#slate-cutting
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
bunnithechubs · 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
if you ain't got nowhere to go tonight- I'll meet you there.
158 notes · View notes
sesamenom · 3 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Reverse Gondolin Tyelpe!
outfit inspired by this post by @thelien-art
#silm#silmarillion#reverse gondolin au#celebrimbor#tyelpe#tyelperinquar#decided he goes by his quenya name for ondolindrim purposes#fun facts abt his design!#when he formally disowned the feanorians he switched bloodred for pale slate and gold for bright silver#and changed his accent colors to finwe's dark fuschia-red#his outfit is somewhat referencing turgons w the black underlayer and the light outer robe with red accents#the heraldic belt is somewhat referencing gils device since in the au lomion & tyelpe adopted gil#the pattern on the hem of the outer robe is similar to the YT valian fashion though the cut of the sleeves is a rev gondolin style#his hair is unusually short- at this point he wears it in a simple bun#he picks up his signature half style after lomions death :(#the double necklace thing forms a similar shape to the YT era mantles/shoulderpieces#and the shape of his second dark layer is like a more modern version of the heavily layered tirion style formalwear#basically his style is 'slightly updated finwe' in a darkened version of lomion's color palette#the feanorian star in silver is his specifically#the feanorian star in gold is feanor's#(sorry curufin you don't get your own star)#he also accidentally spawns a new linguistic rift via the addition of the Gondolin Accent to the Thorn Problem#gnomish seems to have some weirdness around th- words (ie sorontar (Q. N) /thorondor (S) /thorndor (G) )#so theres def going to be a fight or three over the gondolin/gnomish pronunciation in relation to therinde
44 notes · View notes
pigeonstab · 1 month ago
Note
Tumblr media
Doing this to you and then running away hehehe >:3
Bonk! Hehehe, that's such a cute gif, we should be cats together, no responsibilities for you. You'd be a ginger car. Cause you're Irish. And I'm stereotyping you.
Also! Idk how I even got this fucked up but I just woke up at one AM with the light still on and one shoe on in my bed.
I've just spent like 5minyes explaining my dream in the tags and I replaced 'where' with 'were' two times so if you're going to read the novel I wrote be wary of that. Loll this post is a mess, goodnight Charlie!! I love you!
#I'd been having the same dream over and over too#like seeing the same events#It was a stranger things dream#were like we (me and somebody I don't know but at some point it was wybie from Coraline) were tearing through a fabric wall with chainsaws#and a demogorgon- like creature ended up cut apart because of it#and the reveal of the creature being split from both sides was one thing that kept repeating#just at some points in the dream I came back to the image of it without the fabric wall#just falling after it's died#also there was another part#were at first (this one detail happened only once compared to the other times that it repeated and it wasn't on the first repeat but it's#CHRONOLOGICALLLY the first thing)#there was this sort of enigma?#and the clock showed two specific hours#the riddle thing didn't make sense but like we solved it even though I can't remember specifics#and it was to save a guy#and there was my brother at that point and some lady told him 'oh but you like this kind of roleplaying thing' and he got mad cause#like we were trying to stop some guy from being killed#and the part of the dream that repeated was this thing were like this door thing? or I guess it was just a wooden slate would push me#or somebody else on its own#like it'd press against you to push you towards the bad stuff ™#there was a moment where I put rocks in my bag? to avoid it being flung and moved the same way as the door#bc yeah it was some creature moving the stuff though we never saw it like telepathically#but it didn't really work because the creature wasn't aware of the rocks? and apparently it needed to be aware there were rocks in the bag#also at some point there was one girl in the house we were in (this was during one of the repeats of the dream's storyline)#and she was being voodoo'd around bc the creature was telepathically moving a coraline doll and it would shove her around#and that's all I can really remember#sorry I just woke up from it so it might not make sense#you don't have to read all dat#answered asks
17 notes · View notes
neflil · 6 months ago
Text
//Outer wilds & echoes of the eyes spoilers !!
Them bc they're best friends now
Under the cut for some doodles >>
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Incorrect quotes with gossan and slate, again
Tumblr media
And the first idea I had that resulted in the creation of my mini comic "Back to you"
45 notes · View notes
sysig · 1 year ago
Note
You mentioned you mainly ship Glados/Chell when it comes to Portal? Could I please request something with them, however you personally imagine their dynamic? Sorry for the vague prompt, I'm just curious what your ideas are!
Tumblr media
Day 25 - As if being dead wasn't bad enough
#My art#Requestober#Portal#Chell#GLaDOS#Big girlfriend <3#Big Mean girlfriend <3 <3#Ugh it's been a while since I've drawn her lol I forgot how complex her design is#A lot of this is just visual noise don't look too hard lol#I do love her tho! I just happen to love her mind - her personality - the most ♥#For a change of pace I listened to her lines in the background rather than music hehe ♪#I forgot how funny she is in Portal 1 gosh she's so cool and mean and fdjsalfjdsf I love her I love her#I never know where to cut the line between the Player and Chell - she's designed to be a blank slate so hmm#I mean I see her as being extremely long-suffered - you'd have to be to put up with GLaD hehe <3#Sarcastic and flippant in response to GLaDOS' long monologues haha#But for me personally I could listen to her insult me all day <3 So how much of that carries over to Chell?#Probably a non-zero amount while I'm playing her lol - we see Players nod or shake Chell's head!#That means something!#So just go ahead and insult her it's all in good fun ♪#I do love the idea of GLaDOS needing Chell to be somewhere and all other methods of moving her are inaccessible#Elevator breaks? :3c She can fall a long distance but her jump height isn't quite that good lol#Ride around on her to go from floor to floor! GLaDOS secretly enjoys it and turns that pleasure into more insults lol#''Stop enjoying this only one of us is allowed to be having fun right now. And by one of us I mean neither of us. Be quiet.'' Lol ♫
104 notes · View notes
puhpandas · 3 months ago
Text
top 3 things I want for hw2 dlc are 1. bonnie voicelines and minigame. 2. 3 star remodels showcased in any way they could possibly put it in and 3. cut vanny lines and role restored
8 notes · View notes
vargaslovinghours · 1 year ago
Link
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.
61 notes · View notes
feeling-kinda-sad-ngl · 3 months ago
Text
okay looking into nursing again because im terrified that if i go as planned into baking right away ill burn out, resent it, be broke for life, or realize i spent all that money for a useless degree
i cant even remember what put me off going into healthcare, i think one of the biggest culprits was math lol
also not being able to handle school and a mentality of "well, high school was shitty and my grades were too so im gonna scrap all of that and go for happiness right away instead"
but now im like hmm i cant really afford to use this happiness as income right now and theres a very real chance that if i turn this happiness into a job then ill burn out and it wont be a source of happiness anymore
3 notes · View notes
sleepynegress · 1 year ago
Text
This is random but I recently saw photos on social media of two famous Jewish men, Jonah Hauer King and Jon Ossoff, and both just happened to have a spiral curl hanging on their foreheads. And it occurred to me that Superman's creators put that visual cue in there on purpose to show us Superman is Jewish.
20 notes · View notes
multi-lefaiye · 11 months ago
Text
puts eden in my mouth and shakes him back and forth like a rabid dog
Tumblr media
(art by my fiance @skitzo-kero <3)
7 notes · View notes
t-u-i-t-c · 2 years ago
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Bistrot Jurer
13 → Favorite Location (Main Base) - Super Sentai
Bistro Jurer
A French bistro owned by Kogure, that is the base for the Lupinrangers. The bistro is used as a front for the Lupins while they search for pieces of the Lupin Collection. The Lupins also use their positions at the bistro to gain intel from the Patrangers, who frequent the bistro.
The Yard
A small area behind the bistro. The area is mainly utilized in two heavier scenes, in which Kairi's resolves are called into question. One point is to question his resolve regarding doing anything in order to retrieve a piece of the Lupin Collection even at Touma's expense. The other point is when Kairi shows how his relationship with Keiichiro is making it more difficult for him to keep a clear head and focus on his goal.
The Kitchen
Located off the main floor, in view of customers. The kitchen is basically Touma's space as he is the one tasked to do all the cooking.Touma was a chef at a top restaurant prior to the mass disappearances, and is shown to find joy in cooking, even though he claims otherwise.
Dressing Room
A room in the bistro where the Lupinrangers change into their Lupin outfits before following leads about the Lupin Collection.
Kairi’s Room
A nearly empty room upstairs. The room has few personal items, having only a photo of Kairi and his brother to indicate that it is his room. The lack of personal items aligns with Kairi not feeling that he has a home and shows how the Lupins must be ready to flee at any time.
Dining Area
Located on the main floor, this is the area seen most frequently. The Lupins serve their customers here and discuss their plans as Lupinrangers after closing. When open, Umika is in this area most, as Touma spends most of his time in the kitchen and Kairi sneaks out whenever he can.
The dining area is also where the Patrangers frequently interact with the Lupins unknowingly. It is due to the growing relations with the Patrangers at the bistro, and even expanding outside, that the Lupins struggle throughout the series and most memorably in the final arc. An important thing to note is that Umika and Touma are shown to think of the bistro as their home, while Kairi does not. In the end, Umika seems to have the strongest attachment to the bistro and the memories made there.
92 notes · View notes
ultra-phthalo · 8 months ago
Text
TFP One Way Progression
TFP 'One Way' Fan Fiction Plot point note: [Angst, mentions of character abuse, runaway]
When an unknown character changes their name in order to move on from their experiences of being in an abusive household. Only to land themselves into MECH's custody. With MECH's environment almost being as oppressive of the old life they tried to escape from.
This creates an image of what the character is comfortable with and what their pre-story life might have been like. And showing how sometimes it can be difficult to truly move on or move out of an unproductive and threatening environment for good. Since it's not their first time running away and coming back to have it happen all over again. However, running away this time instead got them caught up with MECH after coming in contact with Starscream and learning about cybertronians.
5 notes · View notes
shivered-bones · 1 year ago
Text
losing it over billy who holds everything that's his close to his heart, wears them, dials them up to eleven until they're a part of him, and anybody would be a fool not to notice.
and steve, whose life is filled with meaningless things until he gets a bat of nails and a girl that tells him she never loved him. who is only a name, a face, and nobody has ever really kept him.
12 notes · View notes
mongeese · 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media
goats #1 third year running let's go!!!!!!
3 notes · View notes
watermelinoe · 2 years ago
Text
sometimes i'm reminded most ppl think of isekai as shitty rpg ecchi for moids so when i say i'm really into isekai that's what they think i'm reading 🌚
3 notes · View notes
gayspock · 2 years ago
Note
for the reverse unpopular opinion meme: what do you like abt bsg
its actually surprisingly soooo hard for me to find one thing i like abt bsg, or think of one single episode tht i like for bsg, not hard to think of a fave character though im a sharon fan to the grave. and i KNOW this is meant tobe posi- but its genuinely hard, bc i feel like...
the thing is, i dont think theres any single "element" of bsg that's unanimously GOOD. stay with me... i think like- theres some insanelygood characters. for all my clowning on gaius, i do think hes like- incredibly well done, incredibly well acted, and incredibly well written. his self-entitlement is so- so fucking realistic. it aches to watch him bc its verging on fucking ridiculous but no, no i KNOW guys would do that and most especially guys like him whove convinced themselves theyre special... and its like- good for the show for striking that balance, bc they do temper it so FUCKING WELL with him being laughably pathetic, but not holding back the punches with the heinous shit he does. i feel like lesser shows would either villify him completely or make him some sort of tragic figure- but no, hes just well done.
but ironically theres also so many OTHER characters ive found lacking like... tom zarek is the obvious one that comes to mind where hes the polar opposite of like "god i think this character could be done so well if you just- got it down better!!!" and THE SAME HAPPENS ELSEWHERE. i think they can do insane political drama- so fucking good- the pegasus arc in s2, for example, and tbh anything within the actual military side is really well done. BUT then there's so many shortcomings elsewhere within the show- like within the civilian side, ive found a lot of THOSE political-adjacent plots severely lacklustre AND LIKE-
MY POINT IS I KNOW IM BEING #POSITIVE HERE I SERIOUSLY LIKE THISSHOW OMG its like... i just think its like got so much solid, well done work running all the way through it that no matter how much OTHER stuff is a bit undercooked there's always something so good too offer. i havent ereally experienced a major lull in the show. the pacing is always fucking brilliant imo and its like my attention is always held and im always wanting to see what happens. so even when there is shit like, i.e right ow theres the love square bs that i dont care about, theres so much other good well done shit going on that im actuallyyyy crazzyyy forrrrrrrrrrrr i dont even CARE
4 notes · View notes