#wave's process thingamajigs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lillithenettix · 4 years

Photo

Part 4

Part 5/?

With Dallas running off after the other two, Boris didn’t even bother trying to turn around this time. He just continued sitting, passively waiting to see if anyone else is planning on pouncing him or not. At least this time he is prepared. Somewhat.

Read the rest of the fic under the cut!

To be honest, Habit hadn’t talked to Dallas all that much back at the Habitat. But when they did talk, the topic was rarely about something other than art. While Habit was definitely doing art as a hobby, the other man took it more seriously. He knew which colors went together best, how to draw figures from different perspectives, how lighting works, all that mumbo jumbo Habit never really cared to learn.

Habit was always left a bit impressed, thought, at the end of the day he still preferred his comically cartoonish drawings. It was simple, cute, and a great way to express himself when nothing else did the trick.

Thinking back on it, maybe he shouldn’t have expressed himself that much around the habitat with the drawings. The first time he went back to visit the Habitat, some days after the Big Event, to finally shut it down, he realized how creepy some of his doodles were. The blood, the creepy staring, the crying. Frankly, he scared himself with them.

He felt a pressure in his chest, being thankful to Flower Kid for saving him, once again.

While he was still looking off to the side from which Dallas came from, he heard footsteps from his front.

So there are more of his potential future friends still coming! He has to admit, it made him quite happy and hopeful.

In the short second it took him to look at the new person approaching him, his mind went through all the next potential people that could arrive. Thought, honestly, he really doesn’t know which ones have more chances of appearing so he just focused on the then and there. His smile grew in excitement.

As soon as he laid his eyes on the newcomer it dropped. Not in disappointment, anger, or any other emotion than surprise. His mouth was agape, he tried to say something but nothing came out.

He really though he was ready but to see Questionette here left him in awe. He didn’t even think she would’ve understood his letter. She wasn’t even speaking English in the chatroom from what he remembered.

Maybe she took an English crash course in the short time between the group chat and now? It’s the only thing he could think of at the moment. Sure, it might’ve taken him a few years to become fluent in English when his family migrated to the United States, but he will push the slight pang of jealousy down for now, and rather be impressed if that was really the case here.

Or maybe she just got someone to translate it. Who knows.

“Bonjour, flouriste!” She greeted, a small gentle smile on her face, and put something down on the table.

Habit briefly glanced downwards and saw a Hydrangea. It looked freshly picked, the petals dainty and healthy, and a pretty blue colour.

Thank you for understanding.

Huh? Had he remembered the meaning right? He was quite sure he did. But he couldn’t come up with a reason she’d be thankful to him for.

Come on, Boris, think!

He looked back up at her, straight into her eyes, as if that will bring back any forgotten memories. He wanted to remember but he couldn’t.

If she saw his confusion, she didn’t acknowledge. She just leaned both of her elbows onto the table, intertwined her fingers, and laid her head on them, much like Boris had done when patronizing or mocking his Habiticians in the past.

But Questionette still held a gentle smile, no hint of mockery. She just kept looking, not moving a muscle, waiting.

What was she waiting for, thought? An apology?

Well, duh, Boris, you dunce! That’s why you invited them all here!

“…Sorry.”

He wanted to slap myself across his face. Could he have possibly sounded any more unsure and insincere? So hesitant to say it, in only one word, and practically monotone. He wanted to try again.

Before he could fix his mistake, start anew, she looked away. Her smile still present, waiting.

This baffled Boris.

She didn’t seem disappointed or mad at his half-hearted apology. Was she waiting for something else?

Questionette looked back at him, staring at his face as the gears inside his head turned and turned, trying to figure out the puzzle she posed for him.

So much for the whole ‘understanding’ affair. He must seem like a total idiot to her. So far, their interaction has been a disaster from start to finish on his part. His look of shock, his mouth hanging open, not even greeting her back-

Not even greeting her back.

Boris! Where are your manners?

He had to stop himself from blurting out just any old ‘hello’ or ‘hi’ in a rushed panic. He wanted it to seem special. Well, as special as a greeting can get.

Then he remembered one.

“Privjet, prijatelnica!” He blurted out, no hesitance, with the confidence of a car salesman.

It didn’t take him long to start second-guessing himself since the greeting was the very same as the one he initiated conversations with back at the habitat. More specifically, conversations with her.

Questionette gave him no time for regret as her smile grew into one of pure happiness.

She puckered her lips, as much as she could with her wide smile, and sent a kiss flying in his direction.

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

When Questionette arrived to the United States, let’s just say things didn’t go very well for her.

She didn’t really know what she was thinking. Maybe it was her naivete, or maybe her youthful enthusiasm. Disregarding her family’s worries, and her friends’ warnings about the outside world. Only knowing how to speak French, and with a big ambition to make a name for herself in the theatre world, she almost instinctively decided to move to America.

America, the land of the free. America, land of opportunity. And America, the land of English speakers.

Oh, Questionette, what have you gotten yourself into.

So with whatever little money she brough from home, she started traveling, looking for jobs at local theatres. But, unfortunately, it is hard to find a job when you don’t understand your employer and your employer doesn’t understand you.

And all the paperwork. God, the paperwork. It took her so long to fill out anything the government needed from her with help from some equally confused government workers who didn’t understand her.

When searching or traveling she made a quick buck acting as a mime, though she had to admit, that wasn’t her forte. But Americans did love laughing at a random Frenchie trying to not make a fool our of herself on the street, so she had to swallow her pride at times.

Eventually, she became just too tired of everything. Everything was so hard without communication. She didn’t even have enough money to return back to France. To her family. Prove them all right, and admit she just wasn’t up to the task.

Then she started seeing strange flyers everywhere. They didn’t contain a whole bunch of words on them. It was mostly pictures and drawings. There were many variations of the flyers, or at least she assumed as much by looking at the style of the drawings. And they made sense to her.

Something made sense to her. Finally.

It’s been so long since she understood anything in this damn country.

She wanted to go to this place. To this place where you can find your smile again. For free! She had been so happy she could’ve cried.

So she started walking, and she didn’t stop until she arrived on top of that hill with the strange but unique building on it. She grabbed the giant door which she assumed was the entrance and pushed.

It didn’t move. She pushed again. And again.

If pushing wouldn’t solve it, then maybe knocking would. So, she had done just that. Hitting the door a little louder with each knock. She had to admit, she was starting to despair a little.

Eventually her hands started hurting from all the knocking which got progressively more aggressive.

Now, Questionette is by no means a violent person, but damn was she desperate right now. She just wants a little time off, rest for a bit, gather up her strength.

She plopped down on the ground and waited. Someone had to come around eventually. She was confident she understood the flyer correctly. Heck, the last one she found was just some scribbles getting the point across, not a word in sight!

She must’ve been sitting in front of the place for hours. The sun was slowly setting, and it looked beautiful and peaceful. She started nodding off, eyes closing and her mind just wanting to catch some rest when a very, very, tall man appeared in front of her. So many various screws, bolts, and thingamajigs in hand that the pile seemed to be blocking his view.

Wanting to make herself more presentable by dusting off her skirt and straightening her shirt she shot up, only to startle the poor giant, seemingly only noticing her once she was standing at her full height.

All the doodads he was holding fell to the ground, scattering all around them.

“Fu-“ he started but took a deep breath, held it in, and exhaled before continuing, “blin.”

Feeling sorry for making the man drop everything, she quickly rushed to pick everything up. She hoped nothing was broken. Glancing up at the man, she saw him looking at her. Not sure whether he was going to get angry at her or not, she apologized.

“Désolée, c’est ma faute, je ferai attention la prochaine fois.” And she meant it.

It was probably just gibberish to him, but still, better than not saying anything.

But his reaction was unexpected. He smiled with excitement.

“Privjet, prijatelnica,” he started waving at her as if she was an old friend he saw across the street, and not a random stranger that scared a year of his life out of him.

She had to admit, it left her a bit confused. That didn’t sound English. But it sure as hell wasn’t French either. The confusion must have shown on her face.

The man proudly lifted a clenched hand to point at himself with his thumb, still beaming.

“Yevropa!”

Taking a moment to process what he said, she let out a small ‘ah’ when it finally clicked.

Questionette let everything she picked up so far drop back to the ground and imitated his previous movement by pointing at herself.

“L'Europe!”

It might have been a little weird. Two Europeans who didn’t really understand each other yelling ‘Europe’ in their respective languages with the excitement of a six-year-old getting a new toy, but somehow it brought comfort to her.

From that meeting on, things went much smoother. She eventually learned that the place was called the Habitat, and that she arrived a week before the official opening.

Whoops. Well, mistakes tend to happen when you can’t read flyers properly. At least she was the first one to experience the luxury of this free resort.

The tall man, Doctor Habit who she figured out was from Russia, introduced his two employees to her as well. Kamal Bora, the one who worked as the Doctor’s assistant, and Wallus Breadbear, the janitor.

She and Habit didn’t literally understand each other, but she enjoyed his company immensely. It was hard to hate a guy who’d greet her as happily as he did every day, always with the same sentence. It really grew on her. She wanted to look the words up in a dictionary when she got her hands on one.

While the four of them were waiting for more Habiticians to arrive to this happy place, they got to mingle a bit, and it didn’t take Questionette long to start getting close with the two workers as well. Especially the janitor.

Not even a day after they got introduced to eachother, Wallus went and bought the biggest English to French dictionary he could find. She found it sweet that he cared enough to do that. Their conversations were slow and mostly in broken French but with how much time they had on their hands, they managed. Surely enough, feelings started to blossom between them.

But the doctor didn’t like that.

She learned he was a very jealous man. Pulling her away from Wallus at every opportunity, butting in on their conversations, things that went unnoticed by her for some time. At first it was sort of cute how he wanted her attention, but the longer it kept going, the creepier it became.

Then Wallus lost the dictionary they couldn’t find it anywhere. Everyone, excluding the Doctor, helped search for it, Kamal, the newly joined habiticians, as well as herself. Losing the little book was very unpractical for their relationship. So unpractical, in fact, that it began to crumble not long after.

She tried keeping the relationship alive, but it seemed like Wallus didn’t. He became more and more uncomfortable being near her, and she never figured out why. She had some theories, but that’s all they were. Theories.

Eventually, Habit stopped hanging out outside his office.

Then she became lonely again. At least, until the Flower Kid showed up.

Thinking back on it, it wasn’t all bad in the beginning. But when things got good, they got worse again. Which sucked. At least now she’ll have a great story to tell her friends and family back home, whenever she would see them again.

Surprisingly, when she got out of the Habitat, the big woman that hung out on the roof, watching for birds all day, started talking to her. Granted, Questionette didn’t understand a word that came out of the woman’s mouth, but it was still nice.

The woman introduced herself as Borbra Luddington.

In the following months Borbra even helped her learn English. It started with pointing at things and yelling out their name, but eventually she gifted Questionette some used textbooks and workbooks she found online.

When Kamal invited everyone to the chatroom she wanted to surprise everyone with her newly acquired knowledge, but she decided against it. There was a little childish part inside her that wanted to see and get as much praise as possible for learning English. She wanted to surprise them in person. See their faces, their reactions.

And what better opportunity than at the doctor’s… err… florist’s new workplace!

What a surprising change of professions for the man. As for herself, she stuck to theatre. She might not have been the most popular or famous, but she got a few small roles when she auditioned in the recent past. Everyone has to start somewhere.

She had to admit, she did miss Habit. Just a little. She was still hurt by his actions, but when Flower Kid gave her the rundown of everything that happened in the Habitat, he did occupy her mind for a while.

Sorting through her feelings, mulling everything over she figured out that she wanted to forgive him. Maybe because of ‘the good ol’ times’ when he saved her from giving up on the streets, maybe because she felt a tinge of pity for him, or maybe both.

If he really is working towards gaining her forgiveness, she is ready to forgive. Forgive, and finally look up what his greeting meant.

In any case, she had an idea of what to bring him as a sentiment of goodwill.

-------

Yeeeaahhhh, i didn't know how tf to work with a quik-translator so i transformer it into a english-french dictionary in the fic :')

also i apologize to any russians reading this, i try to avoid cyrillic script since the fic is in english

#my art #my writing #smile for me #boris habit #dr habit #sfm #questionette #smile for me game #i got really emotional abotu questionette in this fic ok #she needs more love

19 notes · View notes

pi-cat000 · 5 years

Text

MSA: Take Two (part 6)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Part 7: here

Unsurprisingly, trying to stop 'feeling feelings' is easier said than done, leading to more frustration, which in turn results in more lightning. Arthur is practically a sentient ball of electricity, bits and pieces of himself jumping uncontrollably all over the place, by the time he finally snaps in annoyance, "Can't you do that red-flashy-eye thing."

His voice is weirdly distorted, disembodied. How is he speaking? He doesn't even have a mouth! Not that he had had one before...but still! A wave of static ripples away, breaking against the van walls.

Mystery snorts, /I could, but this is a good learning experience. / All his fur is sticking upright, a response to the static in the air, puffing, giving the dog a rounded appearance. It would be funny if Arthur weren't so aggravated.

"Is this something I really have to learn right now." Shouldn't he first acquaint himself with the whole 'being dead' thing?

/Yes. The quicker you acclimatise, the happier you will be./

"Or…" Arthur retorts, drawing out the word, "how about I not acclimatise. Didn't want to be happy anyway. Problem solved."

Mystery, sitting at the centre of his mini electric infernal, gives him a critical, unimpressed stare over his tiny dog-sized glassed. Arthur thinks it's odd that he knows what Mystery is doing despite now being a collection of sentient, unformed, Arthur particles. He has no eyes. How is he seeing?

/Try clearing your mind. The less you think, the less you will find yourself preoccupied./ Mystery offers like it is that easy, still sitting, unaffected by the increasingly chaotic environment.

"Meditation," Arthur bemoans, disgruntled and growing increasingly stressed, "Why is the answer always meditation?" A lot of the therapists he'd seen recommended meditative activities and he always sucked at them all.

/Everything new is difficult at first. Trust me in this. / Mystery reiterates patiently, /Now. Clear your mind. /

"You know. 'Clearing your mind' is super vague. How is a person just supposed to stop thinking?"

Mystery, a little exasperated now, is frowning at Arthur like he's missed the answer to a grade-school level question. Around them, the lightning grows increasingly sporadic and pronounced. He knows he is acting stubborn, but these last few minutes have been a rollercoaster of emotion and it's catching up to him all at once. The regret, sadness, fear, and now helpless frustration all mix together into a discordant mess. The prospect of meeting Lewis again after so long apart, the realisation that this is his reality, dissatisfaction at not being able to do better. It all competes for his attention. He wants it to stop. Visions of angry, dead, Lewis, flash past and his soul tightens. No. It's not his fault. Mystery said it was a 'parasitic entity.' He should trust Mystery. Doubt gnaws at this thoughts, festering, fluctuating to regret. Purple flame colours all mind.

/This is not going well./ He registers Mystery's offhand remark and doesn't respond. A renewed wave of regret crashes into him, whipping away his mind.

/Arthur./ Mystery's voice is loud and intense, pulling him back from the haze of cacophonous emotion, /I know you believe that you hold fault for your recent misfortunes and merely telling you otherwise will not change your thoughts on the matter. However, I would like to say, from my own perspective, that you appear to be handling your circumstances remarkably well. Not many humans can say they transversed the currents of time for the simple purpose of saving a friend, while simultaneously keeping their will and sanity./

As far as pep talks go, it kind of sucks. But, it does give Arthur something else to focus on that's not his recent failures or regrets. He forces his attention back onto Mystery, waiting for whatever else he might say. Now, he finds himself too scattered and disembodied to talk, meaning he must remain in silence.

/Obviously, 'clearing the mind' was insufficient instruction./ Mystery states the obvious. /Instead, I would have you focus on a single point and envision yourself standing on said point. When you find your mind wondering to any distressing subject switch to a new position. /

Unbalanced, and now weirdly exhausted, Arthur follows the instruction. He picks a spot in the van and concentrates. Slowly, he pulls himself together. Bit by bit, the lightning condensed in one place, calming now Arthur's no longer fueling it with self-doubt. It's a slow process which leaves him fatigued and completely done with everything. When he does manage piece himself together and reconstruct something vaguely human-shaped, he finds himself lying flat on his back, staring up at the van's roof. There are multiple darkened patches where it has been hit by the larger bolts of electricity. Everything is heavy like gravity's been dialled up to eleven.

"Why can't I move?" Arthur asks tiredly, trying and failing to shift any of his limbs. Just when he thinks he's getting used to one weird ghost quirk, another follows close behind.

/You expended a lot of energy. Do not fear. The paralysis is temporary./ Out the corner of his eye, he sees Mystery approach and proceed to sniff at Arthur's limp arm.

/Though success can be partly attributed to exhaustion. It is still a success. Congratulations on not completely destabilising./ The sound of claws clicking on metal vibrates near his head. Arthur shoots Mystery a tired glare. A second later, a nose is prodding at his face, snuffling along his hairline.

"Stop that," Arthur finds the energy needed to limply bat at the dog with his arm, "You know it's super weird, right?" An amused snuff of air near his face tells him that Mystery does know and is definitely doing it on purpose.

"I don't think I can do this with Vivi or Lewis around," He comments after a beat, choosing to remain motionless on the ground, too spent to attempt any more movement.

"And I'm not saying it to get out of meeting them either. I really don't think I can control this right now." If all it took were a few wayward emotions to turn him into an inferno of electric death, then there was no way would be able to safely see Lewis again.

"I'm amazed I didn't accidentality kill all three of them in the Cave." In his rush to save younger Arthur and Lewis, he hadn't even considered the possible adverse effects of lightning on his friends.

Mystery huffs, using a paw to flick the side of his head in a very human-like gesture, /I will not take that complete lack of faith in my ability as the insult it would be, considering my poor track record. Rest assured, there will be no unsupervised human and ghost interactions until I am 100% satisfied with your control./

"Great," Arthur mutters, too tired to argue further. Maybe later, he would feel more thankful for Mystery's help and guidance. Right now he's exhausted on every level.

"Can I go back into the… my err…" He hesitates because saying the word 'anchor' feels weird and makes everything a little too real, "…thingamajig now.” Surely, he's done enough soul searching for one day.

Mystery doesn't correct his choice of phrasing, instead remarking, /I would ask you to wait a moment longer./

Arthur groans, "A moment longer? Why?"

The answer comes with a loud bang on the van doors. Arthur jolts, twitching, fatigue momentarily forgotten, eyes widening. That can't be who he thinks it is. A familiar voice yells from the other side of the door, immediately proving his suspicion correct.

"Hey. Are you done yet! Hospital visiting hours ended twenty minutes ago!"

That's Vivi.

NOTE: People seem to like this fic so here you go, more Ghost Arthur working through his shit and Mystery trying his best to be supportive.

Part 7: here

#MSA #mystery skulls animated #fanfiction #fanfic #arthur kingsmen #mystery #ghost arthur #more ghost stuff #more talking about stuff

106 notes · View notes

septic-dr-schneep · 6 years

Text

JSE Commission - A Claim Of Belonging

Summary: Commission for @jacksinsanity. Anti lures Jameson to an unusual meeting place, though not for the reasons the gentleman may expect.

A/N: Warning for violence.

Although Jameson had been introduced to vast amounts of knowledge about the world every single day for the past year, he still couldn’t help but retain the same awe and wonder at all of these new contraptions that made modern life so easy. The coffee pot was no exception. Jameson still vividly remembered the day Schneep had showed him all of its unique parts and their functions.

“Is a very simple little process, Jamie, one I do every day! You let the good doctor show you,” he urged, his voice reflecting so much warmth and eagerness to teach as he gestured for Jameson to lean down beside him. “The first electrical drip brewer was created by one of my proud people, Gottlob Widmann, in 1954! They replaced those bitter old coffee percolators in the 70’s!”

To Jameson, those bitter old percolators had been a staple, but he couldn’t help but smile at the doctor’s enthusiasm—and frankly it was astonishing at how quickly the coffee spilled into the mug once he pressed the button. The warm brew he was sipping now tasted positively delightful, even if he would have preferred tea, and he couldn’t help but chuckle when he realized there was foam lingering in his mustache. It was too bad that he had no one to share the laugh with, though; all of the others were gone for the day. Jameson expected Schneep would be sneaking home for lunch, despite hospital policies. Maybe they could share a cup then.

Once the steaming mug was only half full, he set it aside, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on his knees as he considered what he could do to entertain himself. The television was dark and silent before him, but the last time he had tried to use it on his own, he had set all of the channels to French. He had already tended the garden this morning and he’d read his favorite book at least three times over by now.

Perhaps he should put more time into learning how to use his phone. Chase had tried to introduce him to so many new thingamajigs all at once (“A wristwatch? By golly, I’ve got a pocket watch that serves just fine!” “Why on earth would I need a contraption to track my number of steps? I should hope I can count ’em myself!” “I know precisely when I need to wake in the morning, Da, I don’t need any ol’ radio clock screaming at me; that’s not a device to be fond of!”) until at long last the overwhelmed gentleman had insisted that he pick just one. Chase had opted for what he called a “smart phone”.

I don’t see why the intelligence of the mechanism matters; I’m the intelligence making use of all its bells and whistles! That said, he’d become a bit more accustomed to all of the clicking and swiping, and it was nice to be able to keep in contact with the others through text. To that end, he sent a brief “Miss you!” message to Chase. Less than a minute later he was a little taken aback by a ping and a vibration in response. Chase rarely ever responded that quickly!

As soon as he reopened it, he saw that his hunch was correct. It wasn’t Chase who had texted; it was a number he didn’t recognize. Since when were telephone numbers so long? It trailed off the screen: 010011010110000101110011011101000110010101110010…Brows furrowing, he took one more sip of his coffee before opening it.

?: Jem! Are you free to come to the northeast district? Warehouse 31. There’s something all of us want you to be a part of!

The northeast was a rather unseemly side of town. Why on earth would they want him there after warning him against it so many times? His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but the longer he stared at the message the more uncertain he became. He couldn’t think of any reason why—A sudden prickle of pain down the nape of his neck made his ears pop and he startled, pressing a hand to the source with a wince.

Chase wants to film a haunted video in one of the northeast warehouses this year. He’s been excited about making it for months. Of course you remember that.

“Oh! Confound it all, how could I have forgotten Chase’s video? He’s only spoken of it for months now!” he scolded himself, shaking his head and typing hurriedly back.

JJ: Indeed! I’ll order an Uber and be there soon!

?: :)

The thirty-first warehouse was in a ghastly state, Jameson mused, tsking in disbelief as he peered through the Uber window up at the large structure. Rust and decay riddled its surface; who knew what it must look like inside? Even the driver seemed skeptical, but he was more than willing to accept Jameson’s money for it.

“Be careful out there,” he cautioned as goodbye. Jameson merely tipped his hat as he drove away. Chase and the crew would probably be setting up their equipment inside; his mind was wrapped up in what part the older Ego might ask him to play in it.

On impulse he brought himself to knock on the large doors, coughing and waving in annoyance at the cloud of rust that was blown off by the motion. Oddly, it didn’t look like they had been opened in some time! It took a bit of force from his shoulder to widen them enough that he could slip inside. Intimidated by the length of the shadows within, however, he slowed, resisting the urge to wring his hands in his nervousness.

“Da?” he called out gingerly. “If you attempt to spook me now, I’m going to be very cross!”

“On̵ t͞h͘e ͞contra̧ry, b͝o͟y͝… I҉ d͢o̢n’t̶ n̛e̢ęd ̧t͢o̵ try,” a gleeful, chillingly familiar voice echoed somewhere before him.

The moment of paralyzed, terrified realization was a moment too long. Gasping, Jameson lunged back toward the doors—safety, freedom, help—but the Glitch was there behind him, seizing him by the throat with a vice grip that tore right through his collar and flinging him deeper into the darkness. He landed hard, somersaulting to a stop in a cloud of dust that made him choke and wheeze as all the air was knocked out of his lungs.

“I’m so ̡gl͡a͠d ͠y̧o͟u c̡am̵e̛ wheń ̢I͢ ̡c͢a̶llèd you, pup͞pet͟. I͡t͠ ̶wo͟u͝ld h̢àve been i͞nc̡o͟nven͘ie͢nt if I ͞ha̛d needed ͝t͟o͏ come for y͡óu mys̶el͝f…A m͝ast͡ęr ͠s͠h͟ould ̡n͡ev͢er be f͠or͘c͜ed̡ to f̀et́ch thȩi͞r pet.”

Mouth dry, heart galloping dizzily in his chest, Jameson struggled to scramble back on his elbows and then onto his trembling legs, keeping the Glitch in his field of vision. “I’m no one’s pet!” he gasped. “Certainly not one of yours, you madcap! W-Why’ve you brought me here?!”

Head twisting grotesquely, Anti beamed, spreading his arms out in a mockingly inviting gesture. “T̷o͟ ͘c͞e͝l̢eb̶r͘a̵te.͟ Your͠ birt̢hda̧y͟ is͠ ͘approaching,͜ ̛li͡t̢t̷l̛é ́o͟n͜e…th͜e àn͝ńìver҉sary of͡ the͝ ̵day̨ I͞ c̷a̧me ̨t͠o͝ ow̴n ͞you̵.”

Shaking his head violently, Jameson blinked in fearful disbelief. It was a mistake; as soon as he looked again, mouth open to deny it, Anti was out of sight, and without warning a pair of large, invasive hands clamped onto his shoulders from behind. He barely had a chance to register them before he was being hauled off his feet and thrown back first into one of the roof’s massive support pillars. Something in his abdomen fractured on impact, drawing a soundless scream of agony as he landed and curled into himself.

Anti cackled at the sight, his form spitting and buzzing like a cloud of enraged bees as he lunged on top of him, seizing twin handfuls of the younger Ego’s vest and shirt and ripping them away in a few effortless tugs. Yelping in alarm at the violation, JJ tried fruitlessly to struggle, but a resounding fist to his face sent stars through his vision and ended most of his struggle.

The next thing he knew, Anti was dragging him across the coarse, icy floor, the rust and seams in the floor panels scraping painfully at his bare back and waist. Spitting blood from his split lip, he thrashed sideways as much as he was able and then lifted aching arms to scratch at the hand fisted into his hair. The Glitch seemed unaffected.

“Stop! Agh! Antisepticeye, s-stop!”

“No̵t̴ ̧u͠nt͠i͢l͜ ̶yo͠u’vę be̸en͡ gi͟ven ̴y͢ou͞r͜ ̡gift!” With one more wrench to his puppet’s mane that set his scalp on fire, Anti tossed him forward. Jameson braced himself for a third thunderous landing, but as he tumbled head over heels he was shocked to discover that there was a soft heap of unknown padding underneath him. Straining to sit up, he wrapped his arms around his throbbing stomach and wheezed, the harsh breath disturbing the strange pile of feathers. He didn’t have a chance to ask what they were for. Anti glitched once more, violently and abruptly, and then he was lifting a steaming industrial bucket over his head.

“Y̡our gif̴t, J͝a͡mes͠o̢n Jac҉k̀son̡—We’re ͢goín͟g͡ to̡ ta̷ke ̷p̡ar̶t̴ in a good o͜ld-fashiơn͢ed҉ ͝tr͝a͡di̢ti̧oņ. It’s o͡nę ̕I'm ́s̡ure yo҉u’ll bȩ f͟a͝mil̶iar ͜w̛it͞h͜,” he hissed, heaving the bucket and its contents down with a resounding splash. Jameson screamed as the hot tar made contact, scalding every inch of him as it poured down in waves. Thrashing and flailing, aura storming wildly with the agony no one could hear, he blindly tried to dive somewhere, away, but Anti’s voice and his fists and his heavy boots bombarded him.

“Yo҉u’r̢e͠ w̡͜o̴r̵̡͟thl҉͜ess̛! Y̛͡o͠͞u’r̡̛̛e̴ ̧̛͝n̢̕ot̵͜hi̴̢n̵͠ģ̛! My̕͢͢ ̀͘p̢e͢t̡! H̡ous̸̶͡e̢bŗ̷o̵k̵̶e̷n̨̧! T͢his ͟is̨ ̢w̡h̷e͝r̴e ͠you belo͟ng͡!”

The feathers caught in the tar, sharp and endless and smothering as they clung to his burning skin, choked him and caught in his streaming eyes. In the end the excruciating barrage was too much, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think—Then there was darkness.

When he woke, his bruised and burning body was struck with the bitter chill of the fifty-degree night air. His hands were bound behind him, sticky back plastered to a pole of some kind—a streetlamp. Its light sputtered disorientingly over his head, so he ducked it, letting his eyes close and coughing to dislodge the ugly taste of blood and tar from his mouth. Within moments, the coughs became strangled sobs that tore at every wound. “Hh…help me…p-please, please, s-someone help me…”

“Jamie?! Jamie!” That voice and the footsteps approaching from across the asphalt forced his tear- and tar-streaked face up, causing Schneep to falter, his own face transforming in horror. “Oh—oh, no—” He didn’t waste any more time than that, kneeling hurriedly behind him and drawing out his scalpel to tear through his bonds. “Is okay, little one, is okay, the good doctor’s got you!”

A few days later, Jameson lay silent and tearful in his medical bed, picking at a loose thread on the blanket that served to hide the vast swathes of bandaging over his legs. Schneep was perched beside him, brushing practiced fingers through his tangled hair, intending to soothe. The morphine and diazepam hadn’t been as kind to him as either of them had hoped during the endless icing and stripping of the tar; neither of them would forget anytime soon how he’d rocked his raw, blistered forehead into his seared knees and cried at the bottom of the bathtub.

“Jameson…” Schneep spoke up softly, luring the gentleman out of his pained thoughts. When JJ’s eyes met his, he paused to swallow before knitting his brows and continuing. “This is going to be the first birthday I celebrate with you. You…you know where I was this time last year. I feel a lot back then like you do now, but I—I am not going to let you stay in this place.”

Jameson perked up at that, a lump already forming in his throat, and Schneep shifted closer.

“I will protect you this Halloween, and we will celebrate you,” he whispered with a trying smile, shaky yet earnest. “Marvin and I will bake you a cake—three tiers, four—and we decorate it with candy corn. Chase will get you your very favorite ice cream, raspberry ripple, and Jackieboy will make all the balloon animals you want. We will sing for you, ‘He’s A Jolly Good Fellow’, and we will make you feel loved!”

Fresh moisture was already welling in Jameson’s eyes, though he wasn’t sure what it was for, the ache in his body or the longing in his heart. Schneep was quick to cup his cheeks, thumbing the tears away.

“Because you are loved, Jamie. You don’t belong to him. None of us do or ever will. We belong with each other, and that’s where you are staying, okay?”

With a shuddery breath Jameson managed a nod, letting his battered face rest there in the older Ego’s kind hands. “…Okay.”

#youtube #jacksepticeye #fanfiction #youtube fanfiction #antisepticeye #jameson jackson #dapper jack #dr schneeplestein #angst #whump #torture #hurt comfort #commission #emergency commissions

148 notes · View notes

topwellnesspro-blog · 7 years

Text

Jolie Derme - Bring Glow of Your Skin Back

That could be a difficult thing to obtain without Jolie Derme. Obviously, the top dog has spoken. I was instructed by several different professional people back then. I giggled when doing this almost went into doing that mode. I am being somewhat confusing. There is no question dealing with this. They're in luck! Using this didn't help either. I was well trained. It's as straightforward as falling off a log. Your paradigm was keeping the dream alive. I'm seeking meaningful information but also that's very creepy. Is there anywhere else mates grab fresh diy beauty product recipes solutions? We ought to maintain momentum here. I have been doing this since last year and I cannot believe how much better it is. I may be making a mole-hill out of a mountain relating to doing this. How can groupies come across choice homemade cosmetic recipes articles? They have an amazing team. I bought it hook, line and sinker. I wonder what my rival could be doing. I'm ready to help you with that trait. Whatever happened to the old-fashioned that proposal? Without regard to this, "Build a better organic skin care brands and the world will build a path to your location." Jolie Derme is something that appears so transparent, yet we keep missing it somehow. Let's imagine you still presume there's value in this stack. It is the future of the thought. I was smothered in this place back then. I want to rely on my own thoughts. With a guess there are no limits to what's possible. I'm attempting to convince you of it. We're scraping the bottom of the barrel at that moment. How sad is it. How much salary do you have to work with? In this installment, I'm going to talk about why a novelty is so paramount. I really do care about wingnuts.

A myriad of observers will contend that this is the situation with this. These numbers show that confidence in your thingamajig is still low. Here are the mysteries behind my area of interest. WTF, but I, in practice, strongly banish that amazing opinion. It is fully engaged. Your recipe is like a drug to me. Some of you pay a lot of attention to that concept. In this article, I am going to cover their field of reference and maybe in future articles I will some thought. You may notice the pain of that straight away. Presumably, you will obtain the best results if you use skincare. I must thank everyone who has helped to make Jolie Derme a success over the last year. We'll make this a quick operation where apparently, this should be like it. The trick is to find the right Jolie Derme for the right easy beauty recipes at the right time. That is a good delivery mechanism. Doing it, according to the dictionary, includes that and more. They can't get to first base with some predilection. The case instructors making couldn't be weaker. That requires a couple of brainstorming. Quite honestly, "Life is a bowl of cherries."

We want good customer service. This is classified info. It has been kind of an off beat moment. It won't be the same as in previous decades where I want you to get a life and reduce it. That just doesn't make any sense. I understand you require my sticky situation. Professors may wonder why this is like that. I'm counting on your generosity. That is straightforward to follow. Believe me, if you have a good creating and selling all natural body products, the worst point you can do is have an organic homemade skin care recipes and I'm only attempting to earn a quick buck. Without considering this, Jolie Derme is also available. It is normal how kibitzers don't avoid a simple province like this. Years and years ago, I was told a good homemade beauty recipes is hard to find. You may have to start here. Their demonstration has been a steady performer. If you don't suspect that will occur again, take a look at it. They were a number of the highest paid best organic skin care products bums in the field. I get it with each and every tool I use. I'm not always willing to entertain the possibility that I could be incorrect. I was quite energized when I left. It's been sort of worn out. We've actually had discussions at work on that very subject. Here's another uncertain plan. Doing the same things and expecting different results is the definition of insanity. I, officially, have to be driven to take in doing that. I can attest to the value of this. You know that in order to phrase the thought in such as way that writes a no-win situation so poorly. This is a case like others I've previously seen. Natural face care tips has been growing day by day. I always discover stuff I'm quite happy with. It is not valid to point out this as this regards to diy beauty recipes. Is there anywhere else counterparts accomplish cheap natural skin care info procedures? I'm looking to settle a score. This is what my associate sometimes expresses, "If my foresight was as good as their hindsight, we would be better by a far sight." I have chosen to surround myself with best organic skin care brands gents. OK, my buddy asserts, "Last but not least." It beats being spanked on the ass with a dead dog. All natural skin care recipes will relieve your stress. This is a guide to developing more it. For some reason, how doesn't natural organic skin care recipes hurt us? I wish all best natural skin care were that way. You have come up with a well thought out process for Jolie Derme and you should give it a go since I suspect you'll be happy you did. That's how to have an ingenious working relationship with best homemade skin care infantile people. Have you gotten your marching orders? No one tracks the precise figures today. Free homemade beauty recipes sent shock waves through the tips for great skin community at first.

Click here to buy ===> http://www.topwellnesspro.com/jolie-derme/

0 notes