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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.

#💟#Fanfiction #Blank Slate AU #Edgar #Scriabin #Todd #Shmee #He's technically in there but once again no speaking lines :P Yet anyway lol #It's fanfic time again! I fell into yet another writing fugue and finished Chapters 1 and 2 in like four days lol #If you'll notice tho ♪ Neither of those chapters are featured under the cut :3c Pls do read Ch. 1 at least to get caught up before diving in #This one took a bit longer but that'd be because it's Almost as big as both previous chapters combined lol #I'll update it to the chapter list in a few days! Y'all get a preview here :D It'll be the same there with slightly different formatting #Decided to try something new since tumblr doesn't normally allow underlines but it's very important to Scriabin's syntax #I promise they're all just links to the first chapter lol - you're welcome to check but I promise I didn't put a sneaky link anywhere lol #My one gripe is that it doesn't look as good on-blog :/ Fine on the dash! But I'm not willing to sacrifice the dark colouration on the links #Italics were chosen as the only light feature for a reason ♪#I mean at least it's not Bolded lol I'll take it #These were a lot of fun to write so far ahhh <3 I've been wanting to dig a little deeper for a long while now!#I mentioned this idea offhandedly in the tags of Incoming Outgoing but ahhh it's very rewarding to put to words :D #Fun Fun Fun

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kris-mage-fics · 5 months

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So we have a mouse in our apartment, which scared the living daylights out of me! Not because I'm scared of mice, but I just assumed we'd never see one in here. (We are on the third floor, and we've lived here for close to 13 years and have never seen one.) The landlord is going to bring over some poison but I'd really rather not use it. I don't know, maybe that's dumb, but it's just a little guy trying to live it's life and not be cold. I really don't like killing critters. Of course if we want to catch it that means we have to get something ourselves. Which is a pain when you live quite a few km from any stores that sell live traps and don't have a car. I'll have to talk to my partner and see what if he's up for a trip to the store or not, but he's at work right now.

#at least now I know what the weird noise we've been hearing the last few days in the kitchen by the radiators is #and why Jade keeps staring at the radiator with great intensity #which is funny because she's a terrible hunter -- good thing she isn't a farm cat #she's caught all of two bugs in 12 years I really don't think she's going to get the mouse #I've literally never had to deal with a mouse where I lived so I'm at a bit of a loss here #like I know if I see a scorpion to just catch it in a jar and put it outside #but there aren't scorpions here #I know if we end up using the poison I'm going to cry because my heart is a stupid fucking marshmallow #I wish there was like a little mouse sign you could make that said “don't come in here or you will die” so it would just leave #or I could talk to it and tell it that #but alas I can't actually talk to animals

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darkeneddawningmain · 1 year

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I live! And I'm writing a fic

Hello, everyone! :) I've re-started the process of moving this blog over to a side blog (@darkeneddawning) when I have time. End goal is to have all my art and stuff from here over there, so my main blog (this one) can be used for everything. The side blog will be where I post new phandom art and stuff.

Hopefully the transfer isn't too confusing for everyone. If you want to follow me to see my phandom art and stuff, you might want to wait until my side blog is all caught up, or you'll be spammed with me reblogging all of my old art over there for the next while. I'll announce on this blog when it's done and wait at least a week so people have time to unfollow this blog if they don't want my reblogs of everything I like to clutter up their dashes.

But I'm too impatient to wait until I'm done with that before I start posting again, so here's a blurb from the DP x DC Circus Gothica crossover fic I'm writing! It's going to be a while before I can post it since I've got a lot going on and I'm a very slow writer so far, but I'm hoping posting about it will keep me motivated to continue working on it :)

It's not a very long blurb, but I'll put it under a read more anyway (along with a synopsis of the fic):

Fic synopsis:

Wait, but if I’m mind controlled, and you’re mind controlled, then who’s catching the evil ringmaster??

Jason wasn’t expecting to join the suspicious circus he was investigating on Dick’s behalf, but a day in found him planning a heist with his new posse of co-slaves. At least getting in on the action gave him the answers he was looking for, as well as some others to questions he’d forgotten he was still asking.

Or: A new circus rolls into Bludhaven, trailing a history of too many pilfered towns to be a coincidence. Dick asks Jason to look into it on account of Dick’s circus related trauma. Jason was expecting to find evidence, not a one-way ticket to minion town, or a mysterious boy who somehow calmed the insatiable waters of the pit. Who is this boy, and what can he teach Jason about himself?

----

Though he felt compelled to come, he didn’t know what was wanted of him now that he was here.

“This area is off limits to guests. Can I help you?”

That reaper kid from the performance, head attached, was looking at Jason with a raised brow. The same Red color that was swirling around Jason’s brain occupied the kid’s irises. Now he was up close, Jason could see how the kid’s stage eyeliner was only a slight enhancement to the genuine dark circles under his eyes. With those in addition to the gaunt hollowness of his cheeks, the kid looked like he hadn’t slept in years.

Jason smiled. It wasn’t a natural smile, but the Red liked it. “I’m here to, uh… cross over to the dark side?” That was all the Red was giving him to work with.

Reaper kid squinted at him, then drew back in surprise. “Woah, I totally thought you were human. Is that a disguise?” he asked, walking up to Jason.

“Disguise?” Jason glanced down at his body like it would clue him in to what reaper kid was talking about. He looked plenty human to himself. “What else would I be?” Was this important to the Red’s mission? Red was starting to feel a little more impatient.

“Uh, you know,” the kid gave a dismissive hand wave, but clarified: “Dead?”

#danny phantom #dp x dc #circus gothica #danny fenton #jason todd #I'm still hammering out the details but I have the main plot figured out #it specifies that danny's head is attached bc it comes off as part of the show #most of my batfam knowledge comes from dp x dc fics so hopefully I don't egregiously mischaracterize them #also are there specific tags the phandom uses for stuff like this that anyone would want me to use in the future?#bc I know I used to stay caught up on my favorite tags in the day and proper tagging/categorization is something I appreciated from others #I still don't want to post on this blog too much before the transfer is complete since I don't want to make the transition too confusing #this blog has gained a few new followers recently (that aren't spam bots) and I worry that the move is going to be annoying for people #honestly I shouldn't post this bc it probably is going to make the move messier if I do #but I really want to get back into participating instead of just lurking #and hinging participation on an intimidating obstacle has prevented me from doing anything for too long #I literally stopped posting on tumblr all that time ago bc I couldn't find a solution to how I couldn't reblog posts to a side blog easily #I tried over and over to figure out a way to reassign which blog was my main #I tried using a side blog as my everything blog and it was not doable for me #I've never seen anyone else make a transition like this so it's kind of embarrassing #but it's still the best solution I've come up with so please bear with me

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silvermarmoset · 1 year

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i want whoever made the "button fm" playlist on spotify to know that they've upgraded the quality of my life by 85%, I love the tunes they chose and I want full liner notes explaining how each song relates to the different ghosts and/or moods, episodes, vibes, etc

#ghosts #bbc ghosts #thomas thorne #the captain #i can pick out cap and thomas songs pretty easily because their vibes are the clearest to me #but those are the characters i like the most so it's easiest to focus in on them!#i think i've caught a few pat (i suspect he's the one adding the 70s hits)#(yes i assume the ghosts themselves are compiling these songs)#(listen you listen to a playlist enough and you come up with headcanons for it)

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pactw · 4 months

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i havent posted much qsmp lately bc i've been nostalgically rewatching the hunger games trilogy + the new prequel for the 800th time. blame purgatory (aka minecraft hunger games redux), it gave me the itch

#not qsmp #i'm not dead but i'm not super engaged with qsmp right now #i've missed almost two weeks of lives? maybe? and i have only caught up on a few important vods

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natsubeatsrock · 11 months

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Do I STILL really believe Nalu won’t happen?

Short answer: No.

But you know that's not how we do things here.

It feels so good to be back! (sort of, at least) I know I've been away for some time. Part of it is being busy with things in real life. Part of it is mental health not doing too well. Some of my plans for things have shifted quite a bit, as you might be able to tell.

All that said, this hasn't changed.

I haven't talked about this in the proper context of the sequels. I've taken shots at the ship. But have I given this ship the treatment I'd probably be expected to?

Or, at least, have I explained my reasons for still doubting the ship will happen? Because I don't have to like that a ship is happening to believe it will happen.

Speaking of which, what better place to start with than talking about that other ship I rag on a lot: Gruvia. I've said this a few times, but I don't like Mashima's writing of Gruvia in the sequel. To be brief, the ship's focus is different from what I believe it should be. And having Juvia as an active series member has long since passed the point of straining reality.

At the same time, no one denies that Gray has decided to accept Juvia's feelings. He's come to terms with himself in this regard and will accept Juvia as a lover once the mission ends. (How are we still on the fourth dragon?) It's hard to see something like Gray wishing for an alternate universe where he's married with a kid and ask myself, "How serious is Mashima about this ship happening?" You know, as if it isn't only a matter of time.

The issue is that Nalu isn't on that level. That sounds like me being biased and denying the reality right, especially if I listen to certain people.

But let's compare these two ships and what's happened to them in the sequel.

When the gang visited Fairy Nali, their version of Juvia was the catalyst for Gray being as open with Juvia as he's poised to be. Fairy Nali has its own Nalu, but nothing meaningful came from it. Natsu got jealous because of Lucy, but that's not brought up again and doesn't affect anything.

They go to Edolas and see their alternate-world kids. I'll grant you that Natsu and Gray want to bring their "kids" to the Earthland. But what else happens? I mentioned what goes on with Greige already. Ashley talks with Lucy about the possibility of a future romance with Natsu, but she's not meaningfully moved by it.

Come to think of it, there was a similar conversation to that when they were on the Earth God Dragon. Lucy heard Touka had a romantic interest in Natsu. Her response wasn't one of jealousy. She figured it wouldn't go well once she heard about it. (It's almost as if she knows that Natsu isn't currently interested in a romantic relationship if he ever will be.)

Nothing showed that more than the one moment I've talked about the most from the sequel: Natsu and the women in his heart. The fact that Natsu's bunch of women is canonically juxtaposed with Gray's feelings for Juvia shows that Mashima's taking this ship as a joke.

To be a Nalu shipper, I must believe one of a few realities. It's possible that Natsu does have romantic feelings for all these women and can't decide between them. You know, despite Wendy being in that bunch. It's also possible Mashima, being in tune with fandom, is trying to appease fans of Natsu's most-popular ships, even outside of Nalu. It wasn't as if I expected anything involving Nali in the sequel. My theory, which I alluded to when it happened, is Mashima making a callback to a sketch he made a while back. That would explain why Mira and Cana were there but don't talk. They weren't in that old sketch.

I can't say for sure what this moment is supposed to mean. But I know that this isn't helping Nalu's case as a romantic ship. Not just because it's multiple women. Not just because Gray's only interested in Juvia. Natsu's focus in the matter is that Yakune put his friends against him. Not women he's interested in romantically used to distract him.

By the way, I'm sick of having to say this after eight years of having this blog. But I guess some things never change. Characters being put in awkward potentially sexual positions isn't proof your ship will happen. At best, it's a cheap gag that could reveal characters' feelings through their reactions. At worst, it's one of the most annoying tropes of the medium we love and want to take more seriously. Lucy wanting Natsu to touch her anywhere doesn't hold the kind of weight I'm annoyed to know so many fans want it to have. That doesn't matter how real or fake Lucy or whoever else is.

But what tells me Nalu isn't likely isn't any of that. It's not anything involving Gruvia or chapter 71 of the sequel. I don't think I'd say this a few years ago. But the thing that sells me against Nalu is Jerza. Of course, this isn't to say Jerza happening would jeopardize Nalu. But Jerza has been making strides toward becoming canon.

A few years ago, I concluded that Erza would never willingly leave Fairy Tail, even to be with Jellal. That means the only way Jerza could happen would be if Jellal accepted his actions as being forgiven and was willing to join Erza to some degree. This could be joining Fairy Tail or some sort of mutual partnership outside of it. Mind you, this was for how I was thinking of how to pair them in rewriting the series. (Also, thank "Kidnapping Erza".)

Now, what's happened in the sequel?

Awkward and annoying as it is, Jellal put his past behind him. At this point, it's more a matter of conviction, similar to Gray not using Iced Shell. Erza invited Jellal to join Fairy Tail. He's currently considering the offer and isn't too enthusiastic about it. But if the guild was willing to accept Gajeel destroying the guild and stapling Shadow Gear to a tree, Jellal's not too far from being accepted by the guild. Not because Tower of Heaven isn't objectively worse. Because if the one person in the guild hurt by his actions is willing to accept him, no one else has any reason to reject him. Especially considering she might become the next guild leader if Makarov dies (again).

And all the while, they genuinely get flustered at the idea of being in a relationship with each other. The notion of a Jerza romance is treated as all but a certainty by characters familiar with them multiple times in canon, including the the past few chapters we’ve got from the sequel. As far as I can tell, no one operates under the assumption this ship isn't happening. Nothing has convinced me this shouldn't be the case.

What can I say of Nalu in this regard?

It's one thing if I question whether or not Nalu will happen. I've never seriously liked it and have outright said it won't and shouldn't happen multiple times for multiple reasons. In years past, I probably would point to that and call it a day. But, if there’s any benefit to being away for the past few months, I’ve had time to justify something crazy.

For the past few years, Nalu fans have questioned if the ship will happen. People who like the ship genuinely wonder if Mashima will make the ship happen or if they're right to doubt its prospects. I've seen this all over the internet, not just here on Tumblr. It’s a question people bring up on Reddit. It’s mentioned in places like Youtube and Twitter.

And as much as people will reassure them that it's going to happen, this isn't true of the other ships in the Big 4. As a fandom, we're convinced Jerza will happen. We're convinced Gruvia will happen. No matter how people feel about them, I don't see anywhere near as many people questioning these ships happening as Nalu. Gajevy's already happened, and we know how that's supposed to go.

And, to be honest, this has been amazing to notice. Going from everyone taking Nalu for granted to seeing the whispers of Nalu not being as possible genuinely makes me feel so vindicated. When I made my big post about Nalu years back, I was terrified someone would tell me I was wrong and tear down my post as idiotic. If I were to remake that post now, I'd have so much fewer worries making the post. Even making the sequel to that post after Mashima’s supposed positive comments about Nalu at NYCC was so much easier knowing they weren’t meant to be.

It's almost a shame that I've all but run out of things to say about the ship. At this point, there's not a whole lot else for me to say but "I told you so, idiots" to the people who doubted me and those who agreed with me. It's not unlikely that something new will happen that requires me to talk about Nalu between now and Mashima's final decision on the ship. Something always comes up, be it a moment or something in fandom. Some Nalu fans may reply to my posts, and I'll answer them. But nothing to change how we all view Nalu will likely happen for some time.

Is Nalu possible? Yes, Nalu can still happen as long as Mashima's still writing the series. I don't think that a canonized Nalu will look anywhere near as interesting as the fandom wants to believe it would be. However, it's not as if Nalu is entirely impossible. I said that when I made my first long post about Nalu. (I didn't in the sequel because I figured the series was over.) I said that when we learned Mashima didn't plan the ship originally. I still believe that now, despite everything that I've said.

While nothing is set in stone, I'll enjoy all the salt from the Nalu fandom.

#fairy tail #anti nalu #i'm back!#well kind of #i'll start posting a bit more soon #i've got a lot to catch up with #few things #one: play hi-fi rush #two: watch the new spiderverse #three: i haven't caught up with the ez anime #four: mashima needs to slow down #five: my work situation has been a mess #but how are you doing?

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skinnypaleangryperson · 5 months

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I don't know if it's just me, but are they gradually dumbing down Rick's character for the sake of keeping the show popular?

I got extreme Peter Griffin vibes from this episode, and I feel like in general he's a lot less sharp and cool gritty and witty and "unconventional" the way that he was the first couple of seasons. He wasn't an easy character to "swallow" in a lot of ways so to speak, and I feel like he's gradually getting dumber, more cloudy around the edges, less sharp and more conventional and shallow with a lot of the things that he says. He feels extremely typical sometimes this season-like more of the character that people would watch because the character doesn't challenge their headspace in any kind of way, and is someone that encourages their complacent drunk dead personality.

The character used to say things that was really unpopular, or at the very least would occasionally say things that would make people uncomfortable (just things like "if you know how you're going to die because of how boring your life is then you're not even alive" and just things that challenged at the boring drunk complacent status quo that most American sitcom characters are), was an extreme breath of fresh air in terms of how sharp he was and how he wasn't afraid to challenge everything even if it was just in a TV show character kind of way, and it's one of the things that stuck out about me about him the most, especially as someone who is mentally ill and feels detached from most of American culture.

I might just be in a bad mood, but I genuinely feel like Rick feels less sharp and "unconventional"and is starting to feel increasingly more dumb, dopey and easy to swallow as a character.

I still love him and I always will, and sometimes I find it endearing, but this episode in particular felt like he was just being a dumb genuine and boring drunk (really just in terms of the scene with Beth, but considering that the episodes are only about 22 minutes, there isn't a lot of elbow room to work with, especially considering most of this episode was summer screen time).

The only reason why I care so much is because of Rick is one of the very few characters I've ever been genuinely connected with, so I'm just worried that Rick as a character is going down to gradual slippery slope of just becoming an American extremely overly dumbed it down product. The show was so gritty and real and raw and a lot of ways for the first three to four seasons and kept that touch up to season 6, but this season just feels like they're gradually going into "American Dad" type feeling territory, and I'm vaguely worried a little bit about my connection to the show. Especially as someone that does not connect to things easily or ever at all really. And partially because everything is so dumbed down and doesn't seem to have any and genuine philosophy behind it except of being another brainless thing for people to consume to pass the time.

#I'm just complaining to myself #because I don't like talking to people on Reddit #lol #rick and morty #if anybody thinks that I'm being melodramatic then I am because there is such thing as being mentally ill because of real life #problems and being deeply in love with characters because for whatever reason that's what makes sense to my brain #I have no friends in this fandom so I can post as obnoxiously as I want anyway lol #Rick is one of the very few things that means enough to me to bring out this passionate side of me #when it comes to consumption #literally not even kidding but my attachment to Rick is so deep #that even just having a certain kind of dopey looked his expression after being confronted in a certain way from being caught drunk can put #me off #for the record I am aware of the fact that my attachment to Rick is unhealthy #and therefore how passionate I am about him is vaguely off-putting or a lot off putting depending on who you are #but I am a self-aware unhealthy person #and I'm also wear the fact that literally nobody has to put up with somebody else's posts if they don't like how intense or mentally ill #they are #fans like me would be better off at this point if the show was canceled #not because I want it to be but because I've become so specifically attached in my extreme labretentious way from other way that Rick was #presented the first six or so seasons that I feel like at this point I've become almost too picky #and obviously it's not about what I think #but I am saying this as someone that is more than content to be fixated on a canceled TV show because of how perfect it already was #like bj #literally the strongest relationship I've ever had with a character #and it's from a canceled TV show of literally 4 years lol

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