@falconcrystal

askthefwrp reblogged your post “The Repairman liked taking detours around October. He’d been meaning to scope this universe out anyway, so he decided…”

Just as the two finished decorating the front of the house, Bedlam glanced over at the lawn decorations. It was basically littered with fake tombstones that were generally made out of styrofoam or plastic.

“Alright, I guess the only thing left to do is to place those tombstone all about the yard,” Bedlam replied, floating over to the pile of tombstones.

“…how so?” asked Falcon, tilting his head a bit so that his white mask followed suit.

“Really? Man, you never really been around these human neighborhoods during Halloween? Here, I’ll show you…” Bedlam sighed as he flew over to one of the styrofoam tombstones to pick them up before quickly placing it at some far end of the lawn. “Like this, okay? Face up and straight and stuff. It’s easy,” the skull-headed demon promised.

As Bedlam quickly began to take out each tombstone one by one, Falcon slowly walked over to the other side of the pile so as not to get in his friend’s way. However, it was also the side that the Fourth Wall Repairman was on.

As Falcon unknowingly picked up the Toon with his flimsy red sleeves, he couldn’t help but notice something. He tilted his head again as he looked down at the ‘decoration’ in his grasp, gently squeezing it.

Just as Bedlam was putting down a fourth tombstone, he looked back to see what Falcon was doing. “Hey, buddy, I’m halfway done with the lawn! What are you doing over there?” he asked.

Falcon was still staring at the tombstone and gently squeezing it when he looked up at his friend. “…it’s squishy.”

The Repairman stiffened as the plague mask came closer. He realized he should have come later. No problem, though. He’d just be set with the other gravestones and he’d soon be free to explore a bit. Not an issue.

…Wait, why wasn’t he being put down? Why was the clothed one staring at him so oddly? Why was he squeezing him?

And why did he only become ticklish at the worst possible times?

All these whys faded as the Repairman quickly realized the predicament he was in. It took every droplet in his body not to squirm as he was squished by this character. He had to hold his breath; everything was telling him to burst out laughing, to swat the hands away, to recoil, just to do something. But no. He could handle it, albeit barely.

And then the creature said “it’s squishy.”

He didn’t know what made that so funny, but the snicker came out.

Okay, okay. don’t panic. His unwitting captor was looking away. Maybe if he held his breath again, he’d be fine.

…What were the excuses he thought up, again?