#this is just for when i do draw them and. hopefully make a tiny comic or storyboarding shit eventually.

[reallilystuff]

[wolff-cub]

Last Laugh

a Landoscar stand-up comedy AU

“Okay, so, let me get this straight. You think I’m unfunny. You think I don’t deserve a spot on that stage. You hate me.” ��Yes. Exactly. Glad it’s finally gotten through that thick skull of yours.” Oscar just fixes his big, impassive brown eyes on Lando. “You hate me, and yet you’re always in that same little corner seat in the back of the pub when I’m onstage... watching a set you hate.”

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As the most successful comedian on the Fringe Rising showcase lineup, Lando believes he should have been given the show's prestigious final billing slot. Over the course of the festival, his resentment for the amateur Australian comedian who's stolen his spot grows... into something else altogether.

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Special thanks to @jadesaturn for beta-reading and @afriques for the lovely banner!!

Read on AO3 or below the cut:

“Papaya!”

Onstage, the spotlights shine almost directly into his eyes as Lando springs upwards like a demented jack-in-the-box, popping forth on one leg, arms swinging around wildly. A split second later, he stops abruptly in the middle of the stage, directing an unimpressed look into the inky blackness beyond the stage.

“Okay, but really. Have any of you even had a papaya? That’s right. It’s a shit fruit. It has none of the zest, the fun, that its name implies. Who even named it? What the fuck were they thinking?!”

As his tone borders on hysterics, laughter washes over him like a warm blanket, sent his way from the shadowed masses before him. Keeping his energy up like this, even as his set draws to a close, is never easy — but so worth the laughs. The spotlights shining into his eyes are so bright that the crowd is nothing more than a series of imposing, faceless silhouettes. 

But Lando doesn’t need to see his audience to connect with them. If performing a comedy set is like screaming into the void, well… Lando has always been capable of drawing laughter from within the void.

“Yet here I was, sipping from a glass of papaya juice so good that I thought I’d tasted heaven. One sip was all it took… to move me to tears.” Here, his voice grows theatrical, and he begins feigning an almost clownish kind of sadness. His fingers tremble as he mimes a comically small sip from the world’s tiniest teacup. Somewhere in the audience, someone cackles so loudly that their voice cracks.

“Thank you.” Lando can’t help but grin back in the face of such open adulation, which only garners him even more cheers. “Anyway, I’ve changed a lot since then. I discovered therapy, for one. And antidepressants. The lows? No longer as low. The highs? No longer juice-related.”

Cheers. Whistles. Laughter. Oh, how he loves the sound of it.

“That’s right, folks! It’s only going uphill from here! I’m taking my life and making it papaya!”

“Papaya!” someone in the crowd shouts back.

Lando doesn’t miss a beat, turning that tiny bit of reciprocity into a full-on chant, clapping his hands over his head in time with the beat. The crowd roars back at him without needing much encouragement at all. Their silhouettes sway back and forth in time. “Papaya, papaya!”, and the abyss laughs, and laughs, and laughs right back at him.

“Thank you so much, everybody! I have been Lando Norris, and you… oh, you have been such a great crowd!” Lando crows, even as the crowd keeps up its chant for him. Not even his clumsy attempts to affix the mic back to its stand — the customary sign that his comedy set is about to end — discourages them from continuing to bid him farewell. “I’ll be here doing Fringe Rising every Tuesday and Thursday, along with a solo show during the festival, every other day of the week! Hopefully, I’ll see some of you there, but until then, that’s my time! And—you’vebeensuchagreataudiencethankyoubye!”

The grin that spreads across Lando’s face as he rushes offstage is so wide, it makes his cheeks hurt. The crowd’s sustained clapping is so buoyant for his spirits that he might as well be floating down the stage steps, a cartoon character drifting through the air on a cloud of his own high. He’d had no doubts about the success of his set tonight — he is, after all, the biggest name on the lineup. But god, does it feel good to bask in an audience’s adoration. 

Lando almost wishes he could run back onstage again, arms outstretched, and drink it all in. He is, after all, none other than Bristol’s boy king of comedy, whose career went stratospheric after two years of pain, self-doubt, and tireless honing of his craft through it all. He’s worked hard for everything he has to his name — the slot on this prestigious, curated showcase at the Edinburgh Fringe, the sold-out solo shows running all month long, the appearances on primetime comedy television, and even the Netflix comedy special in the works. Every clap, every cheer, has been earned. After so long, Lando is finally — finally! — reaping what he’s sown.

It isn’t exactly going uphill from here. As far as Lando is concerned, he’s already at the top.

Lando’s eyes adjust to the relative darkness of the venue in time to give the MC a customary high-five and backslap, as tradition calls for. Every comedian gets a high-five no matter how their set goes — a congratulations if the set goes well, or a commiseration if it’s bombed. Of course, Lando hasn’t had any of the latter in a while. Failure is something he no longer remembers the taste of. And with how hard he’s been working… surely, that’s just what he deserves.

“Whoa! Wow, wow, wow! You guys!”

Onstage, Alex Albon — part-time comedian, full-time zookeeper, all-around good guy, and tonight’s MC — has to shout into the mic over the rapturous applause, still going after Lando’s set. “Oh my goodness! I would tell you to give it up one more time for Lando Norris, but you guys clearly got the memo already!”

Lando’s smug grin remains even as he weaves past the front-of-stage seating, beelining towards a swarthy, dark-haired man nursing a beer alone at the back of the venue. He parks himself smoothly on an adjacent bar stool and gratefully fist-bumps his old friend, his grin not fading as Alex continues to sing his praises onstage.

“Oy, cabrón! You fucking killed it up there!”

“Aw, thanks, Carlos. It was nothing.”

“Oh no, Lanno. You cannot be doing this false modesty thing all the time. You know you did well, so… take the compliment, eh? Most of these people are probably here because it’s the only way they’ll get to see you. Your solo show sold out so fast!”

Lando smirks at the sound of his longtime comedy compatriot’s signature mispronunciation of his name, courtesy of the strong Spanish accent that makes him so popular with crowds. “No way, mate. You got plenty of cheers before your set even started, and you’ve been doing this comedy thing for much longer than I have. All the Fringe veterans are probably here to see you, all the way over from España.”

“Ah, but I am not the one who has been on Taskmaster in two countries. I don’t even want to do this full-time. If a genie came to me and asked me, ‘Carlos, would you rather have your own Netflix special, or improve your golf handicap by two?’ I would take the handicap.”

“But I still think you should reconsider that way of thinking. If I’ve made it to where I am today, you’d make it farther in half the time. Your comedy is genius, Carlos. You deserve a sold-out solo run and a Netflix special as much as I do!”

Carlos just shakes his head. “Sometimes it’s not about what we deserve, cabrón. It’s about what we want, and what we do to get it.”

Lando is about to argue, but Carlos shushes him so dismissively that he sits back in his seat like a told-off child. Onstage, Alex’s speech is approaching a crescendo, and Carlos has always been the type to show fellow performers as much decorum as possible.

“Anyway, thank you all so much for being here tonight at Fringe Rising! You’ve made it such a great opening night for me and our amazing line-up here, and we all appreciate you taking the time to come out and see our little showcase. Please, put your hands together one more time for our wonderful comedians from far and wide — Charles Leclerc from Monaco! Carlos Sainz from Spain! And Britain’s very own, Lando Norris!”

Lando’s grin reappears as the cheers wash over him, while Carlos puts on a demure smile, ducking his head down behind his beer bottle jokingly.

“Where is Charles, anyway?” asks Lando, suddenly realising that the showcase’s usual opener is absent. “Doesn’t he know you aren’t really supposed to leave before everyone’s done with their sets?”

Carlos shakes his head. “Don’t be so harsh on him, Lanno. He’s new, but he’s not stupid. He had to leave early to do that showcase that George Russell hosts every year.”

Lando has to stifle a snicker. “Charles is doing the comedy Powerpoint showcase?!”

“Ay, don’t look so surprised. He’s actually very funny if you give him a chance.”

Lando would beg to differ, but doesn’t want to argue with Carlos over the sound of Alex’s speech. At the risk of sounding petty and mean, Charles is still a rookie comedian, and all his sets that Lando has seen have been unpolished at best and amateurish at worst. Lando can tell that Charles cruises through his sets; that he doesn’t workshop his material and probably doesn’t even know how to. And Lando would definitely never say this out loud, but deep down he suspects that Charles had only landed this Fringe Rising spot (and plenty of other comedy club slots) only because he might be the hottest man to ever attempt a career in stand-up comedy.

But, that also explains why Charles is a rookie, and why Lando is within grasp of the top rung of the stand-up comedy ladder. Nobody works for this quite as hard as him. Nobody deserves this like he does.

The crowd soon falls into hushed whispers as the cheers for past performers gradually dies down. Onstage, Alex quickly segues into the next bit of his speech before any more stray cheers add even more time onto their already overtime showcase.

“We’ve got one more set for you tonight,” says Alex, “and boy, am I excited to introduce him. Now, this next act is like the ghost of international stand-up comedy. Almost nobody’s seen him perform… and yet everyone’s talking about him! This man is so very difficult to pin down, mark my words — but we’ve managed to wrangle him to the Fringe Rising stage, all the way from Australia, for what might be one of the rarest and most hype-worthy performances at this fest. Let’s get the energy back up in here, guys! Please give it up for… Oscar Piastri!”

Carlos leans in towards Lando. “Oh, I’m interested to see this guy. Some people are saying he’s only done five shows total, and nobody can stop talking about him.”

Five shows total? Is he fucking serious?!

Lando’s fist clenches involuntarily. Just like at concerts and festivals, the last set in a showcase is always awarded to the most prestigious performer on the lineup. When he’d gotten the email that he would be performing second-last in the night, Lando had presumed that Alex had somehow managed to land a real big hitter — one of the rare few comedians who sold out arena tours and ran their own TV shows. 

But this is who they’d given the final billing to instead of him? A complete fucking amateur?!

“You’d think the show closer should be someone more… accomplished,” Lando starts, only to get shushed by Carlos again as Alex ducks offstage and the lights dim once more.

The filler music fades, and a lone figure clad in a hoodie, cargo shorts, and Birkenstocks — no mean feat for Edinburgh weather — walks slowly onstage, lifting a hand in front of his eyes to fend off the harsh spotlights. His short brown hair is accentuated by a long, floppy wave of a fringe that falls into his eyes carelessly, making his boyish face look even younger than he already is.

“Whoa,” says the newcomer, his voice slow and languid with a stereotypical Australian drawl. “Pretty bright up here, hey?”

A few people in the crowd start chuckling. Lando’s brow furrows. What the hell is going on? The man hasn’t even said anything actually funny?!

“Anyway, how’re ya doing tonight, Edinburgh? My name’s Oscar, and… well, apparently I’m here to do some comedy. But I’m not quite sure how this whole comedy thing works in these parts — I’ve come all the way from Australia, and, well, you know. We do everything upside down there. So, uh, you’re gonna have to be pretty patient with me, alright? Cause I’m, uh… not actually supposed to be here.”

He shoots the audience a conspiratorial look, and a rustle of both anticipation and uncertainty travels through the crowds. No laughs yet, though — and Lando secretly hopes that it remains that way for the rest of his set.

“So, I just moved up here from Melbourne,” continues Oscar, “and I don’t really know anyone here — no friends or family. But the other day, I had to go to the hospital, and the nurse… she took down my details, and what I was at the hospital for… and then she asked me for an emergency contact. And I told her, ‘Barbara, I don’t have an emergency contact in this country. I don’t know anyone here except… well, you. So maybe you could be my emergency contact.’ And Barbara just shakes her head and keeps saying, ‘No, I can’t be your emergency contact. You need to give me the name and phone number of someone in the United Kingdom that you trust.’”

Lando slumps over onto his crossed arms and lets out a yawn. Overly long buildup, lacklustre delivery… where is this even going?

“Now, I’m a little offended by this.” Oscar puts his hand over his heart, feigning shock. “I said, ‘Barbara! How could you imply that I don’t trust you?! You’re the only person in this country who knows my deepest, darkest secret, Barbara. You’re the only person in this country who knows I have haemorrhoids!

“I put my trust in you, Barbara, and this is how you treat me? By not wanting to be the emergency contact for someone who has been so vulnerable with you by telling you that he has haemorrhoids?!”

A few isolated laughs rise from the crowd. Oscar raises an eyebrow at the crowd, seemingly dissatisfied by the reception to this joke.

“Uh, hello?” A small smirk flashes across his face. “Did you guys get that? No? Ah, fuck.”

To Lando’s horror, this blatant request for more laughs gets Oscar exactly that. Full-bodied guffaws and a lone whoop rise from the crowd, as Oscar pulls a comically mortified expression. Lando scans the audience, tries to read into their body language from all he can see of their backs. Are they even watching the same set as he is?! Is this really what counts as comedy at the Fringe these days?

“Long story short, guys, Barbara didn’t want to be my emergency contact.” A chorus of ‘aww-s’ prompts Oscar to nod along, gratefully accepting the crowd’s pity. “Thank you, thank you. Anyway, now that I’ve also entrusted all of you with knowledge of my haemorrhoids… would anyone here like to be my emergency contact?”

Something in the room snaps as soon as Oscar’s joke comes full circle. Even though he’d forcibly torn open the floodgates himself, the crowd suddenly seems more than happy to grant him their approval. No sooner than he delivers his first punchline with a self-deprecating smirk, the audience starts shrieking, howling, with pure delight. 

Next to Lando, even Carlos is crowing with laughter; his wheezy chuckles reminiscent of a dying pterodactyl’s cries. Lando regards his friend with utter disbelief — but Carlos is too busy laughing; too enraptured by Oscar’s joke to even notice Lando’s disdain for the set.

“Wow,” Oscar remarks dryly, once the audience’s hysterics have calmed to a volume low enough for him to be heard once more. “You guys really liked that one, huh? Okay, noting that down.” 

He flashes a comically embarrassed look at the crowd, and a new wave of cackles escapes the audience. 

“Like I said, I’m not really supposed to be here. After leaving the hospital, I just Googled ‘things to do in Edinburgh that don’t involve sitting down.’ Aaaand… now I’m here. Doing stand-up.”

Lando rolls his eyes at the pun, feeling embattled as the crowd rewards this lowest form of humour with roars of laughter. He’s almost grateful that there isn’t a real scale for measuring how much a crowd is enjoying any given set. If that existed, he’d certainly want to compare his own metrics to Oscar… and he’s no longer confident that his results would knock the other comedian’s out of the park. 

For some unfathomable reason, the Australian doesn’t need to work for the house’s approval at all. He merely needs to ask them to laugh, and the crowd will acquiesce like clockwork.

Oscar leaves the stage to thunderous applause and cheers so deafening that it feels as if the walls might crumble any second. Carlos turns to Lando as the venue lights come up, grinning wider than the Cheshire Cat. Even as Lando is slumped over onto folded arms beside him, Carlos remains completely oblivious to his new pensive mood.

“Oi, Lanno, come on.” Carlos hoists himself off his bar stool, boisterously gesturing for Lando to do the same. “Let’s go to the green room and congratulate him. What a set for an almost-newcomer, huh?”

Lando shakes his head slowly. “You know, I actually don’t really feel so good. Might go back to the hotel and get an early night…don’t wanna risk having to cancel my show tomorrow.”

Distracted by his intent to head backstage, Carlos doesn’t see through his lame little lie. “Ah, okay. You push yourself too hard, Lanno! Five shows a week is crazy, even Charles isn’t doing that many. Get some rest, okay, cabrón? I’ll tell the new guy you said hi.”

“Yeah, sure,” replies Lando, even though the last thing he wants is for the new guy to think that he holds him in any kind of esteem.

Part of him wants Carlos — one of the only comedians in this room that he actually respects — to notice his frustration. To ask what’s wrong, and maybe abandon going backstage in favour of buying him a drink. But, just like all the flaws in his set; all the failures of comedy theory that Lando could so easily list if asked, his contempt for Oscar is both as imperceptible and irrelevant as his growing chagrin. 

Nobody notices… and nobody feels the same.

///

Over the next few days, Lando’s disdain for Oscar grows and festers like an untreated wound. His excitement for Fringe Rising before the start of the festival had been virtually unquenchable. Now, he thanks his lucky stars that he only has to do this showcase twice a week. Having to see Oscar any more than that would make him inclined to blow his brains out on stage. 

Every time he sees the floppy-haired Australian and his shit-eating smirk, he is reminded of just how unfair everything has become. Lando is only where he is today after shedding plenty of blood, sweat, and tears. He owes his success to the countless nights spent perfecting his sets, even when it meant pushing through sheer exhaustion accumulated over too many shifts at too many thankless part-time jobs. 

All that, and for what? To be ousted for final billing at a Fringe showcase by a no-name from the world’s most godforsaken continent, with a mere five shows under his belt? 

That just doesn’t seem right. Something’s gotta give.

But night after night, Oscar never bombs — never even comes close to bombing, because the audience always inexplicably becomes putty in his hands the moment he asks them to laugh at him. 

Lando never bombs either, but nobody seems to care that he doesn’t.

So Alex never offers Lando final billing, and Lando’s own opinion that this is a grave oversight never changes either. The Fringe soon becomes a kind of mental purgatory for him, with nights spent stewing in a cocktail of his own envy and rage. Day after day, the festival ticks by… but nothing ever changes. And Lando grows ever more resentful.

In an ideal world, his path would never cross Oscar’s, apart from the times they are forced to watch each other’s sets from the back of the venue in the name of artistic courtesy. But, as this entire experience has already shown him, the world he lives in is very far from ideal. 

In reality, their paths cross more times than he would like. In the dressing room backstage, where Oscar always sends a meek hello his way, and where Lando — without fail — doesn’t even acknowledge him before storming back out. At the venue bar — same thing. Lando even runs into Oscar at the grocery store, once. That pre-show snack run ends with him leaving Tesco empty-handed, after lying that he’s leaving and  in a big hurry, just to avoid any further conversation with him. 

Lando does his show hungry that night. His stomach starts hurting twenty minutes into his fifty-five-minute set — but at least the loud growl of his gastric pangs earns him an unexpected extra round of laughter from the audience.

Wednesday may be hump day, but Tuesday and Thursday are the real bookends to Lando’s shit sandwich of a week. Unlike Charles, Lando has nowhere to be — or even to pretend to be — during Oscar’s sets. So he always has to stay, to watch a set that never gets funnier than the last, delivered by a comedian who never grows more appealing, no matter how many times he’s forced to look at him.

And look at Oscar he does. Because what the fuck else is he supposed to when he’s a captive audience member for a set he can’t walk out of for fear of being cancelled by comedy Twitter? 

Soon enough, the Australian’s visage becomes one he can recall on command, every detail instantaneously available. The short, shiny, yet floppy brown hair. The long, rabbit-like front teeth hiding behind lips almost permanently curled into a lazy smile. The smattering of freckles and tiny moles all across his cheeks and neck. The deep brown eyes.

Sometimes, when he is alone at night, Lando summons all these details in his mind’s eye, painstakingly assembling as detailed a picture of Oscar as he can. Then he tacks it to a dartboard in his mind and fucking obliterates it.

The most infuriating part of all this? Despite how open Lando’s hostility is, Oscar doesn’t seem to notice… or care. Before every show, a hello. After every show, a wave goodbye, even though Lando scrambles out of his seat to leave the moment Oscar descends from the stage. 

Lando soon convinces himself of a secret third possibility — that Oscar has noticed, and does care, and is using their forced proximity as a reason to rub his omnipresence in Lando’s face. To terrorise Lando with his constant hellos and heys and painfully Australian okays. To ensure, simply speaking, that Lando will never know peace as long as the Fringe is running.

What’s worse is that, after barely any time at all, Oscar’s nefarious form of psychological warfare actually works. As Lando’s animosity towards the Australian grows, he begins to search for him wherever he goes, obsessed with fantasies of telling him exactly what he thinks of him. 

He searches for Oscar in the crowds at his solo shows, his eyes straining under the spotlight, desperate to catch sight of that floppy brown fringe somewhere in the seats. He even begins frequenting the Tesco Metro on snack runs more often than not, hoping that Oscar will be there for him to unleash the full power of the contempt in his heart, even if the Australian opens with his naive little hello.

But, as always, this is not an ideal world. Oscar never returns to the Tesco Metro. Lando never goes to the green room. Their paths remain as distant as they can, for two comedians working the same show.

And then, one night, Lando is offered redemption.

He spots Oscar in the crowd for his solo set immediately after he bounces onstage. The Australian’s placid brown eyes are fixed on him in the split second that Lando notices his presence — and, judging by the slow, relaxed smile that crawls onto his face, he knows he’s seen him. Lando’s smile freezes for a beat as he spots his nemesis. He fumbles to remove the mic from its stand, spending extra seconds clambering about as the audience waits for him to begin. 

So, Oscar has really done it. He really had the balls to show his face at the superior comedian’s set. Well, if he wants so desperately to get schooled in the art of real stand-up, who is Lando to deny him?

That night, the show is unequivocally the best solo set he’s ever put on in his entire life. Lando’s brand of comedy has always been fairly slapstick and energetic, but tonight he is something else altogether onstage. He’s a whirling dervish — jumping higher, acting harder — all to get the crowd laughing louder and louder to feed the hungry void of ambition within him. 

Not even halfway through the set, a few people in the front row are actually wheezing with exertion. The air positively sparkles with mirth, along with the glint of teary-eyed audience members, who are doubled over and crying with laughter. 

But Lando barely notices any of this. He’s performing for one audience member alone, eyes fixed on the dead centre of the room, tracking Oscar’s every reaction like a hawk. He sees when Oscar smiles, sees when he laughs, sees when he throws his head back and lets out a full-bellied guffaw right when Lando’s repertoire is meant to take the audience by surprise.

Do you see it now, Oscar? he wants to say. This is how comedy is meant to be done.

The crowd is electric when the lights come up. The buzz and rustle of their post-show discussion remains at a constant volume as his audience relives their favourite moments from the set amongst themselves. Only a few figures make their way to the exit almost immediately. The rest remain milling around the bar, or even in their seats — waiting for Lando to come around and mingle with the audience, all wanting a piece of him.

Lando spends the rest of the night working the crowd. Making small talk with new fans. Hugging old fans he recognises from back in the day. Taking pictures with Fringe grannies who have dedicated their twilight years to exploring the arts — and don’t they love a dashing young man who can make them laugh. 

He almost forgets about the unwelcome interloper in the audience altogether. But then the crowd thins out, the bar staff get ready to close the venue for the night, and Oscar appears in front of him once more — a fluffy-haired nightmare emerging from the pub’s gloomy atmosphere.

“Lando!” His name sounds foreign on the other man’s tongue; so unrecognisable that he wishes he would say it again, just so he can better get used to the sound of it. “Congrats, man. That was an amazing set. I’d heard a lot about you, but tonight completely blew me away. I never really knew comedy could be like this before.”

It takes all of Lando’s willpower not to let out an exultant scream directly into the Australian’s smug little face. He barely hears Oscar’s continued babbling over the imaginary crescendo of a million variations of his triumphal speech, all meticulously laid out in his vengeful fantasies. Now is his chance to put Oscarin his place. Now is the time to live out his dreams.

Oscar has stopped talking now, and just looks at him expectantly, as if Lando would care about anything he has to say. He reaches within himself; searches for the words that he’s rehearsed for so long.

And all he can say is a lame, muted, “Thanks.”

Lando can’t tell if it is disappointment or satisfaction that makes Oscar turn away. “Okay,” he says, in that same semi-ironic deadpan cadence he uses incessantly onstage — or is that just his voice? “I’ll leave you to it. Don’t want to take you away from your other fans. See you on Tuesday, mate.”

And then he turns away, waving over his shoulder as he disappears out the pub doors and into the night. Lando immediately turns to the next fan waiting to speak with him, but something about the night has inexplicably changed for the worse. His smile feels plastic, his enthusiasm more strained than genuine.

After leaving the bar, he finds himself looking around the doors, half-expecting Oscar to emerge from the darkness again and shoot him that infuriating smile of his. But of course, the other man is long gone. 

And Lando walks home alone, burning with shame.

///

The third and final week of the Fringe dawns, and Lando senses that a reckoning is near.

Festival fatigue has set in for most Fringe performers now, taking root so deeply in their bones that most of them barely have the energy to go out for drinks after their sets. 

Lando himself is no exception. He has been curling up beneath the covers of his hotel duvet earlier and earlier each night, unable to keep up with Carlos and Charles’s constant, fervoured partying. Lando’s especially unable to face the possibility of running into Oscar; to see that smile directed at him under the warm fairy lights of some outdoor beer garden. 

All he wants is for the festival to be over, so he can go back home to London, sleep for a week, and forget that he’d ever been upstaged by an amateur comedian from fucking Australia. Who he still can’t stop thinking about.

Performing the same material for two weeks straight grows stale for even the most seasoned comedians. So, in this third and final Fringe week, Lando decides to try something different. 

Ensemble showcases at comedy clubs are more often than not used to test new material on unsuspecting audiences — so what better time to switch up his set than in front of one of the most distinguished festival audiences in the world? 

At worst, he doesn’t get a laugh after one punchline and immediately switches back to his tried and tested material. And at best? He proves himself to be the best improviser in the comedy arena and gives the usurper of his rightfully-deserved final billing slot a run for his money. 

“So, what is it with so many people these days thinking I’m Australian?” he starts one night, in place of his old set closer about papayas. “I was actually down under for a short tour recently, and no matter what I did, all the MCs just kept introducing me as a local comedian. But I’d never been to Australia before that. Don’t have the accent. Have never even tried imitating the accent — I know, right? Aren’t I a saint?

“So, after a couple of nights of letting it slide, I decided to bring it up. I was like, ‘Hey, man, you’ve got to stop telling the crowds I’m Australian. Why do you even think I’m from here, anyway? Is it my hot surfer bod? Is it the fact that I’m kinda sun-kissed and incredibly fuckable? Cause, uh… thank you, but you’re still wrong. About me being Australian, I mean. All the rest of it, you’re toootally right about.”

This gets a fair few laughs from the crowd — Lando’s anecdote is building nicely. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Oscar watching his set from the bar, an inexplicable smile forming on his lips. He forces himself to pivot to the opposite end of the crowd, to ignore his urge to storm offstage and grab the other man by the throat, and scream, This is not about you! This is my set!

This is about me!

Every comedian always envisions their jokes being met with at least a modicum of enthusiasm when they’re delivered for the first time. But never in his wildest dreams had Lando expected this strong of a reaction from the audience tonight — certainly not for a joke fresh out of the oven with no feedback in sight. It is a twisty, turny anecdote, one about scandal and mistaken identity with a second punchline that leaves a few audience members braying hysterically. 

By the time he walks off that stage, Lando is convinced that tonight has confirmed which one of them is better, once and for all. He’s done it, now. He’s out-written, out-performed, even out-Australian-ed Oscar. 

The reckoning has come, and Lando has come out on top.

Or, at least, that’s what he thinks until Oscar saunters onstage a few minutes later. He stops. Squints at the crowd. Pulls a sheepish expression and says, “Well, uh… g’day, everyone. It’s me again. Lando Norris.”

And of course, the crowd absolutely. Fucking. Loses it.

So this is what all of Lando’s efforts have come to. Hours spent crafting new jokes, weighing up the risks of debuting untested material in front of a discerning crowd… all for Oscar to ride in on his high horse and deliver his first joke of the night, entirely at Lando’s expense. 

The rest of his set passes in a blur, as Lando seethes and fumes and curses Oscar for taking a comedic opportunity that he knows, deep down, is perfectly fair game. But that taste of victory, the way it felt in his hands before slipping out of his grasp again — Lando’s ego won’t allow him to let go of it just yet.

And so, he launches himself out of his chair before Oscar has even fully left the stage, leaving a bewildered Carlos calling out questions in vain. His footsteps thud angrily on the bare concrete backstage as he makes his way to the green room, shoving its flimsy wooden door open so hard that it bangs against the opposite wall.

Oscar is in there, gratefully chugging down an entire bottle of water only to choke with surprise at Lando’s frenzied entry. When he turns to see who it is, that shit-eating little smile returns — and Lando can’t wait to wipe it off his face once and for all.

“Oh, hey, man!” Oscar caps his bottle, feigning nonchalance — or maybe he really does respect Lando that little; maybe he really just doesn’t give a fuck. “I don’t usually see you back here. What’s up—”

“You little shit!” yells Lando, not caring who can hear him even as he slams the door behind them. “You fucking amateur. You think you can come here with your unfunny little set, and your shitty jokes that say please, please, please laugh at me, and take my fucking top spot on the billing? You think you can do all that and then piggyback off the joke I spent half of this festival writing?!”

Oscar’s eyes widen with genuine shock. Whatever sort of blowback he’d been expecting from Lando had certainly not been this loud or intense in his mind.

The Australian holds up his hands as if to placate him, and Lando can’t tell if the mocking edge to his movements is actually there, or if it’s entirely his imagination. “Dude, hey, no need for that. I would never have built off your joke if I knew you’d object to it. I’m really sorry, okay? If you’re gonna run that bit at the end of your set again, I promise I won’t repeat what I did tonight.”

“It’s not about whether I’m objecting to it now,” Lando replies through gritted teeth. “It’s about the fact that you don’t get to make jokes of your fellow comedians like that! What, did you want to fucking rub it in a little harder? An amateur, taking last billing over the guy with the real solo hour and the real Netflix special? Well, fuck you too, dude!”

Oscar flinches slightly at Lando’s grotesque imitation of him. “Lando, I genuinely have no clue what you’re talking about, okay? I respect you a lot; I think you’re one of the coolest comedians at the fest. But… isn’t that what we’re all here for? To make jokes out of ourselves?”

Lando chuckles bitterly. “Of course you would say that. You haven’t worked for this for a day in your life, have you?”

He pivots to leave, but is overcome by a fresh wave of self-hatred as Oscar’s voice stops him in his tracks. “Hey, come on. Can’t we talk this out?”

“Oscar! Oscar.” Lando lets out a hysterical laugh. “You don’t need to pretend you want to be my friend any more, alright? There is nothing to talk out! In fact, I would rather not be talking to you at all, because everything you do gets on my last fucking nerve. So let’s just do our last show on Thursday, and not step on each other’s toes, and then we can both go back to never seeing each other again. Okay?”

Oscar blinks. And then, to Lando’s continued frustration, he smiles. Again.

“Nah, hold up. There’s definitely stuff to talk about here. Just… let me get this straight. You think I’m unfunny. You think I don’t deserve a spot on that stage. You hate me.”

“Yes. Exactly. Glad it’s finally gotten through that thick skull of yours.”

Oscar just fixes his big, impassive brown eyes on Lando; brought to life for once by a wry spark that flickers into being for just a split second. 

“You hate me… and yet you can’t seem to get enough of me.”

Lando lets out the most patronising scoff he can muster. “Untalented and delusional. Just when I thought you couldn’t—”

“You hate me, and yet you’re always in that same little corner seat in the back of the pub when I’m onstage.” Oscar’s eyes remain locked directly onto his, his tone mirroring the half-dead neutrality of someone reading boring facts off a piece of paper. “You could just go home and call it a night, but you’re always there anyway. Watching a set you hate.”

Lando opens his mouth to speak, and nothing but a shaky, slow exhale hisses out of him. He is spent; a deflated balloon. When he inhales, the air feels stale and used — Oscar is so close now; breaths mingling in the shared air.

“You hate me, so you keep looking for me every night in the audience of your solo hour… and when you do find me, you don’t even look away again, so it’s like you’re delivering your entire set to me alone.”

“You’re insane.” Lando means to spit the line in his face, heroically aggrieved, but it comes out as a plaintive, airy whine instead. He swears he sees the corner of Oscar’s permanently impassive mouth twitch — the ghost of a smug, triumphant smile passing over and through him. 

“You hate me,” Oscar continues, as if Lando hasn’t even said anything. “Which is why you think about me all the time, right? You hate me.”

Lando feels his expression spasm involuntarily. Control over his facial muscles appears to be rapidly slipping out of his grasp. “Yes,” he manages to growl; his voice a ferocious whisper rising from the back of his throat. “I hate you.”

“Okay,” says Oscar — that fucking stupid, guileless, deadpan okay again. Something about the way Oscar says it — the detached sheen that descends over his eyes, the nasal twang of his Australian accent — makes Lando want to punch something. 

But he can’t even feel his fingers; couldn’t clench a fist if he tried. Oscar’s shoulder knocks against his provocatively, daring him to say something. To do something. 

Surely Oscar knows, then, that the proximity of his body to Lando’s is the thing that has neutralised his opponent. He is a cat, toying with the prey he holds immobilised beneath one paw.

He’s enjoying this.

“You hate me,” says Oscar, his face now unfathomably close to Lando’s, “and you definitely don’t want me to kiss you.”

“No.” Lando’s voice is barely louder than a breath on the wind. “I don’t want you to kiss me.”

Oscar blinks ever so slowly, those impassive brown eyes like a vortex threatening to swallow Lando whole. His lips part, revealing a flash of teeth — a snarl, a smile; an indecipherable, predatory, in-between thing.

“Then stop me,” he says.

Lando hates the way his voice shakes when he speaks next. “What?”

“Stop me,” Oscar repeats. “You don’t want me to kiss you. So stop me.”

There it is — a real smile now. Tentative. Shy, almost. Oscar may have the upper hand, but he doesn’t know that he’s won.

So Lando does the only thing he knows will catch him off guard. He pushes out with the flats of both palms, shoving Oscar so that he stumbles slightly, balance transferring to his back foot. 

And then, while the surprise is still fresh on his face, Lando grabs the collar of Oscar’s hoodie in both his fists, pulls him back in, and kisses him first.

Time freezes, turning a single moment into eternity. Lando can taste the surprise on Oscar’s lips — and oh, does his little reward taste sweet. 

But neither does it last long. Oscar returns the kiss slowly, tantalisingly… only to shove Lando away just as he eases into the tempo of their shared movements.

“Look at you,” teases Oscar, his smirk more self-satisfied than ever. “All red in the face for the world’s most boring comedian.”

One of Oscar’s hands pushes him back up against the green room wall. The other begins tugging at Lando’s belt buckle slowly, drawing his attention to the fact that he is undeniably, achingly hard. All he can think about still is Oscar’s lips; the burning need he has to shut him up again; to kiss him so long and deep that they both forget how to breathe. 

Yet he can’t move; can’t brandish another witty retort against Oscar’s verbal onslaught. His open palms brace himself against the cool brick walls of the dressing room. The only sound that escapes him, right as Oscar’s hand roughly curls around his cock, is a small, plaintive moan.

“Stop me,” says Oscar, looking him right in the eye; a request for consent disguised as more vicious banter.

Lando sees his opportunity, takes it. “Don’t tell me what to do. Shut the fuck up and finish what you started.”

Oscar’s eyes brighten with a new, mischievous twinkle. His smile grows even more insidious. Contrary to Lando’s expectations, he seems positively delighted that Lando has finally found some bite. 

“Ah.” His brown eyes grow coy. “So you do want this. Maybe I should just go, then. Or maybe I should make you beg for it.”

“Like you beg your audience for laughs?”

Oscar draws closer to Lando once more, his lips hovering just out of reach from where he has Lando pressed against the green room’s walls. Down below, his spit-slicked hand begins working Lando’s dick slowly, to a rhythm that is as delicious as it is infuriating.

“Sure, I may beg,” he says, as Lando’s breath begins to hitch in his throat. “But I also get what I want. Every. Single. Time. And now, you’re going to give me what I want too.”

Lando’s palms, still braced against cold, hard brick, clench inconsequentially into fists as he fights back another moan. “Fat fucking chance.” He barely manages to get the words out from between gritted teeth as Oscar’s thumb tantalisingly circles the head of his cock, right as he begins to speak.

Oscar’s eyes widen with mock surprise. His hand all but stops moving, his grip loosens… and to Lando’s embarrassment, the shock of it is so jarring that he lets out a pathetically loud whimper.

“Okay.” There it is, that hatefully deadpan delivery sending a fresh rush of blood to his erection even as Oscar withdraws. “That’s cool. Let’s call it a night, then.”

For a moment, Lando actually falls for Oscar’s feint. The sudden void left by Oscar’s hands, no longer on Lando’s chest or cock, is wholly unbearable. A wave of embarrassment courses through him, as he struggles to pull his briefs back up with trembling fingers. “Fucking arsehole.”

Oscar lashes out almost faster than Lando can process, both hands snatching up his own and pinning them to the wall. “I’ll ask again,” he says teasingly. “Are you going to give me what I want?”

“What the fuck do you want?!” Lando’s growl is equal parts anger and desperation.

“Tell me I’m not boring.”

“No way.”

Oscar’s right hand loosens on Lando’s left, returning to caress Lando’s cock slowly — too slowly.

“Tell me. I’m not. Boring.”

“No fucking way.”

In response to this, Oscar tightens his grip, moving slightly faster again… and Lando understands the rules of the game now. He has to grudgingly respect Oscar’s ruthlessness when it comes to flipping the rules whenever he wants — especially if this is the effect it’s having on him offstage.

“Say it, Lando. Give me what I want.”

“You’re a hack,” he retorts, as forcefully as he can in between shaking breaths, while Oscar’s hand moves faster with every vitriolic syllable that falls from his lips. “You being in this show was a total fluke. You are painfully. Fucking. Unentertaining.”

“Am I, now?”

Lando presumes the question is rhetorical, but his lack of a response earns him another sudden stop that makes him choke with surprise.

“Am I?” Oscar repeats.

“Yes,” whines Lando, even as he senses a new trap being set. The return of Oscar’s smug grin confirms his instincts barely a second later.

“Aw,” he coos, voice dripping with toxic endearment. “You’re a good comedian… but a veeeery bad liar.”

Lando can barely speak through the pressure building in his chest. Through the frustration of his imminent orgasm being withheld yet again, Oscar diabolically slows his pace. “I’m… not… lying.”

“Are you sure?”

Faster once more, to Lando’s relief.

“Cause if I’m so unentertaining…”

Faster, and faster, and faster—

“…then why was it so easy to make you come?”

And Oscar steps away deftly, just in time, as Lando makes an absolute mess of himself.

A strange, potent cocktail of shame, embarrassment, and elation bubbles through the haze of Lando’s post-orgasm brain fog. A hand on his shoulder brings him out of his reverie — Oscar has brought over a towel from the green room rack.

The Australian’s brown eyes search his again. No trace of mischief or malice remains in them. Now, they are just curious… and, dare he say it, kind.

“You okay?” he asks.

Lando just nods as he wipes himself off, still too buzzed to speak.

“Okay. Good. Phew!” Oscar smiles, and it is a real one this time; a cheek-to-cheek beam with a hundred megawatts of charm. “I don’t usually do that without dinner and drinks first, by the way. But you can buy me a beer tomorrow before the show to make up for it. Sounds good?”

Lando’s head jerks back up to look at Oscar. The earnest expression on his face catches him completely off guard. There are clearly no more games left to play now — all that’s left is to decide where they go from here. And Oscar has clearly already decided for the both of them.

But the change in tone is still as absurd as it is welcome, bringing with it relief… and amusement.

Lando cracks a smile — small, at first, but it grows and grows.

“Sounds great,” he says.

And then for the first time, as Oscar looks on, he laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

[someone-called-efg]

everything i know so far regarding religion and my experiences (big post with a lot of words and some pictures too. i tried doing the image id thing so hopefully i explained it all alright) skip at your own discretion

so, for everything ive made either a comic or drawing, then i'll explain what happened a little more underneath.

~~~

first and foremost before i start, so were on the same page, visits to heaven can occur during the time someone is asleep. this could even happen to you if you see in your dream a recently passed relative (or any passed away relative in general but for the most part it happens when the passing is recent and goodbyes didnt happen for one reason or another) and if it hasnt happened to you personally yet, you probably know someone who's experienced a visit.

with that out of the way, lets get started

---

{ image id: an 8 panel comic. 1st panel shows myself with two others sat around a table, as i joke "God, if this is a sin, strike me down". 2nd panel simply says * later that night * . 3rd panel is in 1st person perspective of me in my dream, opening a door. 4th panel shows that behind the door from panel 3 that God is there floating, his hair/beard flowing into the cloud his head is casually floating on in the middle of the room. 5th panel simply shows a lighting bolt. 6th panel shows me falling through the floor. 7th panel shows me waking up in a state of panic. 8th panel simply says: TLDR: If you call upon him, he'll answer. end id }

this is a comic regarding my first visit. at the time irl i was considering becoming an atheist, so this put a solid halt in that. the reason both people with my in the 1st panel dont really have any defining features is because i was at a psych ward at the time for wanting to unalive, and they make you sign nda's there soo, thats the best i got. in the dream/visit itself i was at home, opening the door from the living room to the porch. and God wasnt just there waiting, they kinda came through the ceiling without breaking it. dont ask me how cuz even i dont know.

---

{ image id: another 8 panel comic so here goes more typing yippee! 1st panel shows God from the side, simply saying "So". 2nd comic shows God turning forward, asking "Are you alright?", as though finishing what they were saying in the 1st panel. 3rd panel shows God an i sat on a couch, and while God looks normal sized, i look tiny by comparison, showing basically the setting. 4th panel is a zoom in on me as i rub the back of my neck, saying "i mean ...". 5th panel simply tldr's what happens as i * proceeds to vent ... a lot * . 6th panel shows God saying nothing, but, they * listens to every word * . 7th panel shows me, clearly upset from venting so much, but also now parched, as i tell God "I'm sorry, I've been talking so much, my throat got dry. Do you have anything I could drink?". 8th panel shows God from the side, for the first time smiling as they say "Of course" and a fridge magically appears at opposite from where i am in comparison to them. end id }

so, not even i really knew what all happened until years lated when i asked God if that visit was a therapy session because all i remembered upon waking up after is the last two panels and afterwards, when my mom and step dad came and told me that the year for earth was 2077 and that the north pole was a desert, then we went and had a mini feast with relatives (and maybe ancestors? idk, there was a fair lot of people and i didnt recognize a lot of them so maybe?) , then i woke up. and if youre going to ask why gods eyes arent visible in this comic when they were visible in that last one, at the time of drawing this comic in particular i didnt feel deserving of him looking at me and smiling, cuz lets face it, were all a bunch of sinners here all trying to do good at least. but at the time if i remember right i had a caffeine addiction to the point i needed 8 coffee/monster energy to get me through the day (4 in the morning + 4 in the afternoon), i since went cold turkey against both.

---

{image id : a 4 panel comic because i finally learned my lesson so i dont have to type as much pog! 1st pannel shows myself and my brother (ftm) stood in Gods temple, and i casually ask "Hey, so, can I reincarnate?". 2nd panel shows god towering over both of us easily, their response is a smile with a "Yeah, sure" as they hold something glowing in their hand that i look into. 3rd panel is glitchy, as it shows a child 1st person perspective, the child is looking down, admittedly a bit overwhelmed while saying "mom, i memember my last life". 4th panel is glitchy as well, this time showing the vague image of a woman reaching out her hand presumably to the child, asking "what do you remember?". end id }

so, for a bit of context, the dream/visit didnt start out like that. it actually started at my great aunts house (who at the time was still alive but died very soon after) it wasnt her house when she was alive, but rather, her house in heaven. my godmother was also there, and i was helping her to remember how to fly because she had forgotten the lesson. so, in total there were 4 people there (my great aunt, my godmother, my brother, and myself) and mid way through me teaching how to fly, another of my brothers teleported into the room and just casually took a seat. after the lesson we went outside and walked around my great aunts heaven house, and when we walked a little ways away there was some kinda conflict, and i simply prayed and the conflict was over within under 10 secs. then as the group of my relatives and i went walking back to my great aunts house, i mentioned to my brother my thoughts of asking to reincarnate soon, and he says to me "why not go right now" and i agree, so we teleported to Gods temple and thats where the comic picks up at. what this told me is that being lgbtqia+ isnt a deadly sin, so any member of the rainbow community isnt going to hell for simply being lgbtqia+, which i see as an absolute win.

~~~

thats the most i got for when it comes to visits, which occur when someone's asleep. but, now, its time to go over a couple visions ive had (and no im not gonna talk about when i died cuz that would be 3 posts in a row, so if you wanna see any of that just check it in your own time) because its just visions, i didnt make comics, but just drawings, which, comics are drawings sure, but not all drawings are comics. and, so i stop rambling, lets get started.

---

{ image id : the great flood. as a man drowns under the fermanent from the quickly rising water level, his soul is outside the fermanent, walking up alongside his dying body, unable to help and can only comfort his souless body by watching it slowly unalive. end id }

when i saw this, i honestly saw at least a dozen others doing this too, i also watched who i could only assume was some past incarnation of myself succumb to the same fate. and for those wondering how a soul can be out when the body is clearly still alive, well, 24 hours before someone dies, their soul's already passed on to the afterlife. where the saying 'dead man walking' comes from, because for those 24 hours, the person's already dead, the rest of the world just doesn't know yet.

---

{ image id : the battle at the end of the world. vegetation is barren from the hills as a giant serpent with black scales and glowing yellow eyes makes its way through the landscape. two angels stand in the foreground, aiming their swords to the heavens, causing a pillar of light thats base covers the two. in the distance, the sky is crimson and the clouds are dark grey almost black. end id }

so. also worth mentioning that when i looked to either side of me, there were armies of God all ready for the greatest battle and ready to take part. needless to say it was overwhelming for a lot of reasons.

~~~

so, thats all really. i could get into the couple times i saw the son of God in visits, but the first time was me in a back room with boxes and he was running by and seemed to be busy and i didnt wanna bother him because of that so i didnt say anything, and the second time we were at this park near my childhood home and i asked him if him and adam are technically in a way brothers and we both ended up laughing causing me to wake up.

~~~

from all this i understand that theres stuff im not allowed to know of my visits for one reason or another, and i kinda figure its so i dont cheat at life. because if i had all the answers, than how else is life supposed to test me.

earth is a school after all, and i at least want my place earned on Gods fridge with a magnet hopefully 🤞

[navajja]

Hi! I just found an older comic of yours about younger erasermic? I was curious if we could know what happens storywise if it's cool to ask?

IM SORRY FOR JUST STOPPING DRAWING THAT. My mood changed and i also ran into some kind of block with it, but i still want to return to it some day! Hopefully!

Well uh- the story itself doesn't has an end? My friend and i made a very long au since erasermic meet till the present day (the start of bnha). I could explain some stuff to make it more understandable i guess.

The story starts when Mic runs into Erasers after years of not seen eachothers (i keep using that plot im so sorry) why are they separated? Mic thinks it is because eraser didn't has the balls to break up with him, but it is different. On this au Oboro dies/disappears after graduation, a couple months after, and with that eraser can't seem to find peace, he was meant to move in with mic but instead he went into finding clues about Oboro's death (i cant remember anything about this plot line in the manga im so sorry again) he never finds anything and instead becomes a full time hero.

Becoming a full time hero means he is homeless and unhealthy. Genuinely all he does is fighting crime and not asking for money in return. He thinks that breaking all of his bonds with people would save them and him the sadness of losing a loved one in the field. He goes completely underground, and for a while mic thinks he is death. He has no rutine, stays awake day and night, he started losing track of time, and once he sees mic on that fast food restaurant, he follows him like a missing dog, and once he sees himself on the mirror he feels like waking up, and finally catches up where he is and what he is doing.

Mic also, lives in a tiny student apartment, he gets his pro hero money but he spents it all paying college, he getting a journalism mayor (necessary to work at a radio station) he hates studying with his swore enemies, he also got a non-payment job at a radio station. The guy is ALSO at the verge of breaking down. He also has a not so nice boyfriend he kinda forgets about once eraser shows up.

This is meant to be a journey into healing by letting others worry about you, taking care of eachothers and making up for your mistakes.

[teddydrawshockey]

This is one of those things I wish I had polls for. But ya know.. we’ll make due 😃

I’ve been working on a few different ‘series’ ideas for the tiny penguins! Instead of just drawing them as news and games come out, I want to take them outside of their little hockey world. They won’t need sticks and pucks where they’re going… or maybe they will- I don’t think I’d like to try prying a stick from Sid’s flippers.

Anyway-

I just figured out how to do that

My main ideas which I feel will be most intriguing are:

Penguins Across The Globe: A series of the Penguins going across the world on all sorts of vacations. Im thinking two to three penguins per piece, maybe one on occasion. This would definitely be an interactive series where you can post suggestions of which penguins you want to see and where.

“International Super-spies” Zucker and Rust: This will not be open for participation. A good plot (hopefully), comedy, playful action, and a surprise bad guy. This would be told through comic strips and an occasional one photo piece when I need suspense.

Lost In Zoo York: I’m not too sure about this one yet. I mean I know the central idea. A series about the penguins lost in the zoo, maybe mistaken for the other penguins or something of the sort. As for who’s in it, I do not know yet. But I love the concept!

Adventures In Babysitting: Most likely a Geno and Sid series, looking after a stuffed animal of some sort. Domestic fluff to the max.

Office Penguins: This one- is completely for comedy. To lay it out. Each piece will probably be done in a 4-5 section comic piece. It’s going to be set up like the office. So, weird bizarre work scenarios, but at PPG. One or two penguins will have an “off camera” interview per strip, and the rest of the strip will be contributed to the ‘situation’ of course. This one could be a series that lasts as long as it should or shouldn’t. No story line to follow, no need to see each strip, just something for pure entertainment.

Soooo… essentially, I need to know what you’re all most interested in! It’s inconvenient without a poll, so I do apologize for that, but I have no control over it. These options would be somewhere in the middle of the scale concerning how long they’d go on. They won’t be short, but they won’t be long. The first one however, will be the longest series. You guys can comment or put your preferences in tags if you re-blog. You can even message me directly!

[la-principessa-nuova]

So I was supposed to write 1000 words towards my book yesterday, preferably more. But I hadn’t worked on the comic I’d been wanting to do so I did that instead and put it off until today. But then I wanted to add stuff to the comic before posting. At one point it was looking optimistic that I was going to finish the comic and watch D20 and have time to write.

Then around 8 PM I suddenly got really tired and couldn’t keep drawing, and right around that same time I decided that the next panel would feature hands in odd positions, so I lost motivation to continue.

Then I went on Tumblr for a bit to recoup before deciding what to do next, and while I was scrolling, my mom suddenly starts texting me about what Trump currently claims his abortion policy is and how she agrees with that.

I’m fully too tired to engage, but my mom is not only not typically a Trump supporter, but shows active disinterest in politics to the point where it’s hard to get her to even listen when something important happens that directly affects her. But suddenly since I came out to her, she’s started occasionally mentioning how she’s voting for Trump and trying to convince me I should vote for Trump.

When I push back I get teamed up on by my family about getting so worked up about politics (it’s hard not to get worked up when your family is saying they’re voting against you having rights and won’t listen to your arguments), so more and more I’ve tried to keep my mouth shut because speaking just seems to radicalize them further, and chances are none of them will remember to vote anyway.

But now I’m trying to relax and my mom’s not letting up about Trump’s abortion stance of the week, and so finally I just start typing a response. It starts as a short explanation of why I would never vote for Trump and all the problems with that, but then it keeps getting longer and longer, and over the course of the next hour, I typed a 1,300 word explanation of exactly what’s wrong with voting for him and how it feels to watch my family slowly fall for the exact same tactics that the Nazis used, and I pull in the “First they came for the socialists” quote and all that.

And several times I almost write something to the effect of, “If you try to push Trump on me one more time I’m cutting contact,” but we work at the same place and have to communicate, so it would only make work awkward, so I didn’t. The second I manage to get out of this job (hopefully soon), if things haven’t changed, though, I think I need to make it clear that I have the ability to walk away and if she doesn’t want me to, she has to be better.

But then I sent it and part of me was worried about her reaction, but then I looked at how my phone formats the text, and it just shows one paragraph and then a tiny little arrow, so I think she might not even ever notice there’s more than that.

But yeah, then I was just not in the mood to write or anything.

[kin-the-muffin]

haha soooo many things happening rn and i feel like i have so much time to do nothing like i used to but when i take a step back sure i have less but i still have a lot but then i remember that theres homework im already ignoring in my classes and new friends to know and be known by and old friends to either dump cuz theyre toxic and i never realized or try in vain to keep ahold of a slipping relationship and im in my senior year now hahahaaaaa

vent below

i auditioned for my school’s musical and i finally got a speaking part and im also technically a lead and that rly cool but it also means im going to have to stay at school for twelve hours almost every day until the second week of march when the play ends

im in my school’s honor choir and its a zero hour so i have to wake up at unheavenly times to get there and sing for two and a half hours

i get to be in a rly big state choir too and thats coming up in february and i havent looked at the music yet and i cant get the remind to work and all the emails are so long-winded and badly-formatted and confusing

and my english class is nearly full of students so thats fun and my school has zero, count em, Z E R O good senior english teachers but im pretty sure i have the better of two devils and i had her last semester so i know her and she knows me but i also know the kinda bs shes gonna throw at us and i just have to hope that she wasnt lying when she said that this semester would be easier because we’re not working on senior papers this time (mine was about mental health in schools not that anyone asked lolll)

i also have the same government teacher as last semester which is both a blessing and a curse because i know what to expect but like none of it is good and he makes us do these stupid unnecessary tiny group projects and why tf cant i just work alone i only know one person in the class and his lectures are so pointless and please just let me take all the tests and be done with this heaven-forsaken class already

then im in studio art which is basically the highest level art class at my school and you have to get permission from an art teacher to be in one of their hours then you work on one huge independent project the whole semester and my art teacher knows i draw on my ipad and said i could make a comic so now i have to figure out what its about then i can hopefully start the ball rolling from there but i have too many ideas and not enough at the same time and none of them are developed enough to make a 22-page, fully edited-and-colored comic

and my choir director is so incredibly passive aggressive but not really on purpose, he just knows he has a rbf and so he overcompensates to make himself more friendly but then when his patience runs thin he yells and i wanna cry and die and quit high school and cry some more

and im trying so hard not to stress over college because i know im gonna take a gap year so i can think about it then but two of my sisters have offered their homes to me and i love them both so much and ive been thinking about just getting an apartment and a roommate but i have to tell them that because one of them is going to renovate their basement with my potential living there in mind and then i end up stressing about college anyways like what major and what minor and what school and what even is my endgoal???? i dont know?!?!??!?!! i dont know what i want to do with my life, not specifically! my biggest dream rn is to be an mc streamer and thats just cuz im back in my mcyt phase and the old pipe dream from my childhood has returned but i know it cant actually work out btu the dreamer in me says it can but i know it realistically has like a .000002% chance of actually happening

and thats all i have the energy to say rn

sorry for the rant

sorry for not posting

ty and goodnight

[sassyhobbits]

rowaelin with their first child and they get into that stranger anxiety phase and cry with everyone except when they're in their mothers arms and it's exhausting but also adorable but rowan sometimes feels like a bad dad because his kid doesn't want to be held by him so aelin has to reassure him and then some day this phase is finally over - prompt 😢🥺

ok i adored writing this one. dad rowan is so much fun to work with. i hope everyone enjoys!!

~~~

In his over 300 years, Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius had been awoken by many different things. Whether it was a call to battle while sleeping in a war tent, a summons from his queen late at night, or a lover trying unsuccessfully to disappear quietly before dawn. Yet, none of these manners of waking up had filled him with as much dread as he felt currently.

He was woken in the middle of the night by a shrill shriek coming from the room that adjoined the one he shared with Aelin. In the recent months, what had once been a leisure room had been converted to a nursery for their new baby girl.

It took three years after Aelin’s coronation before they decided to start trying to have a child. It took another year before they were successful. Rowan counted his blessings. He had seen plenty of Fae couples take decades before they finally conceived.

Eliora was four months old now, which meant four months of troubled sleep for both him and his mate.

Rowan was instantly on alert at the sound of his daughter’s cries. He knew that they were no more than a normal babe’s troubles, but his instincts made him tense anyways. He quickly sat up, looking down at his wife quickly to see if she had woken up. Luckily, she still slept, likely beyond exhausted from the mix of raising a child and ruling a kingdom. If Rowan was successful, she wouldn’t have to wake up at all.

He got out of bed and swiftly stepped into the nursery, coming before Eliora’s crib. Her tiny face was pinched up in dainty outrage, small limbs flailing as she cried. Rowan took a deep breath, sending a prayer up to the gods more out of habit than faith at this point, and picked his daughter from the crib. Hopefully, this would be the time he could get her to stop crying.

The little princess shrieked and protested whenever she was in anyone’s arms besides her mother’s. Rowan’s included.

“I’ve got you, my little light,” Rowan whispered to his daughter, cradling her tiny body to his bare chest and lowering himself onto the rocking chair they kept beside her crib. “Everything’s alright.”

Despite his soothing words, Eliora still continued to cry. It broke Rowan’s heart to hear, broke it even more to know that nothing he did could seem to calm her down.

“Please stop crying, love,” Rowan pleaded, threading his fingers through the fine, silvery-blonde hair growing on his daughter’s head. “Your mother is so tired and needs her sleep.”

Unfortunately, even begging didn’t seem to work.

Over the sounds of Eliora’s cries, he heard the door hinges creek, and the sound of bare feet scuffing over stone. Rowan glanced over, finding Aelin walking towards him. Exhaustion weighed down her beautiful face, but her eyes were still full of fondness at the sight of the two of them.

Rowan looked to her apologetically before his face crumpled in defeat. “I can’t get her to stop crying. I’m so sorry, Fireheart.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, love,” she whispered, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his hair. “Give her to me.”

Rowan handed the squirming bundle of blankets to his wife. Aelin situated their daughter in her arms before she lowered herself on Rowan’s lap, allowing him to wrap his arms around her waist, press a kiss to her shoulder, and begin to rock them.

Quickly, Eliora’s cries began to fade away. Her face unscrewed, looking at Aelin with those wide, Ashryver eyes that she had.

Aelin began to sing a low, Terrasenian lullaby as he continued to rock the three of them. It never ceased to amaze him how good she was with their daughter, how quickly she was able to sooth her temper. He only wished that he could do the same, that Eliora would look at him the same way she looked at Aelin and not scream and scream and scream.

Rowan’s heart was full of love as he watched Eliora’s eyes begin to droop shut at the soothing rocking motion and the sound of her mother’s voice. It wasn’t long before she was once again asleep, the night perfectly silent.

Rowan helped Aelin stand, keeping a hand against her back as she brought their daughter back to her crib and laid her down. Perfect. She truly was perfect.

A gentle hand on his arm drew his attention away from the slumbering babe. Aelin nodded her head towards their room and Rowan dutifully followed, shutting the door quietly behind them.

“I’m sorry, Fireheart,” Rowan said again, drawing Aelin into his arms and kissing her forehead. “I know you’re exhausted.”

“No more so than you.”

Rowan could only sigh, pressing his lips together tightly. His emotions were troubled, and he should have known that Aelin was going to notice. She leaned back slightly, peering up at his face.

“I know what you’re thinking, Rowan, and you’re wrong,” she said matter-of-factly.

Rowan wanted to believe her, but he couldn’t help but ask, “What am I doing wrong?”

He had faced many challenges over his years. Wars and battles and tortures. He had survived them all and came out victorious. And yet, the thing that brought him to his knees, was the fact that he couldn’t bring comfort to his own daughter when she needed it. A baby had finally defeated him.

“You know you’re not doing anything wrong,” Aelin said firmly. “The nurses said this happens sometimes. It’s not your fault.”

Rowan had heard this what felt like a thousand times. It did little to soothe his troubles.

Rowan was good at many things. He was a warrior and a general, had stepped confidently into the role of king consort. His hands could kill and heal and build, but they couldn’t get Eliora to stop crying. He couldn’t help but feel that, perhaps, being a father… wasn’t something that he was made for.

It broke his heart to think. He remembered how excited he was when they found out Aelin was finally pregnant, how they cried and kissed and clung to each other, whispering about the future. He had been ecstatic, but also terrified. He knew Aedion, who had welcomed his own son into the world a year before Aelin got pregnant, had felt the same before he was born. But, Aedion hadn’t had the troubles Rowan did. He had stepped into fatherhood gracefully, and his son loved him immensely.

“Hey,” Aelin said, a bit snappily. She put her hand on Rowan’s cheek and urged him to look at her. In those eyes was a familiar fire. “Stop that. I know what’s going through your head. You’re a wonderful father.”

Rowan sighed and hung his head, pressing Aelin’s hand more firmly against his cheek. “How can I be a good father if I have no idea what I’m doing?”

“Do you think I’m a bad mother?”

“What? Of course not.”

“Well, I don’t know what I’m doing either,” Aelin said. “Neither did Aedion or Lysandra. No new parent has any idea what they’re doing. It’s part of the job.”

She made it sound so easy. Aelin had always had a knack for that.

“I wonder if there’s some secret behind it,” Rowan mused as Aelin tucked herself back into his chest and wrapped her arms around his torso.

He felt his wife shrug. “I don’t know… but if there was, I think it would be to love them. To support them. To do everything in our power to make sure they’re happy.”

“I love Eliora more than life. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.”

“I know, love.” Aelin rolled on the tips of her toes and brushed a soft kiss against Rowan’s mouth. “Now, all you need to do is have patience.”

He chuckled. “Look at you. Who would have ever guessed that Aelin Galathynius would be lecturing me on patience.”

Her grin was a slash of white in the dark. “I’ve been told I’m wise beyond my years.”

“Who the hell has ever told you that?”

“People. Now, will you come back to bed with me?”

“Of course, Fireheart.”

They climbed back under the covers, pressing their bodies close. Aelin fell back asleep almost comically quickly. Rowan wasn’t far behind, holding his wife tightly throughout the night.

…

Another month went by and little changed. Both Rowan and his wife were getting little sleep during the night, leading to some groggy mornings. He had seen Aelin taking short naps at her desk or dozing off when an advisor spoke for too long. She would, of course, deny it if Rowan ever brought it up, so he wisely stayed silent.

Eliora still abhorred being held by anyone except Aelin. The fact that it wasn’t just him brought Rowan a bit of solace. His daughter cried when held by Lysandra or Fenrys or Elide. She had a particularly nasty meltdown last time Lorcan had held her.

“I know, sweet girl,” Aelin had murmured, taking Eliora from Lorcan. “I wouldn’t want to be that close to him either.”

Still, Eliora’s reactions didn’t deter Rowan from trying to hold and soothe her, though he had not yet been victorious. Patience, Aelin had said. It was easier said than done.

The sun had set below the Staghorns hours ago. Eliora was asleep in the nursery, Aelin was treating herself to a long soak in the tub, and Rowan sat in one of the plush armchairs they kept in their room, sharpening and polishing some of his blades.

It was an easy practice to get lost in. The simple, repetitive movements were a welcome distraction. A good way to cool down before bed.

However, his hands froze when he heard a tiny whimper sound from the nursery that quickly morphed into a shrill cry. Eliora.

Rowan placed his blades down on the low table before him, pushing to his feet and quickly striding into the nursery.

Eliora was wiggling as she wailed. Rowan wished he could read her mind so he knew exactly what was bothering her and how he could help. But, all he could do was take a deep, bracing breath and scoop his daughter into his arms.

“What’s wrong, little light?” Rowan whispered, carrying her over to the rocking chair. “What is it?”

Eliora’s only response was to continue crying.

Rowan sighed, wondering how much longer he had before Aelin got out of the bath and came in to calm Eliora down. He had seen Aelin do it countless times. She would take Eliora into her arms, smile down at her, start to whisper nonsense or sing a low lullaby. She made it seem so easy.

“Everything’s alright, Eliora,” Rowan murmured, switching to the Old Language. “I’ve got you. I’ll never let anything happen to you, little love.”

And then, something amazing happened.

Slowly, Eliora’s cries began to fade away to a whimper and then, to nothing at all. Rowan held his breath, worrying that one wrong move would put her back into a fit of hysterics. His daughter slowly opened her eyes and peered up at him.

Rowan smiled down at her. “You’re just as lovely as your mother. Just as stubborn, too.”

And then, as if she understood his little joke, Eliora flashed him a gummy smile. The shift in expression floored him. She had never given him a smile before.

Rowan felt his throat tighten and his eyes begin to burn, but he smiled back at the tears welled up. A tiny laugh escaped his throat. Finally, finally, he had done it.

Eliora’s chubby arms reached up. Rowan held out a finger, letting her wrap a tiny hand around it. He always forgot just how small she was.

“I love you more than you could possibly know, Eliora.”

He was too distracted by his daughter and the little grip she had on his finger to notice that Aelin had entered the nursery until she was almost upon them. Rowan looked up at his wife, knowing that his eyes were still watery and there were likely tear tracks streaking down his cheeks. Regardless, he beamed.

“It would seem, once again, that I was right,” Aelin said with a triumphant smirk.

“As you often are, my love.”

She laughed and dropped a kiss to his forehead before draping her arms over his shoulders, leaning over and watching their daughter, who was studying them with wide eyes. Once again, Eliora smiled. Rowan would never tire of the sight.

“She looks like you when she smiles,” Aelin mused.

“You think?”

She nodded slowly, reaching out and running her knuckles along the smooth curve of Eliora’s cheek. “I still can’t believe she’s ours. She’s just so… perfect.”

“Like her mother.”

Aelin snorted. “Kiss ass.”

“Maybe a little.”

They faded into silence, simply standing there, wrapped up in their little, blossoming family. They stood there until Eliora’s eyes fluttered shut once more and she drifted off into a peaceful sleep. One she enjoyed for the entirety of the night.

Rowan didn’t know what he had done to deserve such bliss, but he knew it must have been something good.

[weirdthinkingdragon]

Welcome To The Family (1/???)

Yandere EraserMic household x reader

Finally decided to start writing it! I’ve never babysat in my life, so if this is incredibly wrong I’m sorry. No warnings for now. No idea how many chapters this is going to be right now, but for sure at least 3-5.

I’m on my way to babysit two new children. Well, a child and later in the day a teenager when they get back from school. It’s beyond astonishing somehow being the one selected to babysit two children of heroes. They’re adopted, but that makes it all the more strange. I can’t complain much though. They’re paying a rather large amount and asked me to keep quiet about it. I have to go there early in the morning and be there most of the day. They also warned me some days I may have to babysit them longer than others. They did also warn me a few of their students may come by to hang out with Eri for a bit. 

My fist knocks on the door four times. Yamada- hopefully, I remembered who is who correctly- opens it. He lets me in with a giant and welcoming smile on his face. In the living room were the other three. Eri, and the other which must be Shinsou, look at me cautiously. Eri hides a bit behind the black-haired adult while Shinsou seems rather watchful and wary of me. I crouch down to her level but stay a bit away to introduce myself. “You must be Eri. I’ve heard a lot about you. My name’s Y/N. I hope to get along with you.” This is true, I’ve been informed by the two about what she has been through. 

The black-haired man confirms with a small nod down to her as she looks up at him. Whatever that was supposed to be about, it helped make her take a step away from him and look at me more. 

Aizawa- hopefully, I’m still correct- looks at the clock. “We need to go now.” the blond nods and leaves for their rather expensive-looking black car. Aizawa leaves as well. Shinsou glares at me one last time before he starts to head towards the door as well. “Don’t do anything you will regret.” He threatens and leaves too. 

Eri sits on the couch still timidly staring at me. To say it felt awkward between us is an understatement. “So, Eri, would you like to show me your favorite toys? Or maybe there’s a show you really like we could watch for a while?” Like a lightswitch, her eyes light up like she was just told she could have all the candy in the world. She then takes off up the stairs for presumably her bedroom. I wait in the living room for her return. I take a moment to examine the living room better. There are hardly any pictures on the walls. There’s only one with the four of them and a bunch of teens. Must be his class. They look like a chaotic and lively bunch. The light gray couch is in the middle of the living room with a large flat screen T.V. in front of it. To the left of the couch and a little behind is a matching gray loveseat with a giant cat tree between it and the wall. Huh, so they have a cat or possibly two. Surprised they’re not in the living room. The black stand under the T.V. matches the coffee table in front of it. There’s a door straight from the main entrance I entered from. My guess is either a bathroom or the kitchen. Next to it is a flight of stairs that Eri went up. That must lead to the bedrooms. There’s another door next to the stairs. A closet maybe? Or maybe another bedroom.

Eri comes down a few minutes later with five stuffed animals in her arms. A green rabbit with matching green eyes, a brown teddy bear with beady eyes, a blue galaxy patterned fox with turquoise eyes,  a yellow dog with blue eyes, and a cute tiny light gray unicorn with glittery pink eyes. It looks like her and seems like her favorite with how it seems a little worn. They’re all so adorable that I think my heart might have melted. 

“Aw, what are their names?” She proudly holds them up and says their names. The one that got me was “Deku”. Doesn’t that mean useless? How would a child know that term? More importantly, how are the adults allowing her to name it that? 

“Deku? Why is it named that?” 

“He saved me. I wanted a stuffed animal like him!” She cheerfully says. I’m not going to question why they chose that name. 

“They sound like amazing people! I can’t wait to meet them someday!” She smiles at me. It quickly becomes sad instead. “But I won’t be going to the school with them anymore…” 

I try to think of how to make her feel better. Those two must be the ones her fathers warned me will come over at some point. “Well, maybe I could ask your parents if they can come over someday after school.” She enthusiastically nods. 

It grows quiet between us again as she holds her stuffed animals. 

I look back at the cat tree. “I see you have a cat tree. Do you know where the cat is?” 

“We have three!” she cheerfully informs. 

“Three? Wow! I bet they keep you safe, huh?” I question. She shrugs. “Mochi is too big to even jump on the bed.” 

“Mochi? Cute name!”

“Mrow” came a sudden voice from the cat tree. There’s a box part on the floor I somehow missed earlier. A rather fat cat saunters out of it. “Mochi!” Eri cheerfully yells and goes over to it. It’s an orange tabby. She tries to pick him up and miraculously succeeds. It’s so comical I can’t help but laugh. A child carrying a cat that’s almost as big as her. She waddles over with it and places them on the couch between us. They just yawn, stretch, and lie down right where they were plopped. They roll over to show their belly. I rub the belly of it. How could I not? Once again, it doesn’t seem to care in the slightest. 

“What are the names of the other two?” I ask. 

“Sundae and Oreo! They’re brothers!” 

“Are they as big as Mochi?” She shakes her head. “No. My dads went to buy things that feed the cats when we are not home.” 

“That’s good! Maybe later we could try finding the other two and have a tea party or something.” She looked like she was nearly screaming in excitement at the news. “Only one of my dads likes to do tea parties with me.” 

I smile. “Well, now you have two that do!”

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

Many hours later, she decided she wanted to do the tea party. We were able to find the other two cats which were sleeping on her dads’ bed. Eri told me they were in there since I didn’t go in there out of respect. Unfortunately, I didn’t bring a dress or suit to change into for her. I’ll have to remember that for next week so I can do it when not babysitting. 

Oreo and Sundae were rather difficult to settle down into chairs around the table. They’re tuxedos and an easy way to tell which is who is apparently the white eyebrows on Oreo that makes him look always angry. We just gave up when they decided to sit on the table instead of the chairs.

The tea set is a pastel green with interesting shiny gold lines decorating it. It’s a great contrast to the small dark red table it’s on in her room. She has tons of drawings with her, Shinsou, and the two adults covering her walls. There’s also a few with a green-haired and blond with her. There is nothing in the teacups as she passes one to me. “Why, thank you, Eri!” She smiles and nods. That smile needs to be protected.

It’s hard to think someone could do something so evil to such an innocent bean. I’m beyond glad she’s in a much better home now. I’ve only known her for like half a day, but if something were to happen to her, I’d kill everyone around me and then myself. She looks behind me and lights up more. “Toshi!” 

I turn around to see Shinsou leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed and a glare aimed at me. How long has he been there? Man, he’s incredibly quiet. I understand why he doesn’t trust me yet. I’m still a stranger after all. It would be more concerning if he did trust me immediately. I give him an inviting smile. “Welcome, Shinsou! Why don’t you come to our tea party instead of standing there? I’m sure Eri would be more than happy to have her brother join!” 

“Yes! C’mon Toshi, please?” She begs. He shakes his head. “You two go ahead. I’d rather watch for now.” He says, hardening his glare at me. Eri doesn’t seem to notice his glare and goes back to her chair. How cute though, a protective brother! She deserves nothing less. 

After that, she wanted to show me her favorite show. Shinsou sits rather close to her between us. Seems a bit excessive, but whatever makes him comfortable I guess. Checking the clock above the T.V., it was almost time for me to go. 

Shinsou goes to the bathroom, but something tells me he’s testing me. I mean, I didn't do anything before he came home, and wouldn’t Eri have already run to him if I did do something? Well, with the villains around you can’t be so sure. 

Eri swings her feet while sitting farther up on the couch. “Are you going to come back tomorrow?” 

“Of course! We still have so many things we have to do together!” I reach over and go to rub her head. She flinches so I take my hand away and think for a moment. How can I get her to trust me without any problems occurring? “Hey, Eri?” She looks at me again with trust, yet a hint of unease still in her eyes. Please don’t tell me I just royally screwed up. “How about this. I do to myself what I’m going to do to you, and you can allow it or not. Like this.” I say, and gently rub the top of my head. I bring my hand halfway to her and wait for her reply. 

It takes a moment, but she gives me a small nod. I rub her head, making her give a big smile to me. 

At that moment, the door opened to reveal the two men. They were tense as we locked eyes, but that went away when they noticed Eri was smiling at me. 

“Welcome back you guys! Eri and I had so much fun today. She even brought me to her tea party! Your cats gave us quite a bit of trouble to involve them though.” I inform as Eri goes to hug Yamada and then Aizawa right after. 

Shinsou comes into the room as well. Like a silent conversation, he gives a curt nod to Aizawa, which he returns. 

Yamada smirks at me. “But what’s important is… Did ya succeed?” 

I shrug. “Kind of. We got them to stay on the table instead of the chair.” He snickers. “That’s those devious two!” He looks down at Eri. “Ya must have had a lotta fun, huh? Sad to miss the party!” 

I decide to leave so they get more time as a family before they have to go to bed. I don’t need to interfere with that. I wave to her as I go to the door and put on my shoes. “See you tomorrow, Eri!” She waves back, shocking the two adults. Wonder why they’re shocked about that. Maybe she doesn’t usually trust new people as fast? Well, I’ve always been pretty good with children. 

I wave at the three men as well and leave excited for what tomorrow might bring.

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I have rather big plans for this story. Hopefully I keep up with it, and I promise it will get better later on. 

[thelovelyghostwriter]

Non-anime Asian TV Shows that I liked

This is just a short list of some Asian TV shows I liked, list is not exhaustive. Thank you  @cautionworksstuff​ for encouraging me to do this since you wanted to know more about other foreign TV shows other than anime. 

When I say non-anime, it means shows that are not Japanese animated series. 

1. Kingdom [Netflix] (South Korea)

This series hits HARD. It’s an original Korean Netflix series. Now, there’s a lot of shows/movies that are named “Kingdom”, so let me clear about this one: this is the one that is set with a Zombie apocalypse during the Joseon period. 

It follows the story of the Crown Prince who is being framed for treachery by his evil stepmom (the Empress) and her clan, as soon as his father died. In the midst of that, a disease outbreak happens that turns everyone into zombies, and the Prince struggles to avoid being defeated by the corrupted government officials as well as to save his people from the zombie apocalypse. 

What makes this one stand out from series/movies like The Walking Dead are two things: 1) the political setting - while there is a zombie outbreak, it’s also the battle for power, 2) the historical setting - the guns used here are very limited, and the science/medicine explained behind this outbreak is not like “oh due to biotech experiment gone wrong”, 3) unlike Walking Dead, they actually explained the cause of the illness, the cures and the weaknesses. 

They are going to come up with a new one-episode spin-off(?) this month. 

2. Girl from Nowhere (Thailand) 

This is also available on Netflix. This series follow a character named Nanno, who goes to various schools as the new girl. In the second episode, she’s revealed to be some sort of immortal entity that goes on to expose the sins and wrongful acts of parents, teachers and students. She then punishes them as some form of karma. Beware, some episodes are downright disturbing and only for mature audience. 

I don’t have a confirmation of this, but according to Wikipedia and actress Chicha Amatayakul, the character Nanno draws inspiration from Junji Ito’s Tomie, and the similarities are very obvious. From the way the people react to her, the hairstyle and the even to the beauty mark near the eye, the similarities are very obvious. 

One difference though, I must say, is that Nanno is an extremely charming character as compared to Tomie. You will really root for her and can’t help but like her presence, even if she’s a little scary. When I read Tomie, I didn’t exactly felt the same magnetic pull as Nanno did for me. Season 1 was really good. Season 2 was more brutal but I think Season 1 was slightly better. 

3. Trese (Philippines)

This was actually based on a Filipino comic series, with the same name. I had actually waited for this series to be animated. This series features Filipino supernatural beings. I had always wondered how it’ll be like if there was a cool anime about Filipino mythological creatures, such as the manananngal, aswang, tikbalang etc. I think their designs and stories are interesting and not very talked about in the media. 

I had once complained about this. We have so many interesting Filipino mythological creatures, but why do we focus on mostly drama series on love and family, and not come up with a horror series featuring them? 

This one’s available on Netflix as well, and it’s in three audios: English, Filipino and Japanese. I do recommend the Filipino audio because the pronunciation of the creatures are better. But that might be just me listening to my native language. 

Although, just a tiny criticism - there are only six episodes so far. All in less than 30 minutes. This was an issue for me and also my family who had watched it because we felt the pacing was too fast. They didn’t explain what the creatures were, what they do, which can be confusing for people who are not familiar with the mythology. Yeah, I really think it’s because the pacing was fast due to the small number of episodes. If they slowed down, it would be great. Hopefully we get more episodes the next season. 

4. Meteor Garden (Taiwan) [2001] OR Boys over Flowers (South Korea) OR Hana Yori Dango (Japan) 

This was adapted from a manga called “Hana Yori Dango” (Boys over Flowers). It has been adapted in numerous shows, with Japan doing the first live action film in 1995. 

The one that I had watched is the Taiwanese drama version, Meteor Garden (2001 version). There was also a Korean drama adaptation called “Boys over Flowers”. I didn’t watch that one but quite a number of my friends did. There was also the Japanese adaptation, as well as Thai and Chinese adaptation of it. I can’t say for sure which one is the best because I only remember watching the Taiwanese (2001) version and it’s close to my heart. The Taiwanese (2001), South Korean and Japanese drama versions are often being compared. I’ll let you guys decide based on this information.  

I don’t remember much from the plot, although it was this drama was very hyped back then.

This was the summary on Wikipedia: 

It tells the story of Tsukushi Makino, a girl from a middle class family, whose mother enrolled her in an elite high school to compete with the families from her husband's company. While at Eitoku, she encounters the F4, a gang of four young men who are children of Japan's wealthiest families, and who bully anyone that gets in their way.

5. The Little Nyonya [2008] (Singapore)

Saving the last for the one that resides a special place in my heart, and perhaps for a lot of people in Singapore. 

Words cannot describe how much this was well-liked in Singapore. I remember everyone praising this. This was hands-down one of THE BEST drama ever produced in Singapore. I remember coming home, waiting at I think 8pm? Just to tune into local TV and then watch this show for a good 40minutes. I know they did a remake in China, which I didn’t watch, but I highly recommend the Singaporean version (since it’s the original and the setting is in Singapore/Malaysia anyway). 

This series really introduced the Peranakan culture to the Singaporean audience. I like to think this story has two parts where it follows the story of a Nyonya (Peranakan Chinese woman). 

The first part’s setting is during WW2. Huang Ju Xiang, a woman born into a Peranakan family and her mother was a 2nd wife. Because of her mother’s status, she’s been ostracised by her family and is tasked to do the household like a servant. She meets a Japanese man and yeah, since it’s in the midst of WW2, their love story was kinda “forbidden” too. The first part is actually my favourite. 

The second part follows the story of their daughter, Yue Niang Yamamoto. This story is longer and Yuening has to face the same type of ostracisation her mother had endured by the Huang family. 

[ecto-american]

Prom Season

Phic Phight Oneshot for Rikaleeta and ghostgothgeek: As Prom draws nearer, Danny finds that he has competition in asking Sam to prom. Danny/Sam

Read on AO3 and FFN

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"Dude, you're staring again," Tucker nudged him. Danny blinked, snapping out of his daze, and he stood up straight, tapping his fingers anxiously on the counter.

"Sorry, dude, it's just. What the hell would Dale want with Sam?" he scowled.

The jock was standing near Sam, the two chatting idly by Sam's favorite part of the comics store, the vinyl section. Sam was smiling, nodding and agreeing with whatever Dale was talking to her about.

"Dale's been eying Valerie lately, maybe he's asking Sam about her?" Tucker suggested. He smiled politely at a customer who came into his line, promptly beginning to check them out. "Even so, why do you care? Sammy's a big girl."

"Prom season's coming up, somebody might ask her," Danny argued lightly.

"And why's that matter?" Tucker asked. In no time at all, the customer had paid and left, and the two were left standing in the mostly empty comics store.

"Dude, you know guys!" Danny grumbled, throwing his hands up as if it was obvious. "They only want one thing, especially after prom! You should know. Don't you and Star plan on finally doing it after prom?"

"Probably, but mostly because we've already been doing it," Tucker shrugged. Danny choked on nothing.

"Wait, what? How come you didn't tell me!?" Danny asked. Tucker opened his mouth to reply, only to jerk his head to Sam.

Dale had left the store seemingly, and Sam was already at the counter, clutching a new vinyl. Danny chuckled.

"This is why we can't visit Tucker at work, you'll always end up with something," he teased her. She rolled her eyes.

"But Tucker works here now, so he'll be sweet and let me use his employee discount?" she half-asked hopefully, staring at Tucker with a bright smile. He sighed, and he entered his employee discount code as he rang her up. "Thank you!"

"Anytime," he assured her. He handed her her bag. "So did Dale ask you to prom?" Sam snorted in amusement.

"Oh hell no," she replied. "He wanted to know if anybody had asked Valerie, and if I thought his plan to ask her would go over well."

Tucker sent Danny a sideways "I told you so" smirk, and Danny made an annoyed grumble.

"Either way, you ready to drag me to Hot Topic?" Danny asked.

"Only every day," Sam said. She turned to Tucker. "You close tonight, right? Do you want us to swing by and take you home?" Tucker shook his head no.

"Nah, it's okay!" he assured her. "I have my uncle's old car now, remember?" Sam lit up a bit.

"Oh yeah! Well, just drive careful!"

Tucker waved her off with a grin.

"Don't worry about me. You two lovebirds have fun," he teased. "But not too much fun."

Danny could feel his cheeks burn. A glance at Sam, and he could see her own face flushing some. However, she rolled her eyes and jokingly flipped Tucker off, getting one in response as they walked out and into the mall.

"Do you want me to carry your bag?" Danny offered, holding his hand out.

"Sure!" Sam agreed, and she handed it over. "Have you thought about the piercing? I'll buy you one if you're going for it."

"Eh, I'm still trying to figure out how badly my mom would flip if she saw that I got my nose pierced, and if it'd be worth it lecture," Danny shrugged.

"You should totally do it, then deflect it by coming out as Danny Phantom," she joked. Danny snorted. "Come on, we could match!" Sam had gotten her left nostril pierced almost a year ago, currently occupied by a tiny black skull, as well as four total piercings per ear. As expected, her mom nearly lost it over the nose charm. She poked his nose. "You could get a little white ghost charm." He couldn't help but smile.

"Now you're tempting me to risk it," he admitted.

He gestured to the Hot Topic, and Sam went inside first, him right behind her. She went right for the piercings display, looking. After a moment, she tapped on the case, looking over her shoulder for Danny.

"See? Right there, you could get that cute little silver ghost," she told him. Danny peeked over her shoulder. She pointed at another charm, one in the shape of a laptop. "Oh! And Tucker could get that one! We could all kinda match!"

"Pretty sure Tucker's mom would actually kill him if he came home with another piercing," Danny replied. Sam had already convinced Tucker of getting his ears pierced, and his mom was Very Unhappy about it. "Just like my mom would kill me if I came home with a nose piercing."

"You're already half dead though," Sam pointed out. Danny gave a half shrug and smile.

"Got me there. Alright, I'll get it," he said. Sam grinned widely, going to the counter to immediately ask for an employee to retrieve it.

They only browsed a bit more before they finally left. No sooner were they out the door…

"Sam!" a familiar voice called out excitedly. The not-lovebirds glanced over to see Paulina and Elliot coming up to them, Paulina a few steps ahead as she excitedly half-jogged over to Sam. Elliot was carrying two Starbucks cups, taking his time following. Paulina threw her arms around Sam, hugging her tightly, the goth only giving a half smile and lightly patting her back. "If I knew you were coming to the mall, I would have invited you to get your nails done with us! Look, Elliot and I match!"

Paulina pulled away to show off white nails with pink details.

"Oh they look nice!" Sam complimented. "It's okay though. Coming today was kinda a last minute thing." Or rather, they decided to hang out here after catching the Box Ghost, who was making himself home in one of the new stores that hadn't quite opened yet.

"You got me Starbucks?" Danny joked as Elliot finally came close enough to properly hear him. Elliot rolled his eyes. "How sweet."

"If you wanna give me the four dollars it costs, sure," he joked back. He handed Paulina the clear pink drink, and she took a long sip from it. Danny noticed that he did kinda match her, with black nails and matching details, only in a pastel blue.

"What are you guys up to?" Paulina asked. "We were just about to see if Macy's had any cute prom dresses out yet." The mentioning of prom made Danny's stomach feel a bit weirdly queasy.

"We're gonna go get Danny's nose pierced!" Sam replied, pointing to his nose. Danny snapped out of the feeling.

"Wait, what? We're doing that today?" he asked. Sam grinned.

"You're eighteen, they'll let you!" she replied. She reached into the Hot Topic bag to pull out the piercing. "I gotta make you put it on before you change your mind." Oh, a bit too late already.

"Ooh, that's a lot more interesting than prom dresses!" Elliot mused. "I can drive us." He put his free hand to his ear. "I've been thinking about getting another piercing anyway." Paulina hummed thoughtfully.

"Spike should be working today, so I might see if he has my new tattoo design ready," Sam mused.

Another thing that her mom, if she were to ever find out, would flip out over. Sam already had two that her family were oblivious to. Danny knew that she had a spider on a web on her ribcage; he had held her hand while she got that one done (and nearly ended up with a broken hand). The other was a black and deep purple rose and vine on her thigh, which he had only seen right after she had gotten it. Jazz, out of everybody, had gone with her to get it, and even came back with a tattoo herself. Though Jazz, like a nerd, had opted for a book tattoo. Danny had never seen it before outside of the photo Jazz took of it, but knew that it was on her ribcage and something Spike gave her as an anniversary present.

"I guess that settles it!" Elliot grinned. "Let's go to the tattoo and piercing shop!"

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After somehow surviving Elliot's crappy little car, only somewhat affectionately called "the shitbox", they were huddled in the waiting room area of the shop. Paulina, already filling out the usual safety and health and consent forms, was standing and staring at the wall of previous art done.

"You gonna get a tattoo instead?" Elliot teased her as he handed the receptionist his own filled paperwork. Paulina shot him a smile, but still slapped his shoulder.

"Papa would kill me," she insisted.

"So? Get it where nobody will see," Elliot replied. Paulina playfully slapped him again.

Danny rolled his eyes, continuing to fill out his form as he drafted all the excuses he'd have to give his mom when she inevitably chewed his ass out when he got home. Whelp, he was already bound to be grounded sooner or later cause of the ghosts. Might as well spice up the grounding reasoning once in a while.

Sam appeared from the back, clutching a piece of paper up. Spike was behind her. Sam made a beeline for Danny.

"Dude, look at how nice it is!" she told him, holding it out for him to see. Danny glanced up. It was a skull with flowers growing out of it.

"Oh, that's sick," he commented.

"I know, right?" Sam grinned. Danny smiled, returning his attention to the paperwork.

"So you wanna get that this Saturday?" Spike spoke up.

"Uh, Danny are you free Saturday?" Sam asked. Danny glanced up at her, raising an eyebrow.

"After today I'll probably be grounded," he joked, signing his name for the last time on the forms. Sam chuckled.

"True," she replied. "Hmm, ah whatever. I can tough it out." Danny quickly looked up again as it suddenly hit him why he needed to be free. Sam had already turned to Spike. "Yeah, let's go for Saturday."

"Oh, if you want somebody around, I can come," Elliot popped up.

"That'd be awesome!" Sam grinned. "This one's going on my back, so it's supposed to hurt."

"Well, you can break my hand, I don't care," Elliot assured her. Danny's chest squeezed a bit as he felt a hot flash hit him.

"No it's okay, I can just sneak out!" he said immediately. Sam glanced at him.

"Nah, it's okay. I don't wanna get you into anymore trouble," she assured him.

"I don't care," Danny quickly blurted out. Spike chuckled.

"Man, Mrs. Fenton's scary when she's pissed, your best bet is to just obey her," Spike told him. He nodded at Danny. "Did Jazz tell you about how she nearly got into a fistfight at the bridal shop a few days ago?"

"No?" Danny raised an eyebrow. "What happened?"

"Basically when Jazz went in for her dress fitting, she had apparently gained a little bit of stress weight since the last fitting, cause she's been driving herself insane over grad school applications," Spike explained. Danny nodded understandingly. "and the lady fitting her dress kind of gushed over it cause she thought Jazz got pregnant. It made her cry, and man. Mrs. Fenton went off on her, and apparently nearly began throwing hands with the manager."

"Oh man, poor Jazz," Sam said somberly. Danny couldn't agree more as he gave a low short whistle at the audacity. Between graduating early, grad school applications, and getting married, he had never seen Jazz look so stressed out. "Why don't you guys push the wedding back a bit?"

"She'll get more money from FASFA and scholarships, plus better housing, if we get married sooner, and she doesn't wanna just elope and have a party later," Spike shook his head a bit. "But uh, either way though, I got some numbing cream for ya Sam if you're worried about pain." Spike shot Danny a reassuring smile and a wink. He felt a little better. Sam sighed with relief.

"Please," she confessed. "It's not too bad when Danny's here, but if I'm alone I know I'm going to get a little anxious."

"Aw come on, I'm not reassuring?" Elliot teased. To Danny's relief, Sam also playfully slapped Elliot on his shoulder.

"Are you kidding me? You'd probably actually ruin my tattoo by making me laugh the entire time," she told him. Danny's heart squeezed again, and he got up to silently hand the receptionist the forms.

"I think I might get a tattoo," Paulina finally spoke up. Elliot's interest was immediately piqued.

"Oh?" he asked. Paulina nodded, pointing to a tattoo on the wall, a pretty collection of flowers.

"This is sooo pretty, I think I'd get something like this," she said. Sam glanced at it.

"That'd be like, what? Four hundred-ish dollars, Spike?" she guessed. Spike glanced at the reference photo and nodded.

"Yeah, give or take," he replied. Paulina made a face.

"Maybe one day in the future," she decided. "I need money for a prom dress." Sam waved a hand.

"Prom dresses are temporary, tattoos are forever!" she told her. Paulina made a noise of disinterest, and Sam shrugged.

"Danny, did you wanna go first?" the receptionist asked as she glanced at the three stacks of piercing requests.

Danny coughed a bit nervously. He glanced at Sam, and he nodded.

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"Thanks again, Spike!" Sam beamed. Spike smiled fondly at her, offering her a hug. She gladly accepted it.

"Anything for my favorite future sister-in-law," he teased. Sam's face instantly burned. Danny scoffed as he lightly touched his new piercing anxiously.

"Sam isn't related to us, dude," he told Spike. Spike gave him a weird look, then shook his head.

"You're lucky you know how to do math, man," he told him. "Also let me know if Mrs. Fenton kills you." Danny gave a nod.

"Don't worry, you'd be invited to the funeral," he joked. Spike chuckled. "Also I give you permission to tattoo my corpse before they put me down."

"Sick," Spike grinned. "I'll give you some of those lil blob ghosts the float around."

Elliot and Paulina were chatting a mile a minute outside the shop. When the not-lovebirds came out, Paulina immediately pushed her hair behind her ear to show off her new helix piercings. Danny could already see Elliot's singular orbital piercing.

"Look! I feel so punk!" Paulina gushed. Sam snorted in amusement.

"Girl, I'm gonna have to get you into a lot more black and leather before you're anywhere near punk," she teased. Paulina giggled.

"Maybe some leather pants," she mused. She shrugged. "Anywho! Elliot and I were gonna go look at the prom dresses! Wanna tag along?"

"Yeah, sounds fun!" Danny agreed.

"Yeah! I still need to get mine," Sam agreed. "I really want your opinion on a dress anyway," she said to Paulina. "Cause you know I'm going to customize mine no matter what I get."

"Yeah, I might ask you to do the same to mine, like help me tailor something if needed," Paulina mused. "I need my dress to be absolutely perfect. But we need to make another Starbucks run."

"Really?" Elliot raised an eyebrow at her. "Boo, this is your third trip today." Paulina pouted cutely at him. He playfully chuckled. "Alright, alright. I kinda want another iced coffee anyway."

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"So, has Elliot talked to you about it yet?" Paulina asked, taking a long sip of her drink as they waited near the door to the popular coffee chain. Danny made a confused "hm?" noise as he took a sip of his own. "That he wanted to ask Sam to prom?"

Danny's heart stopped, and he instantly returned his attention back to the pair of goths. They were customizing their Starbucks drink at the counter, smiling happily and chatting casually about something he couldn't heart.

God, of course! Fuck, he was so focused on every other dude that he forgot that Elliot wasn't gay. God damn it, and Sam would potentially actually say yes to him too.

"Uh. Um. I-uh." Danny coughed into his elbow as he tried to think of some way to respond that sounded normal. "No, he, um. Hasn't said anything to me yet." Nice response, Fenton.

"Oh, well, be prepared I guess," Paulina replied, taking a sip of her fancy-looking pink drink in the clear plastic cup.

Danny took a huge gulp of his coffee as he tried to process it. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He needed to think of how to reply to Elliot if the guy were to actually confront him or talk to him about it. His gut twisted. How was he supposed to reply? Elliot didn't deserve to go out with his Sam. What the fuck was that moron thinking? They were just friends.

"You guys ready?" Elliot glanced over his shoulder at them.

"Yup!" Paulina chirped. Elliot walked over with them, Sam quickly behind.

"You got your hourly Starbucks?" Elliot teased her.

"Mhm!" she hummed.

"You almost need to start working at Starbucks," Elliot told her.

"But then I'd just spend the whole paycheck on Starbucks," Paulina playfully protested.

"Fair, fair," Elliot hummed.

They exited, and they all piled into Elliot's car. Danny and Sam in the back, Paulina in her normal position in the passenger's seat.

"Do you know what kind of dress you're looking for?" Paulina asked as Elliot pulled out of the parking lot. Sam nodded.

"Yeah, definitely something black or purple," she said. "I'm really into long dresses lately, so probably a long dress, but I dunno! Short dresses are cute too."

"Oh short dresses are sooo in right now," Paulina agreed. "I want a short dress! Definitely pink, I want a really cute pastel pink maybe? But any shade of pink, I think it looks best on me."

"Hmm, yeah but greens look really good on you too," Elliot spoke up. "Like pastel and light greens?"

"They do but it's prom so I really want something pink," Paulina replied.

"Hmm, I think I look good in purple and black," Sam mused. "What do I look good in Danny?"

"Purple, black, red, and green, but like? An ecto green if that makes sense?" Danny said. Sam thought about it.

"Yeah, I really do like ecto green," she agreed. She shot him a sly smile. "Reminds me of Danny Phantom. And well. Ya know. I think he's really cute." Danny flushed, shyly smiling back.

"Ugh he's sooo cute," Paulina gushed. "His eyes are the most beautiful shade of green I've ever seen. Elliot, why are your eyes so dark." Elliot chuckled.

"Cause both of my parents have dark green eyes," he replied. Paulina huffed.

"I think that was rude of you. You should have bright green eyes like the ghost boy," she said.

"Yeah, it's pretty rude," Elliot agreed. "I'll fix that tomorrow."

"Do you actually think Danny Phantom's cute?" Danny asked Sam. She smiled, giving a half-shrug.

"Absolutely one of the cutest guys I've ever seen," she confirmed.

Danny took a long drink of his coffee, hoping that chugging some of it would help explain why his cheeks were beginning to burn.

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"Oh, this is sooo your color!"

"Oh my god! I love it! Do they have it in my size?"

"Hmm, um, lemme see...yeah! They do! Here!"

"Ugh I cannot wait to try it on! Oh! Oh look! Look at these sleeves, it's like a princess dress! I'm going to grab one to try it on."

"Ooo, that's going to look so good on you. Hm, I think I might try on that one too, cause it comes in dark purple and those sleeves kinda look witchy...Danny what do you think?"

Danny snapped out of his zoning out to look at Sam. The goth was holding up a short dress with long, flowy sleeves. It was a mid-dark purple and plain, though he had no doubt that Sam would likely customize it to her liking. She did that a lot with clothes.

"Yeah, looks good," he said neutrally.

"Oh, that'll look so good with your bat heels!" Elliot pipped up. Danny nearly forgot that the dude was sitting with him on what was dubbed the boyfriend bench near the dressing rooms. "Especially if you wear a corset over the midsection. Like if you found a purple version of that red one you have, with the black lace over it."

"Oo, that would potentially look so cute," Sam mused. She put the dress over her arm on top of two others. "I'm gonna go try these on."

"Oh, I should too," Paulina mused. Unlike Sam, her arms were overflowing with four, five? Danny counted at least ten different potential dresses if he went by the different looking fabrics alone.

"Yeah, you need to narrow some down," Sam told her.

"They're all just so pretty!" Paulina complained. "I wanna wear them all!"

"Well, let's just eliminate some," she suggested.

The girls went off to the dressing room, and Danny leaned back against the boyfriend bench. He pulled his phone out, and he replied to a message from Tucker and another from his mom. Man, was he not ready to face her later.

"So, Sam huh."

Danny glanced at Elliot.

"Uh, yeah. She's great," Danny replied shortly.

"She is, she is," he agreed with a slight hum. Elliot shifted to rest his elbows on his knees. "Ya know I was thinking about asking her to prom." Danny felt a lump stick in his throat.

"Really?" was all he could think to reply.

"Yeah!" Elliot smiled. "I mean, yeah. I wasn't the best dudes four years ago, but I feel a lot better about myself, ya know? I think I finally know who I am now, and I still really like Sam. She's funny, smart, really pretty. Love hanging out with her. Kinda wondering if she feels the same, and if she'd be down to go with me. What do you think?"

Danny bit his tongue to avoid an unnecessarily harsh reply, but he did get anger. How dare he. After all the lies he told Sam, and the way he lied and manipulated her. Sam deserved better than that.

"I um. I don't think you should go for it," Danny said hesitantly. Elliot raised a curious eyebrow.

"Why, did she tell you something?" he asked. "Or did somebody else ask her?"

"Um. Well, not exactly," he hesitated. Danny bit his lower lip. "I mean, I know she likes you. As a friend!" he quickly added. "But uh, I dunno man. Just don't think it's a good idea."

"What do you mean, is somebody else going to ask her?" Elliot asked.

"Why does it matter?" Danny nearly snapped. "You asked me what I thought, and I said it."

Elliot snickered in amusement, rolling his eyes. It only served to irritate Danny even more. Foreign phony. God, why did they even hang out with Elliot? Paulina and Elliot made sense, cause they were both huge prep kids and did cheerleading and soccer respectively, making them both jocks. But why did he have to hang out with Elliot. Well, because Sam and Paulina were friends now, and that meant that Danny also had to be friends with Paulina's friends. Of fucking course.

"What's so funny?" he demanded to know.

"I think I get why," Elliot smirked.

"What do you mean?" Danny questioned. Elliot just shook his head. Danny opened his mouth to question again.

"Hey! Whatcha think?"

Danny shut his mouth as Paulina bounce out in her first dress option. It was a bright pink dress that came to her knees, the skirt incredibly puffy and reminding Danny of a ballerina tutu, with inch wide straps.

"Oh, it looks so good on you boo," Elliot cooed to her. Paulina beamed, twirreling. "But that may also just be you, you look fabulous in everything." Paulina put her hands over her chest.

"Thank you," she gushed. "Can you take my photo? I wanna compare all the dresses I wear."

"Of course," Elliot agreed, pulling his phone out. He snapped a photo of her.

"Oh Sam!" Paulina squealed.

Danny noticed the goth coming out in a fully black dress that also came only to her knees, with a much slimmer skirt and short sleeves. It looked fairly plain, but man. Sam still made it look great. Danny was glad he was sitting, because he knew he was weak kneed.

Sam was smiling brightly, giving Paulina a light wave.

"I take it you like it?" Sam questioned, doing a quick turn around.

"Girl you always look so good in black," Paulina praised.

"She's sooo right," Elliot agreed. "It just looks so good on you, no matter what. Just." Elliot made a chef kiss motion. Sam flushed a light pink, and Danny glared at him. Dude, shut up. "No wonder you're goth. You were just made for black."

"I dunno, I think you're exaggerating," she replied. Sam glanced down at her outfit. "I mean, it's fairly simple. What do you think, Danny?"

Danny swallowed hard.

"Oh uh, I think it looks great!" he said, smiling brightly. Sam returned it. "I mean like. It's kinda? Plain but I know you'd make it something great. You always do." Sam hummed.

"Mm yeah. It's pretty plain, but I dunno if I wanna put in the amount of work it'd take to make this dress really poppin'," she mused. "I'm gonna go try another one on."

The two girls went back to the dressing room, and Danny could hear their lighthearted conversation. Soon as they turned the corner, he spoke up.

"What do you mean?" Danny demanded to know. Elliot snorted.

"Bro, just admit that you like her, and that you don't want me to take her to prom," he said.

"Where on earth would you get that idea!?" Danny scowled. Elliot rolled his eyes.

"Dude, you've been crazy about her since like, what? Ninth grade at the earliest? Paulina says you two have been making googly eyes at each other since like third grade," he said. Danny felt his cheeks flush. It had not been since the third grade. Had it?

"It's not like that," he insisted. "I just, you know. Really love and worry about her, she's my best friend."

"Best friends don't get worked up like this, this much, over a mutual friend asking them out."

Danny just glared at Elliot before rubbing his face with the palms of his hands. He took a deep breath, exhaling hard.

"How's it look?" Sam's voice asked. Danny glanced up, and his heart just absolutely flipped.

She looked amazing. Beautiful. Stunning. Like a plant goddess, a model, an angel. He felt like there wasn't a flaw to be found, and he had never seen somebody look more enchanting. Her dress made her look even more divine, emphasising and showing off the best parts of her. The purple matching her eyes, the dress fitting her absolutely perfect as it flowed almost to the floor and the strapless feature making her hair flow smoothly over her shoulders. This dress was perfect for her.

But none of those descriptors came out. Instead all he could do is nervously swallow, tongue tied as he felt his cheeks burn up. He struggled to pick just one of those adjectives, and his brain settled for just saying nothing at all and simply staring at her instead.

"Oh, you just look so lovely!" Elliot spoke up. He stood up, going over to walk around her. "It fits you perfect, like it hugs your hips just right and really shows off your-"

"Pretty!" Danny suddenly half-yelled. The group looked at him oddly, and he felt his face flush harder. "It makes you look pretty!"

"Thank you," Sam replied, pausing a bit as she raised an eyebrow at him.

"...Uh, yeah. Um, yes!" Elliot clasped his hands together. "Just stunning. I love this purple on you, it's such a beautiful color. This dress specifically was made for you."

"Dude, chill," Danny grumbled. Sam gave him a Look, and he flinched.

"Danny, can I talk to you for a moment?" Sam asked through gritted teeth.

He had no opportunity to respond, as she grabbed his arm, painfully hard owwie, and began to drag him away, towards another boyfriend bench near a jewelry display counter and out of earshot.

"What's going on?" Sam demanded to know. She finally let go of his arm, and he huffed for a moment. Instead of responding, he put his hands behind his head, pacing back and forth. She quickly grew impatient. "Well? Say something!"

"Elliot wants to ask you to prom!" he blurted out, letting his hands fall. Sam blinked.

"He does?" she asked, sounding clearly surprised and...not angry. Sam smiled a little. "Really?"

"Oh don't tell me you're gonna actually take that foreign phony up on the offer!" Danny snapped. Sam instantly glared at him, crossing her arms.

"Elliot's our friend, dude," Sam reminded him. "Why do you care?"

"B-b-because!" Danny's arms were moving wildly as he talked. "He lied to you for months, and you're just going to ignore all that!"

"That was years ago, and he apologized," she said. "He's more than made up for it. And he's a super sweet guy. I like him."

"You like him!?" Danny nearly shouted. Sam slapped his upper shoulder with the back of her hand.

"Calm down and lower your voice," she told him. "And well, yeah. As a friend. Maybe I kinda like him more than that too."

"What the fuck, Sam!?" Danny, in fact, did not lower his voice. He dry-heaved for a few seconds, briefly making Sam start to watch him worriedly. Finally, he took a deep breath, and he returned to a normal inside voice. "What does he have that I don't?"

She went from worried to a blank stare.

"Apparently liking me enough to say or do something, especially when I've dropped so many hints or made moves myself," she replied. She brushed past him and left, returning to their friends.

Danny found himself taking a seat on the bench as he tried to collect his thoughts and the wide range of emotions that accompanied them. He put his head in his hands, rubbing his face. God he was so fucking stupid.

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"And it's just! Why him! Why Elliot?" Danny continued to vent after spilling the whole story. Jazz gave a small hum of acknowledgement as she finished writing another name out on the envelope. She set it aside for Danny. "I've liked Sam for so long, and I thought she liked me too."

"You're an idiot," Jazz immediately concluded. Danny glared at her as he folded another wedding invite, slipping it into an already addressed envelope before putting the sticker on the back to keep it sealed shut, and a stamp on the other side. Both were sitting on the floor of the apartment she shared with Spike, with each sibling on the opposite side of the coffee table, with Jazz resting her back against the couch and Danny sitting within reaching distance of their TV.

"Hey!" he protested. Jazz gave him a Look, grabbing another envelope.

"I mean it. She does like you, and she has for a while," she told him. She began to write out another address. "You just always never responded. You pushed her off in favor of another girl or because of some weird commitment issue that you seem to have going on. So be honest with me, and yourself. What's the problem?"

Danny silently folded two more invites, repeating the process of putting them in addressed envelopes and putting the sticker and stamp on.

"...I'm scared," he finally admitted.

"What of?" Jazz asked, not looking up from her activity. Danny had to really think. He casually tossed the finished wedding invite into the 'finished' basket.

"I guess just...it not working out. What if it doesn't work out? What if it drives us apart, and we lose each other?"

"You won't know that until you try," Jazz replied.

"She might also reject me, cause of the same mentality. What if she still likes Elliot more, and-"

"Danny," Jazz interrupted. She finally looked up from writing. "You will never know what the future will and won't hold. Just talk to her, and let her be part of the choice rather than blowing it all off due to fear."

He thought about it, and he gave a small sigh.

"Yeah...I think she's kinda pissed that I haven't been letting her be part of the choice anyway," he mused. He glanced at the pile of envelopes next to her. "How many invites do you have left?"

Jazz checked her list.

"Least a hundred more to go," she sighed.

"What the fuck, you have like no friends! Who are these people!?" Danny cried out. Jazz glared at him, reaching behind her to grab a pillow to hit him with.

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Knock knock knock.

Danny floated awkwardly outside of her window. She didn't answer, but he could tell that she was there. Her light was clearly on, and he could hear her music playing.

Knock knock knock.

"Sam?" he called out. "Sam, can we please talk?" He knocked some more.

The longest minute of his life passed before he heard the music turn off. The curtains opened, and Sam was on the other side, staring incredibly annoyed at him. She gestured for him to come inside, and he did. His feet landed on the floor, and she reshut the curtains.

"What do you want?" she snapped. Danny exhaled deeply.

"Sam…" He took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry about how I've been acting. I've just been…"

"Stupid?" she suggested.

"Yeah. But more importantly. I." He paused. "I've been honestly such a huge coward. Still kinda am, actually. Like…" He swallowed nervously, glancing at the ground. "I've been too afraid to bring it up or to really even talk to you about it."

Sam cocked her head to the side. She took a few steps back, sitting down on her bed and patting the spot next to it.

"Talk to me," she encouraged. Danny plopped down next to her, turning human as he did so.

"I want to be with you," he said bluntly. "But just...I get so caught up in all these what-ifs. What if it doesn't work out? What if you get tired of me? What if you eventually realize that it sucks being with somebody who has to cancel dates or who ditches you because I have to stop Skulker or Technus or Ember? What if you get hurt because of me? What if…" he trailed off, not even wanting to get into deeper thoughts.

"I wish you had told me this sooner," Sam spoke softly. "We could have talked about it." Danny sighed.

"I know, I know. I just." He rubbed the palms of his hands up and down his thighs as he tried to provide some kind of a rational answer. "I'm afraid. Even now. I don't want to lose you."

"You're not going to lose me," Sam reassured him. She put her hand on top of one of his, and he stopped. "You're one of my best friends, and I love you so much."

"...I love you too," he confessed. He turned his wrist, moving to intertwine their fingers together. "I can't imagine a future without you being there in some way. And I just...I guess I've always been worried about you not wanting to be there anymore."

"I'll always want to be there," she smiled. She leaned in, lightly pecking his cheek. He sighed deeply in relief. "Even if we tried, and we found that it didn't work, that doesn't mean we can't still be friends after. But we'll never really know unless...you know. We tried."

"So, I guess that means that um...you'd be interested in maybe going to prom with me?" he asked.

"Of course, ya dingus." She lightly tapped his new nose ring. "So. How much trouble are you in with your mom?" Danny flinched.

"Man, let's just say I'm surprised she didn't fully kill me."

[chamomileteainabuttercup]

Dincobb Week Day 3 - New Experiences (SFW)

Welcome to my Dincobb Week fanfic posts! I've written stories and scenes of varying lengths and tones. For clarity I should say that most of these exist as miniature AUs of their own and have no continuity with each other or with anything else I've written about these characters, so in different pieces they may be described having different physical features, personal possessions, preferences, et cetera. (There are three exceptions which I'll note as such when they come out.) Thanks to @djarining, who helped me a lot with brainstorming and discussing my ideas!

For today I have two pieces, an SFW and an NSFW - the NSFW is scheduled to post an hour after this one.

New Experiences

Cobb keeps on saying he’s been cold before, it gets bitter cold out in the desert at night, and Din has kept on telling him that yes, that’s cold, but it’s not ice and snow cold, and if he’s going to take him on a trip he needs Cobb to trust him about the appropriate clothing.

He does need thermals, he does need thick wool socks, he does need a heavy parka, wool cap and mittens.

“What about you?” Cobb asks. “You may be wearing thermals under your suit, but I don’t see a parka.”

“I’m used to making do without one,” says Din, “but I have higher standards for you.”

“Have ‘em for yourself too, then.”

“All right then. I will.”

“Just see that you do.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Din says, smiling inside his helmet.

“I’m the boss of everyone, they just don’t know it yet,” says Cobb with a cocky grin.

Boss or not, he’s got Din to wear a parka over his beskar, which he doesn’t altogether like to do. The shiny breastplate is for show as well as for function. A symbolic declaration of identity and values. Well, everyone can still see the helmet, and he compromised on cutting off the parka sleeves just above the elbow so his vambraces are free and functional. This is meant to be a pleasure trip, just to show Cobb a different world as a treat, but he’s still not about to go anywhere without ready access to his grappling hook, flamethrower and whistling birds. Safety first.

He lands the small ship he’s borrowed from Boba on a small, flat-topped hill overlooking a frozen lake, its edges frosted white and its heart a turquoise blue. In fact, if you’re generous with your aesthetics, the lake is sort of heart-shaped. He wonders if Cobb will notice and appreciate that. They lower the landing ramp and step outside into a brilliantly sunny day. The air out here is so cold and crisp it stings your face. Cobb actually gasps. Din gives him a few moments to walk to the bottom of the ramp, then slowly, carefully, extend one foot and put it down and feel the crunch and squish of the snow under his boot.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“It’s weird!” says Cobb enthusiastically. He sees his own breath condensing on the air and huffs out another cloud of warm mist. Then, “Ow.” He puts his mittened hand to his ear.

“You forgot to take out your earring?” Din asks.

“I was excited to see the snow,” Cobb says sheepishly. “And I love it. You gave it to me.” It’s the beskar dart tip from a whistling bird and Cobb is almost comically proud of how it looks glinting in his earlobe.

“Well, it’s gonna get real cold and I don’t want you to get frostbite. Hold still,” Din says. He pulls off his gloves, gives them to Cobb to hold and carefully removes the already chilly earring. He pulls up one of the hook-and-loop flaps of Cobb’s parka pockets, tucks the earring firmly down inside, presses it closed, then pulls Cobb’s wool cap down to cover his ears properly. “There.”

“This hat is crushing my hair,” Cobb grumps.

“A Mandalorian helmet couldn’t unpretty your hair, but you think a toque will?” Din asks, pulling his gloves back on.

“Aw, Mando, you think I’m pretty?” Cobb beams at him, more radiant than the sunshine on the snow crust.

“C’mon,” Din says, embarrassed. He does think Cobb is pretty but he has too little experience of romance to be able to say it smoothly. He grabs Cobb’s hand and pulls him along, heading down the slope towards the lake. Cobb slips and flounders and laughs. He starts to lurch forward, catches himself and throws himself backward, landing on his butt and then flopping on his back with his arms outstretched. “Come on,” says Din, with a chuckle. He reaches down and pulls Cobb up to his feet, leaving his outline in the snow.

“Hey, look at that!” says Cobb, twisting to look back. “It really takes a print, doesn’t it? Not like dry sand at all. It’s so crazy that this is water.” He scoops up a mittenful and crumbles it around.

“Try squeezing it,” says Din. Cobb squashes the snow between his palms. “See how it compacts? It’ll hold together.” He’s remembering the short period his first covert spent living someplace very like this, a little compound in the snowy woods. Unlike most covert locations, it offered both secrecy and open space for children to run and play. The snow forts they built and the snowball battles they fought were both educational for warriors in the making and tremendous fun for a motley assortment of kids in hand-me-down winter clothes and soft training helmets. The snow was the first thing that brought him out of his shell to play with the others. Up to then he had been his foster father’s shadow, dumb with sorrow, until finally the sight of them running, shouting, flinging snow had sparked his attention.

Buir had seen where he was looking as Din stood beside him holding tightly a fistful of his cape. He’d looked down at Din, his helmet impassive, nothing like his lost parents’ dark, expressive eyes and smiling, talking mouths. But there was something kind in the tilt of his head, and he gently jerked it in the direction of the romping foundlings. Buir barely spoke because his larynx had been crushed in a fight years before. Rather than speaking through the mic in his helmet, he would hold a little electrolarynx device to his throat when he really needed to speak aloud, but more often than not he used a modified sign language, finding it more convenient. That was what he told Din back then, but thinking on it now, he’s fairly sure Buir switched to relying on signing because the electrolarynx made him sound a lot like a droid, and he saw how uncomfortable that made the child he’d picked up. He didn’t need to say “Go on”; Din understood, and after hesitating a moment longer, he released his grip on the crumpled fabric and ventured out to play.

That was the day he learned to make snowballs, and it’s something he can teach Cobb now, how to press and mould the snow between cupped palms, how to roll it down the slope, picking up more and more snow as it went, turning it between the two of them to keep its shape even and rounded. It makes them both laugh just out of happiness and satisfaction. Cobb’s cheeks and nose are flushed a sweet rosy pink. His eyes are bright, their hazel colour almost gold where the sharp sunlight catches it, and he’s altogether so lovely a sight that Din is glad his face is hidden and he can stare as openly and foolishly as he wants.

Together they build a snowman where the ground flattens out; he gets an idea and labours back up the hill in the sliding snow into the ship’s hold and brings back a bucket to mould its head into a snow Mandalorian. After that success they make their way down to the lake, and after Din checks how solid the ice is, they venture out on its surface, skidding around a little. Cobb keeps grabbing hold of his hand, and although it actually makes both of them a bit less stable, Din’s happy to let him. When Din asks, “You want to try sliding?” he’s immediately game. They run and slide on foot, on knees, and on a few accidental occasions on their asses until they’re out of breath and glowing with warmth. It occurs to Din that apart from a little light Grogu-entertaining, he hasn’t really played in years. He still knows how, though. Panting and laughing, they stagger off the ice and begin making their way back up the hill, wallowing in the knee-deep snow, helping each other up by reaching down from above or by pushing from below (hands on butts). At the top they look back at their chaotic trail across the formerly perfect snowscape.

“What do you think of it now?” Din asks.

“It’s fantastic,” says Cobb. “I couldn’t have imagined what it’s really like. And there’s no one I’d rather be here with than you.” He throws his arms around Din and, to his surprise, kisses him smack-dab on the cheek of his helmet. He can’t feel it, of course, but he enjoys it symbolically, at least for a few moments until it becomes clear that Cobb’s lips are stuck to the frosty metal. He tries to pull away, gives a little muffled cry of panic and pain, and stares helplessly through the eyeslot of Din’s visor. “Hnnh!”

“Dank farrik — it’s okay, hold still. Just — okay, put your hands on the helmet, hold it, take the weight. Got it? Don’t let go or it’ll peel your lips.” He steadies it with his hands too and brings his head and shoulders down, pulling his head out of the helmet. He’s dazzled by the unfiltered bright light for a moment, then gets a proper look at Cobb, scarlet-faced and glaring with anger, confusion and embarrassment, still smooching the helmet. He has to bite his own lip hard not to laugh, but it’s not really funny, he doesn’t want Cobb to get frostbite or tear the skin off his lips. “Stay there,” he says, turns and runs up the ramp into the ship. In the tiny, cramped galley he draws a cup of lukewarm water from the tap, then rushes back, trying not to spill it. “Okay. It’s okay, just hold very still for me, got it?” Carefully, he pours water over the join between lip and metal, while Cobb breathes loud and fast through his nose. After a few moments the icy seal breaks and Cobb is able to gently, carefully peel his lips away from the helmet. They’re very red and they look like they’re sore and stinging. “You don’t look like you’re bleeding anywhere,” Din says hopefully.

Cobb cautiously runs his tongue-tip over his lips and winces. “No, but they feel raw,” he says. “Goddamn that was cold!”

“I think you’ll survive,” Din says.

“Well, sure, I’ll survive,” says Cobb. “But could you kiss ‘em better?”

It seems only fair.

[obeymeluv]

Diavolo as a Dad

I just want to take a sec and thank everyone for the attention this blog gets. I’m always surprised at how many notes and reblogs there are. Seriously! I have, like, 16 posts and somehow I have 400 followers?! It’s really nice (つ´∀｀)つ

I like it best when there’s comments. It makes me happy ＼(^o^)／

I saw a comment on “The Bros as Dads” post asking for Diavolo as a dad, so here you go. I tried to tag you, but your handle didn’t come up :/

Hopefully you guys like this. I feel like Diavolo’s character is very vague.

This kind of turned into general Diavolo headcanons + Diavolo as a Dad. My b.

 General Diavolo Headcanons:

I headcanon that demons have a natural attraction to humans not only because of whatever energy they could provide, but because there’s something innate that makes them want humans. Maybe like an ancient call to their corruptibility or something. Or simply a predator coaxing prey into the den.

Diavolo is especially susceptible to this because he’s the prince. The higher up in the demon hierarchy you are, the more you want humans for their spirit, purity, the soul contract, and just some kind of satisfaction only they can give

There’s probably a forbidden fruit element to it, too. Demons were harassed by humans and angels alike to leave them be, and that just made them more attractive 

He genuinely wanted to befriend humans and knock down some old walls and superstitions, so he made the exchange program. A lot of times the sheer excitement of making it happen is enough to take the edge off his demon side. Ignore the whispers saying the little human would be such a treat, like a little lamb in the palm of his hand...

Diavolo’s a pretty outgoing and friendly guy who’s been trapped in a castle of propriety and demands. This human is also his chance at escape, to learn more than books could ever teach him.

At first he’s worried about seducing them (like the old call demands) but when he realizes the human has a crush on him without that influence, he’s stoked.

Pure and perfect, right? THE example of what his program was trying to achieve!

The dates start off innocent and cute--studying and tea in the castle, a small brunch here and there. Diavolo has skipped out on several duties because he simply must treat you to Devildom cuisine! If he didn’t, they wouldn’t get the full experience now, would they?

Barbatos has had to hunt down Lord Diavolo more than he cared for. If you end up convincing Diavolo back to the castle, he respects you. He appreciates the extra babysitter.

You bring a joy to Diavolo’s lavish monotony and he wants the Devildom and human world to know he’s serious about forging better bonds, so he asks if you want to make a pact.

That’s what he says, but it’s so much more than that. Diavolo couldn’t put it all into words and you probably don’t have the lifespan it would take for him to explain (if he could).

At most, there’s something warm and giddy and pulsing in him at the thought of being so close with you. Two souls sharing a bond. Being looked at with such love and adoration...

His pact mark is large and elaborate, and he takes great joy in hiding it from the Devildom, relishing the rare mornings where he helps you dress. He doesn’t regret bonding with you, but he doesn’t want to draw unsavory attention. 

Diavolo as a Dad (when you’re pregnant) :

You realize you’re pregnant before Barbatos and Diavolo do, neither one of them very familiar with how humans carry the pregnancy or change throughout.

There’s subtle signs about how your skin is changing, the way your hair looks, and how you smell different. It’s firing off in Diavolo’s brain, tickling at the edge of it, but he can’t figure out what it is.

Barbatos consulted Solomon and got extra suspicious. When you realize he’s starting to put it together, you do the reveal.

You write a note and draw a picture of the pregnancy test, mixing it up in the papers he has to review. Then, just to be extra cute, you busy yourself about the castle to “give him private time”.

Diavolo is handling his paperwork, per usual (it’s almost automatic). The unofficial form catches his eyes since it’s more a note than anything. He reads it and suddenly the WHOLE CASTLE is up in arms with joy.

Doesn’t matter what room you’re in, you heard him. That big, joyful laugh that works his whole chest.

The Little D’s of the castle are skittering around and whooshing through walls to help him find you. You can hear him flying around and calling for you, and it’s like the times you’ve played hide and seek.

The second Diavolo finds you, he crushes you to him and smothers you with kisses. His eyes sparkle as he snuggles you, big purr rolling through his chest. He’s asking a million questions about human children

The two of you take classes together. He studies up on humans and you learn about how to care for demon babies.

Barbatos cries inside at the thought of baby-proofing the castle. He gets the bright idea to hire a bunch of moms and they do sweeps of the castle, tidying up and making lists of what needs to be put away or added to make it safe

You’re given a special brew (exclusive to the royal family) and drink it daily. It fortifies your body to deliver the child and gives the baby its royal heritage (basically makes sure Diavolo’s genes and the demon side comes out a bit stronger).

Even though it tastes good and something in it makes you want to drink it, you’re sick of it by the second month. Barbatos and Diavolo continue to insist that you do. The child should be at least half-demon and will need to be recognized as next-of-kin for ruling.

Diavolo would love to take you out to socialize and attend public classes, but he’s busy and you’re in a delicate state. The royal physicians say the brew does a lot internally so it’s best not to stress you too much (If he’d done The King’s Brew ritual before you were pregnant, the baby would’ve been 3/4th demon and you wouldn’t have so many restrictions. Who knew?)

There’s a lot of private dates around the royal gardens and any beautiful sight he can give you. If you want company, he invites people to you. You want exquisite food? Barbatos can cook, but if you don’t want his cooking then Diavolo can have it delivered. The castle is spacious enough for you to get your daily exercise with simple walks. 

He adores seeing you in the royal colors and is constantly sharing visions of diaphanous gowns and anything that can make you comfortable to the designers. Always gushes when he sees you in something new.

Being an old-fashioned demon prince, he does a series of small oil paintings instead of maternity photos. When you explain that maternity photos are more of a human thing, he books a session so the child can see both (the oil paintings are tasteful and appropriate for the castle but they all end up in his study).

Is totally on board with helping you dress (or laying in bed with your huge baby bump when clothes seem a bit hard for the next 5-10 minutes), and taking long, relaxing baths.

Takes his paperwork to bed so he can watch you sleep. You might snore, and the bed is almost comically huge, but you look so relaxed that Diavolo swears you lied to him about being purely human

His favorite thing to do is rub ointments and tinctures on your belly to help your skin. Loves to give you shoulder kisses while he does.

When he finds out you’re having a boy, he commissions tiny matching outfits. He doesn’t know if he wants to gush over the details or cry (”Barbatos, how inconceivably tiny! Isn’t it amusing?”)

Diavolo as a Dad (for real) :

Has to be given very explicit instructions about age-appropriate play because the minute the kid is crawling Diavolo’s going to want to play with him like a toddler.

Lets him teethe on old antique gold stuff that gives Mammon an aneurysm when he realizes what the kid’s doing (and how expensive the thing is in his hands).

Had a treasure chest-style bassinet comissioned because his kid is his treasure. One of the two--two and a half, with Barbatos--greatest treasures in his castle.

100% uses the kids to shirk his royal duties, but you and Barbatos keep him on a tight leash. Literally. He has a coupon allotment for the week (if you didn’t do the coupon thing he’d NEVER get any work done).

He LIVES for the skin-to-skin contact and is very disappointed when he has to put clothes back on for guests or meetings. He’s just doing what’s best for his son, okay?

That child is going to be spoiled AF. Always wanting to be held or next to his papa.

Diavolo isn’t allowed to do the chest carrier because he gets so excited about stuff he might sling the kid around on accident (Barbatos banned it after he held the baby through some paperwork and spent half the time playing with his feet).

Can never get over how tiny his son is, or how he can hold him in one hand. Somehow works it into every conversation.

Will work his kid into every conversation. Has pictures to go along with it.

His official Devilgram is 80% his kid or you (or both), 5% Barbatos, 5% other people, and 10% bad shots he doesn’t know how to delete.

Almost all of his Devilgram videos were taken by Barbatos because Diavolo absolutely loses it when the baby speaks gibberish. He dies laughing and just can’t hold it together. The video is just shaky and blurry otherwise. 

You’d think every time he sees him is the first time because Diavolo is so smitten and amazed

The Little D’s of the castle are always giggling to themselves and racing to tell you that they caught Diavolo peppering kisses on his little baby forehead or fists.

He’s a really involved and happy dad. Childlike and joyful by nature, he’s super invested in his kid. Sometimes it’s like you have two, but Diavolo means well.

Decent at all reverse psychology ploys. Kid doesn’t want mommy’s affection? More for him! Kid’s not hungry? He’ll eat it, then (and the dessert that they totally can’t have now)!

Can’t really discipline. Feels too guilty. Threatens the child with Barbatos or you.

Is really surprised when the kid has a ‘mom day’ where it seems like he doesn’t exist but totally understands (”Your mom has that affect on me, too.”)

Hope you liked it :)

[starbirdfinch]

Welcome To My Tumblr!

★ Bio ★

Star ★ She/Her ★ 23 ★ Hetero-Ally

You can all just call me Star- I am an artist and writer. Mainly a comic artist, character designer, and currently practicing concept art and hopefully story boarding. I will post my artwork, will mainly would be random drawings or practice art, possibly even short stories- I hope you guys enjoy what I post and I appreciate any form of support!

I always wanted to create stories ever since I was a child; have been working bits and pieces of my art and stories almost everyday from doing small doodles to planning worlds & concepts. Part of me will feel like my stories might not be good enough but I’m enjoying the journey of improving my art, writing, and storytelling & hope I’d be able to finish one story. ^^

★ Media ★

Currently Working On!

Will add more soon!

★ Disclaimers ★

• If you want to draw my characters- you have my permission. All I ask is no ship art with anyone other than their love interest, no NSFW (ESPECIALLY my persona and animal characters), no genderbends, and no human forms of my animal characters.

• Please keep in mind that some of the things I post here that are related to stories may not be set in stone. This is just where I post my concept and ideas.

• My stories also contain dark content- mainly gore and death. I will put warnings of the dark contents my stories have and if they contain content that make you uncomfortable, I recommend not reading it.

• The short stories and comics I post about my characters will either be canon or not canon, some of them would be just for practice or fun. If Canon, the story will have ✩C✩ at the beginning of the story. If Non-Canon, the story will have a ✩NC ✩.

• I also may not post much as of right now as I want to try and focus on my mental health and straighten out my life- I will be posting artwork but stories may be a while.

★ Facts About Me ★

✩ I like playing Video Games- mainly Visual Novels and Story Interactive games. Some of my favorite games are- Dragon Age Series, What Remains of Edith Finch, Pyschonauts 1 & 2, Mass Effect Series, Andromeda Six, Red Embrace Series, The Errant Kingdom, When the Night Comes, Fatal Frame Series.

✩ I have too many stories and original characters. :,3

✩ I have two fluff demons aka kitties who are my little troublemakers. I had the first one since he was a tiny kitten, my mother owned his mama and the second one, I adopted her as a kitten we found meowing under our house one day. ❤️

✩ I don’t like coffee. I actually prefer tea. My favorite tea is French Vanilla black tea with milk and sugar.

✩ I watch several cartoons and anime. Some of my favorite shows are The Owl House, Akudama Drive, Rugrats, My Hero Academia, and Gravity Falls.

✩ I have ADHD, had it ever since I was a child. I also show symptoms of anxiety.

✩ I love reading webcomics- some of my favorites are Blades of Furry, Eaternal Nocturnal, Homesick, I Hope So, TRUE FUTURE, Litterbox Comics, Pixie and Brutus, No North, the Dog Star.

Have a Cookie! 🍪 😊

[popculturebuffet]

The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck: The Last of the Clan McDuck!  Review “It Was Worth THE Dime”

This is one of my faviorite comic book stories of all time. Given i’m a massive comics nerd, for both books and strips, that is the highest praise I can give this wonderful, epic, beautifully drawn and deeply emotoinal story. I first discovered it in the local library that had the second volume, and found the rest online at a now long dead fan site. And while it took me longer than I care to admit to really dig into Duck Comics, and even now i’ve only scratched the surface, I can say without a doubt this story is the reason I’m so deeply attached to Scrooge as a character, and that I was excited as  I was for Ducktales 2017. This comic showed me just what Scrooge McDuck should be at his core as a character, and showed me what a wonderful character that is. So with all that glowing praise as you can guess i’ve been wanting to cover this for years, and even considered though back when I was more primarily a comic book reviewer last year. Any time i’ve reviewed stuff before now, i’ve considered it, and with Scrooge’s Sisters Hortense and Matilda presumably and definitely debuting on Ducktales soon, and it’s about damn time, the timing could not be better or clearer to dig into this utter triumph.  But before we can take a look at the story itself we naturally have to take a look at the man behind it: Writer and Artist Don Rosa. Don Rosa is easily one of the best Duck Comics writer out there, seen by many as only second to his own faviorite duck comics writer and God of Ducks, Carl Barks. For those 1 of you who do not know, Barks was the man who created pretty much everything in the duck universe comics wise and a bit in animation too: He created Daisy, Scrooge, Gladstone, Magica, The Beagle Boys, The Junior Woodchucks, Gyro, Little Bulb, Glomgold, Rockerduck, and the list goes on. While he didn’t make EVERY duck, he made so many that it’d be impossible to imagine either version of Ducktales being possible without him.  So of course Rosa was a fan and while he took up the family buisness, he was also an artist and duck comics fanboy on the side. So when, even if it meant a paycut, the opportunity to actually write and draw them came up, he lept at it and thus became one of their publishers go to guys, even if said publisher published the stories overseas where the Duck Comics are far more popular and still going to this day, and ironically where most duck comics printed nowadays get their stories from. Rosa was known for his meticous historical research and gorgeous art that he took his time drawing to get just perfect and showed on the page. The man has easily some of hte best and most detailed duck art around and I still haven’t found a duck artist that can match him.. and if you have or found one close i’d genuinely love to see that. He is a genuinely talented, spirited guy who was sadly mistreated by disney and that, coupled with tragically failing eyesight, eventually ended his career. He’s still around and I genuinely hope to meet him some day as he still does conventions.  The man is not without fault: I don’t get his hatred of superhero comics, as while I get them overshadowing funnybooks and that around the time of his career they were in decline, but it’s just as unfair to write off Superhero comics as mindless.  garbage as it is for people to write off the Duck Comics as “only for kids” and I genuinely wish he’d see that and see how the medium has evolved so much since then. I also grumble a bit as his refusal to allow anything besides barks into his bubble, and having to be forced to include fethry on the family tree, but that’s more personal preference. I like using as much material as you got. IT’s why i’ve wanted to, and hopefully will eventually get around to, write a sonic fanfic using bits of all the various universes that for legal, ken penders being an absolute waste of a human being, and sega being stupid reasons can’t be used anymore. I like taking everything in a franchise and putting it in a blender and it’s why I love the reboot. But there’s nothing wrong with taking things as is, not stepping on toes canon wise, but still being awesome. We’re just diffrent people and that’s okay.  And a lot of his fanboy showing actually lead to REALLY good things: Goldie O’Gilt was a one off character, and while used ocasoinally overseas, didn’t really pick up as a character again until a combination of Ducktales 87 and Rosa’s work with her, as he always loved the character, and fleshing her out lead to her being used more, and gaining a sizeable fandom. He also gained the Cablleros an even bigger fandom by giving them two stories of their own, and fleshing them out a bit more.  And this very comic is the peak of that, taking EVERY mention of scrooge’s past from various backstories to set up adventures, every tiny scrap, and to his credit going to both Barks Himself and various other Barks Experts Rosa was friends with to check his work, especially difficult given he likey had to find these stories in issue or pullt hem from disney archives, and complied it into one long epic that not only uses all this info effortlessly, but spins a compelling story that gives us a clear vision of what Scrooge should be, how he became the man he is, and how he lost himself only to find himself again with the help of three precocious boys and a cynical 30 something duck. So taint all bad is what i’m saying.  As for how this got started, thankfully rosa himself provided the origin story for this project in the back of the volume of his works that contained the first 7 chapters of life and times, as well as detailed notes for every chapter. At the time Rosa was working for Egmont, the big european publisher who handles Disney’s much larger european comics market, hence why most of his stories appeared years earlier in Europe before debuting here. The american publisher at the time , and an old friend of his, called Rosa with an idea: A 12 issue Maxi-Series focusing on Scrooge’s history, since at the time they were all the rage.. and really even today mini series are still a viable market and many indie titles just have several minis instead of an ongoing. So it wasn’t a bad idea, Rosa just simply offered a tweak: He’d tell his publisher at Egmont about the idea, and let her get a crack team of writers and artists to do this proper, and thus Disney could publish it for free once it was done and for no extra cost. Rosa gave his publisher a fax detaling both the idea and the fact that it needed to be done right, given to the best person possible, and done with the greatest care. She agreed.. and naturally handed it to him, as he admits he hoped. She made the right call, a legend was born and here we are.  One last bit before the read more and before I get to the first story itself at last: Since barks wrote a lot of side stories that fit into the canon, I COULD slot them in between chapters, but have instead chosen to review the original 12 part story as was, and do the various side stories and two epilogues, the utterly fantastic “Dream of a Life Time”, easiliy one of my faviorite comics ever, and the also really great “Letter From Home”, which will likely on some level be the basis for the upcoming at the time of this review “Battle for Castle McDuck!”, after completing the story. In other words i’m probably going to be at this for years. so join me under the read more won’t you as I begin the journey of a thousand miles with a single step as we look at the humble start of a legend. 

We begin, after a fun short teaser with present Day scrooge saying his past is no one’s buisness only to get hit with an oh yeah?,  with a scrap book title for the issue, something I want to bring up since while I got that’s what it was what I never got, and  must’ve glanced over when I first read rosa’s notes when I got this copy, was that it isn’t SCROOGE’S scrap book, but his sister Matilda’s who dutifully and happily catologued her brother’s adventures. It’s a really sweet moment.. and something that will hit VERY hard when we reach Chapter 11. If you haven’t read this story or heard of it.. .that’s this story’s equilvent of “Last Crash of the Sunchaser” and clearly Frank and Matt drew from that story a bit for it, but we can get more into the parallels when we get there. A smaller but fun note is that Rosa had specific coin drawing templates, for different indentions and what not he used, and used them for the coins in these intro bits. Yes he admitted he has a problem and yes that’s damn impressive anyway. 

It’s Scrooge’s 10th birthday, and his father Fergus has taken him up to see the family land, Dismal Downs to tell him of the mighty Clan McDuck and show him the ancestral lands, graveyards and Castle. He admits to having taken this long because the Clan McDuck currently lives in Glasgow so it’s kind of a long trip just to show your son “Hey look at the decay and rot that’s our ancestral homeland”. The Clan is on hard times, as a bad shipping deal, the backbone of a rather good barks story and I wont’ be interjecting for every barks reference as it’d get rather tiring though for what it’s worth Rosa provided tons of detailed footnotes in the back of each Fantagraphics collection, so good on him. Speaking of which though they do include 10 pages of Mc Duck family history that was supposed to open this story.. until Rosa’s editor wisely pointed out the story isn’t about them but scrooge and having read his roug draft, yeah.. there’s a good gag here and there, as well as “Dirty” Dingus McDuck, scrooge’s Grandpa and the reason Dewey is cursed with that middle name. Why anyone thought Dingus was a good name is beyond me, nor why Donald thought that was a good middle name back in 2009 is again, beyond me. Good on Don though for getting that past the censors.  But yeah with no money they can’t buy the land back and they were scared off it years ago by a mystical ghost dog, the hound of the whiskervilles. There is treasure in the castle, Sir Quackly’s gold, but he accidently sealed himself into a wall while sealing his treasure in there. Their interrupted by the town assholes, the Whiskervilles who have been grazing sheep on the land and are naturally behind the hound, using the sound of it to scare off Fergus once they realize he’s a McDuck. Because apparently you can keep a Scooby Doo style hoax up for Centuries if you don’t have meddling kids around. Who knew.  Back in Glasgow, we meet the rest of Scrooge’s family: His Uncle Jake, his sisters Matilda and Hortense, and his mother Downy. Jake hasn’t really been mentioned at all in Ducktales and I know next to nothing about him, which given I share a name with the guy you’d THINK I would. I mean I know a decent amount about this Jake. 

But nothing about who the hell Jake McDuck is or why he lives with his brother and his family. Here, you guys watch the dancing Jake, i’m going to probably do that for hours after this review is done, i’m going to go sort this out.  Okay one google and finding the Scrooge Mcduck wiki page on him, Jake shows up here likely because he was referenced in the story “A Christmas For Shacktown” and apparently borrowed from Scrooge and never paid it back. Otherwise.. there’s not a lot about him and unlike the rest of Scrooge’s family he really dosen’t do much that I can remember. Except like 2017 Scrooge, he apparently has become extremely long lived, as Scrooge and Donald STILL think he’s alive in the 1950′s.. and likely is STILL alive in some form in the Don Rosa stories, given his take place after Barks and thus in the 40′s and 50′s where Barks stories were set. Hence why unlike the Reboot, Scrooge isn’t inexpecilbly over 210. But Jake McDuck sure as heck is. Maybe this highlander is a highlander.. you know the movie and tv show type. Maybe someone cut off his head. That’s what i’m going with.

This does bring me to another point about this story: While Barks gave all of scrooge’s family their names, it’s where Rosa got them after all, it’s Rosa who really made them into characters. Fergus as a loving father ashamed his family legacy has fallen and wanting his son to do better than him, Downy as an equally loving wife and mother, Matilda as his sweet and caring sister and later her brother’s moral center, and Hortense.. well here she’s just a babbling baby but her character will become clear and glorious as we go. She is adorable here though and we do get some great bits with her.  Getting back to the plot now i’ve made my points, Jake is riled up wanting to understandably kick the Whiskerville’s asses with Scrooge, who even as a sweet innocent ten year old still has the family temper already, agreeing.. but Downy gently shoots them out pointing that two middle aged-ish men and a 10-year old just aren’t enough to fight an army of them and while she doesn’t mention it the fight would just tire them out for work and accomplish nothing as while it is the McDuck’s land the combination of the hound and the lack of money to move back means it’s pointless. She also mentions their younger brother Pothole, who went to America. This will be important later. 

Scrooge storms off and Fergus laments, in a scene that’s more painful the more I think about it, how his clan has fallen, with he and his brother lamenting their chances at glory are long gone.. but Fergus has hope his son can do better, and for his son’s birthday makes him a shoeshine kit in the hopes of inspiring him to greatness. This scene still resonates since many of us are poor, struggling and not doing so good money wise. I’m sure many parents have doubts and regrets about not being able to do more for their kid.

 Not only that but the story carefully avoids the trap of Fergus accidently being abusive by you know, pinning his family’s future on one 10 year old. While yes he is asking a lot of Scrooge, to restore their family name.. it’s very clear he mostly just wants his son to do better than him. Even if Scrooge was just slightly more successful, Fergus would likely be happy with that. He’s not using the legacy as a “This what you must be” like say the Gems in steven universe did for Steven with Rose’s Legacy, the kind where it sort of suffocates you till youc an make it your own. He’s just saying “this is what you can be” He believes his child can be great and simply once him to reach his full potetial and is simply giving him a means to hopefully do so, a simple home made shoe shine kit. While Jake scoffs, the narration notes the idea isn’t worth a dime.. it’s worth THE dime. The dime that would set Scrooge’s destiny in motion. 

The next morning, Fergus goes to check up on his son and his new buisness but Scroogey’s having no luck and about ready to just quit, the poor child. Also Matilda is dragging her baby sister around like a doll and it’s entirely precious as it is funny. 

But as for those Dorty Boots, Matilda wonders why her dad dosen’t just tell Scrooge that Burt the Ditch Digger is coming. Fergus tells her to quite and then explains his plan: he’s sending Burt to scrooge, with an American dime Fergus and Matilda found, to teach his son a lesson: By giving him a hard days work, he’ll teach him what hard work truly means.. and by having Burt “cheat” him with the American dime, it’ll give him the motivation to keep going and to nto be as wide eyed and trusting. It’s a well meaning if harsh lesson, and the kind you’d expect from 1900′s parenting and fits the origin well: Scrooge still earned his first money square, as he still did work.. but his getting cheated being a lesson dosen’t diminish what it taught scrooge, and helps flesh out what I talked about above, Fergus knowing his son has great potential he just needs inspiration to reach it. And instead of just telling him that he does a con job but it’s the 1900′s. This orign, and Fergus’ part in it would be entirely untouched in Ducktales 2017, the first scrooge based adaptation since this comic came out, and I bless them for it. Frank even said this comic was used as a bible by the writers and while theirs clear deviations, and we’ll get to that, they were mainly done for good reason, and it’s very clear that while scrooge’s history is very VERY diffrent in the reboot, the core of his past is still there. 

So the plan is on and young scrooge spends half an hour killing himself to get Burt’s shoes clean before getting his dime.. and realizing he’s been had, makes this proud decleration that will be the bedrock of his entire life and character. 

Scrooge being naturally stubborn as you can see takes his cheats a leson: There will always be hard honest work, and he will be there to do it and he’ll be tougher and sharper than anyone trying to cheat him out of his pay. Fergus’ plan has the intended effect, and Scrooge having learned a hard lesson now has the drive and determination we know him for. As for why it gives it to him.. I had to think on it a bit but it makes sense: For some a setback like this would make them quit.. for Scrooge it’s just proof he CAN find customers, he CAN do this job, or any at his hardest and instead takes this as a lesson to be prepared ot out think and outfight anyone who dares cheat him again, and to not earn his money by being the kind of guy who cheats a kid out of an honest days pay, but as a good honest duck like his father and his father before him. =He will make his money square so he can be the kind of person this seeming stranger SHOULD have been. Granted we’ll see Scrooge doesn’t end up as the best person at times but .. we’ll get there.  So with the fire inside turned from a spark into the flame Scrooge soon got to work, and by the next panel we see he’s eventually worked his stand up from a small box given to him by his dad, to a three seater shoeshining bench, who he wipes all at once by stretching one of his mother’s girldes over a light pole, a detail I didn’t get the first time around but now love. Naturally being a good kind boy much like his Nephews, Scrooge always gave his proud father a portion of his earnings, if with a full receipt for tax purposes. Because he’s still scrooge after all. His dad wonders he did too good a job while Hortense glxbit’s in agreement. 

As the years go on, a now tween Scrooge is eventually able to save up for a horse cart, and starts selling Fire Wood up in the city. He eventually realizes Peat, an earthy subtance found in bogs I only know about because I had to look it up for this review, is more profitable and with some snappy marketing moves into selling Peat for the rich instead, also showing the young lad already has a grasp of how to sell to obnoxious rich people. 

But while his business is booming, our young hero can’t resist visiting his family’s ancestral home and longing for it, hoping one day to have it for himself and in a nice show of how despite his temper and tenacity forged over the last few years he’s still at hear the kind, sweet optimistic lad he was just a few pages ago, he decides to tidy up the Clan’s Cemetary while he’s here. 

Unfortunately as proof that Donald and Della’s terrible luck comes from both sides of the family the Whiskervilles are sub-glomgold levels of human beings.. or Dogfaces in this case, and are digging up the McDuck Clan’s graves to hunt for treasure. Scrooge tries to simply do the smart thing and flee, but the asshole brigade catch sight of him and mistkaing him for a peat burgalar chase after him.. and spend WAY too much time and energy chasing a teenage boy over some fucking bog grass you clearly aren’t selling yourselves. I mean spare a thought for how dumb this is: They could easily sell of of that peat to put up a fence or chop down some trees to get the material if their really that concerned about someone getting in the bog. Then again this isn the 1800 and 1900′s where the child death toll was simply “Yes”, so they likely thought whose gonna notice one more dead child on our property?

Scrooge heads toward the castle and is gestured in by a friendly mystery duck who gladly shows him around and can tell he’s a McDuck just by look, showing the castle is still in glorious condition as the whiskervilles are too spooked to go in, hence why they didn’t chase Scrooge inside. I’d say being afraid of ghosts but not murdering a child is weird but these are the same guys who thought murdering a child was plan A. We’re not dealing with a brain trust is what i’m saying.  So the mystery duck shows Scroogey around, showing off some colorful stories about his ancestors recycled from that scrapped prologue I mentioned. THe mystery man, who brushes off Scrooge thinking he’s a McDuck asks Scrooge what he’s doing to restore the family glory and while Scrooge points out he’s already working on it, Mystery Duck points out he’s still missing something: He has the drive and the dream, but peat and shoeshining, while getting him good money for his family, aren’t the thing you can build a fortune or a future off of. He then points out where Scrooge’s dime comes from: America.. and that gives the boy the idea to head to the states. As for what he could possibly DO there to start, the mystery guy mentions his uncle pothole. So Scrooge has the dream, the drive.. and now a plan: Go to america, work for his uncle on the riverboats, and work his way up from there till he finds his fortune and restores his family name.  But while his future is settled, the present is still an issue and Scrooge wants to teach the child murder club a lesson and thus borrows, though MM wisely points out it’s all his property a horse and some armor, and stuffs the armor with peat. As for what his plan is.. welllll

That.. is fucking awesome. And far from the last fucking awesome moment in this thing. It also shows off even as not quite a teen yet, Scrooge is still a badass already, and while he doesn’t have his trademark strength or fighting skills quite yet, his ingenuity is already there.. and that will always trump both. The Whiskervilles run away and into some quicksand and Scrooge vows to return one day as laird and reclaim his family land. But that’s a story for a few chapters down the line. As for who the mystery duck is, he’s naturally Sir Quackely himself, or rather his ghost, who was simply guiding Scrooge and didn’t give him the treasure as simply handing him the money wouldnn’t restore their family’s good name or continue their bloodline now would it? 

For now Scrooge returns to work for a bit before finding his way to America: A cattleboat to New Orleans looking for a Cabin Boy. And so Scrooge bids farewell to his family. His Dad, feeling bad he can’t even give his boy shilling, gives him the family pocketwatch with jake pitching in with the family gold dentures. While Scrooge naturally refuses to sell the watch, he does plan to sell the teeth as soon as possible for good reason. We then get some sweet goodbyes with him, his sisters (With hortense uttering her first words to everyone’s astonishment) and loving mother as he wonders just what awaits him in America. 

And there he stands on the bow of a ship, heading for a new land, in New Orleans he can be a new man. And we’ll see just what kind of man he becomes as this series continues. For now this is the end of a chapter but the beginning of a lifetime. 

Final Thoughts on Last of the Clan McDuck:

This story is excellent. While there are even better chapters to come, this one is still one of the most memorable and most joyous, showing just how Scrooge became what he is, where some of his values come from, others will be instilled along the way , and beginning to flesh out his family. We see Scrooge’s love of wealth comes from starting from the bottom, growing up with a family that barely had anything and badly needed everything, but was loving and instilled fine morals in him. We also see a Scrooge far removed from the bitter old man he is in present day, an optimistic naïve young lad who only wants best for his family. It’s a nice stark contrast to who he’ll become, good and bad, and a nice way to both compare him to Huey Dewey and Louie and break your heart as his own hardens before briefly turning black later on.  The art, as is standard for this series and Rosa, is breathtaking, and the story isn’t lacking in good jokes, their just downplayed so the story itself can take center stage. There’s nothing really more to say: it’s an excellent start to an even more excellent tale and stands proud among an already stellar story as one of it’s finest outings. 

NEXT RAINBOW: Scrooge goes down to the mighty Missipi to work on the riverboats and meets one of his signature Rogue’s for the first time in their first form, as well as Gyro’s dad.. or grandpa.. or possibly both I don’t know his family tree. Point is, tune in next time for some riverboat hyjinks.  Until then if you’d like to comission an episode of any animated show, especially ducktales and the various other duck related disney shows, or another Duck Comics story you really like from Rosa, Barks or whoever you want really, I take commissions for 5 dollars a review, with 5 dollars off your full order when you put in for more than one episode or issue. You can also follow me on patreon.com/popculturebuffet and for just two bucks a month get access to polls (which i’ll start once we have at least three patreons), and my exclusive discord server. And if you liked this review be sure to reblog it to show off. My self promotion done until next time: There’s always another rainbow. 

[creepy-spooghetti]

A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Chapter 8 - Welcome to Our Freakshow

_____

Stirring awake, she tries opening her eyes, finding that it's exceptionally difficult due to her drowsy state. She waits a moment, collecting her bearings and slowly coming to the realization that, instead of leaning against a wall like she remembers doing, that she's laying on her back, on a seemingly cushioned surface. Like a bed. That's strange... did she sleepwalk? Or get up and get back in her bed? But she doesn't recall such a thing. Maybe she was just too tired to pay attention.

That dream though... This time, the dream was a bit... different than usual. There wasn't any static, there weren't any dead bodies, she wasn't in a completely different setting. All she remembers is feeling a rush of adrenaline, a moment of panic, then blackness. It was definitely odd, not that she's complaining any. If she had dreams like that all the time instead of whatever she's been experiencing recently, she'd be a lot more at ease. She can faintly remember seeing someone, or something, in front of her, trying to keep her quiet. It looked a little familiar, but she can't seem to figure out why. 

This dream was a lot more up-close and personal, though. And it felt so... so real. Realer than her others have been, which is pretty baffling. What did the figure look like? Mostly black, with some dark blue? And a type of inky liquid? The whole incident is blurry to her, though she assumes it's because her mind wanted to make it all unnerving. 

That voice, though. She knows she's heard that voice, before. Where? That's a total mystery to her, but maybe with some thought about the matter, she'll be able to place it. Or maybe it's all just in her head and she's never heard that voice in her life. She brings her hands up to rub her face, attempting to wake herself up a bit more so she can actually open her eyes and finally gathers the energy to sit up, if only slightly. As her eyes adjust to the moderate amount of sunlight spilling through the crack of the currently shut curtains right beside her, the first thing she discovers is that the scenery is... well, completely different from the bedroom she was in previously.

It's much smaller, being only big enough to hold an average-sized mahogany dresser to her left, a bedside desk to her immediate right crafted of the same wood, and sitting atop that desk is a lamp with a candlestick shade, a glass of room temperature water, and an unopened small pack of crackers; the kind one would receive from a restaurant. A window with simple brown and red drapes sits directly beside the desk, and across from her, on the other side of the room, is a shut door. She's unsure if it leads outside or to a closet of some kind.

The wallpaper in the room is white with occasional, tiny flowers colored a delicate shade of blue printed onto it, and the floor is made of hickory hardwood, part of it is covered by a thin, maroon rug of oval shape. The musty smell that the room itself puts off gives her the idea that it hasn't quite been used in a while, though the small cobweb dangling in the corner of the ceiling proves that theory. Either that, or it just hasn't had a proper cleaning. 

Her heart skips a beat and she doesn't even try to slow her breathing for the time being. This isn't her bedroom, nor is it any other room in her Nana and Pops' house, at least not one that she can remember. As far as she can tell, she's in a whole other household completely. But why? Who brought her here? Her gaze travels down to her body, almost instantly seeing a bandaid stuck to the inward area of her elbow. What the heck...?

Instantly, she peels it away in one quick motion, tossing it aside and not giving the very brief discomfort it causes any thought, instead focusing solely on the barely-noticeable pinprick still very present in her skin. She knows what that is. That's where somebody stuck a needle into her arm. But who? And why? What did they inject her with?

This thought sends her mind into a frenzy as she fully comprehends the startling, unexplained situation, and she throws the blanket that had been apparently placed over her prior to her awakening away, and jumps to her feet, almost instantly being hit with a wave of dizziness once she does so. Shaking her head to rid herself of the disorienting feeling, she uses one hand to prop her body against the wall to ensure she doesn't fall down, and with the other, she pulls back the drapes hung in front of the window, sticking her head through the widened crack and squinting her eyes at the minor change in illumination.

She can barely see through the thick greenery grown in front of the glass and obscuring most of the outside world, though she manages to see the trees that surround, she assumes, the whole house. Her grandparents live in a heavily wooded area, yes. But she knows for a fact that the lawn around the length of their house is almost completely free of trees. She isn't in her grandparents' house anymore. So where is she? And how did she get here?

Without a stroke of hesitation, she curls her fingers beneath the bottom rim of the window, and with one swift tug, attempts to open it, trying again when it doesn't work. She doesn't know why she's here, and she refuses to stay long enough to get that information. If it weren't for this being totally unfamiliar territory to her, sure, she may have stuck around until someone explains it to her. But not only does she get a bad feeling from this room, this place, but she also has plenty of reasons to want to escape. 

It's very apparent to her that she was drugged and brought here against her will. How? Beats her, although she isn't going to stop long enough to question it for too long. With wide, frantic eyes, she searches for a lever to unlock the window, seeing two of them on opposite sides of the frame and instantly pulling them toward her. Hopefully, this will actually work this time. She spends the next two minutes yanking upward on the window, hoping to the highest heavens that it will eventually fly open so she can get out. Her grandparents must be worried sick if they've been calling for her, and looking for her, and she isn't even in the house. She doesn't know where she is.

How long has she been gone? There isn't a clock in the room so she can't actively check, but she assumes it has to be around nine o'clock in the morning, given the angle of sunshine flooding in through the trees. It's only a guess, though. "Come on, just open, you stupid thing..." she mutters, really not wanting to use the door as her escape route. But if it has to be done...

Finally giving up on the window with an aggravated slap against the glass, she twists around, searching desperately for a weapon of sorts. If she has to wander out of this room in an unknown, likely dangerous house, then she sure as heck doesn't want to go out unprepared. Quietly, yet hurriedly, she opens the drawers to the dresser, then the one attached to the small desk, but to her misfortune, finds nothing. Everything is empty. 

She looks beneath the bed, under the rug, behind a door that she discovers leads to the closet, though still sees nothing whatsoever that could be of use to her. It's almost comical how utterly defenseless she is right now, and she would laugh if she wasn't so terrified. Chewing on her bottom lip nervously, she feels worried tears prick at her eyes as she hesitantly walks toward the still-closed door, the one she is now confident leads to the rest of the house, and reaches out, wrapping her fingers around the knob.

With a deep breath and a mental pep-talk, she tries to twist it, her heart dropping when it, too, doesn't move. She tries again, after all, maybe it's just stuck? Nope. Whoever brought her here has locked her in and now she has no way of possible escape. What should she do now? The window obviously isn't going to budge, but should she keep trying? Or just wait until somebody eventually comes inside and attack them? It doesn't look like she has another option. 

Her gaze shifts back over to the desk, then to the water still sitting untouched on its surface. Of course it's untouched. What is she going to do? Drink it? Only an idiot would do such a thing. But... that does look like a rather heavy glass. Heavy enough to lob at someone's head and hope they get knocked cold? Guess there's only one way to find out. 

She snatches it up, not caring about the drops of water that fall to the floor from the action, and stands only a couple of feet in front of the door, drawing her arm back and getting ready to throw her only defense mechanism at the first thing she sees come into the room. Maybe she'll catch them off-guard, at least long enough that it will enable her to get out, for the most part, unharmed. Fortunately, she doesn't have to wait for very long, for soon she hears footsteps outside before the knob turns and the door slowly swings open.

Not taking time to pay attention to many details of the person entering the room, she launches the glass at them though only manages to strike them in the shoulder, the water from inside splashing out and either soaking that area of their clothes or hitting the floor, the glass following closely behind and breaking into several different pieces. The person releases a grunt of surprise, flinching back slightly and looking down at the makeshift weapon hurled at him, then shifting his gaze back up to the h\c-haired girl standing warily ahead.

She would have used that as a distraction and booked it past him and out of the room, and that's what she originally intended, had it not been for the unusually tall figure still standing in front of the door, blocking her path and making it impossible without a struggle. Dang, I should've waited until he was farther inside to actually throw it...

Once he tilts his head back up in her direction, she sucks in a sudden breath and hurriedly backs away in a mixture of fear and shock, trying to comprehend the sight before her but having quite a bit of trouble. That's what he looked like. That's what the figure in her dream looked like. Seeing him now, in real life rather than just her mind, she can remember that. This is why she felt so afraid. He's terrifying...

But it was just a dream. It should have just been a dream. Is he the one who brought her here, wherever 'here' is? She backs away so fast that she runs into the foot of the bed, nearly tripping though able to catch herself before she actually falls, and continues until her back hits the wall. He stands in the same place, staring at her through the black, empty pits replacing his eyes and realizing how alarmed she clearly is. Not that he can blame her for that.

He raises his hands in a non-threatening manner, keeping his posture mellow and speaking, voice deep. "Y\n... I know what you're thinking."

It knows my name? It knows my freaking name?? Her breathing quickens and her eyes frantically avert around the room, trying to find something, anything, to use as a potential weapon, but her luck runs dry. She stays silent, waiting to see what move he'll make, if he'll even make a move. 

"...But you're okay. No one's gonna hurt you." He takes a small step forward, keeping his hands up to show her he isn't holding anything. She only backs farther up into the wall, narrowing her eyes up at him and remaining silent. "You were brought here so we could protect you."

'We'? There's more of them? She parts her lips, nervousness coursing through her veins as she contains the tears trying to spill over and onto her cheeks. "Wh...who are you?" She tries to make it sound like a fearless demand, but it comes out as a meek whisper. No, stop it! He can smell fear!

He hesitates a moment. "You... don't recognize me, but I'm Jack." Her eyebrows furrow incredulously as she stares at him, gaze unwavering. "What I told you about moving here with my mom, that was a lie. I do live here, but... I'm with a group of people. Not my mom."

"I don't believe you," she manages to spit out, tone venomous and looking past him, through the door, into what seems to be a hallway. This... this seemingly eyeless freak is Jack? No, Jack was normal. This person isn't. But she has to admit, his voice does ring some bells in her mind. 

"You don't have to. Point is, you're here for protection. Nobody here is going to hurt you in any way, you don't need to be scared." 

Right, and I should trust the guy who drugged, kidnapped, and brought me here to his 'group' against my will for what reason? "Let me go," she says, voice hardening and muscles tense. He shakes his head, taking another step forward.

"That's something I can't do."

"I don't want to be here. Let. Me. Go." Her hands clench into anxious fists, heart pounding what feels like a thousand miles an hour as he takes yet another cautious step forward. Maybe I can incapacitate him then run like a madwoman through the door. 

"You need to stay here. Somebody dangerous is after you, and this is the only place you'll be safe."

"Says the one who shoved a needle into my arm and pumped me full of whatever-the-heck it was you used to knock me out with," she retorts, fiery attitude returning in full form due to the alarming and unexpected circumstances. She hears him let out a sigh, muffled by his navy blue mask. 

"I only did that because I knew you wouldn't come with me willingly."

"Oh gee, I wonder why." She scoffs, eyeing the door now a couple of feet behind him and contemplating her chances. Just come a little closer, buddy. I dare you. 

"Look... I know you're scared and don't know what's going on. I can explain it to you, you just... need to pay attention." He steps even closer. "We don't want to hurt you."

"Yeah...?" Her timid, soft tone is very intentional, and he tilts his head slightly at the sudden shift in expression and eases even nearer. 

"Yes, Y\n. I promise." She uses the wall to brace herself as she lines her foot up with her target, mentally preparing herself for what she's about to do. 

"Wish I could say the same." Before he has time to react, she brings her knee up and forcefully rams her foot between his legs, causing him to double over in pain and give her enough time to dart past him and through the door, grabbing the knob as she does so and slamming it shut behind her to spare herself as much opportunity as she can. Briefly, she checks for a lock, only seeing a keyhole and figuring out he must have the key, so she glances to the right, thankfully spotting what she guesses is a door to the outside world. 

She rushes down the hallway, past another door across from the room she was just trapped inside, and directly into a small living room with nothing but a maroon sofa slid in front of a covered window, an armchair at a 90-degree angle, and a coffee table in front of both with a few meaningless items scattered on top of it that she could care less about. Heading straight for the door, she turns the brass lock up and yanks the door open, blinded by her motivation to escape and be as fast as humanly possible. 

Yep, just as she suspected. She's surrounded by forest, overgrown grass, and overall a poorly maintained lawn. She can only hope that she doesn't trip over any of the obstacles between her and freedom. What's most hazardous is the fallen branches and rocks hidden by foliage, so hidden in fact, that she wouldn't know that they were there until she was eating dirt. The sun's light is mildly obscured by the large number of trees looming over her, but she can see her surroundings clear enough that it shouldn't cause a problem, at least not one too big. 

She leaps off of the small, wooden porch and into the lengthy grass, using it as momentum to gain more speed and hurrying in-between the many trees. She has no idea where she is, but the trees seem to be, overall, the same kind that grows around her grandparents' house, so she has hope that she's at least in the same general area. Could she have been hauled off to a whole other state? Surely she wasn't asleep for that long, right? ...Right?

She sticks her hands out and swipes the brush and low-hanging branches out of her way so she doesn't get stabbed in the eye and have her vision rendered. That would be a very bad thing, so of course, she wants to avoid it. Occasionally, she feels the sharp impact of various plants scratch up her arms, twigs getting caught in her hair, and briars sticking through the thin material of her socks since she didn't have any shoes on while sleeping, though ignores it, for the most part, focusing on finding a trail, a road, something other than pure forest. Something to lead her back to civilization so she can get hold of the police, and in hindsight, contact her grandparents. They must be so worried about her. How long has she been gone?

The temperature isn't extremely hot yet, but she suspects it will be steadily rising the later into the day it gets. Adrenaline pumps through her body, her mind not fully able to comprehend what just happened. Did she really just escape her kidnapper? How often does that happen? Maybe she does have a chance of survival, after all. Well... she does as long as she doesn't get caught, again. If he wasn't intending to hurt her before, he for sure will after being kicked in the nuts. She's no dude, but she can imagine that getting hit in such a... sensitive area, can't feel very good.

Not that she cares about that right now, anyway. He had it coming. Past the erratic beating of her heart, she can hear the crunching of greenery beneath her feet as her speed gradually increases. The farther away she gets from that house, the more of a chance she has to escape. But then he'd track her down, again. He knows where she's staying. He took her from her own temporary home. But then does that mean... what did he do to her grandparents?

She's shaken from her thoughts when she hears the faint bark of a dog, the sound drawing closer and closer no matter how fast she runs. Oh no... They have a freaking dog, too? Now I'm dead for sure! Quickening her pace does nothing whatsoever, and not even a minute later the barking is so close by she swears the dog itself has to only be a few feet away. Oh no, oh no, oh no, please don't—

A sudden blunt force takes hold of her ankle and tugs her back, causing her to lose her balance and fall forward with a pained grunt as the force becomes firmer. She isn't stupid, she knows that the dog just bit her, and she likely isn't going to coax it into letting her go. After all, if that guy and his friends regularly kidnap random people then they probably have a lot of runaways. This is nothing new to the dog. 

She can hear the dog's low, threatening growls from behind her as its teeth sink through her pants and into the flesh on her leg, hard enough to leave indents but she doubts it will draw blood. She could be wrong, though. Her breathing is quick as she attempts to collect her bearings, wanting desperately to get away before whoever owns the dog comes to collect her and send her to the inevitable... whatever they do to the people they forcefully take here. 

She swallows a cry of fear, keeping her eyes planted down to the dirt that broke her fall and meekly trying to pull her leg out of the dog's mouth. It becomes apparent to her that it isn't going to let go when it shakes its head and drags her a couple of inches backward, heightening the volume of its snarl. It sends another bolt of pain up through her ankle, and she winces, wracking her brain for solutions to this particular situation. If only she had watched more National Geographic then maybe she'd know what do to when a potentially rabid dog attacks...

Maybe... it plays fetch. Yeah, she mentally scoffs, 'fetch the human'. Unfortunately, she doesn't see any stray sticks around that could be thrown, not that she could reach very far even if there were. Hesitantly, she twists her head around to look at her captor, eyes widening when she meets the narrowed ones of an unusually large Husky, its gaze boring into hers and sending another twinge of pain through her leg when it bites down harder. 

Her eyes travel down to the inflicted ankle, seeing not pointed, regular canines, but instead flat, human-like teeth, greatly catching her off-guard and making her gulp. What has she been thrown into? First some guy without eyes leaking some black, runny goop from his sockets, now a dog with human teeth? What's next, cyborg zombies from space? How does this even exist? It should be impossible.

But here she is, and here it is, latching onto her leg without mercy and being very real. "H-hi, doggy..." she starts, voice shaky and soft as to not alarm it and send it into full-on attack mode instead of just catch-and-keep mode. It releases another unfriendly growl, its eyes holding aggression. It's obvious this animal—if you could even call it that—isn't trustful of her in the least. Something she considers very hapless. "Let me go, please..."

She's so distracted by the freakish-looking dog that she doesn't hear somebody else steadily approaching, not until they're standing directly above her, their shadow blocking the sunlight and casting shade over her body. She doesn't even want to look up for fear of seeing something even stranger than a dog with actual human teeth but also doesn't want to seem weak in front of a possible deranged psychopath. What's the worse it could be though?

Don't jinx it, Y\n. Giving into both temptation and her strong urge to remain as bold as possible, she cranes her neck and her eyes trail up, taking notice of his converse shoes, ripped jeans, white hoodie with... questionable red stains, and shoulder-length black hair. Interesting style. His eyes are a bright, icy shade of blue, and the bottom portion of his face is covered with a black bandana being used as a makeshift mask. Why would he need a mask? Ya know what, I don't wanna know.

"Well, hello, girlie," he says, voice low and gruff as he stands in a casual-looking demeanor and gazes down at her. "Ya know, it's rude to leave without saying goodbye." She sends him a glare, her tone mundane and holding a sense of obviousness.

"We never even met." He raises an eyebrow in response, bending his knees and squatting down closer to her level.

"And whose fault is that?" She doesn't answer, instead continues mildly struggling against the dog's grasp and glancing at him expectantly. He looks at her with the same expression. 

"Call it off." She assumes that this canine belongs to him, either that or he's used to its presence because he isn't freaking out about it. He stares down at her, unblinking, and the dog bites down harder, making her intake a sharp breath of discomfort. "Please. It hurts."

"Oh, it hurts, does it?" He takes his hand and pulls his 'mask' down around his neck, revealing the very noticeable scars that look to have been messily carved into his cheeks, forming a crooked, permanent smile. She withdraws slightly, a bit alarmed by his disfigured face. Sure, it's definitely freaky and raises inquiries, but it's not as unnerving as random men showing up with featureless masks and no eyes who kidnap you in the middle of the night. "I do believe that's the point."

She stays silent, taking in his odd attributes. Those cuts, no matter how healed they may be, look like they could burst open any second. Did he do that to himself? What kind of sick freak would carve a smile into their face? Then again, who would own a dog with human teeth? He smirks—at least, she thinks it's a smirk—and leans in closer, causing her to scoot farther away. Well, as far away as she can get, considering her current restraint. 

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" He's probably well aware of the thoughts racing through her mind and is taking pleasure in making her uncomfortable, but her expression hardens, not willing to show him that he's getting to her. 

"No." She takes a glimpse at the dog still holding onto her tightly, refusing to let her go. "Dog got my ankle." He snorts in what she takes as amusement, his gaze shifting down to the dog briefly as well before he meets her eyes again. 

"Fair enough." He snaps his fingers, rising to his full height and pulling the bandana back up over his mouth and the bridge of his nose, once again hiding his slightly disturbing facial features. "Smile, let go." As soon as the command leaves his mouth, the dog, who she now knows is called 'Smile' for fitting reasons, immediately releases her ankle and takes a step away from her, attention on the male of average height. 

Once the action is completed, she flips on her back and sits up, bending her knee and examining the affected area. The bottom leg of her pants is not only soaked with saliva but also ripped in various places, and worse, she can see blood coming to the surface of the torn skin beneath. So I was wrong... Scowling at Smile, she rubs at her ankle, not even considering fleeing the scene again. Smile would most certainly catch her, and a failed attempt at escape isn't worth an injury, especially one disabling her to walk. 

"Good boy, Smile," he says, patting the dog affectionately on the head and earning an excited bark in response. "You have a fat, juicy steak in your near future." She rolls her eyes when Smile wags his tail, grumbling in protest and wincing when she hits a particularly raw area on her ankle. The man nudges her leg with his shoe, hard enough that it'll likely leave a bruise later, and she narrows her eyes up at him. "Hey, if you didn't want to be dog chow maybe you shouldn't have tried to run away."

"Well, maybe your buddy shouldn't have kidnapped me." 

"You kiddin'? Jack isn't my buddy. And I didn't even want you here, but the others thought it was the 'best call'." Before she has time to process it, she feels his hand wrap around her arm before she's effortlessly pulled to her feet, stumbling a bit and having to lean against a nearby tree for support since he let go as soon as she was up. "Trust me dollface; if it were up to me, you wouldn't even be here."

Her nose scrunches up in disgust at the abrupt and very much unwanted nickname, watching as he starts walking back in the direction she originally came from while he pulls out a phone, scrolling through something unknown with his thumb and looking back up at her as if waiting for her to do something. 

"Well? I don't have all day, ya know. I've got things to do." He signals ahead of him with his head, implying what he expects of her. She is currently zoned in on the small device in his hand, though. If she can get her hands on that, she'll be able to call the cops and get out of here. Back to her grandparents... if something hasn't been done to them. She will kill every person here if she finds out one of them killed or hurt her Nana and Pops, even if she dies in the process.

He continues staring at her for several more seconds, almost seeming confused as to what she's looking at so intently until he follows her gaze and it leads him to the phone. Raising his eyebrows knowingly, he grins from behind his mask, holding the device between his thumb and index finger and waving it in front of her face. 

"Oh, I see. You want this, don't cha?" She presses her lips together into a firm line, shifting her e\c eyes back up to his mostly-covered face and giving him an indignant glare. "What, you gonna call the police? Get us arrested?" A dark chuckle escapes his mouth, and he takes a step closer to her when she doesn't answer. "Lemme let you in on a little secret, girlie." She leans her head back as he gets way past her personal boundaries, staring her directly in the eyes as his entire aura grows dangerous and whispering. "Cops don't scare me. I've dealt with way, way worse than guns and tasers."

The mere tone his voice holds is enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up from unease, though she doesn't break eye-contact, no matter how much he may be trying to intimidate her right now. What the heck is wrong with this person! His words almost sound like a threat, and she has to hold her breath to stop it from shaking. 

"Keep that in mind next time you try and get out, k?" He brings his hand down onto her shoulder, giving it a rough pat before spinning around and continuing to walk ahead of her with Smile by his side, and she doesn't miss the way he discreetly pulls the shiny blade of his knife out of his hoodie pocket, in clear view of her, before putting it back and acting as if nothing happened. She gulps, quickly figuring out that this dude is not to be messed with. Not without proper defenses, at least. 

She tries to slow down her accelerated heartbeat, remaining completely still until he looks back at her with an evil glint in his icy-blue orbs, once again silently telling her to get a move on, to which she hesitantly obeys. If she were to try and run, she'd surely be caught. She doesn't want to get on this guy's bad side, not until she has a weapon of her own so maybe she'll have a fighting chance. Limping a few feet behind him, sharp pains zip up her leg each time she puts weight on the injury, and she stares at the man's back, watching as he presses the phone to his ear.

"I got her, don't send the others out to look." An incoherent voice erupts from the opposite line, and she tries to listen in on what's being said, though fails. "Well, call them back. It isn't that hard." What sounds like a scoff can be heard from the phone before he takes it away from his ear and shoves it back into his jeans pocket, seemingly done with the short conversation. "You better pick up the pace back there. I'm not gonna frickin' carry you if that's what you expect."

"Over my dead body," she retorts, though makes an effort to walk a bit faster to avoid making him mad, even at her disadvantage and the pain it causes. 

"That can be arranged. Smile." She eyes the dog warily as it raises its head in attention, subconsciously shifting closer to the male in front just so maybe she can use him as a sort of shield before she's completely mauled to death. "Shall we teach her not to say such a thing without actually meaning it?" Smile whines, she can't figure out if it's in agreement or confusion, but for her sake, she hopes it's the latter. 

"I do mean it." Her words are strong, a lot stronger than she expected considering the nerves jumping in her throat, but she's satisfied nonetheless. He's quiet a moment before clicking his tongue, glancing back at her with crinkled eyes, and shaking his head. 

"Heh. Ya know, maybe you won't be as annoying as I thought."

"Oh really? Gee, thanks," she mutters, biting the inside of her cheek and dreading what's to happen when she gets back to...Jack's house. He certainly won't react well to her reappearance considering what she did to him. Was he telling the truth? Is he actually the Jack that she met just a couple of days prior? But... she doesn't see how that could be possible. Jack looked like an actual human being, but this person looked completely different... He is wearing the same attire, though, and his voice is undeniably similar.

If that is the case, why would he bring her here, to a place full of weirdos, Jack himself being one of them? As far as she knows, they seemed to hit it off pretty well. So why would he kidnap and put her in danger? Cause he's a psycho. Just like Joker wannabe over here. 

"Now, I think we both know what happens if you try and get away, again." She stares at the back of his head, unimpressed, as she wraps her arms loosely around her torso to soothe herself a minuscule amount. "Not that I care, of course. Frowny face just wants you alive, I could give less of a crap whether you become Smile's dinner or not if I'm being honest."

"Yeah, you already established that. I appreciate the concern, really." Sarcasm practically drips from her voice, as she tries to form some kind of escape plan in her mind. 

"Hey, what else am I here for?" Rolling her eyes and releasing a small huff, she looks down at her ankle as it steadily leaks blood, knowing she'll have to doctor it soon before it gets infected. Who knows what that... thing is carrying? Considering her no doubt unfortunate situation, she shakes her head in disbelief.

My God... what is going on? And why am I involved with it?