#spinny wheel too

[daycore-frisk]

Anyways, here is the actual thing I wanted to show you guys! :D I drew Origami Sans yesterday and he is the 4th character in my Sans AU Portrait book! I love this so so much and am so proud of it! :D This one was coloured with water colour :>

Origami belongs to: @pepper-mint

And for those who like the idea and want to join this challenge with me, here is the picker wheel I made (just make sure to reference or mention me please!): https://wheelofnames.com/y8d-76p (Repost cuz other one had mistakes lol)

[cog-go-boom]

Its pride month frost you know what that means....!

THANK YOU FOR THE SUGGESTION

( [[OOC:]] spamtoon is owned by @spamtoon !! )

(edit: also I know I forgot to fix HR's text and he says 's'. I write HR's text normally and I then need to do the switch later but I'm dyslexic so I don't notice or realize so please don't think idk how to write HR text </3 already insecure as is. i can't fix it anymore though oops! be nice)

[sarahsmi13s]

WIP Last Line Game

twas tagged by @bobby-r2d2-floyd​ and i shall spin the wheel and tell you what the last line was (if i started it 😂)

Rules: Share the last line you added to your WIP and tag as many people as there are words.

ooooo okay this is a Jake x pilot!reader (and this might be finished but idk) 

i’m giving you the last paragraph

It was silent for a moment. “Promise me that you’ll do your best to fly back to me,” he asked in a hushed whisper as if he were telling you a secret. “Only if you do.” “I promise.” “I promise too.” You locked pinkies, “Can’t break that now, you know.” You giggled a little bit before yawning, “I know, cowboy.”

most of my lovely squad members have done this, sooo i’m just going to leave this open for anyone that wishes to do this!

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXV)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Tim pulls a fast one on Batman for their mutual benefit. Everybody giggles. Danny goggles.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

(Additional TW: I think this counts as a panic attack ngl)

On the one hand. The room Danny’s in has a killer view of the earth from the moon.

The wall is basically just one big window. Danny is also apparently permitted to mash his face into the glass and ogle the Earth from Space for as long as he wants until the stinky dad, whoever he is, finally emerges from the depths of the building.

Diana’s the only one beside him today. She looks nice—nicer than usual, in her armor and bright clothing rather than soft scrubs and hair net. She can push his chair without getting tired—she could probably fly and carry him too, if she had to, so. Danny’s maybe counting on her liking him if this stinky dad tries to be mean.

So. Diana (nice lady) and Danny (half-dead ghost boy) are quietly seated in a dim, peaceful board room, absorbing the early morning (?) space radiation when the door hisses open across the room.

In the doorway is a long, dark, shadow of a man.

…And the green guy!!

Okay, if the stinky dad man brought a friend to this meeting the same way Diana’s meant to supervise him, Danny feels like he’s been lawyered up for the sake of some kind of court trial. This is not fair. Danny wasn’t able to review his case with his legal representation before this.

Well. Danny fumes. Whatever. His lawyer is Diana, the most powerful living being he’s seen ever in his life, and she can totally kick the green guy’s ass. Hell, Danny could probably kick the green guy’s ass.

...You know. If he wasn’t. Sick.

The stinky dad guy looks a lot like the blob his kid drew him as. That’s kind of neat—his suit is all black with little to no variation, which sort of just washes out the colors Danny might have been able to see if his eyes were still good. He’s very quiet, which is nice, and he’s very not-trying-to-read-Danny’s-mind, which is even better.

The two sit. Danny’s already in a wheelchair, so he just lets Diana wheel him to the table. The lady sits beside him in the spinny office chair.

Hello, the green guy opens with, already toying with the edges of Danny’s aura.

Danny sends back an abundance of ass-kicking emotions.

…Alright then, the green man capitulates, the barest hint of bemusement quickly stifled.

Good. Danny is mean. He’s awake enough to be mad about other people touching his aura from any end of his personal bubble.

But then the green guy…says stuff to the dad guy? And it’s very? Quiet?

Explanations, the green guy says. The image of a sign language translator at a baseball game floats over to him, and—

…Oh. He’s translating. For Danny.

That’s…nice? Nicer than Danny expected, honestly? Most of the time, people are perfectly happy to misinterpret him. It was kind of the way of the world at this point. Getting blamed for stuff, getting accused of stuff…

Man. If they turn out to be indoctrinating him for secret war purposes, at least they’re going all in. Danny might actually. You know. Like it here. A little.

He squirms in his chair, and tries not to look at anyone in particular. Diana—the lady who’s been nice to him—makes as if to straighten his hair for him, and remembers at the last second that he doesn’t like to be touched.

And sure. Danny doesn’t want to be touched. By bad guys.

…But Diana’s been really nice to him, so. Maybe. He scratches at the back of his neck, and ducks his head down—and remembers to use his words. “Yes,” he consents verbally. He can’t make eye contact. But he can…let her. Brush his hair back. A little.

Diana asks something long and complicated—and the green guy presses an image of Wonder Woman asking permission, being kind, being gentle­—up against the edges of Danny’s awareness.

Danny nods at the floor instead of at the lady. It’s fine. She’s fine. It’s fine.

And her fingers carefully brush through the front end of his fringe, and Danny. Danny is so normal about it. He doesn’t even cry or anything. Not even in front of his friend’s stinky dad.

And she doesn’t do it like Mom did it. And she doesn’t ruffle his hair like Dad did.

But it’s. Nice. And she doesn’t pull.

…And she doesn’t hit.

Danny eventually leans back into his wheelchair. It’s a little bit embarrassing to be halfway in and halfway out, but. Whatever. The scary-looking-dad with the earsies on his helmet has his own teenager. He should understand what it feels like to get emotionally weird with your teen in a public place. If he doesn’t, well...he wouldn’t be a great dad, then, and his opinion would suck anyway.

Based on what Danny knows about the masked kid, Danny isn’t sure the guy would tolerate a bad dad. The teen seems kinda unhinged.

The man says something, and the green guy presses a number of translated feelings against Danny’s awareness: Greetings. Questions about Danny’s wellbeing. Curiosity, but not demanding.

“…Hello,” Danny says back, and. Waves.

The man waves back. He’s got little claws on his gloves.

…Like a cat? Is it to go with his ears? Danny wonders about the possibilities of the guy being cat themed. It’s possible, presumably.

So…they want to know how Danny’s doing? Danny shrugs, and he glances at Diana, since, you know, she could probably fill them in? She does speak their language. And she’s been here the whole time.

The lady leans in close to him, black hair falling out from behind her ear. “What do you want to say?” she whispers into her ear, hand covering her mouth from their watchers.

Uh. It’s up to…Danny?? Somehow??

Danny winces. “…Good?” he tries, unsure if the word he uses means okay or fine or well. “…Not…hungry?”

“Very good,” Diana agrees, a little louder. She looks proud. Being not hungry must mean a lot to her, then. It means a lot to Danny too—he can remember the sensation of his stomach rubbing against itself, friction pulling raw at his insides as acid ate at him.

It was. Bad.

It was bad.

Danny’s glad he’s not there anymore. Anyway, there’s a guy in the room who reads minds, and Danny doesn’t really want to share that memory with anyone ever; especially someone who could turn it back on him.

The stinky dad says something else, but he uses words too thick and long for Danny to understand. The green guy translates, pure conceptual recall brushing against Danny’s outer aura—Needs? Wants?

…Danny frowns.

Danny looks at Diana, who looks back at him. Wants, needs…? What?

“Do you need aniþing?” Diana whispers to him, which. You know. Mostly makes sense.

Does Danny…need anything? He has medical care, he has food, he has water, he has toys and brain teasers, even…he has people to hang out with, he has people who stretch his legs with him so that he can go back to normal…heck, he doesn’t even have to clean his own waste bag. There’s people who do that for him.

Like. What more could Danny ask for?

Danny shrugs. He just wants to heal up and run away. Maybe…maybe, if Diana is real and not just pretending to like him to keep an eye on him, she’d let him visit her later or something. Danny would do what Dani doe—did. What Dani…did. And he’d just go a bunch of places and come back when he wants to.

But. No. There’s nothing he really needs right now.

The pointy-eared guy and the green guy share a look and a couple quiet words. Danny flares his annoyance into the silence, but all he gets is a silent Apology/Apology, which isn’t answers.

Ugh. Danny leans over the arm of his wheelchair. This is kind of super boring; it’s more boring than it is frustrating, even.

The stinky dad guy says something else, and Danny feels the push and pull of something double ended tugging on the outer edge of his aura. Additional/information, giving/take?

Danny really wishes he’d brought a fidget toy or something. His nerves are ramping up but all he can do is contort his fingers together, feeling the strain in and the joints click as he pushes them together and twists them apart. They want…to ask him questions? No, they’re already asking him questions. They want Danny to…give them questions??

…Danny doesn’t really want to. Still, he probably…should.

“The…space station,” he says, using the wrong word for their big space building but not knowing the better one; “Is this…where…why is it?”

The black-caped dad grumbles something vaguely approving. A tablet pops out of the table—spooky—and the guy starts drawing on it, explaining all the way. The green guy simplifies more of the verbally complicated concepts for Danny as they go.

Anyway. So they’re in space because it’s their…job? Danny thinks? They do…fighting stuff. Which Danny knew. Because he’d seen them on the news.

But it looks like they do a lot of things—they clean up after storms, and chase regular bad guys and super-bad-guys instead of just big ones. And they stop bad aliens from hurting people on Earth.

The green guy shifts from a green-looking, pointy-headed, red-eyed form to a warm, brown, human skin tone. And even. Like. Human clothing.

Danny stares.

…And the guy immediately takes back his natural form, his body physically shifting and morphing, which, fair, but holy crap. He’s living, on Earth. He passes as normal, on Earth. No one snitches on him. No one’s selling him to the government for parts. No one’s trapping him in a cage and not feeding him.

This guy works here, and everyone lets him.

Danny shifts in his chair. He…he wants that. He wants that. He wants to pass as human and not have to worry about…about anyone getting rid of him. He wants to go back to school. He wants to hide, and never ever not ever be found by anyone or anything when he does.

“I want that,” Danny says. There’s no inflection. He feels dead. He is dead, but usually he doesn’t feel it. “What do I do for…that.”

Help/Searching/Finding? the green—alien—questions, but there’s nothing for Danny to find. He knows exactly where everyone he loves is—and unless they’re already fully formed in the ghost zone…

…Well. Danny has forever to wait and see if he’ll see his friends and sister again. Maybe he’ll find them again one day, in a world purely green and glowing.

He shakes his head.

The next question comes…softer. Gentler. The mental push feels more like a breeze than a gale. Friends…Home/family?

The question comes tinged with all sorts of sensations that Danny’s suppressed—warmth, security, happiness, oxytocin, fondness, pride and being the source thereof, warmth and love, love, love—

Danny’s sweating. He can’t stop. His hands are shaking faster than usual—he kicks the brakes off his chair with the heels of his palms, and jerks the wheels back, pulling away from the desk—

He’s halfway across the room before he hears the noise. It’s just. Noise. It’s Diana, carefully shushing the loud heartbeat churning in his ears, hands on his hand, trying not to cage him but trying to keep skin on skin contact. Her hand is on the back of his hand, and on his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Diana whispers. Danny’s shaking. His whole body is shaking. “Shhh, sh sh sh. It’s alright, it’s okay.”

It’s not it’s not it’snoit’snotit’sNOT. His sister is dead. His friends are dead. His parents sold his captors the equipment to catch him and they didn’t care if he got hurt doing it and now they’re DEAD. They tore open his hometown down the middle just to catch him, they stole him—they took his dead parent’s things as tools to hurt him—they HURT HIM and there isn’t—he can’t—he can’t—

Something is holding him down, and Danny thrashes. He has arms, but they’re injured—he has legs but he needs a tail and he—and—

He cries into Diana’s arms, sobbing and wailing. It’s a miracle that the building stays together. She holds him tighter, and he cries even harder into her soft under-layers.

He wants to run away. He needs to run away. Someone is holding him, and he can’t even flicker through her the way he wants to; his core is already too strained just from talking.

Danny’s sick. He’s dying. He’s—

“Take a breath,” Diana whispers, calm and sure. She models it for him. Danny gasps in air. “Good. Lete it out slow. As bobbels in a straw.”

He tries to copy her he does and she’ll be so angry if he can’t do it right on the first try but she lets him try, over and over again, until Danny’s able to stop hiccupping and leaking tears and ectoplasm all over her and realize that she’s holding him like a baby. Like. Actually cradling him against his body armor.

…You know what. He’s too tired to even be embarrassed. Screw that. Danny leans all the way over her and goes completely limp. Someone else can deal with his him for a little bit.

She does. Diana just…holds him.

It’s nice. Mom and Dad used to do that for him, when Danny was still…more human, he supposed. More than he is right now.

Something else touches his hand. Danny looks blearily downwards.

The teenager’s dad gets to his knees and takes Danny’s hand—and he doesn’t need the translation to understand.

“I’m sorry,” the man says, over and over again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Danny blinks sleepily. What does his friend’s stinky dad have to be sorry for? He didn’t even do anything to Danny in the first place.

Danny won’t remember, afterwards, being wheeled back to his room for a nap. They must have wheeled him back, though, because the alternative is that Diana tucked him into bed like a baby, and that’s just kind of embarrassing to even think about for too long.

[pro-crastinate17]

hello!! so im going to try to make a disability inclusive picrew and id like some help making sure i include as much as i can!

the person would be seated and pretty much all of the body would be visible. ill post it when im done!

its mostly focused on phys disabilities, bc i so rarely can find picrews w good diverse mobility aid options, but ofc im including non phys disabilities as well! (sorry for clunky phrasing, im unclear on the preferred term for non phys disabilities so thats the term ive been using)

what i have so far is below the read more. be warned it is a very long list! (every option/category of option i could think of)

if you think i missed something, please recommend it!!! (related note: id much rather get recommended something that is already on the list than miss something!)

category: head

various jaw shapes 

missing jaw 

crooked/misaligned jaw

category: skin

wide range of skin tones, including white/extremely pale (albino) 

freckles, lots of scar variation (including burns), vitiligo, acne, facial hair, eye bags, other skin conditions (trying to make a list)

breathing tubes, masks, bandages 

bindis 

category: eyes 

blue, grey, green, hazel, medium brown, dark brown, black, red 

heterochromia options 

lazy eye options 

clouded eye options 

closed eyes that look like winking and closed eyes that don't 

missing eyes

category: mouth 

general expressions 

variations for color 

variations for cleft lip, scars, facial paralysis 

category: ears 

ear size, shape, missing ears, deformed ears

category: eye/ear accessories 

earrings, earplugs, hearing aids, bone anchored hearing aids, headphones, earmuffs (modifications for missing/deformed ears), cochlear implant

glasses, sunglasses, blue light glasses, eye patches, eye masks/bandages 

category: nose 

various shapes & sizes, bumpy noses, deformed noses  

category: eyebrows 

lots of expression options, thickness options, color options (including white) 

one missing, scarring, eyebrow slits 

category: body 

body types: very skinny, skinny, fat, very fat (options for muscularity too if i can figure out how)

body hair, scarring, freckles, tattoos   

range of missing limbs, deformed limbs, prosthetics   

diabetes patch 

category: hair 

wide range of hairstyles, bangs, and colors 

patchy hair, scalp scarring, receding hairline 

category: head coverings

range of hats, hair accessories, headbands, bandanas    

range of hijabs, turbans, kippot (+ more variation in cultural headwear if theres space)

head bandages 

category: clothes

range of styles and colors 

adaptable to body types (+ breasts), missing/deformed limbs 

category: shoes 

range of styles 

adaptable to body types, missing foot/feet 

category: hand accessories  

gloves, bracelets, rings, nails, wrist braces, splint rings

range of types, adaptable to missing/deformed hands 

category: pins 

range of queer pride flags 

pronoun pins 

animals, fandoms/characters (def muppets, feel free to recommend characters and i'll try to include some of the most popular ones) 

general disability pride, cripplepunk, madpunk, sign union flag, & pin (for systems), specific disabilities (need some help with these, send me specific flags and i’ll include them!) 

category: seat 

chair, manual wheelchair, power chair, spinny chair, throne, rollator, electric scooter 

category: mobility aids 

cane, white cane, crutches (underarm/axillary and forearm), rollator, walker (with and without wheels), electric scooter  

joint braces (shoulder, elbow, knee, ankle, back, others?), joint tape, compression garments 

category: other disability aids

AAC tablets, word cards, glucose monitor, sunflower lanyard, inhaler, medical id bracelet

stoma bag, central line catheter, picc line catheter, heart monitor, breathing tube, feeding tube (nasal and abdominal), tracheostomy 

stim toys/chewelry, stuffed animals, phone 

service animals

[tinyluvs]

rafe showing up to where ever you work to bug the absolute shit out of u

i love writing rafe like this omg he has my heart 🫶🏻

out of the corner of your eye you watch, in slow motion, a basket of tennis balls topple over, sending them bouncing all over your workspace behind the reception desk of the country club.

"fuck off," you mumble under your breath, forcing yourself out of your spinny chair. as you bend down to pick them up you hear the doors slide open, "i'll be with you in just a minute!" you chirp

a low whistle, that's all too familiar to you, follows, "take your time, the view i have is perfect" rafe hums. rolling your eyes, you realise he probably has a straight view up your tennis skirt

you stand up, arms full of neon green balls and smile at your boyfriend, “hi baby,” you dump the balls back into the basket and lean over the desk for a kiss

rafe kisses you quickly, lots of small, separate kisses that leave you both smiling against each others lips. leaning on the counter you stare up at your boyfriend, “what’re you doing here?” you ask

he shrugs, “got bored, wanted to see you, see what you do” he admits with a sheepish grin. nodding, you step back from the counter, sitting back down in your chair before rolling towards the computer

“okay, mr cameron, what can i help you with today?” you giggle, “we have a golf course, tennis courts, steam rooms, a spa?” you list off just a few of the options the country club has to offer

rafe moves around the desk, into your work space, “actually, just hanging out here is fine” he stands behind your chair, solid muscle bumping the back of your head as he does.

you tilt your head back to look up at him, “you’ll get me told off for being back here, rafe” you scold but there’s no heat behind it. his eyes follow the mouse around the computer screen as you turn to check who’s booked in, for what courses, for the rest of the day

scanning over familiar names you temporarily forget rafe is behind you, until he starts bouncing a tennis ball up the wall. you startle at the thump and turn in your chair, “rafe,” you hiss, reaching out to grab the ball before he can catch it

he raises an eyebrow at you, his eyes never leaving yours as he reaches into the basket to get another, promptly throwing it up the wall, “they can’t tell you off, i basically own this place” he smirks

“no, your family do, not you” you shoot back, grabbing the second ball from him. you snatch the basket off of the side and hide it under your desk, down by your feet, “behave”

you turn back to the desk as the doors slide open again, “hello, we have court seven booked” you nod and start to type, checking the timetable again

rafe takes your moment of distraction as his chance, he dips off into the office behind the reception almost immediately. he scoffs to himself at the opportunities in front of him.

he throws himself into the spinny chair, turning a few times for good measure before wheeling himself across the room to a table full of hats, swimming caps and goggles. in an instant he’s pulling open packets, snapping a cap onto his head, goggles neatly going over them as he snickers to himself

“having fun?” you ask, doing your absolute best to stifle a laugh. leaning in the doorway you watch as rafe turns to you slowly, “you look ridiculous”

offended, he gasps and snatches the cap off of his head, wincing when it snags on his hair. he wheels his way over you, only stopping when you’re stood between his legs, your hands find his shoulders

“are you kicking me out?” he asks seriously, blue eyes staring up at you. his hair hangs in his view so you gently push it back, scratching his head gently as you go

you pretend to think, watching a frown form across his face, “no you can stay for a while, i guess” you sigh dramatically, though you know he can see the small smile on your face.

giggling you walk backwards to your desk “plus, topper and kelce are booked in for golf soon, they can babysit you for a while”

“but i don’t want to play golf” rafe groans and wheels himself to the other end of the desk to where you are in your chair. his ring clangs off of the counter as he grips it, pushing off of it to spin himself around

shrugging, you lean down, grabbing a tennis ball from the hidden basket. he builds speed too fast, just a blur of your boyfriend in front of you. before you can stop yourself, you’re throwing the ball at him

mixing his speed with the way you lob the item at him, it hits his shoulder, pinging off across the reception, bouncing off of tables and chairs from the cafe, “oh fuck” you laugh, slapping your hand over your face

rafe slows to a stop, attempts to stand but fails, falling back down into the chair with a moan, “i feel sick” he grimaces

“buckle up, buttercup, i just spotted topper’s car pulling in”

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a kiss if you do, mwah ily !! send prompts to my ask box!

[atlas-coolbean]

The gang at an amusement park because I went to Calway park recently

Darry: Did his best to keep track of everyone but gave up eventually.

Went on the scariest rides possible and dragged pony along with him

Made sure everyone ate real food at least once throughout the day

He actually had a lot of fun

His favourite ride was the rollercoaster

Soda: Him and Steve are way too much junk food

Constantly tried to talk to the pretty girls he saw

Darry made him go on the swing ride and then he ditched Darry because he didn't want to do anything like that again

He loved the bumper cars

Pony: He loved the scary rides which is why he stuck with Darry the whole time

He was the one who begged to go to the amusement park in the first place

He did throw up once after a really spinny ride and Darry made him sit down for 10 minutes and drink water

He loved the Ferris wheel because he could see the landscape beyond

Dally: He didn't want to go in the first place but Johnny convinced him to go

He actually enjoyed himself once he realized he could "accidentally" knock over small children

He bought cotton candy but refused to share with anyone except Johnny

Bro refused to go on most of the rides because he thought they were stupid

He did go on the bumper cars because he could ram into children and also the gang convinced him he should do something other than just the rollercoasters

Two-bit: Went on almost every ride

He got like 4 corndogs

He had so much fun, he loves going to amusement parks

His favourite was the log ride

There was a maze and he got lost for like 15-20 minutes

Johnny: Was low-key scared of going on the Swings and Rollercoaster but ending up absolutely loving them

He stuck by someone's side the entire time, usually Pony or Dally

He liked the carousel the best but will never admit that. If asked he will say rollercoaster but they all know he's lying

Steve: He loved playing the carnival games and definitely won a few prizes and gave them to Soda

He made Soda walk through the haunted house with him so many times so that he could look at absolutely everything in there

He didn't want to ruin his hair going on any of the water rides but gave in eventually (his hair was ruined but he had fun)

[undyingghoul]

It's fair season where I am, and it's got me thinking. I think Tyler would love fairs He'd go by himself, sure, but most times he's dragging at least one person with him or the entire crew (Kate and Javi included of course). He loves everything about the fair: rides, food, trash games, and the shows that come around at night. Tyler has no fear when it comes to the rides and is determined to ride them at least once. You will not catch him on the merry-go-round however, at least not by his own choice (Kate still laughs at the one time she made him go on it). He'll wreck you in bumper cars too, that man has zero mercy when it comes to that. He loves the spinny rides the most. Universally, his favorite is the tilt-a-whirl, but he finds it hilarious that the one called 'Tornado' comes in second given his profession. He's dragged everyone onto the tilt-a-whirl at least five times in the span of an hour and will tell you to lean to get the cart to spin faster. He also likes the Ferris Wheel and typically goes on it with Kate. He doesn't get stuck at the top often but the times he does he's pointing out things to Kate who joins in. Sometimes they'll play eye spy, too. And you can bet Tyler plays every game but the win a goldfish game. He's good at the dart games and ring toss, and loves the shooter games. He seems to always win some sort of prize no matter what game he plays and everyone walks away with some sort of stuffed animal by the end of the night. Sometimes he'll win things and hand them out to kids as well, especially the ones that crowd around him and watch him play said games. The food is just as important for Tyler as well. He swears he's tried every single food there over the years. It takes a while for everyone to pick a food, a sweet treat, and a drink but once that happens it's off to the stands to watch his favorite fair show: a rodeo. Having competed in the past he'll sometimes see familiar faces in the ring that shoot him a smile and a wave before getting back to their tasks. He always enjoys the rodeo and sometimes gets a little to excited about them, his friends think it's adorable and always giggle. By the time Tyler leaves the fair he's exhausted and if he brought people with they're equally as exhausted- but the memories they made, the laughs they shared, and the time spent together all make it worth it in the end for Tyler.

[shadowy-suitcase-herring-neck]

wanted too draw some robots so i made a former racing bot Killer! he hath spinny wheel feet.

[ominoose]

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫-𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞

Summary: Random drabble's about Steven Grant meeting other Oscar Isaac characters. No Marc or Jake co-concious, only referenced. Characters: Basil Stitt, Leto Atreides, Poe Dameron A/N: This randomly hit me and I wanted to write it because it was funny. Used a spinny wheel for it. Also idk if BB-8 can do that but now he can.

London was it's usual muggy, busy self as Steven ran down the street, hoping to catch the bus to work. It had been hard enough to get a job after the Museum Incident, but maintaining a position was proving to be a much harder endeavor between his abnormal sleeping patterns and head mates.

"Oi! Wait, please!" Steven was within touching distance just as the bus sped off, and at the lack of anything to rest his weight on or break his fall, the man found himself tumbling face first into traffic.

☽ 𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐥 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐭 (Lightningface)

+ When Steven first wakes up in the apartment, his first thought is that he's woken up in a bomb site. The apartment is a mess, furniture and clothes strewn everywhere haphazardly. He's momentarily glad Marc isn't replying in his head, knowing the American would have an aneurysm over the state of the place.

+ Basil is the one to find Steven, jumping up from his spot on the couch and staring at him like he's an alien. The first thought in his mind is that Ricky the Monkey did some crazy magic and brought a clone to replace him. Poor Steven barely has a chance to process the situation before he's trying to calm his scarred, other American look alike down and explain his situation. Nothing manages to convince Basil there isn't some magic going on here, but he stops viewing Steven as an evil replacement.

+ After the initial shock and awkward introductions, they manage to sit down and chat for a few minutes. Basil shares the story of the lightning strike, insisting that its imbued him with magical powers. Steven, bless his heart, immediately believes this and boasts about his own moon powers too.

"You know, I've always wanted to try jumping off the roof and flying, have you done that?"

"Oh no, my mate Marc usually handles that, but maybe we can practice together? Have you got a suit as well?"

"Yeah, it's this paper bag and bed sheet I fixed up myself! C'mon, I have a stool on the balcony-"

"Wait, hang about.... Actually, mate, on second thoughts, lets not."

+ Steven ends up convincing Basil to properly fix his apartment, not just brush away the broken shards and dust. So that's what they do for a while, busying themselves as they theorize on how to get Steven back home with only a handful of brain cells between them. Basil listens with surprising intensity when Steven ends up branching off into Egyptology tangents, and likewise Steven nods along when Basil brings up all the documentaries he'd watched recently. In the end, the apartment does end up in much better shape, and the pair become quite chummy.

"Damn. Thanks for the help... Maybe I did overreact a bit."

"Yeah, it's no problem bruvs, it happens. Surprised the doctors didn't give you anymore meds, though I suppose over here its not like the NHS."

"Oh, no I didn't go to the hospital."

"...You wot?!"

𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 (Dune)

+ Coming to on hot, sandy slabs is enough of a trigger point to Steven Grant as they come. Coming to on hot, sandy slabs with weird astronauts in suits pointing space guns at him goes beyond frighting and circles back into 'Shit yourself' territory. Thankfully they seem to speak English. Unfortunately, his high pitched screams and babbling British noises don't make sense to them while they peer down their guns at him with confusion. It isn't until a booming voice draws everyone's attention that Steven gets a chance to breath.

+ Said breath is swiftly knocked back out of Stevens lungs when a wiser, nobler and older version of him walks into the room, commanding the attention of every single space soldier in the room. The man stares down at him as he lays huddled on the ground, curled into himself, and quirks a single well groomed eyebrow at him.

"I am Duke Leto of House Atreides. You have penetrated your way into my home. Who are you?"

"I-I-I'm S-Steven Grant. Of the... Giftshop."

The Duke continues his stony stare at Steven for a few seconds longer before holding out a calloused hand.

"Well Steven of the Giftshop, I think we both have many questions for one another, and hopefully some answers."

+ When Steven finally gets over being starstruck at the dignified, royal version of himself, and when Leto makes the accidental mistake of mentioning that they're billions of years in the future on another planet, Steven freaks out, having a 10 minute long panic attack. When that's over he geeks out instead, asking a million questions about technology, using apologies as commas and full stops.

"Do people still know about Khonshu in this era?!"

"I'm afraid I am not familiar with that name."

"Lucky sod."

+ Leto thinks the strange, weird sounding clone of himself is a schizophrenic long lost cousin, but at lease he isn't trying to kill him over a title. It's not as common in Arrakis, or the general noble courts, to find someone as earnest, honest and willing to learn as Steven seems to be, which earns him a surprising amount of respect from the Duke.

𝐏𝐨𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 (Star Wars)

+ Waking up in a space ship that's doing somersaults mid-battle while dodging and weaving around beams trying to explode it out of the sky was almost as stressful as waking up on a London bus at 8am. Commendably, Steven didn't scream or cry, but simply had a silent panic attack until a rolling white and orange ball started beeping at him, or rather the ridiculously handsome version of him currently flying the plane.

"Who the hell are you and how did you get on my cruiser?!"

"Bloody hell, not another handsome American me!"

"What?! BB-8, check for a concussion!"

+ After being given a water bottle by the polite little droid, Steven finally managed to calm himself down by the time the ship touch down and the pilot in matching droid colours sprang before him, launching question after question. When he clocked Stevens face, he was speechless, brows slowly knitting over his eyes as he tried to make sense of what was in front of him. Mid stare-down BB-8 nicked the Brits skin, running a quick diagnostic test and beeping the results out to the pilot who's eyebrows swiftly un-knitted at the noises.

+ Taking advantage of the silence, Steven tries to explain himself and his situation, insisting he comes in peace and simply wanted to get home before Donna got another excuse to give him the sack. The pilot finally introduced himself as Poe, the best pilot in the resistance at that, and with a sigh he promised to try and figure out how to get Steven back to whatever galaxy London was from.

+ Poe tries to explain the resistance and the empire to Steven, who in turn compares it to Ammits cult and jointly rants about those who take choice and freedom from the innocent. Poe is happy enough that his weird blood ancestor is with the resistance, even if he does constantly regard him with a quirked eyebrow, wondering how in the universe he managed to evolve from this walking concussion. For a second time Poe is rendered silent as Steven mentions being Moonknight.

"Oh yeah, I've done that too, at least those Jedi blokes doesn't send their jackals after you though!"

"You've... fought? In battle?"

"Course, yeah. Fought off giant gods back to the underworld, stopped the day of reckoning as the souls of the living were flooding the underworld. It was just the other day actually."

"...You killed god?!"

+ Steven absolutely adores BB-8 and Leia, a feeling the bot and all of the resistance seem to happily return, much to the dismay of Poe. Steven's quite flustered from all the attention and questions, leaving Poe to drag him away in a huff, claiming they need to get back to figuring out how to send him home. It feels like a babysitting gig more than anything, but deep down it strokes Poe's ego when Steven ooh's and ahh's at all his resistance tales.

[heister-shmeister]

houston was the main person who convinced sokol and jacket not to beef with each other. he pointed out things they both liked and started conversations with both of them involved in order to hopefully end the rivalry they started. houston likes talking to jacket about cars and analog technology. sokol shrugs off most of the car stuff. most he knows is how to steal a catalytic converter, and hes more interested in other forms of machinery. jacket and houston attend car shows every once in a while at which houston has to hold jacket back from attacking some random blue haired dude with a bike. most joy sokol derives from the car shows are standing by random americans fancy vintage cars and acting like an eccentric salesman, saying blatantly incorrect facts about whatever vehicle hes standing. houston fact checks him every time, pointing out what the car actually is and getting defensive about it while jacket is doubled over on the asphalt trying not to laugh. houston and jacket also bond over video games, something sokol didnt understand fully until they dragged him along to an arcade. it just wasnt something sokol grew up with but he had a fun time playing air hockey. when jacket plays air hockey, hes less focused on blocking peoples shots as he is on hitting the plastic puck as hard as he can physically muster, leading to events where he is losing but its fine because he shot the puck across the room. houstons reaction time is just a bit too slow for air hockey, and sokols knowledge of how to hit REAL goals makes him good at shooting the puck at the perfect angle to score. jacket likes spending any money he has on the claw machine. nobody knows why. houston says theyre rigged and that the only time hes ever 'won' anything from it was when he lockpicked a machine to steal his quarters back. while sokol watches jacket meticulously line the claw up with a jigglypuff plush he points out the structural integrity of the claw. how it wraps around the object fine but lacks the grip strength and is constantly dangling like it isnt possible to just secure it better. houston tries to explain that the point of the machine isnt to be fair, in fact its the opposite. sokols favorite arcade games are ones where you literally just gamble. houston and jacket walk off to get food leaving sokol by the one fishing worm spinny wheel of tickets. they come back to discover sokol has broken one machine from the sheer force of him pushing the lever down and scooted over to one directly next to it, still gambling his money away with a somewhat decent pile of tickets at his feet. houston pickpockets random tiny trinkets from the arcade's prize corner. most of the stuff is the equivalent of 5 hours of playing time, so he forgoes those five hours and grabs junk just because he can. just because it tempts him. he cant NOT steal something thats so perfectly ripe for the taking, even if he has no use for it at all.

[lauronk]

I wish you'd write a fic where ellie was stressed with a job and joel was able to talk her through it and calm her down

this is not because I am stressed with my job hahahaha what

the spinny wheel of destiny picked yours! and boy what a choice because i have also been mad stressed at work lately.

wishing joel comfort upon anyone and everyone stressed at work lately!

what a way to make a livin'

length: ~1.9k words tags: joel & ellie; modern au; father-daughter relationship; shitty customers; retail work; no beta we die like david

All Ellie can think of right now - with this woman hollering in her face - is that gif of Emily Blunt from The Devil Wears Prada. Red eyes, stuffy nose, clicking around on the computer screen and murmuring under her breath “I love my job, I love my job, I love my job.” Like it’s a mantra that she has to remind herself of, like if she says it enough times it’ll be true.

I love my job.

Except Ellie doesn’t really love her job all that much. She likes it, sure. It gives her a great discount on art supplies, helps her save up a little extra pocket money. Her coworkers are pretty cool too, always a bonus.

But she doesn’t exactly wanna be an art store clerk for the rest of her life, and people like this woman are exactly why.

She seems to have finally run out of breath, standing on the other side of the counter with her chest heaving and her cheeks scarlet, fury in her eyes. Ellie’d zoned out somewhere around it’s only missing one page and it’s barely a week past the return window and so now she stares at the woman a little blankly.

“Well?” She demands.

It’s right there, on the tip of Ellie’s tongue - Sorry, ma’am, I haven’t listened to a word of your bullshit, and I’m not doing your fucking return - but Jace had told her she was one more customer complaint from being canned. So she swallows it, pastes on a smile that probably looks more like a grimace, and forces out through gritted teeth, “Let me get a manager for you.”

She doesn’t get paid enough to get yelled at.

Jace, though, does, and more than that she loves getting to tell customers off; her face practically lights up at Ellie’s frustrated “She wants to return a used sketchbook purchased four months ago” and bolts to the register like she’s been told there’s a stack of cash there. Sure enough, after about a minute, the woman’s throaty yelling can be heard once again.

A customer in the paint aisle gives Ellie a commiserating look as she settles down onto the ground to take over Jace’s restocking.

“People can be such assholes, huh?” He says sympathetically, right as he takes a slurping sip of a McDonald’s drink and then sets it on top of a stack of canvases. He leaves it there too, and Ellie’s seized with the urge to pick it up and chuck it at the back of his head as he walks away.

You’re not any fucking better! She wants to scream at him.

Instead, she just scoops up the empty cup and tosses it in the trash, detouring to the bathroom to wash her hands afterwards.

Sketchbook Lady and Cup Man have both left by the time she reemerges, and Jace is strolling towards her with a vaguely triumphant air.

“Got her down to store credit for a quarter the value of the sketchbook,” she says happily, plopping back down onto the ground with the boxes of paint tubes. “And told her that if she abused any member of my staff next time she came in here I’d take her picture from the cameras and put a banned notice on the front windows for everyone to see.”

Ellie sighs tiredly, giving Jace a small smile. At least, if nothing else, she’s got a cool fucking boss.

One who’s watching her now with narrowed eyes, hands moving on autopilot as she labels and shelves the tubes. “Why don’t you go in the back and work on today’s shipment. Think we got nine boxes needing unpacking and inventorying back there.”

Ellie doesn’t even try to argue it - she just turns on her heel and strides off.

—

By the time she leaves three hours later, Ellie’s sweaty and exhausted, her head pounding with pressure behind her eyes. She’s supposed to get dinner with Dina and Jesse tonight, but she shoots them a text in the group begging off. She can’t, she just can’t, she’s too goddamn fried right now to socialize even with her best friends. So she just goes home. No music on the stereo, just a quiet podcast she’s only half paying attention to.

She doesn’t really feel herself relax until she’s pulled into her driveway.

Joel’s not home yet - his truck’s not in his driveway - so Ellie toes off her shoes by the front door and flops facedown onto the couch. Dina and Jesse like to poke fun at her for being almost twenty-one and still living at home with her dad, but Ellie loves it. She always jokingly replies that it’s cheaper that way, or that she doesn’t have to do her own laundry, or that Joel’s a better cook.

But really she just…hasn’t felt ready to move out. She’s been living with Joel since she was just shy of fifteen, the first home that she’s ever wanted to really stay in and had the feeling returned. All her foster homes before that were a mismatch, and then in a last ditch effort she got put with this cranky old fuck who Ellie had been sure was going to turn her out within a month.

He hadn’t though - he’d been the first person to ever really look at Ellie and see her.

Sue her, she wasn’t ready to move away from that yet.

Ellie gives herself ten minutes to decompress on the couch - with a few muffled screams into the cushions for good measure - before dragging herself down the hall to her bathroom and making herself take a scalding shower. Normally she cranks some music while she does it, but her head is still pounding and right now all she wants is some blessed quiet.

Fifteen minutes later she’s clean, in pajamas, and back on the couch with a bottle of water and her feet propped up. There’s a text on her phone from Joel saying he’s picked up takeout from Casa Colombia - Ellie’s stomach rumbles as soon as she reads it - so he’ll probably be home in another twenty minutes.

Hopefully by then she’s feeling less like peeling her skin off.

It’s ridiculous, Ellie knows that, letting herself get so worked up by a couple shitty customers at a retail job. She’s dealt with worse before, but some days it was just more frustrating than others - a constant stream of people who don’t see her as a person, simply a robot to find stuff for them or stand behind a register. And even the nice ones can get overwhelming when there’s so many of them. Just constant, non-stop interaction with people.

Ellie groans, letting her head fall back against the couch. All the stress that she’d managed to melt away with the hot shower and quiet time has come speeding back as she just sits here and wallows in her stupid, useless thoughts. Maybe she should’ve turned the television on to distract her.

The sound of the garage door opening greets her, and it lifts a weight off her chest.

Joel’s home.

“Food’s here!” He calls down the hall, and there’s a few thuds as he shucks his boots. Ellie doesn’t move, instead craning her head around to see him emerge, bags in hand. He’s grayer than he was when she moved in with him, wrinklier too. But he’s still Joel, still emanates that sense of safety she’s never been able to find anywhere else.

Still her favorite person in the world.

His brow furrows when he notices her sitting there, already in her pajamas - plaid pants and a (definitely not stolen from him) overlarge t-shirt adorned with a faded Cowboys star. He stills, head tilting as he looks her over. “‘Y’alright, kiddo?”

“Long day,” is all Ellie replies for now, pushing herself to stand so she can walk over and take the bags of food from his hands. Joel presses a quick kiss to her temple as she does, a gesture that never fails to fill her with warmth, before he heads to the cupboards to pull down plates.

They set the table and eat in silence, other than the occasional remark about the deliciousness of an arepa or the perfect seasoning on the churrasco. Ellie appreciates that about Joel, always has. He’s not one to talk about his own feelings, and so he doesn’t push her on hers. But when she wants to talk, he’ll be all ears. Probably have some good, weird southern wisdom too, something like you’ve got horse sense or just because a chicken has wings don’t mean it can fly.

Both things she’s heard him say in utter seriousness.

They both eat everything Joel’s brought home, and then Ellie handles the clean up and dishes while Joel goes to his room to shower and change. By the time he comes back in his own pajamas - which she definitely didn’t get him just because they matched hers - Ellie’s resumed her position on the couch, though with much less tension in her shoulders.

Amazing how much a good meal and quiet time with her favorite person can make the world seem like a good place again.

Joel lowers himself to the couch next to her with a sigh, a heavy hand patting her knee. “Gonna tell me what’s got you all up in your head?”

Ellie sighs, leaning over until her head is resting on Joel’s shoulder. “Just one of those days.”

She feels him shift, and then his cheek is resting against the crown of her head. “Tell me about it?”

The gentle question - one Ellie knows she could refuse to answer, say she doesn’t feel like talking about it - asked in his rough twang, does the same thing it has since she was a teenager. It makes her open her mouth and the words come flowing out.

She tells Joel about Sketchbook Lady and Cup Man and the person who’d hung up on her and the older man who’d kept staring at her chest and the woman who had practically tossed her payment in Ellie’s face and the perfectly nice lady who wanted to tell Ellie her whole life story while purchasing one pack of coloring pencils and a single tube of red paint.

It’s still draining, reliving all the seemingly trivial interactions she’d had, but this time it’s like unloading a weight from her shoulders. By the time she stops talking, finally done, Ellie feels like she could just pass out right there against his shoulder and sleep dreamlessly.

“‘M sorry you had such a day,” Joel replies quietly, readjusting them so his arm’s around her shoulders, and he squeezes ever so slightly. “I bet you'll probably have more shitty ones though, sorry to tell you. But just remember that you're good at your job and they're lucky as hell to have you, baby. And you can handle some shitty assholes. 'F you can't, just let me at 'em.” Ellie chuckles softly, burrowing a little closer to him.

They're both quiet for a few minutes, and Ellie's just about to suggest popping a movie in and digging into the ice cream in the freezer when Joel speaks. “You’re off the next two days, ain't you?”

“Yeah.”

His hand comes up to cup the back of her head, tilting her so he can press a quick kiss to her forehead. “Why don’t you ‘n me take a little day trip or somethin’? Go down to San Antonio, hang out at the Riverwalk. Or we could go out to Fredericksburg?” He offers the last suggestion a little hopefully, and Ellie grins.

“You just wanna go back to the World War II museum,” she teases.

“...No.”

Ellie giggles, eyes slipping shut when his dull fingernails start to scratch over her scalp. “Fredericksburg it is, then.”

thanks for reading!

if you sent a prompt to my inbox, i promise i am still planning to do them all. but i also wanna get the next chappy of if you can wait finished and posted soonish too, so it might be a moment before you see another. and i will once again leave it up to the spinny wheel of destiny.

love y'all!

[sarahsmi13s]

Wheel of WIPS

Sarah Spins or Vinny Spinny 

okay, i’m bored and i want to talk about my wips

send me the word ‘spin’ in my inbox and i’ll spin my big ass spinner wheel and tell you about whatever fic it lands on

[the-bees-patella]

hi! for the prompts thing: warning: workplace aftercare + any rex ship you're in the mood for :> thank you! ♥️

from this prompt post.

Thank you so much for prompting!! Sorry, I took it in a fairly literal direction, as in, needing aftercare from your workplace. So then I went directly to my spinny wheel of Top 10 Worst Times of Rex’s Life and landed on...Kadavo.

non liquet (ao3) || cody/rex || M, 400 words.

Content note for slavery; the canon-typical violence, cruelty, and dehumanization found in our beloved children's cartoon.

Rex had said he didn’t want to talk. But now, curled up in the bunk, Cody’s chin perched on the crown of his head; bowered in body heat under the blanket. Cody’s arm is falling asleep, trapped beneath both their heads. His fingers climb the jagged ladder of Rex’s spine. The gap between each rung is far too steep.

Now, Rex’s voice, gnarled with disuse:

“I killed him,” he says. “The slave master. I don’t feel bad about it. But—I was so angry; I wanted revenge. It didn’t feel like combat, I lost control. And I was—I was just so…”

The words, a humid spoonful of air tapping at his lip. Cody rubs his cheek against the spackle of Rex’s hair, just to feel the rasp, some new sensation. To let him know this is testimony, not prayer.

As cadets, he and Fox would joke about optimizing their stats in the free will department. “The Jedi reward lateral thinking and initiative,” Fox would say. And then Cody would say, “But careful, not too much!”

Rex is choking under the slack in the noose of too much.

The purpose of orders is not their substance. If all the Republic had wanted was rules followed to the letter, it could have had datapads and metal droids aplenty. It would never have bothered with designer soldiers. But what it wanted was a man in war’s perpetual debt for his very existence; a man whose currency was violence. A man with no master other than obedience. But nonetheless: a man.

To make such a man, and hand him a weapon, the air still acrid with screams of pain; his throat locked tight against his own screams. The burns on his neck still grieving for themselves, weeping under the shock collar.

To make such a man, and then step aside, just in time.

Cody knows Kenobi could not have killed the slaver himself. He understands that. But couldn’t he have given Rex the mercy of a direct order?

The smell of the tunnels still clings to Rex, dirt and shit and torched flesh and the animal rust of spilled blood, all varnished with the astringent patina of Bacta. It’s the smell of inverted dignity; of despair.

What’s the operative difference between an execution and a murder?

“I was just so hungry,” Rex whispers.

They can’t get much closer without suffocating. Cody tries anyway.

[xieni-logs]

Ooooh how about the whole Astral Express fam but both Caelus and Stelle + Y/N at an amusement park? Like who would be grabbing onto who for dear life on rollercoasters, who enjoys the spinny and 100 mph rides and then all of them on those water raft rides or just some ride with enough room for them all?

THE ASTRAL EXPRESS: AMUSEMENT PARKS

a/n: i hope i did your request right. i havent been to an amusement park in years so im honestly just assuming these rides all exist inside one park. i did think of writing for pompom but wondered if pompom can even leave the express. i enjoyed writing this, thank you! (ˊᗜˋ)/

March 100% enjoys thrill rides and ferris wheels. she acts like the ride is scary when she's in line but has no fear taking out her camera right before the roller coaster is about to drop. does her little peace sign pose and takes a picture as the people around are yelling and someone passed out. she'll even go on a ride multiple times just for a good picture. forces everyone to go with her at least once. if you say yes easily, great: you're going on the drop tower for the third time in two hours with March now! Welt holding his poor back, Himeko is a little dizzy, Dan Heng is sweating and feeling nauseous, Stelle and Caelus are both saying they're perfectly fine but their legs are shaking like crazy, March is completely unaffected though! she's running to the next ride and telling everyone to hurry up as if she didn't just make Caelus throw up inside a little. if you're unaffected like she is, pray for your legs because you'll be standing in line for hours going on the same ride again and again.

Caelus enjoys the bumper cars and bumper boats the most. there’s something therapeutic about purposefully crashing into people, according to him. he targets people but denies it. has nearly flipped another bumper boat open and was forced to apologize to the whoever was on that bumper boat by welt later. don't be surprised if Caelus begins targeting you for no reason, he does it for everyone!

Stelle loves the haunted houses and test of strength games. nothing better than going through it all trying to prove who's better. March happily goes along with her, Caelus will too, and Dan Heng will be dragged along whether he likes it or not! Himeko and Welt wait outside, still recovering from the rides March dragged them on. most of the time, you'll walk through the haunted house no problem. the most you'll get is a sharp gasp from Caelus and Stelle or an "EEP!" from March, and nothing from Dan Heng. but if it's one of those creepier haunted houses, well... you'll walk out, all of you holding onto somewhere on Dan Heng.

Dan Heng probably enjoys the lazy river the most. thats saying a lot since he doesn't exactly like nor dislike any rides at the amusement park. this is an activity the entire astral express will partake in! as much as thrills and fun rides and attractions are appealing, you can't beat a moment of relaxation in a chaotic day. Caelus and March have fallen asleep while floating down the lazy river while everyone else sits in comfortable silence.

Welt doesn't have a preference on rides and attraction. he's an everything type of guy! will try everything at least once, mostly because you and the others ask him. feeling too nervous to go on a ride but you still want to? ask him to tag along. don't want to line up for the overpriced amusement park food alone? he'll come with you. he's like a personal plus-one for everyone on the astral express crew!

Himeko enjoys the ferris wheels. something about being at the very top of the ferris wheel, overseeing the world from a different angle that is so, so nice. March likes the ferris wheel too! she and Himeko will take pictures in the ferris wheel. the entire crew is likely split into two cabins; one having Himeko, March, Caelus and you, and the other has Dan Heng, Stelle, and Welt. of course, Himeko doesn't stay on the ferris wheel the entire time, she can be seen going through gift shops and all that; a souvenir to commemorate this occasion.

[another-whump-sideblog]

Fixing Tracy -- Introductions

TWs in the tags

Masterlist

Tracy wakes up to sunlight on her face.

Her first thought is “that feels nice.”

Her second thought is “shit, I missed my alarm!”

Her third thought is “wait… where am I?”

She jolts out of bed. Not her bed— it’s far too comfortable to be her bed. This isn’t her room. 

Is she dreaming? She can’t think of any other reason she’d go to sleep in one bed and wake up in another. She closes her eyes and focuses very hard on waking up. Nothing happens.

So… either she doesn’t remember going here of her own will, or someone took her here while she was unconscious.

No matter which is the case though, one thing is clear: she’s in danger. She would never forget something like traveling to a new location unless someone did something to her to make that happen, and obviously being moved while she was unconscious means someone has bad intentions.

She looks around for cameras, but finds none. She'd feel more reassured if she had found any, that way she could be reasonably confident that was all there was and find a way to deal with them. This way she's uncomfortably aware that there could easily be a camera or a bug she missed in her search.

She scans the room for anything that could be used as a weapon. There's not much. There's a bookshelf, but all of the books are paperback and none look thick enough to do more damage than a slap would. There's a dresser–

Tracy freezes. It's full of her clothes. She can recognize some of the stains and tears. There are some new items, but the large majority would've had to have been taken out of her apartment. More importantly, they're neatly folded and organized in a way that Tracy never keeps her clothes. She didn't put them there and forget, someone else took her and her clothes and who knows what else and brought them here. They would've needed plenty of time to get everything all neat in the dresser, too. How long was she unconscious?

Focus. Right now the most important thing is finding a weapon. There's a spinny chair next to a desk, but it seems too bulky to carry around. She'll keep it in mind, it's definitely heavy enough. The lamp, maybe? She tests it out, but it seems too light to do any damage. There is a lightbulb, though. She takes off the lampshade (plastic, no wires that could be used for lock picking), unscrews the lightbulb, and breaks it against the nightstand like an egg. She breaks off enough that all that's exposed is sharp, jagged edges, which she should be able to do a good amount of damage with if she has to. She cut her hand a bit, but not enough to matter right now.

No one's come for her yet. Maybe she can get out the window and run for safety? It's far out of her reach and frosted so that she can't see anything out of it, but maybe if she moves some furniture around…

She quickly finds that every piece of furniture in the room besides the spinny chair is nailed down, and the spinny chair isn't steady enough to let her stand on it to try and break the window with enough force without falling.

She sets down her improvised weapon and holds the spinny chair upside down, then slams one of the wheels against the window as hard as she can. It makes a lot of noise. She would've barricaded the room first if she could move anything else (unfortunately the hinges are on the inside of the room, so she wouldn't have been able to tie the doorknob to something with a blanket to keep the door closed), but she can't, so she just hopes that either the chair or the lightbulb will be able to fight her captor(s?) off.

The window doesn't crack or show any sign of being weakened no matter how hard she hits it. She starts to hit it to a rhythm– three fast, three slow, three fast. S.O.S., or close enough to it. She knows she wouldn't go investigate if she just heard banging against someone's window, but she would if that banging was saying S.O.S. in Morse code, and she hopes there's someone nearby enough to hear that's similar.

Once her arms are so sore they start to shake, she sets the chair down and picks up the lightbulb again. If she kidnapped someone and didn't come to stop them when they started pounding on a window, it would be because she knew there was no chance of the window breaking or alerting anyone. Her chances of escaping this way are slim.

That just leaves the door to the room. She doubts it's unlocked, but when she twists the doorknob she meets no resistance. This is where they want her to go, then.

There's a lock on her side of the door. That's… odd. She pulls the door open a crack and peaks out, but doesn't see anyone. She opens it a bit more.

There's a lady with long, blond hair sitting on a couch reading a book. There's no way she didn't hear all the racket Tracy was making, but she doesn't seem phased at all. Maybe she's deaf?

The door creaks and the lady looks towards it, destroying that theory instantly. She heard everything, she was just that confident that nothing Tracy did in there would negatively impact her.

"You're awake! How are you feeling?"

Tracy slams the door shut and rushes into the closet of the room. There are more of her clothes and the closet smells like her apartment–

She covers her mouth with one hand to quiet her breathing and holds out the lightbulb with the other. When the lady comes, she should be able to catch her by surprise.

She waits, and waits, and waits, and no one comes. The lady isn't going to give Tracy a chance to catch her by surprise. If she wants to leave this room, it has to be through the door, towards the person that most likely kidnapped her in the first place.

The cuts on her hand have mostly stopped bleeding, and the blood that ended up on her face from covering her mouth has dried. She hopes that makes her look intimidating… probably not, though, since the lady most likely knows full well the only person in here is Tracy.

Tracy opens the door again and holds the lightbulb out in front of her. "Where am I?"

The lady puts a bookmark in her book and gets off the couch. She gasps when she gets a good look at Tracy.

"Oh, dear, what happened?" Her eyes flicker to the lightbulb, Tracy's empty hand, and back to her face. "Is it just your hand that's hurt? Come, let's get you cleaned up."

The lady is weirding Tracy out. "No! Don't come any closer, don't touch me." She waves the lightbulb to accentuate her point. "Where am I??"

The lady raises her hands in surrender. "I'm not going to hurt you. Well, I guess if you were to attack me with that I would have to defend myself… I have no intention of hurting you. You're safe. Can you take some deep breaths for me?"

"Tell me where I am!"

The lady gestures to the room around them. "Your new home."

Tracy's stomach drops. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Nothing, nothing at all. I told you, I have no intention of hurting you. Do you want to sit down?"

"Why– how– Who are you!?"

"Oh, right, I forgot you don't know. I know so much about you, it's hard to remember that to you I'm just a stranger. My name is Molly. It's nice to finally speak to you, Tracy."

Tracy's legs feel weak. "You're– you–"

"Just relax. From now on, you have no responsibilities, no stress. I understand if you need to keep fighting, though." Molly gestures at the lightbulb. "You need to feel like this is completely out of your control, or else you’ll feel guilty for resting. It’s alright. Fight until you’re satisfied that there’s no escape. I won’t take it personally. I'd really like to take care of your hand first though. You wouldn't be surrendering or anything like that, just taking advantage of your resources. It would be a lot harder to fight with an infection, right? And who knows, maybe if you act compliant I'll let my guard down enough to give you an opportunity to escape. You can accept my help guilt-free, it doesn't mean anything more than that you're smart enough to care for your injuries."

Tracy hates that Molly's reassurances are actually comforting. Cooperating wouldn't hurt anything, and it would benefit her quite a lot… Still, she's suspicious. She wants to figure out what the catch is. "I– please, can I take care of it on my own?"

"Of course! The bathroom is through that door over there, and the First Aid kit is under the sink. I'll stay right here if you want."

Tracy backs into the bathroom, pointing the lightbulb towards Molly the whole way. Like the bedroom, the bathroom locks from the inside. Tracy closes the door and locks it before setting down the lightbulb.

She cleans the blood off her face, then cleans the cuts on her hand and bandages them.

Her best option right now is to cooperate and gather information. Molly is extraordinarily confident that there's no way for Tracy to escape, so Tracy needs to figure out why and how to get around that before anything else.

When she exits the bathroom, Tracy takes a deep breath and heads to the sitting area. She still points the lightbulb at Molly, but she sits in a seat facing the couch Molly was reading at. She's just gathering information and gaining Molly's trust. She can do this.

Molly smiles and sits back down next to her book. "You look much better. I'll admit, I was worried you'd try and break the mirror and just cut yourself more, so I'm glad you're satisfied with the weapon you already have."

Tracy's not sure how to respond to that. "...what do you want from me?"

"I don't want anything from you, dear. I want peace and joy and health for you, but you don't have to do anything."

"Why?"

"Because you're broken, Tracy. And I'm going to fix you."