#there's a lot so i'm putting it under a cut-

[totalswag]

heyyy can i request angst with drew, maybe they had a fight (totally a misunderstanding bc yk how we get when we’re on our period 😔) and he was just really mean to her, she feels real bad abt and later he apologizes plss 🙏

love your writing!!!

apologies in the after math ⎯ DREW STARKEY

authors note hi, thank you for your kind words. i hope you enjoy reading lovies. so close to 2k of you all, oh my gosh, i'm so grateful!!

masterlist

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summary its the time of month and you get overstimulated easily. drew and you have a little argument that leads you two for not talking for a bit till he comes into your shared room.

warning(s) being on your period, crying, arguing, cussing.

You started your period yesterday and have not been in the best. Your mood swings vary every single time during your period⎯don’t know what mood you’ll be. You've been lying on the heating pad since four in the morning⎯You're going through it now. 

The cloudy weather makes you feel peaceful, and you're snuggled up on the couch, watching movies to distract yourself from the cramps. This is your typical routine on your period because you don’t have a lot of energy to do anything in the very beginning.

Drew left the gym around seven in the morning and was heading home. He went with Chase, one of his Outer Banks castmates. He texted you that he was only around the corner from the house.

Drew came to the house, put his stuff down, stepped into the living room, kissed you on the cheek, and asked if you wanted to join him in the shower to ease your cramps.

"Come with me, baby; it will feel good," Drew encourages, kneeling in front of you and leaning forward, reaching, softly caressing your lower back.

Drew does everything he can to ensure your well-being during your period. He despised seeing you in pain and discomfort. He secretly brought you coffee, donuts, and your favorite flowers the last time you were on your period. He also respects your boundaries.

"I don't see why not," you shrugged, removing the blanket from your body and folding it before following Drew down the hall to your shared bathroom. 

A few hours go by, you are in one of your negative mood swings. You woke up from an hour nap. Drew and you had a fight⎯the fight began over something pointless. Of course it did. Drew had left his shoes in the middle of the hallway yet again, and as you stumbled over them, something inside you cracked. 

Drew casually dismissed your aggravation with a lazy, "Relax, it's just shoes," lightly chuckling, and you let out a rush of pent-up frustration.

"You're always doing this, Drew! You have no regard for anyone else's space or time. It's like, "Geez, are you even trying?"

His jaw tensed as he put down the drink he was holding. "Are you serious right now?" His tone was cut as a warning. "You're overreacting."

"Don't you dare tell me I'm overreacting," you said, your face flushing. "Maybe if you actually paid attention for once—"

"Fine!" he said abruptly, cutting you off. His voice rose, intense. "Do you want me to pay attention? Fine. But maybe you should quit looking for reasons to start a fight. Not everything is a major issue, you know."

The words felt like a slap. Tears welled up in your eyes before you could stop them, and you fought to let them fall. You stood paralyzed, unable to speak due to the lump in your throat. Drew inhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair and muttering something under his breath.

As time passed you didn’t say a word to Drew—both of you were quiet. You stayed in your shared bedroom scrolling through tiktok. Drew was somewhere in the house doing something.

There was a soft knock at the door, "Hey," Drew said, hesitantly and quietly.

You didn’t answer. Part of you wanted to stay stubborn, but the crack in his tone made your resolve falter. 

The door creaked open, and you could hear his cautious feet. "I'm sorry," he added, bringing his voice closer. "I should not have spoken to you like that. "I didn't mean it."

You peered out from beneath the cover, seeing his sorrowful gaze. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, and his hair was ruffled, as if he had raked his fingers through it in irritation.

"I was out of line," he added, crouching near the bed. "I just lashed out." That is on me."

Drew continues to explain he was even more out of line knowing you are on your period and you have these little moments where you aren’t in the best of moods. He was validating your feelings, putting the blame on himself. However, you shouldn’t react that way to begin with.

The honesty in his tone made your throat clench.

"I'm sorry, too," you said quietly. "I didn't intend to provoke a fight. "I just..." I've been feeling lousy all day and took it out on you. "I should not have done that."

Drew shook his head softly. "No, do not do it. You are free to express how you feel. "I just want to be better for you."

He grabbed your hand and lovingly squeezed it. "Will you come out with me? "I have something to show you."

Curiosity got the best of you. The wonders of what he has for you. Was he doing something to make up for the altercation? So many things running through your mind. 

When you entered the dining room, your breath hitched. The table was set with your favorite dinner, and candles flickered softly in the dark lighting. An arrangement of your favorite flowers was placed in the center, their beautiful fragrance filling the air.

"I know it doesn't erase what I said," Drew replied softly, caressing the back of his neck. But I wanted to make it up to you. You mean everything to me, and I detest the thought of you thinking I don't care,” wrapping his arms around your waist, kissing your cheek a few times.

Your eyes welled up again, but this time with glad tears. You hugged him firmly and buried your face in his chest.

"Thank you," you replied softly. "This means everything to me."

He kisses the top of your head and wrapped his arms around you. "You mean everything to me," he said quietly back.

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[mangoamango]

In 2013 I lost a close friend at just–a stupid young age. My cat was one of the few things that helped. shortly afterwards he passed away too & all the grief I had from losing my friend & him just poured over me like a wave. And while deep in that fuckin pit, I wrote to sashayed about losing my cat, and she took the time and energy to respond to me in a way that--I don't even know how to describe it. Like a ring of keys. Being seen in a way I didn't know I could be seen.

Today would be my friend's 35th birthday; I'm putting the rest under a cut because I want to talk about her a little, but I don't want to derail Rave's post about her own loss.

CW for death and animal death if that is not already apparently obvious

I think of my beautiful friend so often. How much she would HATE the political landscape now. What hilariously mean things she would say about it. The music she's missed out on. The books. The memes! What her fashion would be like. If she would've published anything professionally (her dream). If we would finally be able to talk about how T E R R I B LE her first original fantasy novel was (she started writing it in like 8th grade, so like who amongst us at 13 would've done any better etc). What she would think about my cat rescuing and if she would take any of the little wayward gremlins I find outside. Her beautiful soft ankles.

Claire was a dear friend of my heart. And then--after her completely abrupt death--the cat of my absolute soul died of a brain tumor at only 4 years old. I don't know if I would've survived her death without my cat, and while I know I would've survived the death of my cat it would've been much more difficult without the kindness Rave showed me. It means a lot now, and it meant a lot then.

Rave, you will never know what a difference your kindness made in my life. i wish there was something i could say or do for you in return besides: i’m so sorry for your loss. thank you. Your friend sounds so much like mine--pretentious and clever and mean. Today I am thinking about them both.

My best friend who died for no reason would have been 40 today. I think when people die it's tempting to make them into saints, which he certainly wasn't, but without exaggerating his qualities he was and is one of my favorite people, and if you met him i think he would've been one of yours. He was my favorite for a lot of reasons I can't imitate or match -- his intelligence, his kindness, his patience, his artistic daring. But he was also my favorite because he was interested in and curious about so many things, particularly other people, and that is something I or anyone can emulate, which is why Sept. 20 is my personal Curious About Someone Else's Area of Interest Day! In honor of my dead friend I would love for you to tell me something you are learning or doing that's taking up space in your brain. Are you learning a new language, did you write six pages of a novel, did you try linocut (!), are you studying gene expression, do you have a new pet lizard, did you visit an arboretum? I would love to hear about it. and so would your friends probably even if you think they wouldn't. before my friend died i loved hearing him talk about dramaturgy and would've loved to listen to him do it for 24 straight hours, even though i always made fun of him for having a pretentious job. i wish i had 10000 more conversations to remember about this thing he loved.

[loudkidsoulfreak]

Detective Conan - First Concept Note

(Full under cut)

"Half of my life was tied to Detective Conan (lol)"

Note: Texts in indented paragraphs are Aoyama Gosho's quotes/comments. The "Initial designs" parts are probably editor's comments I'm not sure. I'm not good at translating so feel free to correct or throw rocks at me if I get anything wrong.

Note 2: These are not scans. They're just pictures I took with my phone. The sketch itself is already messy tho (probably giving you the feel that you are viewing the raw sketch itself). I only edit it a bit so it doesn't look too dark or yellow compared to how it look irl.

Kudo Shinichi / Edogawa Conan

His bangs ended up being a centre parting. (lol)

Initial design: Shinichi's hairstyle was mostly finished. The balls are to indicate his soccer skill. Conan's glasses style was also decided. The handwriting texts are to indicate the character's tone.

Mori Ran

She haven't got the horn yet. (lol)

Initial design: Go to the next page to read the author's comment about Kogoro to know more about characters' surname (lol). This design really give the Karate Champion vibe. And here she supposed to call Kogoro "papa"?

Mori Kogoro

His surname was supposed to be Hattori. Later, it becomes Heiji's name. (lol)

Initial design: Slicked back hair and parted pencil mustache look also mostly finished. It giving the classic vibe of a sharp detective instead of the comedic feel. His hair stand up like a thorn when he just woke up? Not mentioning the surname, the name Kogoro probably wasn't decided back then either?

Agasa Hiroshi

His surname supposed to be Mori you know! I probably wanted to use this design for Ran's grandpa. (lol)

Initial design: The design are well rounded. From his smiling face to his "serious" face are all perfect. Not sure if he's a genius inventor, but the great thing about this design is it also give off the vibe of a mad scientist.

Gin

I literally sketch these in just 3 minutes (lol)! Back then, I haven't even give him a name yet.

Initial design: Black hat and long black coat. Along with the cold stare of a cold-blooded murderer. This mysterious and scary figure is definitely Gin!

Toyama Kazuha

The hair is still tidy! The brown is a little thick though. (lol)

Initial design: Her first appearance was "The Naniwa Serial Murder Case" from volume 19! There is a lot of great dialogue scattered around in that case.

Detective Conan: The Time-Bombed Skyscraper

This is the concept art for the movie "The Time-Bombed Skyscraper"! I already draw the scene "I might never get to say it again" (lol)

Illustration: This sketch were drawn in the meeting for the first movie - "Detective Conan: The Time-Bombed Skyscraper" first aired in 1997. The author Aoyama has put in the story he had always wanted to write from a long time ago! Beside, the author himself has take in the responsibility for the key frames of these scenes using these concept arts!!

For TV Anime

I draw these so the anime crew can draw him in every angle!

Initial design: This is the sketch for the anime production crew when the anime was produced 29 years ago!

[meelkiewee]

Washed up and ready for tumblr

sadly, i'm in a bit of an artblock/burnout so i'm kinda procrastinating on some projects by doing other stuff like this eefo character design... sigh

[pls reblog, don't like]

⬇️ my choices explained under the cut

INTRO

i'll start by saying that this character design was brought to life with my kinda limited knowledge of etho and my absolute passion for heavily redesigning characters and giving them my own twist.

THE MASK AND THE MASK's MASK

the first image that came to my mind was his mask. i knew i wanted something to cover almost all his face and for it to be wolf inspired. i still wanted it to reference his skin in some way though, so i added the little metallic plate and the black forehead ribbon as the way the mask holds up.

underneath his main mask i put another simpler black mask that mainly serves 3 purposes: it makes the wolf mask more comfortable to wear without too much metal to skin contact, it mantains the face covered in case the other falls off and... guys i remember i saw a clip of hermits asking him to take off the overlay of his skin to see his face but there was a second mask underneath. i don't make the rules.

CONCEAL DON'T FEEL

after that i slowly worked up a little bit of context in my head while i was adding more details and making my choices. so what i did was making a collage of the infos i collected over time about him and his character and sprinkle a little bit of kakashiki (-cit tango) visual elements.

as we all know etho is a brilliant redstoner and a guy who really cares about privacy. put that together and you get the lore i made up for him:

with his advanced irl tech knowledge, he found a way to transfer his soul in minecraft, kinda like SAO works, and has to conceal his appearance to not get caught. here comes the layered clothes, the enormous coat and ofc the masks. due to all of this i also headcanon him preferring to live in the colder biomes, and this ties back also to the fact that he's from canada ykyk.

AWOO BUT NOT TOO MUCH

i really like wolfie etho designs i saw going around but i didn't want to design another ren with a different palette (my ren is a anthro german shepherd) so i channeled the wolf energy in the mask, the thick fur of the coat that ends with a tail (inspired by marcille dungeon lord outfit, a few notice but her dress has a tail) and in his hair, also kinda looking like a tail.

TYPE: VIBES

the eye of the wolf mask being red and scarred (for life) is of course inspired by his kakashi skin. i sprinkled red tassels here and there to fill in the spots and mainly cause i personally love tassels and wanted to add some red accents for redstone.

his kinda slouchy posture is totally for vibes, etho comes across to me as this kinda lazy/chill guy that channels the energies he has into thinking about the redstone he gotta do and calls it a day. i tried to channel that also in the kinda generic plain clothes.

for the vibes i wanted to put him in crocs/flip flops too but i couldn't otherwise he would absolutely freeze. i had to give him some warm boots or whatevs *sigh*

i tried to make his single visible eye as cute and puppy-looking as possible 'cause c'mon he a cutie pie okay? for the mole near the eye, guys i literally can't recall where i got this piece of info and if it's even remotely true but, i read/heard somewhere he has a bunch of moles on his face irl??? idk idk this is so random, i'm sorry.

SO YEAH

this is the end of my long long explanation for this character design. i hope you like it and if you don't, i know my bestie likes it (he's a bit of an ethogirlie lol luv ya bestie <3)

the end, thanks a lot for reading!

[gloomysoup]

he's probably worried (not hiding anymore)

@steddiebingo christmas card prompt: secret relationship

rating: teen+ | word count: 717 | tags: post-s3, post- starcourt, coming out | ao3

The air is filled with red-orange flames and smoke as the mall burns to the ground in front of him. His head is still spinning, face throbbing, and he can barely breathe. The adrenaline is starting to fade, and Steve’s injuries are making themselves known. He stands side-by-side with Robin, neither of them saying a word. Everything has changed. Neither of them will ever be the same person they once were.

Steve has a fleeting thought that Eddie must be worried. It's gone just as soon as it was there when the paramedics are ushering them into the ambulance and taking them to the hospital.

Everything is a blur of sirens and lights, Robin’s hand in his, a shock blanket around his shoulders. Doctors and bright lights, wires and beeping machines. He gets set up in a room for monitoring. Robin is okay. The kids are okay. Everyone is okay.

Steve doesn't even register what's happening when the nurse says they're going to call his emergency contact. His brain still feels a little fuzzy, even if things are starting to become clearer.

Everyone is gathered in Steve’s room. Robin and Dustin are sitting at the end of the bed, on either side of his legs. Robin refuses to leave his side. Steve is thinking about Eddie again.

Steve is late for dinner. He's probably so worried.

There's heavy footsteps in the hallway, shoes squeaking on the linoleum. The door flies open, and a head of curls stumbles into the room. Eddie’s eyes find Steve’s quickly, wild and full of fear and concern. He quickly crosses the room, pulling Steve into a tight hug. The room falls silent around them.

“Christ, Steve, I was so worried about you,” Eddie whispers, his voice tight like he's trying not to cry. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I'm okay, promise. Just a little banged up, that's all.”

Eddie sucks in a very shaky breath, not letting go of Steve. “You're not allowed to scare me like that anymore, asshole. I can't handle it.”

“I'll do my best. How'd you even know I was here?”

Eddie pulls back, his hands resting on the sides of Steve’s face. “The hospital called Wayne.”

The door opens again, and there's Wayne. Steve notes that he looks tired, but the older man smiles when his gaze lands on Steve.

“Glad to see you're still kickin’, kid,” he says, the worry washing away from his face.

“Sorry, Wayne, can't get rid of me that easy,” Steve says with a grin that pulls at his cuts and bruises. Wayne barks a laugh at that, shaking his head.

“What the hell is going on?” Dustin says, finally finding his voice.

Eddie's eyes go wide as he suddenly seems to realize they are not alone in the room. Steve grabs Eddie’s hand with a smile and gives it a squeeze. Then he clears his throat and looks at Dustin.

"Wayne is my emergency contact,” he explains. “Has been for a little while now. I've, uh… kinda been staying with them from time to time.”

Dustin frowns, his eyebrows knit together. “But… why?”

Steve glances at Eddie, squeezing his hand again. He takes a deep breath. It's now or never. “Eddie is… my boyfriend.”

It's the first time he's said the words out loud. It's the first time they put an actual label on what they are, what they truly mean to each other. They've been boyfriends for a little while now, but they never actually talked about it. There was always so much sneaking around and secrets and keeping it under wraps. They were both scared.

Not anymore.

Steve isn't scared to hide Eddie away from his friends, from his family. The people who truly matter. Not when Eddie has never been scared of hiding him from Wayne, his family. He's done being scared, because he knows there's so many scarier things out there. He knows that monsters are real, and he knows it'll take a lot more than a boyfriend to run off his monster hunting family.

So he smiles at Eddie, and he calls him boyfriend. Because that's what he is. He's Steve’s boyfriend, and he loves him.

He's done keeping that a secret from the people who have always had his back, despite what they've been through.

[hotvintagepoll]

Musidora (Les Vampires)—That batty lady just scrungles across the screen! [editor's note: musidora is not the batty ballerina from the original clip. a new clip has been put for her under the cut.]

Peter Lorre (The Maltese Falcon, Arsenic and Old Lace, Casablanca)—to me he DEFINES scrungle hes the first person i think of every time the term comes up! i want to fold him up like a paper accordion and put him in my pocket. guy that spawned a million voice artists and impersonators. they made a ghost version of him for halloween cereal staple boo berry. bewitched by his nervous mania and tooth gap <3 (for the purposes of propaganda im linking a photo from his extremely short appearance in muscle beach party bc ive been obsessed w it for years and i couldnt find any video for it :/ anyway imagine youre frankie avalon spending the whole movie battling a bodybuilder faction thats taking over your beach and your girl and then you find out this fucking guy is their mastermind mystery leader and hes stronger than all the bodybuilders combined. like Huh. What.)

This is round 3 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you’re confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Musidora:

[Editor's note: the original clip from "Les Vampires" submitted for Musidora was in fact not footage of Musidora, but Stacia Napierkowska. I picked this clip at random to hopefully show the right Musidora this time.]

Peter Lorre:

he's pretty much the archetype of the scrungly little guy. the blueprint. the example by which all other scrungly little guys are judged

The entire point of his iconic role in Casablanca (apart from introducing the central plot mcguffin) was to be LITTLE and SCRUNGLY to make Bogie look even cooler. And Maggot in Corpse Bride - the littlest scrungliest guy in that film - was a parody of him.

Between his big eyes, wheezy laugh, short stature, and expressive faces, Peter Lorre achieved icon status as the scrungliest, littlest guy in Hollywood. His scrungly little guy energy was often contrasted with the more typical masculinity of the leading man, but whether this contrast was meant to make him seem especially sinister, comedic, or pathetic, it always left an unforgettable impression!

The perfect sniveling character actor, “scrungly” is the first word that comes to mind when I think of him.

I'm sure somebody else has already submitted him (if not then ???) but he's a cute kind of scrungly little guy. He's got a distinctive nasal voice with an accent that is instantly recognizable and often imitated. His later horror movies are so much fun, especially when he's playing off of Vincent Price. He's so good at being unhinged, creepy, or manic, but also pathetic and sympathetic.

Classic scrungly hollywood golden age little guy who was friends with Humphrey Bogart and still played some of the wettest most sniveling characters ever committed to celluloid (complimentary) there is a deep despair and darkness in many of his characters that enhances his scrungly

To be clear, I am one of those people who will argue that Lorre is one of the most underrated film actors, but the POINT is that he's also just a scrungly delight. A delightfully pocket-sized man. Somehow endearing even when he is being actively amoral (see esp. Casablanca. "I found myself much more reasonable!") The faces he makes while doing the Russian cossack dance with a butter knife between his teeth in Silk Stockings make me laugh just thinking about them.

Wikipedia described his typical characters as "timidly devious", lots of weird little villains and evil sidekicks that are pretty horrifying but still manage to be sort of pathetic and the very definition of "poor little meow meow". His look and voice and mannerisms are so iconic they're still imitated

Cartoons for the next century have and will continue to include Peter Lorre-esque characters when needed to up the scrunge factor (see Bugs Bunny and so many more).

Youtube link for characters inspired by Lorre [editor's note: I'm not actually sure how many of these characters are directly, verifiably influenced by Peter Lorre, so take with a grain of salt. tw for suicide depiction.]

I think Arsenic and Old Lace is his quintessential "scrungly" performance. He's so put-upon and tired...all he wants is sleep and some schnapps! I love the way his shoulders fall slowly when he thinks he's caught (he looks like a sad puppy!), only to gleefully sprint out the door when he realizes how dumb those police officers are.

[raintemper]

More of them,, but they’re robot cats this time lol… I’ll draw Moon and Pebbles soon, and some others maybe

I’ll do anything but actually draw them as Iterators apparently

Don't look too close, Ive never drawn such mech heavy designs until now...I don't know what I'm doing. I got a little more confident with NSH but I was absolutely just going blind with Suns. It took me 2 days to figure out how I wanted to start with Suns...

Some background info dump of them for this? Au??? Idk yet lol, under the line if interested

Erhm. Set in a post apocalyptic world, much like how Rain World actually is. Alternative timeline where iterators don't exist?? Failed??? The ancients have not yet ascended?? Maybe??? Idk the details are still blurry to me also 😞. They are in a high security lab facility ground type setting. (Perhaps just an excuse for me to draw apocalyptic higher tech designs????) It is cold outside, some failed iterator structures still produce rain, and occasionally the air may become toxic.

Suns is an offensive/surveillance model meant for fighting and protecting as one can probably tell with his tail blades. It folds back in an attempt to make it less dangerous and also functions as a way to swiftly cut into something if needed. They are the only one of them (excluding Pebbles for special reasons) to be equipped with a mouth hiding sharp teeth and/or lasers for even more attack prowess. They are also still huge. Sorry I run with the huge Suns agenda. He is a tower. Easily wrestles most lizards. I still like the idea of fluffy Suns, so he still has it as a robot cat. Some insulation for the colder outside temperatures, he's outside a lot. Suns is not built to be friendly. Mostly acts and behaves as an unassuming robot early on.

Moon and Suns were the first properly functional/successful projects. They were edited and reconstructed a lot from beginning to now. Maybe they were both originally purposed as therapeutic companions.

The overseers are little drones that fly around. They still project things and are still sometimes unhelpful with directions, follow at your own discretion. The lizards and predators mostly ignore them as well. They do recognize the different drones with time. They've learned to recognize NSH's drones, which sometimes might contain some edible collected material, so they do occasionally try to eat those. And most of the smaller predators try to leave the area if they see Suns' drones.

NSH is closer to a pet model. He is made for reconnaissance and scouting. He is still tiny because I like him tiny, he's adorable. NSH has three pairs of legs for rough terrain traversal, and is a fast little guy. He helps in collecting samples and materials from the outside, marking maps, as well as finding viable safe spots/shelters. He has no mouth but has a component in his chest where he can collect small samples, as well as storage units in his drones to store excess. He has small vials of decontaminate fluid to clean any samples he collects, they have to be refilled occasionally. Also, as mentioned in the art, he can open his neck and chest area and just swallow bigger samples. He can even keep them alive inside him if he wants to. Otherwise, they're killed and turned into power for him to use. Sometimes he finds lizards with cool patterns and tries to swallow them to show Suns, who oftentimes will kill it afterwards.

He was the experimental project for emotive programming alongside Unparalleled Innocence/UI, hence his fully functioning screen as a face. As opposed to Suns, who functions more as a security camera. I think NSH and UI are both similar in the more playful/chaotic personalities, so I decided for them to be created around the same time and put into the same testing. Overtime, UI did not respond very well and was repurposed (She's not gone). Emotive sentience was programmed into NSH first and then tested on Moon. It was generally successful in both cases. NSH really enjoys messing around and can even imitate his fellow iterators faces. It works really well temporarily scaring predators using Suns' color markings lol.

Because NSH and Suns are both outside often, they have solar panel components in their design for extra power. The two of them are very close because of their shared experiences. NSH likes the outside more, Suns has little opinions of it. They worry about NSH because he's so small and curious and occasionally brings back dangerous things.

Suns is a little bit of an outcast here because of his difference in role. He is mostly left to roam and function on his own/not approached as he carries his role. The others are research focused and Suns is more obviously purposed for battle, so there is a little bit of a divide. Not to mention, he technically does not have the programming for emotions that Moon and NSH have. Suns does learn on his own though :D, some of it is learned from NSH too

I will leave it here for now. I will probably talk more about Moon and Pebbles for their own post. And the others as well. I'm still thinking about their designs though.

Erhm hopefully this makes sense somewhat and was at least a fun read.

[knight-a3]

Hazbin Hotel Sketchbook 2: Part 2

Masterpost

Morningstars

I will have some design notes under the cut, so stay tuned.

Charlie and Lilith's snakes are all named.

Notes under the cut to minimize clutter. I'll try to keep it brief since I've talked about a lot of this before, and plan to go into more detail in dedicated character posts later.

Between dolls, snakes, apples, circuses, ducks, etc, there were just too many motifs/thematic elements to shove onto just Lucifer. So, I streamlined and distributed. Lucifer is goat themed, Lilith is snake themed. Charlie is a mix of the two. I also use this to partly to imply that "the Devil" is not solely Lucifer. But humans mistake various different demons as one character.

Charlie:

Her goat traits were inherited from Lucifer. Hooves, ears, etc. Also the tail. Her hair is designed to look like a goat tail.

Snake traits were inherited from Lilith. Vertically slitted eyes, hair snake, etc. Also doll cheeks and pale skin.

I had considered having her hair be totally made of snakes like Medusa, but that seemed annoying to draw, so I just did one. His name is Hugh, short for Hubris, which is a synonym for pride.

Lucifer:

He has far too many motifs in general. He needed streamlining.

Apples- I reduced this because I think it would be more fitting for Adam and Eve. Eve as the first to eat the fruit, and Adam because... Adam's apple, I guess.

Doll- I know Charlie is meant to resemble a porcelain doll. And in-universe gets it from her dad. But I don't really understand why, so I took it away from him and gave it to Lilith.

King- He does not have any real authority. It's a prison, and even Lucifer is caged. Nobody bothers to respect him. So the "crown" on his hat resembles a gate or cell bars

Ducks- I never understood the choice to associate Lucifer with ducks. And thematically, I can't really justify it. So...um... sorry, but no rubber duckies.

Goat- From what I understand, goats as a demonic symbol comes more from pagan influences rather than the Bible. Overall, Lucifer is a goat because he's been assigned the blame for all the evil in the world. He's the scapegoat. Placing sin on Scapegoats was a Jewish practice during Yom Kipper.

Lightbringer- the word lucifer is used once in some translations of the Bible to describe the arrogance of the King of Babylon in the book of Isaiah, but not as a name. Instead of directly translating the Hebrew word that meant "light bringer," "morning star," "dawn bringer," or "shining one," the Latin term was used. Lucifer often referred to the "star" that is the planet we now call Venus. It would be used to represent pride because it rose and fell before the sun. So the instance of lucifer in the Bible isn't even used as a name, and didn't even refer to the Devil. I say all this because I think it fits the scapegoat theme, and it's why I put a star on his tail.

Wings- Seraphim are described as having 3 sets of wings. Rather than deal with all that or even try to figure out the anatomy of that, I just gave them three sets of primary feathers, which sort of imitates the 6-winged look but is easier for me to draw.

Speaking of his wings. He lost them when he fell. So he does not have wings at all anymore. If he did, they'd be more like dragon wings.

Lilith:

Lilith is not a biblical figure. The word lilith was used once in just some English translations of the Bible. And it's referring to a type of demon, and not used as a name. Other translations change the term to shriek-hawk or similar terms, and is listed with various other night creatures. Lilith as a character appeared in Jewish lore, and was likely satirical. But away from theology and onto hazbin lore...

Because Lilith was originally created as a wife for Adam, she felt treated like an object or plaything rather than a person. So when she fell, she picked up a little bit of a doll motif that isn't prominent in these drawings. I essentially traded the doll features instead of horns. I'm still workshopping specifics.

She was just as involved(if not more so) with offering the fruit to Eve. Thus, she gets the motif of the snake. I didn't want to make her hair entirely snakes, because the long flowing hair seemed like a prominent design feature for her. So I opted to give her 7 hair snakes, one to represent each deadly sin/ring of hell. They're all named.

Pride= Vani (Vanity), she's the one on the top of her head.

Greed= Ava (Avarice)

Lust= Libby (Libido)

Envy= Desi (Desire)

Gluttony= Tony

Wrath= Irene (Ire/Irate)

Sloth= Sloth (too lazy for an actual name). He's the one coiled around her neck, usually sleeping. He also comes from the left side of her head.

Vaggie:

I leaned into the moth elements in her design. I think it was the Columbian Silk moth that I used as as my main reference.

When she fell, she was transformed into a demon like everyone else. So she isn't really an angel anymore and bleeds the same as the other sinners. Not even Lucifer really counts as an angel anymore, due to the corrupting nature of hell.

When Vaggie regains her wings, they are no longer angel wings but are instead moth wings to match the rest of her. They actually double as her hair via magic logic because I like it that way, and it lets me reference some of her older designs.

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

You're the Only Girl for Me - Chapter 32

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

❤ Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

All OC Characters belong to me

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Character List

Authors Note: There are a couple of time skips in the one... and it's a short one. I'm sorry this took so long. I'm not really feeling this story anymore but, I still want to have it completed. The next chapter picks right up after Chapter 31... Enjoy 💙

August 23rd 2021

Christopher hated Pensacola… Mainly because Airielle was in this stupid ass city right under his nose. He frowned as he looked at the apartment building before him, it was… nice but it wasn’t as nice as the townhouse he had brought her, the one she had left behind.

He took a deep breath before entering the lobby and making his way up the stairs to her floor. The frown was still on his face as he thought about how easy it was to gain access to her. 

“Still fucking stupid” He muttered as he picked the lock and no alarm sounded as he made his way in. He set the bouquet of pink roses and white lilies down on the counter as he moved through the space, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. She was still a neat freak, nothing was out of place. He made his way through the apartment making a mental note of where everything was… just in case. 

He let out a soft chuckle as he made his way into her room, it was a carbon copy of the one back at their townhouse. He made his way over to her dresser and opened the jewelry box she had on there. He frowned as he saw her engagement ring was not in there. Taking a deep breath as he closed the lid of the jewelry box.

He eyed the dresser drawers. He opened the top one and let out a frown at what he saw. With a look mixed with disgust and fury, he angrily reached into the drawer and pulled out a pair of freshly washed boxer briefs. Christopher knew who they belonged to, that tattooed, freak that she was currently on vacation with. He clenched his jaw as he tried to keep his anger in check but as he stared down at the underwear in his hands, all he saw was red. Christopher blacked out and destroyed Airielle’s apartment. 

When he came to, he found himself standing amid utter chaos. The once pristine apartment was now a war zone. Shattered glass crunched beneath his feet as he surveyed the damage, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The dresser lay on its side, drawers spilled across the floor. Clothes were strewn everywhere, some torn to shreds.

He calmly made his way into the living room and looked at the damage he had done there in his rage.  The coffee table was overturned, and books and magazines were scattered. The TV screen was smashed, a fist-sized hole in its center. He walked over to the flowers he left on the counter and walked back into her bedroom, scattering them all over her bed. He pulled the note out of his pocket and left it on her pillow.  With one last look, he left the apartment altogether, locking and shutting the door behind him. 

September 2nd 2021

Janelle Roy stared at her mother as she watched her sister and that man leave the Waffle House. “Mom?” Janelle called out. “What do you mean that’s your daughter? I thought you said we only had brothers.” 

Abigail ignored her youngest daughter and pulled her phone out of her pocket. She hurriedly sent the text and put her phone away.  “Mom!” Janelle called out again, growing agitated with Abigail. “What is going on!” 

Abigail grabbed Janelle’s hand and pulled her outside the restaurant. Abigail let out a curse as she saw the Ford peel out of the parking lot. “Listen.. I’ll tell you everything later, just let me –” 

“No!” Janelle cut her mother off. “Tell me now! Why have you never mentioned this other child? You told us about Isaiah and Josiah… why never her?” 

“Cause I hate her!” Abigal exploded and Janelle’s eyes widened. “That girl has caused me nothing but pain and misery since I found out I was pregnant with her!” Janelle stood there in shock listening to her mom talk about her sister. The sister she never knew she had. As Abigail sat there spewing hateful shit about Airielle, Janelle felt herself grow disgusted with her mother, If she could say these things about Airielle, then Abigail could most definitely say the same thing about her. 

“That’s your daughter!” Janelle cut her mother off. “How could you say that about her?” 

Abigail started shaking her head. “No sweetie, you don’t understand. I’m not the problem she is and by the end of this month she will be dealt with.” 

Janelle stared at her with pure disgust. She took a step back from her mother. “I can’t even look at you right now.” She muttered, pulling her phone out of her pocket and opening the Uber app. She was thanking her lucky stars that she had the address to the hotel.  “Have you been taking your medication?” Janelle asked after she put her phone away, eyeing her mother. 

Abigail scoffed. “I don’t have to tell you anything, Janelle. You’re my daughter. And you will help me take down your sister.” 

“Take her down... Do you hear yourself right now?! I know you haven’t been taking your medication I’m calling Dad.” 

Abigail snapped and reached for Janelle’s phone, snatching it out of her hand and tossing it into her purse. “You ain't calling nobody!” she yelled, and Janelle took a step back from her mother. For the first time in 25 years, she was afraid of her mom. Janelle watched as Abigail put her phone to her ear and started talking in a low tone. Janelle knew she had to find a way to contact Airielle and warn her about their mother. 

September, 2019

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The doctor told Airielle softly before turning on his heels and walking out of the room. Airielle shakily placed both hands over her stomach. Three months… she had been three months pregnant and she lost it. 

She didn’t know why she was so upset, she didn’t even know she was pregnant. She hadn’t been prepared for this moment. She hadn’t been expecting a child. She hadn’t had time to feel the joy or the excitement or the fear that so many women spoke about when they learned they were pregnant.

“Solèy” Her dad whispered, his voice sounded just about as broken as she felt.  “Why didn’t you come to me and your mom? Why..” Issac paused as he tried to gather his emotions but looking at his babygirl in a hospital bed, her face all brused and swollen made him sick to his stomach. 

“I’m sorry.” Airielle cried. She was sorry for a multitude of things, sorry for not telling her parents what Christopher was doing, sorry for being so weak for not fighting back and sorry that she lost her child. 

“Airielle, you have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Issac said, his voice firm despite the tears welling in his eyes. He moved closer to the bed, gently taking his daughter's hand in his own. "This isn't your fault. You are not to blame. It him. You’re gonna press charges right.” 

Airielle froze. She was scared. Christopher was going to do worse once he found out she went to the police. 

“Dad I-” 

“Airielle. You’re not going back there. When you get discharged you’re coming to Pensacola. I be dammed if I let you go back.”  Issac gripped Airelle’s hand in a comforting manner. “You’re not alone in this Solèy, I will be there with you every step of the way.  I won’t let him hurt you again. Not ever.” 

“I don’t want to go back to him, Dad,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t want to go back to any of it.”

Her father’s hand, still warm and steady in hers, gave a gentle squeeze. “You won’t. We’ll make sure of it.”

Authors Note: Christopher is BANANAS! Abigail is BANANAS! Airielle needs to keep her head on a swivel when it comes to those two.

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[classic-blue]

Nature of the Arcane- Positive and Negative Energy

(For reference, Arcane = the series; arcane = the magic) Come help me figure out how the heck the magic system of Arcane works.

What is the anomaly? Why was it born? Why is it that other mages in the series don't seem to cause anomalies, but Hextech does?

I refuse to be content with a magic=good or magic=bad explanation, and Arcane loves to play with nuance. I was trying to sort out my thoughts on why some magic has bad side effects while others don't, and this is where I'm sitting now. My (spit-balled, half-baked, and probably leaking) thesis:

The arcane/using magic has 2 separate outputs: the order you placed (Hextech) and the resulting exhaust (wild runes; the anomaly). Hextech can use runes to control magic, but there's a second output of natural, wild magical energy, that Hextech doesn't account for. Both of these energies can build up, and when they're reunited, they have explosive reactions (see: Mage Viktor's world, the final blip that takes Jayce and Viktor, and possibly various smaller explosions throughout the series).

For example, when positive and negative charges meet, lightning strikes.

Justification below the cut.

Science break! Ever been shocked by static electricity? That's because of a buildup of one charge, say positive, on you, and a buildup of negative charge on another object. Nature loves balance, so when you two touch, the charges discharge in a shock that connects the positive and negative charges and allows them to balance out. Size this idea up big enough, and you get lightning- powerful, fast, and destructive.

More importantly though, you can't just charge positive energy, without also charging negative energy at the same time-  creating one by necessity creates the other, so that there's an overall balance of electricity types (hey look, a metaphor, creating one inevitably leads to the other…).

Let's carry this idea over to the arcane. What if there's a 'positive' magic and a 'negative' magic output?

(Note, I use the electricity words here intentionally- positive/negative do not mean in a cosmic/moral/ethical way, but in a scientific, 'hey we need 2 connected words to separate these concepts' sort of way.)

Positive: Hextech; runes; the intended output. Teleportation, levitation, everything we see it accomplish.

Negative: the wild rune, the anomaly; the unintended output.

And, when the two come together, lightning strikes.

Lightning 1- Viktor vs Ekko's Z-drive. Viktor spends S2 becoming a centralized conduit of 'positive' magic, via the Hexcore and top ups from the crystals under the Hexgates. As the Machine Herald, the claw is continually using runes and doing magic behind him. In short, he's been building up a lot of positive magical energy. When Ekko chucks the Z-drive at him, it's powered by an anomaly, or 'negative' magical energy. Put the two forces together, and let the fireworks happen; a part of the Machine Herald's mask gets struck off in the blast. (But the Z-drive has less negative energy than Viktor's positive, so it doesn't totally wipe him out.)

Lightning 2- Viktor and Jayce's rainbow time. Jayce's acceleration rune might be the negative magical energy in this case (since it travels with him via Mage Viktor's anomaly), paired with the anomaly that Viktor grabbed beneath the Hexgate. That works in opposition to Viktor's compiled positive magical energy via the Hexcore and similar products. With these together, the balance between positive and negative is reached, achieving net neutral magic dispersion, and of course, an implosion that sucks in (or teleports, we can be happy) Jayce and Viktor, ending the conflict.

Perhaps in Mage Viktor's timeline, a similar explosion occurs, resulting in the destruction that we see Jayce traverse in the alternate timeline. But in the main timeline, Jayce and Viktor were able to contain that explosive potential to just themselves, via Jayce's acceleration rune.

"Pass me a tome" Jayce's (quoting Viktor) explanation of the anomaly/wild rune (S2:E3)

Jayce says that Viktor theorized that wild runes are "patterns that would occur naturally where the border between our world and the Arcane is thin." By the theory, wild runes are expressions of magic not quantifiable by traditional runes- natural outputs of magic that are uncontrollable and untamable.

This still works with my positive vs negative theory- it's just that Hextech, and by extension the boys, are only viewing it from the perspective of positive energy (they accessed magic, but really only half of it). From that view, negative charge, which they can't interpret why it's building up or that it even is, might look pretty wild and untamable- however, we see mages control this negative magical energy. Mage Viktor uses the anomaly to send Jayce back to his timeline. The Machine Herald is able to transport it and start to destroy/convert the world.

Because it's still a useable product, so long as you understand what it actually is, I'm not fully content to say that the anomaly is an entirely wild thing, or an unpredictable force. It's possible that Mage Viktor intentionally manipulated it to send Jayce, Ekko, and Heimerdinger to their temporary alternate universes to set in motion events to save the main timeline. I think the anomaly definitely has somewhat volatile characteristics, a bit more chaotic perhaps, but it's still controllable.

(Additionally, Ekko breaks time using both hex shards (assuming they're still in the Z-drive, I'm not sure off the top of my head), and a tiny anomaly. The fact that he's able to control it to a degree also shows that the anomaly is not fully wild and untamable.)

I suppose my overarching feeling is that the anomaly is not necessarily better or worse, or more dangerous, than the 'positive' magic of Hextech- it's just a different, inevitable byproduct of magic use.

Then why don't mages cause anomalies and 'lightning strikes'?

Simple- they know how to account for both positive and negative energy in their spellwork. They know how to equate a balance, so nothing blows up in their faces.

Granted, the only mages we really see in Arcane are Mel, the Black Rose, and Mage Viktor, and the only real discussions we get about magic is from either the Hextech nerds or Heimerdinger, who may not be working with the full picture of how the arcane works. Our sources with regards to actual mage work in Arcane are pretty thin (and I probably need to rewatch Mel's S2 scenes).

But the Black Rose mentions as Mel leaves that (paraphrased) 'it's a dangerous world out there for a solitary mage.' This seems to imply that mages work best in collaboration- perhaps that allows for a balance between positive and negative energies, preventing 'lightning strikes.'

The real point- The Need for Collaboration

While the obvious theme to be drawn from this is the need for balance, another interesting one is the need for collaboration. If mages in Arcane indeed do work together to prevent destructive magical fallout, this again points back to a core element of Arcane's relationships:

Things (magic in particular) work best in collaboration.

That's how the boys crack Hextech

That's how Jinx and Vi start to bring Vander back and reconcile

That's how Viktor and Sky work in the commune

That's how Ekko, Powder, and Heimerdinger crack Hextech again

That's how Caitlyn and Ambessa start to work, and how the lack of honest collaboration exposes Ambessa's selfish gains and weakens Caitlyn emotionally and politically

That's how Mel literally does everything politically (and why her arc narratively suffers when she's on her own against the Black Rose for so long [I still love her tho])

That's how Piltover and Zaun fend off Ambessa's assault

That's how Viktor and Jayce end it- together.

More assorted thoughts on this topic:

This theory somewhat requires that the arcane is not conscious, not retaliating for Hextech using magic improperly, which is debatable. The Black Rose says "the arcane is waking up," which could imply a sentient force, or simply a natural force like how the world 'wakes up' to spring after winter. Ekko also claims that Jayce 'pissed off' the arcane, which Jayce is cutely embarrassed about, which is a possibility, but not one that I'm getting into here- it's entirely possible that Ekko is also wrong! Jayce and Viktor frequently are! (also, the hexcore being sentient does not necessarily mean that the arcane is sentient- Viktor describes it as a learning matrix, so it could very much be a Flubber situation. He done taught the rubix cube science before ethics.)

As Viktor brings Jayce up to the top of the Hexgate, Viktor winds the anomaly in his staff and talks about the balance between order and chaos- maybe positive magic is one and negative the other?

@avelera and @linddzz were throwing around some awesome thoughts similar to this strain, including how it looks like Mage Viktor 'cleans up' the smoke output of the spell in the snowstorm. Their theory is that what I call positive and negative energy is actually constructive vs destructive force in equal output from the Arcane, and that balance between those two types is needed (i.e. if you want magic to do what you want, you also need to let it blow up some stuff) which would also explain what I've called lightning here. Definitely worth a read!

There are so many holes in this theory, but I still wanted to organize my thoughts about the anomaly, Hextech, and how Arcane tells the audience to view magic. In S1, Hextech is all good and great, possibly dangerous, but in S2, Hextech and its byproducts are all infectious, destructive, and never productive. I found the switch a little jarring, and went searching for a deeper meaning.

Also… does this mean that Arcane is actually a big metaphor for the dangers and impacts of technological advancement on natural society and how Mother Nature will come back to bite us all in the butt? Has Arcane been a secret Ghibli film all along???

[cha-melodius]

May I ask you about your writing??? First of all and possibly most importantly, how do you do it? How do you find inspiration and such? How do you make it happen? Because I sat down with a really juicy idea not long ago and I was excited and it was incredibly hard. I deleted it, I was embarrassed. So how do you first, come up with a great idea (which you do you write such cool stuff!) and then bring it to fruition? I’ve always been a decent writer but I was really frustrated with the fic I set out to write!!!

Hey anon! Sorry for sitting on this for a while but it came in the night before a big academic conference for me, so I've had almost no time for anything, sadly.

First off, thank you so much for the compliment on my writing! A lot of the direct answers to your questions are not very satisfying, tbh. Ideas come to me from everywhere—things I watch, read, random internet things—and how I bring it to fruition mostly involves a lot of planning. I got a lot happier with my work when I started making outlines for my fics, so I always know where I want to go with the story and how I'm getting there, versus meandering around aimlessly.

I'm guessing that there was something about your idea that was particularly challenging, since you said that you've always been a decent writer but found what you produced frustrating. Since I don't know the details I'm gonna give some advice that will hopefully cover a few different aspects. And first, a short list, and then the details under the cut because I'm a wordy bitch.

Just keep writing. It can take a while to find your voice.

Get help. Seek out 'subject experts' and people who you think are good at writing the kinds of stories you want to write.

Read a lot, and broadly, especially in the genre you want to write.

1. Just keep writing. It can take a while to find your voice.

I started writing fanfic (or, re-started, because I wrote when I was young and then took a looooong break) to get the stories out of my head, and my first fics were not great lol. They were also for a rarepair and approximately 5 people read them, so there wasn't much pressure I suppose. I was just putting them on AO3 because I figured why not? And then I just kept writing, off and on for different fandoms, until the writing bug really caught me and I started producing a lot more, about five years ago. But it probably took me ~20 fics (several of which were quite long) before I'd consider my stuff to be decent. Whether you share your early works or not is up to you, but in general I'd recommend it because there's a good chance someone will love it (even if you consider it to be substandard) and that can help you feel better about your own writing. I didn't start out good at writing action, but I wrote (and read, see below) consistently in a lot of action-heavy fandoms, so I got a lot of practice. I also feel like the more I wrote, the more ideas I got, and the more unique ideas I got.

You occasionally see someone in fandom who's like "this is my first fic!" and it gets really popular or and lots of hype or whatever, but that's not the typical experience. Most of us start out writing like crap. It's ok. It gets better.

2. Get help. Seek out 'subject experts' and people who you think are good at writing the kinds of stories you want to write.

Ok, so you wrote a first draft you were disappointed in. Ask yourself what was disappointing about it? Do you feel like the beats aren't hitting, or the action is wooden, or the language is awkward? The great thing about fandom and fanfiction is that there are so many people that are willing to help out as beta readers or even just someone to talk to. I understand that getting a beta reader can seem daunting. You don't want someone to criticize your work, or it might seem embarrassing to show someone else a work you feel bad about. But if you get someone else to read it, you'll have the chance to both hear good things about it and also get advice about things you're uncertain about. People come to fandom from all walks of life and I'm a big fan of asking for help if you're writing about something you're not super familiar with. I've never actually been to therapy, so getting help from @celeritas2997 was absolutely critical for me to feel good about my couple's therapy AU. Also you can ask people for advice if they write the kinds of fics you want to write—I've had multiple people ask me for help with their action scenes, and I'm always happy to lend an eye and give advice.

Also, related to this: it's ok if you don't like your first draft. But don't delete it! Put it aside, whether you ask someone else to look at it or not, and come back to it a while later with fresh eyes. It may not be as terrible as you thought! Or maybe there are parts you still hate, but there are other parts that you can work on and revise.

3. Read a lot, and broadly, especially in the genre you want to write.

Want to write sci-fi? Read a lot of sci-fi novels. Read a lot of sci-fi AUs. Break out of your fandom and read fics in fandoms you don't know—I used to do this a lot and it was one of the most important steps in my process of finding my own voice as well as understanding how stories are built. When you read in only one fandom, you get used to a lot of the same voices and types of stories, but there is SO MUCH out there. I've been known to scroll through the 'Enemies to Lovers' tag on occasion, but also I will go into fandoms for media I know but have no strong connection to, don't want to write in but know the characters, and read those. I spent a lot of time reading X-men, Good Omens, Witcher, even MCU juggernauts like Stucky even though I don't really ship them. I know it probably sounds crazy to tell you to go read other fandoms when (I'm assuming you're RWRB) there's so much in this one, but I do think it's valuable. This one is not only for getting exposed to a lot of writing styles, but also lots of ideas. I've definitely gotten a lot of ideas that spun off from something else I read.

I feel like none of this is particularly revolutionary advice, but I hope it at least gives you (and anyone else who manages to read this far lol) some confidence to keep going and go after those stories you want to write. Everyone—me, popular fandom writers, professional authors—started out just writing a lot, and they improved over time.

Most importantly: just keep going. You can do it!!

[100percentdirtball]

transcript under the cut

A thread on bluesky from Talia Bhatt, username @enkiducoin.

It's a reply to Oruniter (@outsidein) whose original post was: It's astonishing how much discourse is just everlasting "all trans women are secretly Baeddels" panic. The idea that we're fighting a feminism that includes trans women but excludes trans men is arguing that the mythologised spectre of Baeddelism took over cis feminist spaces. It's often projections.

Talia's thread reads:

It's probably a good time to talk about the myth of the baddels.

Myth because the facts are sparse, largely unavailable, and ultimately don't matter--especially to those who are weaponizing the idea of the baeddel against transfeminist consciousness.

All we really know is two sentences.

During the 2010s, theree was a group of transfems on Tumblr (and some on Facebook) who dubbed themselves 'baeddels' and tried to theorize an early form of transfeminism. They made various missteps and eventually disbanded for interpersonal rather than ideological reasons.

That's about it.

What is far, far more important than the baeddels than their history or theory is the reaction to their existence, which continues to this day.

I don't actually know what their theories were because they weren't really influential, and nearly everything I've learned has been secondhand.

Some girls who weren't baeddels were held up as core members. Sometimes they were accused of being all-white despite that apparently being untrue. One Tumblr passed around accuses them of "anti-AFAB hate" and "AMAB supremacy" in a manner that's frankly reskinned transphobia.

It's a complete mess.

Here's why none of it matters, though.

You see, I wasn't on Tumblr during the 2010s. I wasn't even out online for over half that decade.

However, the literal millisecond I began speaking on feminist topics as a transfem--on TWITTER--I was called a 'baeddel'.

You see the tactic, I hope.

'Baeddel' was a word I had no context for, but in non-transfem queer spaces--especially fandom-oriented ones--it was a libelous word with a lot of weight. If I was a baeddel, I was a fascist radfem white-supremacist bioessentialist enbyphobe and more.

The word is meant to tar, and to silence.

Offenses worthy of the moniker 'baeddel' ranged from using "TME/TMA", to discussing transmisogyny, to simply being a trans girl who resisted disposability.

If you did, you were a bioessentialist TERF who hated transmascs and needed to unpack your "AMAB socialization".

That, in particular, was core to the 'baeddel' accusation. "AFABphobia", hatred of transmascs and "AFAB enbies", a certain prejudice that an AMAB might hold against an AFAB, if you will!

Ahem.

It's kind of fucking obvious when you put it in plain words what's happening here.

The idea of a feminism that is inclusive of trans women but exclusive of trans men is, frankly, entirely made up. No major feminist school of thought with any sway in real-world movements has ever theorized such a line, and if I'm being honest, it's logically impossible.

Yet the myth persists.

Even so, I've seen queer people deep in fandom spaces structure their understanding of actual GCs and TE"RFs" after their 'understanding' of baeddels. I've witnessed utter buffoons who thought 'radfems' were transfem-positive and transmasc-negative encounter actual GC transmisogyny and be stunned.

If I had read Baudrillard say something super clever about maps, territories, and hyperreals.

The specter of the baeddel is a campfire ghost story, a cautionary tale used to finger-wag at trans girls, warning us to not get too many funny dieas about having any dignity as feminist subjects.

How does the tale end?

Honestly, we just stopped caring.

The 'baeddel' accusation is so unfounded in anything real and so fucking stupid that all you could do after a point was laugh and shrug. Over time, I saw even cisfem friends be called 'baeddels' for showing solidarity to transfems.

The best part, though?

I'm pretty all my transmasc friends have been called 'baeddels' by now, too.

We've come completely full circle.

What did 'baeddel' originally mean? I don't know and I don't think we ever will.

Today, however, it means "uppity tranny", and anyone who supports us.

The tags on the original post read: #transfeminism#materialist feminism#gender is a regime#sex is a social construct#social constructionism#feminism#lesbian feminism#baeddel#y'all know that you keep circulating blog posts about baeddels by others right#you are defining a strawman and then insisting that trans girls with any feminist subjectivity are defined by that strawman#and yes i used strawMAN deliberately because a lot of this is an exercise in calling us sexist to non-transfem trans people#buried under 70 layers of tumblrspeak#you have just invented “transfeminazi”#get a fucking grip

On Transmisogyny, Feminism, and the Myth of the 'Baeddel'

This will go well.

[hotvintagepoll]

Joe E. Brown (Some Like It Hot)—Where to begin? Despite from all appearances being perfectly average sized, his Little Guy energy is off the charts. His rubber face leaves Jim Carrey's in an exaggerated Looney Toons-style dust cloud. He was an actual cartoon character on several occasions. His calling card was just randomly SCREAMING. He was 100% down to marry Jack Lemmon. I could go on.

Brigitte Helm (Metropolis)— She’s a robot. She’s a communist revolutionary. She’s really bad at winking. She dances in the most awkward way I’ve ever seen in my life. She has emo eyeliner. What more could you want.

James Cagney (Yankee Doodle Dandy, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Public Enemy, White Heat, The Strawberry Blonde)—James Cagney is such a scrungler. He could dance, he could sing, he embodied the gangster role, he was a short king, he had curly hair, what more could you possibly want?? Something about his face just feels so Looney Toons to me. He's like a little bug and I'm observing him through my magnifying glass. I'm obsessed with his hair and his scrunging demeanor!!! He's the most guy to me of all time. I tried to draw him once and completely failed. You could crumple him up like a tissue and watch him float away in the breeze.

This is round 3 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you’re confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Joe E. Brown:

The open-mouthed smile where he doesn't show his teeth automatically catapults to him to the top of my scrungly guy list, and that's without the absolute self-satisfaction and rapscallion energy of the final scene in Some Like It Hot. But come on. Look at him. THAT is a scrungly little guy. You've got to believe me

Brigitte Helm:

[Editor’s note for video: tw for slave imagery, eyeball horror, freaky statues, death references—generally just go forth with caution if you’re sensitive to horror/horror adjacent imagery.]

James Cagney:

Whaddya mean I've gotta SUBMIT Cagney? You look up scrungly in the dictionary and there's a picture of him RIGHT THERE. He IS the scrungle. -SHORT KING 5'4 3/4 (1.65m) I could put him in my pocket -When he rolls down his car window (in Mayor of Hell) sticks his head out and makes some snarky comment (which I didn't hear because I was way too distracted) it's like struck by lightning, let me tell you -His hair is so wavy and sometimes it falls over his forehead and then I die a little -He plays The Public Enemy number one, everyone thinks of this as "the one with the grapefruit scene" but it is SO SO much more than that, it's also the one where he wears little striped pajamas -Multilingual (Yes, I'm the same person who submitted EGR and listed this earlier. Yes, this is a big thing for me.) He spoke Yiddish, guys and you can hear him speak it in a movie (Taxi) AND when the Warner Bros. tried to discuss him without him knowing they used Yiddish not realizing he'd understand everything -He talks so fast. Like. Staccatto. It's so fascinating -Loved animals & owned CHOW CHOWS (that's a very scrungly dog, c'mon) -Plays Bottom in Midsummer Night's Dream, that's the guy who gets turned into a DONKEY, nobody else could've played it like he did -Messed with Warner Bros. all the time, threatened to quit, told them he was going to go be a doctor instead -He does this little nose scrunch thing oh my god -Boy Meets Girl is a supremely underrated screw ball comedy and he has lots of silly little outfits in it and acts ridiculous the entire time -Was fascinated by farming and just puttered around on his tractor, like he's just a little guy! -There's a movie where he has a silly little mustache (I haven't seen it yet though) -They've dressed him up as bellhops, sailorsn cowboys and itty bitty gangsters [in movies] and frankly that should be enough -His first show biz job was a female dancer on the chorus line

Fanvid

A second fanvid

A third fanvid

He is the SCRUNGLIEST of gangsters, it’s the role that made him famous, and by god that’s for good reason. He also plays a peculiar little guy in musicals and occasionally westerns, all with a particular flavor of scruffy city rat energy that you can’t help but adore!  

[front-facing-pokemon]

[writingpoorly]

This could go so many fun ways!

Ramble under the cut <3

Dick with Harley? (You could also play off of Joker jr for the angst) peak chaos circus vibes (the joker has disappeared under mysterious circumstances and not even Batman can prove that Dick did anything). Maybe he could be called Jester and do a lot of exposing the upper-class in Gotham. Since Jesters are traditionally the ones that would call out the king etc.

Barbara with Ivy? Killer combo. (I've also written her as a grey hat hacker in one of my fics before, but that feels a little uninspired. Plus in my proposed scenario Joker gets killed early on so even as smart as Babs is, she wouldn't be forced into an admin position, so likely wouldn't be as likely to take one.) One of the Batman cartoons has the two of them be friends before Ivy gets mutated and I love the idea of Babs putting her mega brain toward saving the earth. Pollution would have ended. (I'm also a sucker for DickBabs and HarlIvy and the comedic potential my scenario presents? hilarious.)

Jason with Selina? (Honestly any of the kids could go to her but I like mama's boy Jay I've also seen him go to Ivy, but I don't really see that for him?) he'd be such a good thief pupil. Just scrappy street kid Jason turned international thief Stray that still goes back to the Alley to help the kids as much as he can. He'd be more cynical in this version when e finds out about his birth mom and wouldn't be as trusting so likely no Jay death.

If Tim was a rogue he'd be his own i think. Very unsocialized genius vibes (stalking as a form of affection, gets angry w bruce for any perceived unheroic behavior) Shutter or Timothy Jackson Drake totally honest business man (Chess master?)(naturally he takes over a lot of Penguin's enterprises, or perhaps others in an absolute brutal and sudden takeover). Though I do also like Riddler taking him in and them trying to outsmart each other (it's not really a contest, but Eddie gives Tim more positive attention from a parental figure than he's ever gotten in the rest of his life.) I think Myst, the creator and solver of mysteries could be a cool name for this version.

Stephanie would NOT be Cluemaster's pupil. She became Spoiler for good reason! (maybe goes to Riddler just to be petty) If she's nit a straight up vigilante, ruining the plans of the rogues, I'm not sure she'd be involved in the hero/villain dynamic at all. Maybe she shoes up on one of their doorstops and demands they train/take her in, but she just so independent I think she'd be Spoiler again. Maybe someone else can figure out how to flavor that as not a vigilante. I mean, if she's still stopping the rogues who's to say who's a vigilante and who's an anti-hero?

Cass and Damian (make me very sad) were both raised to be assassins/weapons (albeit differently) so in a universe where the kids don't become vigilantes I think they'd continue on those paths. Maybe Cass gets taken in by Lady Shiva, maybe she never escapes David Cain, maybe Cass kills her birth father (trainer, abuser) and lives the rest of her life as a shadow. In the same vein Damian has a lot of maybes surrounding him. I do think in a world where Bruce doesn't have to temper himself by caring for a kid that he wouldn't necessarily be as kind, which is crazy to think about. Maybe Talia wouldn't feel Damian would be better with his father. Maybe when she feels it's unsafe for Dami in the shadow of his Grandfather she kills her father instead of sending her son away for a (hopefully) safer life. Maybe Damian Grows up as his mother's right hand and eventual enforcer of her will before he takes over or his heir(s) take over their empire.

Duke is interesting in my proposed universe, I've killed off the Joker so Duke's parents would be fine. Maybe his powers wouldn't awaken because he's under less stress? He'd still be charismatic and a magnetic leader, though I think that gets glassed over. Capitalizing simply off of that, maybe he takes over for Sionas one day. In such a way that no one even protests the change. His organization gains a better reputation, though the shadows of it's past are just barely hidden behind Duke's magnetic light.

Jarro never breaks off of Starro :(

I don't know enough about the others to speculate, but feel free to add to this or respectfully tell me why I'm wrong. ^v^

I’m definitely an au where some of the bat kids are villains or anti heroes and raised by various rogues instead of Bruce but I need some ideas

[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.