#au tags incoming

[gracklinging-electricboogalo]

hi. names vic or grackle 👍

anything other then she/her and im just queer. anything includes neos and it/its btw go crazy

i will never post consistently. everything is here there are no side blogs. hyperfixs will come and go.

artfight // ao3 // art tag // art customs (ko-fi)

[fae-of-prey]

sugar plums ⏾ ˖ ࣪⊹

❥. ݁₊ inspired by this + me rewatching obx before the new season

❥. ݁₊ word count: 1138

❥. ݁₊ warnings: barry’s little sister reader (kinda naïve + v sheltered); w*rd cameron; brief mentions of murder as per canon events of the show; sorta dubcon kiss but reader doesn’t mind; i think that’s it? feel free to lmk if i missed any

❥. ݁₊ notes: this is v much baby’s first official fic so pls be nice to me:3 i also wanna thank my beautiful beautiful moots for supporting me + beta reading this for me, love y’all to death<333

rafe loves nighttime; it’s peaceful, quiet, it feels like he has the whole world to himself, and most of all you. he fights hard to keep you as blissfully ignorant and unaware as humanly possible, so you can sleep peacefully next to him. rafe can’t sleep tonight though, how could he? he’s haunted by the consequences of his own murderous actions. he lays awake watching you instead just to feel a tinge of pride from how well he’s kept you safe and happy despite everything. rafe always thought you were an angel, his angel, sent straight from the heavens just for him, and you‘ve never looked more heavenly at peace than you do now.

you’ve certainly come a long way from a drug dealer's little trailer park princess sister, busting your ass working at the country club hoping you’ll eventually save up enough to afford college someday, to spending your days living the kook life at tannyhill and being spoiled absolutely rotten. although your big brother was apprehensive at first to your courtship with the kook king himself given the fact that he knows rafe, he eventually came around to the idea; he even lets you live with rafe now for the most part, i mean you get to live in a mansion more comfortably than he’s ever been able to provide, so he had to be a little selfless. barry’s always been a little overprotective and very strict with you to keep you safe from the dangers of his lifestyle, but now so is rafe and he’s happy to be responsible enough to keep you out of trouble.

on the surface it seems like the most dangerous place you could be (well, right next to the dingy trailer of your drug dealer brother), but rafe promised your brother you’d be in good hands, a promise he fully intends to keep even if those hands are now covered in blood. all so you can sleep soundly in his arms dreaming of sugar plums, while rafe’s father pulls into the driveway with a dead body in the trunk.

‘rafe’ even his whisper startles his son and causes you to stir a little bit when he jumps, though he quickly rubs your arm with his thumb soothingly as he turns just slightly to face his father, careful not to wake you in the process ‘what? what is it?’ so eager to help, yet there’s a small part of him deep down dreading leaving the comfort of your presence for what he’s sure can’t be anything good. but ‘i need your help’ is still enough temptation from the devil for him to get out of bed and smear a kiss to your hairline before following his father out to the driveway ready to do anything for daddy’s approval.

sometime in the middle of rafe carrying gavin’s body to the druthers, you stir from your slumber, searching for rafe in the covers only to come up empty, prompting you to open your eyes in hopes you’ll have more luck with your sight, but he’s still nowhere to be found. you creep into the hallway ‘rafe?’ nothing but an echoing sense of unease. not just at rafe’s absence, but the feeling of trepidation in such a large house; you’re still not quite used to it from growing up in a tiny trailer (because despite rafe’s efforts, you’re still not quite a real kook just yet, and other kooks don’t shy away from making it clear behind rafe’s back). that and you can’t help the nagging sense that something is wrong.

you go downstairs for some water while you wait for rafe to come back from accessorizing a murder wherever he is. and as soon as you’ve finished filling your cup you turn around to see your boyfriend walking in suddenly scaring the hell out of you, you didn’t even hear him come in ‘hey baby, what’re you doin up?’ his voice still so raspy ‘i woke up without you, where’d you go?’ you pout, setting the glass down to wrap your arms around him but you still look up at him with those big doe eyes, and he can’t help but feel a familiar pitter patter in his heart at your clinginess; he quite literally just buried a body but less than a minute with you sends him right back to cloud 9 because fuck you’re the light of his goddamn life, and more than that you’re the only light in his goddamn life ‘just uh, had to help my dad with som‘in on the boat, nothin fancy. let’s getcha back to bed, yeah?’ you smile and nod before taking your water with you as he leads you back upstairs.

once you’re all settled in again, so does grim reality when rafe remembers he still has to find the gun in the drain ‘shit, i’m sorry baby, i gotta go take care of somethin else’ ‘what? more boat stuff?’ you’re joking but still he’s never been more grateful for your lack of knowledge on boats before ‘yeah, yeah, uh, i’ll be back soon as i can though okay?’ ‘okay’ you’re pouting again ‘aw c’mon don’t give me fuckin that look’ he starts rummaging around in his closet for some real clothes to wear just to avoid it ‘what look?’ you feign innocence ‘those fuckin bambi eyes you give me whenever you want somethin’ ‘i dunno whatchu mean’ ‘yeah sure you don’t, fuckin smartass’ you giggle at his grumbles, he comes back dressed for the day since it’s morning now and he still has to go find a murder weapon.

‘cmere gimme a kiss fore i go’ ‘promise not to be gone long?’ you look up at him with those big doey eyes once again, you need to make him promise so you can sleep easy knowing he’ll be there when you wake up again, but rafe just sighs ‘ion know how long this is gonna take baby, i said i’ll be back as soon as i can, can’t make any promises okay?’ you’re still pouting at him so he rolls his eyes and grabs your face, squishing your cheeks, and kisses you himself, grumbling about how he has to do everything himself ‘just go back to sleep and i’ll see you later aight? promise’ ‘okay’ you huff in defeat ‘good girl, i love you’ ‘i love you too’ when you kiss him once more he has to refrain from kissing you again or else he’ll never leave the damn house.

eventually he manages to leave you and rides off on his motorcycle while you watch from the window. after he’s gone you flop back into bed sighing, maybe you can at least dream of him to keep you company while he’s out wondering how the hell he’s gonna explain this to your brother.

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, likes / comments / reblogs of any support or feedback is the best way to show your appreciation, either way i’m so happy to have you here; i feel like there’s more i can explore with this so i’m down to write more of it if you guys want; but other than that i hope you have a lovely night, muah!

© FAE-OF-PREY 2024

[sealrock]

the major arcana: the complete deck

to round up 4 months worth of gposes, here's a huge masterlist of every tarot card featuring my gaggle of ocs, please enlarge for full details. thank you to everyone who enjoyed this series along with me!

[ahollowgrave]

-- satisfied.

[crimeronan]

ooh recently you rb'd some titan!luz art and it made me think about luz getting creechur-ified. princess luz au where she becomes a (literal, not belos-style) monster? let her be weird and have fangs.

there's gotta be a titan!luz version of the princess timeline out there somewhere, right?? maybe one where belos more violently attacks luz while they're fighting over hunter & so she ends up unconscious/dead-ish in the inbetween.

and then the titan is like. hiiii baby. hi luz. bebita. my specialest princess. heyyyy. do you want to go crazy murder your dad with me :)

luz ascending as empress while suddenly filled with fuckoff powerful magic and purpose because she's like "hahAHA. actually i CAN talk to the titan. FUCK the empire. LET'S GOOOOOOOO"

Deeply Joyful. let her have fangs and go apeshit. Yes .

[tarochimochi]

Do ya'll fuck with my hc... lowkey

[maifazcomics]

[SaboHigh AU]

SaboGirls Girls' Night!!! (Hortence and Mirna human designs are by @/Spuddie203! Two design by @/skimblrmink!)

Girls guide!

And Girls Clothes!

[ohno-the-sun]

Monster designs

Been thinking of an au

[liauditore]

OVERSIZED JACKET JIMMY-

YES!!!!!!!!!!

[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.

[iknowicanbutwhy]

"This is Tails. Sorry. You just- you haven't been picking up your communicator, and I meant to leave it be, and I know I said I wanted to take some time- to myself, and I haven't called for a bit, but I wanted to bother you- I DIDN'T want to bother you, I just- i know I said that I-"

*sigh*

"I'm trying to be tougher. Y'know, be okay on my own. But I've been really- thinking. Not talking... does that really have to be part of it? I've thought about it logically- because I guess it was kind of an emotional decision to go away, even if it IS also rational-"

"Tangent. Anyways... "Asking for help is a part of growing up," you said. Remember?"

"You're pretty great at holding yourself together. A-and I need to get better at that. But I still think.. that we should talk about things. We should talk about what happened.... and I know you're gonna go "I don't know what you're talking about, buddy!" and change the subject-"

[...If only I could access my data on Father's recorded history of him.]

[nox-sssscraps]

Recent blood covered oc’s

[amiharana]

literally all of them AJBDJWBD ok but 15 has so many soft domestic vibes 🥹🫶 and 17 literally link seeing revali cry for the first time omgg revali finally learning how to be emotionally vulnerable w link

(ask game from here)

since i wrote more of a headcanon list of what both revalink's bedtime routines look like on this post for @noraiir-arts, i'll do a drabble kinda thing that's like a moment in their routines for 15 lol

🛌 15. Going through their bedtime routine.

"i just don't see why it's necessary," link says, watching revali cut open a second sheet mask. he already has one on his own face, carefully spread and applied across his gorgeous tan skin. link thinks it makes revali look like he's shedding a layer. "your skin's already nice."

"how do you think i keep it nice?" revali says, carefully removing the sheet mask out of its packaging. "my skin's very sensitive, you know, it requires quite a lot of maintenance to keep it this refreshed and clear. you're lucky that you only need to shower and splash your face with water to keep it that way. who knows how you survived using 3-in-1 body wash your entire life."

"hey, i didn't know that it was bad for you," link grumbles and crosses his arms. "i thought it was more efficient to have it all in one than have to buy it all separately..."

revali rolls his eyes. "mhm. now lay down, so i can put the face mask on you."

link complies easily, the tension leaving his body and his eyes falling shut as soon as he feels revali's fingers, gentle and warm across his jaw. then suddenly, he feels a layer of ice spreading across his face and he squeaks, flinching.

"stay still," revali says, tapping link's thigh.

"it's cold!" link whines back, squirming. "you didn't tell me the face masks were cold!"

"they're cold because i keep them in the fridge and your body is a piece of the sun that fell onto earth," revali replies. "of course it's going to feel cold."

link continues to shiver until he finally gets used to the feeling of the mask on his face. revali continues adjusting its application, smoothing or stretching it out in some places until he's satisfied with the way it sits. "there we go," revali says softly. "good?"

"mhm," link says. he can barely move his face with the mask on. "how are you able to talk with this shit on?"

"you get used to it," revali replies. he lies down beside link on the bed and intertwines their fingers together. "now, we wait for thirty minutes and let the serum sink in."

"does it really take that long?" link says, nose wrinkling. the mask shifts due to the movement and he reaches up to smooth it back down.

"i've fallen asleep with them on before. but it's better to let it stay on longer than shorter so the skin can absorb it."

link hums and they both fall silent. with their fingers still intertwined, revali rubs his thumb against the base of link's. their room is quiet, except for the sound of music playing softly from link's phone. he complains plenty about how revali takes way too long to get ready for bed, but moments like this where he can participate in it with revali are link's favorite.

"thank you," revali says suddenly.

"hm? for what?" link says. he struggles to enunciate it; talking with a sheet mask on is difficult.

"for doing this with me. you didn't have to." revali's voice is quiet, almost shy.

link wants to smile under the sheet mask, but he doesn't want it to get messed up again so he resists. "it's something you like to do, so i wanna do it with you too."

he feels revali squeeze his hand, a silent "i love you". "just don't fall asleep," revali says out loud instead.

this time, link can't resist smiling. "no promises."

💧 17. Link has never seen Revali cry, so when he does, Link struggles with how to react.

when link comes home, the house is quiet. which is usually how it is, even if revali is home before him, but at least his boyfriend is being quiet somewhere where link can see him as soon as he comes in. at least revali will call back when link announces he's home, but he hasn't and it's making him nervous.

"'vali," link calls, slipping his shoes off and pushing them onto the shoe rack they keep by the door. "where are you~!" still no response. it puts link on edge immediately. "'vali?"

revali isn't in the living room or the kitchen, so link moves further into the house. he's not in the office or in the backyard, but his car was parked in the driveway so he has to be home. the last place revali would be is the bedroom, so there link goes.

but he's not prepared for the sight before him when he does.

revali is seated on the edge of the bed with a leg tucked underneath him, a look of despair and tears marring his face. he turns his head to look up at link when he hears him enter the room, but says nothing, staring and tears continuing to streak down his face.

link feels like his lungs have been severed from his esophagus, the air he's so desperately trying to breathe in blowing his chest up like a balloon instead. he's never seen revali like this; revali, whose natural facial expression is a scowl and narrowed eyes. or revali, who reserves his softest, most loving looks upon link. this expression on revali's face now... it feels like the world has fallen out of balance.

he knows he should go to revali, hold him tight and close, and comfort him like revali would do for him, but link can't move. he's rooted to one spot, eyes wide but unable to tear his gaze away from revali.

link's throat is dry, but he gulps and still attempts to speak. "you okay?"

for a moment, revali continues to stare. then he sniffs and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. "yeah, i'm fine," he mumbles, looking away.

moving feels impossible, like he's trying to swim through quicksand, but slowly, link moves forward towards revali until he's seated in front of him on the bed. "...you wanna talk about it?"

revali stares blankly into space, unresponsive. a streak of fear wraps itself around link's chest as he searches revali's face, for any change in expression because this is terrifying.

"'vali?" link tries again in a whisper.

and this time, revali looks at him directly. but his face is scrunching up, his eyes welling with tears as he sniffs deeply again. "sorry," he murmurs, "i— just, it's—" fresh tears roll down his cheeks again and a sound that link has never heard before escapes from revali's throat, one that should have never made a home within revali in the first place.

"oh, 'vali," link whispers and he lets his instincts take over. he crawls forward into revali's lap, wrapping his arms around revali's neck and legs around his waist, holding him tightly. that's when the dam finally breaks and revali lets out the most gut-wrenching sound that link has ever heard him make, beginning to shake and cry openly into his shoulder. he holds revali tighter, letting him cry as much as he wants; it's the least that link could do. "it's okay, i'm here, reva."

eventually, revali's crying comes to a stop, but he's still holding link tightly with his arms around his waist, breathing softly against link's neck. link just strokes his hair, pressing kisses to the side of revali's face where he can reach. it's still a couple minutes before revali can find the words to speak again.

"it's the anniversary of my parents' funeral," he murmurs against link's neck. and it makes link stop in his tracks. oh. "i realize that i never actually talked to you about them. i'm sorry."

"that's okay," link murmurs back, continuing to stroke revali's hair. "you don't have to if you don't want to."

revali pauses for a moment. "i want to," he says softly. "i want you to know about them."

his tone somehow makes link's heart flutters. "okay," he replies in similar volume. "i'd like to, as long as you're comfortable talking about it."

"if it's with you, then i am," revali says. he takes a breath before talking again. "both of my parents died when i was six years old. i... don't want to talk about how they did, but i remember being at the funeral. at the time, i didn't really know what was going on but even as a child i understood grief and sadness." revali's voice grows quieter. "they were all i had, but i can barely even remember them. it's pathetic, i know."

"no it's not," link says softly. "you were still really young and it's a traumatic experience. you can't fault yourself for not being able to remember."

"but they were my parents," revali whispers. "they're the people that gave birth to me and were supposed to take care of me, and all i have to remember them by are legal documents and pictures. i can't even do them justice in memories."

link doesn't know what to say at first. it's an incredibly difficult subject to broach, after all. "even if you can't fully remember them," he decides to start, "i think they would love to know that you're trying. they've probably been watching from above and are so proud of you, because you have so much to be proud of, you know? you're so talented and clever and very handsome, might i add—" revali snorts — "they probably would have been proud to see you grew up well even without them. they would still love you."

"you really think that?" revali murmurs.

"the great revali? uncertain about his greatness?" link says teasingly. he pulls back a little to look at revali's face, whose eyes are still red from crying but hold a fond look. "they would, 'vali. anyone would be proud to have you as a son."

after a beat, revali pulls him back into a hug, squeezing him tight. "thank you," revali whispers. "i appreciate it."

"of course," link replies and turns his head to press another kiss to revali's jaw. "i'm here for you always." they're both quiet for a couple more minutes, content with just holding each other close until revali speaks once more.

"i'm sorry, by the way," revali says into the skin of link's neck. "i probably worried you since i wasn't there to greet you."

"that's okay," link says, his eyes closed. "i get it now after you told me. so don't feel bad anymore, i'm here with you now and i always will be, no matter what. i love you, 'vali, more than anything."

"i love you, too, songbird," revali whispers back. "thank you."

link hums. "i'm gonna get some water for you and then how about cuddles?"

"that sounds... nice." revali's face shifts its position under link's chin. "do you have to leave to get the water, though?"

he giggles. "do you wanna come with me to the kitchen, then?"

"i think we should skip the water and go straight to cuddling."

"nuh uh, you have to rehydrate after crying so much. you do the same to me when i cry."

"...whatever."

link giggles again and then sits back, pulling on revali's arm. "come on, let's go. the sooner we get water, the sooner we can cuddle." revali rolls his eyes but stands up with link and complies. even after all that, revali is still too weak for link and for his cuddles.

[protectxthem]

Peter Parker in a Percy Jackson au.

send me an au and i’ll give you 5+ headcanons about it | Accepting

Peter is the son of Athena. He's the only child not afraid of spiders. Which is funny since all of his siblings and mother have arachnophobia.

The spider that bit him was part of the curse of Arachne. Arachne chose Peter for the sole purpose he was young and could get into trouble easily, so to further embarrass his mother, Arachne chose him when he was eight, while on a quest.

Peter was sent to camp when he was five because his father died and his aunt and uncle couldn't handle a demigod and the monsters always trying to attack him and them.

Peter was placed in Hermes cabin for two weeks before his mother claimed him. He was ecstatic when his mother claimed him. He was treated well by his siblings and they were nice and patient with him as they taught him the ropes.

He's a quick learner and excels at sword fighting since he's smarter than most and more strategic, he seems to be one step ahead of everyone.

[naminethewriter]

Reality Shift

We reach the end of another @loceitweek. It was very fun participating again, thank you mods for organizing 🥰 I hope you enjoy this last story of mine! 💛💙

Masterpost | Loceit Week 2023 Masterpost | Ao3

Summary: Janus is a Clockmaker with his own shop. When a particular customer comes in, things change in a ways Janus doesn't know - yet.

Content Warnings: Philosophical discussions, Death mention, Afterlife mention, Mention of burning and fire

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Janus was in the middle of installing a gear into his newest work when the bell above the shop entrance rang.

“One moment, please!” he called out, steadying his hand once more before moving the piece into place. It fit perfectly. With a sigh of relief, he pushed the magnifying lens away from his eye and wiped away the sweat on his brow. He allowed himself a short moment of rest before placing his tools aside and walking towards the front.

“Sorry about that, I was in the middle of an assembly,” he explained to the customer who was closely examining his wares. “How can I help you?”

The customer turn to face him and Janus was immediately struck by his deep blue eyes that almost seemed to draw him in. The other man must have noticed him staring because he quickly broke eye-contact and cleared his throat.

Janus shook his head. What just happened? Sure, he had had gay moments before but never like this. This felt different. It had felt… unnatural.

“I simply came in to browse. It is rare to see a proper clockmaker shop these days,” the man explained in a smooth tone that was very pleasing to Janus’ ears. In an attractive way this time, not that weird floating feeling he had got from looking into the man’s eyes.

“Yes, indeed. I doubt I would be able to do this if not for my uncle owning the building. I would never be able to afford the rent, but he’s always been very supportive of me.”

“I see. An understanding and supportive family is a great blessing indeed,” the man nodded. “If you don’t mind my asking, why are you making clocks and watches? With the advance of modern technology, most simply rely on their devices to tell the time. Some of the younger generations don’t even know how to read the time without a digital display anymore.”

Janus eyed the man. That was quite the personal question and he was normally not keen on sharing such details with strangers, but he was also a good judge of character – at least he thought so – and something told him that he could trust this man. Well, what was the harm in telling him?

“I always found clocks fascinating, the hands ever moving, the gears ever turning, everything needs to move precisely how it should for it to work. My grandfather had a small collection of watches, some quite valuable antiques actually. They were so pretty; I could hardly take my eyes off of them. And to just imagine of much effort and precision went into making them, it was like a miracle to me. I wanted to try it for myself, and now, here I am,” Janus smiled, leaning against the counter of his shop and watched his own creations tick away.

“Time is such a fascinating part of our lives, don’t you think?” he continued, absentmindedly stroking his finger across the face of his own watch. “An unstoppable force that dictates everything we do. The fact that we have limited time to live, to do the things we want to do, is what drives us forward the most and I don’t think people appreciate it enough. They’re afraid of death to the point that they curse the passage of time that brings them closer to the brink and I can’t think of anything more beautiful than to watch it pass and change our surroundings. Imagine how dull it would be if everything stayed the same if time didn’t pass. I don’t think enough people appreciate that about time passing. And I think having a watch, a separate tool dedicated to time, is a reminder to be grateful for the life we get to live, no matter how short or long.” He looked up and was met by those deep blue, captivating eyes again. Quickly, he looked away.

The movement seemed to startle the man out of his own thoughts and he cleared his throat again.

“That is some profound reasoning. I’m impressed.” Janus shrugged.

“It’s simply my opinion. Not many I’ve spoken to about it agree with me.”

“No, I imagine they wouldn’t. Thank you for your explanation. I will come by again.” With that the man hurried out the door and Janus wondered if he had just imagined the pink tint to the stranger’s cheeks.

~~~

Janus didn’t know what happened. One moment he was struggling to breathe, the smoke suffocating him, unable to move to escape the heat of the flames, and then, suddenly, everything had vanished. Or maybe he had vanished. The floor – or whatever was under him now – felt cool to the touch but not uncomfortably so. The air was clean and carried a hint of something he couldn’t identify.

He could breathe again. He wasn’t burning anymore. What the hell was going on?

“I’m sorry for my abrupt actions,” a voice he found familiar but couldn’t quite place, suddenly spoke above him, “but I couldn’t remain idle. Can you stand?” Slowly, because he still didn’t know what was happening and felt very disoriented, Janus pushed himself up.

“Where am I?” he asked before looking at where the voice had come from. He was met by a face he recognized though he didn’t know from where until he focused on the eyes. Deep, blue, and captivating. “You’re that customer from a few years back.”

“Indeed.” The man offered him a hand to help him completely to his feet which Janus accepted. He was wary of the stranger, but something about him felt so unthreatening he couldn’t bring himself to refuse.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Janus reminded once he was standing. Looking around he found himself in an observatory of some kind, with a glass dome surrounding them and a sea of stars as long as the eye could see. Wherever he was, it was not Earth.

“It is not an easy question to answer.”

“I imagine it wouldn’t be. Am I dead?”

“Yes, in a sense.”

“Elaborate.” The man sighed before motioning Janus to follow him towards the giant telescope in the middle of the dome.

“Your human perception of death… I do not understand it fully, I must admit, but if I were to use terms that relate to what most of your kind believes, then I would be what you would call a deity. My domain is the passage of time and the movement of space. And in the moment of your death, I pulled away your essence from the world you know to here.”

“My essence? As in my soul?” Janus asked as they climbed the steps up to the lens of the telescope.

“It is not entirely similar to what you would call ‘a soul’ but close enough to make the comparison, I suppose.”

“Then what happens to me now?”

“That is up to you,” the man – no, god, apparently – shrugs as he motions for Janus to take a seat in one of the chairs placed beside the telescope while the god – feels weird to call him that, Janus thinks – places himself in front of the lens. “It was my thoughtless action that brought you here, but I will not force you to stay.”

“So I wasn’t supposed to be here?”

“No, you weren’t. This is a space of my creation, for me alone.”

“Then why did you bring me here?”

“I… am not quite sure of that myself. Unlike what you humans believe, even as a deity, I am not all-knowing. Especially you humans confound me often. Which is why I travel to your world every once in a while. I have watched you for millennia. Watched you curse my domain for ending your lives and keeping you from reaching what goals you strive towards, but you, you were so different that day in your store. You understood the value of my work and I found myself wanting to converse with you longer, but I am not supposed to interfere with your world. There are others – other deities if you so will – who care for your kind and do not wish for ours to change yours.

“So I kept an eye on you from afar and when you were on the brink of death, of disappearing from my sight, I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out and bringing you here.”

“Won’t the other deities reprimand you for that? If you aren’t supposed to interfere?” Janus questioned.

“I did not interfere with what was supposed to happen. You still died. Your body will still be found and mourned. Time will continue the same as if I had not acted.”

“What about where I was supposed to go from there? Shouldn’t my ‘essence’ as you call it not be somewhere else?”

“No. It would have simply disappeared.”

“So there is no life after death?”

“There is not.”

“I see.”

“You are quite accepting of this shift in your perceived reality.”

“I suppose I am,” Janus smiled, coyly, as the deity faced him again after having looked through the lens for the last part of their conversation. “I never saw much sense in committing to a believe I couldn’t prove, so religion didn’t interest me. If you are a deity and you say this is how reality works, then I can accept that.”

“You truly are strange.”

“So I’ve been told.”

The deity laughed.

“I truly hope you will stay a while. I haven’t had good company in so long.”

“I have no where else to be, apparently. So why not.”

“I am grateful.”

“I’m Janus.”

The deity smiled and reached out a hand.

“Logos. But I would like you to refer to me as Logan.”

“Sure. Thank you for bringing me here, Logan. I look forward to learning about this reality from your perspective.”

[top-wing]

I just thought of something really funny

A Top Wing Drake and Josh AU where Rod is Drake and Brody is Josh

Oh and Penny is Megan

OH wait i did not see thsi lmaoo

so true. just a couple of goofy silly buddies and then there's the little menace penny