#but I've only read the first 3

[lunapegasus]

Nearly a year ago today I made this blog and posted my art online for the first time. So here's a redraw of it to celebrate :) Also sketch under the cut because it actually looks very different than the lineart but I really like it (+ the lineart for comparison)

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

sits up in bed. so lana and ema definitely thought they were responsible for edgeworth "choosing death", right?

(the rest of this post was supposed to go in the tags, because it's not very well organised or written, but it got too long so. here are the slightly edited tags for your reading pleasure (or otherwise)):

i was going to make this solely about ema because she's the obvious one with her open adoration of edgeworth, but the thing about rfta is that it goes to great lengths to emphasise the connection between lana and edgeworth as well.

the sl-9 incident showed that lana grows attached to people deeply, hence angel starr's comment on how, when neil marshall died, 'she (lana) felt like her own brother had died.' with edgeworth, i think it was similar but worse. because he's not just a coworker or subordinate who's dear to her. he saved her life. and it cost him his own.

at the beginning of the case, edgeworth says he was mistaken for thinking that lana was always looking out for him post sl-9 (a statement interesting on its own because that's when everyone else says she grew distant), and, later on, he brings ema fingerprinting powder because lana asked him to. then, of course, there's the 'lady luck' comment he makes.

similarly, on lana's side, you obviously have the end of the trial when she says he did well, but there's also that additional moment post-trial where she's the only one to notice — in a group comprising her, ema, phoenix and gumshoe — that he's 'hiding', listening to their conversation. point is, there's enough to suggest that she might have been the nearest thing edgeworth had to a mia; his 'chief prosecutor' to phoenix's plain 'chief'. they're as close as two people can be in a relationship where one of them is constantly lying and the other is von karma's star pupil.

rfta is pretty straightforwardly depicted as the case which solidified edgeworth's resolve to do what he did; i don't think i have to prove that. rumours about him have reached new heights, his car and knife were involved in goodman's murder, he makes an unprecedented mistake in court by failing to connect the evidence room and carpark incidents, thus forcing the chief of police to enter the trial to do so himself, and he's publicly revealed to have relied on falsified evidence to secure a conviction in the sl-9 case, all of which only happened because of lana. jake marshall even claims that from the beginning — that if you trace edgeworth's rumours back to their source, you end up meeting one person: lana skye.

and it gets worse because at the end of rfta, she thinks he's fine!! she literally says, 'i was afraid the pressure would break you, but you rose above it,' and reminds him he's nothing like gant because he's not alone. she leaves the case thinking he will be okay. and then, what, like a week passes, and she finds out that he wasn't, and that he's gone, and it's her fault. even after she was freed from gant's control, even after she had finally stopped lying, she couldn't prevent herself from claiming another life. so much for 'lady luck', i suppose.

and the game reiterates this multiple times. gumshoe states at the start that edgeworth's ties to those higher up in the department have made him the subject of constant rumours, and phoenix says (in front of ema) that he shouldn't be held responsible for the forged evidence because that was all lana's doing, which then leads to edgeworth commenting (again in front of ema) that he feels as though 'something inside him has died.' it all goes back to lana. we can argue and say that it was technically gant's doing that caused all of this, but lana still took actions that led to it. even her complicated friendship with edgeworth isn't spared; it's that closeness between them that exacerbated those rumours. how could she not feel responsible in some way?

and with ema, it's rather obvious, isn't it? if she hadn't gone poking her nose into things, none of this would have happened or come to light. and, of course, she'd never choose anyone over her sister, not for anything in the world — it's simply not a question, but that's the problem, isn't it? it's not a question. it's not some hypothetical moral dilemma. it just is. she may not have killed neil marshall, but she still has one king of prosecutor's blood on her hands. and now she has to live with that. she just. has. to live with it. no matter if he chose otherwise.

moving on from that a little, i think it's actually wild how much of ema's journey to becoming a forensics investigator is paved with bad memories. neil marshall's death and her subsequent inability to testify are what drives her to begin pursuing it, her first proper investigation results in her idol's "death" and when she finally graduates, the person who saved her sister has been disbarred, and she can't even help because she isn't allowed to. all that pain and constant pursuit of her goals, and she's still the same ema skye, still that girl shrouded in darkness, always one step behind the truth, one step a little too late. no wonder she was angry in aa:aj. i would be furious.

[weaverofink]

he's critiquing her candy crush strategy

[blue-bird-lamentation]

outfit swap

[sukugo]

i have to ask because i adore you and i want to know about your new blorbos- who are they and what are they and why are they always soaked in blood

JDHSJFHJFDDJFFSDFDF, oh man where do i start cassie.

they're from the anime/manga jujutsu kaisen, and they are:

gojo satoru. love of my fucking life. my fucking everything my boy my man, i am so so in LOVE with this man i cant even begin to tell u. he consumes my every waking thought, my life is dedicated to seeing him get fucked. (he's the guy in my header humping his all into the other's arm)

and (ryoumen) sukuna. beautiful sexy evil man.

(can u tell who's my fave)

so in this world, we have jujutsu sorcerers, who are people with special powers that they use to defeat/exorcise curses, which are basically evil spirits born of negative human emotions

gojo is the strongest jujutsu sorcerer alive. he is insanely strong, not a single person can go against him. his powers make it so that u literally physically cannot touch him. he controls "infinity" and can warp space, and he also has pretty special eyes that let him perceive things at a much deeper level than a regular person. those two things combined make him quite literally untouchable. and insanely powerful.

as for sukuna, he used to be a human who lived thousands of years ago, who used to be the strongest sorcerer of his time, and is considered to be the strongest sorcerer in history. he is the King of Curses, no one could ever defeat him, or destroy his soul, which he divided into his 20 preserved fingers so it would survive through time, even after dying.

so itadori yuuji

this lil baby boy (literally the babiest sweetest boy to exist btw) (he's actually the main character haha)

due to some stuff, he ends up eating one of sukuna's mummified fingers and sukuna reincarnates inside him. yuuji becomes a vessel for sukuna, who lives inside yuuji's mind now and sometimes takes over his body (reason why they look the same)

and now, yuuji is sentenced to be executed bc he holds the most evil sorcerer in history inside him, but gojo goes nope! wait a minute, let's not do that. and manages to convince the people in charge to postpone yuuji's execution, saying that they'll get yuuji to find and eat all of sukuna's fingers and then execute him, getting rid of sukuna all in one go.

ok so that's the context (that's actually what the anime's about haha), but as to gojo and sukuna.

THEY ARE IN LOVE

well, they're there. sdkkhfkjdkfdf

ok no, so like they do their things right. gojo is a teacher (tho we never actually see him do any teaching lmao) and sukuna lives inside yuuji and causes trouble sometimes. they don't really ever interact in the story (they literally meet and have a lil confrontation, decide to kill each other and never talk again djshjfdasdadfd) (until they actually have their Fight, more on that later)

BUT!!!!!!!! they may not interact, but they are completely tied together narratively.

as u can see, they're both the strongest from their respective times, so they have a lot of links when it comes to their characters themselves and what they are referred to in the story. specifically that, in being the strongest, they exist in a plane above everyone else, literally untouchable.

now, in the story, this position of strongest is coupled with solitude, being the strongest meaning u're alone and no one else understands you bc of this

and SO they have their fight. bc plot reasons right. this is obv what it was all gonna lead to. fight of the two strongest.

and the fight, consequently, revolves around that idea of solitude, and understanding each other.

which like. ok. yeah we saw that coming. ofc. no big deal.

EXCEPT, to make reference to their relationship and that idea of understanding each other, the term that is used is, and i kid u not, love.

there's a very specific phrase that is used multiple times between them. which is actually used originally with a character who shows romantic feelings towards sukuna.

she challenges sukuna to a fight and sukuna promises to marry her if she wins. her goal in this fight is to share in sukuna's solitude and show him love (read R→L)

but she says this to sukuna and this. this is his reaction.

SUKUNA KNOWS LOVE ALREADY

to which she gets super pissed bc that's not!!! love!!!!!!!

sukuna defeats/kills her. and u know when the next time that exact fucking phrase is used? when sukuna and gojo finally meet again and set up the date to have their Fight, where sukuna remembers her words

which tells us that.

sukuna was.

thinking about gojo when she said that.

*screams into hands*

BUT IT DOESN'T STOP THERE. this phrase is then repeated. multiple times.

1. right after gojo punches the fuck out of sukuna:

2. said in reference to gojo, when he realizes there's a chance of him losing:

3. gojo reminiscing about their fight:

so, as u can see, they were going to teach each other love. their fight is. canonically. about teaching each other love. what the FUCK.

but ENOUGH love talk (or else i'm at risk of going crazy insane)

LET'S TALK ABOUT HOW THEY'RE LOADED WITH SEXUAL TENSION

this was in their first meeting where they fought (for quite literally 10 seconds)

like... why he do dat.... .......... . ....

next day sukuna goes "hey im gonna kill u first <3" and gojo just goes "teehee omg really? *hair twirl* <3"

they also decide to have their final battle on dec 24 which is like a super romantic date in japan (explicitly said so by another character)

and their FIGHT. it is LITERALLY just them flirting and touching each other

LOOK AT THIS SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i fucking lost it. i still haven't recovered. that is the hottest thing i've ever seen in my life. gojo wants that dick so fucking bad

not to mention thigh grabs and hand touchies

and the entirety of the fight is just them having fun 😭😭 they're supposed "enemies" on opposite sides and the fate of the world is at stake here, but they actually don't give a fuck about that.

they're literally smiling and having a great fucking time. this fight for them is just play. their fight is just for them to have fun as the strongest and to connect with each other. they're enemies but they don't hate each other or anything, they only search for that sense of fulfillment in each other OTL

AND ABOUT THAT, oh my GOD

sukuna wins. he defeats gojo. and at the end, this. is what sukuna says to gojo at the end of the fight:

FUCKING. I'LL NEVER FORGET YOU. SCREAAAAM THAT'S ROMANCEEEEEE.

and the soft smile? the fucking petals falling all over them? oh GOD they're trying to kill me

but that's on sukuna's side, what about for gojo? well

HE GENUINELY TRIED TO REACH SUKUNA, GAVE IT HIS ALL TO CONNECT WITH HIM. TO TEACH HIM LOVE AGFKDHSKFHFKJFHDF (BUT HE FAILED HE COULDN'T GIVE SUKUNA WHAT SUKUNA GAVE HIM 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭)

HHRRRRGJFHSJDFHDSJFSDFA KJHDKFJSFKASLDKS ADKJKFHEWRKJEKRKTRELRW

and if i start crying OTL

but alas *deep breaths*

even without all that they're just very fucking sexy. two insane powerful men going at it? come on. how could u NOT want them together. they both hold the same title of the strongest, might as fucking well fuck nasty about it.

and oh god, when i tell u gojo is a fucking brat and he's so strong and untouchable, but then sukuna is capable of putting him down which is. insanely sexy. and i need it. i need gojo obliterated. and i know sukuna won't let me down (AND HE DID NOT. HE OBLITERATED THAT MAN) can he now obliterate his holes too

agdkhfhdkhdhs, anyways.... yeah.. that is the situation.........

im just gonna end this by saying

SUKUGO MY LOVES

[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.

[merry-finches]

YAAAY TECH ISSUES RESOLVED!

HAPPY "SECRET" GIFT DAY TO....Mo!! <3<3<3 @lotrmusical

Where would we all be without you? :>

I'm so happy to be a part of this little fandom, everyone is so welcoming and joyful and skilled and friendly, gahhhh I'm never over it. And creative, oh my goodness, when I have half a moment to indulge in everyone's amazing creations I've caught glimpses of 👀

So please enjoy mine, I hope you love it :] 💚

I had entirely too much fun pulling from all sorts of places for the construction of this gift 👀 I... wonder... if they will all be obvious! Please do tell me what you spot :] (the invitation is open to all to yell with me always)

I think I managed to hit most of your likes list in one way or another ^.^

And a happy birthday to jirt too!

Heydey 🦵🦵🙌🧍(that looks deranged out of context someone take emojis away from me or get us better ones :D )

🌻🍃🌼🦌🐞🍀🐦🌸🐝☘🐞🐎🌼🍃🌻

[ottiliere]

oh my goodness your dios.. what a delight to see someone so fully invested in phantom blood dio wow. i am very happy. i love your 3D dios. really makes me want to sculpt him as well

Do it... clay is cheap bake it in the oven paint with 10 dollar set of acrylics your life will never be better. I adore phantom blood Dio so very much... years ago saw someone coin the term “phantom blood purist” and it's so funny I think about it literally every time I enter a Dio cycle. There are many aspects that go into this preference of course, and upon a great amount of time pondering i can say confidently that this is because mainly that:

1) I love history (especially the fin de siècle) and I love thinking about him in relation to Victorian values/etiquette/sociology in general... there's something so special about a society that enabled such a gross disparity of wealth&poverty while being so inherently pretentious that its asinine etiquette rules would completely elude you unless you were raised in an aristocratic family or had access to etiquette books. Dio absolutely read a great amount of these before going to the Joestar mansion btw, even before his father snuffed it I think. God help him he would not be doomed to look like a slovenly ill-bred gamin if and when he needed to manipulate the upper classes. I really can't think of a way for him to have developed these skills enough to outclass Jonathan otherwise. god and like thinking about him as a barrister too with his profligate fashion sense you just KNOW he gets drawn that way into all of the court sketches that go in all the newspapers since everyone loved to read about crime and there were a million papers for this in England alone... he'd get caricatured so bad sometimes and he is NOT happy about this.

2) You can probably tell from my indifference to the rest of the parts (except sbr; I call this the "diego rule") that I'm not the biggest fan of fantastical elements and I'm much more interested in interpersonal conflict/relationships in general... PB is extremely unique to the rest of the series because for five WHOLE chapters absolutely nothing abnormal happens and we just get to see Dio harassing Jonathan and his girlfriend until Jonathan snaps and humiliates him so bad in beating him up that he makes Dio cry. and then Dio kills his dog. Like it's literally just some impoverished child abuse victim bullying a spoiled rich kid who wanted to be his friend because lalala sunshine daisies only knows what "poverty" is from reading Oliver Twist and has no conceptual understanding of what the real-world implications of that are. That was the character development that needed multiple chapters to develop it's so fucking awesome. like yeah I'd read an entire novel of just this alone happening and how it impacts their relationship as adults no vampirism needed. I reread "dio the invader" so frequently I'm surprised the spine of my jojonium copy isn't cracked at the exact endpoint of it. I just adore him interacting with Jonathan so much it's hard to remove him from that… that's his FOIL... all the stories (some "AUs") I make with Dio involve the way he and Jonathan gravitate each other to some degree. we get the clearest view of who he is in the face of someone who is the polar opposite of himself. 🤯

2) This iteration of him is the closest degree of separation he has from his "humanity" (childhood), thus

3) I find him to be the most interesting, endearing, etc., version of him walking around, given that... well. behaviors stem from somewhere... the thematic & active severance of himself from a species he is fundamentally incapable of connecting with due to the way he adapted to help him tolerate his childhood... from his point of view I can't imagine that there is one convincing reason for him to continue being human after given the opportunity to deviate from it (despite likely still being inebriated when he vamped himself — very much an impulsive decision since he had, what, an hour or two to think that through? drunk?). If everyone's underneath him, yes, after the fact the choice seems extremely fitting. Maybe he'll cultivate a vast swathe of worshippers and disciples that obey his every command. Maybe he'll rule the world. And then, maybe, he will start to feel genuinely content for the first time in his life. But probably not. That's the drawback of having something fundamentally missing from within you.

4) He lacks a certain type of introspective awareness that 100 years alone in a box might enable him to develop... he's very animalistic to me and possesses a precarious/immature/nonexistent grasp on his emotions just given the fact that he exhibits enraged outbursts from perceived ego wounds (in both childhood and adulthood) + struggles with alcoholism due to an incapacity to self-soothe any sort of negative emotion that makes it past the self-aggrandizing filter he can't help but see life through; he really isn't in conscious control of anything happening inside of him despite needing control over everything and everyone so he can get exactly what he wants, and deserves, always. PB paints a very dim and pathetic view of his character by allowing us to see when he's most "vulnerable", which is the thing he likely hates being the most, so getting to see scenes where he's walking around publicly intoxicated and disparaging himself for acting like his father (implied: again), who he hates, and attacking men with a wine bottle for evoking the concept of his mother, who he also kind of hates but lacks the cognizant cogency to dissolve whatever cognitive dissonance is causing this mental incongruence, rules. he rules

tl;dr SDC dio is "iconic" but I feel like he misses a lot of the charm he had in part one, removed from the context of the society that had such rigid social boundaries and rules of decorum, in addition to his maladaptive approach to interpersonal relationships, his substance abuse issues, his humbling foil... he's too "cool" for me. In the end SDC dio is simply not my Dio... he is someone else's Dio. And that's okay.

[detransraichu]

broooo not my ex making posts abt how hard it is to come to terms with being conventionally attractive while having low self-esteem issues and how wild it is to get compliments randomly on their appearance when they go out and how they're worried that their new transmasc boytoy is only into them bc they're hot -_- i'm tired... meanwhile i'm just seen as a gremlin now that i'm not hyperfem... they truly have the biggest issues in the world lol

also they were like "omg turns out i'm not ace i just needed a bf lol" and i'm like yeah. i know. you've been lusting after male characters for years. you were horny as fuck just not for me bc i didn't transition. you only made moves on me when you were bored, lonely or drunk. i always asked if that was the case and you were like no baby it's just your insecurities i don't need you to transition uwu. for 5 years. my trust issues are thru the roof now yayyyyy /dies

[mortellanarts]

2023 go bye bye

[lilacthebooklover]

Hi! I'm the one that read Dehumanization and got inspired to write my own thing, which is done now if you wanted to read it!

Thank you again for writing Dehumanization, it was such a fantastic read and it was great to go back and re-read bits while I was writing mine. Hope the writing of the Uncle Paul AU third chapter is going well, can't wait to see where it goes next ! :)

-Wel

hey!! sorry for replying to this so late aaah, i'm going through my ask box and just read through this. you're so sweet!

once again, "my home, my saviour, my firefighter" is a work of art that everyone should go read, and as is its sequel "ghosted coffee (poisoned food)". your writing is phenomenal, you're one of my sweetest mutuals, and it's a joy to read both your fics and your comments! have an incredible day/night <333

[iero]

Okay, so my first time in an airport ever, my first flight ever is on Monday morning, so if any of y'all have any tips/tricks/whatever to help me, I'd appreciate them because I am, um, SCARED.

[universestreasures]

The Lockets (Drabble)

Expansion/Spin Off From This Thread With @shacchou (Hope you like this Ani <3)

The young boy didn't expect her to come, if he's being honest. Since Gozaboru Kaiba passed away, Mokuba had cut off all contact with Lady Suzuha. It wasn't because he was grieving over the abusive man. No, it was because his focus had...shifted. He didn't want her to see him like this, to see him do what he thought he had to in order to regain what he lost...

His big brother's love...

Now that the puzzle of his big brother's heart had been broken due to the Penalty Game he suffered at Yugi Muto's hands, and his brother left in a coma for weeks now, everything had shifted. Mokuba was starting to act like himself again, as if he too had been consumed by the demon of games just like his older brother for the last half of a year. That was why he reached out to, really, his closest friend, to one of the only good things that being adopted by his stepfather had given him. And thankfully, she responded and hurried over quickly, overwhelmed with concern and worry herself after having heard the news about his brother's condition.

The two were in one of the many living spaces inside the mansion, arts and craft supplies spread all over the massive table in the middle. The two children often did this activity when they met up, this time being no different. He had something specific in mind that he wanted to do, something that had his immediate focus as he worked diligently on his project.

"M-Mokuba, dear?" The voice of the young lady pulled the youngest Kaiba out of his focus, purple hues staring at hers that could be seen above her signature pink fan. "Are you sure...this is what you called me over for? I-I mean, making arts and crafts with you is certainly a delight and one I rather missed. However, considering...recent events, I...I thought...I thought you called me over so that you could...have a trusted ear to talk about what happened..."

Her inquiry causes him to freeze in place, almost dropping the rope he had been working with. He should have figured this would happen. His friend was rather perceptive, not that Mokuba was any good at hiding his emotions to begin with. Unlike his older brother, he wore his heart on his sleeve for all to see, and she had seen right through him.

"I...I..."

"It's alright if you'd rather not discuss it. I...I know things are hard for you as it is right now. I simply wanted to express my own thoughts. If you simply want my company as we make artistic creations together like we always do, then that is alright. I am here for you today. No one else."

"...Thanks, Suzuha." Mokuba gives her a weak smile. He appreciates her understanding. It was true he did want to talk about it, but...not right now. Not when he had something he needed to finish first and his own thoughts and feelings together.

The room is filled again with silence as the two return to their work. While he worked on his project, she seemed to be painting a tea set of some sort. Perhaps it was a gift for Lord Amanosuzu. If that was the case, then they both had a similar idea in terms of what the purpose of making their crafts was.

As soon as he is about to put the finishing touches on his twin creations, he looks up as he notices Suzuha had gotten out of her chair and was above his shoulder, examining his work closely. "My, my! These are quite lovely, Mokuba dear! Are these for...you and your brother?"

"That's the idea...but I'm not sure if he will-" His words are cut short by the gentle gloved hand of the older young lady being placed on his shoulder, Suzuha's reassuring smile providing a comfort he had been lacking in his life for so long now; the smile of someone who cared about him deeply.

"Of course, he will like it! No, he'll love it! It's a handmade gift from you, his dear little brother! What sibling wouldn't adore such a thing filled with one's true feelings of brotherly love?"

"L-Love...?"

The word sounded so foreign escaping his lips, as if it was the first time he'd ever heard such a concept. His brother had told him brotherly love was a waste, something that only held one back. Those words stuck with him, even as he desperately tried anything and everything to get it from the older Kaiba since his spiral. That's why he had doubted even doing this in the first place, but yet he persisted anyway, creating something with his whole heart that was broken into many pieces by the events that had transpired.

Seems like the more things change, the more they stay the same, huh?

Before he can continue his response, he and she are both directed to the door. It then opens, revealing both one of the mansion staff and someone that caused both Suzuha and Mokuba's eyes to widen in surprise.

"Master Mokuba, Sorry to interrupt, but Officer Ryuenji is here to see you."

"Hey. Sorry for dropping in like this. I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright, Mokuba."

Before Mokuba can attempt to comment on the other's words, the ruby hues of the other focus on the other individual in the room. A hand goes over Tasuku chest as Mokuba watches him do a slight bow, like a prince would greeting a princess. "Lady Suzuha? Is that you? What a surprise! I did not expect to see you here today. I was not aware you and Mokuba knew each other."

"O-Oh! Y-Yes!" Mokuba's eyes widen just a bit at the sudden stammering in her voice, something he has never seen before from his friend. Suzuha whips out her fan, quickly covering the light blush forming in her cheeks with it. "We've been friends for years, T-Tasuku! Our fathers...were acquainted, and that's how we got introduced. My being here today is just one of many I've had with Mokuba dear over the years. I was not aware you were acquainted with him as well, but considering the celebrity that you are, I guess it's no surprise."

Mokuba and Tasuku both take a sigh of relief at her conclusion,both seemingly deciding to go along with it. Considering all the work Tasuku and the Buddy Police had done to keep the Death-T incident from going public, Suzuha becoming privy to it would put that in jeopardy. Not only that, Mokuba didn't want his friend to know his part of it, a part he felt like he had to do as a last-ditch effort to get the older Kaiba's attention at the time.

"Thanks for coming to check on me, Officer Ryuenji. I appreciate it."

"Please, just call me Tasuku. I think you and I are well acquainted enough to not speak so formally to one another."

Tasuku then took a seat, watching the two go back to their crafts as he did not want to intrude it seemed. It was a new thing for Mokuba to have 'friends over' like this, people who actively wanted to see him and were not trying to get anything out of him. It was...nice.

Was this...the feeling that comes from true friendship and unity with others? The very thing that Yugi seemed to have harnessed to beat his brother?

Mokuba then picks up the last part, the last piece, to his creation, the one item from the past he's treasured and preserved throughout the years. It was something he had clung to, a spark of hope he always held onto despite the darkness that came into his life. It was important to him, more than anyone including his brother, knew..until today that is.

"Mokuba? Is that...?" Tasuku questions, looking over along with Suzuha at the item the youngest in the room now held in his hands.

"Mhmm...It's an old picture of me and Seto before we were adopted by Gozaboru. We looked pretty different back then, huh?"

"You look the same to me, dear Mokuba. It is your brother who is the different one here. I..I have never seen Seto Kaiba...smile with such heart before. Not even during events we've both attended or any promotions I've seen. It's... polarizing, to put it mildly."

"Yeah...It was...a different time, a time before...all of this. That's why this picture is very dear to me, probably the most important thing I own now. And..."

Mokuba begins to do the unthinkable next, slowly starting to rip the photograph in two. His actions shock the other two in the room, both almost going to say something before he continues on and starts to place half of the picture into one of the lockets, precisely the half of the photograph he is featured in.

"I'm going to share it with him, share with Seto my most treasured memory, so that he will...come back to me someday."

Once he finishes the process with the other locket, the boy moves to leave the room, telling his guests he needs to do something. With that, he runs down the long corridors of the Kaiba Mansion, not stopping until he reaches the most guarded part of the house: his brother's chambers.

The maid moves aside to let him in, bringing Mokuba face-to-face with his brother for the first time in weeks. Just looking at him like this, in a coma and stuck in a wheelchair like a lifeless husk, pained him like nothing else. However, he pressed forward anyway, for he had something important to do.

"Big Brother...I...I don't know if you can hear me, but...I...I want to give you something, something to help guide you back to me...A piece of my heart..."

Mokuba then places one of the lockets he created, the one containing his own picture, around his brother's neck. He then puts the remaining one, the one containing Seto's picture, around his own neck, the boy then clenching it protectively like he was a dragon protecting a treasured gem. He can feel his heart start to ache and his body start to quake along with it, his emotions that he had been trying so hard to manage in order to stay strong finally taking over him.

Before he can realize it, his knees buckle, sending him down to the floor and his face into Seto's lap. Water flows from his eyes and land on the white fabric of his brother's clothing, his cries starting to echo throughout the mansion. His friends, immediately upon hearing it spring into action, both stopping in their tracks upon meeting the maid when having reached the entrance. The woman told them to leave the young master on his own for now, to allow him his feelings he's been holding in to come out freely without judgment.

"Mokuba..."

"Mokuba..."

And so the two listened and waited outside the door as Mokuba's cries continued for what seemed like forever, the cries being some of the most painful they'd ever heard. Little did they knew that this was not even close to displaying the amount of anguish the young boy felt, an anguish that had been building up for years upon years that all just spilled over the second his brother went into that coma. For he had been through so much, seen so much, all since that fateful day that changed everything for him and his older brother...

"Seto...Come back...Come back to me...Big brother...I...I miss you...I...I need you...I need you here with me...I don't know who I am without you...So, please...Please I'm begging you...Come home soon..."

[segretecose]

that anne rice page you just posted (claudia p.o.v., re: lestat) absolutely bodied me!!! my heart hurts!!! every thing i've heard about the books makes them sound bizarre in a mostly NOT fun way but like ... are they actually good? :ooo

honestly this is the best way i've ever seen it explained so i'm just going to post this

[freakurodani]

can i be honest w u guys?

i like making oikawa pine and i like him gettin stupid w it

he said his favorite phrase is "if you're gonna hit it, hit it until it breaks" i said i wanna do that to his heart <3

[hedge-rambles]

"I wield a sword but you wield your heart. Your devotion to my memory could call my soul through a thousand years of death, and past that you've treated me with care and devotion still. How could you think I'd not look at you twice?"

So I kinda keep this blog safe but, uh, I'm legit proud of having written this?

Do you think Ortus Nigenad deserved better?

Do you have strong feelings about him and Matthias Nonius?

Do you want to read 7k words of finely crafted emotional interaction with love and mutual caring and tenderness and also they do the sex?

Do you want three new lines of ennameter poetry used for both in story expansion to the concept of magic and also a very stupid pickup line?

Do you want to see a man who thinks he's unloveable finding out that he is truly not?

Ortus and Matthias living on past the battle in the river because ??? but they have each other?

Well boy oh boy have I written the fic for you!

Yes, on the weekend I wrote an attempt at Noniad smut in the form of Ortus writing a self-insert Otrus/Matthias poem in ennameter, badly, because I didn't really get it until after I was done. But I liked the wee story I constructed so I decided to write a new version of it in prose, with context, and more insight, and so I sat down and churned out seven thousand words of what I'm going to call "actually good writing". Tbh outline's the same but the actual everything is quite different to the poem.