no reaction whatsoever. Apart of him was worried that you didn't feel the same way, but the other half recalled the times you laughed at his stupid science jokes and how he often caught you looking at him with a glimmer in your eyes.

"I-uh... why?" You finally allowed your eyes to meet his.

Peter furrowed his eyebrows. "Why? Because, y/n you're the sweetest, funniest, most adorable person I have ever met. How could anyone not like you? What I'm trying to say is that I've liked you since the day we first met."

"That was the day that you helped me with my family's boxes and I repaid you with Pop-Tarts," you laughed.

"y/n, it's totally fine to say that you don't reciprocate my feelings, you know that right?"

"Yeah. But honestly, I really do like you, Parker. Of course your confession is way more sentimental - but I do."

Peter breathed out. "Oh thank God! I was so afraid that you would reject me!"

By now, the two of you were on your feet, smiles on both of your faces. Wrapping your arms around his torso, the brown eyes that you had grown to love were now looking back at you. The two of you were best friends for what felt like forever, making embracing each other fairly normal - but this time just felt different. Your feelings were out on the table, and smiles illuminated the room.

Peter carefully placed a hand on the side of your face, indirectly asking if he could finally kiss you. Nodding your head, he hesitantly leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in the most delicate way possible. The kiss was short and simple, but it made your smiles shine as bright as the stars.

"Now... how about we eat a bunch of Pop-Tarts and watch a marathon of The Office?"