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#a little bit longer first
poorly-drawn-mdzs · 10 months
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Redraw of my first post on this blog. Oh how far we've come B'*)
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hoofpeet · 1 year
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Them fighting immediately before Ingo gets eebied is good but also. lots of potential for post-Hisui fighting
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lunarharp · 2 months
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What led to this (orufrey comic, cw an uncomfortable/creepy scene)
#witch hat tag#orufrey#er.... i'm too tired to have anything to say..i worked several days on this.#wait.. didn't i say just recently here that i probably wouldn't ever depict 'what if alaira is qifrey's sort-of ex'. What's going on#i don't even remember deciding to draw this..it's all a blur..i'm not sure why i WOULD decide to draw delicate scenes in my head#that i wouldn't really want to share with anyone/discuss so why did i draw it...#some part of me really really wants to draw things that are more and more true to myself...#maybe because of my alienation with most romance/shipping/dynamics the rest of the world depicts.#orufrey really is perfectly suited to me - what i read in the text and what is in my head. well anyway#i am TIRED of drawing poses and angles and..maybe now i will actually take a break from drawing bc of the tediousness of Angles#btw it really is a 'stretch of time' . . . assuming witches graduate age 18-20#well orufrey are canonically 30-ish. they've only had agott around for presumably about TWO years (?) bc she took the test age 10#and it feels like oru moving in/unknown atelier acquisition/building (?) .. i guess that could be a year or so before agott at most#(she was the first disciple) so... ????????? What about the other 7 or so years ?!?!?!!?!?! Unemployed Brimhat Hatred era#that time is very nebulous. after qifrey went to the tower i feel like it's been implied he and oru drifted apart a little.#certainly they didn't live together at first... no way. that doesn't feel like how it is based on things oru has said about becoming Eye#idk. I'm tired now. i don't usually think of alaira as necessarily qifrey's ex and this being how things went in that 'sliver of time'.#i usually prefer the idea that they have their first kiss with each other in their 30s cause That's Just The Orufrey Lifestyle#just felt like making a more relatable alternative view of my own Cai Orufrey Canon one time. btw im a big monoshipper and it hurt a bit#let's leave it there. this is surely the most i've worked on a 'single' art - though now i realise just how much longer the fic took :')
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quirkle2 · 3 months
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space/saturn imagery ritsu i love you
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bittergloss · 4 months
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--I only wish to be with you from dusk to dawn, watching the world's frost and snow. Just want to wander long streets and narrow alleys with you, watching the moon on the eave.--
THE LAST IMMORTAL 神隐(2023) - EP. 14 Dir. Chan Ka Lam
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strangersatellites · 9 months
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AU where eddie and steve are going to have dinner with steve’s ex-girlfriend/longest best friend and her girlfriend/ steve’s bestest best friend and eddie is woefully under prepared.
the ex, nancy, works for some government agency, like the CIA or some shit and her digital footprint is nonexistent. eddie knows. he’s looked. there’s not a photo of her to be had anywhere.
even robin’s socials only have pictures that she’s barely in. a blurry picture of her hand holding a glass. her holding a menu in front of her face from across the table. shit like that. robin called it a soft launch.
well, actually she called it a “not really soft launch because everyone already knows about her so i’m not really launching the fact that i have a girlfriend so much as i am the fact that she’s her and because she’s her she can’t be photographed a lot at least not anywhere that’s going to be shared publicly but the principle is still the same as a soft launch where you would slowly post pictures with details implying that you were dating someone but you guys already know i’m dating her so it’s not quite that but that’s the idea. you know?”
eddie is impressed by her lung capacity.
eddie’s a bit of a hipster in his approach to social media as well, only posting grainy black and white photos of guitars or coffees or occasionally steve.
so he gets it. kind of.
so you can imagine eddie’s surprise as they’re walking up the sidewalk to the restaurant and he sees the female version of himself.
it’s cold out so they’re both wearing long black coats and boots. she’s got curly brown hair and is wearing a lot of jewelry. rings specifically, on the hand that’s holding a cigarette up to her mouth.
eddie does a double take when he sees it’s the same one he’s holding his own cigarette with.
steve calls down the sidewalk, “robbie! nance!”
and even the scowl that she wears for a split second before she realizes who’s yelling looks just like eddie’s own resting angry face, as steve calls it.
the only real difference is that she’s tiny.
where eddie’s pushing six feet she looks barely five and a half.
he’s brought a little comfort that by the fact nancy looks as shocked as he does. spending about ten seconds just staring at each other before he barks out a laugh.
he holds up a hand in front of himself and sees the recognition flit across nancy’s face as she catches on. raises her own and moves it in unison with eddie’s. turns her head to the side when he does and barely conceals her laugh.
“so i guess you’re eddie then?” and even her voice is strong and teasing in a way eddie’s knows steve likes because he’s told eddie he likes his.
he reaches out an arm to wrap her up in a hug.
“in the flesh and blood. the mysterious nancy wheeler, it’s a pleasure.”
he turns and looks at steve and robin where the former is flushed red in the face and has a hand covering his smile while robin is physically bent at the knees covering her laughter.
“stevie you never told me your ex could be my doppelgänger.”
au august day 11: doppelgänger
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petite-phthora · 8 months
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This yours?
[DP x DC fic]
[Love at first... murder? - part 12]
<< Prev | Next >>
Part 1
Ao3
---
Somewhere else, in a seemingly abandoned building on the outskirts of the city, a figure shrouded in darkness and wearing a dark cloak plots.
In front of them is a whiteboard. It’s covered in pictures, sticky notes, and illegible texts. Some of the notes thrown about that are legible are ‘fight…’, ‘draw blood.’, and ‘DEATH!!!’.
There’s a crude stick figure drawn in the corner of the board, it’s impaled. Other small doodles can also be found all around the board.
Most of the information and pictures are connected by red strings, like you see in movies.
In the middle is a picture of 2 people sitting on a motorcycle, the arms of the person sitting in the back are around the waist of the person sitting in the front. The picture has some arrows pointing towards it and the people in the picture are very obviously circled.
Though the face of the person driving the motorcycle is obscured by their helmet, the other person seems to be heavily blushing and grinning broadly.
“Yes… yes! That’s it! I know what to do…” They seem to be speaking to themselves.
Quickly, the person scribbles down a barely legible ‘sacrifice!!‘.
They start cackling.
“Mwuahaha!”
It’s an evil laugh they’ve been working on for quite a while now, and they’re pretty proud of it.
However, the effect is slightly ruined when a fly enters their mouth, cutting off their cackling with choking as they gasp for air, grasping at their throat.
A few good thumps against their chest, with some coughing out their lungs, helps them dislodge the fly from their throat and they spit it out on the ground. They take a few deep breaths before straightening up again.
“Curse you” the person exclaims, angrily waving their fist at the fly as it flies away.
---
Bruce’s face gives off nothing as he stares at the streets down below. He’s dressed as Batman, crouched at the edge of a building with Damian by his side as Robin. Spoiler, Black Bat, Nightwing, and Red Robin are further back on the rooftop.
They watch in silence as another group of the Joker’s goons passes by. They’ve been all over the city, wandering around, not doing anything obviously illegal.
They don’t stay in one place and they don’t seem to have much of a purpose. No attacks… No stealing… No smuggling or transport of goods… No, instead they’re inspecting every single inch of the city.
They don’t seem to have any weapons on them. All they’re carrying on them are some flashlights. While most don’t give anything away with their body language or expressions, some seem to give off a bit of anxious energy.
Spoiler claimed she even saw some of them climb down into the sewers earlier and then climbing out again sometime later somewhere else, but this time ‘dejected and stinky’.
One thing seems clear to the Bats.
They’re searching for something… or someone.
“This basically confirms that not even the Joker’s henchmen know where he is. He’s missing.”
“I’m not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing”
“Good… thing?”
“It’s… something. That’s for sure.”
“We don’t know if he’s really missing. For all we know it could be a trap. What if the Joker is hiding, pretending to be missing to have us bring our guard down? Besides, how could he be missing? He’s the Joker. No one’s just gonna kidnap him”
“For all we know he could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere”
“I highly doubt that”
“Everyone, focus” Bruce speaks up, having them draw their attention to him.
“It’s unclear whether the Joker is simply hiding away or missing. Instead of focusing on the why, we need to focus on the where. Missing or not, we need to find him and get him back to Arkham. Oracle, have you managed to find out anything from the footage yet?”
“Nope, still nothing. All the files from the moment he enters Crime Alley are wiped and any attempt at recovering them only brings back corrupted files.”
 “We need Red Hood. Where is he?” Bruce asks.
“He still has his phone on silent and he has removed the trackers and cams. We haven’t placed any new ones on him yet”
“Let’s visit him on his turf then. And keep an eye out for anything suspicious in the meantime. Oracle, try recovering the missing files. If that doesn’t work, go back to the breakout footage. Perhaps he left some kind of clues about his plans or whereabouts behind there.” Bruce states.
“Roger that.”
---
Red Hood has his arms by his sides as he gazes down upon the street below from the rooftop of a random apartment building in Crime Alley.
He’s lucky to have avoided the Bats so far. But he doubts his luck will last for long.
Red Hood stiffens as he suddenly feels something clamp down on his arm. As a reflex, his other hand has already drawn his gun.
He slowly raises the arm he felt something clamp down on and looks at it, only to make eye contact with a girl with black hair and blue eyes who has sunk her teeth into his arm and is now hanging off of it.
The teeth are sharp, as the girl seems to have some small fangs. They’ve gone through his jacket and sunken into his skin.
It doesn’t really hurt all that badly though, probably hasn’t even drawn much blood, and that’s one of the only reasons Jason hasn’t flung the kid off of him yet. Another reason is the fact that it’s a kid.
They both stare at each other for several seconds.
As Jason takes her appearance in, he notices that she seems rather familiar. In fact, she looks like a more feminine version of Danny, or if Danny had a twin.
The person hanging off of his arm looks younger than Danny though, probably a teenager around 13 or 14, if he had to make a guess.
Slowly, he puts his gun away and takes out his phone with his other hand, watching the random girl’s eyes follow his movements. He raises it level with her face and snaps a picture, quickly sending it to Danny and ignoring the girl’s curious gaze while she’s still hanging onto his arm by her fucking teeth.
---
Meanwhile, Danny checks his phone to see Red Hood sent him a message. He opens it and is greeted by a picture of Ellie in human form biting down on Red Hood’s arm with the caption ‘this yours???’
---
Taglist:
@i-always-say-yea   @uraniumwizard    @why-must-i-be-like-this   @griffinthing
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rustyreveries · 22 days
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happy autism acceptance month!! i doodled salad to celebrate <3
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he’s one of the best unintentional autistic reps imo
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artsymephy · 3 months
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How would modern Philip look like with long hair?
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Like the sweet boy he used to be (:
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marclef · 5 months
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about to finally start work on the first part of the comic! but i made some nice-looking character sheets for them. (finally happy with how a couple of these guys look heh)
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(if you have no idea who the heck eyhm is i've got a post on here here.)
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starflungwaddledee · 1 month
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What Starstruck Dee theory have people made that is your favourite?
there have been quite a lot, and i genuinely love them all!
early on i think the most popular theory was that she was possessed or had been possessed at some point, most likely by dark matter. she actually debunked this theory personally, but i think people just assumed she was lying! 😂
my favourite part is not any one theory, but watching a shift in thoughts over time as more things are revealed, and seeing people share theories/work together in comments and reblogs. i like the "OOHHH WWWWHAT...!?!" moments a lot; whether they are a reaction to my storytelling or to other folks' detective work!
early theories revolved around how she was weird for a waddle dee, or at least a native of popstar. despite my never explicitly confirming anything to the contrary, theories have now broadly shifted to assuming she is not from popstar at all, and most people do now generally agree she's not really a waddle dee.
i don't recall exactly who first came up with each theory (though some big players are @the-void-is-a-disappointment who did a huge amount of early deetective work and encouraged me to build it as a story for solving, @shibuya-toasted-with-extra-cream, @graycoin and @jojo-schmo) and i'm not sure which of these theories are still held by anyone
but here a few of my favourites, roughly in order that they started appearing...
♻️ she's a total mimic species like kirby or void, copying things around her either by intent or by accident 🗑️ similar to above, but she's an incorrect copy or a "beta" mock-up type of a waddle dee 🧚 that she was just born different, like a fae changeling, and might have been hidden away when young as a result 🕰️ she is something totally inorganic and/or mechanical, created by or like the clockwork stars or stardream, perhaps wish contingent 🥇 sometimes attached to the above, she was created to serve some sort of Greater Purpose. she might have failed at it or been flawed, and was subsequently discarded on popstar 🌠 a dozen and one wildly different things connected to the "falling star that hit her". alien life form on the meteor transferred into her on impact. infection by intergalactic bacteria/dark matter. simply massive concussive trauma that fucked up her signature (back when we thought that was the only thing wrong with her). the star was magic and fused with her. she hatched from it and is literally a star herself. probably missing some here. 🪐 waddle dee from a different place/planet. this one is quite a sensible theory, given that we do see many quite different dees! 🤍 she is a fragmented piece of void/void termina. this one in particular i know is @shibuya-toasted-with-extra-cream 's ongoing theory and she's put in a lot of really cool work towards it! ⚔️ she's somehow connected to the heroes of yore. this theory i think has only started popping up since galacta knight has become a reoccurring visitor in her storyline and we've started asking questions about her familiar looking magic spears, but you can certainly 1hko @moonverc3x with this one 🧿 she's connected to the matters. sometimes soul, because it's sometimes star themed and lacks a token representative. where as a connection to dream might link her to fecto forgo/fecto elfilis in some way (a creature also well known for a catastrophic meteor attack). i've also seen folks confident that she's connected to heart matter as well, probably again due to everyone's favourite grumpy swan showing up
this is all i can think of or locate right now, but there's been a pretty wide range of things. i feel there has been a rather interesting transition over time from "she's a messed up waddle dee" to "she's probably connected to a universal superpower of some kind" which i am genuinely really really thrilled about?! 😂 what a glow up for a pathetic little wawa!!!
i'm also personally really fond of seeing how people's existing biases influence what they can find and draw connections in. for instance: i know @jojo-schmo loves the forgotten land and elfilis, and digs into those connections and draws out some really cool stuff because her knowledge is already so specialised! i think this is the true highlight of working on this story for me, people theorising and engaging in the lore, and laser pin-pointing things that tie into our personal faves-- the way we tend to do with kirby lore as a whole-- is such uninhibited delight
i sincerely hope people will enjoy where starstruck's story does go, in the end!!
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hoofpeet · 2 years
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Brainworms gripped me hard and made me make this... heeheem neway. Thing set roughly a year after Ingo's disappearance; I think this is the main turning point in Emmet & Zingo's relationship where Emmy realizes that it's not actually trying to hurt him <3
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killiru · 1 month
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Guys!!! Supposedly we only have one more month until the 2nd 2024 announcement from GMMTV. Accordingly: Give me your guesses and hopes what new shows we will get. I am SO curious what everyone thinks and so excited myself. Can't tomorrow be April already?
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vargaslovinghours · 10 months
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Fandom: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac (But really Vargas lol) Rating: Teen and up Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
What, exactly, did Scriabin take from Edgar when they separated?
My first multichapter fic for Vargas! :D Yay!
(Pls read Ch. 1 first - Ch. 2 is also recommended, but as long as you're caught up on the first, you're good to go!)
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Side B
What the fuck.
"It's, it's possible that if, maybe whatever happened earlier, whatever caused all that blood and for us to be knocked unconscious-"
What the fuck.
"-and if I suffered a head injury, then maybe-"
No. That's enough.
Scriabin pushed away from the closet door he'd defensively pressed himself up against and put his hands on Edgar's shoulders, which quieted him. He looked at him expectantly, with eyes that Scriabin somehow only just now realized were casually guarded, curious, uncertain in a way that denoted inexperience. That was so messed up, that was completely wrong. Edgar should've been on guard, absolutely, but only because he knew exactly what Scriabin was capable of. He really didn't want to look at him right now if this was what he was going to be seeing instead.
He spun him quickly and pushed him out the door before he could protest. He got one last look at those wide, confused eyes before he slammed the door behind him, bracing it shut with both hands for good measure.
What. The fuck. His head came forward, making a dull thud as his forehead connected with the door. He doesn't remember me? His fingers curled on the door. What does he mean he doesn't remember me?! How could he not know me?! One hand pushed through his hair; his scalp tingled and that was so weird, he felt it and it was so weird- We literally just- He literally just-! As if pulling him screaming into life wasn't bad enough, now he had decided to play some sick prank!
This can't be true. It's just like him to try and make jokes at the worst possible time, he has no tact.
There was a timid knock on the other side of the door. Scriabin jumped as it resonated through his skull, his elbow, pressed to the door with his hand buried in his hair, set his jaw. Then silence.
If he was really trying to get back in, clear things up, say he was only kidding, he'd actually try.
Nothing.
Scriabin's blood was ice as he went over it again. The way he'd said his name. The vacant look in his eyes as he said it, like his mouth knew its shape but none of the meaning. No fear, no realization, nothing that really felt like Edgar, just sound, just noise.
Maybe he really had-
Oh god. His knees gave out, and his arms had no practice at holding him upright, not yet. His hand slid down the door, his other hand guarding his head as his hair fluffed against the grain.
How could he do this
This is all his fault
Stupid, idiotic
He can't do this to me
I can't believe him
I can't believe this
How dare he leave me alone like this
Thoughts spiralling, and all he could do was hold himself down, press his fingers into the back of his neck, force his chest to his knees and maybe he wouldn't immolate under it all. He was shaking, from tension or fear he couldn't tell, his mind too hazardous and loud to cut through it all. He was shaking, dizzy, and if he moved, letting go would surely kill him.
He can't do this to me.
He breathed. And breathed. And swallowed. Eyes closed, heart pounding, sure. Confusion and dismay, whatever. Pain. Fine. So be it.
This isn't like me. A hand untethered from his vice grip in his hair, and he stayed attached to the floor. It connected with the carpet below him and became a new lifeline. He pushed up and away into a limp sit, arms already burning slightly from holding himself up after all that. He shook his head mildly. This isn't who I'm going to be in life. His body, this fear response be damned, he was in control now.
Regroup. Let's- a mental pause, barely a quarter of a second long as he turned the word in his head. Let's pretend it's all true- what does that mean?
He flopped over, leaned upright with his back against the door, heels of his fists pushed down into the carpet to scootch closer. Moving was so awkward still, very unfitting.
He was acting normal. Well, Edgar's baseline for "normal" had changed considerably, so maybe put an asterisk on that. Not that he was ever normal to begin with, but normal-for-Edgar, -ish. That means he has to have some memory.
Scriabin held out a hand, arm slung over his knee, one finger held out. He had recognized his glasses. One. The apartment. Two. Which key to use. Three. He had said Todd's name. Four.
His stuff can be discounted, he's had all that for a while. Back down to one. The kid is a new fixture. Which means he remembers the last couple months at least. He shook his head and brought his hand up to comb through his hair. Well...it's fuzzy for me, so it probably is for him, too. Scriabin remembered everything in as much clarity as the last couple months allowed, there was no way Edgar would know more even if he had all his memories.
Speaking of which, Scriabin could remember everything. He flipped through; the last two months and bringing Todd in, Edgar's parting words to Johnny, his and Devi's conversation - he grit his teeth - and further back, everything along the way, all the way back. False dreams, shared childhoods, everything that was once Edgar's alone, he still remembered it. Nothing was out of place which made it all the more strange!
This is so fucking weird, if I remember everything, then why would he-
He stopped short. His purported purpose had been to replace Edgar. Take him over completely. If he bought into the conceit for a moment, just to play in the space... He was alive now. That was not as intended; it shouldn't even have been possible.
Did he...give me his memories? Like, all the way? Not just to borrow, to shape him, give him legitimacy - he was alive now. His own person. Separate, embodied, and whole. Was this the price of life?
That's stupid. But possible, he couldn't discount. If this - he brought his hands up and looked down at them, watched himself touch his own chest and felt it beneath his coat, shirt, the nerves firing as his slid his fingers up himself - if this was possible, then...
He continued for a moment, curious and reverant, all of him new and privately exciting, to exist and to touch, to feel, smell, see, all of it clear and fresh and penetrated deeply into his mind, as if a layer of film had been lifted from his senses. The moment passed as the memories, unbidden but important, cluttered in around him again.
There were still a lot of questions, and most of them couldn't be answered without Edgar, ugh. If getting anything out of him before had been like pulling teeth, he was very sobered to think about how it might be now. Depending on how much Edgar remembered, maybe he could start piecing things together.
Did he do it on purpose? Did he know this would happen? There's no way he would have been willing to if he had- But he couldn't ask him things like that. Even if he did remember, admitting something like that...
He was just spinning his wheels at this point. Better to gather what he could from the man himself. He looked up, preparing to stand.
Ah-
The room was still in something of a state.
Edgar would be annoying, or at least distracted by trying to pick up the clothes and uncarefully unpacked items strewn about the floor from Scriabin's very successful excavation of his old glasses. The clutter would have to go if he wanted his full attention.
He grumbled as he pushed off the door to pick up the first few things. First day of life and I'm already his maid. Figures. He's always needed me to clean up after him.
Silence.
Somehow it only just hit him. Thinking alone in the late hours, planning things behind Edgar's back, it was nothing new. But a barb unsunk into his mental flesh was left out in the wide emptiness, poised to stab whoever happened upon it next, and he was the only one here.
He felt very small all of a sudden, and he didn't like it at all.
His eyes blankly scanned the room, looking for nothing, until they settled on the toy at Edgar's bedside. His toy.
He dropped the items he'd bundled into his arms and made his way over. He picked up the small simulacrum, turned it over in his hands once, and stared at it.
He wouldn't know this. Not really. He brushed a thumb up and over the little mouth, the contours of its small face. Retroactively, I've never been this at all.
I'm no one to him.
Does this mean we can start over? The thought struck him like lightning, freezing his heart in his chest. He was fixed solid, staring down at the small figure in his hands.
Before he could even think, he'd already thrown it through the open closet door, landing noisily in the box he'd dug through with a clatter. He grabbed up the fallen clothes and items and stuffed them back in the box, burying the toy in mundane detritus, then closed the cardboard flaps and slammed the door of the closet for good measure.
His breath was laboured and he glared, like wishing it gone would make the closet itself disappear.
Answers. He needed answers, more than anything.
He ripped the door open, and there was Edgar who looked up, staring dumbly back at him and carrying the clothes he'd shed earlier over his arm. Something in his mind clicked over, and he didn't think about it.
"Alright," he caught his breath for half a second, "what do you remember?"
Edgar just kept on staring, mouth open, eyes unconfident behind weak glasses. Scriabin huffed irritably, I don't have time for this, and moved towards him, arm outstretched.
"Come on." Edgar gave a small startled sound behind him as he grabbed his collar and dragged him through the doorway. He threw him across the room, not bothering to watch his arc as he closed the door behind him. The bed was that way, he'd be fine.
When he turned back, Edgar had managed to catch himself, though already halfway on the bed. Scriabin stood with his back to the door, feet planted and he crossed his arms. No more speculating around impossibilities, tangible and present as they might be, it was time for a proper interrogation. It was at least preferable to-
Edgar made a face at him and scooted back, offering a seat next to him on the bed. Equal footing briefly flashed through his mind and while he wouldn't consider it ideal, nothing today was really going his way. He sighed, then made his way over and sat across from Edgar, who was eyeing him with a certain degree of caution. At least the feeling was mutual.
"Spill." He re-crossed his arms and leaned towards Edgar. "What do you know?"
Edgar hesitated, apparently thinking, his hands laced and fingers agitatedly if quietly rubbing the backs of his hands.
"I want to verify some things first."
Scriabin snorted dismissively. Where had Edgar's overly-trusting nature gone? A serial killer, well he's an honoured guest, but Scriabin? He didn't even distrust him for the right reasons.
He gestured with an open hand, Go ahead, then tucked his arm back in.
"Todd's last name?"
Pfsh. At least it was proof enough that anything Edgar knew, Scriabin did as well. As expected.
"Casil. His stupid bear's called Shmee in case you forgot that too." Edgar shook his head. No he hadn't? If only he could just check!
"Do you know our phone number?" Obviously he did, so he rattled it off quickly, Edgar nodding in turn. He flipped his hair in time with the last digit, careful to keep his eyes covered. It was a bit of a timid attempt, being the first in this body, which was a minor blessing he supposed.
Edgar mulled over what he'd given him for a moment, then a moment longer, then a moment even longer. His eyes searched absently, gazing down into his own hand, his other on his chin, lightly thumbing his goatee. He was focused on names and numbers, but those were child's play compared to everything, everything Scriabin still wanted to know. It was frustrating on a visceral level, watching him struggle with such simple innocuous nothings while the most important person in his life was sitting right in front of him.
He was supposed to be the most important.
It was frustrating.
"You really don't remember anything, do you?" He didn't hide the sneer as it shaped his voice - odd the way his body just did that now, did things without him actively thinking them into being. Even things like the little waver that made its way in that he pushed back down and under. He was frustrated, angry, tired - any emotionality could be attributed to those, nothing else.
Edgar didn't answer, just kept his gaze locked to his face. That was almost worse. Watching him fumble through things, it wasn't fun, but at least he wasn't trying to pry. He could see him try to look past his bangs, and the fact that he didn't know better...
Scriabin looked away for a moment, then thought better of it. Best defense is a good offense.
He reached for Edgar's face, for those damn scars, ever-present reminders. Edgar shied away, not wanting to be touched suddenly by someone he didn't know. As if Scriabin had ever cared about that.
Well, things were different now. Maybe he didn't really want to touch him anyway. Not yet.
"Do you remember these...?" Instead he framed his face with his hands less than an inch from his skin, and even there he could feel the heat coming off him. Edgar reached for his face, looking away from Scriabin as he touched the angry red marks. He winced minutely, then glanced back at Scriabin, searching him, his expression guarded again. Scriabin could hear his own pulse in his ears.
"...Johnny?"
"Fuck." Fuck! "Of course you'd remember him but not me." God damn it! It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, just because Johnny came first by a hair's breadth, just because he wasn't in Edgar's head, with Edgar's fucked up little obsession with the murderous stick figure- It limited what he could get away with too, if he remembered that far back. Absolutely nothing was going in his favour.
"I'm sorry..." He sounded genuinely remorseful, and it stuck in his throat. Disgusting. "So you know Johnny, too."
"Unfortunately." Scriabin tucked his chin to his chest, arms crossed again in close proximity. This sucks. Edgar just kept rambling, unaware as ever. His excuses held this time at least, one point in his favour, no points for bringing his annoying habits with him despite everything.
"I don't think I've seen him for a couple months now? Everything's awfully..." He gave a vague gesture and Scriabin uncurled slightly. He was giving him room to contribute. He shook his head.
"You haven't."
"Have you?"
He returned to his tight coil of sulking. Not like he was keen to meet up and chat, but he couldn't explain why he hadn't had the opportunity to either.
"I remember he called, too."
"Ugh," barely above breath. Enough about Johnny! Again, Edgar continued obliviously.
"Although I don't really recall what we talked about, not for a while..."
Of course not. I took over for half of those.
He perked a bit, and Edgar focused more on him, patiently setting his hands in his lap.
"You know."
He could play this to his advantage. Give Johnny some well-deserved karmic justice for fucking him over so many times. It was almost better that Edgar didn't know - Scriabin had been trying to get him away from Johnny all this time, and if he really had forgotten everything, not just the moments when Scriabin took over but every moment they had shared, then that meant it coincided almost perfectly with his first meeting with Johnny. Blank spot after blank spot after blank spot, all lined up immediately after getting his face slashed.
He could work with that.
"It's probably trauma." Edgar startled and his hand shot to his temple, lightly touching his hair.
"Like, head trauma?" Scriabing almost laughed. Yeah, probably that too. But that wouldn't help his case.
"No." He leaned in, taking a more intimate, secretive tone. "Think about it. When did things start getting fuzzy?" If he was right on this - which of course he was, but not being able to verify, not being able to see that he was right, it was disconcerting - but if he was, Edgar's memories of Scriabin should start with that first fateful encounter, give or take. A bit of reframing here, a touch of implication there... It probably wasn't even an outright lie; if Edgar's memory were perfect after experiencing everything Johnny had put them through, that would be some kind of twisted miracle.
His only real concern was their "childhood" - how much had Scriabin pulled with him? Would that throw off his story? But that was so far back, there was no way Scriabin or Johnny could be implicated in that. As long as Edgar didn't bring it up before he thought his way around it...
Edgar stayed quiet for a long while. His eyes raced behind closed eyelids, searching, scanning, retracing - Scriabin could almost see the moments where he hesitated, stopped and went back, then starting recollecting again. He wished he could see it for real, watch him unfold himself, touch those memories again, hold up his own in contrast. Even just hear Edgar's thoughts as they went by, feel the emotions he felt. But he couldn't, so he just stared as unblinkingly as this new body would allow, just watched as Edgar went over everything on his own.
He finally opened his eyes, staring back into Scriabin's though he was sure they were still hidden. He felt naked and awkward and Edgar still hadn't said anything. If he could just see like he was supposed to, or if Edgar would just tell him, he wouldn't have to ask. I have to do everything around here.
"It was after you met him, wasn't it?"
"You think it's...mental trauma?" An unspoken 'yes.' Relief flooded him, and he pushed ahead.
"Edgar. He stabbed you." Edgar gripped his shoulder, his eyes closing again and he looked to be in pain. That was a very effective reminder at least. "Do you even know why?" He shook his head and spoke throught half-grit teeth.
"I must have made him mad, but I don't remember-" Of course not, I did that.
"Your mind is trying to protect you." Not. But one of us has to with your inexhaustable deathwish. Scriabin reached out to touch him properly, but Edgar pulled away. He didn't follow, still not yet. Play up the pity. "He messed you up so bad," with a curl in his tone, an I told you so that barely made it to words even privately; how long had he been holding that in? "Surely you must've felt like you wanted, you needed to get away from him, that he wasn't good for you, that you-" He'd told him so many times, some it must have stuck, some of it had to have-
"Then-!" Edgar's eyes shot open, wide and desperate with an edge of disbelief. A strangled gasp escaped him, half-choking him as he tried to speak. "Then why can't I remember you?!"
He almost began rolling off the cuff, but really, he still didn't know for sure. And it definitely wasn't like he could tell the truth even if he wanted to; who, who hadn't lived it, would believe him? Edgar certainly wouldn't, not with his lack of imagination. He had to dress this up, weave a narrative that was plausible, had the perfect mix of truth and falsehood to stand up to scrutiny.
Huh. Ironic.
"I..." No. Some of this was Edgar's fault too. "We...argued."
"Argued?"
"I... Mng." He wanted to aim for some kind of levity, but his throat had tightened on him. He just wanted to tell this stupid inside joke and not have it affect him, not have it mean anything, and here he was getting emotional? He'd say it and fucking mean it. "It's not like I'm in your head, so-" spat out in a rush, there, he'd said it. Haha, isn't that so funny. He swallowed harshly, pushing down everything he felt into his stomach acid. He was in control. He was fine. This didn't shake him. "I can't know for sure," another humourless laugh inside, "but I was against your relationship with Johnny. Maybe you shut me out so you could keep seeing him with no pushback."
It certainly wasn't outside the realm of possibilities of what Edgar would do to avoid taking Scriabin's extremely basic advice about fraternizing with serial killers. How many times had he been ignored up to this point, only to culminate in the ultimate 'I don't know what you're talking about.' Pfeh. I bet he wishes he'd thought of this sooner. It did nothing for his painfully stuttered pulse.
"You know, I've been trying to convince you to stop going back to him for a while, but, well..." He waved his hand at Edgar's hand still death gripped into his shoulder, and Edgar averted his eyes guiltily. At least he showed some remorse. Better than his nigh constant apologia.
He stayed quiet a moment longer, and just before Scriabin made to fill the silence again, Edgar struck him with an intense look.
"What are you to me?" Ugh. Of course. There was not a single good answer for that. Even if he told him everything- no, especially if he told him everything, there was no way Edgar would believe him. But coming up with a convincing lie on the spot, when they were so clearly something to each other - even he needed time to come up with something workable. How could he have ever prepared for a situation like this? It was never meant to happen, so many things were never meant to happen!
He continued at Scriabin's silence. "You know Nny," Ugh! Even his awful nickname. "And Todd. And...me." He couldn't refute it, so he nodded tightly. "Do you live here?"
Technically he had, and technically he hadn't. Still, going forward, it would be easier to let Edgar assume that he did. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go at the moment anyway.
"Yes."
"Are we..." He searched him, looked him over as much as he could and he wasn't subtle about it. If only Scriabin had his proper glasses, he'd let him look as much he wanted, behold his spectacle! As it was, he just felt self-conscious and it was very unbefitting. "...family?"
The baggage on that. He did not feel like opening that particular can of worms in either of their current states. He turned his head and flipped through any number of halfway decent ways to phrase it until he hit on something Edgar would remember. Better not to contradict for now.
"You told Johnny you have no family when you met."
"That's true..." Edgar blinked, processing. "Wait, did I tell you that?" Scriabin startled. Even after he'd accounted for his memory! Of course he had to pick his story apart now, he never knew when to leave well enough alone.
"When you-" No, he had to be involved. "When we bandaged your face."
Edgar mulled on that for a few seconds, taking on a thoughtful pose. "I only remember being alone."
"You don't remember me at all. What do you want from me?" He huffed.
"No, sorry, you're right."
"Thank you." He was right!
Where had Edgar expected him to be? There was something weird about how he'd said it. He filed the thought away for later.
"So, if you've been living here, where..." Edgar looked around the room, then back to Scriabin. "Where have you been sleeping? Todd's already on the couch..."
Scriabin couldn't help as a smile sprung to his face. If he was going to present him with such a perfect opportunity, well, he'd better take it. He even had the decency to look nervous in response! This was too good.
"Would you believe me if I said right here, in bed?" He again tucked his chin, playfully this time, his hair falling further in his eyes. Even through the dark tangles he could make out Edgar's face immediately bristling with heat.
Ooh. That's such a fetching shade on you, my dear.
"But-! I, I haven't been sleeping on the floor!" He was visibly sweating!
"Correct." His smile grew. This was too easy, and he needed an easy win right about now.
"W-" He leaned forward on his legs, though refused to get any closer. When he spoke it was a harsh whisper. "Why...?"
Scriabin shrugged easily, not bothering to reign in his smile in the least. "I mean, where else, right?" He leaned in since Edgar refused to, and oh. He was blushing all the way up to his scalp. Hilarious. "You certainly didn't seem to mind." He couldn't hold back the slightly musical tone or his eyebrows inclination to move on their own. His body knew what he was getting at, and he could see it only increased Edgar's fluster. All the better.
"Well I do now!" Edgar darted up and away, stumbling in his hasty retreat. "If you'll excuse me!" though he was already practically in the hallway by the time he said it. What a display, and Scriabin's laugh was loud and natural.
Finally, something positive. He'd managed to fumble his way through, not his best work in lying or manipulation, but he'd set some important groundwork. He'd gotten some answers, and he could start to shape some more believable stories around them.
The biggest hurdles were Johnny and Devi. As long as Edgar didn't meet with them too soon - or well, at all would be preferable, but he doubted he could just keep him locked up, as much as the idea appealed to him. There were so many things that were possible now, things that he had the ability to do, given the right circumstances... All of that in due time. For now he had a yarn to spin.
He listened as Edgar fumbled in the hall, the sheer sound of cloth being pulled and folded over an arm barely perceptable. Was he really going to try to sleep on what little was left over? Maybe he'd give up once he realized the pickings were thin and beg Scriabin to let him sleep with him. Hah.
While he was out, Scriabin made his way over to the pajamas drawer. They were all old and soft, even just to his hand. They'd do for now, until he could get his own. It wasn't like he hadn't worn all this before anyway.
By the time he'd finished dressing, his clothes discarded on the opposite side of the bed to where Edgar had set up his little nest, Edgar had finally gotten himself a set of pajamas. He wondered for a moment if he'd dress with Scriabin in the room again, though maybe his intense stare drove him off. Who could say. He patted the bed with a wide grin when he returned and was dutifully ignored. He settled down to the side, and Scriabin laid on his arms to look down at him.
"Ugh, lame."
"I don't-"
"Yeah, whatever." He'd heard it all before. At least he could literally look down on him like this. He folded his hands and leaned just a bit further, looking him over. A desire he hadn't realized he had surfaced in the dark and quiet. "Give me your hand."
"Sorry?" Scriabin held out his hand expectantly.
"I used to hear your heart beat every day." Edgar looked at him incredulously, but Scriabin was unperturbed. "Let me hear it again."
He hesitated but eventually slowly offered his arm. "...Okay."
He pulled his arm up and placed his thumb against his wrist. He felt a strange mismatch - where he'd been expecting one heartbeat, there were two. He covered his surprise, near shock at the realization that of course he had his own body now, by pulling harder on Edgar's arm, directing him up to his ear.
"Wh-"
"Shh." Quietly. He had wanted this, wanted this body, this separation, this freedom for so long, and now... He spoke quietly, his voice betraying nothing. "I'm listening."
Edgar's pulse was erratic, but he hardly paid attention to it. His own fingers on Edgar's skin, warm and pliant, and Edgar's fingers twitching in his hair, he could feel it, he was trying not to touch him- This hesitation was killing him, every jerky movement away not from fear of what Scriabin could do to him, just uncertainty, like he was still a stranger- He pressed him harder to his head, and he could feel goosebumps under his fingers. He wanted to just hold him there until all the memories they'd shared poured back through him, into his blood, into his breath.
Where are you?
But he replied in that same uncertain, guarded tone that indicated he didn't know, not really.
"C...can I have my arm back now?"
He pushed him away. "Fine." Edgar curled his hand protectively against his chest, and he noticed he rubbed it slightly, he probably hadn't even realized.
He mumbled out a harried "Good night," and it was almost enough to make Scriabin smile. Almost. He could still affect him but this wasn't enough, it wasn't right.
He laid his head on the pillow, not bothering to pull his arm up over the side of the bed. If he twitched in the night and touched Edgar, well, that could mean anything. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he did it on purpose. Plausible deniability was one of his greatest assets.
As it was, he was just tired. Maybe he didn't pull it back because he hated the thought of sleeping alone, pushed out and forgotten, and hated it more that he was even thinking something like that. How pathetic. He didn't need anyone, especially not Edgar.
But he was tired. Not in his right mind.
Does this mean we can start over...?
The thought echoed and died, and he slept.
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doobledabbadoo · 4 months
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Chapter 7 of Through Smiles and Scowls has released!
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ao3 link:
squidgeworld link:
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chromotps · 3 months
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uhhh thoughts on alabasta ratman sleep-deprived and weed fueled ace vs peak chad energy fuckboy prime wano ace?? like which one do you prefer, do you have any thoughts if he’d treat/think of luffy any different? in these two periods of his life?
(also ugh I adore both and there’s something special about alabasta ace who went after luffy to drum island, made sure everyone knew he would be waiting for luffy in alabasta, then went and sat there for 10 days with no other purpose but to wait for luffy. bc he just wanted to see him so so much. brocon alabasta ace is uhhhgggghh insane vibes but. there’s also something about wano graciously giving everyone big tits and a healthy layer of fat tissue on top of all that muscle. also the fact that portgas d “i hate when little children follow me around” ace willingly befriended and took care of tama. also promised her the same thing he promised luffy. idkidkidk I just like to think luffy was on ace’s mind 90% of the time, wherever he went, and he often just thought about him bc a lot of thinks reminded him of luffy. like things luffy would like, things he’d like to eat, things he’d find funny etc)
I thought this would be easy to answer but then I had like a whole essay typed up in my head. so. thank you for this ask, I have a lot of feelings about it apparently. 😂😂
they really do feel like 2 different characters, maybe bc Oda was still firming up the details of marineford/wano when Ace first appeared in alabasta? In any case it's always fun seeing which "version" of him fans lean into in fanart/fic/headcanons hahaha. like do they make him more scrungly and sleazy (but maybe also secretly doting)? you got yourself a greasy Ace fan. do they make him all upstanding and softly affectionate and soulful? wano ace wano ace wano ace
(a lot more rambling from here)
I have to admit...... and I'm ashamed to say it............... but I was only half-aware of Ace in Alabasta—like at that point, he was just another "wacky cool shounen guy" to me. It took Marineford breaking my brain down to its component parts and rearranging them for my full Ace brainrot to set in, and at that point he was closer to Ethereal Fridged Wife wano Ace, so I'd probably go with that one? God I do need to rewatch Alabasta tho, I feel like it'd be such a trip of fawning over greasy ratman Ace this time around ahahahah
I think it took until Marineford for me to really latch onto Ace bc it was outwardly like: Alabasta Ace: I'm cool Marineford Ace: I'm cool [ironic][hiding INTENSE self-worth issues]
I agree with everything you said though... I love wrinkly, wrung-out-to-dry Alabasta Ace and his devil-may-care coolness. His vibes of being just a bit more of a rebel than any of the Strawhats even, the thing that makes people cast him as a guitarist or artist in modern AUs. that fuckin,,,,, crouch/perching thing he does,,,, The WAITING... he's so understated with his devotion, like, this panel??
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he's trying to be so cool and older brother-y but really he just wants his little brother to visit him sometimes!!! he waited for luffy for 10 days when he's been prioritizing this mission over everything else, even being with his other found-family crew, and I just!!! sigh
"any thoughts if he’d treat/think of luffy any different" I so agree that Wano Ace is pre-Whitebeard Ace, meaning that even though he's presenting himself as independent and a leader/captain, there's a part of him that's still very angry and searching for acceptance. And yesss, bc of that he was probably holding his memories of Luffy so close all the time, seeing his brother who loves him in the innocent, trusting kid he helps, and unable to stop bragging about his brave little brother to the brash, impressive club-weilding guy he runs into.
meanwhile I feel like Alabasta Ace is actually more mellowed-out in his feelings toward Luffy, in a way? like idk, maybe—I might be completely off—but he's more secure in himself and his attachment to Luffy... or at least he tells himself he is. I just feel like that explains why he's shown to be so openly brag-y about Luffy in his Wano days, but seems way more laidback in Alabasta, haha (but the brocon devotion is still there, just better-hidden, lmaoooo) (and it gets ripped to the forefront during Marineford—he's forced to confront all that fear and attachment when he sees Luffy hurtling through the air toward him AH)
god tho. wano ace. wano ace and this gif
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the things. the things i want to do to this man. the morals i would abandon. unspeakable.
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and this???? him??????????????? sunkissed angel backlit like the once-in-a-lifetime love interest in a twee indie film???
yeah I... in summary, I feel like I have 60/40 preference for Wano Ace over Alabasta Ace, but really it's that mix of all those qualities that I like to bring in when i can.
(my secret third answer is Marineford Ace. the blorbo who started it all, lmao)
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