one time there was a tumblr user with the url “pizza” and she would just comment on any text post about pizza saying “omg that’s me” and then we found out she had an entire tag dedicated to saying the n word
Something that both fascinates and disturbs me about Classic Megaman that people don't talk enough are the implications of these robots' existence.
In the Archie comics, several of the robot masters volunteer to shut down because their initial design and programming doesn't have a place in society? Gemini Man is too experimental, Crash Man believes he's only good for blowing stuff up due to his lack of hands, etc. They all have their reasons for why.
I know it's their choice and all (in universe), but doesn't it seem really messed up? It would be one thing if they were just too old and couldn't function any longer (even with maintenance and repairs) - that would be a natural death.
Yet in this case, it sort of feels like a form of voluntary euthanasia. It wouldn't be so bad if they were just mindless robots, but they're not. They have established personalities, quirks, interests, dislikes, problems - all of that in their programming in addition to what they were made for! They're practically sentient!
But they're throwing away their lives because they lack a purpose in the world? Humans don't need a purpose to exist, so why should they? Just because you're born or built with a purpose; it doesn't make you obsolete if you can't fulfill that purpose anymore. I can get the human characters not seeing it the same for the robots, but why are they robots just so willing to give up their lives like that?!
Now we could chalk that up to just being only canon in the comics, however.
Several, if not presumably all of the old RMs from 1-6 are in the Robot Mueseum in MM7?
And in the sequel to that game (where the mueseum also is), CDs of each of them scattered across the levels label personality traits and interests and dislikes on them.
So canonically; they do in fact, have human traits and sentience. It's not just in the comics.
Now, I don't know if those are copies or the OGs in their robotic graves. I say robotic graves cuz that's kind of how it's described in the comics.
But it still feels really unnerving to know that these robots with human-like traits and intelligence and such are just. They're just shut down, in this frozen coma like state. To be displayed like artifacts in a museum.
And that's not getting into the expiration dates for some of these robots either. Which again - if they can no longer function even with repairs and maintenance, and are just too old? That's one thing.
But then you have MM9, which has the Robot Masters working with Wily to save themselves from their all too soon death dates. None of these robots are in any shape or form that isn't functional - and like their predecessors - have human traits and personalities.
And yet. They're due to be destroyed cuz of a manufacturing date put on them. They're obsolete and will likely be replaced with shinier, newer models who can fulfill their purpose much better.
Now all of this robotic existentialism is definitely more established in later series, but something about it here in this more lighthearted version of Megaman? It's intriguing. I hope they might explore more of this idea in future games.
*doom music starts to play*
I actually kindof like scheduling these kinds of appointments now...
but seriously Fellas, don't forget to schedule a pap smear every couple of years just in case. If you still have a cervix you can still get cervical cancer. ilu
every time i listen to “you’re a mean one mr. grinch” i can’t help but sit there and think “what did the grinch do to hurt you?” because dude just stands there for 2 minutes and 58 seconds and drags the grinch into the dirt
you know what if someone told me i was a three-decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich with arsenic sauce i’d probably be bitter enough to steal christmas too
Interestingly, though The Grinch Who Stole Christmas is narrated by Boris Karloff, the big musical number is sung by the late Thurl Ravenscroft - an American voice actor better known as the voice of Tony the Tiger.
My headcanon is that the Grinch and Tony the Tiger had a bad breakup, and “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch” is the resulting breakup song.
You’re not bothered?? I’m not only not bothered, I’m freaking invested. I’m having actual empathetic sadness for The Grinch. I want them to go into couple’s counseling. I want the “ten years later” when Tony visits Whoville on business and meets the reformed Grinch whose heart has grown 3 times its usual size. I want them to reminisce over a shared dinner of roast beast and wine, then spend a drunken night together, then realize that maybe things are different and people really do change. I want a 3-act story where there’s a long dark night of soul searching and the realization that maybe we’ve all got a little bit of bad banana with greasy black peel inside us, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make a damned fine banana bread if someone will give us a chance.
Bro, blocking someone and then using their tag like this is, all offence, weak as fuck. Like all you had to say was, na bro I don't promote pedo protags on this here blog, because I wholly agree with the premise of your argument given contexts (i.e., writing abusive relationships to show the evils, great; writing abusive relationships to show the romance, yikes).
This response is so, so comically shitty within the context of that tag, oh my god.
Something being nasty is not a good reason to ban fiction about it.
If we accept that "something being nasty is a good reason to bad fiction about it" then we give a foot in the door for all the people who truly, genuinely believe that queer people are nasty to ban all queer literature.
This is not about defending bad people this is about defending the freedom of good people from tyranny, you moron.
I think if you take it to its logical extreme. Say, banning people from writing stories of sexual abuse. That could then be said "well ANY talk about sexual abuse is bad."
And from that, you could ban books that talk about it irl. Or books like how to recover after being abuse. If its not something to be discussed AT ALL.
The fact that I’ve seen this post in some form on my dash like 100x and each time there’s new idiots who do not get that you can’t have *some* censorship.
Either you’re for it or you aren’t.
The moment you agree that something should never, ever exist in fiction is the moment that anything can be banned.
Remember a while back how Tumblr banned a bunch of tags, including many popular innocuous ones that even people who are for censorship used and were upset about?
When censorship happens, stuff YOU like can and will be banned. That’s how it works.
Remember how a bunch of people had their accounts terminated here only last year for writing about their own sexual abuse?
When you ban “pedo” topics, say, any talk of child sexual abuse in any form, that means people can no longer write about their own experiences. It means people cannot educate others so they can learn how to protect themselves or get help from these situations.
Censorship is authoritarian. Full stop.
Even if “everyone” agrees something is “gross” and “shouldn’t exist,” that does not fucking matter.
Do you know who generally believes queer people are gross and shouldn’t exist??
The same people who are banning books left and right solely because they have queer characters or relationships.
The same people who attack and kill queer folk for simply exisiting.
This is not just some fandom matter or a case of being chronically online.
Protecting freedom of expression is essential, and if you do not get that, I don’t know what to say to you.
And the people who keep bringing up child sex abuse as a reason for censorship are doing it very specifically because everyone feels like then they HAVE to agree with the person in favor of censorship.
It’s not that there isn’t widespread societal agreement on this. It’s that they want you backed into a rhetorical corner where you feel compelled to agree with them.
Also, like, we KNOW how this shit shakes out in fandom because it's happened before.
In 2007, Livejournal capitulated to the "pedophilia and sex crimes!" cries of (hate group) Warriors 4 Innocence, and you know what communities got shut down? Slashfic communities. Sexual assault survivor support communities. Authors who'd written non-smut m/m fic even got caught up in it. It was DEVASTATING to fandom spaces. I think pretty much everyone knew at least one person whose account was literally DELETED, or were a member of a community that was wiped off the map because they were considerate enough to include topics like "sexual assault" or "BDSM" in the profiles under the badly-named category of "interests" to indicate that posts on said blogs or communities may include discussion of things like that. Even if it was for a SUPPORT group. And it was because a group of religious bigots came to LJ and said essentially "EVERYONE thinks it's gross and that it's promoting CSA, we should ban it."
Like, strikethrough and boldthrough were a large part of what propelled AO3 out of a more unfocused conversation on one person's blog about hosting a site INTENDED for fandom content, into being an actual archive and nonprofit. And it's a large part of why you won't find AO3 banning topics that you find "gross".
Censorship is authoritarian and it will ALWAYS have more collateral damage than you can imagine.
Going to add that fiction which had sexual abuse and communities which played around with it as a writing topic are the very things that protected me from irl sexual abuse when I was a teenager.
I was in a dicey situation, and realized that while my situation did not match up to any of the superficial or textbook cases mentioned in passing (if at all) through school, it matched up a LOT to what I'd learned about irl sexual abuse through works of fiction and the rhetoric of my communities. I got out of that situation and dodged what was, in retrospect, one hell of a nasty bullet.
If it hadn't been for that "nasty" fiction and those "nasty" communities, I would very likely have been abused, and subject to further violence spiraling out from that abuse.
I love when fanfic authors are freakishly unhinged. "Yes, hello, I am here to write a heart wrenching story about relationships and mortality. My medium is Ducktales (2017)"
There are gonna be people who won't like hearing this but if you want to live in a world where mixed marriages, families, and adoptions (particularly POC adopting outside their "race") aren't maligned and discriminated against, then you have got to get more chill about seeing someone partaking in something cultural that you don't think fits the "race" you perceive them as.
It's a vague memory now, it was a vague memory even at the time I made this post, but I think what sparked this was remembering stupid comments I saw about a Chinese-American cookbook that were complaining about it being written by a white woman and then I looked the white woman up and the briefest research showed she was adopted as a child into a Chinese-American family and just....
*pinches nose*
Fellas, is it cultural appropriation to inherit your family's culture but you don't pass the blood quantum test?
All of you are literally just racist. You've come full-circle. You're working under the belief that people are supposed to "keep to their own kind" and that means the socially invented concept of "race", and "race mixing" of any sort is unnatural.
Putting this in a separate reblog because it involves fictional media but it was still implying a messed up worldview....
This reminded me of a post I saw about someone theorizing what MCU Morgan Stark's middle name was because we just knew her middle initial was "H" and they considered that the namesake might be Yinsen Ho but they didn't want to believe that because it would be, quote, "cultural appropriation".
Cultural appropriation. To name your child after someone you personally knew and was very important to you.
Don't you know it's unnatural for someone of a different race to be important to you? The races are not supposed to mix!
It's literally just racism. Why do people think they're being anti-racist activists by being some of the highest level of racist?
I'm remembering one of a man in a hanbok and everyone was like "ew he's racist, appropriating, etc." and then it turned out...his wife was Korean. HIS IN-LAWS HAD PURCHASED THE HANBOK FOR HIM AS A GIFT.
i had an absolutely excellent east-asian culture professor a few years ago. amazing lecturer, passionate about his subject, very polite and respectful to everyone, all around just a great person.
he opened the first class with "i wasn't born or raised in the us, i want you to guess where."
one student very quietly was like "japan?" and when asked how she knew, she said he just "seemed like he was from japan."
now this teacher was not "racially" japanese. (the student who correctly guessed where he grew up was.) so there were some students, mostly asian, who would accuse him behind his back of being appropriative and weird about japanese culture.
but--he grew up in japan. he attended college there. his first language was japanese, and that was the culture he grew up in. regardless of his familial origins, he was completely culturally japanese. when he got excited about a cultural practice, or showed pictures of him in kimono dress, or talked about his (pretty traditional) wedding, that wasn't appropriation. that was his native culture.
it's the exact same logic as assuming people who don't look white aren't "real americans" or have "ethnic practices" to deride white or white-passing people whose native culture isn't american culture. [and same concept to swap in another majority-white country. but i'm american so im discussing that.]
TIL that the reason lead levels in children’s blood have dropped 85% in the past thirty years is because of an unknown scientist who fought car companies to end leaded gasoline. He also removed it from paint, suggested its removal from pipes, and campaigned for the removal of lead solder from cans.
Yep. It also correlates extremely strongly with an increasing decrease of violent crime. One of the symptoms of low level constant lead exposure is increased aggression and volatility.
Petition to make his date of death a Tumblr holiday celebrated by talking about cool shit the gas and petroleum industries don’t want us to know about, and fighting to continue his work.
Previous fic: Here (Though they can be read separately they are meant to part of a series of one-shots)
Warning: This fic contains some body horror, not a lot or anything intense though.
'You've learned about ways that Timothy is cat-like and now during another teatime get together you learn about some of the ways that he is still, despite all appearances, a clock.'
When planning these appointments with Timothy it has become clear that you did not do a proper risk assessment. The dateables came so sure of themselves and their forms that it never occurred to you that food might be a foreign concept. At least for Timothy it was and at first that was exciting; you'd get to introduce him to various dishes and treats.
It did not occur to you that a lack of familiarity with food might translate to a lack of familiarity with eating.
So with enthusiasm and a lack of forethought you add appetizers to your thrice weekly meet-ups with Timothy Timepiece. You try small bowls of ice cream, various fruits, and today salmon. You were assured when running the idea by him that the 'boy' part in cat-boy did most of the heavy lifting in the gastrointestinal department. Vanilla was his favorite ice cream, the fruit was a mixed bag, and so far-
-so far the salmon was a hit.
You had already finished eating and were currently deep in an play-by-play of a recent music video you'd watched; how even the most minute animation was timed perfectly to the instruments in the song. Timothy meanwhile continued to eat with minor commentary. He picked at his food in a careful methodical manor that, despite your worries, was not an indicator of disliking the food.
It might have been, in hindsight, an indicator of nerves surrounding eating (and in no doubt getting food on his clothes).
You paused for Timothy's interjection, letting him finish his bite of salmon first.
He would later assure you that at no point was he in true danger. It was unpleasant to the extreme but despite what it appeared like from a human perspective he assured you:
He didn't choke.
He chewed , swallowed, and then jerked as a dissonant mechanical noise erupted from his chest. You looked sharply at the disruption, meeting wide panicking golden eyes. Shooting up from your chair you rushed around the table to where he sat, one hand braced against his chest.
"Are you okay?" You held your hands out, unsure what to do with them but wanting to do something. Something had happened. Gone wrong. You'd never heard that sound from him, manifested or otherwise.
Instead of answering he convulsed in a coughing-like motion, pawing at the top of his chest. Your own panic grew sharper as well, "Are you choking?!"
Choking was bad, choking was… "Heimlich maneuver."
You could do that.
Definitely.
You got him to stand up, that terrible sound still coming from his chest in spurts and stops, and wrapped your arms around his chest from the back.
"Do Not!" Timothy gasped out. You dropped your arms from around him like a hot coal had been placed there instead. You can't talk when you choke. You're sure of that.
"Sorry!" He said nothing else, ear flatted back and to the side, tail fully fluffed out and darting side to side. He was still making that coughing-like motion though bent over now that he was no longer sat at the table.
"It's stuck." His voice came out higher than normal and hoarse. "Its stuck; in my gears it's stuck." 'In his gears?' Did he mean he breathed something into his lungs? Timothy wasn't a clock right now and human bodies certainly didn't have gears. You thought as Timothy seemed to muster up his resolve and pound on his chest, bent over the table. That same grinding noise came out once again, a little higher pitched this time.
He wasn't really human though was he?
That was just… what the dateviators let you see.
And if the truth was that underneath blemish-less smooth skin wasn't a heart, or lungs, or liver, or nerves, but gears and pistons then those gears and pistons were currently jammed up- by salmon- and a traditional Heimlich maneuver would definitely do damage.
You needed help, potentially professionally if Timothy wasn't able to hack it back up by himself. You definitely weren't going to be able to get a doctor (or a mechanic?) to come to your house, and wear your pink heart-shaped glasses to get a look at your anthropomorphized cat clock.
You were going to have to get the next best thing.
"I'm going to get Farya. Will you be okay?" With a shaky hand he waved you off.
You ran to the bathroom, slamming open the sink cabinet once inside. With one hand on Skylar you fished around for the first aid kit. A hint of red among the toiletries. Finally.
"You're back! Splinter again or- ooh- a fracture! Actually you look a little pale maybe its-?"
You reached for her hand.
"Follow me please." Ignoring anything else you led her back to kitchen. Tomorrow you'd regret your rude behavior but not at the moment. Timothy was as you left him.
"Oh its not you at all is it. I was really hoping to operate on a human this time… What seems to be the problem? Hairball?" Though her tone was light and friendly the poisonous look Timothy shot her indicated it was taken as anything but. Farya grinned a little sheepishly and held up her hands.
"Food got stuck in his chest." "Logged between my gears." "-So how do we get it out?"
"I see, I see. Once we crack you open like an egg I'll be able to remove the food."
"What. No, don't you need to look down his throat? Or-?"
"If the object was in his throat our friend here would have already coughed it up. Hmmm…" By this point Farya was tuned out of whatever objections you might have had, walking around Timothy. "How do we open you up I wonder?" You knew Farya could be over enthusiastic but this was too much.
Timothy, while still twitchy and wincing whenever the noise started up again, seemed indifferent to Farya's conviction that vivisection was the answer. Instead of arguing with the first aid kit he was shrugging off his overcoat.
Both of them ignored your objections and concerns. Actually Timothy seemed to be instructing Farya on something. Although tuning in to the conversation his 'instructions' were more of a highly detailed down-to-the-minute schedule for… maintenance? You crept closer catching other snippets that without context made no sense to you. What did seams have to do with anything?
Why was he taking off clothes?
Dazed you helped him finish taking off the overcoat, folding it gently and placing it on the counter. Timothy moved on to his shirt shrugging it up and over his head taking care so that the clock hands attached to the pattern didn't bend. Again you reached over to take the discarded piece of attire. Once neatly folded and placed back on the table you turned around to the unobstructed view of Timothy's bare back and shoulders. His shoulders were slim and tense. You could see the faint outline of wiry muscles beneath tan skin as he took a swipe at Farya after being jabbed with a pen, hissing in displeasure.
Farya was still circling around him, much to his continued irritation,still poking at his sides with a pen but, perhaps, a little more gently.
In a different place, under different circumstances, this could have been intimate. Under the conditions present however; the grumble of gears stopping and starting and the by-now semi-masked stuttering of his breath and hands- you were dis-imbued of any such notion.
"Okay! I think I've found what you were talking about." She motioned at you to come closer. You stood by her side facing Timothy. His face was creased by stress as he held and stroked his tail in an attempt at self soothing. He had turned in his seat to face away from the table, giving Farya (and yourself you suppose) a better angle to work at. Despite your reservations about Farya's… exuberance -you resolved yourself to follow her guidance to the letter. Timothy hadn't voiced any protests (at least not about Farya treating him) and ultimately his opinion on the matter was the only one that counted.
"Okay we are looking for the ventral seam to open up his chest cavity. Once inside I should be able to use my tweezers to remove the obstruction!"
"Without letting my gears halt! Even now I'll have to completely re-calibrate myself to make sure I am running up to my standards!"
"Will do! You ready?" Farya chirped in reply. For lack of anything else to say you nodded.
Farya went to one side and you the other coming to stand directly next to him. He side-eyed you, face turning red with the color running all the way down his neck. You understood; Timothy had always come off as one of the more… reserved residents of your home. To have you stand there while exposed must have been awful -and you led to this predicament in the first place trying to spice up your tea time with him. There was a sadness in how little of the world the dateables could truly interact with. You wanted to introduce so much to Timothy; if only you were capable of doing so without burns and medical intervention.
You really were just terrible at this weren't you?
Farya's voice draws you back to the present. Timothy was staring at you now, brows drawn in and thin lipped mouth turned down. You hoped he'd forgive you for wasting his time here.
"You ready assistant?!"
"Ready." Liar. Not that it mattered as you followed Farya's lead in delicately trailing your finger tips over Timothy's side feeling for an invisible seam in his smooth skin. Your fingers traced along ribs, their edges hidden by a small soft layer of plushness on Timothy's frame. You could vibrations, alien to you, from underneath them.
When you thought of him, which was often (a perfectly normal thing for someone you regularly see and have tea with), you'd often find yourself slipping up and forgetting that he was a clock. Your clocks, specifically, all cat themed and picked up over the years. He, like many of the dateables, made it easy with how they looked and how they behaved to forget they weren't… organic. That they were originally the objects, not the people nor cats they now resembled.
But now with your hands on his side feeling the internal tick tick tick from where a human heart should lay it was very easy to remember.
You dearly hoped he'd be fine when this was all over with.
Finally your finger found purchase on a small indent and a triumphant noise from Farya on his other side confirmed the same. Your eyes met hers over his shoulders and with a nod you dug into that dip with trepidation. As the two of you pulled a thin black seam appeared on his skin. Starting above his pectorals it ran down his ribs, crossing under the the slight softness of his stomach before wrapping back around. First as thin as a strand of his hair it grew wider and deeper as the two of you peeled back his skin.
Except. No. Not peeled.
Lifted.
With a sudden loss of resistance the whole area lifted off as a solid panel of skin, losing any softness or give now that it was detached from the main body. Like opening up the back of a clock to replace the batteries. Farya had let go at some point leaving you alone to hold up Timothy's chest and abdomen as a sort of shield, hiding your sight from what laid behind and inside. The tick tick kr-ck! noise was much louder now that it wasn't traveling through a layer of epidermis.
Hysterically you wondered if there was some monstrously large heavy duty battery inside of him you'd need to take out and replace one day.
With sweaty palms you laid down… the panel with the utmost care. The backside of it wasn't bloody or coating with any kind of viscera as far as you could tell. Rather it was a smooth, solid, pinkish flesh tone, glossy like it could have been plastic but also very distinctly not. It was very warm, and a little wet. Just on your finger tips where they had curled past the edge to get a better grip.
You needed to wash your hands.
You needed to wash your hands now.
In several steps you were at the sink turning the water on hot and scrubbing the mysterious fluid off your hands. Eventually your skin was pink from the heat and as clean as they'd even been. There was nothing to prevent you from turning around.
Farya hid the majority of Timothy's abdominal cavity from your view perched as she was in front of him. The pit from where epidermis had been removed was thus hidden. The noise, Timothy's gears because Timothy was a clock, was loud and grew louder still as you slowly moved forwards. You were surprised at how dry and clean a noise it was. Some part of you still expected the wet thump of a human heart beat despite everything.
You wanted to think of something else.
You could hear Farya's self-commentary as she searched for the obstruction along with a low, almost muffled rumble that after a moment of thought you realized was Timothy growling at the intrusion into his personal space. His eyes were closed and face pinched though it looked to be in discomfort rather than pain. His bristled tail was still being stroked flat though only by one hand as both would require crossing over into the first aid kit's work space. Said other hand was digging into his leg and it occurred to you that his claws could easily go through the fabric and dig into his skin.
Without thinking, or even realizing that you had gotten close enough to do so, you reached out to brush the top of that tightly clenched fist. It jumped as you made contact and you flinched, face looking up to meet an intense golden gaze.
You licked you lips, focusing on his face and not the dark edge a little farther down in your periphery. His pupils were slit and expression mostly flat. There were small and very fine white whiskers by his eyebrows that you had never noticed before.
"Sorry. I just thought… Sorry." You took a deep breathe. "I was worried your nails might bite into your leg. You can hold my hand? If you want? Or, or I can get something else for you to focus on." His nose twitched.
"No." He bit out. "No your hand is perfectly fine. No doubt this whole ordeal will be behind us soon." He sent a weak smile in your direction. "Thank-you dear." His hand moved to squeeze yours, snug and warm at the contact. The white fabric of his glove was soft against your skin with the pink paw pad designs reminding you of velvet.
A triumphant noise rang out in front of you both. Next to Farya was a petri dish filled with small slivers of pink meat. The medic-in-training leaned back and away from Timothy, removing her arm from his chest and holding similarly soiled cloth in her hand.
"That should be about it! All our ducks are back in the nest!" She sent you and Timothy a bright grin, and you try to reply in kind even knowing that you won't manage anything more than strained. "Mind giving me a second pair of eyes?" You paused.
It's not a bad idea. But you hesitated, anxiety gripping your nerves. You hesitated just moment, but a moment was long enough for everyone else to notice. You didn't even want to think of what your face might have been doing at that moment.
His hand to started to pull away.
And you will not be having that.
You give his gloved hand a squeeze and move to stand by Farya.
The cavity was filled with gears, pistons, and innumerable miscellaneous moving parts. The juxtaposition of his soft features, large golden eyes, delicate black hair, against his internal and vital instruments…
'Oh!' You thought to yourself, 'That is… that's beautiful.' All the gears and pistons moved in sync to a soundless rhythm. The kitchen overhead light gleamed off the meticulously maintained machinery. A small compressed galaxy of spinning copper stars kept within his chest. The whole mechanism was complex enough that you imagined you could have stayed there staring for hours, continuously spotting new ways in which everything connected.
You were brought out of your thoughts by a sharp whistling noise, emitted by Timothy, whose face had gone astonishingly red. This combined with Farya crooning about how sweet you were led to the terrible realization that actually you hadn't kept that thought to yourself at all.
Timothy jumped to his feet, sending you back, and brashly announced:
"Well would you look at the time-!" Only to stop dead, turn to look at himself hanging on the kitchen wall, and oscillate suddenly between cherry red and bone white. His hands came up to tug at his ears, tail a veritable plume, because it was now five minutes past the hour. The hour which, on the dot precisely, you were meant to turn off the dateviators and allow Timothy to return to wherever they went when not manifested.
"Ahhhhh….. I'm running late. This is a catastrophe!" He whispered the first part sounding almost strangled before transitioning into a pitchy scream. He darted into action whipping around to gather the clothes you had folded. Likewise you grabbed the removed panel of skin to bring back. Farya took a step back to escape the sudden landfall of hurricane Timothy in his desperate attempt at getting back on schedule.
You could have gone your whole life without knowing that Timothy's chest makes a clicking noise when snapping back into place.
Then his clothes went back on: his shirt, his vest, his bright red bow tie. All done with an impatient air you hadn't seen in some weeks.
yousharknotpass
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