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blackshadowswriter · 6 months

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A lot of fans said he’s better looking and taller in person, is it true? Also what was his perfume like?

Okay Lando is definitely a bit taller in person. Maybe I'm just short (I know I am), but like he just seems taller irl than he does on the screen bc I've seen him a bajillion times but when he was right there in front of me, I was like "holy shit why is he this tall???" It's not that he's super tall, it's just that I didn't expect him to be that tall. He had to fucking bend down to sign my shirt, which was like, yeah okay I really am too short.

As for the better looking part, I mean he always looks good so idk what to say to that. Imo he looks pretty much the same irl as on screen (amazing). And his scent, I don't really think he had any cologne or perfume on? Maybe there were just too many people around me, but I didn't really smell anything on him, so I guess the answer is just clean lol

But he was like super patient too despite all of us there, like I know he didn't get to everyone (he couldn't with how many people there), but he went kinda slow down the group, so most people in the first or second row had a good shot of getting something signed or getting a picture, which was so nice of him.

Someone actually brought stroopwafles though 😭 when he first came out, he was talking with his engineers, but someone shouted "LANDO WE HAVE STROOPWAFLES" and THEN he looked up and started grinning 😂 and he went to that person's side of the line first LMFAO

#still going insane over this #it feels like a fever dream fr #i have like post-meeting-Lando-Norris depression or whatever #or I'm just getting sick #no nvm I'm definitely sick #probably from that one guy behind me who fucking coughed #when we were all sandwiched together #it's his fault #idc tho it's all worth it to meet Lando #that's going to be my biggest flex in life honestly #he was so nice wtfff 😭#im sad I didn't get to give him anything #i wanted to give him like a birthday gift but there was no time #lando norris #f1 #mclaren

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my-current-obsession · 11 months

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My hyper-specific type when it comes to otome guys:

- Absolutely pathetic - Cannot speak to a girl normally to save his life - Tries to be calm/aloof, but turns tsundere when flustered enough - A good and pure man at heart, yet does some questionable things - ...Little Red Riding Hood???

#heart fragment #taisho x alice #otome #doofenshmirtz voice: if i had a nickel for every time i fell in love with a video game guy heavily associated to little red riding hood...#..i'd have two nickels. which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice!#i made this post basically as a way to announce i played heart fragment recently. and uh. it's REALLY GOOD #i probably do love clive the most (and i was immediately interested/biased considering his similarities to Red) but...#the rest of the cast is great too! I ADORE shannon and i am beyond ready to figure out what jasper's deal is #and honestly i'm into the mystery and the strained family relationship aspects too. just great writing all around even beyond the romances #this is one of Those Games that messes with you and the more you play it the more it sneaks new creepy stuff in #whatever the hell is going on with inigo in the dreams is unsettling. and i love it.#but seriously i'd recommend this to any otome fan and ESPECIALLY taiali fans considering the similarities go far beyond just this #you like fairy tales? you like exploring psychological issues and trauma? this is the game for you #also you can date guys AND girls which is a rare treat! again - i LOVE shannon. i just... love clive even more #but to be fair i think the hangup is that no matter what you're very close and friendly with shannon #so even if you don't romance her you still have a great relationship with her regardless #meanwhile with clive he's starting as a stranger and you basically have to be a jerk to him or blow him off which hurts my heart #and also clive seems to fall kind of fast and hard for you so the relationship developing in a romantic direction just feels. right IMO #i can accept being just besties with shannon (even though I definitely still love her romance outcomes)#but it pains me to spurn clive's affections #on an unrelated note i do intend to post my thoughts (basically a review) of winter's wish: spirits of edo #but i want to finish getting the sorrow endings for CGs and lore which means a second run through several routes

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doctorbrown · 3 months

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Also, unrelated because now I'm just thinking about it—I imagine Marty fading out of existence had to be super painful. Like it's a horrifying, harrowing experience, and in the film even though the camera is only on him for a few seconds during the George / Lorraine moment, he looks incredibly pained. Which makes sense, I mean; he's probably losing his senses, his control over his body more and more as the seconds go, everything's just collapsing until that moment where there's nothing, not even a memory.

That deleted scene from pt.2 with Old Biff definitely supports that but it also looks like it insinuates that the ripples in time will catch up and effect a person based on how they're removed from the timeline. He fades out in a way that alludes to the fact that Lorraine shot him well before he could ever make it to that age.

#IT'S SO DARK #and in my continued (mis)adventures and such for the time-travellers doc has also experienced something like this #they've accidentally changed the course of their lives several times - fixed it but still #&; there's something about that one 「 ooc 」#&; a great idea can change the world 「 hc 」#i'm sure marty's told him about it at some point and doc definitely feels bad over that #ultimately in his mind while marty was the one who personally and actively changed his family's history #doc harbours personal blame for that because apparently he didn't take proper enough precautions (though could he really have stealing from #terrorists? no. not without heavy government intervention) when doing something as incredibly dangerous as getting himself involved with #them. yes good intentions and all and also the fact that this was literally all he needed - there was the end of the dream so close - but #still; it was his actions that sent this all into motion - that killed him that night - that sent marty back #fja;sdlkf;j anyway

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merakiui · 1 year

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you dreamt scara kissed you 😳😳😳 uuuu that's so sweet...

once I had a dream that azul gave me his credit card to use for some reason and I bought something really small (like worth 8 bucks or so) and ended up calling him on my phone and being super adamant that I would pay him back and how I really didn't want to spend anything in the first place. I remember he sounded really distracted and kind of hushed, so I asked if I called at a bad time or if he was busy to which he replied "....no, of course not. I'm completely free" turns out he was most definitely not free, and I called him while he was in a business meeting. and being the simp he is, he picked it up right away in front of everyone before leaving the room lmao

I wish I had more blorbo dreams esp romantic ones like you had with scara but my brain would rather it show me getting chased endlessly instead 👉👈

Holding that dream close to my heart!! <3 it was so sweet, too. We were holding eye contact for the longest time and he whispered, "Can I kiss you?" with the most sincere, softest expression ever and omg!!! It was a romantic film moment! >0<

Aaaa that's so cute!!!! Azul will always be a simp no matter where he is. (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ) How generous of him to lend his credit card!!!! He is a sweetheart when he truly cares hehe!! I like that he will always choose you even when he's in a business meeting. Business is not nearly as important as answering a phone call from his crush. >:D

I wish I could have more romantic dreams as well! Although speaking of being chased, I do remember I had a dream where Floyd kept chasing me down and confessing over and over. I'm pretty sure that dream ended with lots of kisses lol. I am not immune to the love language of eels. There was also a vivid dream I had in which I pulled Halloween Jade back when I was fighting for my life trying to summon him, and when I logged into twst that morning (fully expecting to see Halloween Jade) I was disheartened to realize it had only happened in the dream. T_T

#twisted chit chat #dubioussupernova #i think i may have to write more fluff with scara after having that cute dream :D #he will definitely need it after the agony i will put him through in the upcoming mouchey fic #although i'm very tempted to write a plot in which a god (nahida) gives scaramouche a second chance after taking pity on him #so she allows him to redo his entire life #and he accepts her offer (though he scoffs at her sympathy)#but in his attempt to right wrongs and get proper successful revenge he loses the only one who truly cared for him (his darling)#and so now he has to go through this new version of his life in search of you #all while clinging to the hope that you'll recognize him and love him all over again #each time he finds himself unsuccessful nahida allows him to restart but things only get more obscure with every reset #and scara learns that revenge isn't worth it if he can't have love #it sounds more like angst than fluff but if i ever write it the ending will definitely be fluffy #scara deserves it <3 #aaaaa i'm rambling please excuse it orz

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cheswirls · 5 months

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hhhhhhhhhhhh saboace royalty au. ace was crown prince but can’t use magic which is necessary to become king, so he renounces his title and becomes infamous for his eccentric tendencies to play up the illusion that he’s truly not meant for the throne and that his younger sibling has full rights to the title of heir.

sabo is born to a family serving in the royal court, has been a genius magician since he was a child, and is the perfect example of a young man fully educated to serve at the king’s side. which is why he’s allowed himself to be tied down into a loveless political engagement with the king’s heir, putting the whims of his family before his own and resigning himself to become the future ruler’s consort/spouse to legitimize his role as an advisory right-hand man.

but then the heir grows rebellious and denounces the engagement with sabo in public and ace swoops in to save the day (and sabo’s reputation), demanding his father give sabo to him instead. he steals sabo away and challenges his sibling’s right to the throne, intent on earning back the title not for himself, but so he can make sabo (who is heavily qualified to rule) the king - and since they’ll be wed, no one will be able to undermine sabo’s position as he will technically be part of the monarchy that governs the kingdom.

#op #i…aaaaaaaaaaaa iykyk but if you dont small tangent story time #i asked friends for magical show recs w unique magic concepts bc i decided to set the #toxic codependent forever-bond in a fantasy au so i can make it be a set of self-inflicted curses #the only free time i have is walking to and from work so ive been scribbling notes on my phone #thinking of what type of magic system to have for this one was becoming a distraction #esp since the focus rly isn’t on magic itself and only on aspects of the bond that show how unhealthy it is #instead of obsessing over it more i decided to have someone decide for me #flash forward one of them brings up using the fantasy yuri anime that came out early this year #then proceeds to give me the rundown of all seven published light novels until i cave and watch the pilot episode #its SO good i actually watched 2 and love anis and euphie and will definitely be reading the LN over winter break #also completely snapped me away from the au bc i am so in love w this now #went in to ep 1 with misconstrusions and fell halfway thru screaming this is so saboace core and i have a halfbaked plot at the ready #thinking smth smth sabo visits the palace to get acquainted w/ fiancee and makes fast friends w/ ace #then they realize they have legit feelings for each other and the whole thing was gonna be a play #on the steals-partner-from-sibling trope that i jus loosely dreamed up bc algard reminded me of sabo and then i couldnt not think of them #but then i finished the ep and went OH it went down like that!!!! thats brutal. and then i changed it #and then i watched ep 2 and changed it further based on glossed-over advanced plot knowledge #bc the solution to algard feeling pressure from a title he never wanted and anis rejecting it in the first place #is obv (in this very yuri-centric fantasy novel) to make euphie queen instead and legitimize it by her marrying anis #and then i hyper projected that onto saboace bc i love them so #yessa after letting me ramble abt this so i could resist the urge to furiously jot down notes: i think val made you worse actually #(shes not wrong also val responding w ‘lmao wlw wins again’ and nothing else had me in stitches #best/worst influence it is 5am and i have done nothing for my studio class yet am having the time of my life)#curse of the average hobbyist writer to always have good ideas when there is no time no breathe life into them #writing

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floralovebot · 1 year

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@redemptionarcsucker

NO CAUSE LITERALLY HELIA IS ANYTHING BUT THE POET

I know it would be really easy to assume that Helia is a poet, most obviously due to him actually being a literal poet and yknow. writing poems. Add on that he is genuinely good with his words and it's like! Duh! BUT NO!! A huge part of his character is that he wants to be the poet but he isn't. Helia acts like a poet. He makes a great first impression, he watches people carefully and responds in whatever way will move the situation best, he can be bitterly truthful and secretive all at once. But while that is still part of him, it's also so, so small in comparison to how he feels inside and how he actually acts.

While I have pondered Helia being the soldier, I gravitate much more toward the King. The king archetype is all about the responsibility that you don't want, that you don't deserve, but still feeling so loyal to it that you can't get away. No matter what they truly want in life, the kings will always go back to that responsibility because it's become them, and leaving literally feels like part of them is gone. They believe they have an intense duty to that responsibility and that leaving would make them the worst person in the world. And like,,, anyone with Helia Brain knows that this is him!! It's everything he feels about Red Fountain!!

Being the poet is all about embracing freedom and that's the one thing Helia refuses to do. He can't do it. He feels so intensely loyal to Red Fountain, and now to his friends, that any other option feels like betrayal to him. His own freedom feels like a betrayal. And that's just such a sad king move,,,

#i can definitely get behind soldier but i think more often than not he's the king #one day he'll get to poet :')#winx helia #ANYWAY if you do write a post id love to see!! no pressure obviously but you KNOW i have major helia brain rot #i think... helia can def fit the soldier archetype #not wanting to fight but always having to. learning to protect yourself and others because no one else will etc etc #but i think helia also has a lot of people in his corner. even when he pushes them away they never really leave #when he's alone it's always because he made it so #but a big reason i think he's more of a king than a soldier is that he fights because of that duty #thats not to say that he wouldnt step in and help. obviously he would #but we've seen that when he truly chases his dreams its away from the action #but he always ends up going back because the school and therefore the fighting has become part of him #there was always a sense of duty there and he's spent a lot of time trying to get away from it only to return because he needs it #at this point in canon he has fully resigned himself to being a specialist #i truly believe that if helia didnt have All of that behind him he wouldnt mind being a specialist so much #if it was on HIS terms and not on family legacy or a duty to the school #ough... i am Thinking #its actually so funny cause now that i think about it sky is definitely the soldier

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dirtbra1n · 1 year

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there’s a word for it. a name. for the people who take care of corpses before a funeral. hanzawa masato doesn’t remember it right now, though, because right now he’s up in the midnight hours, lying flat on the couch in the living room. too warm. he doesn’t care to remember it, the name.

it’s way, way too warm.

dying used to be simpler than this. there was no pavement, there were no buildings, there were no faceless people.

cold, though. there was cold.

the water wasn’t really flowing, too shallow, he was slowing it down, but his blood was. staining the ice.

it was gross.

he couldn’t stretch out his legs, couldn’t reach his arms out over his head. his fingers were cold and useless and deadened, and slow. the air he was struggling to breathe was pushing in and flowing out of his lungs through the puncture wound in his chest. so slow.

he’s been there before. he’s here now.

sitting stiff in the water, soaked to the bone, dying in isolation. bleeding out, masato thinks he’s alive. suffocating, he’s convinced he won’t be for much longer.

he’s not sure he’s anywhere.

dying used to be so easy.

instead of waiting until he couldn’t stand to look at himself anymore, kneeling until his head went under and waiting it out, probably getting swept away by the current until he crashed downstream—he wouldn’t know, he never lived to see that part—instead of that—

he’s wading around a little lost. he’s bleeding. the ghosts only look at him when they know it’ll sting worst, long shadows cast over the water, malformed specters dancing in mockery of him. he thinks his feet are getting a little worse than sliced up by jagged hateful rocks out of sight. that’s depressingly the least of his worries. it’s being impaled by the moon in a loop of time that fucking hates him. but he’s already bleeding. he’s a little surprised that he’s still got blood to bleed.

instead of releasing what could have become a burden, it’s him standing, helplessly, in the river, night after night after night. because it’s nighttime now. it keeps being nighttime.

it’s the kind of thing you’d almost expect to be a relief.

“hanzawa senpai.”

masato turns his head, creaky like a wooden doll. “…tashiro-kun.”

kimono-clad, he offers a hand. “you’re not face first in muck this time.”

masato doesn’t take it. a sharp smile curves his cheeks, not insincere. “thank you. ‘this time?”

tashiro smiles sheepishly down at him. squints. “did you die?”

“do I look dead?”

it’s hard to see from the water, but masato knows that tashiro’s shifted his eyes. saw it in the back of his mind, recorded on crackly film. he says, instead of answering, “I’ve got bandages.”

masato wishes he had something to rest his elbows on, to brace himself on. it doesn’t feel right playing his games standing upright, his hands in his sleeves instead of holding his head on his shoulders. “ta-shi-ro-kuuun, what do you think I need those for?” masato knows what.

tashiro replies anyway, drily from up on uneven paving, “hanzawa senpai, you’re bleeding. you need blood. to survive.”

“tashiro-kun, did I die?”

things are splintering a little. crackly film.

a web of cracks splitting tashiro’s composure, his voice shaking, “why did you?”

that wasn’t what masato asked.

—

“hanzawa senpai.”

“…”

“senpai.”

“…tashiro-kun.”

“you’re not face first in muck this time.”

the smile’s carving itself in, muscle memory. masato’s not going to ask what he meant by this time. “thank you.”

“did you die?”

“do I look dead?”

in the old school projector film behind his eyelids, the flickering doesn’t feel out of place. “I’ve got bandages.”

“ta-shi-ro-kuuun, what do you think I need those for?” masato’s always known what.

“hanzawa senpai, you’re bleeding. you need blood. to survive.”

“tashiro-kun, did I die?”

the shadows cast by a lantern hidden just behind tashiro make his shoulders look broad. masato swallows down a laugh, but he’s not sure what’s funny. “don’t be shallow, senpai, looks aren’t everything.”

the laugh comes out anyway. he manages, “I feel dead, forget the looks.”

“I can’t. I won’t.”

masato takes his turn to squint. they weren’t taking turns. it doesn’t matter. he doesn’t know if he still feels like laughing. he knows for sure that he can’t think of anything to say.

it’s just as well. tashiro isn’t having the same problem. “I think you should just, I don’t know. care about yourself more.”

masato swallows. his lips press into a chagrined line. “I don’t not care,” he says.

tashiro looks right through him. his eyes are like headlights.

he doesn’t actually need to say it, and masato can tell that he almost doesn’t, but maybe tashiro thought he needed to hear it out loud, feel it taking up space. maybe he was right.

“your caring sucks, senpai. it killed you.”

masato doesn’t want to follow that thread. “how many times have you been here, tashiro-kun?”

tashiro doesn’t buy into it. his demeanor is at once solemn and jarringly pleading, “senpai, won’t you live for once?”

masato means to say it like a joke, because it is one, but by accident the words, “how could I begin to deny you,” are dropping off his tongue, he doesn’t even know why, he doesn’t know why he said that, and no amount of exaggerated irreverence can hide from tashiro—eyes like cleavers, more like—the characters slipping into the water.

the ripples aren’t all that big, but they’re big enough.

like when your head aches, or the gash in your chest is losing you too much blood, or the water is tugging itself a little too close to that gash to be comfortable. something like that. something like that. it’s enough.

he doesn’t think he’s making any sense. it’s just too warm.

“maa-kun,” his older brother’s crooning, pushing his damp bangs off his forehead with cold fingers, “I think you’re sick.”

masato blinks away what he hopes is sweat. “gross.”

“not gross, worrying. sit up please.”

“I’ll throw up.”

“you won’t.”

“you’re right, I won’t.”

he’s getting fussed over in the middle of the night, on the couch that he’s sweating all over, and he’s watching a fan across the room spin and it’s nauseating and he stops looking at it. he’s getting fussed over in the middle of the night, by his older brother, because his mom’s out of town visiting her sister. he’s getting fussed over in the middle of the night, feeling a little out of his body. feeling a little—not at all—a lot like a little kid again. feeling sick, and pathetic.

he goes into the bathroom, wobbly and upset and over-warm, and he throws up.

—

reality’s tearing itself up, his dreams are eating it up, he’s falling apart and melting at the seams, he sits in almost-too-cold water until he thinks he’s gonna throw up again.

put him on ice, already, the sooner the funeral the sooner he can get some fucking rest.

his older brother’s sitting against the door frame, slipping in and out of consciousness. he murmurs, reaching forward to pet his hair, “‘s it too cold?”

masato doesn’t think it’s sweat. “it’s okay.”

—

it wouldn’t have been a very good joke, even if it’d come out right.

masato thinks he just choked around, “I want to. I want to.”

#iii of iii: funeral arrangements #hanzawa to tashiro #hanzawa masato #tashiro gonzaburou #…hanzawa masato’s nii-san as well #getting all my darts tags out of the way first.#now then. it’s been two months. most of what you see here was written in the last two hours #number of reasons for this. no idea what most of them are though #writers block for a bit Maybe ‘‘‘‘hyperfixations’’’’ other than this one DEFINITELY #but also. a breadth of images in my head that want out but maybe don’t fit here or there. Yeah. probably will be a followup of miscellaneous #lines and so on later. like spring cleaning. but on the cusp of the new year #i don’t know. it’s time being weird and dreams being weirder and looping over and over #and it’s the sibling emotion bleeding all over. because that’s where i’ve been since at least november #two months ago ogasawara was supposed to be in funeral arrangements. two months is a long time.#i’m warm while i’m writing this.#also in a little bit of a fugue state. the word masato was looking for was ‘undertaker’#okay. it’s good to get this out no matter what. because putting myself in a position of obligation with i ii and iii. was bold for me #but. i think i don’t mind in the end #that said What gets written from this point forward gets written. no one expect anything from me for a bit #but also feel free to put thoughts in my head. i do so like using words for those sorts of things #enough from me now. good talk #dirtbrain writing

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littledreamling · 2 years

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I want to write a fic about Dream finding out* about all of the stupid things Hob has done that would 100% kill any other person (drinking lava, jumping off of cliffs, attempting to climb impossible heights, etc) when he found out he couldn’t die

because let’s be honest, it doesn’t matter who you are, if you’re granted immortality, the first thing any human is going to do is some fatally stupid shit and Hob wouldn’t be exempt from this. He wouldn’t do it out of any suicidal intent, he would do it to fully experience everything the world has to offer

*bonus points if Hob isn’t the one to tell him, Death is and Dream spends the entire time alternating between being impressed and glaring at Hob who’s standing in the corner wishing he was literally anywhere else

#Dream: ‘Hob that’s not what immortality should be used for’#they’re all sitting in Hob’s flat drinking and reminiscing #and then Death brings up that one time that Hob drank a random chemical in his university’s chemistry lab #a chemical that definitely would’ve killed anyone else #and suddenly Dream is SHOCKED but Death assures him that it isn’t the first time Hob has abused his immortality #and Hob is silently screaming at her to shut up with his eyes #but they’re all pretty deep in their cups so Death starts way back at the beginning #when Hob went to war and first realized that his stab wounds always healed #that no amount of blood loss would put him in the grave #and at first he didn’t want to test it or push it #but then he made a stupid bet with his friends that he could lick poison off a dagger #and the stomachache wasn’t worth it but it also didn’t kill him #he had to make up some lie about poison tolerance or how it was fake poison so he didn’t blow his cover #after that he got more cautious but he’s definitely done some stupid shit over the years just because he could #he’s only human after all #we’ve all seen a pretty rock and wanted to eat it #and you KNOW he ate a tide pod #just because he could #the sandman #sandman netflix #hob gadling #dream of the endless #morpheus #dreamling #death of the endless

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becauseplot · 2 months

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Nightmare of Nightmares

a tiny Roommates/Cellmates AU fic to take a break from writing Prime Meridian and bc im thinking abt them. takes place mmmm definitely within a few months of the events of Shared Living Space. Cell is just starting to become a more-or-less 'common' fixture in Felps' apartment, staying for as long as two days at a time before heading out again. he spends a majority of his time out doing...whatever it is he does when he's not at Felps' apartment. it's not uncommon for Felps to see Cell show up at odd hours with a new bruise or bandage wrapped somewhere, and sometimes Cell walks in with a grin that's just a bit too wide, even for him. Felps tries not to think about it too much.

(TWs: nothing really? there's some vague descriptions of violence that aren't that graphic save for like one well-detailed threat. it's brief tho. and references/allusions to cannibalism because obviously.)

It's the middle of the day on a lazy Sunday, and Cell has been tossing and turning on the couch for the past several minutes. He’s not typically a restless sleeper—quite the opposite, actually—so it’s strange for Felps to see him shifting around, restlessly tilting his head side to side.

Felps figures he must be dreaming, or something like it. What does someone like Cell dream about, anyway? Probably eating Felps, or putting Felps' head on a pike. Or eating Felps and putting his head on a pike. Or just murdering people in general. He must get a real kick out of that. Felps shrugs it off and continues working, reclined in the armchair and sorting through his email. Whatever Cell is dreaming about will pass eventually.

And then he whines.

Felps pauses and blinks for several seconds, processing that yes, there was a noise, yes, it was a whine, and yes it most certainly came from Cell. Felps glances up from his laptop again to look at the known murderer sleeping his couch. He's still shifting around, perhaps a little more animatedly than before. He settles for a moment, and Felps can see his eyelids twitching. Another half-whine, half-groan wheedles out of his throat. His lips move, barely parted, but whatever Cell might've said is much too soft for Felps to hear, if he said anything at all.

A few seconds pass. Then, Cell's face briefly twists, his lips moving again; and though it's still hard to decipher, Felps isn't certain that it's actual words that he's speaking. His chest heaves a few times, he makes another small noise, and he murmurs something again—no. Those...sound like they could be words. Garbled, but words nonetheless. Not Portuguese, though. It might be another language. (Cell speaks some English, doesn't he?) Or maybe it is just gibberish, Felps really can't tell; but whatever it is, it sounds urgent. Very urgent. And Cell is starting to breathe harder.

Huh. Felps starts to consider trying to wake him up before he shoots that thought down immediately. Why even bother? And he knows for a fact that Cell sleeps with a weapon under his arm—Felps can see it now, a small blade revealed in all of his tossing—and Felps doesn't want to wind up on the wrong end of it if Cell wakes up swinging.

Still, Felps' email has become an afterthought at this point. Felps watches, almost amazed, as Cell continues to toss more violently than before, breathing harder to the point of gasping, voice high and reaching and cracking and begging—

A shout. Cell's eyes fly open as he shoots up and yep there goes the knife arcing through open air. He's got a hand braced on the side of the couch as he bares his teeth at some middle distance, panting like he's just sprinted several miles. There's a thin sheen of sweat clinging to his face. Cell is sporting a furious expression so tense and wild that Felps—if he didn't know any better—would say pitches over to the other end of the curve and lands somewhere in the realm of terrified.

Cell, the murderer, the cannibal, the nightmare of so many people's dreams, just woke up screaming from a nightmare. It's almost novel, but Felps supposes that Cell is still just a human. And humans, people, get nightmares. Basic psychology. Though, it's hard to imagine Cell to be really, truly afraid of anything in particular aside from, possibly, getting caught by the police and being hauled back to Alcatraz. (Once in Alcatraz, he would end up spending quite the stint in solitary—one of the only things they found that could actually get Cell to behave, if only for a little while.)

A beat passes. Cell's eyes dart frantically, but it doesn't look like he's really seeing anything. He's still gasping. His legs have kicked away the towel Felps makes him put his feet on when he's sleeping, instead digging the heels of his boots into the cushions and pushing himself back against the arm of the couch, knife still in hand.

Felps hasn't exactly woken up fighting before, but he's had his fair share of nightmares. He knows how disorienting they can be. Best not to have the guy with the weapon and the horribly violent impulses forget where he is. Felps clears his throat. "Hey Cell."

Cell snaps his head towards Felps. He blinks several times. He stars at Felps, and he looks around the room...

...And his breathing starts to slow. And his shoulders start to slump. And the fury-terror starts to melt away. And the hand brandishing his knife drops into his lap.

And Cell is quiet. No threats, no growl. He just stares at the floor and drags a hand down his sweat-soaked face and breathes—something like relief. It's eerie, coming from Cell, and Felps, frankly, doesn't know what to make of it.

"So," Felps says. "The Monster of Alcatraz gets nightmares, huh?"

A beat. Then, Cell scoffs at him. "Inspiration," he snarls, voice dripping with venom despite his breathlessness and sleepy croak. "For when I carve out your guts and drag your entrails across the floor, Felps."

Felps raises an eyebrow. "You know, you could just tell me you want to be left alone."

"Fuck off."

"See, there we go." Felps closes his laptop and glances at the clock on the wall: just past twelve. "Eh, actually, before I do that—are you planning on staying for lunch?"

Cell makes a vague noise. He runs his free hand through his messy hair and scrubs one of his eyes with the heel of his palm. He sighs heavily, like a half-aborted yawn.

"...Yeah," he eventually decides.

"Did you bring me anything?"

Felps knows he did. Felps won't make him anything if he doesn't pitch in somehow—one of their new 'rules'—and Cell's backpack is looking a little more full than usual. In lieu of an answer, Cell picks up his bag from where it's slumped against the foot of couch and drags it into his lap, rummaging through it. Felps, meanwhile, stands, dumps his laptop on the armchair, stretches, and grabs the TV remote. A moment later, Cell produces a small paper bag and holds it out to Felps.

Felps crosses the living room and peeks inside: tomatoes and lettuce, in decent enough condition. Felps has certainly used worse. He could add in some of his carrots, chop them up, put some dressing over it and make it a salad. Rice and some seasoned meat (chicken—no red meat allowed when Cell is present) to go with it could be nice.

"This works." Felps grabs the bag. Cell lets him have it, and Felps tosses him the remote. "Your pick. And either fix the towel or boots off the couch."

Cell huffs, but he swings his legs around without protest, boots on the floor. As he flicks through channels, Felps brings the produce into the kitchen and opens up the fridge. He pushes aside his own tomatoes and lettuce to get to the carrots.

Sometime later, Felps finishes putting together lunch and brings a couple plates into the living room. There, he finds Cell curled up on his side, fast asleep yet again—no tossing or turning this time, though. Just sleeping.

Felps rolls his eyes with a sigh. He puts the extra portion down on the coffee table, lowers the volume on the TV just a bit, heads back into the kitchen, and returns with a cover for the plate.

(A nightmare having a nightmare. What could Cell be so scared of?)

(Well, whatever it is, Felps hopes he never has to meet it.)

#for the record i have been working on this on and off all day. i havent checked my dash once. i have no idea what has happened on stream.#have the huevitos and crows all died from the angst overdoses yet? are the fitpacers crying? did our guys get got? haven't got a clue lmao.#anyway yippee the roommates have more 'ground rules' now! the towel for the boots was one of the first negotiations they made fhdjks #and (SPOILERS) for the record the dream he was having was some abstract but intense nightmare about his time in The War #which is why he was murmuring in english! he spoke a lot of english in The War because he was with you-know-who :]#he doesn't often dream about The War and it's not *always* nightmares. but it was most definitely a nightmare this time.#anyway hes an eepy guy. in his defense he really only sleeps well at the apartment but he'll never admit it to anyone himself included.#my writing #my fics #cellmates/roommates AU

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