#''do i look like i'm allowed to be normal?''

[sugary-daydreams3]

Quiet inbetween [Sukuna x Reader]

Summary: Collections of quiet, cozy, intimate moments you share with Sukuna, who thinks you two won't last a year. Someone who used to live a wild, fast-paced, loud lifestyle couldn't possibly be fit for a long-term relationship. But he doesn't know that you're the one he needed this whole time.

Word Count: 3.7K words

Rating: Mostly fluff with a little spice (sexual content) at the end, but no full explicit content. Mostly T with a little M.

A/N: Happy holidays y'all. This might be my last fic posted in the year so I hope you guys transition into the new year safely. Goodness, do I love writing my A.U. version of Sukuna. So fun and flirty that he makes me blush sometimes and I control what he says. But I guess that's a good thing, right. Sadly my next fic is dealing with a not so fun topic, haha. (It's Gojo-centric, so you might know where I'm going with this) Anyways, stay safe out there and I'll see you again in 2025. Enough yapping from me, enjoy!

Normal, quiet moments tend to bring discomfort within Sukuna. Dating trouble as a teen limited his time to sit and enjoy the small pleasures of life. He was all about the grand, overwhelming, taboo pleasures that one wouldn’t dare chase but rather daydream about. Or worse, make simulation games about and live out their guilty pleasures vicariously through fictional characters. But with taboo pleasures come consequences which landed him in jail for some time.  

Within the year after his release, he met you which slowly inspired him to alter his fast, vicious lifestyle. You introduced him to things he never would have found himself participating in. Things he used to tease his twin brother for being a sheep for society for. A mom-and-pop coffee shop was one of them.  

“How do you drink this shit?” Sukuna sticks out his tongue. Tanned liquid trapped in your mouth almost spills. Air blows from your nose, signifying your amusement at Sukuna’s first experience with coffee.  

Swallowing down the first sip of your coffee, your eyes admire Sukuna’s childlike distaste for your go-to morning beverage. “Because I order mine with cream, sugar, and caramel. You’re pretty much drinking burnt black water.”  

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”   

You give him a “really?” look. “I said you should start out with the caramel Frappuccino but you said, and I quote.” You notch your voice down several pitches lower. “The hell I look like drinking that sissy shit.”  

“You could have recommended me any other drink but this. This was a terrible first impression.”  

“I can order you another one to make up for it.”  

Sukuna pouts. “I’ll pass. I fear I’ll be disappointed again.”  

“Sukuna, you just drink straight black coffee, you can’t write the whole thing off just because you had one variation of it. That’s like saying “I hate potatoes” because you ate unsalted, lukewarm fries.” Sukuna scrunches his face.  

“That’s not the same.”  

“Yes, it is. It’s a perfect comparison.”  

“It’s two completely different scenarios. You really thought you schooled me with that, huh.”  

“Shut up. I’m ordering you a new drink.”  

Waiting for his redemption cup, Sukuna stares at you typing away on your laptop computer. Your hair curtains over part of your face, tempting Sukuna to reach over and fix it. Yet the messy hair curtain highlights your beauty so effortlessly, he couldn’t stop adoring your natural radiance.  

The strong smell of roast occasionally makes its mark. Ranges of chatter mingle with the loud cycle of brewing and baking. Quirky, cheesy posters hang all over, providing a drowning sense of positivity and relatability. Generic chill music slithers through the atmosphere, failing to chill Sukuna’s social anxiety. Thankfully, his new drink just came to save the moment.  

Taking a drink from the flat white laced with sugar and cream, he sits back to allow his brain to register. His eyebrows raise with a small smack of his mouth, giving you some hope that coffee redeemed itself on the oh so great Sukuna’s tastebuds.   

“Well?” You ask impatiently.  

“Not bad. Could use more sugar but it’s drinkable.” Sukuna reviews. A pleased smile killed your worry. “I’m glad you gave it a second chance. I hope we can have more coffee dates like this.”  

Sukuna narrows his eyes. “This is a date?”   

Your eyes roll. “No this is a job interview.”  

“I’m not one for customer service but if I get to look at you all day long and the pay is good then sign me up.” You hate that something as corny as that made you blush.  

“Hush Sukuna, of course this is a date. This is like our twelfth time seeing each other, I like to think all of the time we spent together so far wasn't a waste of time.”  

“Ooh someone’s no-nonsense.” Sukuna smirks, large arms crossed.  

You sigh, “I’m just over the hookups and the flings. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t just one-and-done me.”  

“Eh, all of the one-night conquests and strictly sex ordeals were starting to get stale. You got a nice face with a body to match. You’re on no bullshit and are fun for the most part. You haven't bored me yet so I don’t mind continuing this.”  

“Yet?”  

“I tend to get bored with my women so I wouldn't hold hope of this lasting past a year. Just letting you know so the heartbreak will hurt a little less.”  

You smirk, amused by his lack of filter. “Well, a year will be record breaking compared to my recent relationships these last few years. So bring it.”  

Your polished nails navigate the grassy fields of dusty pink, natural hair oil inked on your fingertips. Your poor thighs are weighed down under his dumbbells for arms. Your other hand caress Sukuna’s right bicep, fixating on the jet black tattoos contrasting with his pale skin. He rubs your left knee as he rests against your stomach.  

Sukuna releases a deep sigh, letting go of the temporary stresses of life. He’ll rather die than admit it but this is what he mostly looks forward to when he goes about his day. It took him a while to get used to you being positioned behind him, often side eyeing the first few times you two were like this.   

Call it trust issues. Slam the non-medical diagnosis of PTSD resulted from a rough upbringing and life as a criminal. Or if we’re really getting psychological, throw out the fancy “internalized misanthropy” word. Re-fucking-gardless, he’s always been highly aware and on guard whenever people are in close proximity to him, ever since he was a kid.  

Now, the more he allows himself to turn his brain off in your lap the easier you hear him lightly snoring within several minutes. You giggle as his resting figure emits loud snores thirty minutes in of scalp scratching and head caressing.   

“Sweet dreams.” You reach down to peck warmth on his forehead.  

Your wishes go unnoticed as child-like ease warps itself across face tattoos and a sharp jawline. A surprisingly dynamic clash.  

Your laughter saturates the kitchen space accompanied by music from the vintage radio. Flour dressed your behemoth all over, making it the sight of the century. Sukuna frowns as he attempts to smooth the pizza dough with the rolling pin. Tears edge your eyes; the catastrophe he was causing was funnier than any standup comedy.  

“Hush. You're breaking my focus.” Sukuna was struggling to knead the dough enough to be a thin foundation. It usually ends up shaping to be a deep dish or just a regular sized pizza. This was his third effort to mold the pizza, with two “epic failures” baking in the oven.  

When your laughter demoted to light chuckles, you rub his arm for support. “You know I can help you shape the dough. It took me fifteen tries before making an objectively decent pizza.” Sukuna shakes his head.  

“That’s because you were the one making it. It’s gonna be perfect this time.” Sukuna smooths out the dough and smirks at his “perfectly” thin pizza. You roll your eyes and walk over to gather the cheese and other toppings.  

The pizza rises within the oven, gluing the toppings within the cheese. Sukuna watches it carefully from the kitchen island, like his life depended on whether this Thursday night dinner was great or not.   

A marathon of T.V. commercial ramblings was bugging background noise as you tidied up. The other two pizzas sat on the cooling rack, being forgotten tasty mistakes. Flour ages his hair many decades, snowing down his chest with every tiny movement. He turns to see an unlikely troublemaker look down at him, a small hill of flour ready to be thrown from your palm. Sukuna narrows his eyes with a challenging look.  

“You’re playing a dangerous game, darling.”  

“Game on.” You threw it, igniting a two-man war.  

The remaining time for the perfect pizza to cook filled with flour fights, spotting majority of the kitchen with white powder. The cooking timer goes off as you two lay across the table exchanging flour and zeal between prolonged smooches.

This epic fantasy was seducing your imagination during the mundane hours of the late evening. You sense Sukuna spying on you and your book from the corner of your eye. However, the clever arrangement of words trailing above your bookmark helps you ignore him.  

“How do you read these things? That shit looks bigger than The Bible.” Sukuna pokes at the spine of your novel, trailing over the gold-engrained lettering.  

“I don’t judge stories based on length. If it’s engaging enough then I wouldn’t mind reading three hundred-plus pages of something.”  

“Where do you find the time to invest in a story that long?” Sukuna wasn’t even teasing at this point; he was genuinely curious.  

“People watch 10 seasons worth of television or animes with more than 100 episodes.”  

“Watching TV and reading are different no matter how much you try to make them feel the same. I can simply turn on the T.V. and watch 100 episodes of something without exerting much energy. You have to sit up, read so many words, and decipher hundreds of pages worth of story. It’s not the same.”  

“True, I’ll give you that. I just find it funny that people draw the line at consuming a story through reading only because you have to put a little more effort in it.” You bounced back.  

Sukuna rubbed his chin. “I remember being into poetry and haikus a lot as a teenager. But I started getting involved in other shit so I lost interest along the way.”   

You snap to him, no longer being a silent witness to a passionate kissing scene. “You like poetry?”  

“I suppose. I always liked how poets managed to craft thoughts so elegantly. Perfectly describing the complicated or unsaid.”  

“You know the local bookstore down the street has a whole section of poetry books. What’s your favorite poets? I could buy you some of their latest work.” Your comforter became a temporary bookmark with your book lying face down.  

“Hmm, I don’t really have a favorite poet. I used to buy a bunch of random poetry or haiku books and kept the ones that stuck with me. There is one writer that I really like though...”  

You wait in anticipation as you witness him in thought. Simple things like racking his brain makes him a cutie. Sukuna snaps his fingers.  

“Ahh, Yosa Takahama is his name. His work is usually written in Japanese but some translators re-publish them in their mother’s tongue. His work is hard to find around here though. I don’t even know how I managed to snag one of his books in the first place.”  

Despite the challenge, you were determined to get it for him. “I’ll figure out a way to get you one. That way we could be reading buddies.”  

“You don’t have to do all of that, doll. You’ll rip your hair out trying to find those books. I’m fine watching you ignore me in favor of a book that can knock your teeth out.” You chuckle.  

During the rest of the night, you noticed the boredom on Sukuna’s face as he mindlessly consumes television. The least you can do is try to hunt down this haiku book for him. Dating him for some time, he confessed to losing touch with so many hobbies he grew up with over the last few years. You wanted to bring that inner child back to life, killed by proving to the world how tough he was.  

Getting him to read something that actually interests him can be another way to embrace the innocent pleasures in life. You can tell he misses that wild delinquency some days, but you hope he doesn’t miss it enough to end this relationship over. If you can find it, hopefully it can be a building block that rebuilds his new path after leaving the old behind. Anything to help you be closer to him.  

6 weeks later 

Sukuna emerges from the bathroom. The odors of the food he cooked from his restaurant today were replaced with standard soap and his natural scent. Like every other night, you sat with your book, seemingly ignoring Sukuna’s lingering stare.  

After dressing himself, he sinks on the mattress and attempts to lay against his pillow. His thick neck isn't met with the soft cushion but instead a hard surface in the middle area. He stares at his pillow, offended for it not providing comfort, so he lifts it up. A white hardcover book reveals.  

“What’s this?” He asked, not turning to you yet. You shift from the words to your boyfriend’s confusion. “I don’t know where that came from. Maybe the book fairy paid you a visit.” You played dumb.  

“You’re so corny.” He holds up the book.  

“A corny girl you’ve been dating for almost a year now.”  

“Quiet. I’m trying to see what this is.” Sukuna didn’t even examine the title, the pages of the book flutter until he lands on a random page. He reads aloud.  

“Vindictive winter / A white, mighty rabbit looks / betrayed by the king / ...wait.” Sukuna looks at you and you copy his shocked expression.  

“This is Yosa Takahama’s stuff. How did you even get this? This must have cost you a fortune.”  

“It was costly and took me weeks to find a readable copy but the look on your face right now makes it worth it. I wanted you to read with me instead of being a T.V. zombie. Even if that means reading mind fuckery haikus.” You chuckle.  

Sukuna grabs your waist from the side and unleashes many wet pecks around your cheek, neck, and upper chest. You giggle as you brush his hair and hug him back.  

“I appreciate it.”  

“No big deal.” You replicate his cool cat version of “You’re welcome.” that he usually throws at you. Sukuna smirks at the playful imitation.  

The rest of the evening is spent with you two lost in your own worlds of literature. Your brains mixed imagination, broadened perspectives, and emotional intelligence from honeyed words inked against the white.

“I’m too big for this tub. You barely have any room to stretch your legs.” Sukuna commented.  

He adjusted his position behind you, the bubbles shifting from his large body. Your feet rested on the tip of the tub to keep from smushing against the porcelain. You turn to him, offering a reassuring smile. He snickers at your ridiculous face mask, particularly the cucumbers concealing your eyes.  

“No, you’re not. You say that every time you get in with me. You’re fine Kuna, really.”  

Sukuna rests his arms around the top edges of the tub, leaning back to make himself comfortable in his slightly cramped soak. The warm water, Epsom salt, and meditation music playing from your phone kneads away the hidden tension that plagues his body from the everyday.  

“Before I met you, I haven't taken a bath in almost fifteen years.” He confesses.  

“That sounds so disgusting out of context.” You cringe. Sukuna chuckles.   

“You know what I mean.”  

“I can’t imagine going that long without a bath. Baths are way better than showers.” You admitted.  

“Showers are for a quick wash. Baths are more for relaxation.”  

“I shower for fifteen minutes minimum, thirty-five minutes max. I spend about three minutes just letting the hot water hit my body and think about whatever. There’s no way I can just shower for ten minutes or less.”  

“Is that why you’re so smoking.” Sukuna flirted. You shake your head, “That was so corny, Kuna. C’mon you can flirt better than that.”  

“You’re right. I just wanted to see your reaction.”   

You two enjoy each other’s company. The heat protects you from winter and the sheet of bubbles float around and pop within. Sukuna arms lay over yours, rubbing over your wrist. Sukuna focuses on your face and develops a sense of mischief.  

“Babydoll.”  

“Yeah?”  

“Turn around for me.”  

You quirk a brow but obeyed by slowly turning his way. In a swift motion, Sukuna moves forward and bites off the cucumber sitting on your right eye. Your right vision sees Sukuna munching on your edible eye mask.  

“Really, Kuna? You couldn’t resist temptation to eat that?” You scolded. You take off the other cucumber, abandoning your hopes to keep your eyelids nice and fresh. Sukuna steals the other cucumber from your hand and flings it in his mouth.  

“You’re impossible to relax with sometimes.”  

“Thanks for the snack.” Sukuna mumbles through chewing.  

You sigh then lay against his chest and close your eyes. If he was going to interrupt your beauty routine the least he can do is be your pillow.

Sukuna big toe hugs your own after caressing your right foot. Both of your feet poke out from the thick blanket, suffering from the gentle lashes of the nippy air condition. You rest your head on his squishy but firm chest, goosebumps forming from his rough hands brushing your skin.   

“We should light the fireplace.” You suggested.  

Sukuna let out a lazy sigh, “What you really mean is that I should light it.”  

“Yeah, you should.”  

“I could but I fear I’ll turn into a popsicle.”  

You giggle. “Hey, at least you’ll taste good.”  

Sukuna smirks, “I already taste good. You should know out of anyone.”  

You playfully shrug. “Eh, you’re alright. No fine dining though.”  

“Oh really?”  

“Yep.”  

“How about you taste this then.”  

Sukuna leans down and traps your lips in the moment. His lips were smaller than yours yet they managed to govern the heat stirring between each lingering kiss. The frigid air in the room is forgotten in your minds as you and Sukuna make out under the grey blanket. After a couple minutes of sensual touching and lip pulls, Sukuna goes for your neck.  

“Well?” Sukuna lands soft bites inches under your chin.  

“I was just kidding earlier but that was...”  

“Better than fine dining?”  

“I don’t know what’s better than fine dining but, yeah, better than that.”  

Sukuna chuckles, “Glad to remind you.”  

Sukuna “accidentally” lands a hard bite just above your collarbone, caging a pleasured groan within closed lips. Sukuna kisses the forming red patch, “Sorry baby, got a little greedy there.”  

“I hope I give you a brain freeze.” You joked, trying to take your mind off the aching spot.  

Sukuna hooks his finger around the side of your silk underwear, his other hand slowly appreciates your ass. “I’m sure it’ll be worth it.”

Your body slowly rocks on top of him, the yellow and orange from the fireplace illuminate your dips and curves. The aftershocks of your second orgasm calm down, giving you the signal to stop riding him. One hand caresses the trimmed hairs sprinkled across Sukuna’s chest. The other traces the small gold chain decorating his pecs. Sukuna squeezes the body fat from your hips then pats your left butt cheek.  

You hop off and lay down on the blanket you set down for your second round. Sukuna pulls off the condom and gets up to throw it away. The contained fire warms your naked body from a distance, defending you from the army of white cold. You hum while the fire entertains you until Sukuna comes back. He’s wearing the boxers he had on earlier with the embroidered knife patterns. Where he got those kinds of boxers you may never know.  

Sukuna drops the pillow he stole from the couch then sits down on the blanket. He pulls you towards him and you two lie down together. You perform his signature trait, pushing his hair back, enabling his wild look. Sukuna traces your spine, quietly admiring both how strong and weak one’s bone structure could be.  

“I never thought I would enjoy silly things like sitting in front of a fireplace during winter.”  

“It’s silly?”  

“Not really. I guess I just associated this with Christmas activities. Christmas always seemed too cheesy to me so I associated things like this as silly holiday stuff.”  

“Yeah, I get it. Sex in front of the fireplace, just silly wholesome Christmas activities.” You joked. You instantly felt Sukuna’s laughter rumble throughout his chest. After calming down he gives your arm a light pinch.  

“You know what I mean.”  

“I’m just happy you allowed me to bring some mellow in your life. I remember when I met you, you were always in some crazy illegal trouble. It seemed like I could barely keep up with you and your fast-paced lifestyle.”  

“Yeah, it was fun for a while, I’ll admit. Even getting caught had some sort of thrill. Now that I’m pushing thirty, I just feel over it.”  

You chuckle, “Not a spring chicken as you used to be.”  

“Yeah. I suppose every hot shot has their limit.”  

“Well, I’m proud that you’re beginning to settle down. I know your brother is too.” You rub his cheek.  

“I was surprised when he offered to help me set up my fight clubhouse. He’s usually against violence and shit.”  

“Maybe he thought that it would be a nice distraction from your life with crime. Even if it meant supporting you doing something he also doesn’t like. Like a lesser of two evils kind of thing.”  

“I never knew someone so predictable yet unpredictable at the same time more than him.” Sukuna said. You giggle then sprawl your hands across Sukuna’s abdomen, trailing over the ridges in a playful matter. Sukuna tender gaze studies your features as he softly pulls little cushions of your skin.  

“Thank you for sticking with me.”  

You look up to see the wild orange shadowing his strong features. His usual too cool-for-school attitude was replaced with a loving nature only reserved for you. A nature molded by small, seemingly insignificant moments sparked by a mutual agreement of casual dating. You plant a few kisses against his jawline then lay back on his chest.  

Before your eyes close for the night, you slur a few words that gets a smile out of Sukuna. “Guess you’re stuck with me now.”  

[auravulpes]

What...the utter fuck is going on here?

Why do they not have the blood bag on an IV pole?

Why do they have Alhaitham on non-invasive ventilation? (Someone mentioned sepsis from the non-sterile conditions, but that requires him to not die of aspirating his stomach contents first!)

Why do they have a half-assed OR setup inside a garage?

Most importantly...

WHY IS THE IV PUMP SHOWING A REALLY SHITTY ECG?! That is not how those things work!

Actually, okay, there's a bit more about this IV pump. One, that is an IV pump. Here's a BD Alaris for comparison:

Clearly, they've drawn an IV pump. But, clearly, they don't realize that it's an IV pump, because they've drawn an ECG over it.

But, like, let's be kind and assume this is a special IV pump that also does ECGs. Issue number 2: Alhaitham doesn't have any ECG leads hooked up to him. Like, let's assume a three-lead ECG, as such:

Notice that he doesn't have any of those pads on his chest. So, where the fuck is this tracing actually coming from?!

But, like, also, someone should probably be paying attention to that tracing. Here's what a normal ECG looks like:

Now, of course, there'll be some degree of variation, but it should look largely like this, regularly spaced. I'm not entirely sure what was going on with that ECG being shown, but, uh, that's not normal.

Anyways, for staying with me this long, one final question: Why are they not wearing scrubs? Like, Xilonen is clearly supposed to be a doctor here, and she's just got her fucking clubbing outfit on. I don't think that's allowed in the OR.

Anyways, yeah, as someone who works in medicine, this is fucking hilarious.

Hoyofair | Dimensional Detective Chronicles Countdown: 5 Days

Artist: xUDe60263111

Download Link (Google Drive)

[respectthepetty]

Why I react when GMMTV acquires more BL Boys like Pokemon

TLWR: GMMTV is bigger than we think

For the people in the room who don't understand why some of us (aka ME) get concerned every time a new artist is announced at GMMTV, let me explain myself (and capitalism) to you.

I'm talking to you.

Yes, you. No, don't roll your eyes. *gently holds your face in my hands* Look at my face. I'm serious. Look me in my eyes. I understand that you think I'm overacting and being ridiculous, but I want you to know why I keep harping on this. And I'll try to make it quick. I promise.

Remember this scene from Jack & Joker when the rich people were playing a version of Monopoly? And Jack asked if they were "just playing with people's lives"?

That's capitalism.

So what does that have to do with a Thai talent agency?

Well, it's becoming a monopoly. Amazon and Google are considered monopolies. Legally. They have been sued for it. You might think that there is no way a Thai company worth millions is on the same level as two American companies that are worth trillions (yes, trillions), but Amazon and Google didn't start that way.

And neither did The ONE Enterprise which is the parent company of GMMTV, One31, Change2561, and a subsidiary of GMM Grammy (which at one point Nadao Bangkok was under it), plus countless other companies like Parbdee Tawesuk, Atime Media, and Exact.

Google started off as a search engine. Now we have Chromebooks, Google phones, Google software, Google maps, Google shopping, Gmail, and so much more like it owning YouTube. But there are still other companies that have search engines, so no big deal! We can just use those. But the reason Google was sued as a monopoly by the Department of Justice (and won) was because Google makes it very hard to use those other search engines since everything else it owns only allows us to use Google products. Therefore, there is no competition simply because Google has enough power to control what we, as the consumer, see.

But this didn't start overnight.

A lot of other companies who produce Thai QLs exist, just like all those other search engines still exist, but The ONE Enterprise produces the most QLs through its various branch companies. But not only do those companies produce them, they contract other smaller companies like Studio Commuan, Dee Hup House, Trasher Bangkok, Hard Feeling Film, and many more, which is normal, but that means at any given time, at least ~65-75% of the QLs from Thailand are from one company. But, but, but, The ONE Enterprise's channels also sells slots to other companies, so their QLs can be watched on GMM and other channels. And, remember, this enterprise has only existed in this form since 2022.

So in two years, that enterprise has gone from being behind maybe less than half of the QLs to having a hand in at around two-thirds of them if not more, which doesn't include the fact that the actors in those QLs also have concerts, music contracts, and so much more.

Also, the companies with the largest profits in Thailand are from the finance (banking), real estates (hotel), tech, and medical sectors. Yet GMM Grammy is the ONLY entertainment company in the top 250 from Thailand. That doesn't include the other parts of the conglomerate.

I know I'm throwing a lot around and it seems disconnected because I'm trying to not make this too long, but know this, if The ONE Enterprise already has a hand in, at the lowest estimate, 60% of all QLs made in Thailand and continues to acquire more actors like Studio Wabi Sabi's fleet when it restructred, the 40% that is left for everyone else will continue to shrink. Domundi/Mandee has about 25 actors. GMMTV alone has about 150. Smaller companies can get more actors just like GMMTV can, but with what money when they have to pay to air their shows on The ONE Enterprise's channels while The ONE Enterprise's shows get moved behind paywalls internationally which gives it even more money? And with what crew when The ONE Enterprise has the smaller houses on contract plus its own fleet of talent? And with what incentives can these other companies give actors when they don't have the capability of giving them a record deal, a hosting job, a reality show, merch options, and so much more that The ONE Enterprise can because IT. OWNS. EVERYTHING?

And most importantly, what is allowed to be created when these smaller companies have to abide by one company's rules so their shows can air?

Good for these actors going where the money is, but it's worrisome that The ONE Enterprise is *the* place where most of the money is, and it's only existed in this form for two years.

Money is power. QLs are Thailand's soft power, which can and does influence policies, laws, and society which means people's lives. So, once again, if one company has the most QLs, the most actors, and the most money, it has the most power.

And one entity having the most power in any sector is never a good thing.

[ellecdc]

hi!! i recently discovered your blog and i'm afraid you've singlehandedly brought back my harry potter hyperfixation. i didn't even know moonwater/darksun wasn't a thing until your posts ... i've been so out of loop

i was wondering if you could write about moonwater and a reader who's too nice for her own good. regulus being in a secret relationship with reader and remus, seeing reader being bullied and trying to teach her how to be scary or fight back but she's too adorable for it. so he just says fuck it and hard launches their relationship by walking her everywhere to scare away her bullies himself

such a cute prompt - thank you for your request! I hope I did it justice <3

poly!moonwater x whimsical!reader who's too sweet for her own good [1.1k words]

CW: fem!reader, reader is from Ravenclaw, her housemates are sort of bullying her, the boys are protective, Regulus threatens pain and torture, hard launching an up-until-then private relationship, fluff

“Dovie,” Remus cooed in that way that Regulus could tell he was sort of trying to be chiding but really couldn’t bring himself to be as stern as he wanted to be, “where is your scarf?”

You paused in shucking off your robes to look down at your scarfless frame as though you’d only just realised it was missing. “Oh, well, it wasn’t on the coat rack that I normally leave it on when I was getting ready for class this morning.” You explained breezily. “So I just left without it.” 

“Do you have any idea where it could be?” Regulus asked carefully as he fought against the protective ire threatening to bubble over; daring to draw closer to you in the privacy of one of the study rooms that the three of you often secluded yourselves in. 

The relationship was new - not tentative, yet delicate - and Regulus wasn’t exactly ready to welcome the attention that being a Black and a Slytherin could draw to what he deemed to be quite precious. 

“No, but it has the habit of showing up in the most peculiar places.” You replied, ever present smile adorning your face as Remus and Regulus shared a sympathetic and concerned gaze over your head, respectively. 

“Like where, amour?” Regulus pressed. 

Your lips pursed as you considered him. “One time it was hanging from the rafters in the great hall; that was very tricky to get down. Oh! And another time, it was wrapped in a bow around a pot of venomous tentacula; very cute, but the plant did nip at me when I tried to retrieve it.” 

“Sweetheart,” Remus cooed again as he sat forward in his chair, clearly feeling very sorry on your behalf, “who keeps doing that?”

Your brows furrowed at Remus’ obvious displeasure. “Well, I’m sure it’s probably my housemates? They have easy enough access to my things.”

“Things?” Regulus interjected. “Plural? They do this to your other stuff too?”

“Oh, all the time.” You agreed simply. 

“And you let them?” He continued, earning him a reproachful “Regulus…” from Remus. 

“Well,” you offered with a shrug of your shoulders, “they seem to have fun doing it.” 

“No, absolutely not.” Regulus declared as he stood. “Amour, stand up, we’re putting an end to this.”

“An end to this?” You asked curiously, though you stood as Regulus directed you to, allowing him to position you in the middle of the room. 

“Pretend I’m your roommates.” He instructed, fixing his robes and standing straighter as he ignored Remus’ snort of laughter who simply watched with intrigue. “Tell me to keep my filthy fucking hands off of your godsdamned things.” 

You pulled your lips in between your teeth as you looked at Remus nervously. “Erm…could, well, could you please keep your…filthy fucking hands off of my things…please?” 

“Amour,” Regulus chastised, “stop saying please. Don’t say please.”

“Well, it’s just that it’s a little rude, Regulus.” You explained as though Regulus might not have known. 

“I know it’s rude, amour. That’s what happens when people steal your things, yeah?”

“They’re not stealing my things.” You argued. “They…borrow them; I get them back eventually.”

“Yeah? Remus, do you often have to fight venomous tentacula’s for your things?”

“Not once.” Remus answered quickly, keeping his interested gaze on you.

“No? Why’s that?” 

Remus shrugged. “I’d probably be very rude to them if anyone tried to steal my things.” 

“You’re not rude, Remus.” You insisted, causing Remus’ teasing smile to soften to near painful levels. Regulus thought it was disgusting adorable. 

“I’m not rude to you, dovie. But you also don’t steal my things or play mean pranks on me.”

Your face fell somewhere between bemused and crestfallen. “You think they’re being mean to me?”

A pained sound actually emanated from the back of Remus’ throat.

“Well…I don’t think they’re being very nice to you, mon cœur.” Regulus offered softly, shooting a grimace over at Remus. 

“Well…why would I want to be rude like them, then?” You asked honestly, and Salazar’s saggy balls, if Regulus didn’t completely agree with you.

“You know what, amour? You’re absolutely right.” He agreed; lips threatening to turn up at the corners at your relieved smile. 

“Well, hang on.” Remus started. “What are we going to do about her things?” 

“Salazar help me, if you don’t tell me where the fuck you’ve put her scarf I will have you chained to the bottom of the Black Lake so godsdamned fast, Merlin himself won’t be able to help you.” Regulus hissed, one hand fisting the collar of a beady-eyed Ravenclaw and one hand shoving the tip of his wand into the bloke's jugular. 

“It-it’s hanging in the Hippogriff pen!” He offered quickly, struggling in Regulus’ grip. 

“Good lad.” Remus offered patronisingly from behind Regulus. “Now go get it for her.” 

Regulus released his hold on the bloke's collar the second he nodded, and the Ravenclaw couldn’t have taken off towards the Beast's classroom faster if he had tried. 

“Anyone else have any of Y/N’s things they’d like to cough up before we come looking for them?” Remus asked jovially, smiling at the cautious crowd that had formed when they heard Regulus Black and Remus Lupin of all people were on a warpath. 

“Uhm,” a witch squeaked as she stepped towards you, keeping her nervous eyes pointed at your boyfriends, “sorry, L/N…I, erm, I seem to have come across your History of Magic textbook.”

You smiled as though she was handing you a gift. “Thank you, Clarissa; I kept getting detention for showing up to class without it.”

Regulus was sure Remus could actually hear Regulus’ teeth clench from his place beside him, but Remus simply placed a placating hand on his elbow. 

“If I so much as see you even looking at her things again, Clarissa-” 

“You won’t!” Clarissa yelped, interrupting the end of Regulus’ threat before taking off down the hallway. 

“Do you have all of your things now, dove?” Remus asked after you, watching you look down at the book in your hands.

“Almost, but I’m sure the rest of my things will start showing up now.” You responded happily. Remus nodded in agreement, Regulus narrowed his eyes at the surrounding crowd as if threatening ‘they better’. 

The relationship was new - not tentative, yet delicate - and Regulus hadn’t been quite ready to welcome the attention that being a Black and a Slytherin could draw to what he deemed to be quite precious. 

But if welcoming the attention that being a Black and a Slytherin could draw is what it took to keep you happy and safe, well, he was more than willing to pull out all the stops for his sweet and too-pure-for-her-own-good girlfriend.

[zarvasace]

Okay okay that shatterproof modern au is so much fun I'm gonna mark down what everyone does here because I didn't want to let the authors notes get too long and I couldn't include every detail in the fic itself—

Time and Malon run Lon Lon Ranch, which is mostly a cattle ranch with some horses. They're working on getting everything set up to do some fostering (for humans, to be clear) in the future. The ranch is a successful business and exports mostly milk products to local stores, though they also have an orchard and do apples and pumpkins in the fall! Lullaby is a local politician, think state-level congress.

Hyrule lives on the ranch while going to school to become a physician. He's not related to them, but he is related to Malon's cousin's friend or something like that. He isn't allowed to help with the dishes due to Incidents in the past. He likes taking walks around the ranch and talking to the cows while he studies. He spends a lot of time with Legend, whose family is actually sponsoring Hyrule in school. Dawn is in a lot of his classes, and Aurora is her sister in a business program. The three or four of them hang out at the university a lot.

Wild also lives on the ranch, not currently going to school. He works there, and also does a lot of volunteering at the local food bank. He's learned to cook a lot of authentic food from all around the world from rubbing shoulders with people there. He doesn't talk a lot about his past, but Time and Malon know that Wild's parents sucked and that he's pretty much no-contact with them. He's rebuilding his savings after draining it all (plus more) on medical bills for his heart condition. He's pretty happy where he is, and looks forward to the day when Time and Malon get a foster kid or two. Flora's a childhood friend, doing a second PhD of her own right now.

Twilight works at the ranch with the animals, and takes a shift at a vet office every so often. He helps Hyrule study, since he finished out his degree in veterinary science a while ago. He's torn between getting a more serious veterinary job, going into medical research, and staying at the ranch full-time. He's accidentally made some really good connections in Midna and Dusk, who are both in high society (though Midna doesn't always act like it!)

Four is Twilight's younger brother (Twi was adopted as a young kid, so he remembers Four being a baby), and the two of them rent out a wheelchair-accessible apartment. Their hometown is a few hours away, but they always find time to go for important holidays. Four works at a garage in town and ends up servicing a lot of heavy machinery. He wants to get into doing some more craftsman-type work, but is having a hard time finding a place to experiment with it. He's working on saving up for some art/sculpture classes at a university, but has been really distracted with his job recently. He met Dot and Shadow through a trauma survivor's group, and right now they all go out for lunch every so often.

Warriors actually has a hard time with jobs and such. His steadiest gig right now is helping out at a large local martial arts studio, where he helps to train and spar against the advanced students. He wouldn't mind helping out the kids, but the fact that most of them don't know sign language is a barrier. He's drifted around several office jobs, but he's really just not one to sit down and do one thing all day. He keeps advancing at the summer camp they all go to, however, and that takes up more and more of his time, so he's not really all that worried about getting a more "normal" job. Impa runs the martial arts studio and Artemis is one of the head instructors, and he's good friends with both of them.

Wind is Warriors's younger brother, and the two of them live in the same apartment building as Twilight and Four. He's doing the college thing, at the same location as Hyrule, but Wind prefers online classes. He's part of the swim team, though, and likes going out to the lake when he can. (Tetra is another member of the swim team!) Wind has changed his major like six times, and works part-time at a smoothie shop. He likes playing video games.

Legend has also done a ridiculous variety of things, but right now he works at a very fancy restaurant doing mixed drinks, and actually managed to find a competition for it that he won some awards for. In conversation, he'll often reference other jobs or roles he's had but nobody knows the whole list. (He's referenced delivery driving, movie sets, an engineering firm, an insurance broker, a high-end jewelry store, a cruise ship, and several other things.) He comes from a rather wealthy family but his parents passed and he doesn't have a lot of contact with extended family. He writes out money to a lot of people under the guise of various organizations his family technically owns, and that includes helping Hyrule through medical school. Fable is his sister and way more involved in high society stuff, but she forces him to come to some of it sometimes.

Sky lives with his girlfriend in an apartment in the city. He spends most of his time doing translation work for the government, things like driver's license forms and ballot instructions (he works well with several different written languages). He does interpreting too when he needs to, and has another small job on the side at a natural history museum leading sign language tours.

And all of them go to camp! Sky and Warriors are both assistant directors, Time drives the supply truck, Wind does the sailing and swimming instruction, Hyrule the first aid guy, and most of the rest of them are part-time or full-time counselors during the summer. It's fun. :)

[altxrrmelancholy]

Cherry Lemons pt.2

Tags: attempt at angst, yet another argument (a minor one though), Yunho, Min, Woo and Yeo for moral support, sfw, matz moment.

Wc: I wasn't even counting...

Note: ik I have several works pending, but this was long overdue. I deserve punishment for making some of you wait. I'm sorry 🙁. Anyway, enjoy!

Make sure to read part one first!

It was crispy outside, so cold. The leaves outside the house had covered almost all the grass that there was barely any green left. There were dark clouds constantly throughout the day. Times like these are when students dread going to class. They would sit through lectures and wish they were somewhere else instead. The lecturers had probably noticed since the classes for the particular semester were also very little. This meant that students could barely be seen on campus if it isn't class time. There were definitely pros and cons to the weather.

The outside was not the only place that was noticeably cold.

Ever since the stunt outside the house, everybody seemed to be walking on eggshells around Hongjoong and Seonghwa. In a normal setting, these two got along. As the two oldest in the house, they were closer to each other than any other person in there. Now Seonghwa spent nearly all day in his room if he was in the house as Hongjoong seemed to avoid any place graced by his- erm...best friend? Whenever they were in the same room, the atmosphere was painfully awkward. None of the other boys knew if the two knew that they were ruining everyone's mood. Were they gonna talk to them though? Not a chance.

.

.

Now Seonghwa knew it was pretty shameless of him to keep calling all the time because they usually went to voicemail anyway.

He screwed up. Big time. At least he knew that.

He also didn't have the courage to go over to your dorm room and apologize. He didn't know where to start. One would think that the two weeks that passed ever since that night would give him enough time to formulate an apology, what he would say to you when he saw you, if he did.

What did he even plan to say, if by sheer luck, you did pick up one of his calls? I'm sorry, forgive me, I miss us please give us a chance? By nature, you were a nice person, especially to the people you cared about. He could at the moment imagine, as he lay on his pillow with his eyes closed, that he was laying on your chest like he used to do.

He would look up at his beautiful delusion, and you would look down at him and smile, admiring his eyes.

I'm sorry, he would say. I really care about you and would never intentionally hurt you. You know that, right?

And you would smile. I know. You don't need to apologize. And he would wrap both his hands around you and squeeze you so tight that he could feel both your hearts beat in sync.

That would be after he, of course, fucked you into the mattress as you laughed with each other about how crazy it was that you were actually sleeping with each other. He never really knew at what point he started developing actual feelings for you. At first, the two of you were friends with benefits. Maybe he always had feelings for you? He didn't want to dwell in that.

Seonghwa has spent many days imagining scenarios like that. He frowns as he realizes that he is not actually laying on your chest. And that his pillow was cold, and your scent gone.

This is the nth day in a row, Hwa. He dragged his tired eyes to you as you stood over him beside his bed, his T-shirt on your frame. He never allowed you to wear his clothes. He almost felt like crying. Why didn't he allow you to wear his clothes?

"I'm sorry." He said still staring at you.

I know. Now go and eat, please-

"I'm sorry for calling you a bitch. I know I hurt your feelings." You looked at him in confusion. "I'm so, so sorry Y/n. I didn't mean any-"

A knock on the door. Whoever that was stepped in. Mingi.

"Hey, Seonghwa?" He whispered hesitantly as he saw the man on his bed. "Yunho, Woo and I were gonna go get dinner. Come with us?"

It was dinner time?

It's not like he intentionally refused to eat. He just couldn't eat a full meal. His diet lately consisted of snacks that he would sneak out from the kitchen when he was sure Hongjoong wasn't in the house, or in his room. And then he would hurry back to his and close the door softly, like he never left. He should eat though. He loved food.

He nodded weakly at Mingi as he got up. "I'll be down in a second." Mingi shrugged and shut the door a little too hard, prompting a wince from Seonghwa. He looked to his left to hopefully continue apologizing to you, but you were already long gone.

.

.

Since you shared a major with Yeosang, one of Seonghwa's housemates, he was helping you with a few classes that you seemed to struggle with. It's not like they were difficult or anything, you just couldn't bring yourself to study efficiently lately.

"You think you can do the entire paper on your own now?" He said as he gave you your study books over the condiments on the table.

"Sure. I mean, we have been studying, right?" You said as you packed your books and tied your hair so you could eat. Yeosang was surprisingly good company. Considering he started talking to you after the night you were driven home with your tail between your legs. You thought he only started talking to you because he felt pity for you, but nothing about him has ever popped up. Whether he was pretending or not, you didn't know.

As you both were eating, of course, nothing was going right for you this semester. You dropped your fork on the floor as you were absentmindedly staring at your food, causing a bit of spillage. "Shit."

"Oh. No worries. I'll get another for you." He says, standing.

"Thanks, Yeosang." And just as you were about to pick yours from the floor, someone else beat you to it.

"Here you g- Y/n?" You looked at the source of the voice and could see Yunho crouching down beside you. Lo and behold, behind him was Seonghwa. He was staring at you with his eyes wide, his hands around his arms. Why wasn't he wearing a jacket? It's so cold.

But of course that wasn't the most prevalent thing in your mind. But did he look different. You couldn't tell what exactly was different about him. His aura was not the usual confident one he had. Come to think of it, you don't recall hearing his bike around campus these days. Did his hair grow longer? You had to get out of here.

"Y/n? I got your fork. Oh. hey." Yeosang was aware of Seonghwa's presence and suddenly everybody was waiting for anyone to say something. Mingi and Woo were holding each other's arms behind Seonghwa while staring back and forth at everyone. Yunho stood up finally, ready to hold anyone back in case something happened, in this very public diner.

Seonghwa glanced at Yeosang. What was he doing here with you? He didn't remember the two of you being close at all. He heard the sudden scrape of a chair on the floor and watched you pack your bag.

"Yeosang, I'll call you later, okay?" You didn't even give him a chance to answer as you had already started walking away, zipping up your jacket. Seonghwa couldn't allow this to happen. He watched you walk away that night, and he couldn't allow that to happen again.

"Y/n, wait." He walked after you. Yunho was quick to hold him back. "Just let her go, man."

He pushed Yunho out of his way, hard, and ran outside after you.

"Shit, guys. Let's go." Mingi and Wooyoung who were just looking at the drama unfold ran outside after him, Yeosang on their track.

"Y/n? Y/n please stop, I need-"

"What!" Your eyes were starting to turn red as you faced your- what, now ex-boyfriend?

"What do you want, Seonghwa?!" You were now standing in an alleyway, and it was dark. Reminiscent of that night.

"I-I..." His heart was racing. What, again, was he supposed to say? "I'm sorry."

You blinked. That was it?

You scoffed and turned around to head back to your dorm room, but Seonghwa's sudden grip on your arm prevented that.

"I'm trying to gather the words, Y/n. Please, I know I hurt you but could you please be civil for a moment and listen to me?" He wasn't even arguing, the words came out almost a murmur. His eyes were filled with desperation and he was shivering slightly from the cold. It didn't mean you were having it though.

"Civil? Seonghwa, you spent weeks tearing me apart emotionally and now you want civility?" You were also almost whispering, you words sounding harsh.

"I-I want to make things right, I-"

"Let's not forget your little habit of shutting me out whenever I tried to talk about anything important. Are those the words you're having trouble gathering?"

"Maybe I shut you out because every conversation felt like walking through a minefield!" No, no, no, what happened to making things right?

You walked towards him and stood right in front of him, so close, that you could count his eyelashes. "A minefield that you created." You whispered. His eyes turned soft. "There's no way we can go back to how things were, Seonghwa."

He was almost kneeling. "I'm really sorry, y/n. I didn't mean anything I've ever said that hurt you. Please let me try and make it up to you." He looked at you, waiting for something positive, because again, that's who you were.

"Is it the sex?" His eyebrows furrowed.

"What...?"

"Do you just miss having sex with me?" You said, your voice wavering.

"What? Y/n, no-"

"Why then should we get back together if we're just gonna fight all the time? Or are you afraid that this time, someone is walking away from you instead of the other way around, huh?" Seonghwa didn't know what to say. Wasn't it supposed to be easy? Apologize and then the two of you could move on together? He felt himself panicking. No, it can't happen like this. Without even using the little braincells he had when it came to you, he leaned forward and captured your lips in his. You missed this so much that you just gave in to him immediately. The kiss was slow and passionate, unlike the last one.

"Uuumm, so, did they make up?" Wooyoung whispered from where they stood hiding, peeping at the two of you comically like a bunch of cartoon characters.

"I don't think so? They're crying." Yunho whispered.

"That could also be tears of joy, you know." Woo turned to look at Yunho. But nobody had any right to say anything about this topic so they just went silent and continued watching. You know, in case a fight broke out.

You took Seonghwa's cheek into your hand and he circled your waist in his. He was briefly happy, although he was starting to feel that this was probably not the first of many kisses from then on.

You pulled back and stared at him. You shook your head, tears still shining in your eyes. "I'm sorry, Seonghwa."

"No. No, don't apologize-"

"Just sort yourself out, okay? I can't do this with you anymore. Please, don't look for me."

"Baby, please, I'm so sorry-" He tried grabbing at your waist as you began to walk backwards.

"I know."

And then you left. You just walked away the second time. You were tired and needed rest from this all. Even as you walked away, sobbing with a very heavy heart, not sure if you wanted to do this, you were sure that you didn't want to be tired anymore.

Seonghwa just stood there staring at the void. He had fucked up. His feelings for you didn't save him. What was easy about this was that he had easily hurt you. You probably forgave him, which he didn't know, but you were not going to get back with him. Because he did that. He hurt someone he cared about. Someone he was happy with. And why? He couldn't even tell. Was he not ready for a relationship? Or was it actually just the mind-blowing sex? Either way, it didn't matter. He should have just chased after you that night.

"Seonghwa?" He felt two people beside him grabbing his arms. He looked toward his left to Yunho who had called him, he couldn't even see him well because of his hair and the tears.

"Yes, Yunho?" And his friends felt their hearts break at that. They dragged him out of there to their house, forgoing dinner and quietly agreeing to just eat at home. And there was a void within Seonghwa, multiplying the more he took a step out of that alley.

.

.

Hongjoong entered his best friend's room to find him on the bed, his back turned from the door. He realized how skinny he had gotten from his silhouette in the very dark room. Hongjoong didn't even know that his feelings were this strong, enough to have him bedridden most days. He just thought that he was always in his room because they were busy ignoring each other.

"Hwa?" He whispered.

Seonghwa almost cried. The only other person who called him that aside from you.

Hongjoong hesitantly sat on his bed as Seonghwa shifted to look at him. Thank goodness the lights were off. If he had red eyes, he didn't want his friend to see them.

"Are you good?" He asked, as stern as usual. Seonghwa shifted to lay his head on Hongjoong's lap.

"She just left." He choked out, with the last of his strength of the day.

He dragged his hand through his hair. He felt really bad for his friend. And although he was still mad at him, he couldn't have just left him after what he was told by Yunho earlier. So he made himself comfortable on the bed as he heard his best friend sniff over and over again.

"I'm tired."

"I know, Hwa."

.

.

That night, Hongjoong ended up spending the night in Seonghwa's room.

.

.

Note (again) : feedback would be appreciated. Don't forget to reblog!

[exhelluvafan]

The thing that irritates me the most about Helluva Boss is the adamant need to waste any potential for depth in every character. The thing that stops me from abandoning this train wreck of a show and feeling total apathy for it is its wasted potential.

TOO MUCH FUCKING WASTED POTENTIAL.

And obviously, the elephant in the room, aka the blatant misogyny and double standards because viv is writing yaoi so the fans could consume the emotional uwu moments and porn. SO MUCH PORN DAMN IT.

And the thing that eats away at me is the characters such as stolas and stella had such an easy chance to be morphed into something so deep that the show could be a soap opera about their drama alone.

In my humble opinion, the Goetia demons shouldn't have been in this show at all. They belong in a show like Hazbin that's showcasing the upper echelon of hell. This should've been about IMP, but I'm not ripping that one bandaid off because the wound under it is a biohazard. Anyway, I wanted to offer a rewrite for the 😍 lovely poor uwu baby Stolas and his DEMON, BITCH OF A WIFE, Stella. (Yeah, the sarcasm's strong with this one)

First of all I love how her name means star 🌟. It ties in together nicely with the whole astrology aesthetic of the family. We're gonna ignore the born-to-be-a-bitch personality the show presented her as having and focus on what caused her issues.

First of all, she probably knew from a young age that she was going to be wed off into an arranged marriage (just like stolas), and she knew she had the responsibility of birthing an heir. That's going to affect how she views love and marriage in general. She'd see it as a transaction, that she can offer an heir and her body, and receive what she wants. I have no problem with her being a spoiled brat, a mean girl. In fact, take it up a notch. She can be both of that! She was probably given every materialistic thing she wanted since the day she was born other than love and affection. That probably made her narcissistic and selfish, with the "I get everything that I want and you can't stop me" attitude.

She's a party girl, and we stand for that. She seems to be very extroverted and outgoing, and that clashes with stolas' more subdued and introverted personality.

I see her as being EXTREMELY paranoid about appealing to the high society that she's a part of and keeping herself at the top of the food chain amongst other aristocrats, unlike stolas who only does it to keep face or avoid getting too much attention, she wants to be noticed ans seen. Her gossipy, high society friends also reinforce the fact that she never had normal friends who cared about her, and she never grew out of her mean girl phase.

I see her as someone with so much passion in her heart, and sadly, we had to see all that turned into rage. She has trouble controlling her temper and the constant rage that boils inside her, and she explodes and lashes out on people, especially stolas.

I see her going into a marriage with stolas with the same "I'll get what I want" attitude. He has power, money, and legions to his name, and he isn't necessarily bad looking. So stella is like, "Eh, might as well..."

He isn't her dream partner, but she goes into the marriage thinking she can mould him into her dream man. Or thinking he's meek enough to leave her on her own, or she could even manipulate him to do as she pleases. None of those go as planned, though.

.

.

.

I can lowky see her dragging him around as she shops and him just wanting to die inside, lol

Oh my, Anon, this quite a lot of words, but I actually really love your rewrite, I can see Stella actually watching Mean Girls while Stolas dies inside and just stares at the infinite lmao

But sadly, this is a Viv show, and you know that women in these kinds of shows aren't allowed to have any nuance beyond a one-note use or personality trait, unless they're stepping stools for the male cast, which in that case, they're allowed to have a bit more of depth, but not too much.

And yeah, actually, now that you mention it, the Goetia demons shouldn't have been in Helluva, if anything, they should've been shown on Hazbin, like you said, because we are following along a protagonist that was born in royalty (Charlie) and it would make a lot of sense to see the Goetia demons there, since it would be a royal meetup or something like that.

And lastly, about the porn... I can corroborate this since a lot of the designs made by Viv or by her team look... conventionally attractive, so conventional that's artificial and try hard at times, and also, pretty safe but sometimes pushing the limits a bit to pander to gay people (Vortex, Asmodeus and Satan, to name a few muscular characters that are quite popular, but also Moxxie, Chaz and Striker, also popular in the gay side of the fandom) but it always boils down to the same purpose: to get people horny, and this is exemplified so painfully clear when Loona shook her ass towards the camera in one of the episodes, turning out to be shameless furry bait, and when I say that these shows are gooning and softcore porn shows, it's because of deliberate shit like this.

But alas, thanks for your input, Anon, it's greatly appreciated and it's quite the palette cleanser to see someone competent pick up Viv's mess and restructure it into something actually compelling and nuanced.

[docholligay]

I hope Jamie Lee Curtis had the time of her life playing this role, I certainly had the time of my life watching her.

Actually, since I'm mentioned actresses' names, I love how both she and Michelle Yeoh do not look glamorous at all in these roles. Not even like, "Action star plain" They look like normal frumpy middle aged women, and both of them look amazing normally. I love it. I wish it was more common! I wish more fucking...late 30s housewives in media looked like the women I talk to at beeb's preschool. I can tell you exactly what these women look like and how they dress, and it ain't what's on TV.

I think that's part of what I think is an interesting contrast in this movie: Despite being a wild fantasy, goofy and impossible, it still feels so much more grounded than most movies. It feels like the emotions and inner lives of real people are involved here. Evelyn does not feel like an idea, she feels like a real person. I think that is very hard to do min movies that contain so many fantastical elements. I would love to have the skill to pull this kind of shit off, but I think a part of it is that everyone is allowed to be plain. Everyone is allowed to look like a person you would walk right by in the grocery store.

[capicola323427]

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!!!

Fun fact, in making this image it was surprisingly my most easiest yet visually pleasing work. I've always viewed at as a graph like this

Of course, that isn't true! It's more like this

That is to say, I believe this illustration allowed me to focus on the efficient fundamentals I built!

Everything here was rendered with only three brushes. All of them the default brushes that come with CSP. Which includes Pastel, Airbrush, and Mechanical Pencil. Because it was a lineless style, that means I could be a lot more forgiving of mistakes here and there. Something doesn't look right? All I gotta do is add a little more with the GPen to the shape. Or can I just draw an outline in the color I want and fill it in with the bucket tool with a area scaling of 0.10! I have to practice more with lineless styles, it is fun! Rendering was a breeze too.

Which was a simple process of:

Create shape > Shade with Airbrush > Highlight with Airbrush > Shade with Pastel > Multiply Shading > Lower Multiply Layer Opacity > Overlay with Textured Fill > Move Textured Fill Layer > Finished!

It's a few steps, but once you get into the groove, it becomes very efficient. I'm sure there's ways I could shave off a few layers, like combining the Airbrush process into two layers instead of one but ehhh sometimes I do it, sometimes I don't. Usually, the bigger the shape the more likely I'll use more layers and the smaller the shape the less likely I'll use more layers! Of course, this process isn't a concrete ruling. Sometimes, I'll use more layers for extra things like the bell required more layers for rendering the shininess of metal! Anyways, I would like to believe I did a decent job at recreating the feel, the vibe, and or general look of an old Christmas Card that's more retro in nature. With a focus on simple shapes, a lineless rendering style, and using textured brushes to render, I think I got it down packed. I used a tiny bit of Chromatic Aberration to give it a little bit of a visual pop, and brighten up the colors. It's subtle, but it works.

Oh, and here's something cool! To get a more embossed Christmas Card feel, I used a new tool that came with Clip Studio Paint!

N O R M A L M A P !

Cool, right? I use a pirated copy of Clip Studio Paint 3.0 and it comes with a tool that allows you to create normal maps from illustrations. Which, from what Google tells me: "A normal map is a texture mapping technique used to add surface details to 3D models without altering their geometry" ...Neat!

Anyways, here's what it looks like

Freaky, right?

It looks like an embossed letter when you set a layer color to it too!

Anyways, I overlayed it on top of the finished illustration, set it to multiply and set the layer color to a warm yellow and it gives it not only texture but a sense of depth too! It's super cool, if you digitally paint you should try it!

With Normal Map Overlay Effect

Without Normal Map Overlay Effect

It's subtle but it's there.

Anyways, that's enough blathering from me! Merry Christmas everyone! I'll be answering some asks this week, so stay tuned!!!

[the-teufort-nine]

Okay so I don’t know if you do part 2 requests…but if you do, an aftermath thing of the respawn fic would be sooo good.

I’m thinking it could be something w the ride home, or the few days after everyone gets home or maybe just the months after? And how the mercs treat the Chemist until everything is “normal” again?

If you don’t do part 2 requests that’s just fine!

The story is soooo good omg!!!

The Chemist Reader is back! This is part 2... OF THREE! That's right, I'm doing one more gn!Chem reader fic to finish off this little series. For now though, enjoy just over 9000 words of BLU Chemist and their attempt to get home!

Mercs x GN!Reader | Respawn Malfunction PART 2: The Long Way Home

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ Hurt/Comfort, Team Bonding | SFW, but it veers into talking about NSFW topics near the middle-ish to end| Cw: starvation, temp character death (yes, again!), vomiting, mentions of graphic death, mention of attempted date rape (nothing happens!!), self deprecation ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Featuring:

Everyone! Even Miss Pauling is here! Plus, a familiar, friendly(?) face at the end...

Scenario: After getting rescued from their unfortunate Respawn spot, the BLU Chemist embarks on a road trip back to New Mexico with their team. Everyone wants their attention it seems, but are they really worth all this fuss?

The smell of Engineer’s truck was very similar to that of his workshop; leather, oil, and coffee permeated the air, settling over you like a well-loved blanket. It was a stark contrast from the bitter, sterile cold air of the base you’d ended up in, which was far behind you now. You’d woken up a short time ago, content to simply look out the window in comfortable silence while Engineer drove. You lifted your head from its place on your seatbelt as you felt the vehicle begin to slow, arching a sleepy brow at Engineer. The Texan lifted up his goggles and gave you a comforting smile as he continued to park his truck.

“We’re makin’ a rest stop. You up fer some McDonalds?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Predictably, you perked up, blanket slipping off your shoulders as you sat up straighter. Fast food had become a rare treat during your time working for Mann Co., and you weren’t about to pass on this opportunity. Engineer chuckled at your reaction and reached over to pat your leg.

“That’s what ah’ thought. Now, you stay right there, and ah’ll go ‘n grab ‘ya somethin’ tah eat.” Engineer said, before opening his door and stepping out into the darkness of the early morning.

As you busied yourself with readjusting your blanket, the door opened again, but it wasn’t Engineer slipping into the seat this time.

“Morning, sunshine!” Soldier greeted, pushing up his helmet slightly to look at you, “The grease monkey has tasked me with guarding you while the others retrieve breakfast!”

“Yeah? Well, I feel safer already.” You replied kindly, before yawning, “No one is dumb enough to mess with you, Sol.”

The man grinned and cracked his knuckles. “If you were not so weak, I would welcome the challenge! I have the strength of a thousand eagles coursing through my veins!”

You glanced down at your arms, missing the muscle that used to be there. You could barely hold the thermos Sniper had given you, let alone any sort of weapon. “Heh, yeah… guess I’m not going to be very useful for a while, huh?”

Soldier’s grin fell as he picked up on your despondent tone. Though he was far from being the smartest man on the team, even he could see that you were feeling upset. He looked at you, really looked at you, and realized that you were even frailer than he’d thought. You looked as though you were one strong breeze away from toppling over, and a surge of protectiveness shot through him. He’d failed you once, but he’d be damned if he allowed you to be hurt again.

“Wipe that sorry look off your face, maggot!” He lightly tapped you on the head, exercising more restraint than he ever had before, “We are a TEAM, and that means that we look out for one another! We will cover for your weaknesses until you have all your glorious strength returned to you, and you WILL get strong again!”

Soldier pushed a finger into your chest lightly, the pressure barely noticeable through your blanket and uniform. “You stared God in the face and then kicked him in the nuts! You clawed your way back from death and made Respawn spit you back out! The RED team will be crapping in their pants at the mere sight of you! Sun Tzu himself would be proud of you, son, and I am proud to call you my friend and teammate!”

Your vision went blurry as fat tears started to form in the corners of your eyes, but you were smiling as you wiped them away. That was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever said to you, even if it was more shouted than said.

“Thanks, Solly.” You sniffed, giving your friend the best smile you could manage, which prompted him to shuffle closer and throw an arm around you, drawing you into his side.

You let your head rest on the space just above his breast, turning slightly so your cheek was pressed against his jacket. He shifted his hold, letting his arm curl around your midsection as you made yourself comfortable. Soldier reached up and took his helmet off, setting it aside for now. Normally, he’d be loathe to leave himself so vulnerable, but he needed to prioritize your safety, which meant insuring that he had the best possible range of vision. What if some communist bastard, or, God forbid, a member of the RED team tried to sneak up on you two? He needed to be prepared!

It was just a little hard to give his surroundings his full attention, though, when he had you resting on his chest. Normally, any kind of touch he got was rough, even if it was a friendly shove or tight, squeezing side hug. This, however, was different; soft and warm and different in a good way. You were totally relaxed, letting your eyes slowly shut as you sighed contently, grateful for the extra warmth. You felt very small in his hold, and that fact made Soldier's stomach flip flop about. On one hand, it was pleasing to know that you felt comfortable enough to fall asleep next to him while you were like this, trusting that he would keep you safe. On the other hand, it was almost terrifying to realize how vulnerable you were in that moment, how easily he could feel bone, where there had once been a healthy amount of fat and muscle. He was used to seeing you as a strong, capable fighter, and while he was sure you could still whip up one of your crazy little mixtures that made people’s faces melt off, you wouldn’t have the strength to use it.

Well, he supposed he’d just have to throw it for you.

Lost in thought, he missed Engineer’s approach, and startled when the driver side door suddenly opened. He cocked his free arm back instinctively, but just as quickly lowered it when he saw Engineer, who was holding an armful of drinks, fries, and hamburgers. The goggle-wearing man chuckled quietly when he saw the situation his normally gruff teammate was in.

You were halfway wrapped around him, cuddling up close in your sleep. Soldier had allowed you to position yourself how you wanted, and you had all but put yourself in his lap, tucking yourself beneath his chin and nuzzling against the collar of his uniform. He awkwardly lifted you up, shuffling into the passenger seat as Engineer slid into the truck next to him, setting down the food wherever there was free space.

“Looks like someone found a comfortable spot, huh?” He joked, unwrapping a cheeseburger and handing it to Soldier, who bit into it hungrily, “Can’t exactly blame ‘em for wantin’ a warm place to sleep, ‘specially after what they’ve been through.”

Soldier hummed in agreement as he swallowed. “I want to let them sleep, but I also want them to eat. They're… worse than I realized.”

Engineer frowned. “Ah know what ‘ya mean, Solly, but the Doc says we gotta be real careful about how much we let ‘em eat at first.”

“What? Why?”

“ ‘Parently their body is gonna need time to readjust to havin’ food in it, and if they eat too much, they'll just throw it right back up.” Engineer explained, “Really, we should be givin’ em a protein shake or somethin’, but ah think they'd choke me out if ah told ‘em they were gettin’ McDonald's, and then didn't give it to ‘em.”

Soldier snorted at the mental image of you grappling with the Texan, but froze up when you groaned and shifted, eyes blinking open. You yawned and rubbed at your eyes, before freezing right alongside your friend when you realized the position you were in. You blushed and leapt back as far as you could go, cursing when the back of your head smacked against the windshield. 

“SHIT!” You yelped, grabbing onto your aching skull as your vision faded in and out. A rush of nausea started tumbling up from your guts, and you all but vaulted yourself out of the car as coffee and hot bile splashed up out of your throat and onto the dusty parking lot ground below.

You gagged and spat, wavering in place as you fought to stay upright. Hands were suddenly on your back, steadying you and at the same time soothing you. The rough voice of your only Australian teammate reached your ears over the sound of your vomiting, and you instinctively leaned into his touch, grateful for the support.

“There ‘ya go mate, get it all out.” Sniper said softly, rubbing the space between your shoulder blades. “I'm surprised ‘ya made it this long without sickin’ up.”

“They alright?!” Engineer called from behind you, a tinge of panic in his voice.

“Yeah, just got a bit of an upset stomach!” Sniper called back, wrapping an arm around you as you finally finished getting everything out of your system. “Come on then, let's getcha’ lyin’ down, yeah?”

“But I'm hungry.” You whined, feeling your stomach growl at the loss of what little sustenance your coffee had provided.

“I know, Roo. I know.” Sniper said sympathetically, “But if ‘ya eat somethin’ now, yer just gonna yack it back up again.”

You grumbled and wiped at your mouth, straightening up as best you could as Sniper led you to his van. By this point, the others had returned from their journey to the holy golden arches, and had realized something was wrong. Scout, who was midway through his second hamburger, almost dropped the damn thing as he rushed over to your side.

“Woah, what the hell happened? I thought they was takin' a nap?” He frowned, before reaching over to fix a part of your uniform that had become uncomfortably tucked, “Yo, Chem, not to be rude or nothin’, but you seriously look like crap. You feelin’ alright?”

“Clearly not, garçon stupide.” Spy suddenly materialized from the darkness of the early morning, a cigarette in his mouth and a sneer on his face, “And I'm sure your incessant yapping isn't helping.”

“Your bloody second hand smoke ain't doin’ wonders either, Spook, so shut yer mouth.” Sniper growled, both to defend his friend and to piss off his teammate. 

“Chemist, would you like to come and ride in style for a while? I assure you that it will be more comfortable than the laborer’s rusted box on wheels.” Spy asked you, pointedly ignoring both Sniper's statement and Engineer's affronted yell.

You thought for a moment, considering your options. You were probably less likely to make a fool of yourself in Spy's presence, especially since you were sure the man wouldn't tolerate your strangely intense need to be close to someone, but on the other hand…

“Can I eat my McDonald's in the car?” You asked finally. Spy wrinkled his nose.

“That disgusting American grease slop? Absolutely not.”

“I'm going with Sniper.” You said immediately, allowing yourself to be led away by the marksman, who was grinning in a borderline feral way at the stunned Frenchman. 

Sniper showed him a very specific, very unkind hand gesture as he helped you up into his camper van. Heavy was sitting in the passenger seat, munching on a box of fries that you would kill a man to have right now. Demo was lounging on one of the kitchen chairs, but sat up when he saw you and Sniper approach. 

“Finally managed to steal ‘em away from Engie and Solly, eh Snipes?” Demo greeted, though his face fell a bit when he saw how heavily you were relying on Sniper. “Ack, what's wrong, Chem? Not feelin' too well?”

“Something like that.” You murmured, head lolling slightly. Now that a bed was in sight, another nap really didn't sound too bad.

“Here ya go mate.” Sniper gently lowered you down, making sure not to jostle you too much, “Now, I know you want yer Macca’s, but I've got some Vegemite an’ toast and some hot lemon with Manuka honey that you can have in a bit, and it'll stay down much easier, I promise. Me mum used ta give me that when I was sick, and it did wonders fer me.”

“Sounds good.” You replied, not even really taking in what he said. He was talking about giving you food, and that was all your sleepy brain needed to know.

A woolen blanket was pulled over you, and a warm, calloused hand ran itself through your hair before slowly lifting your protective goggles off your head, setting them aside somewhere. The hand returned for a moment, gently pressing against your forehead, lingering there for just a heartbeat longer than maybe it needed to, before slowly retracting. You frowned at the sudden lack of touch, but there was little you could do to call it back.

Admitting you needed it was a weakness you weren't quite ready to voice yet.

“Come on now, laddie, time to wake up. Yer breakfast is ready.”

You groaned and cracked an eye open, blinking slowly at Demo, who was sitting on the bed. You pushed yourself up, eyes gravitating towards the tray your teammate was holding. There was a plate with two warm, buttered slices of toast topped with a thin layer of Vegemite spread, cut into four individual triangles, and a mug of what smelled like lemon and honey, just as Sniper had promised.

“Can I please eat that?” You begged, uncaring of how desperate it made you sound.

“Well, it ain't for ye to look at.” Demo joked, startling slightly as you snatched a piece of toast and practically all shoved it into your mouth. “Jesus! Slow down there, Chem! You'll make yerself sick again.”

You growled at the demolition expert, baring your teeth when he moved to try and reach for your hand. You hadn't eaten in nearly two days, your body had been robbed of anything it could feed off of, and Demo wanted you to slow down?

Hah, fat chance.

The Scot held his hands up in surrender, knowing a post cause when he saw one. Also, he didn't feel like losing a hand, not when Medic was riding in a different car.

You scarfed down the Vegemite toast, your body rejoicing as precious, precious salt finally entered your mouth. Normally, you'd turn your nose up at the salty spread, but at that moment, that piece of toast may as well have been a gift from God himself.

If you threw this up, you were actually going to cry.

With that thought in mind, you slowed down, taking the time to carefully chew your mouthful before swallowing. You let what you ate settle before you dared to try and ingest anything else. When your stomach didn't turn, you reached for the mug, blowing lightly on the liquid before taking a tentative sip.

It was very warm, but not so hot that you couldn't drink it. The lemon washed away the awful taste of vomit that lingered in your mouth, and the honey soothed your dry throat like nothing else. You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to bask in the warmth and comfort.

“Holy shit,” you croaked, setting the mug down as you turned to face Demo, “that tasted so good. We need to have Sniper make dinner more often or something, because he clearly knows what he's doing.”

“He said his mum taught him how to make it, and mums always know how to make somethin’ that makes ‘ya feel better.” Demo said, handing you another slice, “Now, slowly this time. I mean it! ‘Ya looked like a bloody wild dog just now.”

“Cut me some slack, D, I'm literally starving over here.” You said as you bit into the toast, “I think I'm allowed to have some bad table manners, yeah?”

“Aye, I suppose ‘ya got me there.” Demo conceded, though he still looked concerned, “ ‘m just worried about ye throwing it up before yer body can digest it.”

You nodded, chewing and swallowing what was in your mouth before replying.

“I know. I don't wanna puke again either. It's just-” You took in a breath, ignoring how even that simple action was harder than usual, “I'm so fucking hungry. I feel like my stomach is going to burn right through my abdomen, but I know I can't eat too much too quickly, or I'll just be sick again.”

Demo patted your shoulder, giving you a pitying look. “It'll be alright, Chem. The hard part’s already over. Ye survived the impossible and made it back to us, now it's our turn to help ya get back to yer old self.”

“Yeah.” You said quietly, looking at your reflection in the mug’s liquid. A gaunt, pale mockery of your face stared back. You could hardly even recognize yourself, and a small, dark part of yourself wondered if you ever would again.

“My old self.”

The next time you all stopped, it was well into mid morning. Sniper had pulled into the parking lot of a motel, Spy and Engineer following after him. Apparently, the only people with valid driver's licenses were you, Sniper, Engineer, Spy, and Miss Pauling, and you were all either exhausted or in no condition to be driving. Therefore, you were booking rooms at this dinky little motel so that they could rest and not kill all of you by falling asleep at the wheel.

It was Heavy that led you into the building, letting you lean against him for support. He’d offered to carry you, but you wanted to preserve some sense of dignity, if you could help it. Also, you figured it might upset your team further if they thought you couldn’t even walk. Pyro already looked ready to pounce everytime you wobbled, and you weren’t oblivious to the concerned looks Engineer and Spy were giving you.

“маленький химик will be staying with Doktor. He wants to do check up, to make sure there is not any hidden problems.” Heavy explained, before lowering his voice, “Heavy knows you are tired, but please go along with it. Doktor is very worried, even if he does not say it.”

“Don’t worry, Heavy, I’ll behave.” You promised, “I could do with sleeping a little less anyway. 

Heavy nodded and led you to your room, handing you the key for it. You unlocked the door and pushed it open, smiling at Medic, who was unpacking various syringes and pills from a bag and placing them next to his Medigun.

“Ah, Heavy, Chemist, right on time!” he greeted, walking over to you two. 

Quick as a whip, he pulled up your sleeve and injected you with a clear liquid. You yipped in surprise, rubbing the sore area as he withdrew the needle. “Ouch! What the hell was that?!”

“Magnesium Sulfate!” he replied cheerily. “I also have a shot of Thiamine and Potassium I need to administer before I give jou more vitamin tablets.”

“Couldn’t I just have taken a magnesium tablet?” You questioned in a deadpan voice, unnamused with your colleague’s method of getting you to take your vitamins. Heavy patted your shoulder one more time before leaving the room, likely to go and find his own.

“Ja, but zhis is much quicker, und I know it vill actually stay in jour body.” Medic waved one hand animatedly, the other one reaching for another syringe, “Herr Sniper told me jou vomited earlier, und that jou didn’t finish your breakfast.”

“I couldn’t. I felt full after two slices of toast and a couple of sips of my drink.” You groaned, flopping down onto your bed, “I didn’t even get to have my cheeseburger. It’ll be all cold and gross now.”

“I’m sure jou vill have another chance to get one.” Medic comforted as he jabbed your arm with another needle. You winced, but said nothing. “Ve are still about 10 hours away from zhe base.”

“We are?” You asked, sitting up abruptly, “Jesus, how far out was I?”

“The base jou respawned in was in Montana. Currently, ve’re somewhere in Wyoming.” Medic rubbed his chin, thinking, “To be honest, I have no idea how or vhy jou ended up so far away. Jou should have respawned in a much closer location, or not at all!”

“Yeah, it doesn’t make much sense to me, either.” You said, rolling up your other sleeve as Medic produced the final shot, “Maybe that one was the last one that was activated? Are there… are there other RED and BLU teams that use them?”

Medic paused, considering.

“I… am not sure.” he said finally, gently taking your offered arm into his hands as he pressed the needle into your skin, “I haven’t heard of any other teams, but I suppose it's possible. It's as good an explanation as any.”

“Well, I’m glad it brought me back.” You said, glancing up at Medic, “I gotta admit, I was shocked to see you guys. I can’t believe you all drove to Montana just for me, especially Miss Pauling.”

“Vell, vhy vouldn’t ve? Jou vould do the same for any of us, ja?” Medic asked, putting a bandage over your injection sites.

“Well, yeah, of course.” You replied quickly, “But, wouldn’t it have been easier to just… get a new Chemist?”

Your eyes had flicked towards the floor, so you didn’t see the way Medic tensed up. The German curled his hands into fists for a few seconds as he took a deep, calming breath. “Vhat do you mean?”

“Well, there’s not really anything special about me. I mean, Scout can run faster than anyone, Soldier is completely fearless, Heavy is, like, the strongest guy ever, Sniper could shoot a bat out of the night sky, Pyro makes even the toughest men afraid just by breathing near them, Demo can make crazy explosives, Engie can make anything, Spy can be anyone, and you can successfully play God on a daily basis!” You said, listing off everyone’s skills, “And then there’s… me. I mix chemicals and throw them at people. Pretty much anyone could do my job.”

“Jou believe jourself to be disposable.”

You cringed slightly at Medic’s cold tone. “I guess. I might have said it in a nicer way, though.”

You watched as Medic took a deep breath in, said something quietly under his breath in German, and then walked over to his bag and retrieved a few vitamins before striding back over to you.

“Take zhese, und don’t move. I vill be back.” he said, before exiting the room.

You tilted your head and frowned as Medic closed the door behind him. You felt as though you had upset your teammate, but you weren’t exactly sure how. Nothing you said had been untrue, after all.

Popping the tablets into your mouth, you made yourself comfortable, positioning your pillows so they supported your back as you lay down. The covers of the bed were cheap and scratchy, but the room was slowly warming up, and you could deal with a little discomfort. After an embarrassing amount of time and effort, you managed to wiggle your way under the blankets. A TV sat on the dresser on the other side of the room, but you couldn’t see the remote for it anywhere. You’d have to ask Medic if he’d seen it when he came back from wherever it was he’d wandered off to.

About 10 minutes passed, and you were, annoyingly, beginning to nod off again, when suddenly your door opened once more. You leaned forward, eyes widening when you realized that everyone was walking into your room. 

Soldier and Demo came in first, making themselves at home at the foot of your bed. Scout, a very tired Miss Pauling, and Pyro came in next. Scout was quick to drape himself across the middle of your bed like a cat, while Pyro flopped down next to you.

Apparently, your bed was the best seat in the house to your teammates.

Sniper and Spy followed after them, both exhausted men scowling at each other but refusing to disperse too far into the room, both of them determined to stay near you. Engineer, who was holding a cup of shitty motel coffee, claimed one of the plush, cigarette-scented seats that sat in the room’s corners after he walked in. Finally, Heavy and Medic entered, with Heavy moving over to sit on his companion’s bed. The large man shot you a questioning look, but all you could offer him was an equally confused shrug. You didn’t know what was going on.

“Docteur, I assume you have a reason for interrupting our rest so early into our stay?” Spy groused, reaching for his cigarettes.

“Of course, Herr Spy.” Medic replied, before turning to Miss Pauling, “Fräulein Pauling, vhy did you go to retrieve our Chemist?”

Everyone in the room turned to look at Medic with a look of confusion. Why would the doctor ask such a thing?

“Wh- because they needed help?” the raven haired woman waved her hands around, “Why wouldn’t I go get them?”

“Vould it not simply be easier for us to let zhem die und replace zhem?” Medic asked, and you winced slightly, hearing your own question spoken in such a way. You hadn’t used the word ‘die,’ but it had been implied.

At Medic’s words, the room erupted into noise, your team wasting no time in jumping to your defense.

“Yo, Doc, what da hell?!” Scout shouted, pushing himself up. He quickly turned towards you, holding his hands up, “Don’t listen to that guy, Chem. He must’a taken too much of his own stock.”

“Now where the hell is this comin’ from?” Engineer spat, roughly slamming down his coffee. “We would never just- just replace Chem! ‘Specially not when we knew they were alive!”

The other mercenaries shouted out various forms of agreement, some of them looking just about ready to jump the man.

“Doktor spent many nights contemplating shredding application forms for new Chemist.” Heavy added, sending his friend a questioning yet stern look, “You should explain yourself, старый друг.”

“I vas simply asking questions zhat our Chemist asked me only a few moments ago.” Medic replied calmly, clasping his hands behind his back. “It seems as zhough they believe zhemself to be disposable, zhat zhey did not deserve to be saved, because zhey believe zhat ve could replace zhem easily.”

The eyes that had been on Medic shifted to look towards you, and you shrank down as much as possible. You would have felt more comfortable if they’d pointed a loaded gun at your head.

“Chemist,” Miss Pauling started, “do you know why the Administrator sent me to recruit you?”

You shook your head.

“Well, the first reason is because the DNA sample I took from you proved that you were Respawn compatible.” she started, pressing her hands together, “The second reason is because when you saw some guy trying to roofie me in a bar, you stole his drink, spiked it with a specialized mixture that you created, and then you convinced him to chug it by betting him five bucks that he couldn’t. Do you remember what happened next?”

“He went to the bathroom because he didn’t feel good.” You recalled with a smile, “Then he melted.”

“Yeah, because you spiked his drink with something that, upon contact with stomach acid, turned into fluoroantimonic acid!” Miss Pauling exclaimed, “A regular person could never do that! Hell, even an experienced chemist couldn’t do half the things you do!”

“Jesus Lord Almighty!” Engineer chuckled, pushing up his goggles to look you in the eye, “Remind me to never make you angry.”

“Point is,” Miss Pauling drew your attention back to her, “You are not disposable. It would be easier to clone you then it would be to replace you, because you are smart, talented, and just as batshit insane as the rest of these bloodthirsty lunatics. No offence, guys.”

Your team nodded along with her words, giving you reassuring looks.

“She’s right! Yer absolutely cracked, but yer one of us!” Demo crowed, lifting his Scrumpy bottle to toast you.

“HUDAH HUDAH HUDAH!” Pyro cheered, wrapping you up in a warm, tight hug. You grinned and shoved your face into their shoulder, tears wetting your eyes as you nuzzled the blue material.

“Congratulations, you have learned what everyone here already knew.” Spy said, patting you lightly on the back as you lifted your head to peek back at him, “I will be taking my leave now. Do not wake me again unless zhe building is on fire.”

“I hate to agree with Spoi, but, yeah,” Sniper nodded, reaching over to ruffle your hair, “I’m about to drop ‘mself. I’ll see you all at dinnah.”

“Ah’ll see m’self out as well.” Engineer said, getting to his feet, “Get some rest, darl’. We’ll get you somethin’ decent fer dinner.”

“Any chance we can have a sleepovah, Doc?” Scout asked, breaking out the puppy dog eyes.

“Nein.” Medic said firmly, planting his hands on his hips. 

“Worth a shot.” Scout sighed, giving you a fistbump as he slid off the bed. “Ey, Chem, no more talkin’ crap about my best friend, or I’m gonna have to lay down the hurt, understand?”

“YES!” Soldier agreed loudly, “IF I HEAR YOU PUTTING YOURSELF DOWN AGAIN, I WILL BEAT THE CRAP OUTTA YOU! DO YOU UNDERSTAND!”

“Yes sir.” You replied, giving him a salute as Pyro reluctantly pulled away. They reached into one of their pockets and withdrew a box of matches that had been decorated with crayon. Pyro tucked it into your hands and pressed their gasmask against your head in an almost kiss-like way.

The rest of the team and Miss Pauling shuffled out of the room one by one, each of them waving goodbye or acknowledging you in some way before they left. Medic fixed you with a kind, if mildly smug look as the last of your team left.

“Do jou still see jourself as disposable, mein Chemiker?”

You didn’t quite understand what his last words had been, but you managed to infer that he was saying your name, so you nodded, smiling. “No. Not at all.”

Medic matched your grin with one of his own, though the doctor’s showed far more teeth. “Wunderbar! Now, let’s get zhe rest of zhose vitamins in jou! Ve have so many to get zhrough!”

By the time dinner had rolled around and your team had started to wake up, Medic had given you enough vitamins and nutrient boosters to kill an elephant. He’d also done a thorough examination of your insides, which included him setting the Medigun to low, switching it to automatic mode, and cutting you open from collarbone to pelvis. He had been quite happy to inform you that your organs had not been affected by your turbulent trip through Respawn.

Thank God you’d insisted on laying in the bathtub.

Engineer had knocked on your door as you were finishing getting dressed, and when you opened it, the Southerner revealed that he had gone out and found you something that you could both eat and that wouldn’t taste like garbage.

“It ain’t smoked brisket ‘n biscuits,” he commented as he set down a banana smoothie and a small fillet of salmon, “but I reckon it’ll do.”

“Engie, I could kiss you right now.” You warbled, close to crying.

The man flushed scarlet and rubbed at the back of his neck, but you were too focused on the food to notice. Engineer and Medic stepped out to get their own dinners, leaving you to enjoy yours. 

The salmon was still warm, seasoned with a pinch of salt and a squeeze of lemon, and it yielded easily to your plastic fork. It went down easily and, more importantly, stayed down, even when you started to tentatively sip the banana smoothie. The smoothie was cold, smooth, and probably loaded in things that were good for you.

“I see zhat zhe laborer has finally managed to procure you a decent meal.”

You jumped slightly, scrambling to catch your drink as it slipped from your grip. Spy leaned against your doorway, arms crossed in a casual way as he watched you eat. He looked much more rested, the bags around his eyes having retreated.

“Do you feel sick at all?” he asked, arching a brow.

You shook your head. “Nah, Medic loaded me up with some stuff that's supposed to help me keep food down. You’d have to ask him exactly what it was, though.”

“Perhaps I shall.” Spy replied, “Come, mon féroce petit scorpion, you can finish your drink in zhe car.”

“But I thought I wasn’t allowed to have food in your car?” You questioned, wiggling forward towards the edge of your bed.

“I will make an allowance, just zhis once.” The masked man said, offering you his arm.

“Don’t want Sniper to scoop me up again?” You teased.

Spy’s nose wrinkled in displeasure. “Non. Zhe bushman does not look as zhough he got an adequate amount of sleep, and I will not risk your safety when we just got you back.”

“Awww,” you cooed, causing Spy to jerk his head away in embarrassment, “you big softie. I knew you loved me.”

“Dieu, sauve-moi de ma grande gueule et de mon cœur faible.” Spy muttered, pressing his free hand to his head.

“No idea what you just said there, pal.”

“Zhat is zhe point.” The Frenchman replied.

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. I’ll just get Scout to translate for me later.”

Spy shot you a confused look as you stepped outside. “Scout? Please, zhat illiterate cretin doesn’t speak French! He barely speaks English.”

“That’s what you think.” You insisted, raising your eyebrows, “I’ve heard him singing in French sometimes. Sounded to me like he knew exactly what he was saying.”

Spy’s brow furrowed, and the two of you fell into silence as he helped you to his car. 

The interior of Spy’s car was just as luxurious as you imagined. Black leather seats were warm beneath your touch, and it was kept immaculately clean. You felt kinda bad even sitting in it, let alone bringing any kind of food or drink inside, but Spy had insisted, so you took your offered seat, which was the passenger seat.

“What kind of car is this?” You asked, carefully laying the blanket Spy had brought over your lap, just in case some of your smoothie somehow managed to leak.

“She is a Bizzarrini 5300 GT Strada.” Spy replied, reverently running a hand over the wheel as you whistled, “Gorgeous, non?”

“Absolutely.” You agreed, “I feel like I shouldn’t even be in this thing, it’s so nice.”

“You cannot possibly be a worse passenger than Scout.” Spy said, a hint of humour in his tone, “I can tell you are being careful. Relax, mon ami.”

You nodded, smiling shly.

Suddenly, the back doors opened, and Pauling, Medic, and Pyro all piled into the back.

“Herr Spy,” Medic started, “If jou wish to avoid a confrontation with Herr Sniper und Herr Engineer, I suggest jou start driving. Now. Zhey are not pleased zhat you whisked zhe Chemist away.”

“Well, zhey can, as Scout so often says,” Spy grinned sharply as the two aforementioned men burst out of the motel, yelling in the direction of the expensive car, “‘suck my dick.’”

You whooped in delight as Spy peeled out of the parking lot, laughing as a rush of wind blew against your face. Through your delighted giggles, you managed to buckle yourself in, grinning so wide your jaw ached as you saw both Sniper’s van and Engineer’s truck fly out onto the dusty road after you. Pyro laughed right alongside you, while Miss Pauling and Medic struggled to right themselves after gravity smushed the small woman into the doctor’s side.

“I didn’t know you were a speed demon!” You cheered, shouting to be heard over the wind.

“I do not often get to indulge, but,” Spy’s eyes twinkled with excitement, “yes, I do enjoy using zhe power my vehicle affords me.”

He adjusted the mirror, the orange light of the setting sun glinting in its reflection. “But even more so do I enjoy zhe thrill of a chase.”

Sure enough, both of the other vehicles were steadily gaining, and if you squinted, you could see both Sniper and Engineer gritting their teeth and glaring at Spy’s car.

“Why are they chasing us?” You questioned, confused.

“Because I have something zhey want.” Spy replied, shooting you a sideways glance, “Or, rather, someone.”

Your face suddenly felt very warm.

Maybe you had been wrong before. Maybe you really could have asked Sniper to keep his hand on your head. Maybe you didn’t have to leap off of Soldier’s lap, automatically assuming he was uncomfortable.

Maybe your teammates would be just fine with you desperately seeking their attention, their touch.

‘WOAH THERE NELLY!’ Your internal thoughts threw up a great big STOP sign, whacking you on the head with it, ‘Let’s change THAT line of thinking right now!’

Jesus Christ you needed to reread the dictionary definition of a ‘professional workplace relationship’ because clearly you had forgotten what it meant!

Quiet, ashamed, and unwillingly thinking about calloused hands brushing against your skin like some Victorian-era harlot, you returned to sipping your banana smoothie.

It was still very good. Just like the salmon Engineer had gone well out of his way to get specifically for you.

Stop stop stop stop.

Or like the blanket Spy had picked out and bought for you because he knew you would be cold, or like the hot lemon with special honey Sniper had made you, because he thought it would make you feel better.

STOP STOP STOP STOP!

‘They’re racing for you.’ A silky, pleased part of yourself whispered, ‘They’ve been fighting over your attention since you joined them, it’s just become much more obvious now. You could go right up to any of them, and they’d be more than happy to give you some attention.’

S H U T   U P

Suddenly, the car swerved, jerking you out of your inner torment. Your straw, which was still inside your mouth, jabbed into the back of your throat. You gagged on reflex, slapping a hand over your mouth as the urge to vomit washed over you. You grimaced, winced from the pain, and breathed slowly in through your nose as Spy swore out the window.

“Espèce de chauve-souris stupide et aveugle! Quittez la route avant que je décide de vous y forcer!” he snarled at a vehicle that had veered into the wrong lane, huffing as he leaned back. He glanced over at you quickly, his expression becoming more concerned when he saw the look on your face. “Y/N? Are you alright?”

You swallowed, and sighed in relief when your stomach settled again. “I’m okay. Just got a bit jostled.”

“Do you need me to stop?”

You waved Spy off. “No, I’m fine, really. Just, maybe slow down a bit? Just until we’re back in the country.”

Spy nodded and eased off the gas, Sniper and Engineer following suit.

“Zhat is probably for zhe best. Zhe last zhing we need is to start a police chase.” Spy conceded.

“Yeah, that wouldn’t be good.” You frowned, “I think at least half of us probably have warrants out for our arrest somewhere.”

“More than half.” Both Medic and Miss Pauling chimed in from the back.

You nodded, leaning back in your seat. You thought about that; about who might be wanted for what. It was a decent distraction from your previous thoughts, and you welcomed it. Turning to look out the window, you watched as the sunsetting twilight changed into a beautiful, starry night sky. Come morning, as long as things stayed on track, you’d be home.

Spoiler alert: things did not stay on track.

You had been making your way through Colorado when it happened. You and Spy had been listening to a local radio station while Pyro, Miss Pauling, and Medic snoozed in the back. You would have been asleep too, but something about the clouds that had rolled in made you nervous. Just as Spy had been reaching to change the station, a sharp, piercing alarm sounded out from the radio.

“Alert! A tornado warning is being issued for the Limon area! All residents are urged to seek shelter immediately! Please gather up all children and pets and make your way to a basement or interior room! Avoid all windows and objects that may prove hazardous if they fall! If you are in a mobile home, in a vehicle, or are outside, please make your way to the nearest secure building!”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” Spy gaped, looking frantically at the sky. The darkness brought an extra level of danger, and you felt your heart leap up into your throat.

“Is there even anywhere to shelter out here?!” You asked, your eyes darting about as you stuck your head out of the window. All that you could see was a flat expanse of fields that stretched out forever into the dark.

“Whuz goin’ on?” Miss Pauling groaned, rubbing at her eyes.

“Oh, nothing much.” You laughed nervously, “Just, uh, a tornado.”

“Was? Ein Tornado?” Medic said blearily, sitting up.

“Oui.” Spy confirmed grimly. He reached over to the radio and tuned it to a very specific frequency. “Bushman, laborer, I assume you have received zhe same warning?”

“Yeah mate.”

“Same here.”

“I suggest we make a break for zhe nearest town. It is only about a mile away.” Spy offered, pressing down on the gas pedal.

“Not like we got many options. We’re sittin’ ducks out here.” Engineer’s voice crackled through the car speakers. “You lead, we’ll follow.”

You put your window up and tightened your seatbelt, glancing back at the backseat passengers. “Can you guys wake Py up? We’ll wanna be ready to go once we stop.”

“Jawohl.” Medic agreed, reaching an arm behind Miss Pauling to gently nudge the firebug.

Spy treated the dark road like it was a professional racetrack, the engine of his car growling like a wild beast as he shot across the asphalt. You kept your eyes trained on the sky, cringing when a flash of lightning revealed a green sky. 

“Man, we really have just the worst luck, huh?” You muttered.

“It is starting to seem that way.” Spy growled, his gaze anxiously flicking between the road and the ever worsening sky.

“What do we do if we get to town and there’s nowhere to hide?” You asked.

“We keep driving and pray we can get ahead of the storm.”

You gulped audibly.

Soon, the silhouettes of buildings came into view. As you passed the town sign, hail started to pour down. The little pellets of ice crashed against the car, bouncing off the windshield and tumbling down the road as the wind swept them away. You peered out into the storm, searching for a suitable hiding place.

“There!” You exclaimed, pointing towards a small, rundown mechanic shop. The sign was in pieces and graffiti covered the garage door, but the building itself looked stable.

“It will have to do.” Spy said, pulling off the road.

You hopped out of the car once it came to a stop, grunting when a powerful blast of wind pushed you against the vehicle. Strong hands suddenly gripped you, and you found yourself pulled against Miss Pauling, who was going her best to dig her heels into the ground. Medic and Spy came up on either side of you, helping to buffer the wind as Pyro ran to the side door, axe in hand.

Your little group of four made it to the door just as Pyro managed to break the lock. The arsonist let you in, holding the door as the rest of your team made a run for safety. The inside of the mechanic shop was dark and dusty, but the thick concrete and steel was a source of comfort. 

“Is everyone alright?” Engineer asked, dusting hail off his shoulders.

Everyone made various noises of affirmation, fixing their own outfits and looking around the place. Scout skittered over to you and Pauling as a loud thunderclap rumbled outside, the runner not so subtly positioning himself next to you.

“Jeeze, you sure this place’ll hold up?” He asked, nervousness leaking into his voice.

“It’s better than being exposed outside.” Miss Pauling replied, before gently taking your hand, “Come on, Chem, let’s find somewhere to sit.”

You followed dutifully, Scout trailing along behind you. Miss Pauling managed to find some milk crates after many minutes of blindly feeling around in almost complete darkness before you remembered that you had been gifted a box of matches, and the three of you set them up in the middle of the room. You took off your blanket and shucked off your lab coat, laying them across the crates to act as a cushion. You could feel the chill of the shop creeping into your bones, but you ignored it, settling down in between Demo and Heavy. 

“We’ve got some absolutely shite luck, lads.” Demo frowned, glancing towards the barricaded side door, “We could’a been near home by mornin’ if this damn tornado hadn’t come outta bloody nowhere!”

“My thoughts exactly.” You murmured, “Hopefully it blows over soon. We don’t exactly have any supplies prepared.”

“Hrr yuh filn righh?” Pyro asked.

“Yeah, Py, I’m okay. I can’t eat for another few hours anyways.” You reassured the arsonist.

“You gonna be warm enough in here? It’s kinda chilly.” Scout said, shuffling a bit closer to Pyro, who was always a good source of heat. The pyromaniac let the runner lean on them, amusing themself by lighting matches that they kept producing from God only know where.

“I’ll be fine. I can suck it up for a bit.” You replied.

Medic tsked from somewhere to your right, and, after a few moments of shuffling, you felt something warm being draped over your shoulders. It was kind of heavy, and when Pyro lit another match, you caught a glimpse of Medic’s Class symbol on the arm.

“Thanks, Doc.” You smiled softly, slippin the coat on.

“Zhink nothing of it. Jou are lacking jour usual body fat, and thus require additional help to keep jourself warm.” Medic said matter of factly.

“Hey Chem, I can think’a somethin’ that’d help warm you up real fast.” Scout called in a teasing, flirtatious tone, the Bostonian laughing before someone’s elbow made its way into his gut at a rapid pace.

“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’d like to be fucked for longer than 30 seconds.” You shot back, smirking when a chorus of ‘Ooooohs’ sounded out from your teammates.

Scout made a ‘pshh!’ sound and crossed his arms. “Uh, first of all, it wouldn’t be ‘30 seconds’, prick, second; whaddya mean you “think” you’d wanna be fucked longer than that? You a virgin or somethin’?”

“Scout,” Spy hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “use what few brain cells you possess and display a modicum of decorum, please.”

Your face turned a lovely shade of pink as you laughed awkwardly. “Well, uh…”

“Y’ don’t have to answer him, Chem. Lord only knows that boy needs to learn to stop runnin’ his damn mouth.” Engineer added, shooting a pointed look at Scout, who threw his hands up, exasperated.

“No, it’s fine.” You rubbed at the back of your head, feeling sheepish, “I am. A virgin, I mean. People didn’t exactly want to bang the weirdo who spent most of their time putting bugs in formaldehyde and playing with a kids chemistry kit, and then I started working with you guys, soooo… yeah.”

The room fell into a tense, awkward silence, broken only by the sound of the howling wind outside.

“I would.” Soldier said suddenly.

10 heads turned towards the helmet wearing man.

“What?” he asked, not a trace of shame in his voice. “The Chemist is a brave, capable, AMERICAN teammate who I have personally witnessed melt THREE RED bastards at once! The only way they could be more attractive is if they were the Statue of Liberty itself!”

Spy started to say something, but Demo cut him off.

“I gotta agree with Solly there, lads.” He nodded sagely, “Not about the statue bit, but yer a bonnie sight, Chem.”

“Too right.” Sniper piped up, his blush almost invisible in the infrequent matchlight Pyro provided.

“Sacrebleu, are you all truly going to salivate over our Chemist like a pack of wild dogs right in front of zhem?!” Spy yelled, gesturing towards you.

You were doing your very best impression of a well cooked lobster while trying to process what was happening at the moment, and thus did not really take in his statement.

“Now Spy,” Engineer teased, pushing up his goggles slightly to fix the masked man with a knowing look, “don’t go acting like you’re any better than these boys. You’ve either been struttin’ around like a peacock or poutin’ like a kicked puppy ever since we picked Chem up, and don’t think we haven’t noticed you always makin’ sure their spice cabinet and bakin’ ingredients never get too low.”

“Zhat is because sending zhem to Teufort is a death sentence and you know it!” Spy hissed back, “Besides, are you just going to sit zhere and pretend zhat you don’t invite zhem to dinner in your sacred domain just so you can show off all your little toys?”

“Both Spy and Engineer act like school girls with first crush.” Heavy said abruptly in a flat tone. “Is embarrassing. Please stop.”

“Nein! Please continue!” Medic clapped his hands, giddy, “Jour conflict is like eine Seifenoper!”

Heavy arched a brow at the German. “Doktor is worse than them! Is always circling Chemist like shark, waiting to take bite!”

“Augh! Zhat is not true!”

The team dissolved into arguing around you, leaving you and Miss Pauling as the lone outliers. The petite woman stealthily nudged her way through the group of arguing men and Pyro and made her way over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“You, uh, you alright?” she asked in a low voice.

“I-” You started in a hoarse whisper, running your hand through your hair, gripping the strands, “I could have been getting fucked this whole time.”

“What?”

You put your head in your hands and let your head smack against your knees. “I have been living on a base with nine mercenaries who have been, apparently, thirsting after me and I didn’t notice. I am a fool, P, a blind, horny fool.”

Miss Pauling awkwardly patted you on the head. “There… there?”

“I’m so stupid!” You bemoaned, “How could this day possibly get any worse?”

CRRRRRACK-BOOM!

Everyone jumped as something slammed against the side door. The top of a utility pole lodged itself inside the doorway, live power lines lashing about like angry snakes as powerful winds surged inside, throwing the wires around. One of the wires was blown towards you and Miss Pauling, and you shoved her back on instinct, eyes widening in terror as a flash of white filled your vision. A sharp, burning sensation rocketed through your body, a metallic taste filling your mouth, before everything went dark.

The world came back to you in a burst of dull blue and gray hues.

A gentle pulse filled your ears, vibrating in your chest until it slowly waned, leaving you sprawled on a concrete floor. You gagged as your stomach turned violently, and you had to push yourself up onto your forearms to avoid choking on your own vomit. You spat, face curling into a disgusted sneer. 

Respawn never had left you feeling very good, but these last two times were really starting to make you yearn for a more gentle return to life.

Slowly, through sheer willpower and what little energy you had left, you managed to get to your feet. The air here was much warmer than your previous Respawn location, and it smelled faintly of… apples?

Confused, but determined to find a phone, you hugged the walls for support as you once again navigated an unfamiliar building, hand trailing across the blue corrugated metal. You weren’t afraid this time around, just pissed off. You had died again? Seriously?! You had been so close to home! You could have been getting boned in a few hours!

Okay, well, maybe not that last one, but still!

As you passed a window, something caught your attention. You stopped for a moment, looking out into the, thankfully, clear night. It was still dark, obviously, but you could hear the sound of birds chirping. Morning was approaching, but that wasn’t what was on your mind.

There were lights on somewhere in the distance.

If you were standing in a BLU base, then…

Gritting your teeth, you picked up the pace, making a mental note to thank Medic for giving you all of those shots and vitamins. If he hadn’t, you likely wouldn’t have even been able to walk.

A cool night breeze caressed your face as you stumbled outside, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, missing your blanket. It took a while, but you eventually made your way over to a homely-looking farmstead, adorned in a colour you usually hated to see. Taking as deep a breath as you could manage, you walked up the porch steps and approached the door, pulling open the outer screen door to knock on the solid wood interior door.

You stepped back a fraction as the sound of footsteps approached, your eyes drooping with exhaustion as the adrenaline that came with returning to life began to fade, leaving you with a mix of a pins and needles-esque numbness and an encroaching headache.

The door swung open, and you found yourself looking down the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun.

“Who the hell are-!” the voice of the RED Engineer held the same southern drawl as your Engineer, and his eyes widened in the same adorable way when he was caught off guard.

“Morning, friend.” You greeted, giving the man the best smile you could muster at the moment, “Do you have a phone I could borrow?”

[teecupangel]

We can make it work. Desmond was in New York before Season 1 so what we can do is make Bad Weather a neutral zone.

Something about Bad Weather debuffs everyone, a kind of dead zone that keeps everyone’s magic ‘diluted’.

Desmond doesn’t realize it until he started seeing ‘the other side’.

And it wasn’t that he started seeing first but he started hearing it. Desmond himself doesn’t realize it but it’s his Eagle Sense adapting to the environment. Because Desmond is trying to ignore his Assassin heritage, including the Eagle Vision so his senses had to adapt because he was a normal human in a ‘dangerous’ location.

So it’s a slow awakening and Kingston felt it. As far as he believes, Desmond was already a New Yorker even if the boy isn’t exactly acting like a native. He can feel the slow awakening so he starts going to the bar to keep an eye on the boy.

That’s how he learned of Desmond’s situation. A young adult just starting his journey, needing support but too shy (too ‘damaged) to ask for it.

And that’s how Desmond started to live with Kingston. “Until he can find a better place to live”

This way, we’ll have Kingston (and the rest of the characters that have been confirmed to be in New York and already ‘awakened’) to support his slow journey to becoming a part of the Unsleeping City while having a lot to play in terms of characters and storyline with the Bad Weather being both a neutral zone and acting similar to the DND beginner tavern.

I would suggest that they don’t. The main point of the Brotherhood is that they stay in the shadow to serve the light. The Hall of Heroes is a place of bright light.

What we can do is add ‘heroes’ there that actually had a close Assassin ally. If Desmond looks deep enough to the history of these heroes, there will be a bit of ‘inconsistency’ that Desmond would easily find (like “roll perception with advantage” type of situation) that would lead him to seeing Assassins throughout the ages helping those with the Questing Blade whether intentionally or a series of events that led them to find one another.

Will this lead to some kind of game mechanic between him and Mr March? Maybe. I’m thinking that Desmond has sneak attack bonuses if he’s attacking someone near Ricky or someone that has attacked (attempted to attack) Ricky.

The idea is Ricky’s light serves to hide Desmond in the shadows better.

This also means that this would transfer to Cody in season 2 and Cody will absolutely think Desmond is so cool, being an ‘edgelord’ assassin character. Desmond just sighs, not even bothering to remind Cody that he isn’t an edgelord “That would be my Syrian ancestor…”

OH GAME MECHANIC WISE!

Once Desmond gets the Bleeding Effect, after every turn, Desmond has to roll a d20.

1 – 5, he has a Bleeding Episode that last for 3 turns.

2 and 3, he rolls a d4, 1 is Altaïr, 2 is Ezio, 3 is Ratonhnhaké:ton and 4 is Haytham.

4, he (the player) gets to pick who he’s Bleeding as.

1, the gm picks. Only in 1 and 4 can Edward be picked.

Of course, each Bleed has their own stats and proficiency + skills.

Desmond himself is a Rogue Assassin with a bit of Ranger Gloom Stalker build.

Altaïr is a Rogue Soulknife with a bit of Conjuration Wizard (his spellbook is fixed and his summons have the same brew as usual but looks like Assassins in general XD)

Ezio is a Rogue Arcane Trickster (not sure what his second class is but I’m thinking something like Champion or Battle Master Fighter idk)

Ratonhnhaké:ton is a Ranger Gloom Stalker with his second class being Assassin Rogue, aka the invert of Desmond’s progression in some ways.

Haytham is a Conquest Paladin with a secondary class of being a Mastermind Rogue

Edward is a Swashbuckler Rogue (his secondary class will be Thief Rogue IF the gm allows it XD)

From @ddxcrow

(this one was me lol) in love with the idea of Desmond asking if Sophie could please take her nasty rat out of the bar. He knows where Kug has been (he has been there before). I'm also imagining the meta-narrative of this scenario where the table jokes abt "iwe need to find a Bart for Desmond to end. Is this one named bart. Can i roll to see if this one's named Bart" & when Desmond finally gets the last hit on something ally goes 'WAIT WE FORGOT TO ASK HIS NAME. WAS HIS NAME BART' & Lo. For the bit, it was. Bart Ender

(thank you for this ask! I had so much fun writing this one since I like making D&D ‘sheets’ for characters) Desmond would remember Kug. He’d just think that he was dreaming back then but, now that he sees him while awake (and sober), he’s just going to go with the flow hahahahaha

It would be so funny if the Bart Ender that they’ve been looking for was in Bad Weather the entire time, they just never asked his name XD

Been holding a thought on my brain for too long abt putting Desmond in Situations: have you watched Dimension 20's The Unsleeping City? At least s1. Bc 1) watch it, it's so good & 2) I specifically in this situation think abt Bad Weather being the normal version of the bar in Broadway that Kingston & Misty go to. Pre-canon Desmond seeing past the Umbral Arcana & getting involved in magic shenanigans..... Yeah.

You know his latent Eagle Vision is peeling out & seeing the magic shit happening in New York City. You KNOWWWWW. Please tell me one of your followers has been thinking this too.

I have good news for you, nonny, because I have just started watching Dimension 20 this year but I am a slow watcher so I’ve only gotten as far as the first 3 episodes of Unsleeping City season 2 (atm, I think my fav D20 moment is with the Bad Kids’ “Spring Break, I believe in you!” XD). I’m one of those few people who’s pathway to D&D and TTRPG is Oxventure→No Rolls Barred/Chaotic Neutral→Mystery Quest so I am absolutely late to the party XD

Anyway, for this one, we need to do a bit of housekeeping.

I’m basing this on the title of the opening theme New York 2006 because I think that’s the year Season 1 was set (feel free to correct me though)

This means that Desmond would be 19 at that point and we can push it that he’s already working in Bad Weather.

Now, I like the idea that Bad Weather is the normal version of the bar that Kingston and Misty goes to but, may I suggest an alternative?

An earlier possible way to add Desmond to all these shenanigans is to make Bad Weather one of the bars Sofia and Kugrash go to for their ‘hairy baby free drinks scam’.

Towards the end, maybe the last bar they go to, Desmond walks up to Sofia and requested that they leave because the big rat pet she had would make other customers uncomfortable.

Sofia and Kugrash are already drunk at this moment but they hear Desmond call Kugrash a rat and are like “you can see him???”.

Kugrash immediately remembers Desmond as one of the homeless kids he helped when Desmond first moved into the city and had clocked him as ‘strange’ because there was something about him that felt... not exactly magical but almost magical-adjacent.

This ends with Sofia and Kugrash inviting Desmond to their new party as a recruit (with Sofia thinking both (1) this boy needs someone in his life to take care of him and now I’m trying not to cry because my cheating (as far as she knows) husband and I never had kids and (2) maybe he and Pete can get along as newbies with me)

And that is how our Intrepid Heroes managed to recruit an Assassin Rogue who may or may not multiclass to Gloom Stalker in a different playstyle to Liam Wilhelmina.

.

Unorganized Notes:

This is a Desmond who doesn’t know about his destiny or his ancestors but his training on the Farm is so ingrained into him that it makes him a Rogue.

Because of his lack of knowledge, we can argue that he could turn into a Thief Rogue instead of Assassin in this one because he had never assassinated anyone before.

In terms of playstyle, he’d actually be more a close combat attacker that uses some kind of switchknife with sneak attack being part of 'bonus action: hide -> main action: sneak attack')

Another suggestion I have is for Desmond to subclass as Phantom, more because of ‘Whisper of the Dead’ where every short or long rest, he can gain one skill or tool proficiency and the flavor text describes it as one of the ghostly presence shares its knowledge to the user. Desmond has no idea what this means because this is pre-canon but this is actually his ancestors managing to create a link to him in some form thanks to the Umbral Arcana mixing with his ‘destiny’.

If you want Desmond to be given the illusion of choice and not be a Rogue, we can make him a Warlock ‘worshiping’ an unknown Fathomless. In this setup, they don’t know who Desmond’s patron is and Desmond himself just shrugs because he can do magic so that’s nice. Part of his deal is that he receives messages from his patron in the form of texts on his phone. They all come from an unknown number he can’t call and the texts are always like ‘The Scholar is pleased with your desire to learn about the history of this place’ or ‘The Prophet is worried of your health and asks that you requests your companions for a rest’ or ‘The Hunter suggests you still find a weapon even if you are using magic’ and this is some weird shit even for Kingston because it seems like Desmond has multiple patrons or maybe even an entire pantheon of unknown gods/beings.

Abstergo is going to be so fucked in this one because, by the time they try to kidnap Desmond, he’d probably be around level 10~12 and maybe even living with Pete in his apartment.

And yes. Desmond absolutely knows Ricky as Mister March as well XD

[msnihilist]

Zak in Season 1:

Zak in Season 2:

[coquelicoq]

i fucking love prereading. getting documents about what's going to be discussed in a meeting and reading them and then going to the meeting and having context for all the things that are happening. if i could do this in all areas of life i would. send me a list of the words i'm going to need the definition of in order to understand what you will be talking about. give me a rundown of what topics might come up during this social encounter. provide detailed documentation of what to expect in a new setting. i will read the fuck out of that shit.

[vargaslovinghours]

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!)

-----

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.

[perhaps-mr-collins-has-a-cousin]

Hello praying people, I'm not doing well and would really appreciate your prayers right now <3

[lloydfrontera]

i don't think theo would relapse after rakiel dies but i do think he would overcorrect so hard to avoid it he'd end up developing a whole new eating disorder because of it. not really starving himself as much as controlling everything he eats down to the tiniest bite. not allowing himself to deviate from his diet at all and feeling extemely guilty and anxious when he does. in a horrible situation where nothing feels right and there's so little he can do to fix it, this is the one thing he has control over. this is the one thing he can do to make sure things go as well as they can. he fucked up once and rakiel had to step in to fix him but now his brother is gone and there'll be no one to catch the pieces if he breaks again so. he just has to make sure he never does. he has to control himself because there's no one now to extend a hand to help him up if he falls.