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

[pomefioredove]

can i order a sugar cookie, #18, with frosting and dry fruit please 💕💕 love your work

coughs weakly

order #18, sugar with frosting, dry fruit

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ intent to bite

summary: a miscommunication leads to sharing a small bed with lilia tropes: only one bed, first kiss characters: lilia additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu, who is an adult, a lil suggestive

"Told you this was a bad idea," Grim mumbles.

"Why am I stuck with Sebek, anyway?! I should be with my hench-human!"

You hold a finger to your lips. So much for hoping Grim would mind his manners on this trip.

"We've been over this," Silver says, carrying a six or seven bags inside the house. "Malleus will take the first guest room, Lilia and the Prefect will take the second, because it has two beds. Sebek and I are sleeping in the lounge, where there's a dog bed for you."

"I'm no dog!"

"That's not-" Silver sighs, looking to you for help. You have nothing.

Then, there's breath on your neck and a voice in your ear. "Oh, don't look so glum. It'll be a fine bonding experience for you boys!"

You jolt, and Lilia giggles into your ear, the airy, cheerful sound almost as teasing as the prank.

Grim sighs. "I bet Sebek snores like a lawn mower..."

"And you don't?" you mutter, much to Lilia's delight.

"Khee hee. Personally, I'm tickled by this! The Zigvolt family is as welcoming as ever. Oh, Malleus, do you need help with that?"

The smaller fae leaves to hold the door open for Malleus, while Grim repeats "tickled??" in a grumble. Silver sighs again.

"It's been a long journey. We'll all feel better once we've slept,"

"This can't be right,"

You stand in the narrow doorway, overnight bag in hand. The guest room is dark, but you can still feel how small it is. There's no way two people can fit in here.

Lilia peers over your shoulder. "What's- ah. I see,"

Your eyes adjust to the darkness. There's only one. There's only one bed.

"Now, this is unfortunate. Our rooms must have been mixed up. And Malleus has already retired, poor thing..."

You look at him. "What are we going to do?"

"Do? Why, sleep, of course,"

"Where?"

Lilia smiles and pats your head, as if you were an adorable kitty cat rather than a very tired and disgruntled adult after a full day of travel.

"In bed, my dear. Unless you were planning on taking the bath,"

He slips under your arm and into the room, tossing his bag on the floor with no regard or interest for the clothes and trinkets that spill from it.

You follow, putting your own things away as he makes himself comfortable on the bed. "Well?"

"...You can't honestly act as if this is normal,"

Lilia giggles. "What are you so afraid of? I'm not going to eat you,"

You listen, if only a little, sitting at the edge of the bed, as far from him as possible. Why is this making you so nervous?

"I'm just not used to it. That's all,"

Shit excuse. He can tell, too, if that smirk of his is any indication.

"Ah, I see. You think, hope, perhaps? that I'm going to make a move on you, as the kids say,"

Your eyes widen and you stumble over yourself, trying to come up with a rebuttal, an excuse, a lie, anything at all.

His smirk sharpens. Literally- his fangs dig into his lower lip, and he sticks his tongue out at you.

"If you're going to be this tense all night, you won't get any sleep. I'll tell you what-" he says, sitting up. "I will graciously allow you one kiss to sate your curiosity. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Now that's just unfair. "That's- what makes you think I would-!"

You stumble some more, and he drinks in the sight of you, flustered and nervous and oh-so close to him.

Lilia lets you argue with yourself until you're spent.

"...Fine,"

He claps. "Very well. Come here, Prefect,"

You sigh, but cross the bed, anyway, feeling the soft, handmade quilt underhand. You can't believe you're going to do this in Sebek's house, of all places...

Curse this fae.

You sit before him, far more vulnerable than you would have liked.

"Very good. But you could come a little closer, don't you think?"

Again, you listen. You sit on his lap, straddling his thighs, much to his delight.

"Better," he mumbles, perhaps more to himself than to you, because then his hand is holding the back of your head and his mouth is on yours.

Lilia doesn't give you much, and you know that's his intention. The kiss is much too chaste for him, and much too slow for you, but passion and pace were never a part of the deal.

You let it go.

And with some reluctance, you part from him, warm and jittery. That wasn't enough, and he knows it.

"You look like you have something you want to ask," Lilia says, his fingers brushing over your neck, feeling the beating of your heart in your pulse.

"...No," you lie.

He smirks again, baring his fangs as if warning you of his intent to bite.

"Khee hee. Don't worry, desire is nothing to be ashamed of. And we all have our little secrets... I, for example, may have asked Malleus to switch rooms with us."

Despite what Silver had said, you can't imagine sleeping now.

[baronboar]

This time let's circle back to equity later and focus on some basics! What's up with TAILS?

Transcript under the cut:

1. First of all, why do the people in a setting even need tails? Humans don't have tails for a number of reasons, we don't chase prey so we don't need it to help us change direction like a rudder. We also don't climb trees so we don't need one for keeping hold of branches or for balance. But in a world of megafauna, maybe you need a tail to help you turn fast to flee? Or maybe a hunter needs a rudder to swim? But most importantly!! It's fun & helps your people feel unique!

[IMG: A an anthro rat and sea lion, the rat is leaning over in a similar fashion to the sea lion who naturally stands horizontally like a T-rex. This shows how they both can use tails as counter balance.]

Think about why species in a setting might have tails and perhaps you will think of something that adds depth to your world… For warmth, like a blanket! To increase visibility when foraging! For Combat!!!

[IMG Three tails, a big fluffy artic fox tail, a tall lemur tail, and a spiny draconic tail.]

2. Clothing is the main issue I see brought up when discussing tails & Furgonomics. many solutions can be found when looking at furry artwork, so look around! The only solution i'd say is not valid is…The belt under the tail.

[IMG: a tailed person from behind, their jeans are below the tail, you can see their butt cheeks.] [IMG: Two illustrations of human femurs with tails, the spine points them downwards.]

A tail would sit far too low to comfortably wear trousers there, imagine wearing yours below the pelvis at your hips? Even with a belt that is far too risqué! The best solutions all put the waistband above the tail and either have a hole for the tail or in the case of clothing like dresses and skirts allow the tail to sit freely beneath.

[IMG: Three different people with different garments. The first is labelled 'breech cloth', it's a Y shaped cut of fabric attached to the waist by a string. The second is labelled 'sarong', the feline figure from the side has a length of fabric around the belly with a length hanging down over their pubic area like a loin cloth. The third is the most like trousers/pants, the belt keeps shut a flap that goes over the base of the tail that overlaps with the tail hole.]

In my setting of Firnus different cultures have their own designs to fit environmental needs. The Gilter braghe is a sleeveless trouser designed with modesty in mind. compare this to the rav breechcloth, made for wearing under robes. Or avoid the tail hole all together and beat the heat with the pantheran quarter sarong!

3. So where else can tails be a problem…? CHAIRS.

[IMG: Two normal chairs, they have back rests but also gaps between that and the seat.]

most people are going to jump immediately to seats like these:

But i'm going to make my case as to why this would not be comfortable: See this dog skeleton to the right? When a quadrupedal animal sits, they don't rest on their upper legs or put any pressure on their fragile tails, Instead they rest on their hocks & hind feet! Why? Exactly as we discussed with trousers, tails wouldn't go out, they'd go down. As part of the spine, if you wanted to sit back in a chair your spine would be vertical.

[IMG: A dog skeleton from the side.] [IMG: A small concerned mustelid says: "Sitting on your tail would feel like bending your fingers backwards with your full body weight!"]

…So, I believe anthro species wouldn't want to put pressure on their tails by sitting on them… So we cut a hole out from the bottom and back of the chair, right? Yes! and no. Yes because when you're world building you can do whatever works best for you! But no because I'm not satisfied with this answer and I'm driving this PNG!!!! So how do we fix this? Let's see why chairs even exist in the first place!

[IMG: a chair like the ones above with a half circle cut from the back of the seat.]

4. The earliest (known) chairs come from the 2nd dynasty of Egypt during the Thinite period. These chairs were as short at the seat as 10 inches! …But like, Why? as a status symbol! These caught on as nobility wished to copy kings, and then the common people copied nobility. They're also useful to keep your clothes clean and prevent you from resting on cold or wet ground.

[IMG: Two desert foxes, one on a chair is joyfully sitting upon a chair, covered in gold adornments like a pharaoh. He says: 'I'm sitting higher! So I'm better than you!' The other fox looks concerned, wears no gold as she kneels and says: 'Hm.']

But we don't need kings!! If you want something for similar use without those connotations. Here's some options:

[IMG: Two people sitting on a bench and a large plush pillow as well as a rectangular cushion that's rolled up.]

Kneeling! While many cultures use this to show reverence, few still kneel for comfort.

Benches and stools! Before chairs became affordable for the average person simpler furnishings were commonly used. These don't have tricky tail holes to fumble around with and can be as simple as a plank.

cushions! A thick pillow or rolled rug would allow a person to sit cross-legged without their tail pressing down against a hard surface.

Think about who needs chairs, where they'd be used, and the answer will come naturally! Have fun world building!

[dem0batz]

Just Pretend

Caleb x MC // Love and Deepspace

Author's Note: I don't normally update this frequently so please don't expect me to continue to pump out chapters for this au at the pace that I have been. I'm just following the brain worms. Summary: Based on the main story track when MC is staying in Skyhaven with Caleb. You develop a minor cold and accidentally fall asleep the night you were supposed to rescue Kevi, unbeknownst to you that it was very intentional on Caleb's part. 🔞Content Warnings: Dead Dove; Do Not Eat, afab!mc, she/her!mc, yandere!Caleb, pseudocest, drugging MC, stalking (filed under “surveillance”), angst, brief mention of pregnancy and pregnancy loss, noncon, somnophilia, oral (f. rec), masturbation, breeding kink, cream pie Word Count: ~3000 words | read on AO3 | Chapter List

“Maybe you should take tonight to rest instead of meeting up with your friends, pip-squeak. You’ve been coughing all day.”

Caleb phrased it like a suggestion but you took it for what is was. Some things never change and his bossy tendencies was one of them. You had no intention of staying in tonight, cold or not— you promised Kevi you would help him and Zayne was waiting for you to bring the boy to him so he could be smuggled out of Skyhaven before the fleet found him.

As much as you wanted to trust your brother, there was something nagging at you that he was a different Caleb than the one you grew up with. You weren’t sure whose side he would take— yours or theirs should it be found out that you are secretly suspicious of the Farspace Fleet and investigating them.

“You’re probably right,” you say, exaggerating a cough.

“I’m always right,” he teases. “Besides, Skyhaven is under lockdown tonight while the fleet conducts a clean up.”

He disappears further into the apartment and returns a few moments later with two white pills in the center of his palm. You eye the pills warily.

“Cough suppressants,” he reassures.

A weight leaves your chest. You must be feeling especially paranoid with the whole Mia and Kevi situation. You don’t trust the Fleet but Caleb would never put you in danger, despite what his orders were.

You truly believed that. He was just trying to look out for your well-being. Taking the cough suppressants would probably help with the worst of your symptoms tonight anyway.

“Thanks,” you accept the medication. Caleb watches you chase down the pills with a glass of water, a satisfied smile on his face. “Why the need for the lockdown?”

“I see you haven’t gotten any less nosy over the years,” he accuses playfully.

“And you haven’t gotten any less avoidant over the years,” you counter. Still, you continue to probe. “Is it classified?”

Huffing a laugh and shaking his head, Caleb cages you against the counter. His eyes dance playfully across your face, left hand coming up to cup your jaw. You find it a little odd, considering that he was right-handed but you quickly push it from your mind, heart racing at the feeling of his proximity. His thumb strokes your cheek, subtly checking your skin for a rise in heat to ensure you haven’t caught a fever. At least that’s what he tells himself, and it’s partially true, but really he just wanted an excuse to touch you again after nearly a year of missing the feeling.

“No, it’s not classified,” he eventually gives. It wouldn’t hurt to allow you this small bit of information. “A weird fluctuation in the tunnel is riling up the Wanderers. So teams are being sent out tonight to handle it. But it’s nothing you need to worry about because you’ll be resting. Right?”

Thankful for your years of training at the academy, you school your face though guilt wracks through you for the lie you were about to tell. Yes, you believed Caleb would always put your safety first, but you still didn’t know how involved he was in this situation with the kids. You couldn’t risk letting them down. If it turned out you were wrong and the Fleet really had their best interests in mind, then you would tell Caleb the truth once Kevi was out of Skyhaven.

“First of all, I’m a Hunter and eliminating Wanderers is my job. So of course it’s something for me to worry about,” you narrow your eyes defiantly.

The lop-sided smirk on his face only grows in amusement. He always got his entertainment out of picking fights with you and then making it up to you afterward. But things were different now. You were different now. You had to learn to survive without the safety net Caleb provided. He needed to take your job seriously and recognize that you were more than capable.

“Unfortunately though, you happen to be right about me needing to rest and get over this cough. I need to return to work next week and I would hate for a mild cold to keep me from my job.”

At the mention of returning to work, his face drops, lips pursing disapprovingly. Caleb never did like the idea of you going into such a hands-on, dangerous profession but Gran always kept him from interfering with your career too much. Now that she was gone, there wasn’t anyone to bat away the insane thoughts of keeping you locked up at bay. Truth be told, his reaction was less to do with your job now and everything to do with you leaving Skyhaven. Thankfully, those thoughts didn’t win out today as he nods, backing away and changing the subject.

The distance between you was back to feeling cold and empty.

“I need to get ready for my shift. I’ll make sure to say goodnight before I head out. Get some rest, pip-squeak.”

The way he went from hot to cold gave you the worst kind of whiplash. One minute he was playful and fun, and the next he was closed off and felt far away and unreachable, even more so than when he was “dead”.

You swallow down the painful lump in your throat as you watch the back of his white sweater disappear down the hallway to the guest room he had been staying in during your visit since you have been staying in his.

After going through your usual bed time routine so as to not make Caleb suspicious, you crawl into the large soft bed. Rolling over on your side, you cozy up to watch raindrops hit the floor-to-ceiling window as yet another storm dumps on Skyhaven. You had every intention of feigning sleep until Caleb left but somewhere along the way, your eyes grew so heavy that it was impossible to keep them open. You hadn’t even realized that you fell asleep and when you did, it was like being submerged in a warm, soothing bath that you couldn’t seem to come out of, falling into such a deep sleep that not even dreams or nightmares could touch you.

Many hours later, an exhausted Caleb returns home. He doesn’t even bother shedding his damp uniform, leaving the OTTO unit to clean up the trail of water left behind from his soaked boots. He only has one destination in mind after a long night cleaning up the streets of his city. 

Caleb pushed open his bedroom door a crack. Peering from beneath the bill of his uniform cap, his eyes dart over your sleeping form. He takes a moment to admire the sight of you curled up in his bed, waiting for him to return home from work. It was something he spent his entire adult life dreaming of and now it was a reality, even if wasn’t of your own doing. Very little was when it was left up to him.

He was trained to sus out lies in interrogation rooms and could read you better than a book. After all these years, you still had the same tells though you had gotten better at concealing them. To anyone else, you likely would have been the perfect little liar but he knew your face and your body language better than anyone, despite what your new little boyfriends thought.

Yeah, he knew about them.

It was his job to know things and above everything else, you were always his first priority of business. He had continued to keep a close eye on you after his recovery post-explosion. Even if the professor hadn’t assigned you to his charge as a secret mission, Caleb would have done it regardless. His Colonel rank only gave him more resources to keep tabs on you, even if that meant occasionally having to destroy certain types of evidence to keep you safe. There were some places you went where he wasn’t able to keep watch— the N109 Zone, specifically. But it didn’t take long for the Onychinus leader to show his face in Linkon City.

Sylus may have been wealthy and full of resources competing with his own that kept his identity unknown to most other government and military entities, but he was difficult to ignore when he started showing up everywhere you went in Linkon. Wasn’t exactly subtle in the way he was pursuing you, touching you like you belonged to him.

But he would be dealt with later.

Out of all of your admirers, there was one in particular that set Caleb’s teeth on edge and that was his former best friend.

It was no secret that Gran always pushed you and Zayne together which is why Caleb invited him into your bedroom in the first place. He wanted to make sure that Zayne understood the only way he would ever get to have you was because Caleb allowed it. For years, it would seem that he received that unspoken message, never making a move on you beyond the permission Caleb directed in those intimate moments. It didn’t take long for the doctor to take advantage of your loneliness though, to swoop in and be your shoulder to cry on in his absence.

If any of your boyfriends deserved the Farspace Colonel’s wrath, it was Zayne.

This was personal.

Now that you knew the truth of Caleb’s life, there was no reason to continue to sit back and watch those four continue to take what was his. You didn’t need anyone else when you had him.

Caleb pushed the thoughts of those other men out of his mind, not wanting to spoil this rare moment he had to watch you in person again, comfortable and pliable in his sheets.

Just like when you were younger, the blanket was tossed to the side with one leg in and one leg out like your body couldn’t decide whether it was hot or cold. This gave Caleb a view of your body, his familiar oversized aviation tee that you had stolen years ago covering you. He can’t believe you still had it, and wore it regularly by the look of the thinning material. It rode up your torso, teasing a view of your stomach. The temptation to keep his hands to himself is impossible as a leather gloved finger traces the hem of your sleep shorts.

Caught in his thoughts, he’s thrown back to your sophomore year of college. He was in his last year of pilot training but made the trip from Skyhaven to Linkon as often as he could to see you. One particular weekend, he surprised you with with a visit and you surprised him with a positive pregnancy test. He was over the moon, thinking of the best way to break the news to Gran and trying to convince you to finally let him put a ring on your finger. Not that he needed your permission because he wouldn’t accept no for an answer, but hearing you say yes of your own accord would be ideal.

Yes, you were both young but he’s loved you for as long as he could remember and spending your lives together was always the plan. Not to mention, he’s been looking for a way to convince you to stay out of the Hunter’s Academy for years— a baby was the perfect reason to keep you off of such a dangerous career path. You didn’t need to risk your life when he would always be there to take care of you. Both of you.

That all came crashing down when you miscarried just a few days later.

He was devastated.

You were relieved.

Your relief broke his heart and made him angry, feeling like he was grieving the loss of your baby alone but he would never expect you to carry the burden of his pain so he kept it to himself. Regardless, he hadn’t let go of his plan for your life together; the timeline would merely be pushed back a little. He’d been patient for years at this point. A couple more wouldn’t hurt.

That was, until the explosion that left him dead to the world and confined to a bed during his recovery. For a while, he let go of that silly dream, content to watch you live your life from afar while he kept you safe from the clouds above. But now that you knew the truth and were back in his life, he felt a flicker of hope return.

Pushing the t-shirt further up your body, he hunches over to press a trail of soft wet kisses across the skin, imaging what you’ll look like swollen and heavy with his baby.

“I’m going to put another one inside you one day,” he continues peppering his lips over your stomach then resting his forehead there as his cap rolls off his head to land on the mattress. “This is my vow. As soon as I deal with the professor and we’re both safe, we will finally have the life we were always meant to, pip.”

You begin to stir under his touch, the feeling of his soft damp tendrils brushing your skin, tickling you even so deep in your sleep. The soft gasp of his name on your sleepy lips is enough to make him harden uncomfortably in his uniform pants, the starchy material leaving very little growing room. He can’t help but to bury his face in between your legs, inhaling the familiar scent of you with a shudder. It’s enough to leave the rational part of his mind behind, the last shred of his self-control slipping since your arrival as he pulls your sleep shorts down and tosses them to the side along with his jacket and gloves.

Caleb palms himself through the now unbearably tight pants before unzipping them for some relief. Kneeling back onto the bed, he carefully shoulders his way between your thighs, admiring the sight of your beautiful pussy and inhaling you again, feeling a sense of home for the first time in nearly a year. The temptation was too much to resist.

Just one taste.

That was all he needed to get by until he could convince you that this is where you belonged.

With him.

Knowing you wouldn’t wake up with the pills he fed you earlier, he flicks out his tongue to lightly spread your folds, teasing himself with the hint of your comforting flavor. He hadn’t completely lied about the nature of the pills— they would certainly heal up that cough of yours but would knock you out for a solid 12 hours before you came out of it. They basically put the consumer into a temporary coma to encourage a quickly healing process. The medication was not available for public consumption, reserved only for fleet members who needed a quick recovery but his rank gave him access that most others did not have.

Earlier, he had felt guilty for deceiving you but reminded himself that you were lying about staying in to rest and likely intended to sneak out once he was gone. He couldn’t have you wandering around Skyhaven alone at night without his protection. Not to mention, he never would have been able to do this if he hadn’t pushed you to take the medicine.

Your flavor explodes on the tip of his tongue, causing his hips to jerk into the mattress as he throws your legs over his shoulders to deepen his kiss to your center. Licking through the seam, he seeks out your clit, teasing and sucking it between his lips until you’re swollen and slick, gushing around his mouth with sleepy sighs and moans as you came on his tongue. Even if you wouldn’t remember it, he needed to make you orgasm, missing the feeling of you falling apart beneath him as if a piece of himself had been missing for ten long months.

This was the most alive he’s felt since he died.

Rising to his knees, chest rising and falling in heavy pants with your essence coating his chin, Caleb pulls his hard cock free. His head falls back in ecstasy as his hand cradles his girth. With you lying there and the lack of feeling in his right hand, he could almost pretend you were the one tugging on it, bringing him to the brink.

“Fuck, pretty girl. Missed you so damn much,” he pants, left hand climbing up your soft thigh to thumb your slick clit again. He had always been addicted to touching you, but now it was like going on a bender after getting sober and he couldn’t get enough.

Surprising himself with the quickness of his orgasm, he spurts all over you with a pained groan. Ropes of white coat the inside of your thighs and stomach, and he can’t tear his eyes away. When there’s nothing left to give, he slumps down, admiring the sight of his claim. Heart pounding in his chest, another intrusive thought invades his mind, bouncing off of the walls of his skull until he gives into the compulsion. Scooping the spend up with his fingers, he carefully stuffs you full of it, your pussy sucking them in like it was welcoming him home.

Slicking back his damp hair, Caleb feels like the storm clouds of his mind have been temporarily settled, allowing him to think clearly again. Guilt once again floods him as he thinks about what he’s done, always at war with himself when it came to you. He busies himself with cleaning you up and redressing you, ensuring to leave no tangible evidence of what he had done behind. Only the knowledge that he had left a piece of him behind for you to take back home with you. 

OpaLADS Taglist: @i-messed-up-big-time @sorryimakira

*If you would like to be added or removed from my tag lists, please let me know!

[captainsamuelmorrigan]

Poolverine/Deadclaws

[Fluff/Angst with a happy ending]

I just think about Wade BEGGING Logan to let him sleep in bed with him. Logan just shakes his head every time, "You don't wanna do that, bub."

But Wade VERY MUCH does. He would literally kill to sleep with Logan, either way he takes that. Well, he'd literally kill someone regardless, that's his job, but you know!! He wants to run his bumpy, scarred fingers through Logan's chest fur so bad. He daydreams about big spooning his Honey Badger, sliding his arms around him and pressing his front to Logan's big, strong, and warm back. He only feels a little horny about it. A normal about of chubbing up about it.

He begs Logan for weeks, getting on his knees for all the wrong reasons. He hasn't wanted anything this bad for at least a few months! He's desperate.

Like most things in Wade's life, it happens at an unexpected and probably bad time. They had had a mission go bad, both bloodied, and ended up showering and finding comfort in bed with each other. They hardly spoke. It just mattered that they were physically touching. They were both still here. Wade got his Wolverine snuggles, and everything was alright again.

Well, until around 4 in the morning. Wade woke up to three adamantium alarm clocks punching through each of his lungs. It hurt like a bitch. He coughed blood right onto Logan's face. Gross. He definitely wasn't getting invited back to bed after this. He weakly tapped the furry man's shoulder. "Logie-bear, I was expecting some penetration tonight, but I like the pre-made holes played with a little more."

Logan growled in his sleep before the taps brought him back to consciousness. His eyes flipped open, and his expression changed from anger to horror in an instant. "WADE! Wade, I'm so sorry-" The claws withdrew, drawing another wet cough out of Wade. "Please, please, stay with me." He started to gather the sheets to press against Wade's chest, his hands slippery and red. "Althea!! Help! Please!" His eyes were wild, scared, and firmly on Wade. "We'll fix this. I'll fix this!" He turned towards the door again, yelling louder. "Althea!! Help me!!"

Wade was a little stunned. What was going on? He patted Logan's arm, trying to get 400 pounds of superhero off of him. He coughs out an "Off!"

Logan looked at him like he was crazy. "Fuck you if you think I'm letting you die here."

Wade tried to push him off again, smearing blood onto Logan's hairy chest. He sputtered, trying to get words out, but the air wasn't quite doing what he wanted yet. Drowning in blood sucked! 0/5 stars on Yelp for sure.

Al knocked loudly on the door. "Logan? You okay in there?" Logan leaped to unlock the door, allowing Wade to sit up a little bit, his flesh starting to really knit back together, feeling his lungs start to clear.

Logan opened the door. "Althea, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I stabbed Wade, he's- He's bleeding out. You need to call a medic- a doctor, someone!" His voice wavered a bit.

Althea placed a hand on her hip, raising an eyebrow as she leaned on her walker. "Motherfucker, what the fuck are you talking about? A doctor?" Her nose wrinkled as she caught a whiff of Wade's blood permeating the room. "Whew, that's nasty. Clean that up when you're done with whatever this shit is."

Wade coughed. "Very sweet that you care, Logan." His tone softened. He was realizing Logan wasn't 'here,' he was somewhere else, Wade wasn't really Wade in this scene. "Take a breath, Honeybadger. I'll be fine if you just give me a-" cough "second."

Logan's breathing was still heavy, his eyes still wide and scared. Wade was sure the blood spatters across his face weren't helpful either.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm fine! Or, I'll be fine once the mutant cancer does its job. Remember? I don't die." He waved, smiling at Logan from the bed. He wasn't sure the blood dripping from his chest and mouth was helping his case.

Logan deflated a bit. "Oh." He turned to Al. "Althea, I'm sorry. I didn't realize, or, I forgot. I apologize for waking you up."

Al waved him off. "Yeah, yeah, I'm gonna go smoke a joint. If you need to loosen that tight ass, feel free to join me."

Logan closed the door, coming to sit on the bed, holding his head between his knees.

Wade wiped his hands on the sheets before crawling to put a hand on Logan's shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. You deserve to get to freak out here and there. We've been through some crazy shit. Did you want to talk about it? Do you want me to go swipe Al's weed? She's not as stingy about it as her cocaine, promise."

"I could've killed you." Logan admits from behind his hands.

"Not possible. Great try though, good form." The Merk quips.

"Don't! Don't joke right now. I would've killed you if you weren't like this." Logan gestures to Wade, his hand still trembling, Wade's blood starting to dry between his fingers. "I shouldn't have let myself fall asleep around you."

"Logan, bud, hey, look at me." Wade patted Logan's knee, scooting closer. "Really look at me."

Logan sat up, turning to face Wade, his eyes red-tinged. His hair is crusty with blood. "Okay...?"

"Am I dead?"

"No, but-"

"No! That's the whole thing. I am alive, whether I deserve to be, or should be, or anything else. I'm here! I'm still here." He smiles softly at Logan. "That's all that matters to me. If a Wolverine cuddle costs me some minutes drowning in blood, I can assure you that is a very small price to pay."

Logan opens his mouth to respond, his sharp canines catching the light from the street lamp outside before he shuts it again. "I'm dangerous."

"I eat danger for breakfast, usually with unicorn marshmallows."

Logan actually laughs at that. "You're insane."

"Insanely in love with you~" Wade teases, jostling Logan with his shoulder.

Logan groans, wiping his face with his bloodied hands. "That can't be the first time you say you love me, that's terrible."

"I think it's perfect. Now, c'mon, let's change the sheets."

"It's gonna stain the mattress." Logan moves.

"Number 2 rule of sex and superheroing without an in-unit washer and dryer, always use a waterproof mattress cover." Wade taps his temple, smirking.

After another shower, a quick change of sheets, and replacing the mattress cover, Wade and Logan are back in bed, cuddled close.

"I love you, too." Logan says softly. "That's a pretty dangerous thing, though."

"Again, danger, breakfast, unicorn marshmallows." Wade mumbles as he pulls Logan closer.

[ammyamarant]

Kamen Rider Gavv ep 1 thoughts

Just going to watch one episode right now because I need to finish Kabuto and I need to Know what Kabuto has up its sleeve. But, the tl;dr of Gavv: Cute show, I can see how traumatized this poor kid will get by the end

Gavv ep 1

okay so I’m already reminded of W. Wonder if there will be a mentor figure that dies like Soukichi does in the first fucking five minutes of W

oh neat doors. I’ve seen Labyrinth too.

jfc how old is this kid he looks baby

yeet out of a plane and the tinkly “oh this is the world mom is from” music lmao

lbr considering the environment you just escaped from and the way you were happy to be freefalling because you were where your mom is from, I think needing some food is understating it.

"what do you have? Do you eat it?" has the same energy as my "what is gender? do you eat it?" joke

WHAT IS YOUR BODY MADE OF

Karakida I want your jacket. Give

Ah you have no communication skills. Understood

"This isn't a monster case" "So what is it?" "Woman fucking killed her own husband and shh keep your fucking voice down"

"today's harvest" and it looks like bloody organs. Hey I've seen 12 Hour Shift too.

oh you've never been allowed actual food have you

oh goddamn it I can hear Apollo aiming the dodgeball already

my dude. you got a tummy ache then gave birth to something. human women would kill for that to be their normal gestation cycle.

mm, cgi is kinda……………………

"hey now I've been fed actual food and have real energy I can make minions" yeah I mean that makes sense. People get all kinds of bodily processes back once they've been properly fed. Usually takes a while for their body to recover but hey you ain't human so I get it

this kid is so sweet and kind giving obvious main character (yeah I know it's shouma) a place to stay and some sweets to eat.

oh right the street drugs WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT HENTAI ASS THING

oh it's just a mouth. Wicked teeth.

Shouma is such a sweetheart

Also ye, I can see why Shouma is enchanted by sweets if his mom never let him have any of the family drugs.

excuse me I need to figure out a way to get into this world and beat down this addict before he hurts this kid

Shouma I would like a full rundown of what you can do because was that super speed and running perpendicular on a vertical surface? My dude? Answers?

Mm, sick monster design

Yeah, the monster and the kid both being like "hey what the fuck" to Shouma is fucking hilarious.

oh fucking ow

your mom turned into a bloody organ thing. Are we sure this isn't just a horror movie?

I feel like these minion things showing up saying "eat gummy!" shouldn't feel as threatening as they do.

OH GOD THE CRYING EYES. I'M HOWLING

"oh with the other one" lmao

I wonder what this show is like on edibles because the bright colours are fun and I had a blast watching Ex-Aid baked. Tho I'd consider that a little too on the nose considering the street drug metaphor of those dark candies

little dudes go somewhere safe that isn't under the fighting feet!

oh interesting so if he gets a lot of battle damage he can repair it by using another minion. Very neat. Wish more "battle damage" was repairable that easily. Looking at you, 3rd Birthday.

oh calling both of them monsters and Shouma just taking it is heartbreaking.

I'm definitely feeling the difference between Takaiwa and whoever the suit actor for Gavv is, but it's more "huh, that's a different way of doing the stunts" than anything bad. I do miss Takaiwa but that's mostly because he's a fucking legend. This guy's doing great, tho.

did… they repurpose the build driver for this?

takaiwa usually stood upright, even for meek characters like Ryotaro, while it seems like this guy's default stance is hunched over. iiiiiiiiiiiiiinteresting. Says a lot about Shouma in this form

okay I was about to say this Rider Kick is lame, but nah, it's pretty good.

Shouma you are sunshine and joy wrapped in ptsd. That's not even a joke I know you're fucking riddled with ptsd from just your memories of your mother alone

Shouma you are not Eiji stop being a hobo

Cute show.

[gullwrites]

a bar called safe house

summary: Maybe asking a friend to help you with your work isn't always a good idea, especially if a guy who secretly hates your friend shows up. Now, after asking her new associate she had gained through work to help hide something that happened, including her friend Tobias and this coworker deemed as 'knows too much', Klara is told to go to a specific bar with her still-a-bit-shocked friend to wait for the associates' people to be done at the apartment.

a conversation of a specific event in their early relationship/friendship i've been thinking of abt lately. idk. happens twenty years before cynosure events btw.

warnings: mentions of killing someone in self-defence, self-destructive thoughts, mentions of blood, mentions of murder

"I think my mom took me here a couple of times..."

Klara turned to look at it quickly, surprised at it suddenly saying something after a silent walk here. Not like she was completely surprised about its silence, it's not every day someone like Tobias could experience something like... that.

They were in a dim-lit cafe-bar thing called Safe House, making Klara wonder how literal the name was. She was told to take it here, while the people who worked for Birch took care of the... problem.

1:56 AM, barely anyone outside and no one in the cafe. Except for them. Only some people knew it was open at this time, those who were allowed to know, and the owners didn't seem to be keen on telling that to anyone they see on the street, either. One of them sat behind the counter, reading a book - Klara couldn't tell what, exactly.

"At a normal time, I hope?" She asked.

"Haha, no. Insomnia runs in the family, it seems," it replied, staring at the menu, "At 2 at night, I think. Maybe a bit earlier once. She knew someone who knew someone who was friends with the lover of the owner."

Klara wondered what kind of people its mother knew to know about this place. "God, didn't you live at, like, Medford or something?" She said, imagining how long it would take to get here from there. They must've had a car. "Gonna order the same thing now, too?"

"Oh, no no no, no, I've had enough of lemon iced tea in Miami. Never again." Tobias stepped closer to the counter and leaned on it. "Pomegranate spritz, non-alcoholic, please."

"Anything else?" The voice behind the counter asked, and it glanced at her, awaiting for her order.

"Oh, um, hang on, I haven't checked the menu myself yet," Klara said and stepped closer, cursing the dim light and small font in her head - and forgetting her glasses. "I'll pay, you go find a cool table to sit at," she said to Tobias, who stood still by the counter.

It looked around, then walked closer to her, clearly not wanting to be alone. After a moment of Klara squinting at the menu, it said, "You're an iced coffee enjoyer, why not order that? They had cold brew, too."

"Hmm... Yeah, I'll take that," she walked to the counter to pay, but the owner didn't seem to notice her as they just kept working on the drinks. "Where's the reader?"

"The payment was taken care of already by the person who told you to come here," they said, and motioned them to go and pick a table.

--

They picked the table by the window, by the wall. Klara watched Tobias slowly sit down, and how it took off its leather jacket to place it near the wall, like a makeshift pillow. She thought about sitting next to it for a moment, to maybe try and offer some comfort, or to just be close, but ended up sitting on the opposite side of the table instead. Maybe that would help her with less thoughts about 'being close'. Maybe. "You okay?"

"Hm, fun question," it said quietly, leaning on the table, "Maybe? I don't know. I guess you could say yes in a 'I'm alive' way. But everything else, a big question mark. Although, I do feel awful about what I did, you know? Or, maybe not awful, just- uh, I don't know, sorry."

"Nothing to apologize about, it's very normal."

It glanced at her, a frown on its lips. "What's normal about this situation..."

"Your reaction's normal. I mean, that must have been shocking, so of course it makes you feel weird."

"I wouldn't use 'shocking' to describe killing someone, but yeah, I guess," it sighed and covered its face with its hands, mumbling, "Oh my, what have I done..."

The owner brought their drinks, not paying any attention to what was happening. Klara wondered if they just didn't care, or if there have been weirder things happening here before.

Klara watched them leave, and then looked at it. "May I remind you that it was in self-defence. We already talked about this before." She hoped that its bathroom was soundproof enough.

Tobias opened its mouth to answer, but closed it quickly, reaching for its drink instead. To hold it, twirl it around slightly, not to drink - something idle to do while lost in thoughts. Klara watched the dark red liquid move in the glass, wondering what it could see in it. Looked at its fingers around the glass, still noticing some blood under its fingernails. Thought about the two big wounds she had taken care of on its left side, sitting on the floor in its bathroom, its smooth skin warm under her hands - she stopped herself for a moment, wondering if it's normal to think of something like that. At that moment it seemed to only care more about what body cream it could use after a shower. It ended up choosing vanilla, and Klara could feel its faint scent across the small coffee table, finding it interesting how much it seemed to care about something like skincare.

Maybe it was just thinking of something that wouldn't let it think of what was happening outside the bathroom, Klara thought, Not every day some people who work for a guy you don't know come help clean things up.

Suddenly, Klara realized she's been staring at its face the whole time as she was lost in her thoughts. She leaned back and picked up her glass of cold brew, hoping the paper straw hasn't melted yet.

Tobias didn't seem to be fully here, either. Its dark brown eyes, almost black in the cafe's poor light, seemed unfocused, and it seemed to barely move. Its hand was still holding the cocktail, thoigh it didn't twirl it around anymore. She fought the urge to place her hand on its. Didn't want to bother it.

"I think, um... I think I learned something. About myself. Or, well, um, I don't know," it finally said, its voice trailing off at the end, as it placed the glass down and leaned on the table.

Klara sighed, readying herself for it to call itself an awful person for what it had done, once again, or whatever it could've thought of. And thought of what to say to it about that, again. Maybe something like 'if you were, you wouldn't feel bad about it'... like some of her coworkers. "And what would that be?" She asked.

"I, um. This might sound weird, I guess, but. I don't think I would've acted like this before," it paused, as if looking for right words, "I mean, um. I think I would just, uh, give him what he wanted. Wouldn't care about him killing me. Maybe I'd even be okay with it. Or...something more positive, even? Anyway. Would've done that half a year ago. But now? I... I think I realized that, well, there are things for me to live for. Things to work towards, people to talk to, helping others... People to live for," it said, glancing at her for a moment as it said the last sentence. Klara thought if it was an accident, or just a reflex, or something. Surely it didn't mean anything by that. Did it?

Before she could reply, it continued, "I'm not trying to say what I did is right. It isn't. And I'll live with that my whole life. But, at that moment, fighting for myself seemed like a good thing..."

"And it was," she said, "said it yourself, many times, you didn't mean to. It was literally the first thing you said when I arrived."

It shrugged, looking down again. "I don't know, I- Ugh. I feel sick about it... but also, uh, free? In some way? Is it wrong?"

"No."

"Pfft. It feels like you're saying that only so I would feel better."

"Didn't you call me straightforward person?"

It smirked slightly, looking at her with its soft, brown eyes. "As a compliment. Um. I mean... It's a good trait to have. Along with all the other good traits you have, and, uh," it picked up its drink and took a sip, as if to stop itself from saying more.

"Then you know I'm being honest," she said and leaned closer. "Nothing wrong with defending yourself. Besides, guy was a complete asshole. And, well, a murderer. Imagine how many people he had killed before, both for work and for whatever he was doing on the side."

"Hmm," it looked at the glass again, its shoulders seeming less tense. "I hope none of my, uh, whining sounds weird or offensive to you, by the way. As in-"

"As in me being a corporate agent and doing all the shit that role brings with itself? No, don't worry about it. That's the hole I digged for myself."

"Should get you out of there and have you sipping iced coffee while looking at gulls on the beach."

"Hah. That would be fun, yeah... Though, only if you're there doing random commentary about things happening around us," she chuckled, thinking of the 'research trip' two days ago. How its laugh and stories seemed to fill her memories of that day.

"Oh, gladly," it said. "I, um. Thank you, Klara, for being here. And for all the help back at the apartment, too. For everything. It's helping... a lot. Means a lot."

She froze for a moment, thinking what to say. "I mean, technically it's my fault you got into that situation... If I didn't ask you to help me out with work, Pierce wouldn't have even know you're here."

"I'm sure he'd found a way to try and kill me in one way or another. Probably dreamed of it since the end of the project. Don't blame yourself."

"Only if you won't blame yourself for what happened, either."

It didn't say anything, staring at the drink its glass, yet she did notice it smiling more widely. Good, that's good, she thought, though failing to explain to herself why it was good.

She leaned back and looked out of the window. "I should ask if they're done with your apartment. You need to sleep, maybe write that you'll take a few days off as 'sick leave', calm doen before going back to your courses and work... and your thesis..."

"Yeah, uh. Oh, fuck, the thesis... Uh. Just remembered that Pierce destroyed all my data drives and my laptop while trying to get rid of all the information I had for your work."

"You don't have any copies left? Of your thesis, I mean, not the stupid work files. Fuck them."

It shrugged. "I, uh, fucking hell. Um-" it paused, finished its drink, and sighed. "You know what, I'll figure it out later. You're right, maybe I meed a break."

"Hm, you sure do," Klara thought about taking a few days off herself. Just to keep an eye on it, make sure it's feeling alright, she thought to herself.

She opened her phone and noticed a message from one of Birch's people, saying that the apartment is free now and that they'll contact her later about the next steps and updates. "You can go home now, it seems," she said to it.

"Did they, uh, clean up everything there. Where that happened, that is."

"Yep. Based on what I've seen before, they do a good job, so don't worry about it. It will all look completely normal." Except that you won't be able to forget about it, she almost added, wondering if it could move out despite the year-long agreement it had.

Tobias nodded. "Uh-huh. Um. How much do I owe this guy, by the way. Surely nothing he does is for free..."

"Actually, about that. Weird thing, but when I mentioned your name, he said it'd be for free. No, don't ask why. I don't know either."

"Huh. Um. Okay." It stood up and put its leather jacket on. "Weird question, but can you stay over? I, um, I know nothing's going to happen anymore, but-"

"Being alone doesn't feel right, huh? Understandable. Of course I'll stay with you."

"...Thank you."

[magiclwritings]

This family was absolutely insane at most points in their best days. It often took getting used to. Especially when you were really only used to being around one of them at a time. But there were always good stories to pass around the office afterwards. He often wondered how the hell James made it out of that family as normal as he did. Not to say that Albus wasn't. Well, to an extent they were near similar but the younger Potter had more of a grasp on reality and feelings. It truly was a breath of fresh air when he thought about it. Albus had always been the one to make the papers and seemingly was the best behaved of all of them. He'd often wondered if that was to make up for the rest of them. Except when he has a bottle in his hand.

Andrew had stepped out of the stall, fingers dragging up his fly as he'd come face to face with Scorpius Malfoy. He'd never had the privlege like some of the others of attending Hogwarts and growing up in awe of this whole lot. No, thankfully he'd been allowed to study abroad and at the behest of his parents' choosing. However, the rumors had been true, all of them until this point. So why shouldn't he believe the rest of them? He briefly smiled at the acknowledgement and moved to the far sink to wash his hands as well.

"It is." He finally managed as the water covered his hands and he soaped up quickly. Over and over his hands slid against the other as he washed and turned the faucet off. He shook out his hands a few times over the basin before he moved to grab himself a paper towel to dry his hands too. The closeness then to Scorpius was a bit odd to him. Something told him that he wasn't liked by this man but he could hardly say why. "It's nice to see the missing piece finally slide into place." He mused, wiping his hands one last time before he tossed the towel into the garbage can near the door. "Welcome home." Though his tone was anything but kind as he spoke to the blond before him.

Andrew slid himself between Scorpius and the door just then. While he hadn't grown up with them and the rumors so far had been true, James took the time to fill him in on a few details that never left the sanctity of their bonds. How in Merlin's left eye that every happened he could never understand but it still stood to reason that it'd been true seeing the way those two acted with one another. Albus never looks at me like that. "I know you and Albus have some catching up to do. I'm sure you've missed each other over the what ... " He trailed off, tapping his finger to his chin. "Years? Was it? You went traveling, right?" He asked, already knowing the answer to that question. When he and Albus had met that man had been a husk of himself. It didn't take truly knowing him to see it. He'd been gutted and the reason was standing right before him.

"I suppose we'll have to invite you up for tea when we can make it out this way." Andrew forced a bigger smile and tucked his hands into his pockets then, puffing his chest out slightly. "He's so busy with quidditch and then my work schedule. Our priorities are always to ourselves first though." He gave a slight nod and bared an ever bigger grin. "I'm sure we'll become fast friends though. Promise to keep it down and all that jazz."

Scorpius turned to walk away from Rose and immediately ran into Teddy’s chest. His cousin wrapped his arms around Scorpius’ shoulders, pulling him away from the middle of the bar towards behind it. “That seemed tense,” He said as the blond hopped up to sit on top of the bar. He shrugged, leaning his weight against the pole. “What was it about?” Teddy tossed Scorpius a cloth and then nodded his chin towards the wet glasses beside him. 

“You know what it was about,” He answered, picking up a freshly cleaned glass and drying it. “Don’t play coy with me, Lupin. I know you have werewolf hearing.” Scorpius went to work, setting the dried mugs off to the side and moving on to the next. 

Teddy leaned his hip against the bar, eyes searching Scorpius’s expression for something. “There are people who want you here,” He spoke softly. “People who are happy to have you back. Rose doesn’t make decisions for the whole group. She is in the minority.” 

Scorpius knew all of that. He did. Rose would eventually come around as she always did, or she wouldn’t and it really wouldn’t change much in Scorpius’ life. The thought that he was ruining Albus’ life by returning did it for him. He hadn’t been thinking when he told Albus he was waiting for him, and while he did not regret what he had said, he regretted putting it in Albus’ mind. But he knew what Teddy feared. He understood why he was trying to smooth things over for Scorpius. “It’s fine, Teddy, really,” Scorpius said as he hopped off the bar, clapping the man on the shoulder. “ I’m not going to pack up and run because Rose said a few shitty things to me, but I am going to the loo so don’t fret. I’ll be back.” Teddy shot him a small smile and waved him off. 

He concentrated on his steps, forcing his feet to cooperate as he walked to the bathrooms. Scorpius clipped his shoulder, turning the corner, but caught himself. “Fuck,” He grumbled, shoving the door open and entering the loo. Those shots were doing a number on him. He stumbled towards the sink, turning on the faucet and splashing cold water on his face. He rubbed the water from his eyes, glancing up and immediately meeting the gaze of the last person he wanted to see standing behind him. 

“Hello,” Scorpius said cautiously. He turned to the side, grabbing a paper towel and wiping off the remaining water on his face. “Andrew, right?”

[msnihilist]

Zak in Season 1:

Zak in Season 2:

[theorahsart]

Incorruptible Chap 3 pt 19

I love how this pamphlet reads like a boxing match lol

...Lameth begins the 200+ year tradition of rich white guys throwing a tantrum when anyone else is given a chance to have their say.

[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.

[burningcomputerpersona]

you ever have one of those cases where you know your childhood wasn't exactly normal but then you take a look at one aspect of your life that you thought was just a quirky lil detail and realize maybe that was a bit more not-normal than you previously thought

[ame-to-ame]

Oh on last rb's note my friend actually read love bullet per my recommendation hehe and she likes it and it makes me so so happy hehe

[rin-rin-kururin]

by the tenth month my game brainrot turned into ship brainrot and i can only pray for what will happen next