#something a little longer for day 2!

[trealamh]

Copper

Day 2 of ScotEng week:

Drama // family, consequences, worth // “Do you really believe that?”

[What is it with the wedding themes in all of these prompts you might ask? The answer is ‘I don’t know’ and ‘I’m just happy to be writing again do not question my life choices’. This takes place in an AU where Arthur has been half in love with Alasdair all of his life. He runs off after introducing him to Francis and watching them fall in love. Francis doesn’t let go of him so easily and so he and Arthur stay in touch, but Alasdair hasn’t heard from Arthur in years. Alasdair and Francis are walking down the aisle in two days; Arthur loves them both and cannot fathom that they could love him back.

Ask me about the coins and the salt in the piss pot and I will tell you a wee bit about Scottish wedding traditions.]

-------

His eyes find Arthur across the room at every turn and he does not lie to himself. He is seeking him out of the corner of his eye, drawn to the sound of his voice and the familiar shape of him in a crowd. He keeps to himself, lingering near windows and walls, his back never turned to the door. Alasdair looks at him and sees negative space; sees five years into the past. He thinks that Arthur’s hair might be a little longer, his posture a little better. His clothes lived in but well-fitted. He looks well.

Alasdair should not be looking.

Just across from him, Francis looks happy; is happy. He looks beautiful backlit by the warm light of the faux sconces on the homely walls of the pub. And Arthur loves him, Alasdair knows he does. He would not be here, if he didn’t. Not when… He would not be here.

Someone (Sean, probably) has put a piss pot full of salt in Francis’ hands and he is making the round around the pub trading in kisses for copper. Francis’ friends from abroad throw in two pound coins and kiss him so hard that they nearly bowl Francis over. If he keeps his feet on the ground it is only because they hold him up, arms held firm at his waist, hands amiable and familiar on his body. Alasdair could no more resent the easy way Francis loves and is loved than he would his smiles or the sound of his laughter. There is something in him that aches though, watching now as he makes his way to Arthur to earn his due. Arthur’s tight lips quirk in what is almost a smile and he drops two pence into the pot. He turns his face when Francis leans in and Francis does not chase his mouth, content to press a lingering kiss to the soft swell of Arthur’s cheek like a brother.

Alasdair’s fingers itch to curl into a fist. He goes to find another pint instead.

At some point in the night half their party heads off down the street to the next pub over and the rest split ways. Francis does not try to coax Alasdair away but leaves him behind with a quick embrace and a whispered promise. Alasdair will not keep him to it and takes the damned piss pot to put aside. Fuck knows where Sean’s been off to; he hasn’t seen Daffyd all night. Alasdair should call him in the morning and ask why, why? Did Arthur say...?

 Or he could ask Arthur himself, it seems.

He cuts a lonely figure, the sole person left behind, half-sitting on a table top with his hands held loosely between his thighs. There is no device in his presence here, no gambit or intent. This place felt like it was theirs once, back when Alasdair had first put down the anchor to rebuild the family business from the ground up. Every hour he had spent sanding the floors and thatching the sunken benches had been worth Arthur’s evenings spent pouring over ledgers and faded receipts. He never took a cent for any of it, shrugging off Alasdair’s offers coarsely and claiming ownership to nothing more than the black ink on the records that first fiscal year they broke even. Alasdair knows now that it was more than pride that kept Arthur one step removed but he struggles to follow the logic of his actions. He cannot guess at the storms that brew behind the green of Arthur’s eyes unless he puts them into words. All he knows is that for all that he is difficult Arthur is also honest. For a while he belonged to these rooms as much as the furniture, and so if anyone has the right to beg off from the revelry of a wedding that isn’t his and spend the night letting his eyes get lost in the woodgrain instead, it is him.

“You were right.” Arthur breaks the silence and Alasdair is caught short, unsure of what he means.

“The sconces,” he clarifies, and makes eye contact with Alasdair only briefly before looking away again. “It was worth wiring them. The room does not need any more light than this.”

Alasdair hums, and thinks back to the arguments that had very little heat at heart.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

Arthur shrugs.

“I don’t suppose it’s cold enough to warrant a fire.” He is thinking out loud and doing a fine job of ignoring Alasdair, eyes on the ash stains that frame the fire place.

So, Alasdair does what he’s always done best. He puts himself right where Arthur cannot ignore him.

Arthur keeps his weight resting on the table behind him but straightens up from his slump when Alasdair comes close enough. He looks at the enamel piss pot he is still holding by the handles first and then, finally, his face.

“I’m short on change,” he deadpans.

Alasdair huffs his amusement without smiling and sets it to the side. The salt and coins resettle with the movement, scratching the bottom of the pan.

“Will you stay?” Alasdair has never known how to keep from sounding angry when he speaks low like this.

Arthur opens his mouth to speak and he interrupts him before he can argue.

“For the wedding,” he clarifies, and thinks in numbers. Two nights and three days. Arthur must have arrived earlier in the day, and he will be staying the night. Alasdair does not know where he might be staying but he’ll have dropped his bags there, some spare clothing and formalwear, for the ceremony. Another pair of shoes.

Arthur looks at him silently, his expression blank but softened by the lax set of his lips. He nods, barely there but he nods, and Alasdair feels at one like he can breathe and like one of his ribs had popped out of place to dig painfully into the soft tissue of his lungs.

“There’s a spare room—”

“Upstairs.” Arthur finishes for him with finality and for the first time there is something like anger in his eyes. “Across from yours.”

What Arthur means and does not have to say outright is that it would be cruel at best to have him stay. Alasdair knows that and offered anyways because somehow it feels worse not to have Arthur under his roof. Francis would be glad to have him. He would come out of the bedroom in the morning to find Arthur tucked into their kitchen nook and smile wide enough to hurt. He would kiss Alasdair’s neck to thank him silently for whatever bargain he’d made to bring Arthur home. Even if he told him so, and tried to explain, Arthur would not believe him.

“Aye.” He will try anyways. “Across from ours.”

Arthur’s jaw clenches and he breathes an angry huff, looking like he is of a mind to storm off. The only thing that stays him might very well be that Alasdair is standing so close that he’d have to shove him aside to leave.

“Where are you staying?” Alasdair asks, though he’s starting to suspect he already knows the answer.

“I’m not.” Arthur snaps.

Alasdair holds his ground, scowling right back until Arthur’s temper begins to flag.

“I shouldn’t have come,” he laments, bringing up a hand to press against his forehead and dragging it down to his eyes.

“Why did you?” Alasdair presses.

Arthur shakes his head lightly and for once Alasdair lets it be.

“You can’t be driving.” He tries for reason. “And you’ll not find a room this late, the inn’s booked full. You could call—” he tries to think of anyone Arthur would trust enough to impose on and comes up short. “—someone. I’ll call someone for you if you’re set on being stubborn.”

Arthur’s hand is still covering his eyes, but he is very obviously grinding his jaw.

“Or you could stay.” Alasdair finishes brusquely. “And come upstairs to sleep in the spare room.” Your room, he wishes he could say still.

Arthur exhales and drags his hand down roughly to cover his mouth instead. He looks up at Alasdair through the mess of his fringe for a long moment before he speaks.

“I haven’t been drinking,” he says and sounds like he is only trying to himself not to stay.

“If you stay, you’ll want to.”

That at least makes Arthur snort.

“Sure,” he agrees, and Alasdair can suddenly picture him years younger and curled into the sunken couch upstairs, a hot toddy held in his hands.

But this isn’t the Arthur he remembers. He looks tired, suddenly, and speaks with a gravity that begs no argument.

“I left for a reason.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Arthur raises his chin in a challenge.

They will have to have it out. If not now, then later. They will have to talk and figure things out if they have any hope of keeping the peace long enough to see the wedding out. For Francis’ sake he would rather it be now. For Arthur, he can be patient.

“Why, then?”

Arthur searches his face, chewing on his lower lip like he is struggling to find the words to parry along the confrontation he wanted.

“Because I couldn’t…” he tries, and sighs like he is frustrated with himself. “I don’t want this. I don’t know if I can want this. And I do not know who I am to you and what my place in your life is if we’re not fucking.”

Alasdair swallows back his anger and counts to ten in his mind.

This is the effect of having taken all that Arthur offered before he knew any better and questioned his motives. It is all so clear in hindsight that it chaffs against his pride that he could be so blind, once. There is equal blame to place on Arthur for his silence— for running away— and every opportunity he let pass without making himself known. Alasdair could have loved him better, would have if only Arthur had told him how. Never fucked him at all, for all that matters. Has never even kissed him like he deserved to be. And now there is another person to consider and half a decade of missed opportunities to work through.

Every word they speak now will carry the consequences of their past omissions, so Alasdair does not stop to consider his words and says what he wishes he has told Arthur years ago instead.

“You are family,” he declares and shakes his head roughly once before Arthur can interrupt him. “Whether you stay or leave. This place is yours, a third of it, a half. Whatever you will claim of it is yours to keep. And you are family. To Francis, to me. As much as Sean and Dai could ever be; more, for who you are to us. To both of us.”

Arthur’s eyes on him are intent.

“Do you really believe that?” he asks, and Alasdair has always known deep down that before he is anything else, Arthur is a cynic that wants to be proven wrong.

“Is it so hard to believe?”

The question hangs in the air for a beat too long. Arthur drops his gaze.

“What will you tell Francis?”

Alasdair grunts.

“That if he had time enough to orchestrate this while running me ragged he could have spared a moment to wash the bedding in the guest room.”

That startles a huff of laughter out of Arthur, but it sounds a little wet. One of his hands is back, hovering near his lips in an old nervous gesture.

Alasdair has never been good with words. He resorts to his hands instead and buries one deep into the roots of Arthur’s hair. It feels thicker than it looks and is coarser than Francis’; a shade closer to sand than gold.

He would not be surprised to find the bedsheets in the guest bedroom washed and pressed, all the edges tucked neatly under the corners of the mattress the way Francis never makes their own bed. There is no hurry, though. He’ll wash them himself if he needs to and keep Arthur company while the washing machine makes a racket in the kitchen, spinning through the dry cycle. If the sheets come out damp he’ll spare Arthur half of theirs and the thick, woollen blanket they only pull down from the cupboard in the winter. For now, he lets himself relearn Arthur’s warmth with his nose buried in his temple and thinks in numbers. Six more hours until morning. Three cups of coffee over breakfast in three mismatched mugs. One more night before his wedding and ahead of that a lifetime worth its weight in copper.

[bulbabutt]

rise leo does know whats going on with his brothers, dont you worry

previous part | all comics in this crossover (chrono) | tip jar (kofi)

[noecoded]

everybody knows ur right…everybody knows im wrong!!!!!!

[skunkes]

I hate the invisible art timer, i really wanted to do 2 really quick talon "comics" (just a few panels) but it took longer than 2 days for me to get started on and finish them so ive lost interest and momentum 😪

[fictionadventurer]

Things To Make August (the Month of Existential Dread) Bearable

Pray. A lot.

Plan little summer adventures.

Write a fun little retelling (and hopefully finish it).

Read an Elizabeth Goudge book (Book 3 of the Elliot trilogy seems right, because Book 2 is coming to mind a lot as an appropriate summer book).

Remember that sunflowers exist. Find lots of them.

[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!)

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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.

[ghostlycleric]

Will Byers deserves a break, but for the sake of the plot I can’t give him one right now.

(VERY, VERY ROUGH DRAFT)

[icewindandboringhorror]

Apparently I can meet my goal of roughly 400,000 words in 6 months if I just somehow write at least 2,200 words a day ghbjh... Almost 2,500 today... huzzah...

[steviescrystals]

i seriously need to get a new job and start making money again asap bc i cannot keep living at home much longer it’s driving me insane

(wrote an entire essay in the tags without meaning to oops)

[yesyourstalker]

Makeup artist:.......... Are you nervous?

Baja: a little bit.... This isn't like in front of a studio audience right

Makeup artist: No sweetie, it's just a one-on-one interview.

Baja: that's good. Who are we interviewing?

Makeup artist: You're going to have to ask the show-runner, Mickey.

Mickey: let's go. Let's go. Let's go what takes so long putting powder on a face. He has perfect skin anyway. We had to get him to the dressing room. We start filming in a couple minutes

Makeup artist: I'm finished. Just need to map down some scales and he's...... All done. You're free to go sweetie

Baja: thank you

Mickey: So you must be then host of the show. Sorry I wasn't able to meet you sooner. I was on vacation. Oshi told me you're a really good candidate for this show. You seem to be competent you know your way around music....*sip* ..... Coffee?

Baja: I don't really drink that much coffee. I like tea though

Mickey: Green tea! *Snap*. .*snap*

Assistant: your green tea

Baja: thank you

Mickey: Well I know one thing for sure. She was right about the pretty face. Now as you get dressed head to the studio so we start filming promotional material Ramon should be there with you. After your interview which will count as the pilot

Tammy: Mickey listen I really think you should reconsider about not casting me for the show

Mickey: No....*sip*

Tammy: but I really think you should I mean I can at least be co-host. I'm great to be around! Tell him, baba

Baja: it's Baja

Mickey: No, we need to bring up the sea slug viewership

Tammy: I can be the second co-host

Mickey:....*sigh*...... Tammy listen to me. You didn't get the job all right. You just don't fit the criteria we need for this show and this channel. But hey you have other opportunities for other networks alright. You're pretty, you're bubbly and you have a nice rack. You can get a job anywhere with those qualities around here.... You're just not going to find it at this station

Tammy: but-

Mickey: goooooood byyyyyyyyyyyyyeeee Tammy!!

Security guard: Right this way ma'am

Tammy: Mickey!!! I'll have your fucking job!!

Mickey: we'll see you next week Tammy we're filming the season finale

Baja: she seemed pretty upset

Mickey: eh she'll get over it ... She's been in a couple of shows here and there on the network. She plays Kate the baby sitter on 'dock and dingy' ......*sip* ..... She'll be fine. Here Is your dressing room your clothes should be folded

Baja: alright... and I just head to set after

Mickey: yep your's and Ramon's chairs will be the brown arm chairs. The musician or celebrity will be sitting on the loveseat and will perform on the stage behind you

Baja: they're going to perform?

Mickey: yeah.. yeah they're starting their Solo career

_______________________________________________

Ramon: hey... You look good. They spruced up your wardrobe too

Baja: yeah. I wonder if we're able to take this home with us

Ramon: probably. I think it'd be easier just to keep in our dressing rooms for now. Keep our work clothes separate from our regular clothes. Feels like bad energy to mix them together.

Baja: how so?

Ramon: I mean this nice brand name stuff fancy designs, colors and a hefty price on it. It's nice but it isn't really me. It's what the studio and the producers want me to be and I rather keep that at work when. I go home I wear my regular off-brand jeans, my 8-year-old sweater and a pair of kicks with a hole in it. That's me. That's who I am. A regular person, I'm not above anyone and I don't want to feel like I am. Get what I'm saying

Baja: yeah... I get it. You don't want the job to change you

Ramon: exactly

Mickey: All right! Hitch you got the shot?

Hitch: Yeah I got it. We can use this for commercials

Baja: you were filming?

Mickey: Yeah yeah no worries. We just wanted to film you guys interacting. We didn't tell you cuz we wanted to look natural.

Hitch: we didn't have any mics on so we couldn't hear what you were saying so don't worry about it. I'm the director by the way names Hitch. Nice to meet you..

Baja: hello

Ramon: hey

Mickey: alright so we're going to start filming the show in 30 minutes. Kikura is their dressing room.

Ramon: Kikura from C-side?

Mickey: yeah

Kikura: sorry I'm late.. I tend to procrastinate when I'm getting ready for these types of things...... Not a good excuse but... yeah

Mick: Well that's perfectly fine. We'll be filming in a couple minutes this is Ramon and this is Baja. They're going to be the ones interviewing you

Kikura: hey

Hitch: while we wait for that, let's do some more advertisements

______________________________________________

Assistant: alright..... Advertisement 2 take one...[clap]

Baja: Hi my name is baja and I'm the new host of the inklab's new show 'music at midnight'.... Me and my new co-host Ramon

Ramon: sup

Baja: we're going to be interviewing musicians from all walks of life

Ramon: and different genres.

Baja: We're going to have nice conversations getting to know them, telling us some really cool stories.

Ramon: a show airs Thursdays at 11:30 p.m. can't wait to see you there!

Hitch: CUT!.... Great! We're going to do some more editing and maybe some reshoots on that but here is your intro You're going to do this during every episode you introduce yourself. You tell them what show they're watching and then you tell the current news what's going on in the music world..... You're also going to have to do that when you start writing articles for the blog, but we'll get to that later. ... Here's the monologue script. If you want to go off script feel free... Go over it, memorize We'll film in 15...... Oshi! Good to see you..*mwah mwah* how are you baby

Oshi: Hitch! Hope everything is going well I just wanted to check in on everyone

Hitch: yes... You're going to start filming soon so have a seat....(Pat...Pat)

Oshi: alright..... I'm getting a call.....*ugh*..............[inhale].....[exhale]...... Hi Shimi! How are you doing dear?... Are you having fun on the farm? I saw some pictures warabie posted on squidder. You look cute riding the tracker hehhe....... Well you only have one week left honey..... yes I've enjoyed my break..... The church? If that works for you honey I guess it gives you a purpose.........*sigh*...(Eye roll)....acting is also your purpose I know...how's warabie is he having fun?......well tell him to try to enjoy himself..............yes ...... alright good bye hun.............

_______________________________________________

Shimi: hm.....

Merv: Shimi it's your turn to take the manatees out to graze, take your son with you. Noiji start up the tractor I need you to harvest the octoberries, ikkan pack up squidmelons and head into town. Koi would you help me harvest some of the squid lemons

Koi-koi: I'd love to

Merv: Cirrina sweetheart you said you're going into the city for a school project?

Cirrina: Yeah just for 2 hours. When I get back I'll feed the krill and clean out their coop

Merv: All right, be safe

Shimi: warabie help me load up the manatees

Warabie: yeah..... What were you calling Mom about?

Shimi: It's none of your concern she didn't let me talk anyway............

Warabie:... All right, the manatees are in (bump...bump).....

Shimi: alright...................

Warabie:............so what's mom up to at home?

Shimi: she's working on project O.E.T network

Warabie: that's nice she's been working on that for years

Shimi: *humpf*.... We've been working on for years.... Typical of her to go behind my back and do things without my permission or opinion

Warabie:...... Oooookkkaaay...........hm.................hey mahi

_______________________________________________

Mahi: hey dude

Warabie: what's going on at home?

Mahi: nothing much. Baja got a new job...... stop!........ Yeah, he's going to be on TV now. That's pretty neat

Warabie: tv?!

Mahi: some talk show.... Midnight music...... Music at midnight something.....neta stop spawn camping!

Neta: I'm not spawn camping

Warabie: he got the job!? How did he get the job?!

Mahi: I don't know, I really haven't had time to talk to him. He's been in and out of the apartment for like days now..... cod damn it!.... Let me leave the base at least...... fuck!

Neta:hehehehehehehe... I'm sorry .hehehe

Mahi: sorry... Neta's being an asshole...uhhhhh...Baja honestly hasn't been here and when he is here he's just there to get dressed and then leave.

Warabie:*sigh*....... good for him... Guess he's going to be the new breadwinner

Mahi: hey so when are you coming home?

Warabie: end of the week I should be home

Mahi: great apartments too quiet and-Neta!

Neta: what?! What am I doing wrong? I'm just playing the game. It's not my fault you always end up in my range of sight. Get good at the game

Mahi:*huff*... Can you come home faster? I miss you

Warabie: aww I miss you too mahi.. I honestly want to go home too. This place sucks ......I'm tired of scooping Manatee shit and hauling crates of squidmatoes

Neta: ask him the question

Mahi: *ugh*........are you able to bring home fresh produce and milk

Warabie: I....... I'm going to have to ask ikkan's dad that

Shimi: we're here unload the manatees

Warabie: I got to go.... text you later..........

Mahi: bye..... I'm not playing with you anymore! I'm done with this game....

Neta: One more round. I want to get a gold badge on this weapon I'm two games away. You can be on my team this time

_______________________________________________

Cirrina: .......this must be the address..........(Knock knock)

Bayou: Cirrina! You showed up!

Cirrina: yeah....hehehe sorry if I'm a little early ...

Bayou: no worries. Come in, come in you can use your shoes on the shelf right here. So what do you want to know about krillarney?

Cirrina: I'm just you know the origins and the history of krillarney...... You lived on the surface for most of your life, right? Is that true for most octolings here?

Bayou: yeah... Most of us here spent their whole lives on the surface though there are some who moved here who previously lived underground

Cirrina: Interesting......so... And did your family move here?

Bayou:...... I think you might get more information from my nan.... Nana!!....... You remember my Nana. from church?

Nana: yes!? Bayou? What is it love?.....oh... Dear the little girl from church. Nice to see you again sweetie

Cirrina: hello..

Bayou: Nan do you mind if she asks you a few questions?

Nana: I have no problems sweetie

Cirrina: It's just a couple questions .. . I'm doing a five-page essay on octarian history in other countries

Nana: wasn't that nice? Well what do you want to know dear?

Cirrina: uhhhh .... When did you move here

Nana: oh I have no idea sweetie It's been years...... The war started when I was around......10 of 11 years old. I lived with my two sisters in a small village My mother was a School teacher and my father passed away years ago.

Cirrina: *writing*

Nana at the time my village was not affected by the high tides but it was targeted with conflict over land and resources. Next thing you know, I was being drafted for the war along with my two sisters. They just turned 13. They never held a weapon before. My mother couldn't even imagine them going to war, it was only after the first bomb we decided to leave. We had to leave quickly so we weren't able to bring a lot. All we had to pack was whatever we could fit in our backpacks. I packed two dresses, pair of pants, three shirts and one skirt. I also packed my Adva doll she's the only toy I played with for years.

Cirrina: *writing*

Nana: My mother was good friends with a man who moved to our village before the war happened. He was a nice inkling man Mr. Doal he offered to help us leave. His son got drafted and passed away early in the midst of combat. He told us about a developing sovereign country called krillarney that was currently taking in anyone and everyone across the world who wanted to get away from the war

Cirrina: *write*..... So how did you get to krillarney

Nana: we were informed that there were fairies and ships offering to help people leave. We set our trip in the middle of the night and met up with Mr. Dole and other people who wanted to leave as well. The walk was 3 hours straight. No brakes, no rest until we made it to the coast and we got onto a ship. It was a squid beak ship if I remember, The S. S. Escargot. We sailed for a week to krillarney making several stops picking others in similar situations.

Cirrina: was it just inkfish who were escaping?

Nana: oh no there were so many people from so many walks of life on the ship. Urchins, fish, cephalopods, Crustaceans. So many were affected by this war. I remember seeing some still wearing their military uniforms. It was their only chance to leave and they took it

Cirrina: when you got to krillarney what was it like? Was different from how it is today.

Nana: Well I can tell you one thing we didn't have these malls, outlets or a nice studio apartment like I have now hehehe. .... When I first got here My mother could only afford a nice small house with two bedrooms. Our neighbor was young octoling and his wife was a bass. They were enlisted in the military for years. When the war started they were completely against it. They were planning on having kids at the time they couldn't do that if they were at war. Unfortunately they weren't able to have kids but they watched me and my sister so many times that they kind of saw us as their kids hehehe

Cirrina: *writing*...... Do you ever think about your old village? What happened to it?

Nana:............. Well....um..... Like I said at the time the high tides didn't affect my home but.............. Soon enough it was............. Everything was wiped out and everyone......... From what I know now....... The water levels have subsided and it is inhabitable but............ I just never went back. Everything I know about that place is gone. My home my toys.....some of my old friends

Cirrina:.... I'm sorry.......

Nana: it's alright love

Cirrina: ....... I think I asked enough questions

Nana: are you sure? I could tell you more

Cirrina: oh that's ok really.... I have enough to write my paper. I have to get home to do my chores

Bayou: alright..... Do you want me to walk you to the fairy dock?

Cirrina: (blush).... well........ok...

Bayou: great..... I'll be right back Nana

Nana: Come back safe

Cirrina:..........................

Bayou:...........................

Cirrina:..................

Bayou:..............you know we have tons of historical sites here if you ever want to check them out..... Add some photos for extra credit

Cirrina: that would be nice but I really need to get home

Bayou: we don't have to do it today.

Cirrina: I leave at the end of the week

Bayou: Well you can plan something for this week maybe Tomorrow maybe?....

Cirrina: I can see.... Yeah I think tomorrow would be good yeah..

Bayou: All right so why don't we meet up here again at 2:00 and I can take you to the lighthouse, The bridge of new beginnings and I can even take you to the museum

Cirrina: Great! It's a date! I mean....uh... No! It's not a date..... it's a day out....an outing yeah it's it's it's an outing we're going out......for the day! We're going out for the day

Bayou:..heheheheheh... Here's my number....... I'll text you tomorrow. See ya Cirrina!

Cirrina: bye..hehehehehe........*sigh*..........

_______________________________________________

Assistant director: 'music at midnight'.... Introduction take three!.....(CLAP)

Hitch:go!

Baja: welcome, welcome! Welcome my name is Baja! And this is my co-host Ramon

Ramon: hey!

Baja: I'm very excited to say that this is the first episode of our very new show called 'music at midnight'. What is music at midnight? Well as the names in the title says we're going to be talking about music and it's going to be airing during midnight.

Roman: yep so while we sit here and talk and do interviews. You're going to be sitting on your couch or in your bed and your nice warm jammies.....

Baja: I wish we could wear pajamas

Ramon: Right? We should ask the exacts for a pajama day

Baja: hahahaha...(CLAP)..... All right, let's get started.... Today's music news....... But before we do that, who's who's with us today

Ramon: today we have Kikura sitting in our guest seat

Kikura: hey everyone

Baja: so we Kikura here today and there the guitarist for the band c-side and she's a part of another group riot act.....now Kikura is it true that riot act actually came before the band C-side?

Kikura: uh....oh my cod.......uh wow..... Yeah actually that is true. It did come before C-side... Technically yes but at the time it was not called riot act.... It was actually called 'no boys allowed' uhhehe.... We were in high school that was our original band.... We were in an all-girls school. We were just a couple of weird kids just screwing around... We were all in theater together and we used to hang out under the bleachers and I don't remember who mentioned it but one of us said "wouldn't be funny if we started a band and we had no idea how to play the instruments"....and heh That's how it really started

Baja: it started out as a bit?

Kikura: Yeah it started out as a bit. We started to borrow instruments from The music room and we started to play, used to write music together like we had our own group chat and everything ... It started to get serious during second year of school. It started out as a joke and then just kind of started to really get into it and we really just stopped seeing it as a joke and started seeing it as more of a hobby and soon after we started to book gigs, shows and sets in people's basements. It just kind of took off after that.

Ramon: so what made you join C-side?

Kikura: so C-side started after I met Beika it was a small underground club. He recognized me from my band and he was really excited to see me! He told me that he was a bass player and his old roommate was a drummer and they needed a guitar player. He had a couple songs that he's written and he wanted my opinion on it. He wanted to see if I was able to do a demo track for him.

Baja: *nods*

Kikura: a couple weeks of talking I went to the studio and I met Uotora... He's such a sweetheart oh my cod.... We did rewrites and we wrote some more music. We did some test tracks and 5 hours later I was officially a part of the band...

Baja: what was your first concert like.... You played in sesame hall as the opener for wet floor

Kikura: I was surprisingly calm during the whole show. Really thought I was going to panic and freeze up because this is the first actual concert like a concert concert like it wasn't just a group of people hehehe in a backyard. I remember the crowd wasn't that enthusiastic when we came up but after playing 'click bate' people really just started to really get into it and we just formed a fan base after that.

Ramon: are you still a part of that band? After you released your new album with riot act

Kikura: oh yeah definitely. I'm still a part of the band I'm not going anywhere. This ain't that kind of band. Do we treat each other with respect...hehehe...hm... But no this is just a side project. We all just started talking again and it's just a passion project we're just doing really

Baja: and speaking of passion projects, let's get to the news....Nami one of the members of beloved yet controversial bands front roe has enough that branching off and starting a solo career. Today on Inkstagram she announced that she's working on a new album and writing her own songs she even took a selfie of herself in the studio showing in the recording booth.

Ramon: I think nami's very underrated in the band. It's good to see she's getting out there

Kikura: I'm so happy that she is. I only met her two times. It was during the black square music festival and the seashore awards she is so nice, she's so kind and so pretty. We were talking and I brought up keeping my music in a notebook and she did the same thing too. She has several notebooks of music that she really wants to make but it doesn't really fit the sound of 'squid squad'..... Well I guess it's front roe now but she's kept those book for years... I truly hope she's putting those to good use

Baja: You know this actually isn't her first solo work. She worked on a soundtrack for 'high-rise falling 4'. It was a video game for the gamer boy x system.

Kikura: really?

Raman: Yeah I know that she composed background music for the menu and she also made The third boss Battle song. Man If they ever make the movie of high-rise falling

Baja: they are never going to make that movie.... It's always in production hell for years now

Kikura: I've only played the second and third game in that series, but I heard the movie is going to be starting off with The fifth installment and going backwards which doesn't make any sense

Hitch: what is high-rise falling? I don't know what that is. What are they talking about?

Oshi: It's just a game that these kids play. The audience will know what they're talking about

Ramon: they should bring her back for the movie. It would be really cool if she remixed her original tracks. I love that for him. I'm happy that she's making music. I'm really excited..... What else we have for the news

Baja: SashiMori are no longer doing fall tours or winter tours like they used to

Raman: oh?

Baja: So one of the members, Paul. He's no longer able to travel because he has school so they're going to have to do summer tours

Ramon: that makes sense.... I remember their last tour was during fall during spook fest. Everyone dressed up in costumes and during their last set, people were giving out candy.... Folks was handed a bucket before they got into the arena. it was good candy too like people were getting full size candy bars..... What type of candy do you like? I like gum.... You could never go wrong with gum..... Good flavor, good texture... And you can blow bubbles with it. What about you?

Baja: I enjoy chocolate... I love a good piece of chocolate..... Especially if it has a filling in it like marshmallow or something.....Kikura?

Kikura: I would say I'm a hard candy type of person.... I enjoy jawbreakers

Baja: really

Kikura: Yes, it lasts longer than most candies and..... Besides lollipops It is the only candy that is socially acceptable to take out of your mouth

Hitch: do we have any chocolate sponsors?

Oshi: no but I can get with the marketing team and see what we can do

[one hour of banter later]

Baja: Well folks that's our show! Thank you for being here for our first ever episode. The riot act album will be released on the 22 so make sure you check your local stores for it....now enjoy one of their debut songs 'No planned survivors'

[riot act performing in the back ground]

Mickey: what are the viewerships right now?

Assistant: Right now the viewerships are sitting at 89.4 million...and online..... only 20k views... But that number might rise in the next week

Mickey: [inhale].....[exhale]...... What do you estimate the viewership for ink lab plus?

Assistant: Well..... Judging from the viewership on TV and the viewership on the app we might be able to gain..................... 100 million first episode maybe even more...

Executive: I don't understand it! they talked about video games and then candy, went on a tangent about handbags and backpacks. How is this popular?! This is supposed to be about music and celebrities.

Oshi: Kids today aren't really all that interested in celebrities showing off their fancy cars, expensive clothes and lifestyle. They're bored at that and so are the newer artists. They just want to know who they are as a person....if knowing about their favorite candy and opinions on games keeps them engaged and interested in their music and our show I see no problem with it

Mickey: hmmmm.....

Hitch: I think we might need a meeting for this. I have an idea

Oshi: what's the idea

Hitch: we haven't had that much traction on the app for a while. instead of making a recorded video the next time we film we do a live stream and have the audience involved with the conversation

Mickey: I like that. Keeps the audience engaged and keeps the viewerships high. it saves money on editing

Hitch:......... These kids are going to make us a lot of money

_______________________________________________

Neta had 12 kills in one match and 6 of them were mahi

lmao fish was fighting for their life @fish-at-fish-fish-resort

[soni-dragon]

Never ever EVER buy household appliances with ai in them. Most ridiculous things I’ve ever encountered

[terraos]

Having to decide if I should be delusional or accept reality (which I cannot do without crying)

[cerealmonster15]

i finally made a folder of my google docs re: twst fics/plannings and looking at the names are so fun bc a lot of them i didnt use the final fic name [if it got published] so sometimes it's just a placeholder [especially if it's just notes/ideas and not a fic] and some dont have a title at all and just auto used the first few words of the doc so i have like

i think only like 5ish of these have their ao3 titles on them / on two separate occasions i named an apple juice fic prompt doc the same thing except for literally just one has an extra ! and they were like 2 months apart......... i even checked bc i thought for some reason the doc duplicated themselves but no, those are just two completely different fics, they just both happened to be Apple Juice Kiss Prompts jvdjfdsljg i didnt do that w/any of the other kiss prompt docs but. whatever i guess!!

it's a fun guessing game on looking at the titles and trying to remember which ones they are. they date back to like 2021 when i moved from word docs to google so i could more easily share them with my friend since i wasnt really publishing anything at first lol.

[arielluva]

grief is such a weird emotion bc i can be fine most of the time even if it think about it, but then sometimes thinking about it digs it up all over again

[bigmeandragonlady]

my periods are so short now im done with that before im completely done being sick

[keytaryourheart]

@petite-gloom summer stickers in da sticker book ☆ ft. silly guy from cheyenne barton’s patreon