#and yet i believe maybe i can overpower him or at least keep him to the side

[i-am-trying-pls]

little boat in the sea, north sea

[nephriteknight]

okay i need to talk about the Voice of the Hero (this became a much longer ramble than i expected but here you go)

throughout the game, the Hero almost never takes action. he'll express his disapproval, he'll make his case as hard as he can, but he never defies your choices or moves your hand. most of the time, once you've made a choice he disagrees with he'll even back your play. many times the Hero tells the other voices that the player is "the decider", and that they shouldn't be doing things against his will.

the only times i can think of when the Hero takes action are to prevent the player from acting against their will. he tries to stop the Broken from making us kill ourself, and even then only when the Narrator reminds him he can do so. he tries to stop Skeptic and Paranoid from preventing you from throwing away the blade in the Cage, but they physically overpower him (lmao). he keeps the body alive in Nightmare, but only after Paranoid shows him its possible; similarly, he'll help us throw ourselves into the basement in the Wraith, but only after Paranoid/Cheated suggest it and the player agrees. maybe there's other examples i'm forgetting or haven't seen yet (i am so close to 100 percenting this game but not quite yet) but these are the only examples i could come up with.

most of the other voices, meanwhile, do take action at one point or another. the only ones that don't (at least not that i can remember), are the Cold (who doesn't much care what you all do and likes having a decider to cut boring arguments short) and the Opportunist (who's whole thing is sucking up to whoever's in charge). the Hero, though, doesn't have such a clear cut reason. sure, an argument could be made that part of his heroic-ness is preserving the players agency, but you could just as easily argue that a hero would try to stop the player from ending the world or from slaying Princesses the Hero trusts. i think the real reason he doesn't act on his own is that he doesn't believe in himself.

in the Razor, the Hero says that he's "terrible at spotting liars", and in the Nightmare he asks the Paranoid to decide who to trust because he doesn't trust his own judgement. if you leave with the Princess at the end of the game, he thanks you for making the hard choices along the way. the Hero will always side with you; even if you ignore him and choose to slay Princesses he trusts, even if you decide to force him into an eternity of boredom he very much does not want (while the Skeptic does fight back against you), whatever it is, the Hero decides to trust your judgement over his own. (i think the only time you can actually get him to give up on you is pledging to the Tower? and even then all he does is sulk in a corner, he doesn't try to stop you from acting on your decision, even though its going to end the world.)

the thing is, most of the time i appreciate the Hero for letting us make our own choices, but sometimes the voices' actions are good. the Hunted's reflexes are the best example, and that's not the only time a voice takes control and helps keep us alive. but the Hero never intervenes on his own -- not until the very end of the game.

if the player tries to reject his help during the final battle, the Hero tells you that he's taking you to the heart anyways. he knows this is what you need to do, he knows this is the only way you can do what you've decided to do - so he ignores you, and he saves you. he's still backing your plays, he's still helping with your goals rather than overriding them, but he knows what he's doing. he's confident in himself, and he ignores your choice because he knows he can help you. and he's right!

[bunnakit]

my stand in ep 4 thoughts, feelings, etc

WOW WA WE WAA THAT SURE WAS AN EPISODE HUH - happy to report i went back through the episode slowly this week and took notes and really tried to gather everything i wanted to say (but i will inevitably forget something)

🌸 ok disclaimers because i have a lot of them for this particular episode 🌸

i'm just a silly guy on the internet, i'm not an expert in mental health, psychology, body language, whatever. most days i can't even take care of myself. i'm just saying things recreationally.

PLEASE do not put novel spoilers in my replies, reblogs, or tags without a warning notice. i've got an itchy blocking finger for it these days.

i am treating ming and joe and everyone involved in this show as if they were real life human beings. ming was not born some mustache twirling villain sent from hell to make joe miserable. joe is not some pure angel descended from the clouds to do no wrong. everyone in this show exhibits very human behavior and that can be distressing under certain circumstances. i'm just going to comment on them as humans. i'm not interested in a round table discussion on why a character is irredeemable, the scum of the earth, etc. i'm just putting my thoughts out there and you can take them or leave them.

🌸 alright yucky disclaimer time over 🌸

the episode really just picks us back up where everything left off - and yet joe still made ming breakfast, and ming isn't stupid (well right now at least,) he knows something is off.

i am confused why tong needs to get married on this specific day. and like bro how fast are you getting married? relax. the whole thing is just unstoppable force (trajectory of this producers career) meets immovable object (tong's fuckass stubbornness) and the collateral damage is massive.

and then there's the question of did joe ever want to play a lead? or did he let his impulsiveness and hurt put a target on his back? (only emphasized by the fact that everyone assumed joe would turn down the role)

i DO apologize for all my doubt surrounding wut. he, ja, and may are the only people in this show with any god damn sense. maybe jojo and yim. we'll see.

getting into the confrontation at joe's work, i really don't think it's that surprising when we keep in mind ming genuinely has no fucking clue what is going on. all he knows is joe woke up, was acting weird, didn't come home, and then told him to pack up his shit and leave with ZERO explanation. like, joe's completely in the right, but i'd also be confused as fuck. (i wouldn't go to someone's work about it but, y'know, we know ming acts in extremes.)

and to me this is where it really became obvious that joe has always been able to overpower ming, to get away from him, as we have seen joe's physical prowess, we've seen what he's capable of, but he never uses his body to move ming away from him - that's not who joe is, he's not someone that would put his hands on another person like that. it's just another way ming and joe are the direct antithesis of each other.

it's my thought that the argument escalates because ming is used to getting everything he wants - except for tong, and now joe. when joe begins to push him away and deny him his substitution for tong i think ming lashes out in his hurt with a thought of "it's happening again, why doesn't anyone want me?"

i will say while i do believe sol has good intentions for the most part his white knighting is getting a little irksome. while convenient, it just shows how much he's still hovering and laying in wait for a chance with joe - he, too, is not respecting joe's wishes. no is a complete sentence, sol.

and then things continue back at home and joe finally, finally throws ming's words back at him: if i'm so terrible to be with, if you're so great, why are you wasting your time with me?

and ming doesn't have an answer. what ming DOES have is another back embrace, arms wrapped around joe as he asks "don't you love me anymore?" but is he asking joe or tong?

"although i'm not as good as tong" even now joe's rampant self worth issues are still at play but at least he finally knows he's worth more than whatever this is.

then the phone rings and to me, ming looks skittish. he looks shaken. he's never seen joe so angry and he's scared and as the call progresses that fear morphs into rage when sol calls joe. and the thing is, regardless of who played the main role, ming was never going to be happy. it was either going to be joe or tong playing opposite sol and neither of those things would have been acceptable.

and then i said, out loud, in my quiet office: OH! and promptly lost my shit in the group chat.

ming doesn't look wholly present after his act of violence. his face is vacant, like he isn't completely seeing or grasping what he's just done. i get the impression that ming isn't mentally well; stress and fear and anger have a way of making people do really fucking stupid things and as these things happen you risk falling into the sunk cost fallacy - you've already gone this far, you can't stop now - which all aligns with the obsessive behavior we've seen from ming in the past.

as joe wakes up and they talk once again joe doesn't blame ming, he blames himself for not seeing the writing on the walls even though it was written in invisible ink.

"all these times we were together did you ever love me?"

"you can't tell?"

again, so much of the blame and emotional responsibility of their situationship is put on joe and ming refuses to communicate any of his feelings, perhaps because he doesn't know how to after repressing everything for so long.

WE DIDN'T GET HOT KINKY CHAINED UP SEX THOUGH, WHY DOES GOD HATE ME SPECIFICALLY

but the way joe looks at ming as they linger there in the wake of joe's request looks like a goodbye, the way his eyes soak in every detail of ming's face. despite all of this and the nightmare it has turned into he did love ming, perhaps still does, and he does have some of those good memories he was so desperate to keep.

though like.. joe.... maybe we could consider a different career path??? instead of just jumping to risking our lives? like sure food service sucks, cashiering sucks, etc. but you aren't in danger of falling off any cliffs, you know? and let's be real, he could just go into modeling with those looks.

it's my impression that when ming calls joe he looks haggard, like he's lost numerous nights of sleep (and we really don't know how much time has passed) but either way it does seem like he's at least done some amount of reflecting. his voice comes across soft, subdued, and sincere.

and after everything, back in the present, we see ming. he's still in the apartment, desperately calling joe's name all these years later, still unable to sleep and waiting for joe to come home just like he asked him to years ago.

maybe ming never wanted to enter the entertainment industry before, but he has now. perhaps it was never for the attention or the money, maybe he chose to promote those watches because it was a reminder of the gift from joe. and maybe this job, in this specific industry, is the closest he can feel to joe now. and maybe with new influence and connections ming can find out why he was never able to tell joe he loved him before he lost him.

WHO KNOWS, NOT ME, CAN'T WAIT TO FIND OUT THO

[blasphemousgoggles]

Miasma

Written for a friend, I suck at this game.

Warning: Gore, Threats of Violence (Nothing too bad though)

“Is something wrong?” One of the others asked. You and the remainder of people look over to Enki. He seems lost in thought, staring deeply into the Miasma sword.

“I haven’t witnessed anything like this before…” You begin to feel a growing sense of dread. Going through this hellish dungeon has caused your nerves to be shot, every sound and step you take sends tremors through your whole body. Most things in this decrepit dungeons have tried to kill you, everything in this place was beyond anything you believed was possible. Stopping now could be the death of you.

“Blood? …blood…blood. Yes.” Enki murmurs to himself.

“We need to keep up the pace.” You don’t want to stall any further. All you want is to get out of this place as soon as possible.

“No… There are more urgent matters…” He doesn’t even look over at you.

“What are you saying…?” He talks slowly. Exasperated, someone asks “What are you talking about?” It seems like the others are getting more paranoid. Finally, he looks over at you and the others.

“The blade…It wants sacrifices… Right now.” The hairs on your neck stand. 

“Guys, maybe we should go.” If the man has gone insane you are not waiting around to find out. While you would feel bad leaving him, it seems that he doesn’t care for what any of you have to say now.

“Oh do not worry. I have no emotions toward most of my companions. They can be your cattle. Sacrificial lambs.” It's too late to leave now, he begins to swing.

Now most of your companions lay dead, deep gashes are carved into their bodies, blood still gushing from their wounds. At least one person managed to run away, however sadly for you the dark priest gaunt form looms over you. is gripping your arm tightly. Despite him being weak he managed to overpower the others and you due to you all being malnourished and already injured from the previous fight with the Crow. It's truly a bit embarrassing that someone with such brittle bones was able to quickly massacre the lot of you.

He stands still clasping at your arm still, while coated in blood he continues to stare dully at you.

You glare at Enki, if you were going to die by his hands you refuse to show any fear towards him.  Now you wait for the finishing blow.

“Let's go already.” He states blandly. You falter. That was not expected  After a moment of staring at eachother your glare melts into confusion and suspicion.

“Excuse me?” The priest has the absolute gall to roll his eyes at you like he didn’t just butcher both of you companions. “We should keep moving. We have been in here long enough.”

What is he saying? Seriously, who in their right mind would leave with this scum. Either way, why aren't you dead yet?. While you were still baffled, rage grew into you like a tumor. And you couldn’t help but state the obvious “You killed the others! Why the fuck would I want to leave with you!” You attempt to shake off his hand but he grips tighter. With how hard he's gripping you, you're pretty sure if he holds any harder his nails would enter your skin. 

Enki looks unamused. “The sword demanded blood so I gave it some. The others were never going to make it out of here anyway.”

“What do you know! You don’t have the right to play god and decide who lives and dies.” You break, you had grown attached to some of the others. You felt secure with the others, it felt safe with them. This dungeon has no mercy to outsiders, death was everywhere but with your companions all of you had lived longer than expected when you all walked in here. You were beginning to get borderline hysterical. “ Do you even feel bad for what you’ve done? If you so easily slaughtered the others, what's stopping you from doing the same to me?”

His nails were now lodged into your arm the priest looks annoyed now. He grits his teeth. “I do not feel bad. I held no emotion toward them.” His eyes bore into yours. “While you are weak from your injuries, if they were healed you would be more physically adept than I am.” He states plainly. “It would be easier to travel together than alone.”

You scoffed “I do not care if it's ‘easier’ I have no reason to go with-” his other hand that still held the blade moved over to your face. 

“If you insist on talking back to me I will cut your damn tongue off.”

He pressed the sword's point to your mouth, the fresh blood of the others dribbled slowly onto your face and rolled down to your chin, the smell of metal stung your nostrils. You clamp your mouth shut lest you get the abhorrent liquid in there.

“You may be more physically capable but with how dim witted you are, you would have no hope of leaving this place. You would die here.” Weirdly he smiles. “While it would be easier, if you are unwilling I would gladly cut off your limbs and drag you with me.” You pale. As much as you hated to admit it, you couldn’t leave. This hellish place is just too easy to get lost in. You had to stick with him unless you found another poor soul down here. While the person who ran away could be an option, there is little to no chance of finding them. Even in your dread you wonder, why is he so insistent on forcing you to follow him? And why did he have to threaten you twice.

“I simply want you with me.” His eyes twinkle like some shitty romance novel. It would be sweet if it wasn’t for the gore around you and the threat of removing your limbs. He removes the blade from your mouth.

“If you stay with me, I can ensure that you won’t die here.”

Enki looks through you. Hesitantly you nod. There was no other option for you.

“Good. Now let us leave already.”

You stand albeit shakily, he helps to support your weight from where he was still holding your arm. Finally, the dark priest withdraws his nails from within your arm. Red liquid oozes out. Despite that reprieve, you frown because now his haggard hands have moved to clasp your hands. You cast one more look at your comrades, then you leave with him.

[thatruerealmwalker]

So... I have a question for you. Do You draw a reference sheet for a character before drawing them... or do you do what I did for William and draw without making a reference image and then draw one afterwards? Cause that's what I did!

Of course there is also an alt version with some information as well!

I also have some more facts about William to share! If your interested in knowing what else I've shared about William, check out the other post here!

The Clothes shown aren't what he would usually wear. I wanted to give him some style for the image to match the critters being dripped out, but this would be to attention grabbing for Williams needs. He would stay with plain clothes and nothing that makes him pop out. (You can consider this what William may want to wear if he didn't need to keep a low profile.)

William's eyes are not actually Red. They're a teal, bluish color. The Red is a stylization choice for showing if William is... not a good place... which is usually all the time. I thought it would be a cool touch to include.

William is about 14... and I think he would be in Playcare for about... maybe a year and a half around... whenever now is? I don't have any solid dates.

I slightly mentioned it earlier, but if William wasn't in this whole situation, his favorite Critter would be Bubba... who is now one of the ones William is most terrified of.

William considers Bobby to be the least dangerous to him due to her nature... yet what he doesn't realize is that Bobby, more then anyone else, would be able to tell that something isn't right about William, see that the face he puts up is a mask. (Her whole thing is Emotions after all!)

William isolates himself from any of the other kids when he can. He'll interact if it means keeping the act up, but he hates when he is forced to do that. These children are all like him, all able to be selected at a moments notice to be killed and have their corpse warped, mutilated, and turned into a monster. He won't open himself up to that heartache, when he would have to look at what they did- what they would put inside of his friend's body... even if it only aids in driving him mad.

If William would to ever be friends with anyone (which would be a miracle with how he would treat them at the beginning)... it would have to be something the other person actively tries to form despite him constantly pushing them away. Even then, he would only be okay with it if 1, the kid for some reason wasn't at risk of being killed or Toyed, and 2, NEVER even think of bringing a Toy near him. If they interact with the Toys anymore then needed, or god forbid have a friendship with one, he will avoid that person just like he does everyone else. (even if it hurts him... even if he wants Someone to care about in this place. He will not spend an extra second more near those THINGS.)

William knows what the Toys are... yet he does not see them as human. He sees them as monsters who inhabit the twisted remains of dead children. Catnap is not Theodore, Mommy is not Marie, no matter what they may claim. (It's partly a way for him to dehumanize them... but William truly does believe the Toys not to be the the person that was used to make them. If a Toy would dare to use the name of the one who was mutilated to make them... William may just snap right then and there.)

Many plans William has made to fight or evade a Toy should he need to revolves around both being seen as weak and quick few step plans. He is a child, and no matter what will never overpower a Toy. He hates it, but acts around that fact. When it comes to a fight, either he kills the Toy without mercy or they get him, there is no other way(?).

I think it would never happen, but I think there is a Small chance that William would be able to be okay with being near a Toy... maybe even calling one a friend... but they would have to take notice of William and pursue that... which is why the chance would be so small... but I think it could happen... given time and care... and maybe a bit of manipulation of Williams desire to not be alone anymore... that would surely go over well.

Oh and hi @realizinau, hope pinging ya again here is alright! (if not sorry!!!!!!)

[gaoau]

it's (not) fine (ゼロ ; zero ; cero)

It's fine if you're not here. Either way, i'll always remember you. Hey, kei, say my name. It's not fine if you're not here.

pairing — Baji Keisuke x reader word count — 4.7k note — this is a spin-off of it's so cold. it can be read on its own, but some context might be missing. thanks for reading!

It's fine.

i've convinced myself it is, at least. It's been quite some time since things started changing—since people started leaving. i've grown as used to it as i can so it'd be easier on Mikey. Whether it worked when Ken happened or not, i can't really tell. i think it might have. Seeing how things turned out with South, maybe it didn't. It doesn't really matter—it does, just not quite the way it's supposed to. When things are quiet like this, it feels like Mikey never even killed anyone in the first place. The same way he once killed Tora—though that was erased—and the same way i once killed Manjiro—though that was erased—and the same way he once killed South—though that.

It's quiet in here. Kanto Manji has grown so obnoxiously large that it's hardly quiet around me anymore. Mikey headed out earlier without a word, Haru in tow, and Koko's busy downstairs with an ong—Koko's just busy. i don't know what everyone else is doing. Commando unit, special attack unit, even Kakucho. Bullshit. The only special attack unit i ever cared for was kei and Tora. i like things better when they're like this; quiet and empty and peaceful. i'm not sure when i started to like silence so much.

It's quiet now, but it was never quiet around kei.

My sigh echoes in this emptiness. i've convinced myself it's fine while i try and find something that won't remind me of him. It seems difficult when i keep clinging onto him like this. The cross pendant engraves its shape on my palm the more i tighten my fist around it. i've always loved kei's sense of fashion, but this necklace suddenly seems horrendous. It's hard to believe the moon hanging in the sky is the same one that drifted by when we were together. Photographs are just pieces of paper and memories are nothing but dust, yet it all makes him resurface in my mind.

A big heart and a big smile and a big voice. Although the room is quiet, my head isn't. It plays in a timber gruff and too deep for a kid my age. Then again, it's been two years and he's no longer my age where he left. If anyone can stay young forever, it's definitely kei—in heart and spirit, of course, because physically he's sure to grow and open up that pet shop he's always wanted.

It plays. It's the ghost in the back of my head, playing, "Chifuyu's unhinged!"

The loud sound of his laughter rings through the air, somehow—but unsurprisingly—overpowering his roaring engine. i lean against the backrest and curl my fingers a little more securely around his precious Goki. Even if i have my own bike, kei's always been persuasive enough to make me hitch a ride with him. He's here, right in front of me, and i laugh alongside him. "I heard!" my cackles mimic his, "He's really got your back, huh?"

"That's putting it lightly." And it really is. Chifuyu's been with him for less than i have, but he knows how to make consistent choices. If there's anyone i trust to keep kei safe, it's definitely his new vice-captain. Back then, at least; now that i've stared at his death these many times, i should have known.

So i let my shoulders bounce in glee and amusement. "Better keep my hands off you, then." These little moments, when we're hanging out at the dojo, bare feet padding on the mats, chasing the moon so high in the sky; the blurred line between Toman meetings in the middle of the night and childhood friends bantering. "Or tell him to chill out," i snicker. i doubt Chifuyu would lay a hand on me.

In a fit of sheer stupidity, in typical kei fashion, he cranes his neck back and grins at me over his shoulder. "What, were you thinking 'bout putting me in my place?"

"kei!" i scramble to shake him by the shoulders and slap his attention back forward. "Eyes on the road, dipshit!" i catch a flash of the moon blooming in his fangs before he speeds down the road. And i give up. He lets me have the last word and i think just this is okay, so i let it go. i hold onto him tight until we arrive at Musashi Shrine.

When we park, it's a distance away from the torii gate, as per usual. This is where we part ways, because i don't think there's ever been a time when kei and i crossed to the sacred together. It's always meeting him after he's already far ahead, or not meeting him at all for a decade. i get off his bike and slap his back with enthusiasm. But kei catches me by the sleeve of my uniform before i can leave. He knows i need to—He knows i usually head up to wait for Mikey. He's always been persuasive enough.

Chifuyu's already idling by his own parked bike and kei drags me to chat him up for a little while. In his mind, a minute longer keeps me from sinking. i indulge him. Cracking jokes with these two is never dull; sharing a regular friendly conversation is always so peacefully mundane. It's loud and it's fleeting, but it's welcome. i do wonder what's taking Mikey so long. i haven't seen his Babu, so i'm guessing he's not here yet.

i only manage a wandering glance towards the torii gate before kei's voice pulls me away, "Wanna join us for some burgers after the meeting?" It's the way he says my given name that brings me back from the pressure on my shoulders. It's my name he says. It's not a mess of sounds in the shape of a brand.

"Yeah!" Then Chifuyu chimes in with that nickname Mikey passed onto everyone around me. It doesn't show on my face; it never has. "We should hang out!"

i chuckle at their mirroring beams. It's light-hearted. "Only if you're paying, kei."

Chifuyu again, with that nickname and an honorific far too formal. "That's what I'm here for! I wouldn't make my captains pay, right, Baji-san?"

i glare pointedly at Chifuyu's captain. "kei." My tone is accusatory enough to make him feign ignorance. kei averts his eyes from mine with a cheeky smile, palms and shoulders raised to plead not guilty. There's not a single timeline in which he's guilty. A snort slips, "i'd fuck you up, kei," and i glance at kei's unhinged vice-captain, "but i'd rather not get stri—"

"There you are!" comes Mikey's distinctive voice from behind me. He calls my nickname with familiarity. It can't bother me, not this early on in the game.

i instantly turn towards him. It's weird that i didn't hear his Babu pull up. Not that it matters, really. "Mikey!" i call back to him, beaming, waving for him to come closer before i head to him.

Mikey's looking around as he stops a few feet before me, Ken trailing behind. "Where's your bike?"

"Oh, i came with kei."

His eyes shift to kei for a brief moment, empty. Then he lets out a soft chuckle, his attention back on me, a simper on his lips as he shakes his head. "Dummy… Guess I gotta give you a ride back now."

"Sure." i smile back at him. Then i turn to look at kei and Chifuyu again, and i see the expressions on their faces. It's cute to find Chifuyu's disappointed i'm turning him down, but kei—It's only for a moment. "Ah, i'll—Maybe next time? i'll catch you guys later." i leave them with a small wave, because although kei's always persuasive, it's never enough to tear me away from Mikey permanently. 

i feel lighter in my own skin and bones by the time i stand next to Mikey, feeling the ghost of a tug on my sleeve reminding me i'm allowed to exist outside of my self-imposed priorities. We cross the torii gates together; we transition from the mundane to the untouchable. i laugh and i enjoy my time alongside my friends. i don't quite see what kei does, or his reasoning for making me hitch rides that can't stop me. He thinks i won't run away this time, but i've always chosen Mikey over myself.

He knows that. And it's not something he needs to stop. It's fine, after all, it's always been like this. kei knows that.

kei or simply Baji Keisuke. For everyone, Baji—Baji-san, Baji-kun, Baji in admiration and in friendship and in disdain. For me, however, just kei. i never understood why Mikey chose Baji, too. i think about the way i addressed the people surrounding me sometimes. Tora for Kazutora, and Takashi's first name. Never that childish honorific for Ken, and even Pah was Haru before i realized i couldn't handle Haruchiyo's scars in my mind every time i talked to him. Even switching back and forth between Mikey and Manjiro, because i've never known who is who or who exists and who doesn't or who's real and who isn't. i could never curse Takemichi with Takemicchi. Koko—that wasn't a choice, but i think Koko is fine.

And then there was Baji Keisuke. Being with him since childhood, it only made sense i'd refer to him by his first name and so would he for me. Neither of us liked beating around the bush. It only made sense. We were close and it showed in our voices. That's how we grew up. Baji was short-lived, Keisuke sounds like mom when she scolds me, and Edward was stupid the same way Michael is and will always be. kei simply rolled off the tongue nicely.

i found solace in the way kei pronounced my given name—not some low-effort, jumbled, scrambled mess of hiragana that Mikey came up with to brand me like cattle. i chose to call him differently so i'd separate him from Mikey's possessions. Although i wasn't interested in seeing things beyond Mikey, i unconsciously tried to pull away from him by pulling into kei. Sometimes, it felt more like kei was trying to pull Mikey off my shoulders. There was always so much pulling, so much burning at the seams, but never any pushing. All he wanted was for me to wake up and realize, not startle me.

Because that's what kei always has been. His ripped shirts and his stylish choker. The slouch of his shoulders and the sparkle in his eyes. The sound of his loud voice, gruff and too deep for a kid my age, calling out from his bike so i'd hop on faster. Peppy and cheerful, with a big grin and an equally big heart, far too stupid and far too smart for his own good. Careful, watchful, a little too much in the know, and much too little into asking for help.

He knew i could bleed and that i'd give everything up for Mikey to live his life and that i was always ready to die. That's really all that kei's always been; standing tall, but looking small, like a mischievous little thing grabbing me by the wrist and dragging me along. Like he knew no matter how much he pulled, i'd always choose Mikey in the end. For worse, never for better. Like it's fine. For better, never for worse.

Another Toman meeting tonight, with the day growing late and the full moon rising in the sky. It's one of those nights, rare but not impossible, where Mikey is here earlier than me. i cross the torii gates on my own and the silence seems so loud. i'm not really used to things being quiet around me. i've always been surrounded by boisterous people. We're delinquents.

And kei takes pride in that; in his glimmering grin and his extreme volume. "Slow down, will ya?!" comes his distinctive voice from behind me. He calls my name with glee. 

i stop without so much as taking another step away from him. It's not only his voice, but also knowing there's no one else but kei to use my given name with care. i wait for him to catch up to me, smiling at him climbing the stairs. "kei, hey."

His hands are attacking my hair before i can duck away. "I told you I'd pick you up. Why didn't you wait for me, dumbass?" Laughter bounces off his every sentence. We take a small break from all this shallow back-and-forth between Toman and our friendship. i exist outside of my chains. i exist with kei.

His assault on my scalp is relentless even after i swat my palms at his face. i scratch his cheek, hissing, "And i told you i have my own bike, dude."

"Then we going for a ride after this?"

"i'm more up for a race, how 'bout that?" i playfully knock my shoulder into his.

Where kei usually knocks me back, tonight he chooses to freeze on his tracks. i look back and down at him, finding his eyes gawking at me in disbelief. i raise a brow as he says, "You're actually free later?" Then i frown. i'm sure, i'm so sure i'll forever remember him and his words, trying to pull me back.

"Yeah?"

"What about Mikey?"

What about Mikey? It's my own naïveté the one that doesn't let me understand. "i… i don't know?" But i'll know soon enough. And kei won't be there for me to hide behind.

"Huh." It's short and he brushes it off his face before he lets on too much. He's always been one to take everything on his back. As if nothing else he'll ever hear could throw him off, kei resumes walking, shrugging his shoulders carefreely. "Since you're always following him, I thought, you know…" he trails off, like he sometimes realizes he actually doesn't know much at all. 

i blink a few times to reorient myself. He's already climbing up the stairs in silence ahead of me. Although kei knows me, it seems my choices still elude him. It seems my choices elude me myself. i can't find the words to tell him that even if he's not Manjiro, i still love him to bits. If i can't explain it now, i'll be left all alone. But i don't say anything. i don't know if i can say anything. i hurry to catch up to him.

When he finds me heavy by his side again, kei snickers to himself, "Then I'll beat your ass." My name dances with the sound of his laughter. With the full moon hanging in the sky and shining in his pockets, he flashes me one of his boyish grins. i giggle for a moment before falling quiet in my thoughts once more.

What about Mikey?

i hear the door open and close behind me. kei's necklace makes its way back into my pocket, away from cold, prying eyes that might accuse me of abandonment. Not that i would ever leave Manjiro, but he sees the puzzle pieces in my hands and makes up his own image. He calls that nickname he gifted me, the one written with syllables out of order and chaos in his head.

i turn towards him to find him idly standing by the door. Speaking of silence, i guess it's because of him i've had to grown used to it. With my friends all gone, the loud and boisterous ones that would never shut up—like kei, of course—this quietude has become the norm. Maybe i've always liked silence and peace, but i didn't know any better until now.

"I'm hungry," is all Mikey says.

His eyes find mine. i'm getting tired of everything i'm supposed to call mine. All my friends and my allies and even Mikey. Dark gaze and long hair—like kei, but he's not kei, and kei will eternally remain in my sight, grinning forever, unfading. My friend. i'm sick of trying to find a single thought that will make sense. i sigh, because the choices i've made force me to reach my hands out to Mikey.

It's vague, but i brush his hair off his face, suggesting, "Take-out soba?" i don't dare specify and let him know i've been thinking a little too much.

"I just want dessert."

"Okay."

i have to hold my stare for a little longer than i actually should. Manjiro blurs in and out of sight the more i look at him. He's curiously staring back, probably wondering why i'm taking so long to order ice-cream for the both of us. Of course. i pull my hands away, searching in my pockets for my phone. All i find is a cross pendant. i'm still hungry for yakisoba.

That's the thing—that's always been the thing. Things i didn't want to see or i simply couldn't pay attention to because i was too busy making sure Mikey wouldn't derail. Things kei tried to pry off my back so many times by making me hitch rides i didn't need. Where Mikey unknowingly—or knowingly?—forces me to loosen my grip on my own identity, kei comes to help me wrap my fingers and close my fists tight around it again. It's an offer and it's never imposed; i have my choices when it comes to kei.

And it's fine, because i choose to go back to Manjiro every time. So i order ice-cream and take-out yakisoba.

i stand nearly in shock next to Toman's president. kei came, disrupted the meeting, socked Takemichi, and left while declaring himself an enemy to us—to me. He's leaving. Right now, as Kisaki fixes his glasses to also punch Takemichi, kei is leaving. Right now, as Takashi grumbles to himself, kei is leaving. Right now, as Manjiro does nothing but sulk, kei is leaving.

He's leaving. He's gone.

i stare and stare and stare at the empty spot beside Chifuyu. Right now, as i don't move a single muscle, kei is leaving. It feels like an eternity later when i finally snap out of my own pity party. Mikey's fingers barely brush my wrist in a futile attempt to keep me in place. kei's already left, he doesn't want another one of his friends to abandon him for the enemy. He knows better than that.

i would never leave him. kei would never leave him.

(kei, right now, is leaving.)

i would never betray him. kei would never betray him.

(kei was there when Shin was killed.)

My feet are almost floating down the stairs, skipping steps and struggling not to stumble stupidly until i crash at the torii gates. kei comes into sight, a few feet before crossing back onto the mundane without me. He throws a glance over his shoulder when he hears me catching my breath behind him. It's between choking gasps for air that i manage to call out to him, "kei." Is it in admiration or in friendship or in disdain? It's in my voice. "Why are you doing this?" It's in fear.

"Hah?" he drawls. He turns to face me fully. The moon blooms in his smirk. "I'm bored of playing kids' games."

i take a step closer. "Dude, don't lie to me." Kids' games is all we've been playing—kids' games is all we know how to play. i'll let him lie to anyone else. i don't care if he's a liar or a cheater or a fraud, as long as he doesn't lie to me.

"Since when do you care about anything that isn't Mikey?"

"i don't." It makes me wonder how any of this manages to get under my skin. i don't think i could handle this ending for me to begin. Where do i begin?

"Then fuck off," kei snarls like he hates me, like i'm stupid, "I don't have time for a lap dog like you." The insult doesn't hurt because it's true—even if it really, really is true—it hurts because he's lying to me. It hurts because i keep ignoring all the signs to turn myself around. It hurts because kei is right in front of me, offering me a helping hand for the umpteenth time since we met as kids.

i look at it. It's not there, but i look at it. There's blood on his palm from the other two times i've seen him die. i hesitate when i brush my fingers against his. "kei, how are you doing this?" i force eye contact on him. He questions me loudly. He's a little too smart and a little too stupid. "How can you just turn your back on him? How do i do that?"

"You're lost." There it is; my name, myself, my own person.

i tightly grasp his hand and my righteous identity. Away from the Sanos and their chains. Away from the intoxicating charm that sinks me deeper and deeper into this hole. "Take me with you." i hold onto the ghost of kei's hand and try wiggling myself out of Manjiro's grip.

It flashes across his eyes for a brief moment, because finally, finally all his individual efforts to rip my voice from inside of me and set me free are paying off. All i need to do is let go of Mikey. All kei needs to do is snatch my hand. i see his feet stutter in their own steps and how his fingers twitch by his side and how he's psyching himself up to reach out for me.

And i shrink back. i choose Manjiro again. "No, you're right," i sigh, laughing to myself like i'm not cutting down all the warning signs kei's been leaving for me, "That'll just cause more problems." Now i'll never get to him—not past the torii gates and certainly not past death. "Take care of Tora for me."

kei scans me up and down one last time. i don't know if it's pity, resentment, or even anger the emotion shining in his gaze. He turns his back on me with a single scoff that he has to force out of his throat. Of course i trust him to tear all of my stitches off one by one, of course i trust him to remove this weight off my shoulders. It's Mikey the one i don't trust.

It's fine, really. Even if i didn't have the words back then, kei will forever be here by my side. In spirit and in heart and leaning against the backrest of his Goki. If it has to be like this, i think it's fine. i'll never know more than this and i'll live with it. How differently would things have turned out if i had followed kei out of the shrine? Would Mikey's grip on me have worsened? Or would it have vanished completely? His stance on traitors has never been clear, especially when he ticks back and forth like a metronome with a distorted tempo. Hypotheticals are useless. i can hide behind kei all i want for the rest of my life, but i can't run away from Manjiro.

kei's not here anymore for me to find solace in, though. He hasn't been here for the past two years. It's not like he's gone forever, of course—after all, death is only temporary, so i'm sure at some point, he's bound to come back. He's come back every time. He'll extend his hand out to me and drag me along again in typical kei fashion. He'll make an effort to not have me sink and i'll listen this time. i will listen. i swear i will. He'll let me know when it's all said and done, give me a ride home, raid my fridge even. 

It's alright, it's okay, it's fine. i've known it all along. In the middle of fighting, in the middle of a kids' game, things take a turn for the worse and steal the glow of the moon from kei's smile. Things don't make sense. Next to Mikey, it's all chaos, but i'm not next to Mikey in this junkyard, because he's too busy wanting to kill Tora. i fight my own fight against Valhalla members, and i figure that's the difference between me and Manjiro. i don't want to fight my friends; i don't want to fight Tora; i don't want to fight kei.

Breaking Tora won't do any of us any good. It won't bring Shin back, it will put murder in Mikey's hands, and we'll be losing a friend we only just managed to get back. We're here to get kei back, not to push Tora farther away. i watch it all happen, gasping for air and choking on my own bloodied nose. kei collapses, someone—Takemichi? Or is it Chifuyu?—mentions a stab wound, there's blood but it's not inside kei, and Manjiro.

Murder. Murder. Murder. Murder. i've seen this already. Manjiro's killed Tora twice before. kei. kei has died twice before, in timelines Takemichi didn't know about yet. Mikey is bashing Tora's face in with just one of his fists. Honestly, it doesn't really matter. Whatever happens here, Mikey will become a murderer anyway two years from now when he doesn't bother holding back against South.

But kei. Will kei come back?

i mean, of course he will. It's kei, after all. kei knows his weaknesses and his strengths; kei knows death can't be permanent, especially not for him. He'll come back, because he's Baji Keisuke—because he's kei. And i wish i could blame him and tell him he's wrong when he chooses Tora over himself and over Chifuyu and over everyone and over me. He chooses Tora the same way i'm always choosing Mikey, so i should have seen this coming. But he's wrong. But it's his choice. But he's kei, and kei doesn't die—not forever, at least.

i'm far away and on my own and silent as i watch him die. i'm far away but i can hear the way he says my name and how awfully dissonant it rings next to Mikey's when he lists all of our friends. He swears, right there, on his deathbed, that we're all his treasure and he wanted to protect us. He won't always be there for me to hide behind, will he? He wanted to protect me. He—He wanted to—kei wanted to. He wanted to. kei really wanted to.

kei. kei is dead, isn't he?

He died in Chifuyu's arms. The last word out of his mouth was a name and it was not mine. He died. kei died. kei is dead. kei's not here anymore, he's all but the ghost in the back of my head, playing, "Chifuyu's unhinged!" so i can hear him laugh again. Although i've convinced myself it's fine, i'm starting to think it's not. Maybe, just maybe.

i look at Manjiro.

It's not fine.

—あごす (agosu) • 2022

[dyedcomrade]

Dark! Nikolai Zinoviev

i almost vomited in my mouth with every word written, but i gotta let the trauma out

edit: i am sorry for anyone having to read my unbetad version. also this partly was inspired by my cravings for cookies my mom makes sometimes.

tw: misoginy

dark Nikolai where he takes you home, be that wherever, imo he just moved his family out of Russia as soon as he could

• and he actually introduces you to his family, but they are kind of old fashioned and so misogynistic it's astronomical

• although it doesn't matter if you're not a woman. it's their son, who has been so good his entire life, it must be you who is the problem. you should just listen to him, he knows best.

• they believe the husband has the final word in everything, where you live, when you can leave the house and speaking badly about him is disrespectful and even the fact that he lets you do it shows how spoiled you are

• if you manage to look past this thing with his parents, they can actually be a nice company

• they even let you in the kitchen and do your own thing - "as it's your duty to learn these household skills if you haven't yet to serve your husband better"

• you get to learn cool cookie recipes though

• of course he has another place for you, away from his parents if you choose to misbehave or if he just wants some alone time with you. can't have them stressed out by your crying fits and screaming. imagine how horrified his mother would be if she knew you reject your own husband. a man has needs !!

• with all the money he gets from being a mercenary you have the opportunity to be spoiled rotten. of course if you behave.

• he doesn't ask much. don't try to escape, don't try to hurt him - you won't succeed anyways, but after a tiring day of working and being the breadwinner of the family the last thing he wants is a bratty spouse trying to outmatch him. really? all his life he has been doing this. maybe if you have the same or at least similar life experiences, were military or something maybe you can get a punch or two in. but since you don't have these daily trainings anymore, you couldn't possibly keep up your physique and it's just a matter of time before any chance of overpowering him withers away.

• when he first brings you home he won't chain you to the bed, as he knows what long-term immobilisation can do to someone and he doesn't want his darling dying on him because of something stupid like this

• he will watch your every step instead. if you get too close to something you can hurt yourself with he will just manhandle you away from it to somewhere safer.

• you need to understand, how it is from now on. life is unfair and while he had to flee from a shitty country and has been stuck doing these kind of jobs, you have this little something making things a little harder. it's not that uncommon, you know? in a lot of countries it's just tradition. be glad he doesn't force himself on you.

• it's not much he asks. stay inside be a nice little doll for him, try to behave and have some kind words for him at times. aside from that he would be glad if you had sex with him but it's not necessary. he can just get a hooker or something if he wants release. but a homemaker, someone he knows is waiting for him at the end of the day has always been missing from his life. you have to understand, it's basic human needs. and it's really hard to date when you are kind of a wanted criminal.

• if he is sure you won't try to pull anything on him, you can even go outside together. shopping, seeing a fair, on a vacation. of course if stockholm-syndrome strikes first.

• but why wouldn't you want a great guy like him? he is about putting in equal effort. think of it as a sugar relationship. haven't you ever tought of how nice it'd be? being someone's sugar baby, pampered, dressed up in expensive clothes and jewelery, only having to think about life's pleasures - while the only thing you needed to do was give a little something back.

[addcests]

a family is you, and you, and :: ch5 - ao3 mirror

pairing the addcest is there if you believe

words 5475

rating [T]

summary "Hey, Dominator, where's Psyker?" It's an innocent question, at first. And then it rings, rings, rings through Dominator's mind constantly, like an incessant nagging that he doesn't want to quite acknowledge presently. Not yet. So he doesn't. "He's out." It's not a complete lie, anyway. --- If you'd ask each Add what family meant, they'd have similarly different answers. A contradiction in and of itself—a testament to the very conception of their existence. Yet, there lies one thing wholly similar; a conviction all three share: they'd fight for their family. And now they must.

note woo boy that sure was a ride when i said things wouldn't happen ig i kind of lied sorry! LMAO but! at least i made up for this chapter with this whoping 5.4k words! anyway, the first scene was really fun to write... ! <3 i love giving dom hope also can't wait to snatch it from him! <333 and trouble in paradise... if it's not one thing with these adds it's another smh :/ but! all will be well! eventually, maybe, hopefully! thanks for reading <3

There were two truths when it came to the Diabolic Esper.

One: he does not sleep.

When the power of time control dangles along your fingertips, one sort of abates the need for sleep.

“Slipped my mind,” he'll too cheerfully, too dismissively answer Psyker or Mastermind as he slithers past their disapproving and worried looks.

It is pretty commonplace, after all, around the Add household to forego sleep in pursuit of one’s goals.

And yet, like the very laws of time he defies, Esper, who does not sleep, slept. Very deeply, at that.

—the other, second truth: Esper did not dream, because while others were blessed with lulling dreams, he was cursed to have nightmares in return. Perhaps it is the nature of his psyche, twisted and tormented as it was, or it is a side effect of something as unnatural as time traveling all these years, or maybe it is the few pockets of sleep he manages to nestle in once every blue moon. Maybe it is all of it or maybe it is none of those reasons at all.

And yet, regardless of the reasons, if any, Esper, who does not dream, dreams. 

Reasons aside, all Esper knows is that once he opens his eyes he can see that he is currently standing in a vast field, surrounded by an explosion of breathtaking anemones. 

Mother's flower.

It was such a gorgeous landscape. No matter which direction he chooses, there is nothing but a stretch of anemones, pure and white.

A beautiful innocence flooded with white and as gorgeous as far as the eye could see.

Esper bends at the knee, reaching to pluck a handful into his grasp. He holds them tenderly, with loving care and is immediately overwhelmed by its scent: a deep earth-like woodsy smell, tinged with a hint of something citrus-like. Inhaling and closing his eyes, even in this dream, he could never forget the times he would enter Mother's study and catch a hint of these flowers lingering on her clothes, or on her hair, or on her hands. From holding the flowers alone, the scent became stronger, almost overpowering all his other senses.

For Esper, it is a comfort and core memory, he feels as if he could just close his eyes…

Indeed, his eyes grow heavy, and soon, he drops to both knees, barely keeping upright. And yet, despite this sudden sap of strength, the flowers were a calming lull…

“Mother…”

A shard reflecting Grace drifts into view.

He begins to sag further still, placing a palm on the ground to keep himself upright, trembling and again struggling to breathe… 

He didn't have time to waste here… ! He couldn't afford to sleep. He had to go. He had to go now. He had to get to mother now, right now! Nownownow—

More white shards appeared, all with Grace.

His heartbeat accelerates as his thoughts begin to race and race as he continues to struggle, and continues to panic, the shards of Grace swirling erratically around him now. No longer could he focus on the flowers that seemed like an anchor at first, keeping him afloat. What he once thought was his anchor grounding him, it was now dragging him down and he was sinking, sinking…

—and then it all happened so fast.

Everything that occurs next is within mere seconds, yet for one who bends time, all of it at once felt so ironically slow. Amidst the storm of his racing thoughts, a sharp cut of white noise sliced a line through his whirlwind of dread. There was nothing left but an eerie, silent emptiness in his mind for but a nano second, leaving him with no choice but to suddenly hyperfocus on his other senses and surroundings and arrive at the conclusion that he was not alone. 

He was being watched all this time. 

Though he demands his wretched body to move, he falls limp in place instead; and then, he could hear everything. He was quite keenly aware of the familiar sound of cracking, as if something was bending and breaking.

One final, ear shattering crack—then, from a near distance there was an explosive color of pulsing purple and pink hues, followed by the very space he was occupying fissuring until it cracked, cracked and shattered into fragments, exploding once more. The impact and blasts were so forceful, knocking him back so hard that his ears began to ring, rendering him all but dizzy.

When the ringing finally stops, Esper groans and tries to sit up and finds that he can't; a weight is crushing his chest, preventing him from doing so. Disoriented, he can do little other than fight to force his eyes open, realizing that he's also paralyzed beyond just being held down.

Due to this realization—the comforting aura into terrifying dread—he also confirms he was attacked with—

“—Paranoia,” drawls a mellow, flat voice, “and so, you're still alive…”

As someone well traveled, he's not surprised at all when he finally gathers his bearings and he is met with a face that’s his. But what does surprise him is that it's not a face of his that he recognizes. In that sense, he knows Psyker and Mastermind's face. There are also Psych and Arc's faces, when they were younger. But something already eliminated the fact that it could be either of them: the one, lone black sclera. And this face was much younger, nestled in a distinct cat hoodie, deep and dark purples and not the lightly tinged-purple white he was familiar with during his times as Time Tracer.  But something even beyond his attire was quite… different; off, even. “You're not Time, and yet… what an interesting form.”

“And you're here,” he replies back, uninterested.

Esper hacks and coughs, cursing the lingering effects of Paranoia that leave him immobilized still and the foot pressing firm on his chest, pinning him in place.  Unable to do much of anything else, a certain gleam catches his eye, from a shard orbiting near this person with his face. The shard is a pearlescent color, pure and white, much like the anemones he's currently crushing. It turns and catches the light, reflecting Grace's face once again.

So, this was this… Add's doing, he'd lulled and trapped him here, but how? 

Finally, the offender lifts his foot from Esper’s chest and turns his back carelessly on him, arms outstretched, “This form, this is what you—what we always wanted, wasn't it, Esper?” He tilts his head back, glancing over his shoulder, “For Mother?” 

A bright purple begins to shine underneath the other male.

These are their last words as Esper opens up and extends the space directly underneath them, binding him in place as he teleports a safe distance away immediately at the end of Void Field's cast, clenching at and massaging his chest. He takes the moment to steady and stabilize his breath once more.

This Add does little more than flinch under the restraints of the energy of space and then he laughs.

And laughs again, a horrid and annoyingly subdued little thing that only pisses him off.

“So meaningless…”

Esper stands defensive, watching as this shorter Add approaches him, step by unenthused step, long coat tails fluttering behind him in the void. His hand aches, closes and opens, then closes into a fist again as he feels his dynamo nearby. “Speak your purpose or else.”

“I am, yet you won't listen.”

Before Esper could probe himself anymore, he reacts with just enough speed to catch one of those ever-floating shards that his other self just flung at full force towards his face. The shard reflects Mother's serene expression, hand tucking back a strand of hair, frozen in time. Recognizing this, his hold on the shard turns tight-fisted, to the point that he is able to feel the glass dig past the protective barrier of his gloves. Esper is sure if he holds it any tighter, he’d draw blood. He probably does. His grip still tight, he throws a glare to his other self, silently demanding an explanation.

“That's what you wanted, right? Mother?” Again, he prods with the same question, voice indistinct, bearing no emotion that Esper could pick at. “But, ah, that's right, you can't have her.” Making himself comfortable, he kicks back on one of his Dynamo (one that Esper does not recognize), sitting with one leg dangling in the air. Leisurely, he gestures to one of his other fragmented shards as if they had all the time in the world. Droopy eyes regard him for a moment, like he's studying him, trying to figure which piece in the puzzle he'll unlock next, and then he resumes. “Then, maybe this one instead. You'll surely want this more?”

Esper, however, is too distracted to even begin to break down that hard calculating gaze. Again, another shard is sent his way, though it's nudged less aggressively towards Esper this time. When he catches this one, his eyes widen at the reflection as the name tumbles from his lips without his permission, “D-Dominator… ?” As if guilty, for some inexplicable reason, Esper's shocked gaze turns towards this other Add.

In this entire encounter thus far, not a single emotion ran across his other self's face. Until now. It was barely there, but Esper parses the flicker of this Add's lips tugged ever so slightly down as contempt.

“What do you want with Dominator—”

“I'm asking the questions here.” Barely there electricity sparked in agitation from his left eye as he stands once more, striding leisurely towards Esper. He paces until he's directly in front of Esper, about a foot apart and then looks down at Esper’s hands, holding both shards. “Your hands are full.”

Holding both Mother's and Dominator's shards indeed, he looks down to them too and then to him once more. “And?”

Again, this other him laughs. “‘And!’ he says…..” Though lacking its usual manic energy, that was definitely his laugh. This time, he laughs so hard, he throws his head back, hand covering his face, shoulders trembling and shaking his small form. “Of course, I was always so greedy.” Using both hands, he gestures for one shard nearby. This one is bigger. Slowly, it floats into both his hands and he spins it around to face Esper, not quite handing it over to him just yet.

This shard, unlike the other still image ones, is animated: it shows Mastermind brushing Esper's hair tenderly as he sleeps and Psyker, right by his side, hand on Mastermind's shoulder as he watches him sleep also. 

As if subconsciously, he immediately moves towards it, expecting to take hold of it like he did the others. But he hardly even makes the complete gesture to reach out for it until it's snatched abruptly and precisely from his space. 

“I said your hands are full.”

Eyes wide now, Esper still makes to grab for them both when this other Add floats back and away just as easily on his dynamo. No longer willing to entertain whatever his double wants, he then demands, “Give them to me.”

“Choose.”

Panic pricks at his skin, desperate to have them both back. He yells, “They're mine—!”

Ah, and that was clearly the wrong thing to say—this Add—this person wearing his face, chuckles low and short, clipped. And then he charges faster than he could blink. Panic sets in again for another reason: imminent danger. Esper realizes he has so little time to react. He makes to move, to dodge, to teleport back, but within the supposed safety of the time-rip of his portal, this Add is easily here as well. For the split second Esper has time to think, this answers all of his questions about this encounter. This other Add then quite literally rips him from his own portal, sending him flying, anemones disturbed from their roots, kicking up in the air around him. The two shards, Mother and Dominator, fall from his hands in this scuffle too. When he blinks open his eyes again, he finds himself straining them close and struggling to keep lidded eyes open as he feels a familiar pair of hands wrapped at his throat, pressing hard.

“If they're yours,” an equally familiar voice rasps, much unlike the voice from the smaller one; this one is full of energy, life, determination—crazed and obsessed, snarls back at him, “then give me back what's mine.”

This Add stops pressing long enough for Esper to gasp in a greedy breath of air and out of surprise at the sight before him, “You—from that dream… ! You’re not that child anymore. Who—”

Long, almost tendril like flowing hair (that he had mistaken for Mastermind at that time in the dream), two pair of matching dark depths staring down at him, a form that seems to struggle to manifest yet stubbornly decides to anyway—paradoxical in nature—a shape that towers over him (obviously no longer that child form), especially at this height advantage, and those shards that float by his side have turned from their sincere soft, innocent white but to his usual, signature demented, dark deep pinks.

“You may address me as Paradox,” he grins down at Esper, deranged, flashing him a smile full of threatening teeth. “And you, Esper,”  he coos, and then taunts harshly, barking his words at him, “what did you expect?!” A deranged little laugh, colored with disbelief and admonishment escapes past his lips. “Did you expect me to coddle you? After all this time, you still can't pick right and yet,” he narrows his eyes as his grip around Esper’s throat tightens with each following enunciation, “you. Demand. So. Much!” A pair of black sclera narrows dangerously now, all prior amusement fleeing from his face as he glares deep and heavy and full of scorn. He’s so close, his breath tickles his younger self. It’s but a breath’s whisper, yet it is so loud with its dangerous undertone made plain, “I don't coddle failures. So, choose.” 

Esper, without much choice, chooses to choke and gasp around the fingers pressing insistently to his throat. 

“You want Mother, yet here you are in the future, fiddling where you don't belong. And what of your present? What of them? Are they not precious to you? Will you leave them behind?”

It was one thing to be lectured by someone wearing his face, it was another to have to die pathetically at his hands like this. With that in mind and his remaining energy, he finally manages to summon a couple of Dynamo to fly to his side and rush at Paradox, who was too absorbed in his ministrations and thus easily disengaged and knocked away. His other Dynamo flies to his side protectively; Esper, on one knee, wisely uses this time to regain air into his greedy lungs once more.

With Paradox thrown aside somewhere, and Esper no longer feeling on the verge of passing out from a lack of air, the shard with Mastermind and Psyker that Paradox dropped catches his gaze once more. He can barely make out their conversation, but it was faint. It sounds like they were talking about dinner. Well, Psyker was. But Mastermind was bargaining with him about dessert instead. That sounded so like them. In spite of being literally attacked by, whom he now has enough data and obvious logic to assume is, his future self and almost choked to death, Esper finds comfort in these two's consistent yet easy presence.

The shard that held their mother was inanimate till this point. That is, until he hears a voice coming from it.

”Edward, the present is precious for being the present.”

Still, he turns his gaze towards her, brows knitted with the pain of knowing that she was all alone in the end. He just wanted to save her—even if he knew better… ! He just wanted his mother…

The grief stabs at his heart and he clutches at his chest, as if to ease the pain of it all.

Likewise, the same from Dominator's shard. He, too, hears his voice.

”You know, you shouldn't even be here.”

He holds his hand out for Dominator, deep down wishing Dominator hadn't said that to him back then so many visits ago. He didn't want to leave Dominator alone either! He was in pain and lonely, and Esper was drawn to him… how could he leave him alone?

The grief of his actions and inactions pile on, as well as his failures, and he falls to his knees of his own volition, hands to his ears as if that would make everything just. 

Stop.

”Do ya think… Esper would mind a chocolate and vanilla cake this time ‘round?”

”He'll love anything if it's made by you, Psyk.”

Paradox, retaining his true form, stands towering over Esper’s slouched stance, glaring as Esper grips at his hair in a crazed frustration. “This should not be hard. No matter what you want, there's only one answer. Anything else is meaningless! That is the most basic of basics. That is the goal.” He then says with as much disgust as he can muster, “That was our goal. Now, choose or I will make you choose.”

Time ticks slowly in this unnatural black backdrop, filled with the most beautiful flowers.

It goes unnoticed by Esper, burdened with his choices.

Paradox, seeing this, knows his next decision before Esper can even think.

As promised and much like before, Esper is not left with a choice really, as he finds the shard containing Mastermind and Psyker at his throat by Paradox's hands. Later, he will remember how he felt the shard dig at his throat, no mark left but a ghost of pain irritating the scar at his neck. 

A whirl of anemone encircles them in a violent gust, accompanied by the same woodsy scent drowning out all and overwhelming all his senses as his eyelids, heavy, fall shut for the last time.

He hears one last warning:

“You should have never left them.”

And then—nothing.

===== → loading … loading … loading … :\\ destination … standby … … … =====

“... wha, Esper!? Quick, Mastermind… he’s awake!”

“... it’s been three days! How is he—is he… ?” 

===== → loading … loading … loading … :// destination … unknown … … … =====

“I wonder,” Dominator murmurs to himself, toying with Esper's miniature dynamo replica as it sits safely on its designated desk, “how he fares…”

If Dominator is being honest with himself (and these days that is not often), he finds that his mind drifts to Esper lately. After all, it's been a month, maybe two? Who was he to keep track of time? Though he always knew he was prone to night terrors and the such, that expression Esper left with that day struck Dominator hard and would remain seared in his memories for days if not weeks. 

A ding draws him from his fleeting fanciful thoughts and he blinks slowly. “Ah, Dynamo? Apocalypse?” He lifts his chin from his palm and turns his gaze upon the floating windows nearby, “Are we stable this time?”

A month or two, give or take, led to much success on his end, a lot of progress, and then frustration. His main goal was to see how far he could influence the reach of some of his Installs, particularly with the help of Force Field. There were promising results and so far, he's been able to maintain a much larger radius but at the cost of efficiency. As of the last experiment, the radius envelops the entire Add household, which has been his biggest success yet.

He walks over to the biggest display, some sort of feed showing the fluctuations of the Force Field. Casting such a wide reach strained Dominator but at least so far, from what Apocalypse was relaying, the potential was there to move into the next phase—

A sudden system warning blares through the lab, the shrill sound of it causing Dominator to flinch at the unsightly sound, a hand covering his ear. It then hits him what that warning was for exactly. Immediately, he whirls around to his Dynamo, then back to the screens as he asks, “Wait, the field!? It's being attacked?” 

No sooner than the words left his mouth, Dominator feels a far off rumble in the far left wing of the household. There was some seconds before there was nothing, and then an even louder bang. “Dynamo, what is that!?” Growling to himself, his fingers flies quickly along his keyboard to navigate through the various cameras they had set up, but even soon that was rendered useless—this thing, whatever it was, blew out all of them. Was it physical? Or some sort of arcane magic? “Apocalypse, quickly, I—”

The loudest, earth shattering boom Dominator had heard yet, rattled the entire household, strong enough to knock him to his feet, as well as other items in his lab. Signature purple waves of energy and electricity, seemingly from his projects, or his own Dynamo gone haywire, slither and explode in the room. Hissing rather from the shock of it all than any pain, Dominator, finally losing his composure, frantically yells out, “Can I please get confirmation on what is happening? It has been far too long without an answer for this to be acceptable!” He steadies himself to his feet, gripping the edge of a countertop for support. Again, he tries to summon Apocalypse, who he had lost in the frenzy of this commotion. And he finally appears but not as he expects, “Holographic form? Tsk, any injuries? Scan and report—” Are you alright? goes unsaid. “Where is your location?” Already, on pop-up windows, he can see Apocalypse’s vitals. Health was fine. Alongside that, Apocalypse had used some energy in preparation to retaliate the attack but there was no visible damage or signs of a scuffle. 

Apocalypse does not get to report anything more to Dominator, the connection drops, and instead the warning from earlier is flashing red now insistently on multiple windows, demanding his attention, overriding other screens. Was this a systematic or network attack? But, no… it was very much physical. Scans already showed signs this was not some random earthquake or natural occurring event, but a direct and deliberate attempt on the house—or perhaps, it was the Force Field?

Finally, he expands the warning screens and reads. The warnings were not just for the attack itself. In disbelief he mutters, “Impossible, it's completely… destroyed?”

Finally, some beats later, his cube partner flies into sight, fretting with meows over his creator. 

Dominator pays him little heed. He is fine after all! Dusting himself off, he hops right back into the fray of chaos and begins scrolling between windows, though soon he could no longer avoid his meows any longer when it becomes insistent and even louder. “Oh, for the love of Elrios, what is it now, Apocalypse? If you need to be looked at, I shall put you in queue and—” He stops, whatever words he had dies on his lips as he looks over his shoulder to see Apocalypse circling frantically over both Psyker and Esper's mini dynamo displays on the orderly countertop some paces away. Despite nearly everything else toppling over, the replicas remained unharmed. In fact, they looked even better than before from a mere cursory glance. “Is that…” He stops, frozen, as if afraid to approach when he is hit again with the realization that, “—P-Psyker…?” He falls unceremoniously to his knees, eyes wide in disbelief as he watches Psyker's replica whirl to life, static energy and electricity rippling in small waves along its device, no longer dim. 

Psyker's replica was online once more. 

“B-But… how can that be?” His voice, rough from commandeering and shout-outs, now soft, barely a whisper, tinged with fear, sadness, longing… but most of all, something he was afraid to feel: hope. 

Apocalypse requests the aid of two of Dominator's Dynamo to bring both replicas to the fallen Dominator.

Gently, he accepts them, staring at them as if a bare touch alone would shatter whatever miracle was happening here. He didn't need to do anything beyond observing them to tell they were online, but with both in each hand, he could feel the familiar signature of their energies, pulsing and radiating, and full of life… ! Looking at Esper's replica mini, his was much more vibrant than ever before too. Even more so than when Dominator scanned Esper and fed the replica his energy from the repairs a couple months ago. Could Esper finally be back… with Psyker?

As if sensing the possibilities whirling through his mind, Dynamo already ran calculations: “No portals via the Diabolic Esper have been recorded within the last… … …fifty three days, twelve hours, three minutes, and fourteen seconds and counting.” But what of the obvious energy blasts? The very ones that rattled the house to its core and dispersed here in the lab? Surely those were theirs… ! “Percentage of Diabolic Esper's energies: 64.21%. Percentage of Lunatic Psyker's energies: 75.89%.” 

“How can that be? Not even 90%? It is either Esper and Psyker or it is not!”

“... recalculating. … … Pending results … complete: entities are not Diabolic Esper and Lunatic Psyker.”

Frustrated, he fists a handful of hair, growling to himself. This made zero sense at all. Did his lousy automations and network receive interference of some kind from those psionic blasts? His eyes screw shut, heart racing as he forces himself to calm down, to focus, to relax. To prioritize. 

Exhale, start again. 

Focused, he opens his eyes, a light that was not there in ages, now brightening his gaze. “One thing at a time, Dynamo.” Magenta hues fall to the warning screens popping up as the system continues to crash, unable to read or feed data about his Force Field that is seemingly in disarray. “Let's… repair this, no, we shall fix it. Sturdy and stabilize it, we will need to increase energy and output now if we are having random attacks. No more risks from this. Then, we shall take stock of everything else, check for faulty devices and other miscellaneous damages, and then…” 

He opens his eyes again, a wary stare falling towards the replicas in his hand, whirling with energy and vibrancy unlike anything he's ever seen before.

“I suppose my mysterious benefactors that powered their replicas can wait, for now.”

===== → loading … loading … loading … :\\ destination … standby … … … =====

“Amazing, maybe you two should pair up more often on our excursions and dungeon dives after all. Who knows what you two could accomplish if you'd work together more.”

The two being one, Lunatic Psyker, vying for the chance of sport, having been restless for ages now because of two, Diabolic Esper finally rising from his coma like slumber, recovered as if nothing had happened.

Together the pair were testing out some custom made simulation-obstacle course that Mastermind blue printed and Psyker built. (Esper was working on some schematic of interactive rotations, or some such mechanism, but well… sleeping and traveling from home does put a quick halt to that progress.) Given that Mastermind refused to let Esper out of sight—i.e, house arrest, and that they all agreed to testing and observing Esper for the coming days—this was the next best choice for everyone.

“Hah, just admit you rather see the results than make the results yourself.”

“I've two perfect consenting subjects to do so for me, it is simply more efficient this way,” Mastermind shoots Psyker’s obvious bait down, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. He does have the nerve to smirk at him though, tacking on an afterthought, “Besides, admit you're enjoying yourself.”

“Well,” Psyker says in between sips of water, “Won't deny that. ‘s pretty exhilarating to have Esper’s portals boost my super sonic speed like that.”

“Of course,” Mastermind hums easily, attention split as he tinkers with a couple of nasod chips.

Psyker ungracefully plops himself beside the scientist, jostling him and his makeshift workstation. “And what's all this?”

“Psyker, stop moving! And where is Esper? So help me El if you tell me you lost him—”

Right on cue, a portal opens up, and at the same time, one of the nasod chips Mastermind holds lights up as soon as Esper hops from the portal, Mastermind makes to dodge him.

Well, he tries, anyway.

Esper lands perfectly in between the two, squishing his way demandingly into Mastermind's space as well. “Yes, what has you so occupied that you're ignoring vitals and our battle results?”

For a moment, Mastermind flushes brightly, ears red now that a pair of eyes are looking to him eagerly for answers. Nervously, he glances away, laughing mostly to himself to ease his nerves from the sudden attention. “Well, this? It's really nothing—”

“Doesn't look like nothing to us.” Esper tries to reach out for one of the nasod chips in Mastermind's hands.

“Yea, it lit up and everythin’ when Esper came over. Hmm, is it tracking his movements or somethin’?” Psyker inquires, grabbing Esper's mischievous, wandering hand, ignoring his whines and pouts.

Again, Mastermind does all he can to avoid their piercing gazes. Well, he supposes, if they don't find out now, they'll find out some other way, wouldn't they? Instead of explaining, Mastermind reaches across the inquisitive portal hopper, taking Psyker's hand into his hand.

Now it's Psyker's turn to blush. “W-Wha’! Hey!?”

“Oh, be quiet!” Mastermind barks back, fighting his own blush because of Psyker's blush. Calming down, he nods to Psyker's hand, “Make a fist, use some energy. You know, like I see you do sometimes without realizing it.” 

“Did ya hafta grab my hand just for that… !?”

Esper snickers.

Mastermind is so red, but mercifully, the other two say nothing else.

As instructed, Psyker looks down at his hand, makes a fist, opens it, makes a fist, until small crackles of electricity and energy circuit around his nasod glove. 

As soon as it does, the other nasod chip reacts to Psyker.

Before either can say anything, Mastermind digs into his jacket's pocket, and pulls out two perfectly replicated miniatures of Esper and Psyker's dynamo. “Each chip, linked specifically to you both, are suppose to go into this… and, well…” He trails off, because he doesn't want to really admit what this is for. 

Fortunately, they don't know why but unfortunately, they rather prod at its existence.

“Mastermind, this is such an elementary little toy.” Esper flops his weight on Mastermind's shoulder, teasing, “Is this really more important than me?” 

“What—No, o-of course not! It just—”

“Seriously, I feel like you made blueprints for somethin’ like this ages ago, when we were still just tracers,” Psyker adds on, his free hand gesturing at a short height as if indicating when they were that tall back then. “Why the interest in such a thing now?”

Even though he is clearly teasing, Mastermind inwardly flinches at Psyker's insight. He scoffs mentally, annoyed that the brawler was always analyzing him, always seeing right through him. Fortunately, or unfortunately, for him, Esper interrupts his inner thoughts by yanking him up from his seat, his project falling and Mastermind wailing to Psyker to catch it.

Thankfully, he does so.

“Well, if it's not more important than me,” Esper purrs, nuzzling at Mastermind who is desperately trying to avoid this suddenly affectionate time-manipulating cat’s snuggles, “come on, let's take a turn together.” Offhandedly, Esper comments loudly that he now understands why Psyker is always nagging Mastermind about staying in his lab and ignoring everything for his research. “No buts!”

Fondly, Psyker watches the two go off. Or, well, he watches Esper drag a whining Mastermind, pleading for the brawler to save him from Esper. He chuckles as they disappear off towards the start of the obstacle course. 

Then, his attention drops down to Mastermind's little project, blinking at the nasod chip linked to Esper lighting up. They must have started the obstacle course, then. He watches it for a few more seconds, and shakes his head. Idly, he wonders if Esper had did that on purpose, tugging Mastermind away like that. That devious schemer is always up to something. Though as his eyes fall to the nasod chips blinking, he supposes that Mastermind is always up to something nowadays too. 

He laments that Mastermind obviously can't trust him enough to open up.

When did their connection and trust become so terse and fragile?

Psyker, jumping from his thoughts, heaves a big sigh, and then puts on a smile, racing over to the section that they're at. “Oi! You two hurry up already!” He pumps his fist in the air. “Let's do a run with all of us together! It'll be fun! One who hits the least targets is on cleaning duty!”

[starwalker42]

febuwhump day 19: "you deserve this"

sequel to day 7 | tw: graphic violence, torture | teen and above

The flashes come at random. 

Mulder screaming in pain when she's hunched over paperwork.

A knife blade gleaming in the light from a bare bulb, making her choke on her coffee.

Her name, whimpered through gritted teeth as she stands under the spray of the shower. 

Sometimes, they come when she's asleep, and she wakes up not knowing what was a dream and what was reality. 

They visions are shorter than they were when they first started - it must take the man a lot of energy to project them - but they haven't stopped. Scully considers that maybe that's better, because at least they prove Mulder's still alive… but then another vision will come, and she'll be feeling sick to her stomach again. 

She's giving a briefing to the task force, fighting to keep her force from cracking, when one comes through, the strongest one yet. She’s no longer watching the scene unfold, she’s inside it, hearing and seeing but also smelling the blood and sweat, and feeling the cold, cold air of the basement against her skin.

Mulder lies on the ground at her feet, wrapped as best as he can be in his torn shirt, which is stained with blood and dirt from the ground. He’s shaking, and she’s not sure if it’s from fear, shock, hypothermia, or all of the above.

She feels the words reverberate in her chest before she hears them.

“You deserve this. For what you did to those girls.”

Mulder looks up. He’s in pain, she knows, but his eyes are clear. He’s alert, and he’s vigilant, and she knows that look – he’s realised something.

“Tell me about the girls.” His voice is hoarse. “Tell me what I did to them.”

She hears the snick of a switchblade, just out of her line of sight; Mulder’s eyes flick down to where her hands are. She feels suddenly sick. And then she realises something – the man isn’t attacking Mulder, not yet. The knife is brought in front of her eyes, and she watches as the hand holding it seems to go through the motions of slicing and stabbing, cutting through nothing but thin air. She realises what Mulder’s seen.

The voice again. “You hurt them. You hit them, cut them… you’re a sick fuck. They were only kids.”

History of violence. Young, female victims. 

Mulder says in his negotiator voice, “You want to imagine I did it, right? I look enough like you.”

Caucasian male, mid-to-late thirties, tall, dark hair and dark eyes.

“But I didn’t hurt them. It was you who hurt them.”

The vision in front of her wavers momentarily, and then reassembles itself. He loses control of it when he’s angry. When he loses control of his emotions. Scully prays that Mulder somehow notices, and keeps the guy calm, keeps him talking.

Mulder edges back a little as she advances, mumbling.

“They punished me. Kept me in that cell… now I gotta punish you for it…”

He’s done time in prison. Probably recently…

Mulder can’t back up any further – he’s pressed against the wall as the knife runs along an uncovered spot on his chest, starting a bloom of blood in its wake. He grits his teeth and looks her right in the eyes, and she sees. Not resignation, or a loss of hope, but something far more dangerous, right now: confidence, and trust. In her.

He’s going to throw caution to the wind, because he believes it’ll help her to save him.

“Scully, I can hear cars. There’s no windows.”

Lives somewhere busy. Somewhere with a basement, or an outbuilding.

She hears a growl, and watches helplessly as Mulder is thrown to the floor, overpowered in his weak state by the man, and he’s there, lying on the ground as the blade comes down…

Then she comes out of it, the vision clearing suddenly, and she's on the floor - Skinner is crouched next to her, frantically repeating her name. 

"Agent Scully."

She blinks a few times to clear her vision, gasping as she fights to calm her racing heart.

The information she’s gathered flashes rapidly through her mind, and she hates the fact that Mulder was right. With a suspect history, physical description, and probable location, she can work out where he is. If he’s still alive. God, Mulder, you idiot.

“Scully?” Skinner places a hand on her shoulder, his eyes shadowed with concern.

She looks up at him.

"I think I know how to find Mulder."

@today-in-fic

@bookwyrm1701

[cosmic-kinglet]

Oooooooh, my gosh, I'm typing this through shaky hands.

Okay. The time came a LOT sooner than I ever expected...just...WOW!

So, I guess I'll start with the things I wanted to discuss from yesterday's Monty and Foxy video, since it relates to things from this video as well. In the video from yesterday, it stuck out to me how genuinely desperate Eclipse sounded when he was trying to keep Lunar on the space shuttle. This made me think back to Puppet much earlier on saying that Lunar was very important in both defeating Eclipse and presumably for whatever goal he himself wished to achieve. Eclipse also mentioned then that there was some force that would become angered if Lunar returned to Earth, seemingly some outside force that even frightened him. Based on what was said in this video, it seems like it's not a force, but rather a group. My immediate assumption was that it was the creator and his associates, but I wasn't as sure about that once Eclipse said, "Screw whatever the creator is doing." I would think that if this group was connected to the creator, he wouldn't have said to basically ignore what the creator may be doing. If that's the case, then there is some other group out there, and seemingly one that could overpower Eclipse, even with the Star.

While I don't truly believe that Eclipse would just leave Sun and Moon alone if they listened to him, I do believe that he's telling the truth about this group. When Eclipse is angry or scared, his lies become more obvious. He's seen here displaying both anger and fear, which would make it entirely clear if he was lying about this particular thing. If he was trying to trick them, he would have at least tried to approach the situation more calmly; that's just how he does things. Yet, here, the strong emotion can immediately be heard in his voice from the very first time he asks where Moon is; he's panicked, more than anything else. I think the last time he had that sort of panic in his voice was when he had to face off against Bloodmoon in the daycare. He's panicked enough to actually go to Moon for this, even though he knows that Sun and Moon may very well not listen.

Now, for that ending. Foof. I was very glad to have already had my antelope plush so I could hug it tighter (though I had to sit it down when the video ended because I didn't want to toss it around in anger at the cliffhanger.) I hate that we won't know how well Sun's training paid off until part 2 (also, getting flashbacks to the burst-of-magic cliffhanger.) Though, I had to chuckle a bit at Sun using the Star power in the form of a Kamehameha. I had been excited for this to happen when we just had the buildup, but now that the time has come, I really don't know if I want to see the power be strong enough or not. On one hand, Sun and Moon will have one less enemy to worry about, given that Sun comes out of the whole thing without too much harm. On the other hand, I still have that part of me that could still see hope for Eclipse becoming better with time. Or maybe I just don't want a character that I've become so invested in to be gone for good. Either way, I really just hope that Sun doesn't get hurt too badly. The victory would be extremely bitter if Sun was lost in the process.

I'm sure I'm not alone when I say I will be waiting for part 2 with extremely high levels of anxiety. Let's see how this goes together.

[a-moment-captured]

so let’s be whores for urb. i’ve written this 3 times cause tumblr keeps crashing so gonna try and remember.

i’d suck the soul out of that man. blow him and make him cum, keep going till he’s hard again and repeat.

so the mv and the recent photos got me so fucking 😮‍💨 for this man. that shot on bedroomfits rlly got me prepared to do anything and everything for that man. good god. his shirt is so fucking tight, seeing his chest and his arms, whew.

so like first that shot of his hand got me. whew. imagining his fingers in u and they stretch u out so good.

cause also bro is so cocky and i’m confident he’s also hung as fuck. has to stretch you out on his fingers every time cause he’s so thick and long. also leaks precum all the time cause he’s just so turned on by u constantly.

have a feeling that when ur fucking when u pull his hair for the first time it would totally catch him so off guard, he’d cum for sure, cause, pain kink 😌

also think consensually he would be a sadist (like when playing. dom/sub or bdsm type)

bro is def into spanking, would spank you so hard all the time. (he loves it, and so do u) constantly has his handprints on ur asscheeks cause it turns him on so bad hearing you moan in pain and having his marks on u. his hands are so big when he does spank u it covers ur entire asscheek.

on the same note i think he would love tying you up for the power trip (always consensually!) cause he has a size kink (along with u) and loves overpowering you and holding you down since he’s so much bigger then u. you love that he can hold you completely down with just one arm. and just. whew. think he’d probably edge you too cause you can’t touch.

think he has a breeding kink just like jack, (also believe they’ve talked about it together lmao) he’d wear a condom after u first get together but after a bit he just said he couldn’t fucking stand it, it ok to go without, and you wanted to feel him so bad (every vein and ridge, and also the warmth when he cums in u) so you said yes ofc. he’d just be in complete bliss from how good it feels. can hardly take it. probably would cum twice cause he just feels so good with ur pussy gripping, squeezing and throbbing around him so fucking tight. and now he loves hearing u beg for his cum, one of his fav things to hear. (also u love feelin him throb when he’s about to cum.)

he’s possessive when playing, wants to claim u as his, wants u to tell him again and again that ur his, he’s repeating “you’re mine, all fucking mine, no one else can have you. mine.” (this also goes along with the breeding kink cause filling u up is just another way he claims u as his.)

also think he’s rlly vocal, never is trying to be but you just feel so fucking good around him he can’t fucking help it.

yet another thought is that he loves getting lapdances, feeling u grinding and dancing on him while wearing the tightest, smallest, sexiest lingerie. having to restrain himself until at least the song is over if he can’t wait until ur done (but usually can’t do it, can’t handle it, and ends up ripping ur set off)

anyway i read somewhere yesterday how jack would be the type to continue to fuck u while someone popped their head in to have a convo and how he just wouldn’t care if his friends came in he’d just keep going (@19crimes maybe???) and i do fully with my entire being believe that urb is the same way. strikes me as a horny ass motherfucker.

finally thinking about shotgunning with him makes me drip. like so bad. it’s so fucking intimate and so hot and after you blow the smoke out even if the blunt isn’t done he just has to give u the nastiest sloppiest kiss because he just can’t take it. it makes him so fucking hard.

anyway i’m rlly rlly rlly horny and a complete and total whore for that man, he’s so fucking sexy, i strongly believe he’s a kinky ass motherfucker, and i’d literally do anything for him, and i have lots and lots and lots of thoughts.

thank u for accepting my essay i hope you enjoy. — 💋

(i’ve also tried to submit this like 4 times and it keeps crashing so fingers crossed!)

🚨Ladies and gentlemen🚨

Can we please give anon a round of applause for reminding us why we are all horny sluts for Urban?!

Babe, I tried to prepare myself but nothing prepared for that! Now I’m gonna be thinking about Urban and his fingers all damn day.

And the bedroom fit?! Speechless…

I thought I was ready but I wasn’t! Anon, anytime you want to send in something about Urban, I’ll be your biggest cheerleader!

[diedeilv]

Maybe! Possibly! Perhaps! Perchance!

No one placed me on the throne; that would suggest someone else was worthy enough to hold such a place to begin with, and that’s simply laughable. I was born on the throne. Weak beings like you don’t belong anywhere near it. I could overpower you, body and mind, without even breaking a sweat. So, do yourself a favour: drop to your knees and pay the reverence I deserve, yeah? It’s far more dignified than scurrying around like some feeble little ferret throwing its pathetic jabs. I’d know if you were plotting anything behind my back, I read people like open books. Very good at that. Pain and effort, yes, we do share that. What can I say? Pain feels very good to me, and so does putting on effort. Similarities aside, don’t think you could ever lay a hand on me, much less my hair. Precious things deserve protection, and you won’t get close enough to try. Keep dreaming, though. it’s cute!

I see, it makes sense that you had to clean up after him, then. Chocolate is very good. In fact it is my favorite. Look at that!! You know something more about me, good job.

Mmm.. I will keep that in mind.

I’m not sure why but I started laughing when I saw that top part lmaoo

Okay I feel like highly insulted right now while I’m brain dead tired.. I just wrote an entire paper please give me like a single moment you fricken tyrant.

Oh, how high you sit on that throne of yours, as if it’s anything more than a pedestal built on your own delusions. No one placed you there, you say? How fitting, because no one will be there to catch you when I drag you down. You think you overpower me? Break me? Oh dear citrus.. the only reason I kneel is because I choose to. You have zero power over me. Every word, every look, every trembling moment you spend trying to keep me beneath you only fuels me further. I already know every step you take. You call yourself precious, protected? How amusing. I’ve already breached your defenses without lifting a finger. I’ve seeped into your thoughts, your desires, because I don’t just read people—I rewrite them. And you, my dear citrus, are my most interesting or dramatic.. considering it contains the most overconfident bastard ever story yet. So how about I change your story and place myself on that throne instead? Hmm? I’ll let you believe you’re untouchable for now. It’s not me dreaming—it’s you, clinging to the fantasy that you could ever escape. And after those fricken insults I’m actually going to target your hair I’m not even kidding

Naturally I have to as the older one. Younger siblings are annoying but I’m stuck with them at least for now.. do you have any siblings? Younger or older?

Ooo! I absolutely love chocolate too! It’s literally my motivation to do my work. I love anything chocolate whether that’s cakes, cookies, or dark or white. the only exception is chocolate pudding cause why is it actually pretty bad.. and chocolate flavored lollipops those are the most artificial shit ever. Ah but whats your favorite type though? I think I prefer milk chocolate over all the types

mhm take that in mind cause I’m basically letting you spam my inbox for fun.. better take advantage of it.

[stormlit]

it is cruel of her to do it this way, amalia knows that; she could have taken down her shielding and let armand make his own way through her mind, she could have let him see paris and nothing more. she could have done it more kindly. but anger does not make amalia kind, and she is smarting from his cruelty, from his lack of trust in her and how little he has wanted to consider the threat to her life real. she hurts, and so she wants armand to hurt. her life has not solely been pain and tragedy, but she pulls up the worst years of it, every bad thing she has been through. how freedom has been ruined, happiness marred. how her body has been broken and the strength of her mind tested. there is no being a vampire without torment, she thinks, but she's experienced a fair amount of it.

for a little while, at least, no more hiding. no more keeping the most painful memories away from everyone, herself included.

she looks up at him, eyes red with tears but her gaze as steady as it's ever been. ❝ do you understand now? ❞ she asks quietly, making the effort to keep her voice even. what she has been through is hers, for nobody else; does he get why she keeps her walls up, why she has found a way to hear words spoken in her head but not let that person burrow deeper? she's yet to realise that her arms have wrapped tightly around her middle, as if replacing the shielding that remains down, for now. she feels exposed, and it is not a natural place for amalia to be. ❝ do you trust me yet? ❞

because if he doesn't...how are they supposed to live a life together? how are they going to see the world, if he thinks she might be poised to stab him in the back? amalia wants armand with her, desperately. she's not sure she's ever wanted anything so much. but she wants to feel like they are on even footing.

❝ there's a whole world out there, my love. ❞ she wants to hold onto this peace, to the calm they seem to be settling into, the crashes of the thunderstorm fading to more of a rumble, drifting away from them at every moment. she's not stupid enough to believe it all resolved, or that the hurt has faded — they need to talk, still, without raised voices or barbed tongues — but this is enough for now. ❝ one where you can live, not mark time. ❞

the hand that has been clenched desperately in his shirt relaxes, resting over his heart for a moment before her arms come around him, tucking herself in beneath his chin. all the ways he can touch her, and amalia finds she just wants a hug. they need to recover from the storm. ❝ alright, ❞ she says softly. she would help kill the coven, for him, but she'd prefer not to. amalia's still afraid they'd overpower her, outnumbering them as they do. ❝ it won't be easy. maybe it's not meant to be; it's scary to figure out who you are alone. but i have a really nice house you can do it in. ❞

could a coven last forever? as far as he's seen, they can't ( and don't ). the old ones eventually chase madness and even with the younger vampires carrying on in their name, the coven either had to change or disband. some disappeared with no trace, like the Roman coven that had built him — years before the theatre, he'd reached out to radio silence, sent other vampires to find them to no avail. the théâtre des vampires was built for survivability compared to the satanic coven he'd been born of. while they upheld the old laws, they weren't a rigid structure of oppression and misery. they lived, feasted, performed and many of them were happy as performers. at his peak, he'd been the same, but restlessness had crept in and the more restless he is, the more detached he feels from them.

armand had been in control of so many choices since his beginnings as a leader in paris. he was life and death to other vampires, the puppet master in the background ensuring their success. but what he hadn't done was choose to live differently. he'd been directed to paris 300 years prior and when he'd grown tired of the first coven, he utilized another vampire to shatter it. only then to be given the theatre, to be handed yet another opportunity to lead.

and while he'd needed it desperately then, it had fulfilled its purpose, but armand recognizes he doesn't know what it is to push forward into another life. ❝ oh, but you make it sound so simple! ❞

it isn't as if they don't all have secrets when they can keep them. armand does the same to protect the things most sacred to him, the memories that were the most painful or contradictory of how he lived, how he expressed himself. but to see nothing? he isn't used to that, though before he's hit with her thoughts, he can see the anger. he knows that his request doesn't come without pain, but as their eyes lock, he doesn't expect everything that comes to him. it comes almost as a physical blow, a sharp pain to his chest. he's forced to break her gaze, eyes closing, a shudder going through him as he witnesses everything. from love to pain, to the torture of a coven. torture and indoctrination that while in a different place, under a different language triggers parallel memories that he slams down as soon as they come up.

it's all too dizzying. from the moments of happiness, of freedom, to the prison of a cruel maker, the will of a cult —

he's forgotten to breathe, a shuddering breath released as his eyes open, eyes distant, processing, red from the whiplash of emotions and the intensity of her memories. he runs a hand over his curls, hands almost shaky as he tries to process it.

❝ beloved, i — ❞ she has his empathy, but not his words. she'd taken his accusations and his demands for her to trust him and shoved them back down his throat.

as she pulls him closer, his head dips, forehead pressed to hers. he shuts his eyes, hands lifting to cup her face, fingers resting gently on her neck, every word brought in. she doesn't to leave him. ❝ i want to, ❞ he admits, and wants to with all the strength he had wanted to leave years before. ❝ i want to go with you, 300 years i've been in paris, amalia. and i live more now... ❞ he doesn't know how it'll end, if the coven will let him go, if he'll find enemies among them, or if they'll turn on him the second he passes the mantle over. but if he can salvage those relationships as they had been before, there may be a chance to come away cleanly. santiago had the makings of a coven master.

❝ if santiago will take it, with no ill-will, i'll give it to him. ❞ and still, there's some strain to his voice, fear of that unknown, fear of handing over what had been his.

[loki-hargreeves]

Steven Grant x fem!Reader - Let Her Go

Pairing: Steven Grant x fem!Reader but Marc also makes an appearance Warnings: idiots in love in the beginning so fluff, getting mugged, sexual harassment, injury, spitting on someone, angst, hurt/comfort, loads of mentions of blood Word Count: 3,8K Summary: You’ve been dating Steven Grant for a while and things are fantastic, until they’re not. You get mugged in an alleyway which forces Marc to make an appearance. [This is supposed to take place around the same time the series begin.] A/N: What can I say? I am a sucker for Oscar Isaac and angst. Enjoy!

YOUR POV

“I’m telling the truth, you must believe me!” Steven was playfully offended over the fact that you did not believe the facts he presented you with, or at least that’s what you claimed. 

Not that you had a reason to believe he was lying since he was quite an expert on Egyptian mythology and he didn’t seem like the dishonest type. Sometimes it was just fun to goof with him. After all, Steven was the cutest man you knew of and you felt ever so lucky that he seemed to find you cute as well. The way his eyes sparkled when he was smiling absolutely enthralled you. 

“And I’m telling you that I’m not convinced,” You took a daring step closer to him, pointing your finger at his nose and poking him, feeling the effects of the red wine you had drunk over dinner. Steven grinned like a schoolboy, overjoyed by the evening so far. It helped that he found your behaviour endearing. The two of you had been on yet another date and it had gone well, so well in fact that you were on your way to his flat for tea and board games. Things were getting more serious between the two of you, which you were happy about.

“What will it take to convince you?” He wondered with a genuine smile on his face, looking at you like you were the only person in the world that mattered. 

Retracting your finger to now rest upon your jaw, you put on a thoughtful face and leaned closer to him, “I think you’ll have to keep talking. Maybe over tea, on your couch...I’m all ears,” You let him know what might’ve been just enough to convince you. Truly, you were just looking for an excuse to listen to him. Steven was passionate and when he talked about his interests, it melted your heart. If he was up to it, you would listen to him for hours.

“If that’s what it takes, then I’ll have to do it,” Steven couldn’t believe his luck. He didn’t understand how his dorky enthusiasm had charmed you, the most wonderful person he knew. When he had first asked you out, he had hardly believed that he had done it. The words had simply slipped out of his mouth and before he had been given a chance to stumble over his words and take it back, you had said yes. A few weeks had passed and everything was going splendidly.

The clouds above you were hiding the stars and only a small parting allowed moonlight to pour down onto you, illuminating the London streets in a faint, silver hue. Traffic was surprisingly light, possibly because it was a Thursday night and it looked like it could begin to rain any second now. Nevertheless, you had decided to walk the short distance from the restaurant to Steven’s flat. 

Steven offered his arm for support as you crossed the street and you were more than happy to hold onto him. Dating him was still a new thing. You had only been on a handful of dates together and Steven was a gentleman, never trying to push you into anything. He was respectful and kind, funny too. In a short period of time, you had fallen for him much harder than anticipated. Somehow it felt like you had been dating for much longer. Being around him made you feel safe.

Holding onto him and being so close, you could smell his cologne. It wasn’t overpowering, but it smelled so much of him and you wanted to get lost in that. Steven was slightly tense, because he was so focused on trying not to trip over his own feet while holding onto you. Accidentally hurting you was the last thing he wanted to do. You tightened your grip on his sleeve and caught him glancing at your hand and then smiling. 

“Would you like to grab something from Alma’s on our way? I heard the chocolate cupcakes are marvellous,” Steven wondered, leading you toward an alleyway you had walked through many times before. 

Alma’s was a small bakery he had picked up baked goods from before and you recalled him telling you about the old lady who worked there. She was really nice to him and even gave Steven a discount when she heard he bought them for his date, aka you. 

“I’d love to. Maybe Alma is there tonight,” You were curious to meet her. Steven made her sound lovely and besides, you couldn’t say no to baked good, could you?

Looking ahead of you in the alleyway that seemed much darker now than before, you noticed something - no, someone sitting on the ground next to an overflowing dumpster.

“Oh my god,”  after blinking a few times, getting used to the dimness, you realized the man had blood on his t-shirt. The sight alarmed you and instantly, without hesitating, you let go of Steven and hurried to the injured man. “Are you okay?!”

Steven tried to grab your hand, but you were already on your way to the man. A gut feeling told him something wasn’t right, but everything happened so quickly. He couldn’t stop you, even if he had wanted to.

“Y/N!” Steven called after you and tried to catch up with you. The gut feeling grew stronger and fast, as if something was screaming at him to get you away from that man. 

Before Steven could do as much as taking another hurried step toward you, two masked people emerged from the shadows and grabbed him forcefully by his arms. More of the swarmed seemingly out of nowhere and even the ‘injured’ man stood up as if nothing had ever bothered him at all. Steven watched in horror as the blood-covered man wrapped his arms around you, turning you so your back was pressed against his shirt and his arm wrapped dangerously around your throat, his other hand resting on top of your head.

“Hey!” Steven tried to break free from their hold, but froze instantly when a masked man pulled a gun from his coat. Seeing you like that was easily one of the most frightening things he had ever seen and it kick-started something within him he didn’t know existed until now. Steven was not going to let anything happen to you or else he wouldn’t know how to live with himself.

This can’t be happening...

“Woah, there’s no need for that,” Steven tried to stay calm, knowing that he couldn’t possibly let this escalate to a point where guns were needed. Right now, that was the last thing he wished for. 

“Give me your wallet,” The armed man demanded, his voice muffled by the thick fabric of his mask. Steven didn’t know what was more terrifying, the lack of empathy in his eyes or the way the words came out so smoothly. The man seemed like he had done this many times before and he wasn’t afraid. 

Steven nodded a few times, feeling helpless as he was let go. He knew he could try to reach you but that could cost him being shot. Instead, he decided to do what was asked of him.

“Alright, mate. Hold on,” Steven put his trembling hands in his pockets, searching for his wallet. After checking his pants and his jacket, he remembered that he had put his wallet in your purse when you had decided to walk, since he didn’t want to carry it in his pocket. Bloody hell. 

“What’s taking so long?” The man was certainly not patient, waving his gun around threateningly, making Steven’s pulse skyrocket. His heartbeat was ringing in his ears by now. He looked at the gun and then at you, still being held by the throat. If the man wanted to, he could snap your neck like nothing.

“I don’t have it on me-”

“Bullshit! Don’t lie to me,” The man raised his voice, refusing to believe Steven didn’t carry his wallet with him. 

“It’s not on me, i-it’s in her purse,” Steven quickly corrected. He didn’t want their attention on you, but right now it seemed like the only way to get out of this mess. 

“Steven!”

What was that? Steven could’ve sworn he heard his own name being spoken, but he was sure he knew none of these people. 

Deciding to ignore what he just heard, he focused on you instead. For a moment, the armed man just stared at Steven, trying to decide whether or not he trusted him. After making up his mind, he nodded to one of his friends and turned around to look at you. With every step they took approaching you, Steven’s worry grew. He shot you an apologetic look and prayed to whoever could hear him for things to go well. 

“Down here, look at me!” The voice returned. 

It sounded so much like Steven himself. As he dared to peek down, he saw his reflection in a dirty puddle, but it didn’t move in sync with him. The sight was startling. Was this how it would end? With you getting mugged in an alleyway as his reflection spoke to him? Was he losing it? 

“I don’t have much time to explain things, you just have to trust me. These people are dangerous, you need to let me handle this,” The reflection explained with an accent that certainly didn’t belong to Steven.

“W-What?” That was all Steven could say, narrowing his eyes in disbelief. Was this a fever dream? Was any of this actually happening?

“Be quiet!” One of the muggers demanded, landing a punch in Steven’s gut, instantly making him double over in pain. It knocked the air out of his lungs and for an alarming moment, Steven was gasping for air. The man stepped back and let Steven hit the cold ground, face landing in the murky puddle. He groaned in pain and heard you screaming out his name with so much fear it made his heart ache.

“You need to give me control, I’ll get you out of here,” Puddle Steven spoke despite the disturbed surface of the water. The tiny ripples hadn’t warded him off. 

Further away, you were fighting against your fear as you tried to put on a tough face. The man with the gun was standing in front of you now as one of his men was going through your purse. At this point, you didn’t care about a wallet or two, all you wanted was to walk away from this with Steven. Nothing else mattered.

“What do we have here?” The man looked you up and down, not shying away with his nasty glare. The way he looked at you made you feel dirty. If if wasn’t for the worry you felt for Steven, you wouldn’t be biting your tongue the way you were right now. 

This felt like it was all your fault. 

“Perhaps you have more to offer us than a wallet? What do you say, sweetheart?” The man tilted his head, talking to you as if you were stupid. Whatever he was suggesting, you weren’t having any of it.

“Take it, my purse and everything. Just let us go, please!” You attempted to strike some sort of agreement with them. Perhaps one of them had a heart? Maybe, just maybe they would be happy with your purse and its contents. Couldn’t that be enough? Things could be replaced. Sure, it would suck but at least you would live. 

“You’re funny,” He chuckled at your desperation, treating it like a joke. The next thing that happened was vile, making you tense up like stone. He put his filthy hands on your body, patting you down in search of something valuable. What he was truly searching for was the look on your face when he traced your curves, touching you in ways that made you want to cut his hands off.

“Let her go!” Steven yelled as he saw what was going on, feeling sick to his stomach when he realized they were after more than just your purse. He tried to get up from the concrete ground, not fearing what they might do to him as his only concern was to help you. The man that had punched him before tried to hold him back, but Steven prevailed, surprising himself with his strength. Unfortunately, there were too many of them and he couldn’t fight them all. He could only hope that someone heard the uproar that was happening and called for help.

“Let her go you sick freaks!” Steven shouted again, his anger not reflecting his usual bubbly personality at all. Seconds later, someone’s fist collided with his jaw which knocked him out of his senses. The ringing in his ears was all Steven could hear for a second as he faltered to the ground, scraping his skin on the rough impact. The taste of blood filled his mouth, making it feel like he had dirty pennies on his tongue. Then the pain hit him, seconds after the collision. Whoever had punched him knew exactly what they were doing. 

Seeing them hurting Steven was the last push you needed to defend yourself. These people didn’t care about you and they weren’t going to let you go even when you gave them what they wanted. You had to fight if you wanted a chance of survival.

It must’ve caught them off guard when you bit the man who was holding his arm around your throat because he let you go. The armed man didn’t have time to move his hands off your body when your elbow made contact with his face. It hurt him much more than it hurt you. As they both stepped back in shock and pain, you tried to leap past them toward Steven who was on the ground, receiving kicks all over his body. 

“You bitch!” The armed man tried to yank you back to him, but you acted quickly and out of anger, spitting at him. It was repulsive, but it worked as he seemed more worried about wiping his face than grabbing you - his guys were already on it.

“Stop it!” You screamed at them, grabbing onto one of the empty glass bottles that had been resting on the ground next to one of the dumpsters. You swung it as hard as you could at one of the men’s heads, breaking the glass into a million little pieces on impact. The man was stunned, falling limp on the ground but two more took his place. You realized your odds of winning this fight were slim to none, but what else were you supposed to do?

A gunshot went off nearby, so close that it hurt your ears. Who had been shot, you had no idea until you struggled to move. It didn’t hurt at first, until something burned the skin around your stomach area, taking you by surprise. Perhaps shock was a blessing because you couldn’t feel much at all.

Everything after that happened so fast, it all blurred together into something hazy and unclear. You were overpowered and soon found yourself on the ground, clutching your abdomen as hot, crimson blood pooled around you. It flowed through your fingers, leaving them sticky and warm despite the cold weather. The oddest thing was, that you could hardly feel the pain of the wound you didn’t even recall getting. The only distress you felt was emotional misery, watching through blurred vision as these strangers abused the man you were certain you loved.

It felt like you just blinked, but the next thing you saw was Steven standing up. He was dressed differently and the people around him were dropping to the ground like flies. Was that really Steven? Whatever it was, that was the last thing you saw before you slipped into unconsciousness, allowing the numbness it offered to embrace you.

There were glimpses you caught of what happened afterwards, but they made no sense. It felt like a dream, created by your brain as an attempt to grasp what was happening. Were you dying?

You pried your weary eyes open and realized someone was carrying you in their arms. You couldn’t see their face, only a pair of white, glowing eyes. Was that a crescent moon on their chest?

The next moment of lucidity you had, you found yourself wrapped in a blanket of some sort. The person that had carried you before was still holding you, but you were resting on the ground. A warm feeling covered you from head to toe, slowly taking away your pain. 

“Steven...” You moaned in agony, feeling a sharp sting in your chest which prevented you from saying anything else. 

“Don’t move,” The person told you almost a little bluntly, although it seemed pretty clear he was helping you. Whatever it was he was doing, it was helping. This person sounded so familiar...

“Close your eyes, you will be fine.”

                Steven didn’t know what happened and he certainly didn’t know how you were at his flat. One moment he had been on the ground, lying in a puddle as he was being kicked like a dog. His reflection had spoken to him and suddenly his entire reality seemed to glitch. Now he was standing in his living room with blood on his clothes and he didn’t even really know whose blood it was. His brown eyes were travelled from his bloody hands to you bleeding out on his couch.

“Oh no,” Worry spiked in his heart when he saw the condition you were in. “No no no...” Steven was afraid to touch you, but he had to find the source of all that blood. He should’ve called an ambulance and the police, but he didn’t have his phone and right now, he knew he needed to stop the bleeding.

When Steven tugged at your bloodstained shirt, he was surprised to see nothing but smooth skin. No wounds, no bruises, no nothing. There was just blood that had begun to dry, turning into a much darker shade. He had to touch you just to know it was real. As his fingers traced the soft skin of your stomach, nothing changed. You were somehow unharmed, at least as far as he could tell. 

“How...” Steven didn’t understand anything. At that moment, he realized that he felt fine too. There was no way that he was supposed to feel fine after what had just happened, yet his jaw that had been dislocated was now perfectly fine. Even when he brought his hand to touch his jaw that had previously been tender, he couldn’t feel any pain. It was as if nothing had happened at all.

“Steven?” Your voice cut off all of his other thoughts. Hearing it felt like a blessing, because it meant you were alive and well enough to speak.

“Y/N! Thank goodness...” Steven felt so relieved to see those precious eyes of yours looking into his. “You’re okay, we’re alright. We’re safe, yeah?” He was kneeling beside the couch, his bloody hand reaching to hold yours. When he found your hand, he brought it to his lips and placed desperate kisses on your knuckles, needing to convince both of you of the fact you were safe. He just needed to feel you, to hear and see you moving, talking, breathing. After everything that happened, he didn’t know what senses to trust, but he couldn’t doubt you.

For a moment, he thought he had lost you. 

And you had thought you’d lost him.

Scurrying off the couch as if you had never been hurt at all, you joined Steven on the floor and wrapped your arms around him, embracing him like never before. It surprised him, but you were happy when he hugged you back, clinging onto your bloodied clothes for dear life. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes as he finally believed you were okay. 

Guilt was beginning to eat you alive. As you sat there, embracing him, all you could think of was how everything could’ve been avoided if you hadn’t run off like that. If you had stepped back for a moment and realized it was a trap all along. If Steven had died because of your mistake, you didn’t know what you would’ve done with yourself.

“I’m so sorry, Steven...” By now, the shock had begun to wear off and your feelings were overwhelming, causing tears to run down your cheeks and wash away the dirt and dry blood. “I’m so sorry.”

“What?” 

Steven pulled apart from you so he could face your sorrowful expression, absolutely bewildered when he heard you apologizing for what had happened. In what world was that your fault? The pained confusion must’ve been obvious on his face as his dark brows furrowed together when facing you. Steven brushed your face softly, wiping away your tears, too shocked to speak right away.

“I shouldn’t have...I shouldn’t have run to him like that,” You sniffled, feeling awful when you retraced your steps. Although it had happened not that long ago, it somehow already felt like days had passed.

“Don’t you say that,” Steven refused to let you blame yourself for simply being compassionate. It broke his heart to hear that. “You saw someone in pain and you didn’t hesitate to help, please never apologize for that,” the last plead came out as merely a whisper.

“You could’ve died.”

“I didn’t. You didn’t. We’re okay,” Steven reminded you, although he didn’t have the slightest clue of how you ended up at his flat, let alone how your injuries magically disappeared. What condition were the others in? Were they alive? The amount of blood he was covering him led Steven to believe something bizarre had happened.

In a moment as mysterious and overwhelming as that, you couldn’t find words to do it justice. Instead, you could only hold onto Steven and relish the fact you were miraculously saved from that nightmare. Nothing else mattered than the feeling of his face nuzzled in the crook of your neck as the sweet scent of his cologne filled your lungs. Sure, it mixed with the foul and irony smell of blood, but after a while, you got used to it.

“What are we going to do?”

Steven had no answers for you. The wheels in his brain were turning, but he couldn’t think clearly. He fell silent, just holding you and rocking your bodies gently as he sought comfort in the midst of everything else. His eyes wandered around his apartment until he stared at the mirror nearby. Once again, his reflection was someone else.

Something told Steven that whoever that was had the answers you were seeking. 

A/N: So that was my first Steven Grant one-shot! I haven’t written in a while because of my personal life, but watching Moon Knight has inspired me a lot. I hope this is alright. 

Hearing your feedback would mean the world to me, especially since this is a new character I’m writing for. Thank you for reading! <3

[plush-rabbit]

Aphrodisiac Induced Reader + The Brothers

A/N: The brothers!! I hope yall enjoy!! Aphrodisiac induced is always a fun thing to play with. The brothers,, my beloved

-

You really should have known better than to take food that was offered by Beel. You know that he has the right intentions in mind- that him sharing food is a miracle of itself and rejecting him would have his brows furrowed and lips pursed into a pout- but he’s also gluttony. He can eat whatever he wants and as much as he wants without so much of a stomach ache. You, on the other hand, cannot. You should have seen this coming when the cupcake you bite into filled your mouth with such an indescribable sweetness that it made your teeth ache, the flavor otherworldly and leaving you hungry for me, taking greedy bites out of the cutely decorated pastry. There was a sharp pang in your stomach, your body on fire and sex dripping with every nudge that your body made.

You couldn’t be alone right now- or maybe you should have been left alone, maybe that would have saved you from humiliation of your dripping arousal that was leaking past your slit. You’re quick to rise, standing on shaky legs, curled over as your cheeks burn, sweat beading against your skin, only worsening the sensitive state that you are in. It’s fast-acting, making your breaths come out in heated gasps, and everything just feels a bit too much, just too good for it to be normal. An aphrodisiac- a strong one that is making you impossibly aroused. You suck in a sharp breath and go to the person who you know will treat you right.

Lucifer:

Lucifer is a gentleman- most of the time at least. But during your time of need he is perfect to go to. He’ll allow you- or more like insist- that you stay in his office until the aphrodisiac’s effects have passed. You’ll lay on the couch, face buried into a throw pillow while the other one is between your legs. Shame has long been gone since you’ve entered his domain, his eyes never really leaving your shaky frame. When you moan his name, he stiffens, the pen in his hand is held tighter but he still rises, walking towards you in concern. He’ll sit beside you, let his hand curve over your forehead, feeling the heat go through his glove.

He clears his throat, pulling his hand away, and there’s this heavy look on your face, the pillow squeezed tight between your legs, the pillow under your head has faint imprints of your teeth. He’ll avoid touching you, pulling his hand away from you and walking briskly to his desk chair. He can hear your steps across the floor, the way you gasp his name and seem to rub your thighs together for any sort of friction. He won’t spare you a glance, eyes focused on the paperwork in front of him. Underneath the desk, his leg jolts as you snake your arms around his shoulders, your lips wet as they touch his neck.

There isn’t enough time in the day and night for him to focus on his work and on your growing needs that are starting to mark everything in his office. Black ink scratches along the pape, the letters growing shaky as you snake your way onto him. He’s actually startled when you situate yourself on his lap, your sex pressed against his erection. He’s surprised by your sudden confidence but writes it off due to the effects of the aphrodisiac. You’re above him, arms snaked once more on his shoulders and you play with the hair that rests on the nape of his neck.

The feeling of shame is not foreign to the Avatar of Pride but even then, letting you know that he is indeed aroused given the situation does bring a bit of heat to his body. His hands find their way to hold onto your hips, trying to ignore the way that you have begun to grind against his. But there is work to do and despite the growing need to pleasure both you and himself, he displaces you, ignoring the way that you call his name and can’t seem to stop touching him.

The only way to gain his attention that you desperately long for is to push him away, the wheels locking against an edge of the floor and you bend yourself over the desk. Lucifer wants to throw you out so you can be another’s problem but you pull your bottom layer off, your fingers searching inside your leaking hole and pride starts to fuel him. You touch yourself in front of him, beg for him to touch you- of course you would. Slender hands come to touch your body, and you’re already leaking onto the floor, thick, sweet arousal staining the very room that he allowed you to enter. His cock is against you, rimming around your entrance, hearing your cries and please for him to simply fuck you but you did cause him to become distracted from very important work and he is going to punish you for that.

Mammon:

Of course you’d go to him. He is your first after all, why wouldn’t you go to The Great Mammon? But wow, he was over his head when you came knocking at his door. Always eager to see and spend time with you, he allows you to enter without seeing the state you’re in. You stagger into his room, holding his hand and stumbling into him and it’s only then that he can smell the sweet, lingering aroma in the air. He wants to believe you’re just trying a new perfume and now it's made you sick, but it’s worse than that when the hand you’re holding moves to your chest. He can feel your rapid heartbeat, the way your body is in flames that can rival hellfire itself, the pained cry of his name as you try to pinch your legs together in the awkward embrace.

Frozen for a moment, Mammon completely blanks on what to do. He can feel your pain, the aching need in your entire body that makes you feel as if you’re going to combust into flames. He doesn’t know whether to touch you or not. But then you cry his name- sobbing it out in broken syllabus and you cry that it hurts and you think you might die and you're in his arms. Your hold on him tightens and he thinks he can leave you to be- let you wait out the excruciating pain in his room until the feeling fades and just thank him with attention or material objects later. He fails to consider that he is weak to you and when you look at him with teary eyes, he falters.

He stutters in his explanation, talking about how he can maybe go out and get you a toy or something- and he promises to be quick, he is the fastest after all. But then the thought lingers and he imagines your sex stretched with some toy that he chose, and his body jerks. Your vision is growing blurrier by the second and the hold on his hand tightens until your knuckles pale. You pull on him, thanking whatever God is watching down on you, that the door to the prized car he keeps in is open. Even he’s unable to know what is going on until you push him inside, crawling onto the back seat, calling his name and begging for him to join you.

In such a closed space, the Avatar of Greed is trying desperately to avoid touching you. He stays seated in the front seat, fingers drumming along the steering wheel. He cares for the car deeply- one of the few things that gives him freedom that is indescribable and yet, here you are. Your sex is leaking, your cries echoing across the closed space and what is music to his ears in his dreams is now a horrible reminder that you are seated behind him, victim to an aphrodisiac. He needs an excuse to touch you, needs to just feel you for a moment and when you threaten to stain the flawless leather seats with your slick, it’s enough for him to crawl to the back seat.

He never realized how crowded it was, how his elbows and knees tend to knock into things. He doesn’t notice how you’ve kicked your shorts off, how your underwear has become dark in color to your dripping sex. You kiss him, and Mammon is weak to you. His hands are on you, the scent overpowering and he promises to keep the touching to a minimum to only touch what you’ll let him touch and kiss where you want him to. But you’re huffing, grabbing onto him and trying to meet his crotch. The windows grow foggy, the car begins to creak but neither of you pay it any mind. It’s cramped and you’re too close but not close enough, you ache to be closer to him, to have him pressed against you until all you can remember is the way that his chest feels against your skin, the warmth of him, and the way his kisses are so tender and feverish all at once.

Leviathan:

Leviathan refuses to make eye contact with you. He won’t even address you. He sits on his desk chair, playing a game that doesn’t need half of the attention he usually gives. You rest inside his bathtub, curled over he presumes, whining and mumbling something that sounds like his name but he can't be so sure nor does he expect you to mumble his name in your current state. But as much as he wants to drown you out, he can’t. You’re too whiny, crying and begging for a solution, peeling your shirt off because it’s too hot. He reasons that’s because of the aphrodisiac because his room is always kept to a cool temperature. So now, he has you topless in his bathtub and the only proof is your shirt that was tossed where he sits and the reflection above, portraying a teasing, blurry image of your torso.

It’s possibly the worst situation for the poor, introverted demon. He finally has you all to himself and you’re in such a needy state and the plot is so close to a top tier hentai of his- Help! My Friend Took a Drug and Now They Won’t Stop Grinding on Me But I Also Don’t Want Them To Stop. But You came to him, you trusted that he would watch over you and whether it was because he kept his room so guarded or because you trust him, he really doesn’t know which. It’s just too muddled for him to believe that you would actively choose him. So, he does what he does best- he immerses himself in a game. The cutest game that he could think of- one that even if he grew and remained hard would make him feel more like a degenerate than he already does. He puts his headphones on and as if everything is trying to punish him, the loading screen takes forever.

The soundtrack plays loud, booming in his headset and effectively drowning you out. But he knows you’re still crying for him- that you're still in the same room with him. The perverted otuka glances up where he can see your reflection and he catches a glimpse of your hands cupping the swell of your chest and his face burns. Had you caught him peeking before? Was this a way for you to play with yourself without actively touching yourself? He can feel his growing arousal, translucent pre-ejaculate spilling past his slit and staining his boxers. It’s humiliating and he hates that the idea of you touching yourself in his room is more than enough for him to get in the mood.

He’s ignoring you- the only way that he can hopefully soften without actually creaming his pants. He avoids your reflection, ignores how your hands grip the curve of the tub until your knuckles pale, how you swing a leg over and it meets the hard layer of the bath, and for a moment, you still. He’s ignoring your decision to remove yourself from the place he rests and staggering to him. When he feels your hands on his thighs, he startles and the game minimizes into a small box. Unaware of what to do in this situation, he freezes, letting his body tense as you crawl onto his lap, your eyes heavy with lust and body feeling so warm above him that he’s unable to breathe.

His breathing is ragged, his hands stopping on the curve of your bum, as he’s unable to look anywhere else but your face. You’re flushed, gripping onto him, your tongue out as you pant and you’re so desperate for his attention that you lean close. His hands raise in an attempt to push you off but as if it were a cliché moment, his hands curve over your chest and you whimper his name at the simple touch. The third born should have been careful, he shouldn’t have let you grind against him and he surely shouldn’t have let himself becomes distracted by a kiss and yet, here he is, undressing himself as you greedily slide yourself onto his cock, your face scrunching up as every scale is pushed further into your aching hole. Leviathan is holding you close, the computer screen dimming as your can fill him spill inside of you.

Satan:

Eager to learn, he knows the effects of what an aphrodisiac can do to a being. So when you come knocking at Satan’s door, begging for refuge, leaning against him and gripping at his shirt, he pats your hand, and welcomes you inside. He allows you to rest on his bed, letting you bury yourself under his blankets. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea for either of you- you’re inhaling his scent during a time of desperate need, and soon when the effects wear off, he’ll be left in a bed that is drenched in your scent. That, however, is a problem for another day.

In order to keep his mind and hands busy, he’ll finally organize his room. He’s able to ignore your whining, the way that you shiver under the covers and bury yourself into his pillow, how you spread your legs so they are uncovered by the blanket; he ignores the sweet scent of your arousal that fills the room and his lungs. He holds his breath, taking few, deep breaths every now and then to avoid inhaling too much of you. You’re whining, talking through the pillow about how it hurts and you just need something- and doesn’t he have a spell he can use to just rid you of at least a tiny bit of it.

It’s the growing arousal of himself and your constant whining that edges him closer to annoyance. He holds books tight in his hand, orders them by author and published years, height and volumes, but it isn’t enough to drown you out. He regrets letting you enter his room but in the same second, he regrets having the thought. He’s happy that you came to him, trusted him enough to see you in a disheveled state. He doesn’t want to scare you off or make you feel unwanted, so he edges closer to you, tugging on the bottom of his shirt as if he were a nervous boy instead of a grown demon. The bed creaks under his weight and your hand latches onto his thigh. He jerks his leg, your hand only squeezing tighter and when he makes eye contact, your eyes are filled with tears, glistening and catching on your lashes like fresh dew.

You’re aroused, deeply and sweetly. It's a nervous thing to be attracted to someone like you, a demon that has been round and born with blood and wrath etched deep into soul and yet here he is, nervous to even touch your trembling hand. He knows the effects of something as strong as an aphrodisiac and for a demon made one, there is no real spell for it. He lets you lay on his lap, your mouth close to his sex, eyes lidded and holding tight to his hand. His control is fading, his growing need pushing past logical thought. He offers himself, and you rise quickly, already straddling his lap, your chest pressed against his, asking if it is okay. A cold shiver runs through his spine and he nods, offering that he’ll take care of you.

The trembling, nervous demon fades just as quick as it came when your lips are on his. You kiss him, need so transparent that he’s teasing, pulling away, letting your back meet the bed. His smile is sharp, leaning to kiss your pursed lips, grabbing your leg and pulling it upwards, mumbling praise under his breath when you hook your leg around his waist. Satan is heavy when above you, and maybe it’s the aphrodisiac that still lingers on your tongue, but he is unwilling to move away from you, kissing you and hooking his fingers in your mouth when you moan. You’re needy and he wants to hear you beg for him, calling his name. He cups your face with spit coated fingers, asking you to be good for him and mew for him.

Asmodeus:

As the Avatar of Lust, Asmodeus immediately knew something was off in the house when he felt lust in the air. It’s sweet. Intoxicating and bitter all at once. It’s like the sweetest honey known to mankind and he knows the feeling well enough to open his door before you have the thought to knock. He welcomes you into his room, letting you rest on the bed, a small part of him on the inside crinkling when you ruffle the sheets. But, of course, he knows this isn’t you- you would never be so careless. It’s all because of the aphrodisiac making your movements more frantic.

He knows the cure to end it- sex, plain and simple. Masturbation might help but he fears your hand will become sore. Always eager to have somebody in bed with him- out of his own sin and own need for company- he offers you two choices. You can borrow a toy- new, still in the box and all- or he could take care of you. Perhaps he shouldn’t have offered the second option, he knew how excited you were to simply enter a room with another living being but he couldn’t help himself. You look absolutely adorable with your flustered face.

A kiss from the living Avatar of Lust is better than any pleasure that you’ve ever received. And he knows it. You moan under him, your body shaking and eyes rolling to the back of your head, clawing at the shirt on his back. He smiles into the kiss. So eager to be taken care of that a simple kiss was enough to make you climax, your arousal dripping onto your underwear, so heavy in the air, that he pulls away as he feels your breaths start to shorten due to lack of air. But even as he pulls away, you still reach to pepper him with kisses, your breathing reggae against his face, gasping for breath with every parting kiss.

Your hands are on him, eager to pull him into another kiss. You want him and it’s evident from the way that you don’t push away when he removes his clothing. But, he stops for a moment, watching your gaze on him, wide and dazed and you stare at him as if he was something more than just a demon, you give him your worship and you pull him into another kiss. He stiffens, pulling away and asking if this is what you want, touching your bare skin only to flinch away as if it burned him. And when your lips are on him, your smile returns for a moment, telling him that you came to him because you knew he would tend to you in any way, and he melts.

His lips return to yours, kissing you eagerly, wanting nothing more than to just keep his lips on you. And as last time, you shudder beneath him, another orgasm washing through your body, your release spilling pass your slit. Limps entangle with each other and you cry the name Asmodeus, moaning it as if it were the only thing on your mind, sobbing under him and telling him how good it feels. You pet his head and let him bury his face into our chest, peppering kisses until he reaches your neck. His eyes close, an unexpected climax teases at him, as you pull him closer to your aching body. Every sigh from you in a gentle gust of wind, every cry a song that not even choir from the Celestial Realm can rival. He pushes deep inside of you, letting you feel every curve and texture from his cock as it molds your leaking hole into his shape.

Beelzebub:

Beelzebub feels incredibly guilty when you come to him, his shirt knotted in your hands as you explain what you ate. He blames himself, going to hold you only to flinch when you hiss and pull yourself closer to him. It’s an aphrodisiac, he should have known that you’ll be more sensitive to touch during this time. He apologizes as he leads you to his bed, shaking his head and holding your hand. He’s gluttony- he should have been able to smell the scent of an aphrodisiac.

Of course, he’ll let you hide in his room until the effects wear off. He won’t make a single peep but it’s difficult for him. His clothes are sticking to him, his body is in an odd sticky situation where sex clings to him clothes and skin. He knows the effects of the aphrodisiac but he feels guilty for giving it to you so when you cling to him, begging for him to not let go of you, he sighs and stays beside you. He’s stiff, unwilling to move and can only let out a shaky breath, when you press yourself closer to him, hooking a leg over his and curling it over. He can feel your sex- hot and pulsing and he leaves ripped bedsheets as his hand curls into the comforter.

He’s rubbing your back, letting his fingers drum against your spine as he hears your panted breaths. He knows he should stop, that he should at least go and take a shower so he can at least smell good but you hold a tight grip on him. You’re feverish, burning against him and he can tell you want more, your lips open up and kiss along the side of his ribcage but he can’t move.

It’s getting too much- even for him. He doesn’t want to take advantage of this needy state that you’re in but as he rises with a feeble explanation that he’s going to take a shower, you pull him down. He’s above you, your eyes watery and cheating rising and falling with heavy breaths. He can’t kiss you but you’re leaning closer, your lips brushing against his and he can smell the aphrodisiac that still rests like heaven on your tongue. You don’t blame him for the accident slip, you’re just begging for him to take care of you, letting your hand rest over the swell of his breast and he’s growing weaker by the second.

When your lips are on his, your tongue slipping past your lips, Beelzebub can taste the aphrodisiac and he’s melting. His tongue has made its home on your mouth, curving over your pink muscle and feeling the way you shudder beneath him. His name is muted by the kiss, your hands clawing at his clothing and he’s sweaty and aroused, watching you as you strip yourself of your clothes. The lovely pastry that still lingers isn’t enough for him to go into a full rut, but it’s enough for him to bend your legs to your chest, your hole pulsing as his cock aligns to it. The way that you call his name is enough for him to push himself fully into you.

Belphegor:

Belphegor is asleep under the covers, pillow tucked under his head and he does not awaken to your scent growing closer and closer, heavier and sweeter than usual. He doesn’t awaken when the doorknob wiggles, a frantic turning but he does awaken when you slam the door. He is startled awake, his eyes wide for a second before narrowing, teeth flashing as he lets out a low growl. He stops when he notices it's you, yawning and telling you to get into bed with him. It’s only until you’re beside him, greedily taking the invitation, that he realizes the state you’re in.

He has to prod you until you tell him what’s happened, watching as you bury your face into a pillow, whining out pathetically as you tell him what happened. He laughs, it’s sharp and teasing. Of course, you took an aphrodisiac by accident. It could only happen to you. He tries to be sympathetic with you. He knows you must be in a great deal of pain, but then again you came to him and that makes him stay awake for a bit longer, turning over on his side and watching you struggle to not touch yourself despite the aroma of your arousal that is thick in the room.

Sloth offers to put you under a deep sleep- he can’t promise that you’ll be still- but he can promise that you’ll wake up without the effects of the aphrodisiac. When you refuse, he merely shrugs, turning over with a pout. He’s disappointed but he can’t do much. He does tell you that he is tired, so he’ll be sleeping but you’re allowed to spend the rest of your heightened arousal in the attic with him. The power of an aphrodisiac- one made a devil no less- is strong, and giving it you in even worse. He can sense the neediness in you, the way you watch him with lustful eyes, your mouth parted the eagerness to get into bed with him.

As promised, he slips off into a sleep, leaving you alone. But your body is on his, legs parted with his single leg. He isn’t asleep long enough for him to be in an actual slumber before he feels the bed move ever so slightly. It’s constant and your whining, mumbling apologies and he opens his eyes to find you humping his leg. It’s pathetic and hot all at once, watching you get off on his leg alone, so desperate for release that you’ve succumbed to humping him. His smile is tight, turning over and letting his tail curl around you, the static in the air only causing you to arch your back when his demon form pops out. It pricks against your wrists, the fur unkempt as he rises above you.

You wanted his attention and now you’ve gotten it. You’ve woken him up from nap, it’s normal and expected for him to be grouchy but thank goodness that the smell from your leaking sex is more arousing that anything else he’s encountered. You’re on your knees on the mattress, his hips meeting yours and letting out a loud grunt when he finishes. He’s tired and over it but his cock still stands upright and you’re still needy and awake, your sex leaking with his arousal. Belphegor will lay on his back, offer himself in his sleep to you until you’re content. The last coherent thought he has is sighing at how warm and squishy you feel against him.

[luminnara]

I read through the addams!reader tag and I love it so much!! It made me happy stimm.

I was thinking of if max came over for a visit and maybe the party comes along to bc the reader met some of them before they left with Billy. I think it would be fun to see all their reactions the the family!

Okay so I’m imagining that Max has met at least reader before you and Billy took off, so she’s got an idea of how all of this might go down even if she hasn’t been to the house yet. She’s a lot more prepared and therefore way less shocked than the rest of the party, and whenever they totally freak out about something, she just acts all cool and tough and rolls her eyes like “YEAH it’s a disembodied HAND it’s not THAT cool” even though she totally thinks Thing is super cool lol

The whole Addams family would be looking at the party like oh…they look very…like they wear khaki pants 😬 like you know the “but Debbie…pastels?” Line from Values? That, but it’s like “but Michael…a Hawaiian shirt? With those shorts?” But they’re not gonna say anything. They just think they have unfortunate fashion senses.

Morticia is definitely more perceptive than Gomez, and she would totally clock that something is bothering Will. Whether it’s gay panic or upside down related or both, she would get him to talk about it. They would all be so fascinated by the concept of the upside down and just want to vacation there IMMEDIATELY

They would also have so much fun with El’s powers. I don’t think they would be shocked, they would just think they’re super fun—besides, there’s probably someone in the extended family with some sort of telekinesis, so they’re not all that surprised. The party would be taken aback by how chill they are, because they would be trying to hide all the whacky shit they’ve got going on while they Addamses are like “lmaoooooooooo let’s go dig up our dead relatives for fuuuuuuuuuunnn”

The party would also be absolutely flabbergasted by a healthier, more well adjusted Billy. Even if Max ever told them about what Neil used to be like with him, I feel like they would still hold a lot of resentment towards him because they all view him as Max’s shitty stepbrother who beat the hell out of Steve. When he walks in, all nicely dressed because he can DO that now without Neil calling him a pussy, with a glass of expensive wine instead of a can of cheap beer, they almost don’t believe it’s him…and they find that he’s WAY more relaxed and easier to talk to, because he isn’t on edge and upset all the time. So somehow, Billy acting so normal is strange, and that makes him fit in with this entire strange house and this strange family that keeps trying to feed them strange things

Wednesday and Pugsley would be more the Party’s age, so they’d be hanging out. They’d have some things in common, and I feel like they would play a very wild D&D oneshot in which Wednesday ends up with a super overpowered character somehow who destroys the entire campaign lol