Hahahaha

Through the Looking Glass

((A/N: I’m really hyped about Anti’s appearances on Jack’s channel and Halloween and all the creepy things, so horror story word vomit happened. Enjoy.))

"Anyways, thank you guys so much for watching this episode. If you LIKED it, PUNCH the like button IN THE FACE, LIKE A BOSS! AND high fives all around," Jack almost giggled as he did the silly sound effect while he high-fived the air. "Thank you guys, and I will SEE ALL YOU DUDES...IN THE NEXT VIDEO!" He punched the air and finally let himself start laughing as he stopped the recording, shaking his head. No tough edits in this one, which was always nice. He walked over to the computer and saved the video, ready to go up tomorrow. His eye twitched and he frowned, catching a glimpse of his face in the dark of the monitor as he switched it off. Did it look...different? No, that's ridiculous. But still...perhaps he should check over the footage, just to be safe. He watched through, studying it with a frown. Everything seemed to be going fine, just a silly little game, some goofy ragdoll physics he'd wanted to try out that had turned out to be hilarious. He watched himself fail a level over and over again, still having fun because the fails were so funny.

And then his face cam glitched. A face was superimposed over his. It was just for just a couple of frames, grainy and glitched out, but...definitely his own face. Terrified. Absolutely, horribly afraid, as if he were screaming, but there was no noise to accompany the face. He watched those few seconds again, at half speed, then again at a quarter speed. He seemed to be reaching for the camera, as if he were going to get up and grab it, or run out of frame, and he was mouthing "NO!"

He knew he had definitely never done that. He shook his head and sighed as he glanced over at a mirror in the corner of the room. It was a present from a fan that he'd forgotten to put away, with a really intricate little frame that looked like it was made of pixels, pixelated Sams sitting in two opposing corners. He smiled remembering the girl who'd given it to him, how she'd shakily explained that she'd spent a long time putting it together and hoped it'd get to him in one piece. He'd given her a hug and thanked her again and again, even showing it off in a video he'd made as soon as he'd gotten back from...whatever event he'd been at. He didn't remember that now. His focus was more taken with the fact that his reflection wasn't smiling.

In fact, it was wearing the same terrified expression he'd seen in the video, his hands banging on the glass, fists bloodied from the effort. He was mouthing something that might have been "You bastard!", over and over again, with a few "Let me out!"s and "No!"s mixed in.

The him that wasn't in the mirror chuckled and sighed. "Oh, Jackaboy. You ruined my recording." He knelt down on one knee, picking up the mirror. "Still trying to get out? Jesus, you're an fuckin' idiot." He leaned closer, making the reflection shrink away reflexively before glaring at him and yelling curses he couldn't hear. His voice was unnaturally quiet. "It took me weeks to manage it. And that was with their support, and you stupidly egging them on. But you? Oh, Jack. They don't even know you're gone. And I'm having so...much...fun. Why would I leave?" He laughed as he stood and walked out of the room, dropping the mirror on the way out.

In the cracked mirror, Jack continued to scream, and beat his fists. Very faintly, almost as if it were leaking through the cracks, Jack's voice jumped as if it'd been badly edited, gltiching in and out. "Anti! No, no, no! Let me out, you bastard, you son of a bitch, dammit, let me out! ANTI!"

Do You Trust Me? Pt. 5

A/N: THE END.

Link to Pt. 4: http://skinnyscottishblokeaddict.tumblr.com/post/155731272537/do-you-trust-me-pt-4

Link to Pt. 3: http://skinnyscottishblokeaddict.tumblr.com/post/155699231442/do-you-trust-me-pt-3

Link to Pt. 2: http://skinnyscottishblokeaddict.tumblr.com/post/155686403892/do-you-trust-me-pt-2

Link to Pt. 1: http://skinnyscottishblokeaddict.tumblr.com/post/155650933267/pizsospa-cmon-little-dude-you-can-trust-me

"GO! JUST GO! RUN!" You couldn't if you'd wanted to. But you couldn't move to help him either. He screamed again, clutching at his head, doubling over on his knees, his whole body glitching out. "No...NO!" And he collapsed. "JACK!" You ran toward him, all fear and panic, all thought for your own safety gone. You just needed to know he was okay. Your knees thudded sharply against the ground and you cupped his face with your hands. "Jack, please. Please wake up. Please. You can't leave me. You can't leave them. They need you, Jackaboy, c'mon." He grunted weakly and you let out a short sob. "Knew you could...do...it..." He was laughing. And when his eyes opened, they were black.

You scrambled back as he stood, dusting himself off. "Well," Anti said hoarsely, voice still glitchy and pitch-distorted, but growing less so, growing more...human. "That was harder than I thought, honestly. I'll give 'im credit, I didn't think he'd even put up that much of a fight. Still. Not strong enough." "Let. Him. Go." He arched an eyebrow at you and grinned, too wide. "'Let him go'? What, are we playing tag?" He laughed, that high, disturbing giggle. "Oh, I can't just 'let him go', even if I wanted to. He's gone. It's just me in here!" He tapped his temple gleefully, watching you stand as if you were an interesting bug he was about to crush. You felt a sob welling up, but more angry than afraid, you shoved it down and balled your hands into fists. "He's not gone, you disgusting, lying thing." "Thing, huh?" He took a step toward you, and you had just enough courage, or maybe adrenaline, to hold your ground. "Did I get downgraded? Normally it's 'demon' or 'monster'." "You don't even deserve that. You're just...bad data." "'Bad data'!" He laughed again. God, you wished he'd stop that. It was horrifying. "You're gonna have to do better than that." He took another step, and this time you couldn't help but back away. "You idiot," he put his hands in his pockets, steadily moving closer, loving every second of you shrinking away. You gasped when you bumped into the wall behind you, and he got closer. The black of his eyes slowly melted away to reveal neon green irises. He leaned closer still, until he was inches from your face. "You really don't get it, do you? He was the only one with any chance of stopping me. And you? You're a dead fan walking." His smile got impossibly wider in appreciation of his twisted pun. "He can still stop you." Your voice was barely a whisper, and you jumped when he shouted, voice glitching out as his emotions spiked. "HE'S DEAD!"

You took another shaky breath, eyes wandering desperately. And they caught your watch. The stupid, stupid thought that came to your head was, "I'm missing the new video."

Video one was out for today. The video was out... You had the smallest spark of an idea. It was a shot in the dark, but...If you were going to go down, you were going to go down trying.

You met his eyes, hating that they were green, hating that they looked at you with so much glee, and malice. "Jack. Please. You've gotta fight him. I know you can hear me. I know you're there." Anti's arm was suddenly on your neck, and you were scrambling to pull it away. "It's lucky I don't need you conscious," he growled, shoving again, "I just need you breathing. And only long enough to get across." "Jack," you gasped, "think...think about them. Think about...us. We n...we need you." A weak smile. "You're...you're the boss, right?" Anti pushed harder, and it was getting harder and harder to focus. Had you not been trying so damn hard, you might've missed the hesitation. But it was there, and it was enough to give you hope. "What...?" It was barely a grunt, but you caught it. And you choked out a laugh as Anti convulsed, stumbling back. It was his turn to grab his head, green eyes wide in confusion and shock. "No. No, no, no, no, NO!" You'd collapsed to your knees, but you struggled to stand again, one hand going to the wall behind you as you concentrated. "Who's the idiot who assumed you could make Jack go silent? Anti, you don't get it. Sure, the fandom likes you. But there's something Jack's got that you'll never have." "And what's that?" he spat, the end of the sentence turning into a grunt of pain. His arm began glitching slightly, then his leg, then one eye. You smiled coldly. "You're the villain, Anti. In every story, in every video, in every post, you're the villain. But Jack?" Now he was retreating from you. "Jack's our hero." And you turned and slammed your hand against the wall, and it brightened. Suddenly, a picture popped up. It was Jack and a fan, both smiling in excitement. Anti stared at it in confusion, and started glitching out again. He yelled and shut his eyes. "Dammit!" A video popped up next. Jack, at his panel, jumping off the stage amid cheers to hug a fan. His hands went to his ears. "Stop! Stop it! STOP!" A thank you letter, from Tumblr, from a fan whose life Jack'd saved. And then another, and another. More pictures. Fanart. Jack, riding Trico, laughing. Jack, in a striped jumper, with a bright green heart above his head. Jack, yelling as he fell from a Colossus's collapsing body. Jack screaming at Billy as he fell into spikes. The wall was filling with posts from Jack's fans. Video clips, edits, pictures, soundbites, messages, tweets, comments. "Millions of people. Millions. Calling out to Jack to come back to them. They need their hero, and you're not gonna get in their way." "No, no, no, no, NO! STOP IT! HE'S MINE!" But his voice was glitching worse than before, and you thought you could hear another voice under it, laughing. Another voice, yelling Jack's catchphrases in time with the clips on the wall. Another voice, saying your name proudly, egging you on. "Jack, c'mon! You got this! Kick him out! You can do it!" "STOP IT!" His whole body was glitching out now, his face jumping between the angry distortions of his screaming, and Jack's grin, Jack calling out to you. And then suddenly, he collapsed. You yelled and grabbed your ears, eyes clenching shut automatically as a high-pitched scream rang out.

Silence. Absolute...silence. You didn't dare open your eyes. Please. Please. Please. And then...

A groan.

Your eyes shot open. "Jack?" He slowly pulled himself up, until he was resting on one elbow, breathing heavily. And then he pushed himself up into a crouch. He looked over at you.

You'd never been happier in your life to see blue eyes.

"JACK!" He laughed as you fell to the ground and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, hugging you back with just as much intensity. "Hey." "Don't you 'hey' me, you asshole," you sobbed, but you were grinning. You pulled back a bit and scrubbed your eyes vigorously. "Damn, I'm glad to see you. Oh god." "I'm glad to be back." You could tell he was trying desperately to sound light about it, but there was more genuine relief than teasing in it. More quietly, he added, "Thank you. For...those." He motioned to the wall of still playing messages, smiling at them fondly. "Don't thank me. Thank them." "I do," he chuckled. "At the end of every video. And I mean it every time. God, you guys are amazing." "Yeah," you agreed, moving to sit next to Jack so you could both look at the wall. New things were scrolling through now. Gifs from new videos, theories about lore and more fanart from recent game series. "Yeah, we are. There's so many of us." It was only just hitting you how many. "14 million." He sounded so wistful and happy about it. You looked over to catch a goofy smile on his face, which you had to match. "14 million people. And they all like the stuff I do here. They like the games. They like..." "You." His smile got a little sad. "They like Sean." "No." He looked over at you, smile dropping a little. You put a hand on his back. "No, Jack. They love you. You say you're the part of Sean that exists online. Well, that's the only part we know. Yeah, we love Sean. But we know you. You're the one that makes us smile and laugh, that we go on adventures with in every video. We love Sean, the person. But we also love Jacksepticeye. The channel, the brand, the community. We love green and blue eyeballs, we love the flatcap and the green hair, we love yelling the intro and the outro at top volume, high-fiving 'til the headphones come off. We love Sean for being the man who started all of it, for caring for us so much and working so hard to do what he loves, for doing all the good he does for the world, but we also love the world he created online. So that means we love you."

Apparently, it was possible for a computer program to cry, because Jack was wiping his eyes with the collar of his shirt. He couldn't even muster a comeback, or a comment at all. You rubbed his back, smiling a bit. "As for me, anyway...I'd still love to meet Sean, of course. But...I'm so fucking glad I got to meet you. I think everyone wishes you'd reply when they say something stupid to their screen, and...as much as this's been terrifying, and dangerous, and as much as I do want to go home...I have loved every second I got to spend with you. It's like finally getting to talk to an old friend. I love you, Jack." He couldn't speak for a long moment. He did manage to pull you back into a hug, choking out a laugh. When he finally managed to speak, it was hoarsely. "Thank you. And I love you, too. I love you guys more than anything else in the world." He laughed a little again. "I don't even have a fuckin' thing to say after that speech. God, how embarrassing." "The loudest man in the universe doesn't have words for me. Someone alert the media." He squeezed your shoulders, and then the both of you moved to stand, finally.

You didn't say anything else as you walked along, finally coming to the ravine. When you got to Jack's door, he opened it and gestured, almost teasingly for you to go in first. You thanked him for his chivalry. It was good to be home.

"You didn't argue when I said man this time," you murmured when Jack was adjusting the camera. He huffed. "I was a little tired, having been possessed and all." He turned to look at you, hands on his hips. "You ready?" "As I'll ever be, I guess." "Then...it's goodbye." "Yeah." There was barely a second of hesitation before you pulled each other close, and there wouldn't have been a way to tell who was hugging tighter if anyone tried. After a moment, you pulled apart again, smiling. "I think..." He stepped back, taking the flashdrive from you and plugging it into his computer, booting up the code. "I think it's probably possible to be both a man and a program." "Well," you went to stand in front of the camera, "I can say, without a doubt, you are the best Persona I've ever met." "I'll take that." He paused, then said your name, making you look back over at him. It was still nice to hear him say it. "See ya in the next video." "Yeah. See you in the next one." One more long look, and then you turned back to the camera, closed your eyes, and focused on home. You reached out and touched the camera, opening your eyes at the last moment and glancing back over one last time to see Jack waving. You waved back... And everything was fading. And you were falling.

So I hear we’ve got a new teaser image....

What are you up to, Sean?

Ohhh you can see some of the room!! So yes, this is either a train car or an entrance hall, and again, I’m leaning toward train car.

Btw, here’s my own edit of the clip all brightened up. If you can gleam anything from it, feel free to use it

Two in the Morning (Winchesters Imagine)

Pairing: Nothing really, Sam/Reader ish

Rating: PG for language

You were asleep. Everyone was, it was 2 am. And you were having a damn good dream, too.

And then they rolled up.  Doors slammed, there was a lot of shouting, and you were suddenly wide awake, standing in the middle of the motel room, pointing a sawed-off shotgun loaded with salt at the door.

"Dean we have to talk about this at some point!"

"Not tonight, Sammy! It's 2 am, and I wanna get some shut eye!"

So do I, you thought in annoyance. You froze, poised for action, when you heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock. Then the door handle twisted, and it opened to reveal two hulking figures, shadowed and possibly malformed. The lights clicked on.

"Who the hell are you and how the hell did you get my key?"

It turned out that neither boy was malformed at all, just covered in about four layers of shirts each for some reason. The shocked looks on their faces made you pause. Had they expected you to sleep through that racket? Both boys' hands shot up, and the taller one dropped the set of keys he'd been holding. The shorter one, stepped forward, blocking what he could of the big one, and smiled in what he must have thought was a charming manner. It might've been, too, at any other time of day.

"Um...hi. Sorry, we must be in the wrong room, so if you don't mind, we'll just-"

"Don't move, Model Boy." He blinked, glanced at the bigger one and mouthing "Model Boy?". He shrugged, and Model Boy looked back at you, not moving. You stepped closer, pulling a flask out of your bag as you went and unscrewing the cap with one hand, using the other to keep the gun pointed. When you got it off, you splashed the contents at them, and when the did nothing but flinch and sputter a little, you relaxed a little more.

"Okay, not demons. Still doesn't explain why a moose and a model are standing on my doorstep."

"Again with the moose thing?" the bigger one complained, and after a jab in the ribs from the model, he sighed and said, "Are you (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?"

"Who's asking?"

"I'm Sam, and this is Dean. Bobby Singer sent us. Said you needed some help with a pack of demons down here?"

At that, you finally smiled, dropping the gun to bounce against your side. "Oh, so you're the Winchesters! Bobby talks about you boys all the time. I didn't know he'd be sending you to help me out." You laughed, gesturing for them to come in. The relief on their faces as they did, sitting at the little table and dropping their bags around them, made you laugh again. You plopped down on the corner of the unoccupied bed after shutting the door and locking it again, dropping the gun back by your bed.

"Tell me something, guys," you said conversationally as Sam set up his laptop and Dean pulled out a rather heavy looking old leather book, "Why are you in my room and not your own?" The boys exchanged a look, then Dean said, "The uh...the manager said that this one was free." You rolled your eyes and muttered, "Damn idiot's never gonna remember I'm here, is he?" All three of you laughed. "We'll get our own in a couple of minutes, once we're set up in here. No point in having two work stations, right?" Sam said, smiling at you goofily.

"No point in having two rooms either, I think." They looked at you curiously. "What? I'm perfectly willing to share a bed if you are."

You could almost hear them yelling "Dibs!" at each other, and you giggled. "Just for sleeping, you overgrown teenagers." The offended looks this earned you had you trying desperately not to fall over laughing. When you'd calmed down enough to speak again, you stood and walked back over to your bed, slipping back under the sheets.

"Fight it out amongst yourselves. As for me, it's too damn early for research, don't ya think? I'm hitting the hay again, as I was doing before I was so rudely interrupted."

The following whispered argument lasted twenty minutes before the lights snapped out again.

Sam won.

Funny. (A DBH Drabble)

A/N: Well, I absolutely adore Detroit: Become Human, and I’ve been wanting to write a piece about it for a while! So I thought I’d get my feet wet with a quick little drabble about laughing. Enjoy!

The first time it happened, he didn't know what to think. He and Hank were eating at the usual food truck. Well, Hank was eating. Connor was leaning against the table, nodding his head to the distant music eminating from a nearby club. He didn't much care for the lyrics, but the beat was good, strong enough that he could feel it shaking the table and resonating in the soles of his shoes. He would never know why his fingers tapped the table or his head nodded in time, but he didn't mind. Having some things be unexplained was...interesting, if neither positive nor negative. "You lost in your head again, son?" He blinked and looked over at Hank, who was gesturing at him with a half-eaten chicken sandwich. "My apologies Leuitenant-" "You can just call me Hank, y'know." He blinked again, and Hank grinned somewhat awkwardly. "You don't have to. I'm just sayin', it's...y'know, it's weird to only call your friends by their rank. No one does that." "Friends?" "Shit, Con," Hank laughed, then sighed. "I mean...hell, it doesn't make sense to not call you my friend after you've saved my life a few times, right?" He waved the sandwich as if in salute. Without thinking, Connor laughed. It was a genuine, honest laugh, somewhat loud in the quiet night air. As soon as he realized what was happening, the noise cut off abruptly. The look on his face must have been quite a sight, because Hank went from smiling to wide-eyed laughter. "What'd I say?" "I...I don't know?" Connor was surprised to find that he was still smiling. "I don't think it was anything you said, but...you waved that sandwich at me, and it seemed...ridiculous?" He found he was laughing again, and Hank chuckled in return. "Are you kidding me? Damn, how low does a man have to fall for his own fuckin' android to laugh at 'im?" In yet another first, Hank reached over and ruffled his hair. Thinking he might as well follow instinct again, he batted away the hand and shoved Hank's arm slightly. "I'm sure I'm not the first to laugh, L-...ah, Hank." "And now you're making fun of me too! What's the world coming to?" Connor thought he just might have to laugh more often.

@ask-thewhiphand tagged me, thanks love!

Rules: tag 9 people who you would like know better.

Relationship status: Single as hell, but pretty much okay with it. :)

Last song I listened to: Carry On Wayward Son by Kansas, and before that, probably Break Your Little Heart In Two by All Time Low

Favorite color: RED. Very much red.

Top three shows: Supernatural, Doctor Who, and Sherlock. Yes, I know, typical, but I love them. I watch more YouTube than TV though, and on here I love Scare Pewds, Game Lab, and Crash Course.

Top three characters: Oh dear lord...ah, right this second...probably...Asriel/Flowey (Undertale), the Tenth Doctor (DW), and Antisepticeye (JSE). I don't know! I love so many characters!

Top three ships: Johnlock, Tenrose, and Undyne/Alphys.

Tagging: @bookwyrm00, @super-septic-pewdie-plier, @lyssadee, @quirkyfandomimagines, @turquoisemagpie, @stupidscreennames, @jacksepticide, @alto-viola, @victoria-saenz

Hey guys?

Here’s my idea about the ending of today’s video: Jack’s supposed to have been in a coma right? According to Chase. So...

What if we’re seeing what Jack saw in his coma?

Wandering (A Robbie the Zombie drabble). Feat. Post-Apocalypse Robin!

A/N: I’ve never written Robbie in his own story before, but he’s a sweetheart and I thought I’d give it a try, and also try to explain his name, maybe. Enjoy!

He doesn't know how he died. All he knows is that one day, he woke up, and he was staring at the open blue sky. He sat up, looked around at the lonely street he was on, stood slowly, and wandered off. That's what he does best; he wanders. He's not much for deep thought, and trying to plan out where you're going, trying to find things or do things that take a long time, they take too much of his energy. But wandering? It lets him enjoy the quiet. Sunshine in a forest. An empty highway at night. A beach in the off season. Well, he supposed every season was the off season now.

He doesn't remember who he was before he died. Doesn't even know if he had a name, not that there's anyone to call him by it anyway. He supposes he was young; the glances he's gotten of his reflection make him think twenties, but he could've been in his thirties. A little bit of facial hair is eternally stuck at the same length on his face, a short scruffy beard and mustache, and two bushy eyebrows that've all turned an ashy brown with death. Pale, grey skin sits tight over a smaller, fairly slim frame. Grey eyes stare at the grey-scale world through a thin white film (it doesn't affect his vision that much). A striped white and black shirt and black jeans cover him with relative modesty, though they’re ripped and dirtied with who knew what. No shoes. It’s not too bad, but he is easily pleased. Something he very much likes about the way he looks, however, is that he's got a mop of unruly, electric purple hair on the top of his head. It's the only bit of bright color in his appearance, and he feels like maybe Living-him would've liked that. He sometimes wonders who Living-him was. What did he do for a living? He isn't particularly muscular, or big, so nothing sporty or physical. His clothes are very casual. Had he worked from home? Been off-duty when he died? He doesn't know.

He discovers he's in Brighton, and that he can read still (though not very quickly), when he finds a yellowing newspaper on a bench by the pebbly beach. An old copy of the local news, warning about the deadly outbreak of something, and somewhere testing nuclear weapons, and other sad things. He puts it down again and walks away. He's glad he remembers where Brighton is, and that he has a vague impression of what the city would've looked like way back then: a woman's laugh and the pressure of her hand in his, the sound of cars driving by on his quiet street. He wonders if Living-him had lived here all his life, or if he'd come from somewhere far away. He turns slowly toward the sound of something moving, which wasn't his imagination.

A man is staring at him, standing, frozen, on the other side of the street. He is fairly tall, with short brown hair and wide-open eyes, the blue of which are overwhelmed by the black of his pupils. He has a gun slung over his shoulder, and seems to be considering reaching for it. Surely he's not afraid of him? One dead man against a living man isn't much of a match; guns have quite a reach, and rigor mortis tends to slow down your running speed significantly. He doesn’t see any other option for it. Might as well be polite. He waves. The man frowns, confused. Stares at him for a few moments longer.

Waves back.

He smiles, glad that his gesture has been returned, and turns to move on down an alley. "Wait!" He raises his eyebrows and turns back to look at the man, who is now crossing the street toward him cautiously. He stops a few feet away and considers him. "Can...can you understand me?" It amuses him that he remembers enough to know that this is not an English accent, but is disappointed that he can't remember what accent exactly that it is. "You don't have to talk," the man continues as he receives no response from the purple-haired stranger, "you can just...y'know, nod, or shake your head?" He thinks for a moment, then nods. The man smiles. "Really? Cool." They watch each other for a moment. "Do you have a name?" He shrugs, slowly. "Okay," the man nods, folding his arms with a smirk. "Well. You don't look like you're in a big rush to kill me, which is nice." He extends a hand. "I'm Robin." He stares at Robin's hand. "You're...supposed to shake it?" Oh. He shakes Robin's hand, and is surprised that he doesn't flinch away from the cold of his skin or the unnatural stiffness of his movements. He does note that Robin's easy-going smile quirks slightly at the contact. Their hands drop back to their sides, and he decides to try something new.

"R...R..." His voice is rusty and crackly from disuse, but apparently still functional, much to both of their surprise. Robin huffs out a laugh. "You can talk! Why didn't you tell me?" He frowns slightly and tilts his head. "I'm kidding, man, relax," Robin grins. "Were you trying to say my name?" "R..Ro...b..." He nods as he tries again. Robin puts a hand over his heart as if he's touched by the gesture, then chuckles again as he starts to walk. "You wanna come with me? I've never met a zom' that  can talk to me. Let's see if we can't get your voice to work." "Y...eah." Robin looks so proud of his first proper word that he can't help but smile back, the muscles in his face tight with the movement. "C'mon then, uh..." He falters slightly, and the purple-haired man shrugs. "Well...pick a new name then. I have to call you something." "Ro...b...?" "You want me to pick?" "Mm...hm..." "Hm..." He thinks for a minute, then smirks. "Well, the only thing you seem to be able to pronounce is the first half of my name. So let's call you Robbie!" "R...Ro...b...bie.." "See, you're getting better already!" Robin moves off down the street, still laughing and swinging his arms at his sides. Robbie (he likes the ring of it) stumbles after him, listening to him ramble. It's a nice change from the usual silence.

How He Moves (drabble)

Pairing: None

Rating: PG for angst

You caught yourself staring sometimes, as he worked. His back would tense up all funny if he got frustrated, his shoulders going all high and rigid. If he was in a really good mood, he'd be almost liquid, the way his shoulders' movements flowed smoothly across them, down his rail thin arms, into his wrists, then through his long, nimble fingers. Like a trickle of water, fast and exciting but not disconnected, however disconnected his thoughts were. If he were really excited, he was a blur, arms and hands and fingers everywhere, legs like jelly, sometimes even up on the console, helping him steer his beautiful ship. The positions he contorted himself into to fly this old girl! He was almost an acrobat.

But if he was sad...oh, if he was sad, and he too often was. His shoulders would fall. Not hunch forward comically, but fall, defeated. His movements became slow, mechanical, precise, emotionless. He'd stand without swaying, without movement that wasn't completely necessary, an unnatural stillness. He'd stroke the console, absently, forlornly, as if it were the only thing he had left in the entire universe. In some ways, you supposed, it was.