#I NEED TO BE SEDATED SO BADLY FUCK

[stormyoceans]

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE BEGINNING AND THE END NOT ONLY IN THEIR EXPRESSIONS BUT ALSO IN THE COLOR GRADING OF THE SHOW FROM BLUE (STRANGERS ISOLATION COLDNESS SADNESS) TO YELLOW/ORANGE (LOVERS WARMTH HAPPINESS OPTIMISM) FUCKING TOP TIER CINEMA EXCELLENCE RIGHT HERE

[suncaptor]

yeah this cannot go on i need to take something like my chest is exploding i can't calm down it's 7am i feel insane insane insaneeeee

[cyberfreaky]

these sam gifs r making me go feral like

[blessedshortcake]

Pants update

[disneyprincemuke]

woke up, blamed it on the vodka

max stares at the ceiling of his room, eyes narrowed into a squint as he vaguely tries to remember what had happened the night before. he refuses to move from his position — the different types of alcohol he had willingly consumed catching up to him with a nasty hangover to go with the god forsaken nausea.

then his body freezes. his heart skips a beat in his chest and he jolts to a state of woke that he wasn’t in until now.

oh, god.

someone needs to sedate him. he can remember it — the one thing he had said to you as you escorted him into his bed with his arm over your shoulder. you had pulled the blankets over his body and gave him a gentle pat on his arm.

he can remember before he closed his eyes, muttering that he loves you, and goodnight. he fell asleep the minute he closed his eyes so he doesn’t even know if you had said anything back.

he’s royally fucked up this time, for sure.

suddenly it feels like every bit of hangover has dissipated from his body. he shoots up from his position on the bed and pats around his duvet from his phone. he has to see what you said to him; if you’ve even addressed his words.

hopefully, you were just as intoxicated as he was when he blurted it out. surely you don’t remember it right?

he’s only been seeing you for about 5 weeks since lando had introduced you to him. he jumped the gun and asked you out on a date. you’ve hung out several times, seemingly in that phase of the talking stage where you simply can’t get enough of one another.

while he knows how intensely he feels for you, even he’s not quite sure that it’s love just yet. he’s smitten, yes, he admires you, yes — but that is hardly considered love at this point.

nothing from you yet. is it that you’re still deep in your hungover state or are you ghosting him from the events of last night’s party? he has never really the type of be able to read between the lines between what girls say, which has led to many several failed talking stages.

which is also why he’s completely tried to avoid dating for a while. but you made him want to dabble in the cruel games of push and pull, made him giddy with smiles after good pickup lines and hoping — badly wishing — that he doesn’t mess this one up.

yet here he is.

max should have spent the rest of his afternoon nursing his hangover. he doesn’t, though. he can’t stop thinking of you and what you’ll say to him eventually when you come over to stay the night.

he’s only ever said ‘i love you’ to one other person he’s dated. it didn’t end well, which would explain the anxiety over your inevitable presence later in the day. he can only list out your possible reactions to him.

will you call it quits the moment you come over? perhaps you’re too generous — you’ll distance yourself over time until he’s got the time to process your separation? will you even show up today?

he rolls out of bed when the doorbell rings and his heart dropping to his stomach when he looks at the time. he wraps his duvet over his shoulders, grumbling as he dragged his feet along the floor to open the door for you.

he opens the door, revealing you with a smile on your face. you’ve got your overnight bag over your shoulder and a plastic bag in your hands.

“hi!” you beam, leaning in to press a kiss on his cheek. you pull him in for a quick hug, which he reciprocates hesitantly as he wraps one arm around you.

you immediately sense the lack of energy, prompting you to pull away with an eyebrow raised as you stand out in the hallway. “is everything okay?”

he barely gets a word out before you’re speaking again. a gasp escapes your lips as you wave him off nonchalantly. “oh, how rude! of course, you must be having the worst hangover. i made you chicken soup.”

“thank you.” he watches in confusion as you walk into his apartment, as you usually would when you agree to spend the night.

he closes the door slowly and walks over to you. the apartment is silent as he watches you walk in and out of the kitchen to prepare him some food.

“um, have you got anything to say?” max asks softly as you step out of a kitchen with two glasses of water in hand.

you look at him, confused, as you walk to the table. “what do you mean?”

max presses his lips together. was he hallucinating when he said it? genuinely, he really thought he was dying after getting egged to drink more than he wanted to. he can vaguely remember the way he was barely able to stand in the elevator without leaning on you for support.

he remembers being in fits of giggles as he watched the numbers on the display change faster than he remembers it going.

“last night,” max stares at you blankly, tightening the duvet around his shoulders.

you have a small grin on your face as you look at him. he looks very cozy wrapped in the duvet, the fabric sitting on his head as he sways slowly side to side.

“what about last night?”

“i,” he trails off, looking at you with an eyebrow raised. “i told you i loved you… did i imagine that happening?”

you drop your head, your body shaking with a small grin. “oh, that.”

he furrows his eyebrows. “yeah, *that*. well, you see… i was so drunk from the vodka cranberry i drank like juice.” he watches your face contort into something indescribable: pursed lips and a raised eyebrow. “not that i don’t like you — i *do*, trust me — and i royally fucked up blurting that out. i do like you, i swear! but, god.”

“max.”

he looks at you with parted lips and raised eyebrows. “yes?”

“i knew you were drunk out of your wits last night.” you put the cups down on the table before you walk over to him. “realistically, i barely remember hearing you say it as well.”

actually, you lied. you do remember hearing max say it. as clear as the day. you stayed up all night thinking of it and hearing his voice echo in the back of your mind. you were hoping and praying that he wouldn’t bring it up at all.

while you really liked max, it’s simply too early to tell with things like these. you were afraid that he would remember and that he would double down and say that he means it.

you’re way more glad that he took it back rather than him saying he means it. you’re simply not ready and neither are you sure of your own feelings.

“oh,” max sighs exasperatedly, dropping his head with a soft laugh. he looks up when you hold the duvet and wrap it around his body slightly tighter. “so we’re okay?”

you nod. “we’re okay. now, join me for some chicken soup?”

@cashtons-wife @darleneslane @happy-nico @nikfigueiredo @namgification

[2smolbeans]

Yan Satan with a MC who is blind so they can't read on their own (because I don't think there'd be a "instant braille" spell unless Solomon made one)

So it's just Satan constantly time hoarding MC, and the rest of the brothers fuming and getting "oh no Satan is so nice! He helps me 'read' and is super descriptive too! What do you mean he's scary?!"

Because MC can't see the death glare TM..

And, adding onto this MC basically as nicely as possible being like 'I really appreciate you helping me out...but I kinda prefer when Satan does since he describes everything so vividly! Sorry 😅'

Aww..Dang that's actually really cute and wholesome the more I think about it-

Yandere Satan with a Blind Mc

I feel like there would be an instant braille, this is a world of magic- anything is possible. Perhaps there's a spell that gets a guiding spirit/creature to read it out the words, or a spell that can change the texture of the text you're trying to read from into braille or whatever suits your needs.

But does Satan want you to know that? Not really.. He'll probably keep it a secret from you and glare at anyone who tries to tell you. I mean why would you need to know that when he's there for you 24/7 at your beck and call? He loves it when you rely on him, he wants nothing to take that away from him- even if it means stripping your independence.

You like to read, and it's something you have in common with Satan. He'll take you to his room that is filled with an abundance of books to choose from. There's a comfortable bed near the glass window in his room that plush. Usually during your reading sessions, he'll sit on the bed, back propped up straight against a pillow. He'll then call you, using magic to softly guide you towards him. He'll have you nicely comfortable against his chest with his arms secure either side of you while holding the book. With honeyed words, Satan will describe every detail in that chapter, making your fully invested. He'll use magic to fully immerse you into the story, casting spells to bring in sounds, scents, and sensations that are described in the chapter.

You love it! You can picture the scene clearly in your head with his words and your 4 senses being tested. It's why you don't mind being dragged into his room constantly to binge read, its probably why your not even aware that he's hoarding you all to himself! Satan loves the fact that you favor your time with him, he adore the way you snuggle into him, or how you gasp when he uses his magic to entertain you.

He loves you. You're his joy. You're the one thing that sedates his rage and makes him feel so blissful. You're what peace feels like.. And it's why when his brothers began to nag at him, he gets pissed off. Pissed off is an understatement, he sees red when he sees his brothers trying to get your attention. It's even worse when he finds out they're trying to replicate his special time with you. My god he wants to rip them to shreds. But he can't, and he knows it'll end badly if he does. So he resorts to violence. Taking out his anger out on any poor soul he finds. He tears through his entire room, cursing, screaming, angry, tears in his eyes as he bangs his head against the wall. His room is in utter shambles.

Why couldn't they let him have this one thing? Fuck, he hates the fact that he can't do anything. But that all changes when he hears your soft sincere voice apologizing. "S-Sorry but..I like it when Satan reads it for me..Can we do something else?" "Ah..Its not like I don't like spending time with you! Reading is just more of me and Satan's thing.." "I promise I'll hangout tomorrow..I just really want to read my story!" Well, you just raised his pride and ego. Upon hearing this, he'll be through the roof. Going to his room, he'll make everything clean and whole- hell he'll add some special candles, soft airy blankets, and more pillows for when you come back to him! He'll try to hide his excitement when you show up to his door. Knocking on it softly, calling out his name. Grinning ear to ear like an eager puppy, Satan will happily let you in.

"There you are..I've been holding myself off for this chapter. I'm so glad you're here because I don't know how long I would've lasted.." "Hey no cheating! Anyways.. Can we read it today? Together..?" "No need to ask me twice. Come, get comfortable"

And there you are, his pride, his joy, his lovely human. You're in his arms right were you belong. While he reads he enjoys the way he can hear your soft breathing, your wonderful scent he can't get enough of, and your warmth he could just cuddle into. He loves this, he loves you. And he wouldn't dream of letting you go.

.

.

[tropes-and-tales]

Babe, that list is screaming for Ghost

❛ you can be rough. i can take it. ❜

(you’re doing the lord’s work 👏🏻)

AN: 18+ only; smut (PiV, unprotected)

He’s always so careful with you.  

Ghost would rather spend an entire night with his mask hiked up to the bridge of his nose, his face buried in your pussy.  He’d rather give you pleasure exclusively than seek any for himself.  

Getting lost in his own pleasure could be a problem.  He could lose control.  That firm barrier between Ghost and Simon and that shadowy third persona that he’s never named—it could crumble.  He could let too much of the darkness in, the rage and anger that’s built up so much from childhood that it’s in his DNA.

Even now…even now, he’s so careful.  You’re underneath him, splayed and panting as he fucks you with a careful, sedate pace.  You groan, wrap your legs around him, and he can feel you pushing against him, urging him for more.

“Ghost, you can…fuck, I need more,” you pant out.

He’s so much bigger than you.  Stronger than you.  He could crush you just by laying on you.  He could hurt you badly, and he doesn’t want to ever hurt you.  And what if that darkness or rage creeps through? 

“Stay with me,” he grits out.  “Just…relax.  Stay with me now.”

You reach up a hand and slide it over the exposed bit of his lower jaw.  More than anyone else, you seem to understand him.  You seem to be able to read his thoughts, which means you understand his fears.  The look you give him is pure commiseration.  Purely supportive.

“You can be rough.  I can take it,” you tell him.

He stills in his motion, seats himself in the soft clutch of your cunt as he gazes down at you.  “I don’t wanna hurt you, love,” he replies quietly.

Your hand on his face slides from his jaw around the edge of his mask, slides around to the back of his neck and grips him lightly.  You push your fingertips into his unkempt locks, tug them.  You pull his face close to yours and you whisper in his ear.

“Maybe I want you to hurt me, just a little.”  You nip at his earlobe, and the feeling of your even teeth against his sensitive skin makes him shiver.  “You can let go with me, Simon.”

“I could hurt you…”  He whispers it back, gravel-rough.  He can feel his control slip a notch at your words.  His conviction erodes a bit.  

“I trust you, Si.”  You shift, nip at the tendon standing out in his neck, straining from the effort of holding himself back.  “Use me.  Take what you need from me.”

“Love—”

“You always take care of me,” you interrupt.  “Let me take care of you.”

“What—”

“Use me, Simon.  I’m yours.  Use me.”  You tug his face to yours again, and you kiss him hard, sweep your tongue against his.  And you clench down on him purposefully, lift your hips against his stilled cock and clench, and his control slips completely.  His conviction is swept away.

“Fuck,” he snarls.  He’s fast:  he slides out of you, flips you underneath him.  He grabs your hips, digs his fingers into your softness and forces you to kneel in front of him.  He places a big hand between your shoulder blades and pushes down, and he takes a single moment to enjoy the view:  head down, ass up, and at his mercy.

“You sure, love?” he growls, and you answer by pushing back against him before breathing out a single, almost-breathless yes.

Ghost takes another moment to press the broad head of his cock against your slick folds, to enjoy the sharp stab of lust that rockets through him.  He pushes forward, marvels at how well your cunt takes him, gives way to him.  He pushes, slow and steady, and when he’s almost seated, he grips your hips harder and draws you to him.  Those extra few centimeters—fuck, he’s never been this deep inside you before.  He’s touching parts of you he’s never felt before, the very end of your cunt, the smooth tip of his cock pressing against your cervix, and he’s rewarded by your moan—a feral, throaty noise he’s never heard before.

“Fuck, please, Simon.  Please—”

You trust him, and he trusts you.  Which means he should trust himself, at least when it comes to you.  Maybe you’re right.  Maybe he can take from you, maybe he can lose himself—

“I got you,” he says, and he pulls out, pushes back into you.  Slow, firm thrusts.  He works you up to it.  He allows you to adjust to the size of him, to the new angle, and then he goes faster.  Harder.  Each thrust, he pulls you back to him that final fraction, buried as deep as he can possibly go.  Each thrust jerks a new groan from you, almost pained, but he sees the way your hands scrabble to grip the sheets.  The way your back arches like a cat with each drive of his cock.

Ghost reaches up and pulls his mask all the way down.  He gives into that dark unnamed persona.  He’s not Simon.  He’s not Ghost, but he wears Ghost’s face.  He curves his body over yours, pushes you down completely into the mattress.  He stretches the bulk of him over you and buries himself over and over in your cunt.  He hammers you.  He reaches up and curls a big hand around your throat, but he doesn’t squeeze.  He only steadies you, holds your head still as he fucks you hard, hisses in your ear.

“Take me,” he snarls.  “Fucking take me so fucking good.”

It’s so much sensation.  It’s the release of letting go, letting the darkness out a little.  It’s the heady scent of sex in the room, the sound of your wet cunt taking him so well.  The sound of your groans, the way you wail out when he hits a particularly deep part of you.  The sound of his own heavy breathing.  The feeling of your velvety cunt, clenching at him, pulling him deeper.  Greedy for more of him.

“Gonna ruin you,” he adds.  He can feel his orgasm thundering closer, the heavy pressure in his gut stretching taut as a piano wire.  “Gonna ruin any other cock for you.”

“Y-yes,” you start to reply, but he feels how his words hit you.  Feels how your cunt bears down on him, the shocked gasp that tears out of your throat proof that your orgasm has surprised you.  You turn your head on the mattress, breathe through it as your pussy ripples against him, coat him in a slick wash of your cum.

It’s all he needs.  The heavy pressure in him breaks, snaps, and he shoves himself as deep as he can, his hips driving you forward.  Then he stills, the orgasm crackling along his spine like lightning.  He fills you with his cum, pictures it taking root in you, claiming you as his forever—a surprising kink revealed out of nowhere.

He collapses on top of you, and he braces himself on his forearms enough to keep from crushing you.  He hears the heavy, satisfied sigh as you recover.  You turn your head as much as you can, and he sees the curve of your pleased smile.

Him?  He’s nowhere near satisfied yet.

He’s still half-hard, and the unexpected thought of you being claimed as his keeps him half-hard.  He pushes against you, lets you feel him.  

“You okay?” he whispers against your ear.

“Yes.”  A beat.  “You?”

“I am.”  He pauses, reaches up to shift his mask up to his nose again.  He bends his head and sinks his teeth into the soft spot between your shoulder and neck, and then he traces his tongue along the faint indents he leaves behind.  “Need you again.”

“I’m yours,” you reply.  “Take what you need.”

So he does.  Again and again and again.

[nanqmies]

Venom || Tsuchigomori

cw: cnc , biting, slight blood, predator/prey, aphrodisiac, bondage ?, manhandling, sadism, anal, masterbation, no prep or lube, hallucinations, overstim, manhandling, creampie, amab!reader, very short, i think that's all?

wc: 0.5k

a/n: i researched different spiders and their venom just for this and i hate spiders!! theres basically ZERO fics about my man so i need to fix that.. anyways i'm writing my pantalone fic and i'm finishing up a quick lil drabble for zhongli.. but please enjoy my work!~

nsfw under the cut~

Since Tsuchigomori is part spider we can assume he has spider-like tendencies too other than extra arms/teeth. Everyone knows how spiders catch their food, the insect gets trapped in the web and gets bitten and filled with venom. We don’t know what exact species Tsuchigomori is but I think he could be any different species if you write it correctly. The phoneutria spider has a hallucinogenic venom that slows their prey and causes them to hallucinate and sedate their movements, and we all know Tsuchigomori’s true nature is being very sadistic and teasing so I think that’d be a perfect spider for him.. listen…

Imagine Tsuchigomori sinking his sharp teeth into you and injecting a small amount of his venom into you, forcing you to run and escape from him, maybe in the woods or even in his huge library right, he gives you a head start to be just to make the chase more rewarding. your body is weak from the toxins in your bloodstream so you’re all dizzy and wobbly walking into walls and shelves of his boundary that he obviously knows like the back of his hand. he can hear how you pant as you run, sweat dripping down your brow while you sprint. The exit seems so close that you can feel it.. reaching out to the doorknob just for a sticky thread of web to wrap around your fingers, You’re pulling away trying to free yourself but of course, you don’t :( He knows you can barely think with the strong aphrodisiac flowing through you.

you’re stuck, tied up in a thick silk web not able to move yourself out, senses heightened at the lack of touch, your body covered in sweat. Tsuchigomori finally lining himself up at your rim, imagine him fucking you at a fast pace, the tip of his cock roughly hitting the sensitive spot inside, the harsh pleasure bringing tears to your eyes. His hand leading downwards to your abdomen to hold your throbbing length is his palm, stroking your dick to match his fast past. Sharply rutting his hips on your ass filling you with his thick sperm, your tummy feels full and warm, whining when he pulls out. tsuchigomori’s teeth sink into your shoulder, shuddering while you feel him inject you once again, the knot in your stomach finally bursting as you cum all over his thin fingers, cooing gently at the sight. ^^

he’ll keep fucking his seed into you filling your ass with his hot finish. slowly the toxins flowing through your veins are too much, you can barely move, barely able to run away til he just pins you to the hard floor and fucks you til you can't walk anymore, his name repeatedly leaving your lips. You’re too weak to push him off and you end up letting him have his fill with you until he feels you’ve taken enough.

the aftercare is amazing OBVIOUSLY!! he’ll hold your limp frame in his arms and kiss your cheek gently, whispering how good you were and that he’ll make it up to you tomorrow. For now, he’ll run you a warm bath and kiss every beautiful bruise he left on your skin, marks that show his love and adoration for you. Tsuchigomori certainly appreciates how much trust you have in him, allowing him to do such a scene that could end badly. He’ll end up putting you to bed, laying your head on his chest. He really couldn’t ask for more.

© nanqmies 2023

please do not translate, steal or repost my work.

reblogs and feedback appreciated!

[djarinslover]

I need to be sedated, he’s so fucking babygirl

HOW did his ex wife fumble so badly??? Hugh I’ll treat you right I promise

[frenchfrywrites]

Kinktober day 12: Dacryphilia + Overstim

MINORS DNI

warnings: dom top amab gn reader, sub bottom (brat) Belphegor, dacryphilia, overstimulation

Despite the fact that he’s the avatar of Sloth, Belphegor seems to (surprisingly) have more than enough stamina right now. 

Tonight you’re the one catching your breath and letting exhaustion take hold of you, after having just finished inside of him. You'd been fucking him for a long time, and unsurprisingly Belphie had- for the most part- laid there and basked in the pleasure. Your plan was on pulling out and getting him off with your hands or mouth- but his words stop you. 

“No, please stay inside,” he wails as the stilling of your hips denies him of an orgasm. He starts grinding himself back against your soft cock, so badly wanting some stimulation that now putting in effort and work comes without a complaint. 

You hiss, squeezing his hips tightly to stop him- even though you’d like to relish the rare moment of him fucking himself on you. Belphie’s breathing quickens, his hands fumbling around to grab at the sheets. 

“Please,” he sounds desperate and panicked, “need-” his voice cracks, “need your cock, need you, please fuck me-”

“Shh,” you coo softly, kissing the back of his neck, “just a second baby, let me at least get hard again.” Belphie shakes his head, still trying to shallowly hump his hips back against you. It hurts, but you’re already starting to feel aroused again.

“No, no, please,” he chokes. To sedate him you bring a hand around to stroke his weeping cock. The action pulls a sob from him. 

You kiss his skin again, feeling blood rush to your dick once again. Tears fall freely from Belphie’s pretty violet eyes as he starts to cry.

“Need, ah, I need you to fuck me,” he whines pathetically, between hiccups and sniffles. You hum, 

“I know Belphie, you just gotta be patient,” he lets out a nearly pained sound.

“Can’t,” he gasps, and you tut, squeezing his shaft as a warning. He twitches in your hold, "I just need to-” he pauses to cry a bit, squeezing and fluttering around you as he does, “need to feel you fucking me, why can't you just fuck me already?" he's starting to get bratty, frustration over not being able to get off clear in his voice. 

You take your hand off his dick, much to his clear dismay with the wail he lets out, and shove your fingers in his mouth. He quickly swallows and suckles around them, pacified by the new distraction.

"Watch your tongue Belphie," you remind him of his place, finally thrusting your hips now that your dick is half hard. "I'll fuck you, but you gotta be a good boy for me. You can do that can't you?" Belphie nods gasping and hiccuping around your fingers as he continues to cry. Luckily he seems to be calming down, his tears coming less and less. You'd guess that he's now crying from relief, and not frustration, as you start to slowly and shallowly fuck him.

You'll get back to the pace you were at, but not before he behaves.

[rvblos]

andrey’s hair is meant for tugging no one can disprove that fundamental truth 🥱

AND I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL fuck yeah !!!

since y’all got together he always kept his hair long for two reasons: 1. because he knew you liked it better and 2. because he also knew how badly you always wanted to tug on em on the initial thrust into you I DONT MAKE THE RULES!😙

he’d just feel his head spin just at the thought of you gripping onto his hair slightly during sex, and you love how they just fall perfectly on his face every fucking time. it’s your weakness.

(loves having them braided between cuddles and kisses !)

HES SO…. SOO….. ughh😩😩

sedate me i need professional help rn

[peachy-panic]

We Should Talk

Aaand we're back to the current timeline of Fifty-Eight Days. Thanks to Holdy for the beta read/edit :)

< PREVIOUS

WARNINGS: Post-suicide attempt, talk of sedation, past captivity, bad social anxiety, therapy, food insecurity

This was a stupid idea. 

He didn’t even know if Grayson liked flowers. Maybe he hated them. Maybe he was fucking allergic to them. But there was a woman selling bouquets with her little boy at a table down the block from the hospital, and Elijah had had a five dollar bill in his wallet. It was supposed to go toward his lunch in the cafeteria, but he got to thinking about how sterile and drab Grayson’s hospital was, and he just… he bought them. 

It seemed like a harmless enough idea at the time; Grayson was still pretty out of it most days, but maybe having something to look at besides white walls and medical equipment would be good for him anyway. But now, as he rode the elevator up to Grayson’s floor, fingers clutched tight around the paper bouquet, he had to talk himself out of throwing it in the nearest trash can. 

He was still considering it by the time he reached Grayson’s room. The door was closed, which wasn’t unusual considering how often he slept, and it was good because it gave Elijah one more chance to stall.

No. No. It wasn’t stupid. It was… It was nice. Wasn’t it? Grayson would think so. He was almost sure of it, and that was all that mattered. As long as it made Grayson a little bit happier than he was five minutes ago, Elijah could deal with the embarrassment. 

That decided, he pulled open the door. 

Elijah stopped on the threshold, squeezing so hard around the bouquet stem that he felt one of the thorns poke through the paper and dig into his palm. 

Grayson was awake and looking at him, but he was not alone. Three more heads turned at the sound of Elijah’s entrance, freezing him in place. His parents sat side-by-side to his left, and on his right was a mid-forties looking man with salt and pepper hair, wearing thick-rimmed glasses, an expensive looking sweater, and a too-friendly smile. 

He was the only one smiling. Grayson was… well, his expressions didn’t vary much these days. He greeted Elijah with the usual twitch of his lips and a small wave. But his parents were looking at Elijah like he was every bit the intruder he felt like right now. 

“I…” Elijah stuttered, already backtracking through the doorway. Absently, he shifted the flowers slightly behind him, hoping that no one saw them. “Sorry. S-Sorry, I didn’t know you—I’ll… I can come back.”

Both Grayson and the stranger to his right looked as though they might want to say something, but Elijah stumbled out of the room and down the hallway before they could get it out. 

He found his way to a waiting room at the end of the hall and planted himself in the first empty chair he saw. For a few long minutes, it was all he could do to sit still and focus on his breathing. Between his hands, the flowers quivered from the force of his shaking.  

This was ridiculous. He needed to get it together. Elijah was always anxious, but something like this never would have set him off so badly before. When shit like this happened, when his mental stability was rocked so thoroughly by the smallest interaction, it made him feel like he belonged in an institution. How was he supposed to get through life like this?

Once the embarrassment and anxiety began to subside, irritation bloomed in its place, hot and prickly. As the minutes strung together, nearing the half hour mark, Elijah wondered if anyone would even bother to come look for him when they were done with… whatever they were doing in Grayson’s room. 

His interactions with Grayson’s parents hadn’t exactly improved over the course of the hospital stay. They weren’t outright hateful, but they weren’t exactly warm and welcoming either. For the most part, they all made it a point to stay out of each other’s way, but true or not, Elijah had a hard time shaking the feeling that they didn’t want him there. He supposed he couldn’t entirely blame them; his presence was a constant reminder of what almost took their child away from them forever—twice now. 

He didn’t know what all Grayson’s parents knew about their time in captivity, but certainly they knew enough to know that Elijah was the reason their son ever crossed paths with Myles Voss. That seemed like as valid a reason as any to want him out of their lives. 

After forty-five minutes of spiraling, Elijah’s head got the best of him. It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t have been willing to wait—he would have waited all day if he knew Grayson wanted to see him. But he didn’t know that, so he stood, throwing his jacket hood up and heading toward the stairwell exit. At least there was a trash can by the doorway where he could lose the flowers. 

“Elijah, wait.”

The voice was not a familiar one. He turned to find Sweater-And-Glasses crossing the waiting room toward him. Instinctively, Elijah took a step back. The man came to a stop, sensing his unease.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He showed his palms in a placating gesture. “I’m Dr. Collins. You can call me Anthony, if you’d like.”

The name didn’t ring any bells, so he didn’t know what to make of this man knowing his. “Do I know you?”

He flashed that disarming smile again. “You don’t, but I know Grayson. He asked me to come and find you. There is something he would like to speak with you about, and he asked if I would sit in.”

He wants me to stay.

“Are his parents still there?” he asked. “I don’t think they really… They probably don’t want me there while they’re visiting him.”

“They’re gone now. Grayson asked them to step out so that the three of us could talk.”

Elijah shifted uneasily. “I doubt that’s going to improve their opinion of me much.”

Dr. Collins’s smile went a bit wry, like he might know a thing or two about how Grayson’s parents were. “Grayson is an adult. He is perfectly capable of making his own choices, and he has made his.”

Elijah nodded. There was something in that that he could appreciate. Anyone who advocated for giving Grayson a sense of control gained points in his book.

“Are you his doctor or something?” Elijah asked. “You’re not the one I met before.”

“I am, but not at this hospital,” he said. “Grayson has been seeing me for the past several months—don’t worry, he gave me permission to share that with you.”

“Oh.” It wasn’t really surprising. If the church was willing to shell out money for Elijah’s therapy, they definitely would have taken care of Grayson. It was somewhat comforting to know he’d had someone to talk to. Though, he bitterly wondered about this man’s abilities, given where Grayson found himself now. 

“Would you be willing to come back to the room and talk?” he asked. “If my being there makes you uncomfortable, we can—”

Elijah shook his head, cutting the doctor off. “If Grayson is more comfortable having you there, you should stay. I’ll come.”

The man hesitated, looking at him in a way that reminded him a bit of Dr. Patel. “Your comfort matters, too.”

It wasn’t worth explaining that Elijah was never going to be completely comfortable sitting in an enclosed space with a man he barely knew, whether Grayson was there or not. Or that spending every day inside a hospital since Grayson was admitted—with its antiseptic smell, its drab colors and cold air—eliminated any chance of putting him at ease. Or that being here every day was the most Elijah had left his house since returning to the States, and his skin was jumping with anxiety at any given moment. 

Instead, he said, “I’m fine.”

Dr. Collins nodded, accepting that. “Okay.” He stepped back, gesturing toward the hallway that led back to Grayson’s room. “After you.”

It was only when they were halfway down the hall that Elijah remembered the flowers. He shifted the bouquet from one sweaty hand to the other. 

“They’re pretty,” Dr. Collins said quietly, catching his show of discomfort. “I think he will appreciate them.”

****

Grayson was sitting up in bed when he walked in, looking more alert than he had in days. Elijah wondered if the sedatives were completely out of his system, and in the next breath, he was startled by the realization of what that meant. Up until now, their interactions were largely buffered by a haze of disorientation. Now, Grayson was looking him in the eye, and there was nothing left standing between them. 

After several days in the hospital, his facial hair scruff had started to fill in, which was a strange mix of familiar and unsettling. For two months straight, this was the face that Elijah saw every day. It had been strange, seeing his shaven face that first day in the hospital. Elijah hadn’t seen him that way since before the mission, back when Grayson was nothing more than the all-American golden boy who shot the occasional furtive smile at him from across the church. 

He was smiling at him now, too—or trying to. The gesture was weak, but it radiated with genuine warmth. “Hi,” he said. 

Elijah swallowed. “Hey.”

“Are those for me?” He followed Grayson’s gaze down to the bouquet, which suddenly felt like the largest thing in the room. 

“Oh. Um, yeah.” Elijah shuffled toward the bed, close enough to hand them off. Grayson took them carefully, as if handling a newborn baby. “Sorry if that’s…” He shook his head, willing himself to use his words like a fucking human being. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like them, but it was getting kind of depressing in here.”

To his relief, Grayson chuckled, casting a quick look around at the plain walls. “You’re not wrong,” he said, then looked back at Elijah. The moment of eye contact at this range was so intense it nearly hurt. “That was… really nice of you. Thank you.”

Behind him, Dr. Collins cleared his throat. They broke their gaze, turning to him. “I can find something to put those in, if you’d like?” he offered. 

“Yeah, okay. Thanks,” Grayson said, handing them off. Maybe it was wishful thinking on Elijah’s part, but he thought he clocked a beat of hesitation before he let them go.

Dr. Collins dipped into the hallway with a promise of his return, leaving the two of them to a weighty silence.  Elijah sank down into one of the plastic chairs at his bedside, previously occupied by his parents. 

“How are—” Elijah began, at the same time that Grayson said, “Sorry about—”

They stopped. 

“Go ahead,” Elijah said. 

“No, no, sorry. You first.”

Rather than continue this dance for the next ten minutes, Elijah cleared his throat and asked, “How are you feeling?”

Grayson sat up a little taller in bed, rolling his shoulders back as if to support his answer. “I’m… I’m doing okay. A little tired, I guess,” he said. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t know Dr. Collins was going to be here. It sort of felt like we chased you off.”

Elijah shook his head, because Grayson sounded genuinely guilty, which was the last thing he wanted. “You didn’t. I just didn’t want to intrude.”

“You’re weren’t,” Grayson said. “You’re not. I’m glad you stayed.”

He didn’t know what to do with the sincerity in his voice, so Elijah changed the subject. “Are your parents…?”

“They’re sorting out my discharge paperwork.”

Elijah blinked in surprise. “You’re leaving?” 

He didn’t know exactly how these things worked, but the idea of Grayson just… walking out of here at the end of his mandatory hold raised all kinds of alarm bells. Was it because they needed the bed? Was he being kicked out prematurely? Really, how much could have really changed in three days? How could they know that he wouldn’t walk right out of here and try again the first chance he got?

Suddenly, Elijah’s hands were clammy and shaking. He pressed them to his lap. 

“Yeah,” Grayson said. “My seventy-two hours are up tonight. Dr. Collins signed a statement saying he was comfortable releasing me to my parents, with increased monitoring from him. I guess that was good enough for them.”

Was it good enough? Are you okay? Are you going to try it again?

And then, more selfishly, he thought, What will this mean for us?

Elijah didn’t have time to voice any of these concerns out loud before Dr. Collins returned, holding a tall plastic cup of water. “This should do the trick,” he said. 

He set it on the windowsill, quickly unwinding the bouquet and dropping the stems in. They really were pretty, immediately livening up the space with color. Elijah wondered if Grayson would be able to take them when he left. If he would even want to. 

“Okay,” Dr. Collins said, pulling up a chair to the opposite side of the bed. “Grayson, I explained to Elijah that there was something you’d like to talk to him about, and he has allowed me to sit in. The floor is yours, whenever you’re ready.”

Elijah shifted his gaze back to him, hating the pinch of anxiety he found in Grayson’s features. It was unsettling, the realization that Grayson could be nervous about talking to him. It felt wrong. Elijah thought about the endless string of nights they spent in the solitude of the basement; how, at first, they began to talk out of a desperation to pass time, then as a distraction from their bleak reality. How, over time, so slowly they didn’t notice, that desperation turned to companionship and connection. Comfort, even on the worst nights. 

They had talked about everything. Anything. Grayson knew more about Elijah than any other person in the world. While he would never wish for the conditions that forged their bond in the first place, it was a physical ache in his chest now: the desire for Grayson to feel that comfortable talking to him again. 

“Before I say anything,” Grayson began, fidgeting with the hem of his blanket, “I want to make sure you know there is no pressure from me. You can say no, if you want. You can… you can always say no.”

That made him a little nervous, but Elijah nodded, trying to set him at ease. “Okay.”

Grayson’s eyes moved to his. “I mean it,” he repeated softly. “You don’t owe me anything, Elijah. 

I owe you everything, he didn’t say in response. You kept me sane. In the end, you kept me alive. And you never would have been there in the first place if not for me. 

“Why don’t you let Elijah decide for himself?” Dr. Collins inserted gently. Grayson looked at him, jaw locked tight, before he gradually let the expression slip. Finally, he nodded, letting out a long breath. 

“Dr. Collins suggested,” Grayson began, “and I agree, that it might be helpful for the two of us to talk about… about what happened. Everything that happened.”

Usually, Elijah’s anxiety was specially skilled at picking out every worst case scenario in the realm of possibility and preparing himself accordingly. But this was unexpected. Before he could even fully wrap his head around what Grayson was asking, his heart began to race, his lungs shrinking tighter inside his chest. 

“Together, I mean,” Grayson hastened to add. “Like, in a joint session. Or… well, maybe more than one, if you want, but he said we can start with one, you know, and just… test the waters, I guess. Only if you want to.”

He was nervous, rambling, and it broke Elijah’s heart to see how scared he was to ask this of him. How long had Grayson wanted this? Needed this? How many times had Elijah suppressed his own thoughts of what it might be like to reconcile with the one person who was there, the one person who knew what it was like?

If they had done this sooner, would Grayson have hurt himself?

Could Elijah have prevented this?

His breaths were getting away from him, so Elijah clamped his hands hard around the edges of his seat where no one could see his fingers going white. “Is that what you want?” he asked quietly. 

This, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. Grayson looked crestfallen. “I don’t want you to agree for my sake.”

“No, but you… you think it’s a good idea? You think it would help you?”

Grayson’s eyes returned to his lap, one finger twisted tight in the blanket. “I’m hoping it will help us both.”

“Of course,” Dr. Collins chimed in again, “if you are already seeing someone and would feel more comfortable with your current doctor mediating the sessions, that’s something the two of you should discuss as well. But as I told Grayson, I am happy to have you in my office as well.”

Elijah swallowed, feeling the weight of the decision on his shoulders. “Can I think about it?” he asked. 

Grayson’s hand twitched on the mattress, as if he had to stop himself from reaching out and touching him. “Yes,” he said. “Of course. You should.”

After another tense silence, Dr. Collins slapped his palms softly against his legs. “Okay,” he said, standing. “I think that leaves us in a good spot. Elijah, it was nice to meet you. Grayson has my number, whenever you decide what you’d like to do.” He turned to Grayson then, his smile softening even further. “We’ll talk soon,” he said. 

Elijah got the impression he might have said more if they were alone, making him feel a bit like an intruder for the second time today, but Grayson seemed happy enough with that departure. 

“Should I stay?” Elijah asked once they had the room to themselves. “It sounds like you’ve had a lot going on today. I don’t want to…” He let the thought trail off, not wanting to sound quite as pathetic as he felt. 

“Yeah,” Grayson said without hesitation. “I wouldn’t mind the company, as long as you don’t have somewhere else to be. I can’t imagine it’s been fun hanging out at the hospital every day. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to leave.”

“I don’t,” Elijah said just as quickly. 

Grayson just nodded, but Elijah didn’t miss the way his shoulders relaxed against the bed.

With the stressful conversation behind them, both of them were too exhausted to have much to say. Instead, while they waited for Grayson’s parents to finish up with the paperwork, Grayson flicked on the small television in the corner of the room, and the two of them relaxed into the quiet drone of sitcom reruns. 

The growl of Elijah’s stomach was the first sound either of them made for a long time. He crossed his arms self consciously over his stomach, but Grayson already heard. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked. 

Elijah’s face warmed. He was not about to tell Grayson that he was actually starving, and that the reason he didn’t eat was because he spent his lunch money on a stupid bouquet of flowers. 

But before Elijah could respond, Grayson reached over to the bedside table and retrieved a covered tray. “I haven’t touched my lunch. Do you want some?” he asked, taking the plastic dome off the top to reveal an assortment of beige-colored foods. Grayson wrinkled his nose. “I think it’s supposed to be chicken nuggets. Allegedly.”

Even though the sight—and even the smell—wasn’t particularly appealing, Elijah’s mouth watered anyway. “I don’t want to take your food.”

“My parents smuggled me in some soup earlier. I’m really not hungry.”

He eyed the tray, then looked back at Grayson. “You sure?”

“Yeah, you’re saving me the guilt of wasting it. I mean, I can’t promise that it’s going to be all that good, but…” Here, he seemed to stumble, a tentative curl playing at the corner of his mouth. “Well, we’ve had worse, haven’t we?”

He—

Elijah was—

It was the first time either of them had directly (and lucidly) referenced something that happened at the compound. And it was… a joke? Elijah’s first instinct was to tense up, like he did every time anyone tried to bring up anything about those weeks, but with Grayson… This felt different. Because Elijah did remember the hard-earned bowls of plain, undercooked rice and spoiled meat they had once shared in a basement thousands of miles away. And he knew that Grayson remembered them, too. 

And now he had to wonder about that throwaway statement Grayson made, and if he, too, felt overwhelmingly guilty about the prospect of wasting food since he returned to the states. 

Elijah supposed that was something they could talk about in a joint session, if he agreed to it. 

Finally, Elijah reached out and accepted the tray. ‘Yeah,” he said, letting out a bitter little laugh. “I guess we have.”

***

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[milkovichrules]

sorry to come into your ask box but i just rewatched mickey’s coming out scene and i just… i get choked up every time. i love ian but i also feel like he pressured mickey into coming out. of course he had to set his own boundaries but he KNEW how badly mickey was treated when it came to his sexuality, it’s almost seemed cruel to give him that ultimatum in some way. but then mickey comes out and all he could do was look at ian and ask if he was happy!!!! like i cant even explain all the emotions noel was able to put into his voice in that moment, it literally break me just thinking about it! he knew what was coming and he still only wanted ian to be happy.. thats really just something. i dont even have words for it but i wanna let out the loudest scream about it

hello sweet thing!! you're always welcome here💕

tbh the coming out scene always reminds me of noel's fucking beautiful ig post about Ian's character but especially 'the truly remarkable thing about Ian's inner courage is that it's infectious. to put it simply, he's brave and an undeniable reminder to those around him; they can be brave too.'

I used to absolutely not be at all but I am definitely an Ian defender about this to a certain extent.

like do we enjoy ultimatums? fuck no. it's a shitty way to go about it. BUT I have to think about what's probably going through Ian's head, right? keeping in mind he's in/just coming down from what we can only assume is his first ever manic episode.

mickey came to find him, literally carried him home and protected him from creeps. gave him a place to stay and didn't just plonk him on the Gallagher's doorstep, actively chose him over his marriage. went to the Gallagher's when Svetlana kicked him out and asked him to come back, agreed to do whatever he wanted to get him to stay with him. slept next to his tiny bed on the floor.

mickey kissed him, full on made out with him in public!! that's so huge!! he accepted an invitation to a little gay party with ian's new friends. he slept in the same bed with him without fear in a house full of strangers!! he doesn't even know that mickey told that guy that they were together 😭

we all know mickey is an acts of service girlie but Ian is the kind of person that needs to hear it too. and when Ian DOES ask it's 'of course we are'. like it's a given. mickey doesn't need to have the conversation, but Ian does. and as far as mickey's concerned 'it's working out so far so good' to be a couple that hides.

there's a million reasons mickey might want to still keep them a bit of a secret (though its a pretty open secret at that point). sure I think some of it is to protect his reputation, to not have any sort of weakness, and to some extent I think he feels a lot of pressure in protecting the reputation of the Milkovich name, no matter how infamous it is. maybe because of how infamous it is.

but I also think it's because what he has with Ian is theirs. and its something in both of their lives that's genuinely really beautiful.

like not to bring up 3x666 but that's obviously the moment that the bubble really burst. he had built up this little secret life with Ian behind closed doors and he was opening up! he was falling in love! and once people (Terry) found out it was just ripped open completely. ruined. I think there's some element of mickey wanting them to be back at that place before it all went to shit. which of course, they never can be.

just like when Ian starts heading for the door in the alibi. he doesn't think mickey's going to do it. Ian's going to walk out and not see Mickey for a while and then in a few weeks it'll be 'just cuz I've got a wife and kid doesn't mean we can't still bang' like it was back then.

but now mickey knows what it's like to lose him and he doesn't ever want to do it again (which 🥲 but anyway)

the fact that when Ian tells mickey he's sick of living a lie mickey's immediate response is 'I'm not lying to you' somebody fucking sedate me

and of course Ian wants mickey to come out so that they can be together but 'you're not free' absolutely kills me because he just wants mickey to be okay with being himself openly. and 'what you and I have makes me free' and ian's FAAAACE but then Terry shows up and he has to watch mickey tear himself away and go straight back in the cage and it hurts. of course it hurts.

so Ian drinks a little and lets himself stew and shoves mickey toward the edge of the cliff.

mickey's voice when Ian tells him not to bother coming back and he says 'what the fuck are you talking about?' breaks my heart every time because they're fine, aren't they? they just have to get through this bad thing and then they can go back to their little bubble.

mickey's always in survival mode, just varying degrees of severity. you can see him, literally see it on his face, weighing the options.

what's gonna happen if he does nothing? he's going to watch Ian leave. again. he's going to get blackout drunk and go home with his wife and his son and his fucking dad and wake up like that every morning for however long he can stand it. he's going to be walking on the eggshells of his own broken heart.

what's gonna happen if he says something? he's going to be physically hurt. he's going to bleed. he's going to have to bite and scratch his way out of that bar unless he's arrested or knocked out first. there's hopefully enough people around to keep Terry from straight up killing him. and what else? Ian stays. Ian stays and they get to go home together. take care of each other. sickness, health, all that shit.

so he does it. he shouts and he bangs on that table and he says it and hes fucking brave!! because he might think he's fucked for life but he has one beautiful thing that's worth fighting for!!

oh my god and him asking 'you happy now?' I fucking knooowwwwww honestly it makes me a little bit? insane? there is SO much going on there.

fucking getting everyone's attention to announce he's fucking gay and 'I just thought everyone should know that' and then looking at the only other openly gay person in the room and going 'you happy now?' jEEEEEsus like?????????

the eyebrow raise as well like 'you know exactly what's gonna happen now' and of course it does.

but Ian absolutely no hesitation gets stuck right into the fight!! and he says 'I've wanted to do this forever' which, same babe. I too would take a chair to the back wrestlemania style to defend mickey milkovich.

all my blorbos shitty dads I would be in your walls but you're all dead so✌️

[questforgalas]

Sibling moments in the Bad Batch that live rent free in my head

S1E15 "Return to Kamino"

Alright babes, if you've been along on TBB ride before, you know these next two are tension filled extravaganzas. The "sibling moments" are definitely going to be more on the hurt/emotional side, but we're gonna get through it together!

The tension between Hunter and Crosshair is supreme sibling angst. They're both so hurt by the other and so mad but have the literal emotional IQ of a 10 year old and are so bitter

"They'll still come for you" dripping with venom with the pause and pointed look back

Also wonder if he feels slighted at Hunter explaining the squad knowing it'd be a trap - Crosshair has predicted their every move during each of their encounters, of course he knows they'll know it's a trap. I don't think this was malicious by Hunter but I think Crosshair could take it that way

Echo taking on the role of distracting anxious sis and keeping her hands busy

"If I go any lower, we will be in the water" Tech just listen to your sister

"Never doubted you for a second kid!" Wrecker is so supportive of everyone and especially Omega 😭

Tech is so stoked about the tube system 😂

"You, uh, alright?" ECHO NOTICING OMEGA'S DEMEANOR AND TRYING HIS DARNDEST TO COMFORT HER STAHP IT

Echo's look up at Tech and Wrecker when Omega deflects 😭

Hunter constantly glances at the stormtrooper walking with him and Crosshair cause he wants to be alone with Crosshair so badly to knock him on his skull and try to knock some sense into him

Literally, his eyes only narrow when they go on the stormtrooper. Even when he faces Crosshair and keeps his Sergeant face, his eyes soften each time they land on Cross

Hunter's eyes are literally pleading with Crosshair

Dear god these rewatches and detail catches are going to be the death of my heart

"They'll come to us. They don't leave their own behind. Most of the time" HUNTER IS STARING DOWN AND TO THE SIDE WITH SHAME IN HIS EYES WHILE CROSSHAIR SAYS THIS

Hunter now doesn't give a fuck if the stormtroopers hear him, he's in desperation mode

"Hm. And I did" said while the same score that was used during the platform scene in "The Outpost" makes me want to throw myself off the roof now that I've realized this

This has turned into a Hunter and Crosshair analysis instead of sibling moments so sorry

"Is that true?" "How could I possibly know that?" said with an eye roll. Iconic

Hunter's attempt at trying to reason with Crosshair, his eyes are so soft the whole time 😭

Wrecker's amused and excited "Oho, he's waiting"

"Welp, guess you were wrong about that" at Tech thinking they were expected to come in the main entrance and not the lift BUT CROSSHAIR KNOWS HIS BROTHERS AND KNOWS WHAT THEY'LL DO

Hunter's shock and pain when Crosshair says "You weren't loyal to me"

Crosshair's entire speech is a desperate sibling needing his brothers back

"Omega belongs with us" when Hunter says "us" he doesn't turn his head to indicate the group behind him and himself, he leans towards Crosshair, emphasizing the word and widening his eyes like he's trying to drive the point that Omega belongs with the Batch and that includes Crosshair aka Crosshair belongs with them too

Tech noticing the pucks, elbowing Wrecker, and they both lower their shoulders slightly - that's a sign of trust

"Why would we trust you?" Hunter doesn't say this aggressively. He's in a casual position, his body sideways to Crosshair. His stance is not of action but observation. At this point, he feels no actual threat from Crosshair, and that line is a test

"Don't become my enemy." "Crosshair, we never were" SOMEBODY SEDATE ME 😭😭😭

COORDINATED BATTLE SCENE COORDINATED BATTLE SCENE AND THEY FALL INTO STEP LIKE THEY'VE NEVER BEEN APART

Honestly, what sibling pairing hasn't had to solve their issues by body slamming each other to the floor

So many pointed looks between Hunter and Crosshair trying to size each other up and figure out where they stand. They want to be on each other's side so badly

Hunter's face is so desperate during his final plea to Crosshair

The shock on Hunter and in Tech's eyes when Cross says he removed his chip 😭😭😭

Waist high hugs from Omega

Hunter immediately checking if there's a chip scar on Cross 😭

[enneamage]

i hate reflecting on dsmp plot points and their irl parallels because if i think about tommy putting half his traumatic life experiences (stalking, getting bullied badly) onto his oc in various levels of execution and then not giving him a happy ending i start going crazy. the dsmp finale lining up with groomer allegations and c!tommy forgiving his abuser at the same time was so 😭 😭 😭 😭 😭 they were pushing propaganda /j

the varying levels of how much someone was an oc and how much they separated their character from themselves and the parasocial birds eye view we could get from those people based on how they played situations (tommy, dream, wilbur to me all had themselves embedded into the core of their ocs to a certain degree; dream with his own entitlement just taken to an extreme, wilbur’s mix of narcissism & self-hate, tommy, oh chommy 😞) like for sure with some people who came in late and thus came in with separation of themselves from the story it’s not fully fruitful to analyze but those early people who just straight admitted “this was me, this is straight up what i think i would do in this situation” i think parasocial brain should be allowed to go brrrrrrrrrrrrrr for at least half an hour like. something something imbuing your subconscious feelings into what your creating something something I need to be Sedated

The DSMP ending lands very bitter in retrospect because the note they end on is a yearning for things to go back to being simple again. A few of the plot threads leading up to it had themes of “I wish things were back the way they were before all this” and the implication was that Volume Two was going to be that. It’s safe to say that there was too much real history put behind the CCs by the time it all built up, you can’t turn back time. 

Chommy indeed suffered but I’m too much of a hardass to let him off the hook 100%, c!Tommy was a lot of Tommy’s capacity to dig his own grave and then not understand why he’s in This Big Fucking Hole. The difficulty with seeing others points of view fully was present in C! And CC, and was tied into his ending when he challenged himself, which while inevitably not perfect I saw the vision for at the time.

C!Dream stays with me because of the communication breakdown inherent to his character. Lost in a plot to make things right again and looking to a future that he can devise mechanically because he couldn’t have it naturally. The way knee-jerk instincts and mechanics brain got in his own way, lost in a plan he buried his feelings in.

I’ve written on Wilbur too many times we don’t gotta linger on it. But damn. 

Q turning envy into ambition and then dicking himself and his employees over on the back of his own hubris. 

Honestly I even have one eye on Charlie’s slime bit being about pretending to be ‘normal’ but missing the mark in terms of imitation from time to time. Being a natural at improv can be very double sided if it goes deep enough.

[theemporium]

you mentioned stoner!nico and….. uhh yeah i need more please (for my own sanity)

HE JUST MAKES ME SO😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

I was briefly talking to lee about this but stoner!nico who’s sex drive just gets turned up to 100 when he’s high??? like yeah to everyone else, he’s a bit clingier and he might be a bit more touchy but he’s a MENACE

he has you on his lap and his hands are sneaking under your skirt. his hands pawing at your thighs and his lips against your neck and he’s murmuring about having the munchies and needing it sedated by having a taste of you. or he’s grinding you down against his lap, whispering about how badly he needs to be inside you

and he just looks all pretty with the slightly red, glossy eyes and flushed cheeks and that fucked out smile on his face when he has you cockwarming him whilst yous pass a joint