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#or at least chapter 2 of this one

doodleswithangie · 11 months

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@reddieweek day 1: mythical creatures

I started this on actual Day 1, and as usual it spiraled into something much bigger than the simple doodle I started with, but I definitely enjoyed thinking it through and finding my take on the concept!

[Image description: A Werewolf/Vampire AU featuring Richie Tozier and Eddie Kaspbrak from the "IT" movies. The AU is detailed with handwritten notes and captioned vignettes. Alt text is provided, and copied and reformatted for easier reading under the cut.]

Copied Alt Text, reformatted for easier reading

Image one:

Young half-shifted werewolf Richie and vampire Eddie pose for the camera. Bulleted notes read:

Derry 1.0

The Losers are all some sort of mythological creature (which isn't that weird in this Derry).

Richie is a werewolf who stays half-shifted around his friends (but hides on the full moon).

Eddie is a vampire who carries blood bags from the pharmacy in his fanny pack (less messy that way).

Richie mimes Eddie's fangs and taunts him with puns as Eddie pulls out a medical blood bag. The dialogue reads:

"Stopping for a quick bite?" "You know I- hey wait-" "Kinda sucks to be you." "You suck! And you already have fangs! Quit that!" "Fangs for noticing!" "HISS!"

Image two:

Portraits of Richie and Eddie as unhappy adults in their human and creature forms. Bulleted notes read:

Derry 2.0

Richie

Intensely guards/hides werewolf side

Very hairy even as a human

High stress situations or the full moon will involuntarily shift him

Eddie

High neck suit collar to hide the bite

Strict diet for basic nutrients

Ironically more vampiric the more he suppresses the urge to feed.

Black ink seeps up the page, with the caption, "Pennywise forces them to reckon with the parts of themselves they've hidden away…"

Image three:

Set against an inky background are scenes of a bloodstained full vampire Eddie, full wolf Richie in the Deadlights, and wolf Richie hunching protectively over Eddie. They are captioned, "Eddie kills and drains the Leper. Richie fully shifts in the deadlights. Eddie saves Richie, and in turn Richie saves Eddie."

Set against a bright background are scenes of after the fight: wolf Richie sleeps as Eddie waits with Richie's folded clothes, and of them recreating their pose from the first image, touching foreheads. They are captioned, "Post-battle nap and swim in the quarry before hightailing it out of Derry."

Image four:

Richie's clawed hand scratches out "R + E." It is captioned, "With one final stop on the way."

End Copied Alt Text.

#reddie #reddieweek #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it #it 2017 #it chapter 2 #it movie #digital art #werewolf #vampire #doodleswithangie #500 #i'm far from the first to do werewolf richie and vampire eddie but i had to bc it works so well (beyond the canonical tie ins)#full disclosure this au is not that much more detailed beyond what i managed to fit on these pages #just like a couple of more scattered thoughts about themes and such #i really want to do at least one more day but we'll see!

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poisonousquinzel · 3 months

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ngl real missed opportunity by DC to let Harley and Mr. Freeze become friends during her primary villain arc (btas or other) cause tbh I can't imagine he'd enjoy sitting in his cell listening to Joker brag about all the ways he's cruel, abusive and uncaring towards Harley, a woman who loves him, while Victor's entire goal is to save his wife who he loves dearly ya know ???? and it's not like all of them haven't been locked up together, the other rogues Know. Joker's not like most abusers who try to keep it behind closed doors, he's very public with his abuse.

And just that feeling of like "I am doing everything I can to save my wife, I have become a criminal and have done awful things in the name of love and I just want nothing more than to have her back and You Have Someone Who Loves You That Much, That Much To Become A Criminal As Well And You Repay That Love By ABUSING HER."

#i know next to nothing about mr freeze so i may be wrong but i like to think im right #the temptations to include more of the rogues gallery in my ''Ivy Finds Out About The Ending Of Mad Love'' fic rewrite #((((((which i have not forgot about skdnksks i am Slow with things but like the og is a little over 4k #and ive got about a smidge into contents of the og chapter 2 and its already almost 7k so hopefully it'll be worth it #the wait that is #skdndkksksks #/// but like that quote joker says in the assault on arkham movie #''haha women amirite officer? cant live with em cant kick em out of a moving car''#like he probably absolutely just says shit like that cause he thinks no one is going to stand up to him #(well he probably would reframe if Ivy was also around but ya know if not)#harley quinn #harleen quinzel #dc comics #victor freeze #mr freeze #tw abuse mention #tw clown boy #mentioned at least

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class1akids · 6 months

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The full list of every Todoroki family panel:

That's it. That's the list. 7 panels. Not a single double spread or even a full-page image. Actually, there is no panel where all their faces are visible.

I don't think there is any other prominent group / dynamic in the manga that got an endgame of nothing but low-quality, tiny panels without a piece of art emphasizing them as a unit. It's just really weird... That after more than a decade, the family is finally together, and that moment after the long build-up doesn't get a single "impact" art. A framing that shows that something big happened here.

And if this is about Shouto "becoming who he is meant to be" why is there no double spread or a big page art to emphasize it?

I'm not sure if that last panel is supposed to be Enji's "father" moment - but it's certainly not framed like it. You need a magnifying glass to even see what's happening, in a chapter otherwise full of gorgeous art.

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adhd-merlin · 5 months

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Arthur’s skin is still warm from the bath, the tips of his hair still damp, and he smells faintly of lavender.

“Is Queen Mithian still as beautiful as they say?” Gwen asks Arthur.

She’s lying with her head pillowed on Arthur’s shoulder while his fingertips brush against her temple and her hair — more an absent-minded motion than an actual caress.

Arthur’s fingers stop. He kisses the top of her head. “Never as beautiful as my queen.”

Gwen pokes him lightly in the chest with her finger. “That's not an answer.”

“Are you jealous?”

“No,” she says, truthfully.

There was a time when Arthur could’ve chosen Mithian instead of Gwen, had he wanted — and he didn’t. (Didn’t choose her, and didn't want her, although he might have wanted to want her, and came close to convincing himself that he did). She’s only curious to hear how Arthur felt about meeting the woman he almost married again, after so long.

“I suppose she is. Beautiful,” Arthur answers after a pause. “If everyone’s comments are any indication. I can no longer tell. You’ve ruined me for any other woman.”

Gwen smiles. “You flatterer.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” Arthur says. “Your beauty outshines anyone else’s. And it’s not even near the top of the list of your qualities.”

He says things like that, sometimes — he even means them. Monumental things, uttered with complete casualness, not because he thinks them insignificant but as if he were just stating facts. Something he would be stupid to deny or to resist.

In the early days of their courtship, Gwen used to find it terrifying. She’s since grown used to it. Mostly.

“But I wasn’t there to outshine anyone,” she teases him.

She’s being playful, perhaps a bit giddy from the wine. She expects Arthur to reply in the same vein — to heap more compliments on her until they reach the height of ridiculousness, or to make a silly joke — but his tone shifts.

He takes Gwen’s hand and places it over his chest, covering it with his. “You are always with me,” he says, solemnly.

And their hands aren’t quite in the right place, because Gwen’s head is in the way, but she understands his meaning all the same — my heart. The term of endearment he sometimes uses for her, when feeling especially sentimental.

#well excuse me for thinking arthur would act like a complete simp around his wife. that's canon.#this is from an arwen smut chapter. I'm not even linking to it.#for the 2 (?) people who cared yes I will write that last vignette at some point #I'm stuck on a merlin x sefa ficlet that doesn't want to be written #it might never see the light of day but I'd like it to happen #pray for me. although I think no one but me cares #it is now my mission to make merlin x sefa appealing to at least 1 other person #and I believe I can do it through the power of my mediocre writing #merlin fanfiction

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hedgehog-moss · 2 years

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It’s always embarrassing when a character in a book is a writer and publishes a book that you’re told is incredibly well-written and a best-seller and you get a suspicious amount of fawning over how brilliant the character’s book is and how clever the title is and how glowing the reviews are, until you realise you’ve been ambushed by an insidious form of self-insert fanfiction in what looked like serious literature. I once read a book in which a character was writing a book whose plot was “structured like a cathedral” and I was like well that sounds nice, I wish I was reading that book instead. It’s fine to have a character who’s a successful writer but as a rule it’s not a good idea to frustrate your reader by making her feel like the book you wrote is inferior to the fictional book

#one of my least favourite books i read this year had a character that wrote a book with a title that was honestly not that clever #but the author (of the actual book) went on and on explaining how deep and subtle the hidden meaning of the title #of the imaginary book was #and you're like we get it and 2 chapters later the writer character is giving a radio interview to a journalist who #raves about how intelligent the book's title is and ugh

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delawaredetroit · 5 months

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Yeah, Izuku thought Shouto was going to hurt him here. It's relevant that he's mentioning Bakugou here while making this terrified face.

Izuku spent approximately 10 years terrorized by the most powerful prodigy in his class after being singled out for reasons he didn't understand. And now Izuku is being singled out by the most powerful prodigy of their year for reasons he does not understand and led into an isolated hallway. Izuku expects violence from this particular situation based on his prior life experience.

Izuku hadn't really internalized that he has a quirk of his own and all the social privileges that come with that at this point. So Izuku couldn't really see how different this situation was. So Shouto thinks he's confronting a rival/opponent while Izuku lowkey thinks Shouto brought him to an alley to attack him because he can get away with it.

Shouto's glaring and social ineptness isn't helping matters at all though...

#bnha reread #bnha chapter 31 #bnha #midoriya izuku #todoroki shouto #And there is at least one previous middle school scene where Bakugou pushed Izuku into a corner alone and physically threatened him #i feel like even season 2 shouto would be horrified to know he was coming across that way given his backstory

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sunshinediaz · 7 months

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tease tidbit tuesday <3

i was tagged by @callmenewbie, @wildlife4life, @try-set-me-on-fire, @disasterbuckdiaz, @rogerzsteven, @hippolotamus, @giddyupbuck, @ladydorian05, @daffi-990, @jesuisici33, @loserdiaz, and @wikiangela mwah 🫶🏼

have a long tease from hoa eddie, where eddie's grossly in love with buck's big tits and honestly i can't blame him

Eddie sighs, turns around, and nearly runs right into Buck’s big, naked, hairy chest. “Eddie—” “Where’s your shirt?” Buck blinks. “I was mowing the yard and I got hot,” he replies, shrugging sheepishly. He wants to bitch at Buck for mowing the yard, for taking his shirt off and getting grass all over himself, for inadvertently causing a scene because his big fat bleeding heart always seems to get him in trouble, but it’s Buck, sweet and stubborn and soft Buck, and he’s standing in front of Eddie, bare-chested and sweaty and a little breathless with blue eyes so large and wide and childlike, expecting Eddie to be upset when he’s not, not in the slightest, and all Eddie can do is smile and undo the snaps on his button down when he realizes Buck’s shivering, cold and clammy now that the sun has set. He has another shirt beneath, anyway. “Grass is worse than sand, Buck,” he says, handing his shirt over. “Put this on. You’ll want to shower as soon as you can, so just stay the night again. I’ve got a load of your clothes in the dyer.” Buck does as he’s told, pulling on the button down. It’s a size too small, dragging across his broad shoulders and barreled chest; the buttons stretch open over his torso, giving Eddie a peak of the curly hair between his tits, and his nipples are hard, tiny nubs beneath the fabric that draw Eddie’s attention, and he licks his lips. He’s seen Buck shirtless a hundred times before, sure, but he never realized how huge Buck’s tits really were until now, so big beneath his shirt they stick out like actual boobs. He wonders how heavy they’d feel in his hands, if Buck would make pretty sounds when he squeezed the fat or pinched his nipples till they’re red and swollen. Huh. That’s new.

gonna no pressure tag @honestlydarkprincess, @eddiediaztho, @eddiebabygirldiaz, @eowon, @watchyourbuck, @exhuastedpigeon, @thewolvesof1998, @shitouttabuck, @housewifebuck, and whoever else mwah mwah

#eddie's losing his mind because on one hand buck looks so good with his shirt off #and on another hand bUCKS SHIRT IS OFF WHEN HE'S MOWING? GOD #and growing up in texas eddie knows #he knows okay #that grass is worse than sand #he's spent many a day hauling hay and by god he had days of picking grass out of every crevice of his body and he knows buck's #gonna bitch about it for a week at least #but god. buck's tits. buck's tits? when did they get so big. when did they get so hairy. and his NIPPLES. that's eddie's favorite color #they match the color of his birthmark so of course they have to match the color of his cock too right #right?#that's how science works right?#eddie passed science with a b- but hey he remembers the scientific method #ask questions and hypothesize and then test it out right #it's okay he doesn't mind to redo the experiment #anyway i finished chapter 2 FINALLY and am gonna start on chapter 3 today after a lil snack break teehee #tag games

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haunted-xander · 1 year

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Monaca hasn't left the pod room since Monokuma appeared in the simulation. She refuses to talk to anyone and only eats when Chiaki is the one to deliver the food. Otherwise, she spends her time hovering over Nagito's pod.

After months of being left to her own devices, Chiaki finally decided to do something and forced Monaca to get some proper rest, and dragged her over to the hotel. She resisted the entire way there, but once her back hit the bed she was out like a light.

She slept for a long time. The next day, she kept laying in bed, far too tired and sore from bending her back leaning over the pod for days on end. She still refused to talk to anyone, but she accepted food more easily and actually played on the 3DS Chiaki had given her.

Even though Monaca had been moved to her own cottage, the pod room was rarely empty. Hajime spent a considerable amount of time doing everything in his power to make Nagito wake up, barely sparing a minute for breaks or meals.

Hajime was the only one on the room when a hiss came from the only used pod still in the room. He rushed over and stood close by, prepared to greet the last of the group to wake. The hatch opened and Nagito slowly opened his eyes. His gaze was hazy for a few seconds, before recognition sparked and he focused entirely on Hajime.

"Hey, can you hear me?" Hajime wanted to make sure he was fully aware before saying anything else. "Ahh, Izuru Kamukura... No, you're... Hajime Hinata... right?" Nagito's voice was rough from misuse, but still held the same soft and breathy feel it always did. He raised his left hand up, silently asking Hajime for help getting up. Without hesitation, Hajime grabbed it and dragged Nagito up until he was sitting up. "They're both me."

"I suppose I should thank you for waking me up? I knew you'd make it to the lowest stratum- I believed in you." Nagito slowly looked up as he talked. "How are the others?" Seeing that he was the same as usual, Hajime smiled. "You're the last one out." At having the others well-being confirmed, Nagito smiled gently. "I'm glad."

"Ah, speaking off... I need to tell them you're awake. Monaca has been worried sick over you, you know. She's been hovering over your pod constantly, Nanami only managed to drag her out a few days ago." At the mention of Monaca, Nagito's face shifted to surprise. "...Monaca-san has been worried...? For... me?"

"Yeah. I'm sure she'll want to see you as soon as possible. I'll send a text to Nanami and she'll bring Monaca here, how does that sound? I doubt you want to be alone right now." Hajime had already brought out his phone and started typing as he spoke. "They'll be here soon."

Just as he finished speaking, the door was slammed open and Monaca wheeled herself over to Nagito as fast as she could. "...B-big Bro...? You're awake? Really, really awake? You... you..." Her voice wavered as tears gathered in her eyes. "You... big... MEANIE!!! You left Monaca all alone! You were supposed to be with Monaca all the time, but you didn't! You liar! Liar liar liar! Don't ever scare Monaca like that again! You're not allowed! Not allowed not allowed not allowed!!!!"

Monaca launched herself into Nagito's arms as she continued to cry out all her frustrations. From a short distance, Hajime and Chiaki stood and watched the tear-filled reunion, happy to finally have everyone back. "...It's a relief to have Komaeda-kun finally back. He was alseep for so long... I had almost began to lose hope." Hajime put his arm on her shoulder. "...Yeah, I get that. I knew he'd wake up eventually, though. It's Komaeda, you know? Things are never easy with this guy, but they tend to work out. One way or another."

Chiaki focused her attention back to Nagito and Monaca, noting that the crying had quieted down to small sobs. The little girl looked tired, but refused to fall asleep just yet. "...Hey hey, Komaeda-kun. We should probably get you moved into one of the cottages now. The pod can't be very comfortable, and we need to do a proper check-up, too."

"And we need to figure out what to do about the hand. You can't keep it, but removing it will be difficult. ...Souda and I will have to prepare a prosthetic replacement too." While Monaca kept her face buried in Nagito's stomach, the man in question turned his attention back to Hajime and Chiaki, smiling at them. "...I don't understand why you'd go so far from someone like me but... I... appreciate it."

"Don't talk like that. You're our friend too, of course we'd do all of this for you." Hajime had an expression that implied something beyond just 'friends', but maybe he was just too embarassed to say it.

Chiaki looked forward to the peaceful times to come.

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buttercupshands · 18 days

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Chapter 419 Analysis or "How to completely break Tenko Shimura" a manipulative guide from All For One (part 1)

This is mainly a character analysis of Shigaraki Tomura or Shimura Tenko, any other character present is there to help.

Chapter 419 was hard to comprehend even with just summaries right on April 4th. Some things need at least fan translation to fully make sense. Or just hurt more in that matter.

Warning of spoilers to the whole manga to the point of chapter 419! All of the warnings from the respective Tomura chapters are applicable.

So like... mentions of death, killing other people, manipulation, emotional abuse and many more!

This is Part 1 - See Part 2 for something less depressing

This is going to be long! So let's start, shall we?

First of all we'll need to take into understanding ALL the chapters that we'll need to remember/reread just make this chapter worse (skip if already familiar with them):

Chapter 222 - Tomura Shigaraki: Distortion

Chapter 234 - Destruction Sense

Chapter 235 - Tenko Shimura: Origins

Chapter 236 - Tenko Shimura Origins, Part 2

Chapter 237 - Tomura Shigaraki: Origins

This is your "Tenko and Tomura understanding" starter pack, basically. Without them it's harder to even start unpacking what just happened with Tomura's perspective in mind

Well then.

The chapter starts and we are immediately greeted by AFO semi-agreeing without wanting to, that Tomura was strong enough before Izuku started trying "saving" him in his own way and even succeeded making Tenko's will all the more fragile than it was when he returned using his hate to his advantage.

Even after Izuku holding Tenko's hands for the whole chapter he was still stubborn enough to continue even without that hate in his heart

And the thing that initial summaries missed was the fact that Tomura actually reacted to AFO reapperance.

Still not understanding why AFO was even saying that.

Tenko was literally taught by AFO to follow "what he wants" in ch 237 with Tenko making his first decision to kill someone himself. And never actually hiding that Tomura just needed to never forget that hatred and those bad emotions that Tomura never really understood. And it took Izuku seconds to decipher them.

With AFO reassuring Tomura that he has no need in following morals of society and just should follow whatever he wants - his want to destroy everything that hurts him. And only AFO would accept and help him. He was constantly reminded of that.

Even if Tenko was feeling sick from killing at first, even if hands that he wore were still making him sick 15 years later without him understanding anything. Decisions made while person is emotional are usually the ones that the person might regret the most and Tomura lived with those unstable emotions for years. Knowing that they hurt him and make him feel sick.

But Sensei said that it's okay to follow those emotions. That's it's actually great that he does it.

Everything was for his sake, everything was for Tomura Shigaraki and Tomura Shigaraki only. He was his Sensei's successor and no one should argue with it. He's the only one to be next ruler of the underground and the next king. And Tomura gladly accepted that as truth.

Since it was easier than facing his guilt.

Because AFO just needed Tomura to have enough willpower to get OFA when the plan is ready. To make Gigantomachia to follow him while Garaki was watching knowing full well how the plan is going. Both knowing full well that Tomura is still holding himself back.

In this chapter however we finally see how all of the things AFO told and taught Tenko were just to make him so sure that HE was in control and allowed to do whatever he wants to completely break his worldview in the end "after he gets OFA" which is an unreachable goal now since OFA is gone for good.

By just saying that Tenko never had any choice to begin with.

Tomura already knew that AFO manipulated him and he was just a pawn, needed only to get OFA and piss off All-Might he accepted and embraced it as something unimportant. It was his choice and he was free to do it and not feel bad about it. Since he's born to destroy.

Until suddenly it wasn't just his life after Decay that was manipulated.

But his whole life from birth. Just because AFO didn't get his hands on Hana sooner and she was happy while AFO needed someone hurt and broken. And Shimura's household wasn't as bad as he needed it to be at first with Kotaro loving his children, wife, in-laws and even his mother.

And AFO destroyed it by creating so much conflict and even going out of his way to make sure Tenko's father knew that he was playing heroes with some kids. And even saved them by putting his own quirkless life in danger.

In some sense narrator-Tomura's words at the end of ch 236 still might hold true. AFO didn't just create his hate out of nowhere, to make it feel like even if Tenko remembers everything it's still he's doing not a villain appearing, not just some accident that it actually was.

Although AFO doesn't say anything about people who didn't help Tenko even though he he knew that it happened so he most probably was watching it happen until Tenko lost all hope entirely to finaly make him dependent on his help.

And he succeeded for the most part.

Tomura was making an assumption after he remembered everything that he "must've been yearning for that" and from that point onwards explains everything that happened as "I wanted it - I did it" and was clinging to it like a lifeline to explain everything.

He accepted that if Re-Destro is talking about his Decay quirk affecting him he exists only to destroy.

And now it seems he found a false motivation for himself that AFO created by cruely manipulating everything from his quirk to his family. Making him believe he had a hand in it. Breaking one of "safe" truths that Tomura never doubted. They only made his decisions feel right.

Which makes that a hopeless loop of broken memories being staged just to let Tenko become Tomura who hates and destroys everything believing that it's his choice. Only choice at that.

And if destroying is him only choice because of his quirk... then what can a quirkless person do while having so many people dead from his own hands? Hands that were literally cursed to have destruction quirk in them not because he was born to do it. But because his own Sensei wanted that.

And he's "unwavering heart" is now nothing but an illusion that was destroyed by both Izuku and AFO together.

There's no "Can I be a Hero?", because can he even be a Villain if most of the choices that were from Decay and the hatred in his heart weren't actually his own?

#bnha #shigaraki tomura #tenko shimura #all for one #bnha analysis #character analysis #character study #bnha manga spoilers #bnha spoilers #my hero academia #phew that's a lot of normal tags!#honestly I think it's a mess of a post (the first draft)#and this part 1 is depressing as hell #that's what you get when LoV is not here #thankfully part 2 exists #bnha 419 #rewrote most of the thing and it got even more depressing oh no #part 2 is still existing #somewhere #also I didn't add that but AFO is never talking about the people that didn't help Tenko again #like... they just rejected him and it's still true #he's still living with a 'did they reject me because I killed my family?'#the more I rewrite this the more depressing it becomes #I really like Tenko's arc so this chapter broke me for couple of days at least #and the more I was writing this more horrified I became with what exactly it all meant #we either need a whol OFA team again or at least Izuku returning into that hell that is AFOmura's mind #but once again I plan on a part 2 since even if Tomura's life is depressing LoV existed and some of them even are still alive #god this post is a nightmare of this blog

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staryarn · 18 days

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curious what you mean by don quixote, hong lu, and ryoushuu's promos? I vaguely remember them and I definitely think there's some elements that. Need to be talked about, but I don't want to miscontrue what you're trying to say about them.

To preface this it's entirely like my own theories and while there definitely could be foreshadowing (in sinclairs he's vaguing demian and Ishmael mentions 'if that bastards really dead than I have nothing left to chase after' (summarizing it) ). This is all a theory a ga-

I'm just very intrested in Don's because of how she reacts in it. On the actual limbus company site she has delusions of grandeur in hers (under particulars) and I really think that we'll eventually see how shee sees the city and the justice she wants vs how the city actually functions

For Hong Lu and Ryoshu they escape me both because I haven't read their source materials and because (moreso with hong lu) they're hiding themselves (ryoshu has her shure nice to meet you pun at the end of her promo vs Ishmael having something lore related in hers)

I can guess more about Ryōshū due to knowing the general plot of hell screen but can't say a lot on Hong Lu due to not fully getting tye plot of Dotrc (that and due to reading leviathan I can at least guess her beef with the fingers and how she sees art)

(For other sinners context rodion talks about wishing to undo things as easily as you can earn back lost money and how she just wanted everyone to feel some warmth, and outis talks about her oddest and how despite needing to go back she hasn't been able to take one step)

#i have to put the rest of the images in a collage because mobile tumblr is going '10 image limit' despite me seeing people post 30 so sorry #i cant summarize faust's but it makes me nuts. it goes hand in hand with the early faust lines we get abt the star #yi sang mentions ideal at least three times in his. Meursaults is really intresting but i mightve tried to read between the lines too much #bc his feels like were going to get his trial #anyways this is all me theorizing this wont really mean much until we get to the chapters #but I think weve already at least seen part of heatclips 'crush everything' in the part 2 boss fight. so i at least have some base for this #if i remember sinclair says 'what would he do' as if thinking abt demian and yeahg #asks #mulberriesandtea #Ill have to like. rewatch these and then reread the first three cantos to see if im right but #im close enough to the sun to fall but im okay with that #my realization to this was looking at heaths ego in pt 2 and the promo and seeing taht theyre still both kinda red #but i dont remember his original ego enough to know if its like. artful or on purpose #limbus company #I would say if you gotta watch em watch simclair and outis's ones. rodion is also recommended

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vargaslovinghours · 10 months

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Fandom: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac (But really Vargas lol) Rating: Teen and up Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

What, exactly, did Scriabin take from Edgar when they separated?

My first multichapter fic for Vargas! :D Yay!

(Pls read Ch. 1 first - Ch. 2 is also recommended, but as long as you're caught up on the first, you're good to go!)

-----

Side B

What the fuck.

"It's, it's possible that if, maybe whatever happened earlier, whatever caused all that blood and for us to be knocked unconscious-"

What the fuck.

"-and if I suffered a head injury, then maybe-"

No. That's enough.

Scriabin pushed away from the closet door he'd defensively pressed himself up against and put his hands on Edgar's shoulders, which quieted him. He looked at him expectantly, with eyes that Scriabin somehow only just now realized were casually guarded, curious, uncertain in a way that denoted inexperience. That was so messed up, that was completely wrong. Edgar should've been on guard, absolutely, but only because he knew exactly what Scriabin was capable of. He really didn't want to look at him right now if this was what he was going to be seeing instead.

He spun him quickly and pushed him out the door before he could protest. He got one last look at those wide, confused eyes before he slammed the door behind him, bracing it shut with both hands for good measure.

What. The fuck. His head came forward, making a dull thud as his forehead connected with the door. He doesn't remember me? His fingers curled on the door. What does he mean he doesn't remember me?! How could he not know me?! One hand pushed through his hair; his scalp tingled and that was so weird, he felt it and it was so weird- We literally just- He literally just-! As if pulling him screaming into life wasn't bad enough, now he had decided to play some sick prank!

This can't be true. It's just like him to try and make jokes at the worst possible time, he has no tact.

There was a timid knock on the other side of the door. Scriabin jumped as it resonated through his skull, his elbow, pressed to the door with his hand buried in his hair, set his jaw. Then silence.

If he was really trying to get back in, clear things up, say he was only kidding, he'd actually try.

Nothing.

Scriabin's blood was ice as he went over it again. The way he'd said his name. The vacant look in his eyes as he said it, like his mouth knew its shape but none of the meaning. No fear, no realization, nothing that really felt like Edgar, just sound, just noise.

Maybe he really had-

Oh god. His knees gave out, and his arms had no practice at holding him upright, not yet. His hand slid down the door, his other hand guarding his head as his hair fluffed against the grain.

How could he do this

This is all his fault

Stupid, idiotic

He can't do this to me

I can't believe him

I can't believe this

How dare he leave me alone like this

Thoughts spiralling, and all he could do was hold himself down, press his fingers into the back of his neck, force his chest to his knees and maybe he wouldn't immolate under it all. He was shaking, from tension or fear he couldn't tell, his mind too hazardous and loud to cut through it all. He was shaking, dizzy, and if he moved, letting go would surely kill him.

He can't do this to me.

He breathed. And breathed. And swallowed. Eyes closed, heart pounding, sure. Confusion and dismay, whatever. Pain. Fine. So be it.

This isn't like me. A hand untethered from his vice grip in his hair, and he stayed attached to the floor. It connected with the carpet below him and became a new lifeline. He pushed up and away into a limp sit, arms already burning slightly from holding himself up after all that. He shook his head mildly. This isn't who I'm going to be in life. His body, this fear response be damned, he was in control now.

Regroup. Let's- a mental pause, barely a quarter of a second long as he turned the word in his head. Let's pretend it's all true- what does that mean?

He flopped over, leaned upright with his back against the door, heels of his fists pushed down into the carpet to scootch closer. Moving was so awkward still, very unfitting.

He was acting normal. Well, Edgar's baseline for "normal" had changed considerably, so maybe put an asterisk on that. Not that he was ever normal to begin with, but normal-for-Edgar, -ish. That means he has to have some memory.

Scriabin held out a hand, arm slung over his knee, one finger held out. He had recognized his glasses. One. The apartment. Two. Which key to use. Three. He had said Todd's name. Four.

His stuff can be discounted, he's had all that for a while. Back down to one. The kid is a new fixture. Which means he remembers the last couple months at least. He shook his head and brought his hand up to comb through his hair. Well...it's fuzzy for me, so it probably is for him, too. Scriabin remembered everything in as much clarity as the last couple months allowed, there was no way Edgar would know more even if he had all his memories.

Speaking of which, Scriabin could remember everything. He flipped through; the last two months and bringing Todd in, Edgar's parting words to Johnny, his and Devi's conversation - he grit his teeth - and further back, everything along the way, all the way back. False dreams, shared childhoods, everything that was once Edgar's alone, he still remembered it. Nothing was out of place which made it all the more strange!

This is so fucking weird, if I remember everything, then why would he-

He stopped short. His purported purpose had been to replace Edgar. Take him over completely. If he bought into the conceit for a moment, just to play in the space... He was alive now. That was not as intended; it shouldn't even have been possible.

Did he...give me his memories? Like, all the way? Not just to borrow, to shape him, give him legitimacy - he was alive now. His own person. Separate, embodied, and whole. Was this the price of life?

That's stupid. But possible, he couldn't discount. If this - he brought his hands up and looked down at them, watched himself touch his own chest and felt it beneath his coat, shirt, the nerves firing as his slid his fingers up himself - if this was possible, then...

He continued for a moment, curious and reverant, all of him new and privately exciting, to exist and to touch, to feel, smell, see, all of it clear and fresh and penetrated deeply into his mind, as if a layer of film had been lifted from his senses. The moment passed as the memories, unbidden but important, cluttered in around him again.

There were still a lot of questions, and most of them couldn't be answered without Edgar, ugh. If getting anything out of him before had been like pulling teeth, he was very sobered to think about how it might be now. Depending on how much Edgar remembered, maybe he could start piecing things together.

Did he do it on purpose? Did he know this would happen? There's no way he would have been willing to if he had- But he couldn't ask him things like that. Even if he did remember, admitting something like that...

He was just spinning his wheels at this point. Better to gather what he could from the man himself. He looked up, preparing to stand.

Ah-

The room was still in something of a state.

Edgar would be annoying, or at least distracted by trying to pick up the clothes and uncarefully unpacked items strewn about the floor from Scriabin's very successful excavation of his old glasses. The clutter would have to go if he wanted his full attention.

He grumbled as he pushed off the door to pick up the first few things. First day of life and I'm already his maid. Figures. He's always needed me to clean up after him.

Silence.

Somehow it only just hit him. Thinking alone in the late hours, planning things behind Edgar's back, it was nothing new. But a barb unsunk into his mental flesh was left out in the wide emptiness, poised to stab whoever happened upon it next, and he was the only one here.

He felt very small all of a sudden, and he didn't like it at all.

His eyes blankly scanned the room, looking for nothing, until they settled on the toy at Edgar's bedside. His toy.

He dropped the items he'd bundled into his arms and made his way over. He picked up the small simulacrum, turned it over in his hands once, and stared at it.

He wouldn't know this. Not really. He brushed a thumb up and over the little mouth, the contours of its small face. Retroactively, I've never been this at all.

I'm no one to him.

Does this mean we can start over? The thought struck him like lightning, freezing his heart in his chest. He was fixed solid, staring down at the small figure in his hands.

Before he could even think, he'd already thrown it through the open closet door, landing noisily in the box he'd dug through with a clatter. He grabbed up the fallen clothes and items and stuffed them back in the box, burying the toy in mundane detritus, then closed the cardboard flaps and slammed the door of the closet for good measure.

His breath was laboured and he glared, like wishing it gone would make the closet itself disappear.

Answers. He needed answers, more than anything.

He ripped the door open, and there was Edgar who looked up, staring dumbly back at him and carrying the clothes he'd shed earlier over his arm. Something in his mind clicked over, and he didn't think about it.

"Alright," he caught his breath for half a second, "what do you remember?"

Edgar just kept on staring, mouth open, eyes unconfident behind weak glasses. Scriabin huffed irritably, I don't have time for this, and moved towards him, arm outstretched.

"Come on." Edgar gave a small startled sound behind him as he grabbed his collar and dragged him through the doorway. He threw him across the room, not bothering to watch his arc as he closed the door behind him. The bed was that way, he'd be fine.

When he turned back, Edgar had managed to catch himself, though already halfway on the bed. Scriabin stood with his back to the door, feet planted and he crossed his arms. No more speculating around impossibilities, tangible and present as they might be, it was time for a proper interrogation. It was at least preferable to-

Edgar made a face at him and scooted back, offering a seat next to him on the bed. Equal footing briefly flashed through his mind and while he wouldn't consider it ideal, nothing today was really going his way. He sighed, then made his way over and sat across from Edgar, who was eyeing him with a certain degree of caution. At least the feeling was mutual.

"Spill." He re-crossed his arms and leaned towards Edgar. "What do you know?"

Edgar hesitated, apparently thinking, his hands laced and fingers agitatedly if quietly rubbing the backs of his hands.

"I want to verify some things first."

Scriabin snorted dismissively. Where had Edgar's overly-trusting nature gone? A serial killer, well he's an honoured guest, but Scriabin? He didn't even distrust him for the right reasons.

He gestured with an open hand, Go ahead, then tucked his arm back in.

"Todd's last name?"

Pfsh. At least it was proof enough that anything Edgar knew, Scriabin did as well. As expected.

"Casil. His stupid bear's called Shmee in case you forgot that too." Edgar shook his head. No he hadn't? If only he could just check!

"Do you know our phone number?" Obviously he did, so he rattled it off quickly, Edgar nodding in turn. He flipped his hair in time with the last digit, careful to keep his eyes covered. It was a bit of a timid attempt, being the first in this body, which was a minor blessing he supposed.

Edgar mulled over what he'd given him for a moment, then a moment longer, then a moment even longer. His eyes searched absently, gazing down into his own hand, his other on his chin, lightly thumbing his goatee. He was focused on names and numbers, but those were child's play compared to everything, everything Scriabin still wanted to know. It was frustrating on a visceral level, watching him struggle with such simple innocuous nothings while the most important person in his life was sitting right in front of him.

He was supposed to be the most important.

It was frustrating.

"You really don't remember anything, do you?" He didn't hide the sneer as it shaped his voice - odd the way his body just did that now, did things without him actively thinking them into being. Even things like the little waver that made its way in that he pushed back down and under. He was frustrated, angry, tired - any emotionality could be attributed to those, nothing else.

Edgar didn't answer, just kept his gaze locked to his face. That was almost worse. Watching him fumble through things, it wasn't fun, but at least he wasn't trying to pry. He could see him try to look past his bangs, and the fact that he didn't know better...

Scriabin looked away for a moment, then thought better of it. Best defense is a good offense.

He reached for Edgar's face, for those damn scars, ever-present reminders. Edgar shied away, not wanting to be touched suddenly by someone he didn't know. As if Scriabin had ever cared about that.

Well, things were different now. Maybe he didn't really want to touch him anyway. Not yet.

"Do you remember these...?" Instead he framed his face with his hands less than an inch from his skin, and even there he could feel the heat coming off him. Edgar reached for his face, looking away from Scriabin as he touched the angry red marks. He winced minutely, then glanced back at Scriabin, searching him, his expression guarded again. Scriabin could hear his own pulse in his ears.

"...Johnny?"

"Fuck." Fuck! "Of course you'd remember him but not me." God damn it! It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, just because Johnny came first by a hair's breadth, just because he wasn't in Edgar's head, with Edgar's fucked up little obsession with the murderous stick figure- It limited what he could get away with too, if he remembered that far back. Absolutely nothing was going in his favour.

"I'm sorry..." He sounded genuinely remorseful, and it stuck in his throat. Disgusting. "So you know Johnny, too."

"Unfortunately." Scriabin tucked his chin to his chest, arms crossed again in close proximity. This sucks. Edgar just kept rambling, unaware as ever. His excuses held this time at least, one point in his favour, no points for bringing his annoying habits with him despite everything.

"I don't think I've seen him for a couple months now? Everything's awfully..." He gave a vague gesture and Scriabin uncurled slightly. He was giving him room to contribute. He shook his head.

"You haven't."

"Have you?"

He returned to his tight coil of sulking. Not like he was keen to meet up and chat, but he couldn't explain why he hadn't had the opportunity to either.

"I remember he called, too."

"Ugh," barely above breath. Enough about Johnny! Again, Edgar continued obliviously.

"Although I don't really recall what we talked about, not for a while..."

Of course not. I took over for half of those.

He perked a bit, and Edgar focused more on him, patiently setting his hands in his lap.

"You know."

He could play this to his advantage. Give Johnny some well-deserved karmic justice for fucking him over so many times. It was almost better that Edgar didn't know - Scriabin had been trying to get him away from Johnny all this time, and if he really had forgotten everything, not just the moments when Scriabin took over but every moment they had shared, then that meant it coincided almost perfectly with his first meeting with Johnny. Blank spot after blank spot after blank spot, all lined up immediately after getting his face slashed.

He could work with that.

"It's probably trauma." Edgar startled and his hand shot to his temple, lightly touching his hair.

"Like, head trauma?" Scriabing almost laughed. Yeah, probably that too. But that wouldn't help his case.

"No." He leaned in, taking a more intimate, secretive tone. "Think about it. When did things start getting fuzzy?" If he was right on this - which of course he was, but not being able to verify, not being able to see that he was right, it was disconcerting - but if he was, Edgar's memories of Scriabin should start with that first fateful encounter, give or take. A bit of reframing here, a touch of implication there... It probably wasn't even an outright lie; if Edgar's memory were perfect after experiencing everything Johnny had put them through, that would be some kind of twisted miracle.

His only real concern was their "childhood" - how much had Scriabin pulled with him? Would that throw off his story? But that was so far back, there was no way Scriabin or Johnny could be implicated in that. As long as Edgar didn't bring it up before he thought his way around it...

Edgar stayed quiet for a long while. His eyes raced behind closed eyelids, searching, scanning, retracing - Scriabin could almost see the moments where he hesitated, stopped and went back, then starting recollecting again. He wished he could see it for real, watch him unfold himself, touch those memories again, hold up his own in contrast. Even just hear Edgar's thoughts as they went by, feel the emotions he felt. But he couldn't, so he just stared as unblinkingly as this new body would allow, just watched as Edgar went over everything on his own.

He finally opened his eyes, staring back into Scriabin's though he was sure they were still hidden. He felt naked and awkward and Edgar still hadn't said anything. If he could just see like he was supposed to, or if Edgar would just tell him, he wouldn't have to ask. I have to do everything around here.

"It was after you met him, wasn't it?"

"You think it's...mental trauma?" An unspoken 'yes.' Relief flooded him, and he pushed ahead.

"Edgar. He stabbed you." Edgar gripped his shoulder, his eyes closing again and he looked to be in pain. That was a very effective reminder at least. "Do you even know why?" He shook his head and spoke throught half-grit teeth.

"I must have made him mad, but I don't remember-" Of course not, I did that.

"Your mind is trying to protect you." Not. But one of us has to with your inexhaustable deathwish. Scriabin reached out to touch him properly, but Edgar pulled away. He didn't follow, still not yet. Play up the pity. "He messed you up so bad," with a curl in his tone, an I told you so that barely made it to words even privately; how long had he been holding that in? "Surely you must've felt like you wanted, you needed to get away from him, that he wasn't good for you, that you-" He'd told him so many times, some it must have stuck, some of it had to have-

"Then-!" Edgar's eyes shot open, wide and desperate with an edge of disbelief. A strangled gasp escaped him, half-choking him as he tried to speak. "Then why can't I remember you?!"

He almost began rolling off the cuff, but really, he still didn't know for sure. And it definitely wasn't like he could tell the truth even if he wanted to; who, who hadn't lived it, would believe him? Edgar certainly wouldn't, not with his lack of imagination. He had to dress this up, weave a narrative that was plausible, had the perfect mix of truth and falsehood to stand up to scrutiny.

Huh. Ironic.

"I..." No. Some of this was Edgar's fault too. "We...argued."

"Argued?"

"I... Mng." He wanted to aim for some kind of levity, but his throat had tightened on him. He just wanted to tell this stupid inside joke and not have it affect him, not have it mean anything, and here he was getting emotional? He'd say it and fucking mean it. "It's not like I'm in your head, so-" spat out in a rush, there, he'd said it. Haha, isn't that so funny. He swallowed harshly, pushing down everything he felt into his stomach acid. He was in control. He was fine. This didn't shake him. "I can't know for sure," another humourless laugh inside, "but I was against your relationship with Johnny. Maybe you shut me out so you could keep seeing him with no pushback."

It certainly wasn't outside the realm of possibilities of what Edgar would do to avoid taking Scriabin's extremely basic advice about fraternizing with serial killers. How many times had he been ignored up to this point, only to culminate in the ultimate 'I don't know what you're talking about.' Pfeh. I bet he wishes he'd thought of this sooner. It did nothing for his painfully stuttered pulse.

"You know, I've been trying to convince you to stop going back to him for a while, but, well..." He waved his hand at Edgar's hand still death gripped into his shoulder, and Edgar averted his eyes guiltily. At least he showed some remorse. Better than his nigh constant apologia.

He stayed quiet a moment longer, and just before Scriabin made to fill the silence again, Edgar struck him with an intense look.

"What are you to me?" Ugh. Of course. There was not a single good answer for that. Even if he told him everything- no, especially if he told him everything, there was no way Edgar would believe him. But coming up with a convincing lie on the spot, when they were so clearly something to each other - even he needed time to come up with something workable. How could he have ever prepared for a situation like this? It was never meant to happen, so many things were never meant to happen!

He continued at Scriabin's silence. "You know Nny," Ugh! Even his awful nickname. "And Todd. And...me." He couldn't refute it, so he nodded tightly. "Do you live here?"

Technically he had, and technically he hadn't. Still, going forward, it would be easier to let Edgar assume that he did. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go at the moment anyway.

"Yes."

"Are we..." He searched him, looked him over as much as he could and he wasn't subtle about it. If only Scriabin had his proper glasses, he'd let him look as much he wanted, behold his spectacle! As it was, he just felt self-conscious and it was very unbefitting. "...family?"

The baggage on that. He did not feel like opening that particular can of worms in either of their current states. He turned his head and flipped through any number of halfway decent ways to phrase it until he hit on something Edgar would remember. Better not to contradict for now.

"You told Johnny you have no family when you met."

"That's true..." Edgar blinked, processing. "Wait, did I tell you that?" Scriabin startled. Even after he'd accounted for his memory! Of course he had to pick his story apart now, he never knew when to leave well enough alone.

"When you-" No, he had to be involved. "When we bandaged your face."

Edgar mulled on that for a few seconds, taking on a thoughtful pose. "I only remember being alone."

"You don't remember me at all. What do you want from me?" He huffed.

"No, sorry, you're right."

"Thank you." He was right!

Where had Edgar expected him to be? There was something weird about how he'd said it. He filed the thought away for later.

"So, if you've been living here, where..." Edgar looked around the room, then back to Scriabin. "Where have you been sleeping? Todd's already on the couch..."

Scriabin couldn't help as a smile sprung to his face. If he was going to present him with such a perfect opportunity, well, he'd better take it. He even had the decency to look nervous in response! This was too good.

"Would you believe me if I said right here, in bed?" He again tucked his chin, playfully this time, his hair falling further in his eyes. Even through the dark tangles he could make out Edgar's face immediately bristling with heat.

Ooh. That's such a fetching shade on you, my dear.

"But-! I, I haven't been sleeping on the floor!" He was visibly sweating!

"Correct." His smile grew. This was too easy, and he needed an easy win right about now.

"W-" He leaned forward on his legs, though refused to get any closer. When he spoke it was a harsh whisper. "Why...?"

Scriabin shrugged easily, not bothering to reign in his smile in the least. "I mean, where else, right?" He leaned in since Edgar refused to, and oh. He was blushing all the way up to his scalp. Hilarious. "You certainly didn't seem to mind." He couldn't hold back the slightly musical tone or his eyebrows inclination to move on their own. His body knew what he was getting at, and he could see it only increased Edgar's fluster. All the better.

"Well I do now!" Edgar darted up and away, stumbling in his hasty retreat. "If you'll excuse me!" though he was already practically in the hallway by the time he said it. What a display, and Scriabin's laugh was loud and natural.

Finally, something positive. He'd managed to fumble his way through, not his best work in lying or manipulation, but he'd set some important groundwork. He'd gotten some answers, and he could start to shape some more believable stories around them.

The biggest hurdles were Johnny and Devi. As long as Edgar didn't meet with them too soon - or well, at all would be preferable, but he doubted he could just keep him locked up, as much as the idea appealed to him. There were so many things that were possible now, things that he had the ability to do, given the right circumstances... All of that in due time. For now he had a yarn to spin.

He listened as Edgar fumbled in the hall, the sheer sound of cloth being pulled and folded over an arm barely perceptable. Was he really going to try to sleep on what little was left over? Maybe he'd give up once he realized the pickings were thin and beg Scriabin to let him sleep with him. Hah.

While he was out, Scriabin made his way over to the pajamas drawer. They were all old and soft, even just to his hand. They'd do for now, until he could get his own. It wasn't like he hadn't worn all this before anyway.

By the time he'd finished dressing, his clothes discarded on the opposite side of the bed to where Edgar had set up his little nest, Edgar had finally gotten himself a set of pajamas. He wondered for a moment if he'd dress with Scriabin in the room again, though maybe his intense stare drove him off. Who could say. He patted the bed with a wide grin when he returned and was dutifully ignored. He settled down to the side, and Scriabin laid on his arms to look down at him.

"Ugh, lame."

"I don't-"

"Yeah, whatever." He'd heard it all before. At least he could literally look down on him like this. He folded his hands and leaned just a bit further, looking him over. A desire he hadn't realized he had surfaced in the dark and quiet. "Give me your hand."

"Sorry?" Scriabin held out his hand expectantly.

"I used to hear your heart beat every day." Edgar looked at him incredulously, but Scriabin was unperturbed. "Let me hear it again."

He hesitated but eventually slowly offered his arm. "...Okay."

He pulled his arm up and placed his thumb against his wrist. He felt a strange mismatch - where he'd been expecting one heartbeat, there were two. He covered his surprise, near shock at the realization that of course he had his own body now, by pulling harder on Edgar's arm, directing him up to his ear.

"Wh-"

"Shh." Quietly. He had wanted this, wanted this body, this separation, this freedom for so long, and now... He spoke quietly, his voice betraying nothing. "I'm listening."

Edgar's pulse was erratic, but he hardly paid attention to it. His own fingers on Edgar's skin, warm and pliant, and Edgar's fingers twitching in his hair, he could feel it, he was trying not to touch him- This hesitation was killing him, every jerky movement away not from fear of what Scriabin could do to him, just uncertainty, like he was still a stranger- He pressed him harder to his head, and he could feel goosebumps under his fingers. He wanted to just hold him there until all the memories they'd shared poured back through him, into his blood, into his breath.

Where are you?

But he replied in that same uncertain, guarded tone that indicated he didn't know, not really.

"C...can I have my arm back now?"

He pushed him away. "Fine." Edgar curled his hand protectively against his chest, and he noticed he rubbed it slightly, he probably hadn't even realized.

He mumbled out a harried "Good night," and it was almost enough to make Scriabin smile. Almost. He could still affect him but this wasn't enough, it wasn't right.

He laid his head on the pillow, not bothering to pull his arm up over the side of the bed. If he twitched in the night and touched Edgar, well, that could mean anything. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he did it on purpose. Plausible deniability was one of his greatest assets.

As it was, he was just tired. Maybe he didn't pull it back because he hated the thought of sleeping alone, pushed out and forgotten, and hated it more that he was even thinking something like that. How pathetic. He didn't need anyone, especially not Edgar.

But he was tired. Not in his right mind.

Does this mean we can start over...?

The thought echoed and died, and he slept.

#💟#Fanfiction #Blank Slate AU #Edgar #Scriabin #Todd #Shmee #He's technically in there but once again no speaking lines :P Yet anyway lol #It's fanfic time again! I fell into yet another writing fugue and finished Chapters 1 and 2 in like four days lol #If you'll notice tho ♪ Neither of those chapters are featured under the cut :3c Pls do read Ch. 1 at least to get caught up before diving in #This one took a bit longer but that'd be because it's Almost as big as both previous chapters combined lol #I'll update it to the chapter list in a few days! Y'all get a preview here :D It'll be the same there with slightly different formatting #Decided to try something new since tumblr doesn't normally allow underlines but it's very important to Scriabin's syntax #I promise they're all just links to the first chapter lol - you're welcome to check but I promise I didn't put a sneaky link anywhere lol #My one gripe is that it doesn't look as good on-blog :/ Fine on the dash! But I'm not willing to sacrifice the dark colouration on the links #Italics were chosen as the only light feature for a reason ♪#I mean at least it's not Bolded lol I'll take it #These were a lot of fun to write so far ahhh <3 I've been wanting to dig a little deeper for a long while now!#I mentioned this idea offhandedly in the tags of Incoming Outgoing but ahhh it's very rewarding to put to words :D #Fun Fun Fun

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defeateddetectives · 6 months

Text

was having natsume's book of friends vs. matoba's book of enemies* thoughts again while waiting for the subway earlier today as one does and thinking about their default standing at the start of not just the series but also their lives and then throughout

many others have written probably far more coherently about this being a story about different takes on legacy which never ever stops to fascinate me but the way that natsume starts his life born as grandchild of reiko who vanished into obscurity but was immensely powerful and able to make contracts with immensely powerful yokai (often after beating them through either simple friendly games or trickery but never cruelty) and grows up with no real sense of connectedness with family until much later and inherited this collection of contracts that he now takes it upon himself to release them from these contracts as a way to restore the balance :)

and matoba who is born into notoriety into the strongest clan of exorcists (who by definition eradicate yokai) growing up with an identity impossible to extricate from his family and inheriting threats and curses and immense power that the entire exorcist community counts on him to uphold even as they hate him for it on top of inheriting mistrust from human and yokai alike what with the inability to make a contract because of his name alone and inheriting a legacy of violence and cruelty and so has continued to perpetuate it because there seems to be no other viable alternative to maintain the status quo of remaining the head of the strongest exorcist clan which is supposed to be his one (1) job :)))

[*the matoba seiji pov series that lives in my head]

#or okay fine one of two (2) jobs if we're counting the baby ceo of thirteen companies in a trenchcoat #i dont know entirely where i'm going with this but the contrasts in where they stand at baseline still keep me up at night #no this isnt yokai murder/torture apologism (or is it) but like. i'm still immensely hecked up about how far they've come in being able to #understand one another #though yeah no please still Do Not let that man anywhere near the book of friends or not for another hundred chapters #(maybe not even then but also maybe he will have put his wedding ring back on at least part-time by then so who even knows!!!!!!)#me @me: we're approaching a full week's worth of sleep debt again girl please go to bed #natsume yuujinchou #horrible exorcist number one

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