#they're chosen for a reason
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vindictes · 9 months ago
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the executives are the heirs of rocket after giovanni
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sysig · 1 month ago
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my 2nd request !! The skeleton brothers wearing matching pajamas :D
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Day 13 - The Friendship Brothers
#My art#Requestober#UT#Handplates#Papyrus#Sans#Pokemon#So how matching are we talking here - are we talking Bear and Lion onesies or are we talking Identical#Obviously I have already chosen but lol#This isn't just me being Pokemon-brained! Mostly! Lol#This is me once again pulling from something smol and I have/do/be haha#It's been established that I am the Sans of our duo for a long long while now#And I have had an Umbreon kigurimi for a similarly long while! It's very comfy and silly and has been a Halloween costume for a few years#Well smol finally got one to match me <3 Espeon is her all-time favourite Pokemon as well not just of the Eevees but generally#So now we match And she gets a thing of her fave! Best of all worlds! :D#This is just a realistic image of the two of us lol we're just like them they're just like us haha#Fun funny tho - my kigurumi is just like - abstractly an Umbreon y'know? Like I Am The Umbreon my face is creature#All the Espeon kigurumi seem to have a face on them for some reason?? There are matching Umbreon faces too but like#There's no option Not to be Wearing An Espeon lol why#I do not know but I Will subject the Skelebros to it and make a pun about it lol#I had to brainstorm for it! And I got the groan-sign-off of my Papyrus hehe <3#Kigurumi have such goofy proportions haha#No one will ever guess how short my legs actually are under here! Lol#Very partial to how Sans' legs droop considerably more than Papyrus' hehe <3 <3#Had a lot of fun with his tiny hands here as well haha ♪ Good old babyhands Sans ♥
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backpackingspace · 3 months ago
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Do we think odysseus started pranking Athena and her temples at some point? Because I do. He argued that it was good for sneaking and evading training. And you know what Athena couldn't argue that. Her chasing odysseus across the island was good training.
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mars-ax · 4 months ago
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MARS. POST THE DOODLE OF SCOTT AND CLEO CUDDLING AND MY LIFE IS YOURS
so I don't usually post doodles because I'm very self-conscious about their quality, but just for you harper
So that doodle was actually in a series of other doodles all in the theme of "literal sleeping together" because that's one of my favorite things ever, so I might as well put them all here then
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funeralflow3rs · 2 years ago
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okay but listen,,, listen,,, are you listening,,, I cannot stop thinking about how the cauldron loves elain and its just... SO interesting to me that the MOMENT she pops out from the depths she's given a mate. there were any number of people there that could have been "assigned" to her ( if ur picking up what I'm putting down lmao ) the cauldron peered into her soul and saw all of her wants and needs and gifted her with the person that embodied all of those things and then some.
I will never stop thinking about this actually.
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hellisntreal · 3 months ago
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a power of peace and healing//your bones run strong
I spent a very long time trying to work out a Stone design and I'm still not settled! I'm sure like my other humanizations of Fallen London entities, I'll come up with a few <3
#blood cw#gore cw#fallen london#fallen london spoilers#whoooo wants to hear my design thoughtsssssss okay so#I colour selected from her art. she's mostly brown but there's a pale peach colour I've chosen to adopt#I think pale orange/pink works well for stone! pastel is like a half colour innit. she's a half judgement. a softer light#she has 'mountain limbs' referenced there's no reason to give her only two#esp since one of her parents is a crab. they're kinda hooved/claws/roots to reflect both her and baz#the outfit and part of the pastels is also that Stone is.... a princess kind of. i wanted to invoke that!#no one would call her this but the idea of 'maiden hidden where she can't be seen secret child of the king' is like. Her#maidens locked away often have pointy hats too. like mountains. solved it. all the neath mysteries. i won#she has cracked and the wound obviously because. folks. stop mining her! stop seeking immortality!! CHILL!!!#she's PROBABLY HAS cursed people but she's overall all ALRIGHT and in a TOUGH SITUATION okay. her dad fucking yeeted her into the dirt#oh she has tears of flint on her face. chose orange eyes bc Remembered Sunlight and blue for the Sky. half-lidded because half-sun.#as the monarch of monsters and princess of Shame I wanted her to look notably Different while not being the biggest deal of the design#you will probably notice the wound before the many odd legs or singular arm. she's way more human than my baz designs too#bc like. ONE WAY you can interpret Stone is to place her in Victorian London. The king has a bastard he is ashamed of at birth and hides he#anyway. other stone ideas are much more garden themed. cat themed. put her in a cat sweater
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i3utterflyeffect · 1 month ago
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who in human!sticks au is the most likely to heck up their hair trying to cut it themselves? on the more angsty end i feel like victim would try to do it so they look less like alan, on the more funny end i feel like literally any of the cg would wind up doing it on a whim or dare
dark and vic are the highest contenders i think. dark is too prideful to ask for help cutting their hair (but probably would later regret it considering they also take a lot of pride in their appearance lkfgjdgd), and yeah, Victim would probably cut their own hair too! it's a little easier when you can just remove your head but it still doesn't end up looking great I think. The CG trust Alan enough that they'd let him cut their hair!
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moonlit-grove · 3 months ago
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not me copying being inspired by @mistreaders-requiem, flowers for the commanders
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rosegoldenatlas · 4 months ago
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You know its bad out there when you start looking for gay bible fanfiction
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waywardsalt · 5 months ago
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with my phantom hourglass replay, there are two things i noticed;
a possible theme you could glean from the game is action vs inaction, and i think it's especially prevalent before you even leave mercay the first time, with oshus frequently urging link to not go after the ghost ship, then to just wait until the broken bridge is fixed, and seems reluctant at every turn while link and ciela are more than eager to go and do something about this problem, and the people of mercay in general talking about things and their problems but never seeming to act on their fears or desires, as well as the mention that due to the ghost ship, very very few people are still sailing around, while linebeck is one of the only people we see in the game actively going after the ghost ship and still sailing around. i might make a longer post just talking more about the action vs inaction in phantom hourglass but i just noticed it a bit and thought it was a bit of an interesting sort of theme you could find in the game.
linebeck moves so fucking much. i think he moves more than any npc in the rest of the game. not just in his intro cutscene where he is very animated, just in how much he moves when just standing in his little idle post, it's damn near distracting when the camera is focused on him, he moves a lot. i don't think i've really acknowledged how much he moves, and it really gives the impression that he's antsy or eager to get going, both of which fit him pretty well with how he acts.
#phantom hourglass#linebeck#loz#legend of zelda#salty talks#imo the action vs inaction thing feels esp interesting to me when looking at oshus specifically. he and his world are in grave danger#and he knows it and he actively does nothing and even seems reluctant to let ciela and link go ahead and do something.#of course he comes around on it but it's very interesting. has he given up at that point? thats what it suggests to me#that hes like. joined the people of mercay in just lying down and waiting for other people to fix their problems or just. not do anything#otherwise on mercay you have that old guy in the bar who spends the whole game not leaving bc he doesnt want to face his wife#and she never goes to the bar to actually look for him and just talks about it if anything#the guy with the blue tunic talks a lot about linebeck and his ship and almost gives the impression that he really wants to talk to him#but yknow. doesnt. theres the women that tells you about docks being shut down and how linebeck is the only person who's showed up#the woman you see at the broken bridge who's just like oh well! time to wait til someone fixes it.#even the guy fixing the bridge iirc is like well fuck i gotta do it or else oshus is going to bitch at me abt it#everyone seems reluctant to act which makes for an interesting way in how our main crew stands out#it is less so oh theyve been chosen specifically for this its moreso they're the ones who are fucking doing something about this#for their own various reasons some of which are more selfish but theyre still doing something#will likely have more stuff to say when im done but ofc we have other characters in the game who have to do with this#anyways. linebeck is so animated all of the fucking time it's great i dont think theres any other character that moves as much as him#when he's just standing around to talking to link it's great. he's so ready to get going.#it works with him being an anxious mess and also with like. oh he's probably understimulated. you know he's got a nasty case of wanderlust#i can put it with the idea that he's understimulated and afraid to stim in public so he's just constantly moving#he probably drums his fingers on tables bounces his leg when sitting paces around switches the way he sits or lays down often#tbh this kinda fits in with him being one of the main characters who takes action moreso than a lot of other characters#his arc culminates in him taking action he's going after the ghost ship he's moving around the world the only issue is that one of the#actions he takes is running away from his problems literally n metaphorically (tho idk if facing the jolene problem is a good idea for him)
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camzverse · 4 months ago
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that's a line from julius ceasar by shakespeare btw
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sysig · 6 months ago
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Pretty clothes for you! ✨ (Patreon)
#My art#Solanaceae#Satine#Ahh!!! Even with this one being done I'm still so nervous about it somehow!! Haha ♪#It's been so so soooo long since I've participated in an Event that I've forgotten everything I've ever learned or done in one haha#But yes! This is an event piece! DCS put out an art call and I wanted to join and I'm very glad I did! :D#I would consider myself a very casual fan of Solanaceae like it's been way too long since I've reread in earnest but I like to stop by#Lovely art and characters and interesting movement and feelings and problems everyone runs into it's quite cool :D#Satine is probably my favourite of the bunch even if it has been too long since I've properly caught up with everyone!!#I remember always feelings very positive and like - mixed-love? They're complex in a way that I really like#Ahh all the more reason to catch up again! So I can properly express how I feel about Satine /now/ not just partially remembered haha#I'm also just generally a fan of DCS' art style and passion and ah <3#I don't think I've mentioned it anywhere but DCS was one of my Very Big - maybe even Main inspirations to make VargasLovingHours#And then I also get to draw their pretty lad in Satine! Yes!!#I have a lot to feel thankful for inspiration-wise haha ♥#This was a fun outfit to design :D I really wanted Satine to feel pretty 'cause they are!#A kind of cool pink and scalloping I will always choose scalloping if there is an option for scalloping to be chosen#And I got to bring back a bit of the rainbow-opal look I used for Winter King a bit back as well! :D#And mirrors and sparklies and just - yes! Many good and fun things!!#I do think it's a bit funny since those were supposed to be thought bubbles but then I just - forgot to make the little bubble tails lol#Remembered them on the flowers! But not the thought bubbles! Haha oh well ♪#Does not diminish the cutes or the pretties ♫
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vargaslovinghours · 1 year ago
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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.
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yuseirra · 4 months ago
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I might be taking things the wrong way, but you know how I tried to be very careful about determining how deep Ai's feelings towards Kamiki would be before the actual chapters dropped? (and I had to, since what's happened to her was serious, fiction or not, and I felt it'd be rude? even offensive if I jumped to conclusions and got really off about it considering what happened to her) It turned out to be WAY deeper and stronger than I described! I really liked that, btw, and it helped me understand her character better.
Maybe the same thing could be said about kamiki too?? I actually HOPE that would be the case.. and that'd mean a LOT because I'd actually been interpreting him in a really.. how should I put it, compassionate? direction ALREADY. I was afraid I could be wrong about my takes (and I'd actually regret it if it were to be) but I was also convinced that this should be where the story would be going, how he'd be handled, and that there'd be something more about him after that latest chapter.
This comic has some extremely heavy themes and what it tackles is something that can hurt people in reality, right. So I wanted to be careful about determining and drawing conclusions about how the characters feel about one another. Crimes and violence can't be justified no matter what. You can't call something like that "love", but I think this character shared such feelings with Ai. I felt that, so... it'd been giving me a lot of mixed feelings. I felt so conflicted. Perhaps it's just my wishful thinking, but it'd be nice if they really do have a genuine sense of love towards one another.
I had a hunch that it could really be it. That's why I decided to hop right in and start discussing it(it was really fun!) I can be wrong, but...
It'd be even cooler if the actual thing is even STRONGER than what I anticipated it'd be like! (and this is usually the case because I worry about getting things wrong and refrain from being more assertive than the source material)
but who knows? I just really enjoy thinking about/drawing characters that care a whole lot about each other. Ai certainly had that sort of feeling towards her bf all along, and I want to see him doing the same for her too. It'd make so much sense for me that way. I can draw lots of things about them if it were to be the case because I specialize with drawing stuff like that! I say it's my strength. It could be a bit dumb and naive of me to hope for something wholesome from a series that starts out with murder, but we'll see, I guess.
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zexonyte · 8 months ago
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yeah i made him a fish lookin thang whatcha gonna do about it
#mother series#giegue#earthbound beginnings#yeah im proud of this so im putting it on tumblr too. hiii mother times server how yall doing#ignore that he doesnt have a back leg i tried but it looked kinda weird and cramped#anyways i gave giegue gill things and a more fish-esque appearance because i hc his species is aquatic#like they come from an oceanic? aquatic? unsure. well its a planet that is almost entirely water im talkin subnautica levels of sea#that's why he had that capsule orb thing in mother 1. he needs it to live and the weird engine-esque things at his side are like purifiers#making sure the liquid is suitable. not too focused on much else (why bother when you're a super powerful psychic) but isn't exactly fragil#like the material is flexible and rubbery even. you hit it and it bounces back a good amount#we don't really get an explanation for why earth itself was chosen to get invaded. at least i don't remember if there was one sorry 😭 BUT#i hc also that the reason giegue's species decided to invade here specifically was because of territory. i mean we've got a lot of water#maybe they took george and maria to test humanity in a sense. if they reacted positively to an alien child mayybe they wouldnt have needed#to straight up eradicate humanity maybe this time we wont need to fight too much. would be inconvenient to waste firepower on these#simple creatures. they're not even that smart. can't even use our epic brain powers lol (aged real well)#once again they aint found him yet but when they do they gon be surprised#anyways its like 4 in the morning i cant keep doing this. thanks for reading my brainworms over a game ive never played 🤙
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i3utterflyeffect · 8 months ago
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OHhh that's fascinating I hadn't seen it like that! And Dark having the mission statement... I could imagine it could cause conflicts. You said Dark could make error sounds, right? What if they didn't really know they could access those until those codes were... conflicting? Until they were FEELING those errors building up. Though that's up to you knvxbmcbv
OHG YEAH!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE THAT
it's probably insanely stressful to feel their code conflicting, especially since the mission prevention code is hard-coded into the virabots so the mission code can't really shove it out of the way-- it isn't really visible from the outside other than the fact that they start acting weird once it starts to get bad.
initially i think it'd just be like the hiccups though. mostly just annoying and uncomfortable
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