#toasted transcripts

My spinterests: Pokémon, horror, food/cooking, Chinese & Japanese cuisine, salamanders + amphibians, Snoopy, plushies C:

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I am an adult intersex trans woman and a poly bi aro lesbian. I am also a man on occasion. Please don’t use neutral terms for me. Masc and fem ones are both a-okay 👍

I don’t care about discourse I will just block you.

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I have side blogs that I’m also very active on! ⤵️

Xandra’s blog: @archangelofretribution

Will’s blog: @buryyourfaggots

Delle's blog: @virtualcrosier

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Mutuals please tag discourse, reblog bait, unreality, scopophobia, and pictures/drawings/mentions of the moon. A good catch-all tag is “mochi dont look”. For more info on my selenophobia, check out this post. Thank you!

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Mutuals can ask for my discord and simply plural!

More of my headmates’ sideblogs can be found here!

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Dyke skitty graphic from here!

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This fic features stylized blood, blood loss, dissociation, and derealization. It’s not super graphic, but do approach with caution if these things make you uncomfortable.

This fic contains spoilers for season 2 episode 22 of Prime Defenders.

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He feels adrift, the tides of non-existence pulling upon his mind as the waves of the void he finds himself in keep him afloat.

He thinks maybe he could see stars, if he could figure out which direction was up.

He’s fuzzy, faded, like a video transmission sent through twenty layers of concrete, soil, and the thick, cold oak of a coffin.

Who was he, again? Does it matter, really, when nothing else around him is anything either?

He feels as if he should have a name, perhaps a family, friends, maybe a dog or something. Not that he really knows what those things are. They’re more of a concept, really.

He can feel the waves of radiation that beam endlessly through the universe refracting through what must be his body. He is suspended, the only thing keeping him present that gentle yet sturdy ebb and flow beneath him.

He focuses on it, reaching for something to hold onto and tether his soul to again. That steady motion, like waves, or a march, or a heartbeat. Perhaps it’s the beat of a distant star’s funeral dirge.

His name is William, he recalls as the sensation beneath him grows firmer. He is William Wisp and his soul has lost its tether. He is William Wisp and he is adrift in an endless sea of unconsciousness. He pushes further, grasping with his mind for any shred of sensation.

Something sturdy is holding William up, something strong and firm. William can feel its pressure, the way it presses up against his neck and the backs of his knees.

His name is William.

William has a physical body.

There is light seeping through the thin skin of his eyelids, garish in its brilliance as William manages to drag himself back to the world of the living. He attempts to crack an eye open and immediately winces as it blinds him, its presence so intense after the darkness of the beyond.

He hears someone gasp somewhere close by. William’s head is pushed a little as the surface he’s resting it upon moves with the sound.

“Will? Will, are you awake, man?” they ask urgently, the anticipation in their tone grating against his ears.

William grunts a little, still struggling to open his eyes.

“Oh, thank—shit, man! Don’t try to move too much, you’ll hurt yourself even more!”

William manages to frown a bit, confused by what this increasingly familiar voice is saying. Surely if he was hurt he’d feel it.

“What.. happened…?” he struggles to get out, his teeth grinding and his throat feeling as if it was rubbed raw with sandpaper. “Where…?”

He feels the ebb and flow of the pace beneath him quicken into a jog.

“Who—“

“Don’t try to talk, dude! You’re fine, you’re gonna be okay, I promise! Just—just, uh, stay still! I’ll get you somewhere that can help, probably. You’ll be fine!” the person carrying William stutters out rapidly, sounding a little breathless.

Naturally, he immediately ignores their advice and takes a stab at opening his eyes again.

The light is less sharp, this time. Bearable. It leaves dappled shadows on William’s face from where it shines through a verdant canopy. The sound of dirt and gravel crunching beneath boots mingles with the babbling of a creek nearby.

There’s a shock of red disrupting the scenery, frizzy and splayed in every direction.

“Dakota?”

Dakota glances down at William, his pupils pinpricks of terror. “Don’t fucking talk, dude! You’re fine! We’re fine! It’s fine!”

“What the hell are you talking about, man?” God William’s head fucking hurts.

Dakota is blinking rapidly, as if he’s fighting off tears. His hold on Will tightens. If this were any other scenario, William would probably be blushing. Internally, at least.

“Look, dude, you just—fuck, man, you just fucking collapsed out of nowhere! There was, like, blood and shit, I don’t know! You said you were just going for a walk but I followed you cuz you never fucking do that and then you dropped! You scared the shit out of me, man!”

“Dakota, it’s—it’s fine! I feel fine, man, it’s all good!” William is pointedly ignoring the strange blue substance that’s left streak marks on his arms. “I can’t even feel anything, Dakota! Can you slow down?”

Dakota is speeding up, now at a full run as he crashes through bushes and ducks under low hanging branches.

“Dakota, come on, I’m fine! I don’t get why all this is about—“

“You’re supposed to feel, William! I gave you my fucking heart!”

“Ah, right…”

“I’m taking you to Dr. Cross, okay? He’ll know what to do, maybe! We would’ve driven but even without the crazy heart I’m still the fastest out of all of us.”

William is beginning to think he might be in shock. That’s what happens when you experience traumatic bodily injury, right? He thinks so, at least. Although, it’s a bit hard to tell if he’s just numb from adrenaline and pain or if his heart has stopped beating altogether.

A pang of guilt flies through his gut as he looks up at Dakota’s panic stricken face. Sure, it probably wasn’t the smartest idea to go try to find a ping on the Trickster’s location alone, but he really didn’t want the others to know he had a lead yet. It wasn’t so much that William was keeping it from them, but more like he just wasn’t ready to accept the reality of the situation himself.

He wishes he could remember why he collapsed. He wishes he could wipe that look off of Dakota’s face even more.

Shakily, William reaches a hand up to Dakota’s cheekbone, a smear of dark blue painting his skin as William’s fingers ghost over it. It’s kind of pretty in contrast to Dakotas bright cherry red hair.

William thinks there might be a bit too much of this blue stuff leaking out of him. His vision is starting to blur, the colours all bleeding together like some kind of abstract art.

“Dakota?”

“Yeah, Will?”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re really pretty?”

Dakota makes a sound like someone had just punched him in the throat. “William, I think you’re bleeding out, dude.”

“Eh, who needs blood anyway? Just give this stuff back to Vyncent.”

“This is serious, dude. Wh—are you closing your eyes?!”

William shoves his face into Dakota’s shoulder, trying to ignore the way the world is spinning. “Mm just.. a lil tired…” he mumbles into the thick fabric of his flannel shirt.

“William, hey man, come on don’t fall asleep on me here!” Dakota sounds a bit distant, like he’s calling to William through a layer of gelatin.

The person carrying him smells like cedar. At least, he thinks that’s what scent it is. There’s something wet trailing through his fingertips. He’s not sure he cares too much to remember what it is.