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onewingeddove444 · 11 months

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★How the bachelors would react if they accidentally made you cry

word count: 1.1k

Alex:

-would probably not even notice you're crying at first

-his expression would change so quickly

-😀😦

-kind of knew he had it coming though, since a lot of the stuff that flies out of his mouth is....well😇

-would IMMEDIATELY start taking the blame, saying things like "nahhh i didn't actually mean that i lied haha no idea why i said that i'm so stupid" ((starts blaming it on his hormones being affected by working out or something😭😭))

-hesitates at first, but pulls you into the tightest embrace you've ever felt ngl probably hurts a little lol

-his way of apologising to you is saying "you can punch me as hard as you want, i deserve it!!!!"

-starts treating you like royalty for another month, to the point where it becomes annoying

-every time you bring it up, even as a joke, he basically drops to his knees and starts apologising all over again

Elliott:

-if you thought this man was already dramatic as it is....lord🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

-would try to be cool about it, while in his head he's already pressing a dagger to his neck, saying that he has now betrayed his heart and doesn't want to go on any longer

-the moment he sees tears flowing down your face, the only word able to come out of his mouth is a soft "no, no, no..."

-he'd probably start crying with you😭😭😭

-starts whispering the most loving and kind things about yourself into your ear

-literally compares you to the most breathtaking images you could ever envision

-alternative scenario, where he just drops to the floor and starts begging for your forgiveness, even though what he said wasn't really that bad

-after that, he checks up on you every 5 minutes, to make sure you're not upset with him

-would swear on his life and soul to never hurt you again ((mind you it was never that serious😭))

-writes you so many short poems...atp they just become a whole book

Harvey:

-man....😭

-probably hurts him more than it does you lmao

-you crying would be too much for him already...but crying because of him?? ouuu

-is ready to completely retract what he said, even if he's absolutely right, that just doesn't matter to him anymore

-he just stands there for a good amount of time, since he really doesn't know how to deal with these kinds of emotions

-this might just be the first time this man has made someone cry because...let's be fr☠️

-would do that thing where he cups your cheeks and wipes your tears with his thumbs ((after that he's kinda clueless though😭))

-this literally being his worst nightmare...in his eyes hurting you is the equivalent of failing as a partner...and he's not really allowed to fail too often🙁

-would wait 30 years until you're not upset with him ((it takes you exactly 1 minute btw)), and after that it's flowers delivered to your doorstep every day of the week

-even if it were to be a one-time occurrence, he would NEVER EVER forget it, and he would always justify spoiling you with it ((using the 4 cents he makes from the clinic👎))

Sam:

-he is not that smart when it comes to verbalising thoughts please forgive him

-says things like "aw man you're crying😔😔😔😭😭“

-if he's holding a drink or eating something, he offers it to you, even if there's a single bite/sip left of it

-refuses to smile until he's 100% sure you've forgiven him, otherwise he just looks like this: :--(

-low-key fighting for his life not to pull out his phone and google "how to comfort crying person wikihow"

-once you tell him that it's okay between you two bro gets jolly, running around in circles, giggling, twirling his hair and laying down kicking his feet up

-the thing he did that upset you could've been minor, but that still doesn't stop him from saying "man...😔🤦 i'm so glad this chapter is behind us now.." like okay???😭😭😭 ((bonus points if he describes this as a "rough patch" in your relationship))

-tries making something for you after, fails miserably, resorts to showing you cool skateboard tricks he learned off of youtube

-learns his lesson and actually thinks more before he says something ((to the best of his ability))

-promises to write a song about your love and go platinum ((shows it to sebastian and gets banned from writing lyrics for the band forever))

Sebastian:

-freezes immediately

-literally unable to get a single word out, what is he supposed to do in his situation😭

-manages to whisper "i didn't mean..." and proceeds to go quiet after that

-he's been living a sheltered life for a very long time, so he's really scared that whatever he says it will only hurt you even more

-you can definitely see his expression change...not only does it soften but he looks UPSET upset, mostly with himself

-pulls you into a hug, hoping that it'll help a little bit ((it does, bro seems like a good hugger))

-asks you if there's anything he can do to cheer you up, and let me tell you he'd really do anything

-does not let you go for the rest of the day, having his arm wrapped around you, holding your hand, even if it's just the pinky fingers touching

-you have to keep reassuring him that it's okay now, he literally hits you with the "are you sure you're not mad at me?" every 3 seconds just to make sure you guys are good🙏

-lets you touch whatever you want in his room, i'm talking elementary school pictures, old sketchbooks, it's all yours, no matter how humiliating

Shane:

-um...uh😭🙅‍♀️

-yeah he is PISSED he's made you cry, he might've been mean when he first saw you, but now??? that is just not allowed in his mind idc

-jumps to self-deprecation immediately, talking about how he's an asshole, how he always fucks things up (🙁)

-just takes the whole blame on himself, no problem with that

-kind of saw this happening in the nearest future, that man does not have a very good opinion of himself let's be honest😭

-you could tell him you forgive him and he'd be like "nah don't do that wtf i don't deserve it😔"

-doesn't try comforting you at first, since he just assumes that you might never want to see him again

-but after the dust settles he reassures you that he's going to do everything to make sure this doesn't happen again

-sends you musty frozen pizza in the mail in retaliation (sigh🙁)

-would love to pretend this never happened, but making you cry really took a hit on his self-esteem, however it also made him think about how to be the best partner you can have

#sdv #stardew valley #sdv imagines #sdv headcanons #sdv bachelors #sdv alex #sdv elliott #sdv harvey #sdv sam #sdv sebastian #sdv shane #i use so many emojis it’s actually sickening #sdv fanfic #sdv imagine #sdv headcanon #this is my first time writing on tumblr please forgive me if this looks like garbage🙏

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hanafubukki · 6 days

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Happy Three Year Anniversary 🥹💚🌺

It’s my three year anniversary since I first started writing fanfics on tumblr. I think back about the first time I published fanfics on here and everyone I met along the way because of that one moment of time.

When I took that step to allow myself to express/be myself and publish something I wrote. It led to meeting so many wonderful people here and irl and I am forever grateful to myself and to all of you.

I am forever grateful for all the encouragement you all give me and I can’t say it enough. Be it comments, asks, reblogs, likes, tagging or what have you.

Everyday is fun and brings a smile to my face. I look forward to the future because of it.

So really, thank you everyone. I’m so happy to have met and interacted with you and hope to continue to do so ☺️💚🌺

#Hana announces #I always feel a bit shy posting stuff like this but I really am grateful and wanted to express myself #I’ve been on tumblr longer than three years but only just started writing again after more than a decade and realized my anniv for my first #fanfic was coming and #been feeling very nostalgic lately and very grateful for everything and all I have met #I have been having so much fun the last several years #its that joy i can hold onto always despite the hard times #thank you again 💞💞💚💚#will probably change some stuff around on my masterlist and profile #and edit mt pin post too #to make it more succinct #but that will be weekend Hana worries

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mycenalucentipes · 11 months

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Panicked Confession

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Pansy Parkinson has been picking on you ever since she found out about your troubles and little crush on Draco Malfoy. Pansy’s bullying wasn’t even the worst of your problems though. Life is just… You’re distraught. Everything feels wrong. You feel wrong. Something isn’t right and you don’t have anyone to turn to for help. It’s all too much. You just want to collapse.

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, bullying, breakdown, cursing, panic attack, su!c!dal thoughts, one minor mention of blood

Word count: ~2.3k

a/n: Fluff at the end! I love Draco so much. Maybe I'm self projecting onto Y/n, but I too, would love to be hugged by Draco Malfoy at Hogwarts lol

It was during dinner that Pansy fucking Parkinson decided that you would be her victim tonight. Somehow, she found out about all of your insecurities and your teeny tiny crush on the Slytherin Prince. Pansy was not about to let another girl try and “steal him away” from her. Though he wasn’t Pansy’s. He wasn’t owned by anyone. That’s just ridiculous.

Weeks prior to the abuse, at the beginning of the term, you and Draco got paired up (Much to Malfoy’s dismay) for potions and then for an essay in transfiguration. Although arrogant and snobbish at first, you somehow managed to get Draco to warm up to you. Perhaps the kind little smiles and waves you gave him as you entered or exited the classroom. You didn’t show fear when he approached, nor an undying love for him. You treated him like a normal person and were quite competent at your work.

Which is how you somehow ended up here.

“You useless little, filthy, half-blood bitch! Why are you still here? Hm? Why show your face, you’re such a disgrace to the wizarding world!” She spat at you while leaning over your shaking figure on the ground. Pansy and a couple other Slytherin girls decided to drag you into the bathroom during dinner. “He’ll never love you. You’re a fucking Hufflepuff of all houses. He won’t even glance in your direction!” They screamed and cackled in your face.

They pushed you over, tore your robes, pulled your hair, and kicked you to and on the ground. Believe it or not, Pansy and her friend’s bullying wasn’t the main cause of your worries. You could care less about them in all honesty, but this semester has been rough. Your mind was letting their words get the better of you.

Recently, you really were beginning to believe you were just a good for nothing waste of space. You should just squash your silly little crush like a bug, right? Kill it. Before it consumed you further. It was this night, where you truly believed their words. That you never stood a chance in gaining Draco’s love and affection. You wanted to escape reality. You wanted nothing more than to finally escape school and home life.

After they thoroughly beat you down, they left you to your own despair on the cold, hard bathroom floor. You needed an escape from reality tonight. Your mind was getting worse, growing weak, why couldn’t you handle it anymore? You took off running. Not back to dinner in the Great Hall, but to the highest place where you could escape the chatter, murmurs, gossip, insults, all of it.

You clumsily ran up the stairs. To the top of the Astronomy Tower, that was where you were headed. Everything was crumbling inside of you. You’ve tried so hard, yet nothing seems to be working out in your mind. Your mind was falling into a hole that you weren’t sure you could climb out of. So deep, so far away.

Sure, you looked okay from the outside. Nothing was actually falling apart on the outside, maybe except your appearance. But your grades were good, professors liked you, you had a few good friends, maybe your family wasn’t all that perfect, but they weren’t physically abusive. Even if things hadn’t started so great, they were ending up alright. So why were you so broken still? Was it the past years of trauma that you’ve hid from? You couldn’t figure it out. Everything was too much, you couldn’t breathe.

Reaching the top of the Astronomy Tower, breathing erratic, you flung yourself to the railing. Not to jump over, no. Just to hold onto something tight, to try and gain a sense of reality back. Your whole body was wracked with shivers and the occasional sob that you tried to hold back. It was growing difficult to contain any semblance of sanity that might’ve been left in your panic stricken mind. Was the world caving in? Or was it your conscience?

Your thoughts were a cacophony of anxiety, they clashed and clamored around the inside of your skull. They’ve longed to break out and be free. But you were scared to let them out and be seen, to be heard. You didn’t want to be vulnerable or “attention-seeking”. So, what could you do, other than just bottle it up? Tonight though, you shouted. You shouted over the edge of the railing at the top of your lungs until your voice was hoarse.

Tears spilled over the edge of your eyes as you kept shouting. Some screams were just pure screams, others were just insults to throw into the void. Hiccups here and there from the violent sobs that wracked your trembling frame. It was piercingly cold, but you couldn’t feel anything, just pure numbness.

As your voice ran dry of screams and cries, you sunk to the ground. Bringing your knees to your chest, you kept sobbing. Unable to hear any outside sounds from the static in your ears that buzzed so intensely, you never heard Draco approaching you.

Draco thought it was a little odd that Pansy and some other Slytherin girls took you out of the Great Hall. He was pretty sure he saw them drag you out, but maybe that was his mind exaggerating. He somehow grew a soft spot for the little Hufflepuff girl. Draco didn’t understand how you did it, but all he knew was that he cared for you and liked you. A lot.

After thirty minutes had passed and you still had not re-entered, but Pansy and her friends did, he grew slightly worried. They looked smug, too smug to be innocent. He had to go find you, as this was not like you to just leave your plate untouched, or so he thought. Draco stood up abruptly from the table, his silverware clattered from the sudden movement.

“Oh, Dracy~ Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Pansy tugged at his sleeve with a doe-like look.

“Buzz off Parkinson. This doesn’t concern you– Or maybe it does?” Draco yanked his arm back and out of Pansy’s grasp. He shot her a sharp glare and snarled out, “Do you have any idea what might’ve happened to Y/n?” A look of fright flashed over Pansy’s features. She did her best to play innocent, but that one second of fear was enough for Draco to understand.

“I have no idea where that filthy little Hufflepuff could have gone. Why would I care? Why do you care? She’s not worth your time! She’s a bloody Hufflepuff!” Pansy shot back, desperation in her voice as she tried to convince Draco to stay.

“Parkinson, just leave her alone! You have no right to meddle in my business and relationships! Don’t you or anyone else ever lay a fucking hand on her again.” Draco growled back. He stormed out of the hall in a hurry, not caring that Pansy was calling for him, or that other students were starting to stare. He had to make sure you were okay.

He burst into the girls restrooms, not caring that he wasn’t a girl. All that he was able to find in there were scraps of your papers from your bag on the ground and a few specks of blood here and there. Draco huffed in frustration, then quickly left the bathrooms. He wasn’t quite sure where to start looking for you, this school was huge! He’d never known you to be in distress or anything more than anxious for an exam. You never showed him any signs of this happening. He opted to just start walking, he would cover more ground than just standing around.

The Astronomy Tower. That was his first choice, he figured that might be the best option. He would occasionally visit the peaceful place in the late hours of the night to clear his mind. As he ascended the stairs he could hear strangled, painful sobs. He knew it was you. His pace quickened and he was soon bounding up the stairs to rush to your side.

Once he reached the top, his eyes flicked around, looking for you. It didn’t take long until his gaze landed on you by the railing, huddled up to your knees, rocking back and forth. Draco cautiously approached you, not wanting to spook you. Slowly, he knelt down beside you, one knee touching the ground, putting his hands on your shoulders.

“Y/n?” He started out, his voice gentle and full of concern. Your eyes shot up to him, panic swimming in them. His heart clenched at the sight of your frightened form. You saw his lips moving, but could not hear a single thing coming out of them.

“Y/n? What’s wrong? Can you speak to me?” His worry grew as you weren’t responding to him. Only looking into his eyes with tears pouring from yours. “You’ll be okay. It’s alright, Y/n. I’m here for you…” He kept whispering out sweet little reassurances. Eventually your hearing came back to reality, however your breathing was still erratic as you cried.

“Y/n,” Draco’s voice slightly wavered with concern, “can I hug you? Is that okay?” His words, soft and comforting, offered deep compassion for you. He understood that it was difficult for you to communicate in this state. Still overwhelmed, you mustered a small nod. Quickly upon watching your answer, he drew you into a tight embrace. You felt the warmth radiating off of him that shielded you from the harsh winds of the cold night. You could feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the steady sound of his heartbeat.

“Follow my breathing if you can.” He whispered sweetly, while rubbing small circles into your back. Gradually, you were able to follow along, calming your breathing and senses down. Though the tears still fell thickly from your eyes, the hysteria was gone. Eventually you found your voice.

“D-Draco, w-why are you up here?” Your voice was rough from tonight, cracking part way through your question. Your body was still shaking, but less so than before.

“I was worried about you when you didn’t come back to dinner,” He sighed with worry laced in his voice. “I saw Parkinson and her friends saunter back in, but you weren’t there.” He continued to explain what happened between him and Pansy. His voice grew angrier and tenser with each sentence. He was breathing heavily when he finished explaining how he found you.

You froze for a couple seconds, then snaked your arms around his waist, hugging him back. “Thank you, Draco.” You said with a small voice, “I-I’m sorry you had to see me like this. Everything became too much for me, and I– I just–...” Draco calmly shushed you as you struggled for words, one of his hands now stroking the back of your head.

“It’s okay, Y/n.”

“Thank you again, I just love you so much, I–” You paused, realizing what you just said. Flustered, you pushed yourself back a couple feet from his hold, looking anywhere but him. He stumbled back off his knees a bit, now sitting on his bum, looking flustered as well. Not quite as flustered, but blushing red nonetheless.

“Y-you love me as well?” He asked, voice quiet, needing confirmation that he heard you correctly.

“Umm, yes. I-I do quite fancy you, Draco. It’s okay if you don’t, I– Wait did you say ‘as well’?” No it was your turn to stare in shock, thinking about what he just asked. “Since when?”

“Since we had to write that transfiguration essay together.” He confessed, shyly rubbing the back of his neck. “I only recently came to terms with my feelings a couple weeks ago though.” You beamed at him, blushing even harder. Okay, so maybe this wasn’t the worst night ever anymore. Just a tad embarrassing to be confessing like this after having a full blown mental breakdown and panic attack in front of him. Not quite how you thought this confession would turn out. You actually had planned to just take this crush with you to your grave, not wanting to ruin the friendship you had grown with him.

“I-I’ll confess, I’ve liked you ever since we were paired up in potions at the start of the term.” You chuckled at the memories of him huffing and pouting at the fact that he had to work with a Hufflepuff.

“Hmm, I’m sorry I was so rude to you back then. You had done nothing wrong. Just merely been a Hufflepuff.” He teased at the end, earning him a small punch to the arm. He feigned offense and hurt at your playful act. “I’m so hurt haha.”

“As if!” You let out a genuine laugh and it was like music to his ears. You shuffled closer to him again, sitting between his legs, facing him directly. Both of you gazed into each other’s eyes, mesmerized and gaining a new understanding for each. Slowly leaning closer, Draco delicately placed his lips onto yours. Your eyes fluttered shut as you reciprocated the action, leaning into a deeper kiss. Is this what bliss and heaven were like? You were sure you reached your utopia. Butterflies danced in your stomach and you truly felt sparks flying. After holding the kiss for a little while, you both pulled apart for air.

Slightly panting and still staring deeply into his soul, you sat against him, your back to his chest. He wrapped his arms around your torso and rested his chin on your shoulder.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” This time he sighed with content, “Don’t let Parkinson or her entourage tell you anything different. I’ll personally make sure of it.” You laughed at this then sighed with comfort as well.

“Oh, but of course. You’ll protect me, my knight in shining armor!” You joked lightly, playing with his hands that lay in your lap. It felt so right, how your hands fit into his larger ones. “Can we stay up here just a bit longer? Just, hold me, please?”

“Of course we can. I would love nothing more.” His voice hummed in your ears. So deep and calming in the cold and windy night. “Just the two of us.”

#hi there!#While I'm not new to Tumblr or writing fanfics #this is my first time posting on this account ^^#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco x hufflepuff!reader

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cait-sith · 4 months

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Illustration for Heartbalm for this year's @winterfest-gift-exchange!

First time writing! I had a blast, but since art is really more my forte, I figured I could lend the story some colour this way.

#art #rote #realm of the elderlings #fitzloved #fitzchivalry farseer #the fool #rote fanart #jorm scribs #my art #my writing #fan fiction #digital art #artists on tumblr #rote fanfic #first time writing fanfiction ever actually. I've done stuff about my OCs but never this much #Lord Golden

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simp-for-long-hair · 2 months

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please click for better quality

another fanfic bookshelf ♡

• Pt.1 • Pt.2 • Pt.3 •

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ampheenix · 1 month

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Marina: an Epilogue

F&H MARINA X LEVI FIC, TAGS: romantic fluff, angst, flashbacks, oneshot

SUMMARY:

“Marina left Prehevil, her ties to it severed by the festival. She would settle down in Valland, in the red lights district of the capital. She would find kindred spirits there. She had a good life, using her occult skills for a living. Though a certain person was always following her…”

Or, what happened to Marina after winning the Terminal festival… along with a glimpse into her memories, and what happened along the way.

Marina had a sneaking feeling her hair had been paler as of late. Her curly locks seemed less silky and smooth, more… subdued, and the bags under her eyes had been growing darker too.

Every time she came across her reflection in the mirror, it felt like being doused in cold water. No matter how much she powdered her face, no matter how much lipstick she slathered on, she still seemed pale, ghostly and shrouded in a sense of misery.

It wasn’t a good feeling. She’d always been one to take care in her appearance (it started with fear of others realizing her secret, and then she’d soon started finding enjoyment in the process), but as she gazed into the mirror… the fear she could see in her eyes, shaky and brittle… she didn’t like it at all.

In the very least, it wasn’t exactly a shock… after the scarring events of the Termina festival, Marina wouldn’t have been surprised if her hair turned white.

Her hands still started to tremble every time she thought back to just a few weeks ago- sweaty fingers in a white-knuckled grip on the trigger of a trench gun as she would shoot, and shoot, and shoot again with a desperate sense of knowing you’re just an inch from death, clothes drenched in filth that made Marina want to peel off her skin and take it to the laundry-

Marina stopped, nails digging into her fists hard enough to draw blood. She… she a handful of good memories from the festival at least, so it wasn’t all shit (though 99% of it was horrors beyond comprehension).

After all, it was Levi who had taught her how to shoot in the first place, how to defend herself with something aside from a kitchen knife and sanity-sapping spells. A wan smile made its way onto Marina’s face at the bittersweet memories…

At the beginning of the festival, all she’d known about the Eastern Union ex-soldier was that he had hurriedly made his way off the train, in a rather suspicious manner according to Karin (but the journalist had seemed rather biased, at the time).

It was honestly a surprise to find out she and the ex-soldier were the same age, when they met again in the basement of Restaurant Bílý Vůl. Marina was hesitant to approach at first, seeing a young, dishevelled boy in overalls curled up in a ball, who was rather attractive- even when shaking from withdrawal symptoms.

Marina was questioning her taste within that moment, yet she couldn’t help but extend a hand. And not because she thought him cute, alright- she genuinely wanted to help him out.

Levi… he carried himself with an air of constant paranoia, the deep bruises under his eyes and black marks on his arms a dead-giveaway to his chosen poison. So, when she offered heroin, a momentary ease to his suffering, they became tentative friends.

Levi was rather quiet. All he did at first was constantly scan the area with his gun at the ready, and occasionally glance at her when he thought she wasn’t looking- letting out a small sigh every now and then.

He followed her instructions instantly during battle, with unblinking faith in Marina’s judgment- and with their combined strength, they won every fight they came across.

The disturbing sights of Prehevil’s residents scarred both their minds, and neither of them judged when one found themselves nauseous and losing their lunch after a particularly disgusting foe…. After encounters with things like the fecal hound it was often commonplace.

And if Marina passed him a blue vial and some herbs after a battle, and their fingers touched briefly for a moment, who could blame her for hiding a smile at the pink in his cheeks?

By the end of the first day, when they settled down to rest in the bookshop, Marina couldn’t help but ask about the interaction… and yes, alright, maybe she said it in a rather teasing manner. All-mer forbid a girl flirt in these trying times.

And gods, it was worth it. Marina couldn’t help but let a laugh bubble up at how red Levi’s face turned, but it wasn’t a mean laugh or anything- and Levi could tell, as he buried his face in his hands. He had apologized, stumbling over his words, and she just smiled, shuffling closer…

And then, before she could think about it too much, Marina kissed his cheek. Her lips lingered there for a moment before she drew back, seeing Levi gazing at her complete and utter shock in his eyes, flustered beyond belief.

It was… it was a really nice moment, amidst all the death and gore. Those moments tended to be few and far between, and this had been the sweetest yet.

The next day, Daan had joined them, and he was more blunt and dry in his teasing than was Marina’s style but it was nonetheless effective.

That second night, he had taken a long, slow drag of his cigarette with a small smile, before calling out the stolen glances they were sending eachother- which Marina would vehemently deny (like a lying liar who lies), and Levi would nod along with her with crossed arms.

And the third day… everything went to shit, and Marina found herself at the tower, alone. Her memories are a hazy, fucked up blur from that point onwards.

And all that…

That was in the past now. Marina’s soft smile slowly faded, as she rested her hands on the sink in front of her. After everything that had happened, in the festival…

Gods.

Her grip tightens on the sink.

She had never thought she would win. The first few days after it all ended were spent in a daze, body on autopilot whilst her mind was in overdrive, staggering off that wretched FUCKING train that had brought so much blood and misery.

Winning had never been her intention, she wasn’t the type of person to sell out everyone else and murder them just so she could go free. That was something her father would probably have no qualms doing, but not her.

And all the days after staggering off the train at a random stop in Valland were filled with the sickening weight of guilt and grief, for the friends she hadn’t saved. Marina knew it wasn’t her fault, but… their lost souls still weighed on her.

Marina stared at her reflection in the mirror as she ran a shaky hand through her hair, greasy from neglect.

Tried to pretend she was a normal girl, living a normal life in the red lights district of Valland, who had never seen a town of people scorched by the light of an old god. Tried to pretend that she was just your average occultist who had only the right sorts of secrets, the scandalous ones that make your friends giggle and go “ooh,” and “aah.”

Marina held her piercing gaze on the eyes of the girl in the mirror, a girl who looked tired beyond belief, like she hadn’t truly rested in a long while. And Marina let out a long sigh, like the ones Daan used to do whenever she and Levi did something particularly stupid.

And Marina took a step back from the mirror, planting her hands on her face as she breathed in deeply. In, and out. In, and out…

She’d be okay, as time went by. Marina had to believe that, because what else was there?

When you’re a participant in a festival like that…

Where all you have are the enemies who want you dead, the creepy Bremen soldier who wants to see under your skirt, a doctor who was forced to use his skills to murder instead of heal, and the ex-soldier who you may or may not have been crushing on… that is, before he was viciously slaughtered by a monster right in front of you.

No one walks out of something like that without a few scars.

And… well.

She hadn’t been the only one to walk out, apparently.

A certain someone had followed her to Valland’s capital, though Marina still had no idea who- or what- she was. She, or it, bared an uncanny resemblance to the girl from the festival, the one that was supposed to be dead.

Marina just barely recalled her name… Samarie.

Her face was one of many that showed up in her dreams each night. Greasy black her, sickly pale skin, and swathed in a sense of desperation… the girl who had said she loved her, the girl who had stabbed her father, and the girl who had apparently been a part of the ninth circle (that Marina had only ever heard sick and twisted rumours of).

Marina still struggled to even comprehend her.

And now, a version of Samarie had managed to follow her here, even though the rules of Termina had dictated only one may walk out. So either the black-haired girl managed to break the rules somehow, or she had been replaced by some twisted creature from Prehevil.

Samarie hadn’t been that bad company to be honest, aside from being a tad delusional and creepy. Marina definitely knew which option of the two she preferred, but unfortunately, she also knew which one was more likely- some kind of doppelgänger, no doubt.

Calmer now, she let her hands fall back down by her sides, letting out a deep exhale. Even now, she had a niggling feeling that Samarie was watching her…

Well, could be worse.

She could have jumped down that damn toilet at the beginning of the festival and have rotted there in faeces for the rest of her days, like some idiot. (Shit, imagine if she had done that? She’d never live it down… and she’d never live, period.)

Marina walked out of her cramped bathroom and let herself fall with a “thwump!” on a lumpy couch, courtesy of one of her newly-made acquaintances- she’d met some kindred spirits recently who also studied occultism, and they were nice, she supposed.

All she could do now was wait and see if “Samarie” ever revealed herself, and attempt to scrub her mind of the scarring memories from the festival. She didn’t even want to think about that bastard Per’kele and his twisted games ever again.

And just… hope, that everything would turn out alright.

But she knew one thing- she was never doing rituals in the name of that bastard Rher ever again.

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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!)

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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.

#💟#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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