#how would they react to someone so similar

[djarrex]

in this moment

here’s a little thing I wrote on dad!Steb if he’d gotten a human pregnant. I have a couple of headcanons about his character in here, too. cw: pregnant!reader and non-descriptive birth scene. very, very soft. nothing explicit. about 1.3k words.

read on ao3 | masterlist

Neither of you had thought that it'd be possible for you to get pregnant–which is not the best excuse to not have been using protection–but miraculous things happen when you least expect them to.

You’d planned on telling Steb the news on a picnic to his favorite quiet spot on a well-deserved day off, but instead you’d caved in on yourself early and told him one late night when he’d just gotten home after a long, hectic shift. He reacted pretty much the way you’d expected him to. It was confusion, at first. Motionless and wide-eyed. It was actually comical in a way, since he’d literally just walked through the door and was in the process of shimmying his duffle bag from his shoulder. You repeated yourself, and that’s when you saw it click. Steb’s brows knitted together, and he ripped off his beret before practically running to you and enveloping you in a hug. He whispered his surprise in your ear, his pure disbelief – his concise utterances all layered heavily with excitement. 

When it really started to settle in, you weren't even sure if you knew the first thing about carrying a non-human baby. Steb wasn’t exactly sure what to expect, either; he’d been hatched from a soft-shelled egg laid by his mother, but his father was human, which is why Steb has many human features: like having hair and eyebrows, and blunt teeth. The sexes of the parents were reversed this time, so neither of you had a faintest clue how it would work, or if it was even viable.

Using the extensive database at the station, Steb was able to find the sole doctor in Piltover who specialized in non-human medicine, holding a practice in the quieter part of the city. This doctor helped tremendously, and had better insight than the previous doctor you’d tried, someone who had too much unspoken judgment paired with zero knowledge of Steb’s species. The whole situation was unprecedented, but that didn’t stop your new doctor from giving it their all. 

From very early on, the two of you were assured that the baby was healthy and growing as it should, comparative to a human fetus carried by a human mother. You were expected to carry your child the full term and have similar symptoms as any other expectant mother.  At home, you had done plenty of your own research, and Steb had read up as much as he could when it was slow at the station. Being a practiced medic meant he was able to retain a little more of the medical aspects of it all, and he proved just how dutiful of a partner and father you knew he’d be. Steb almost anticipated your needs, knew what techniques to try when you were uncomfortable and sore, and made sure you were eating plenty of nutritious foods. 

Taking into account what you’d researched, it really did feel like a normal, human pregnancy – just with something a little bit different growing inside of you. Both of you slowly grew more confident. Less time was spent worrying about the unknown and instead that time was used to set up the nursery, gather the most important items necessary, and still make sure there was time set aside for the two of you as a couple.

As the weeks turned into months, and with every check up, your baby had similar behaviors to human fetuses; but the three of you–Steb, your doctor, and yourself–knew that the baby would need to be born in a similar way to its father, so it was suggested and agreed upon that you would deliver in water.

The two of you wanted your child to be born at home, and a proper birth plan was made. When your water broke, Steb was on shift. You quickly called the station – and Steb must've sprinted the entire way home, no doubt weaving his way through citizens promenading along the streets, because when he arrived he was out of breath and eerily bone dry. His concerning condition shoved to the back burner, Steb immediately went into action. He filled the tub, grabbed everything on the list the two of you had detailed prior, carried you in, and called the doctor. You’d strongly encouraged him to take a quick, cool shower to rehydrate, but he denied, concisely stating that being by your side for every moment was the most important thing.

Labor was no walk in the park. You were pretty sure you’d nearly broken Steb’s fingers with how hard you’d been squeezing his hand. Ever the calm and collected medic, he coolly guided you through it all, modeling your breathing and providing the doctor with an extra hand when needed. Between his tasks, he would reassure you in his own, unspoken way when you started to visibly falter.

A final, prolonged push and you felt it. Breathless, you looked to Steb first, gauging his reaction. He was panting in disbelief and was utterly motionless with shock, staring wide-eyed into the discolored water. His hand was still locked with yours, but it grew limp in your grasp, distracted. When you finally looked between your bent legs, you saw a faint glimmer of scales, and the most beautiful set of little webbed fingers and toes as they curled up in the water.

You don’t remember the last time you’d seen Steb tear up – but he was absolutely beside himself when he reached in the water with shaky hands to carefully grab his baby girl. Cradled in his arms, she started to cry with her first breaths of oxygen. He shushed her softy, slowly rocking her back and forth. Steb looked at you with all the love in the world, and the rush of hormones caused you to start bawling.  Through blurry eyes you watched as she blinked her own bright, glassy ones up at him. He blinked back, stray tears streaming down his cheeks. 

You were totally exhausted, but you wanted to commit her to memory, as if you’d never see her again. You were in awe of the little being that you’d just pushed out of you – a spitting image of the man who was holding her.

Her skin, a paler shade of teal, glistened with moisture. She already had quite a bit of thick hair that had grown on the top of her head. Too small to protrude at this age, her pointed ears were instead pinned back against her head. On her face under her eyes were pink shimmery scales and frills, similar to her dad’s only miniscule and a little lighter in comparison. The same, striped patterns stretched across her tiny body. Steb adjusted her to lay her head on his other arm, and during the switch you saw the fins that looked like little bumps line her spine up to the back of her head.

You wondered if this was exactly the way her dad looked after he’d hatched, when his infant body started to take shape.

She had your nose, but basically everything else belonged to Steb. Flawless. 

He said her name, the one you’d agreed on long before that moment; it came from Steb’s homeland. It fit her perfectly. 

A million promises swam in his eyes as he kept his adoring gaze on her. He looked so at ease with his newborn daughter in his arms. Natural. Fatherhood suited Steb for sure.

Closing your eyes and tilting your head back, you recalled just how unsure and anxious the two of you had felt at the beginning, after the initial shock had faded. You never could have imagined what it would be like, living in a moment quite like this one.

[rozhliena]

mc x mammon

you construct intricate rituals in order to touch the skin of the avatar of greed, ambiguous season but i would venture it's still during s1 of the original game, mostly just palavering about the gaze nothing actually occurs

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul.

"Don't you get eyestrain?" you ask Mammon, tilting your head as you sink back into the pillows on your bed. "With the sunglasses." It isn't bright in your room, the lights set just shy of their dimmest mode as you get ready to go to bed, and neither is his D.D.D.'s brightness set high. But he wears them all the time anyway, even in the evening. "Or are your eyes just sensitive?"

From where he's leaning at the side of your bed, frantically tapping some blinking lights on his D.D.D., Mammon shakes his head. "Nah, my eyes are fine," he says. "I just like the look of 'em."

A fair, if somewhat odd, assessment. You can't say you dislike the look, either, which has grown as familiar as the sight of him in your room — you're actually not sure why he's here today. It just seems like a given, some routine you've fallen into. There are two toothbrushes in the bathroom connecting to the bedroom, and there is a hamper in the corner for clothes that aren't yours, though they never seem to make it into the basket without your help, and the extra hangers in your wardrobe have lately been put into use more often than not. It's not exactly normal, you know that, but it comes so naturally.

"Are you gambling on mobile games again?" you ask, reaching over to pluck the sunglasses off his face, wondering if you should feel amusement or concern at the fact that he hadn't reacted to the motion at all. But maybe that's natural to him, too. You look at the orange-tinted lenses curiously. "You probably shouldn't, you know."

"I'm gonna win this one, serious, y'know, statistically and shit — "

When you put the sunglasses on, they're slightly large on your face, and they really aren't special aside from being from a Devildom designer brand that sounds suspiciously similar to the human world's Gucci. A typical pair of polarized sunglasses. You sigh, pulling them off. You lean over to place them back on Mammon's face, slightly askew. "Still losing?" You know he is; he's already out of in-game currency. Sure enough, the lights on the animated slot machine go red.

"Hey! You jinxed me!" he complains, adjusting the crooked sunglasses as the plaintive whine of a loser's trombone plays from his phone's speakers, but he turns off the game and stretches across your bed. His eyes peek out above the tinted lenses of his sunglasses, toward you. Like he's expecting something. You wonder if he's even aware of the way he looks at you sometimes, so intently it seems to go right through to the back of your neck.

"What's up," you say.

His gaze shifts, lands on the second hamper in the room, half-filled with his clothes by someone who isn't him. He's thanked you for it before, but you wonder what he actually thinks about the entire thing. "I dunno. Just lookin'." At this angle, you can only make out the blue in his eyes.

You sit up. "Are demon eyes different from human eyes? Like, in terms of biology."

Mammon looks at you, a little incredulously, and then laughs. "Man, how the hell would I know that? I ain't a nerd like Satan."

You shrug, moving so you're facing him properly. "I don't know. But can I check?"

He grimaces, but he's already folding up his sunglasses and hooking them into the collar of his shirt. "Like, you're not gonna poke 'em or anything, right? Would you even know the difference between, y'know, human and demon eyes?"

"Maybe. I don't know." When you moved just now, your hand brushed against his, where below the knuckles is the faded smudge of a stamp he'd had to get at one of Beel's games. Identical to one on your own hand. The game itself hadn't been particularly intriguing, and what you remember more than anything else is that it had been cold that day. You and he had to huddle up together beneath a blanket, and Mammon's bony elbows poked into your ribs to such an extent that you wondered if it wasn't less comfortable in the blanket than outside of it. But when he turned to you, smiling sheepishly, looking at you the way he does, warmth bloomed in your chest and you couldn't even feel the ache over it.

Mammon looks at you the way he does and shrugs. "Whatever. All yours."

There's no way to make this seem normal, you know that. When you take his face in your hands you don't think too much about how easily his face fits against your palms as you angle his head toward the light. His cheeks are warm. He doesn't resist at all. "Don't close your eyes so I can look at your pupils."

It's not an order, but Mammon goes along with it anyway, though his eyes tremble a little, avoiding your gaze, when you lean in to inspect.

When the light hits them, the pupils constrict like they would in any other eye. Whenever Mammon looks over his sunglasses, his eyes are like the bright blue sky of the human world above a sea of sand, but up this close, they're entirely normal. The same pupils, irises, sclerae. Tear ducts. The delicate blood vessels along the white of the eye. Eyelashes, to keep out debris. It's almost disappointing. The only distinction anyone could make between his eyes and those of a human's is that his irises are unnaturally vivid and possess two colors, but even then, there are some humans with those same traits.

"I can't tell the difference," you admit. "They look like any other set of eyes."

The set in question flicks to yours, narrowing slightly. "Hey, just 'cause I'm being generous doesn't mean you can go lumpin' me in with everyone else." He reaches up, his hand finding purchase at one of your wrists like he's going to wrench you away from him, but he just keeps it there. "I'm the Great Mammon, y'know?" The warmth bleeds into your skin.

"I know that," you say softly, still not thinking. "Hey, close your eyes." Again, it's not an order, no force behind the words, but again Mammon obliges. His eyelashes are so light they're almost transparent. You brush the pad of your thumb over the thin skin of the eyelid, over the light oily sheen there. His closed eyes quiver beneath your touch.

"Does eyeshadow give you trouble?" you ask. "Because of your eyelids."

"Lil bit," he says. "When I do gigs I gotta prime 'em and carry those blotting things. But hey, I always end up lookin' good, yeah?" His mouth turns up in a contagious grin.

"You do." It comes out of your mouth so easily. His cheeks go warm at the admission, but he doesn't say anything this time. He's letting you feel around his eyes like it's nothing, and you think, maybe there isn't any real difference between demons and humans, after all. Eyes or otherwise. You let your fingers trace along his face to under the chin, angling his head upward. During the game, you had reached down to one of his arms and squeezed, not because it accomplished anything for heat, but because it was instinctual, like scratching an itch, or like blinking.

Your faces are so close. Kissing Mammon would be so simple — twist of the wrist, tilt of the head. You'd land his lips in one try; it would come naturally, and his mouth would be soft and warm. You wonder if he would let you kiss him.

Mammon's eyes flutter open. His grasp on your wrist tightens slightly. You can feel his breath on your face. Your own breath catches in your throat. "What're you doing?" he whispers.

"Just looking," you whisper back. He doesn't let go.

[0rczy]

I really like analyzing Varigo, one thing I've noticed recently is how different their approach to romance (and human connections in general) really is, but also how they're pretty much the perfect foils in this regard.

Varian grew up sheltered away in their mansion. He didn't have much clue about socializing, so when Rapunzel came to him, he gives all of them proper respect (calling Rapunzel "Princess", Eugene "Flynn Rider", as in the full name). You could assume it's because of his dad; later when the two confronted each other, Varian called him "Sir". Probably because Quiring taught him to be respectful of others, and they both clearly take this social rule rather seriously.

So then Cassandra comes in and saves Varian, for apparently no selfish reasons. She likely just didn't want to have a child get crushed when she could've prevented it, but to Varian, this changes his view on people. Cassandra isn't just a distant figure to respect; instead, someone he could have a connection with. And this is where one of Varian's most essential traits come to light: when comfortable, he treats situations like an experiment. He immediately starts calling her by a nickname, "Cassie", to see how she would react. At the day of the expo, he keeps trying out different tactics, trying to essentially just get close to Cassandra. One could Interpret this romantically, but I personally like to think he just really wanted a friend. A lonely kid, seeing someone cool show any kind of affection for him immediately made him go "there could be something here! I need to find out!", and so he does. In his own, nerdy way.

Hugo, on the other hand. He, unlike Varian, grew up having to socialize all the time. Having to talk his way out of situations constantly, he learned to put up walls so that the most desirable results come out, benefiting him and his missions. When he weasels his way into the Team, he also calls them nicknames. In his case, it stems from a need to distance himself from people, so that he doesn't get attached. One slight exception though is Varian, as Hugo seemingly not only uses nicknames on him to keep up built-up walls, but to get a reaction out of him. This is very similar to how Varian approached Cassandra when he was younger. He's interested in Varian from early on, and he handles this in his good old Hugo fashion, because he finds Varian entertaining. Varian at first doesn't trust Hugo, but when he proves himself trustworthy, he gives in. He's willing to reach out, making Hugo more than a means to an end. Eventually, the two become friends! Then more than friends!

And then, their approaches change.

I'd like to think that it was Hugo, who fell first. Or at the very least, he's the first to realize it, and he HATES THIS. His flight or flight is activated, and he really wants to flee. He's the type to ignore his feelings, try to bury them. That's all he knows how to do, really. Especially because for what could be the first time in his life, he's actually falling for someone who is his friend. Someone who means a lot to him! He wouldn't want to ruin things, especially because he knows that betraying Variant will break the guy's heart, once he finds out. Therefore, the less pain, the better.

Varian is the exact opposite of this. It takes him a long time to figure out what he feels, and that it could be romantic (he didn't exactly have the history with romance before. The "puppy crush" on Cassandra could have easily been more of an obsession with the possibility of someone showing affection towards him). But once he realizes that there's a chance that the two could be a thing? He doesn't have to think hard about what his next step should be: he likes Hugo, and he's a scientist. Trial and error is practically in his blood at this point, so if there's even a small possibility of them getting together? That Hugo likes him back? Varian will do anything to find out how probable his theory is. And so, once again, he treats the situation like an experiment. Wasting no time, he tries to confess or bring up the idea as quickly as possible. And Hugo FREAKS OUT. He's not ready!

Varian's other big trait is his stubbornness. He's not satisfied with an uncertain answer. He wants to know Hugo's view on them, as clearly as possible. So he keeps poking around, trying to find an approach that brings out different reactions, different answers as to why Hugo would be scared of them being together. Again. Really similar to how he treated Cassandra at the expo back then. This is the only way he knows how, though. And he needs clear answers.

He gets one at the last trial. Boom. Heartbreak. This isn't about angst though, so I'll end it here.

I find them so interesting. How their upbringing influenced their view and approach to people, to friendship, to romance. To each other. They are both scientists, but one is more afraid of the results than the other.

So it all boils down to the importance of clear communication: another big theme in Vat7k, what with Ulla and Donella setting an example as what not to do.

I could ramble about these characters for ages, but yeah. This is my view on them, I loooove reading different Interpretations in fan fiction though!

[freeuselandonorris]

16 (+18?) for max f/lando/oscar? same anon who was talking about hypno earlier, so. i would love some hypno in there, but no pressure!

cheating slightly and smashing together four similar prompts because i got nearly 40 requests lmao

so here for your enjoyment is a brief return to hypnoverse, in which max and lando invite oscar to use lando in his hypno bimbo state 💕

ngl i missed this ‘verse so i might potentially turn this into a proper sequel at some point We Will See

cw for hypno but it's all very consensual!

“Right, Bob,” Max says. He’s got good at sounding confident now, he thinks. Like he knows what he’s doing. Someone in charge. “You sure about this?”

Lando nods. Turns to look at Oscar.

Oscar’s looking a little like he’s secretly freaking out and trying not to show it, too. His eyes are very bright when he nods. Max tries not to feel too gratified by the way Oscar looks at him for direction. 

“Okay,” Max says, and claps his hands, wincing when he clocks Lando’s smirk. As if Lando doesn’t spend half his life performing to an invisible camera. “Oscar, mate, I’ve got the list of trigger phrases on my phone if you need a reminder.”

Oscar shakes his head. “I can remember them.”

“All right,” Max says, and looks at Lando, who’s pulled the sleeves of his pink hoodie over his hands, fidgeting. “Babygirl sleep.”

He’d been a bit worried that Lando might not respond to the triggers with someone else there. That he’d get self-conscious, or distracted, and Max would be left standing there like a tit, a magician dropping the deck of cards halfway through a trick. 

But Lando blinks, and his face slackens into a soft, dopey smile. Max breathes a sigh of relief. “Good girl,” he says quickly, and Lando sways on the spot as the trance deepens. Max doesn’t usually use two commands in quick succession like that; he wonders how it feels for Lando, who’s smiling in an unfocused way at a spot on the floor a few feet away, hands limp at his sides. 

Max’s cock stirs. He looks at Oscar. Oscar’s looking pretty hypnotised himself, staring at Lando with his lips slightly parted. 

“Go on, then,” Max says lightly. “He’s ready. You can do what you want with him.”

Oscar sucks in a breath, steps closer. He’s still staring at Lando with open fascination. When he reaches out and touches Lando’s face, Max’s gut twists pleasantly. He’d worried that he might be jealous, but all he feels is pride, like a kid in the playground showing off their shiniest toy. 

Oscar pushes two fingers into Lando’s mouth, and Lando closes his eyes and sucks blissfully. 

“Is he,” Oscar starts, and then clears his throat when his voice comes out in a croak. “Is he wearing the – what you said?”

“The cage?” Max says, just to watch the blush spread across Oscar’s face. God, it’s good, being the one in the know. His cock is so hard, and it’s not just from seeing Lando like this. “Yeah, ‘course. He wears it most of the time now, when we’re doing this. Helps him remember what he’s good for, doesn’t it, pal?” 

He addresses the last remark to Lando, who makes an indistinct sound in the back of his throat. Max smiles, raises his eyebrows at Oscar like they’re sharing a joke. What a slut, am I right?

“Babygirl strip,” Max says, and Lando moves to obey immediately, yanking his hoodie over his head. He’s told Max he doesn’t really need the uniform anymore, not now he’s so well trained, but Max likes it. “Slowly,” he says chidingly, when Lando grabs eagerly at the hem of his t-shirt. “Show yourself off for Oscar, come on.”

Oscar just about chokes at that, and Max can’t resist getting a hand on himself as Lando immediately course-corrects, turning to Oscar and pulling his t-shirt over his head teasingly slowly. Once it's off, he brushes over his nipples with the tips of his fingers, all wet mouth and lidded, blank eyes. 

He’s not wearing underwear under his jeans, and Oscar groans audibly when he sees the bubblegum pink of the cage around Lando’s soft cock. Lando doesn’t react, just carries on undressing himself, balancing carefully on one foot to peel his jeans off entirely. 

“No,” Oscar says suddenly, when Lando goes for his socks. “Leave them.” They’re white, pulled up to his calves, accentuating Lando’s smooth tanned skin. They do look good; Oscar’s got taste. 

“Good girl,” Max says, watching the pleased little shiver that ripples through Lando’s bared body. “Oscar thinks you look good. Show him the rest.” 

Without hesitation, Lando turns and steps his feet apart, bending down and spreading himself open so Oscar can see the pink furl of his asshole, waxed and still shiny with lube where he’s been wearing a plug all morning. 

“Oh my God,” Oscar says under his breath. 

Max’s own head is spinning, watching the two of them like this. He adjusts himself again. “Told you, mate.”

He hadn’t, not really. He’d texted back and forth with Oscar about it a bit – Lando hadn’t wanted to take part in the planning, save for messaging Oscar to confirm it wasn’t all some sort of elaborate prank for a particularly x-rated Quadrant video or whatever – but Max hadn’t really given him the full picture. How could he?

So he can forgive Oscar for looking a bit blindsided, now. He’s licking his lips, that unconscious tic Max has seen on the telly a thousand times over, rendered faintly sleazy now given Lando’s still stood in front of him with his legs spread and his arse on display. 

“I want–” Oscar says, trailing off awkwardly. “His mouth?”

He tips it up into a question at the end. Max gestures to Lando, still waiting patiently, giving no indication he can hear their discussion. “You’ll have to tell him, not me. He’ll stand there for hours otherwise. You remember the trigger phrase?” 

“God,” Oscar mutters again, like he really can’t believe what’s happening. He clears his throat. When he speaks, his voice is wobbly with nerves. “Lando. Erm – drop for cock.”

He stutters a bit as he says it. Instantly, with perfect grace, Lando turns to face him and drops to his knees. Eyes closed, mouth hanging open, tongue resting invitingly against his bottom lip. He waits like that, perfectly still, as Oscar fumbles his jeans open, more flustered than Max has ever seen him, and feeds his cock into Lando’s mouth. 

It’s hot, watching them, but more than that, Max feels proud. Lando’s sucking Oscar’s cock like he was made for it, nose brushing the trimmed hair on his lower belly, hands resting neatly on his thighs. Oscar’s staring down at him like he’s trying to commit the sight to memory, face flushed hectic red and his chest heaving. Lando’s making noises in the back of his throat as he sucks, eager little moans tucked in among the wet sounds of his mouth. He gags occasionally – Oscar’s not longer than Max, but he is thicker, and Lando's mouth is stretched wide around him – but he doesn’t stop the smooth movement of his head. He’s drooling, tears starting to trickle down his cheeks from the force of Oscar’s cock hitting the back of his throat.

“Careful,” Oscar gasps, hands hovering over Lando’s head as if he’s not sure whether to push him away and let him catch his breath.

“Leave him,” Max says sharply, and Oscar jumps like he’d forgotten Max was even there. “He’s fine.” 

He’ll be hoarse in all of his interviews tomorrow, but that’s all right. Something for Max to get himself off to in his hotel suite when he watches the press conference.

Oscar’s hands move to Lando’s hair, and for a moment Max thinks he’s going to pull Lando away anyway, but he doesn’t. Cradling Lando’s skull, he moves Lando’s head, adjusting the rhythm to something slower and deeper but no less difficult for Lando to take.

Max shoves his hand inside his joggers and watches, barely breathing, as Oscar slowly fucks Lando's mouth. Slow like he's savouring it, slow like he's worried he might never get to see Lando like this again.

Oscar doesn’t give much warning when he comes. His movements get a little faster, a little sloppier, the filthy sounds of Lando’s spit-slick mouth getting correspondingly louder. Otherwise, Max only realises Oscar's coming when his movements jerk to a sudden taut halt. Oscar buckles over as he holds Lando in place. He doesn’t moan or swear or anytthing, just exhales in sharp staccato gasps, fingers rubbing convulsively through Lando’s hair. 

It takes him a minute to straighten up again, carefully unwinding himself from Lando and easing him back with the hand still buried in his damp curls. Lando’s eyes stay closed, his mouth and chin wet with saliva and whatever remnants of Oscar’s come he hadn’t managed to swallow down. Even now, it’s still intoxicating for Max to see him like this, barely cognisant of what a mess he’s in. Even more so to see how much Oscar's enjoying it.

Oscar lets out a shuddering breath, tucking himself back into his boxers with one hand. He’s still petting absently at Lando’s hair, and Max thinks it’s sweet for a moment, until Oscar looks up at him, eyes narrowed in thought.

“Will he stay like this until we tell him to stop?” he says, giving Lando’s head a gentle shake.

Lando goes with the motion easily. Eyes still closed, mouth still open. His nipples are drawn up tight and peaked, betraying his unconscious pleasure even though the pink cage nestled between his thighs stops any kind of physical arousal.

“Yeah,” Max says, and takes his sticky hand out of his boxers. “For another hour or so, at least."

Oscar uses the hand he’s got in Lando’s hair to tip his head up, angled towards Max. He beckons with the other hand, and Max realises that he’s going to keep hold of Lando as he sucks Max’s cock, a pliant little puppet. Controlled by Oscar, for Max's pleasure.

“Well, then,” Oscar says, and smiles, flushed with fresh bravado. “Your turn.”

[siggiedraws]

As someone who considers Silver to be her favorite Sonic character, I had spent a good while wondering why I keep feeling frustrated with him in the IDW comics as compared to Archie and I think you might had put into words why. His lack of a backbone is kind of weakening him in hindsight. I still like him all around and there are parts of IDW that do justice to his character and even expand on it (I will never not be happy for his journey as a gardener cause that is both in line with his love of nature and very refreshing to see for a male character to have unabashedly, especially someone Silver's age). Though I will disagree with you saying that Archie had NO backbone. He was constantly in conflict with Sonic over finding out who the traitor to the Freedom Fighters that lead to his bleak future is and he consistently makes mistakes that make him come off as cocky and bratty, to the point that Sonic eventually grows to hate Silver and even disregard his warnings when he does discover the actual truth until it's too late (that truth of course being that Sally betrayed everyone unintentionally with her Robotinazation, something no one wants to be true until they have to face it after the fact). Archie Silver is still flawed, but he is closer to his game counterpart more than IDW Silver is, at least in my opinion he is.

Thank you for your sharing your opinion and being very polite about it! To clarify something, I did not mean to say Archie Silver had no backbone. I was using him as a point of comparison because I noticed similarities with IDW, in that he is portrayed as more polite/timid than his game counterpart. I understand your interpretation of my previous post because I didn't get into it for the sake of not getting off topic. In the future, I will avoid making points without providing evidence in order to avoid confusing people or derailing my argument.

What I want to argue here is that I think your point arguing that Archie Silver has a backbone is still compatible with my position of both comic Silvers possessing noticeable character differences from game Silver that share the same problem with Silver being portrayed as polite or timid, just to different degrees.

I absolutely do not want to be unreasonable here! I agree with you that he is more similar to his game counterpart than IDW is and I won't deny the examples you just listed. I hope the examples I bring up can help illuminate my perspective a little bit and why Archie Silver is a bit too similar to IDW Silver for my liking.

Sonic the Hedgehog #195 - Silver tries to politely interject in on the fight, to the point of saying "excuse me" and "ma'am."

I am aware that he stops them all directly after this moment, however, it should not have happened in the first place if Archie Silver was aiming to be like Game Silver.

Sonic the Hedgehog #235 - Silver stammering in front of Sonic and allowing himself to get dragged through the dirt by his quills.

I think it's not in-line with the games for Silver to allow himself to be disrespected like this. If the Rivals games teach us anything, he gives back equal if not more aggressive energy when he perceives that someone is disrespecting him. Silver calling Sonic a jerk is really small potatoes.

If Silver reacts this way to being called crazy, how do you think he would react to being dragged through the mud by his quills? Not well, I can tell you that.

Silver's stammering here is also of note because it communicates that he's intimidated by Sonic when he has no reason to be if this were an accurate portrayal to the games.

Sonic Universe #43 - Silver tries to lie.

In the games, Silver is so honest and sincere when he speaks that it could be attributed to a source of his rudeness. Lying and deception is simply not something he ever considers doing. We've been shown in Rivals 2 quite clearly that Silver is honest to a fault. This panel also shows Silver being polite and timid in his mannerisms.

Silver attempting to lie happens to be a trait that is shared with IDW Silver in the 2022 annual.

Sonic Universe #25 - Another example of Silver not defending himself from being disrespected and using the term "sir."

Silver's childlikeness is emphasized here, as he is put in direct contrast with an elderly character who comes across as an authority figure, one he seemingly accepts and calls "sir" to be polite. This is an example of what I meant in my post when I say that Silver's naivety keeps getting conflated with being childish. He even says "b-but he started it" like a child telling on a sibling to their parents.

I acknowledge there is a tiny moment where Silver speaks passive-aggressively in the second to last panel, but Silver listening to the order of "don't sass your elders" directly afterwards quickly negates this moment.

Another moment from the same issue shows Silver becoming timid and lacking in confidence when faced with six enemies.

This directly contradicts the games where Silver is very confident in his abilities when faced with a horde of enemies. In Colours DS, he shows an eager willingness to fight and gets disappointed when Orbot and Cubot flee instead, which is opposite to how Silver attempts to avoid fighting in Archie.

Now, in the Archie example, Silver gets defeated by the enemies, which indicates that his timidness is because he is outmatched. I would argue that this is still not true to Game Silver. In '06, Silver readily and confidently fights Iblis, despite Iblis coming back time and time again and never truly being defeated.

Another example is when he fights Shadow. Despite losing to Shadow, and being told that it's no use fighting Shadow due to his Chaos Control ability, Silver does not start behaving timidly. He is still as determined as ever.

-

Thank you very much for your ask! I hope the examples provided illustrate why I brought up Archie Silver as an example in my previous post about this topic. I agree with you about gardening being a good recent addition to Silver's character, it's very wholesome to see him indulge in his love for the world around him.

[flo-zoinks]

how do you think all the male gang members would react to getting kicked in the balls? 😭 (rdr2 can see linde gang, to be specific :)

My followers are ALLERGIC to normal asks but I like it so okay my love ❤🤗

WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF YOU KICKED EVERY RDR2 GANG MEMBER IN THE BALLS (MY OPINION)

Again here we are going to assume you're someone like John in terms of gender, age and general reputation in camp as the reactions will differ greatly by those factors

These might be a little unrealistic as I do not own a penis!

Arthur - goes like ARGH SHIT then tries to look intimidating like he's gonna hurt you back but won't actually - more of a warning

Dutch - immediately curses for a good 10 seconds, then when ok enough to move goes to punch you out of camp, then demands to be cared for like he got shot by Molly

Pearson - fights back tears, (wins), then slams his kitchen knife into his counter and throws a spoon at you shouting like "GO AWAY". Says later in the fireplace he was just giving you time to run away

Javier - "CHINGUE SU MADRE" winces a little, then tries to play off nonchalantly. Probably straight up punches you and if you fall he spits on your head

John - "ShhiiIIT" literally nearly falls over, then shoves you onto the floor when he can with an insult after. Leaves camp for a day after out of anger for your actions then Abigail is telling you off for maybe causing V2 of when he left for a year

Jack (1914) - same as John at the start, but probably more inclined to aim a gun at you instead.

Hosea - DOES fall over, then when he gets up grabs your ear to the outskirt of camp similar to Miss Grimshaw where he throws you out with a kick too

Charles - grunts really loudly and is close to swearing, but doesn't and instead tells you off whilst in a lot of pain. Calls you insufferable too

Sean - KICKS YOU BACK. REAL HARD. "FUCK YOU TOO". But in the exact moment just asks what he did wrong to you cuz what the devil

Lenny - is about to punch you back, but instead just shoves you to the side as he walks on (after shouting what the hell is your problem). Tries to be the bigger man

Uncle - falls down the the ground, but doesn't get up and instead choosing to stay there cursing you out. He's quite sassy with it despite all

Kieran - Assumes again it's because hes an O'Driscoll and tells you/all of the camp to plss stop 😭. Goes back to the outskirts of camp to tend to the horses and if you two are ok months later brings it up saying atleast it was better then the gelding tongs courtesy of Bill. However like before all the other men and Sadie/Karen applaude your actions to Kieran

Trelawny - buckles over, then tries to regain his composure to remain gentlemanly. But then says "my goodness, what is that behind you?" And whilst you expect it to be a magic trick he just kicks you back in the balls

Micah - "fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.." "I been trying so hard to along with you what is this for" "I'm not one of those gays my balls were none of your buisness" OR "YOU DAMN (slur) AGH" if there is a slur 'applicable' to you

Reverend (chap 1-4) - immediately folds to the floor in baby position about to swoon to sooth himself. Then forgives you quickly realising it's a good excuse to pump himself full of substances to "help" the pain subside.

Bill - "AGH SHIT YOU LITTLE...SHIT" Tries to spit on your face and then wobbles back to camp. Later pretends like it was just a little itch he wasn't really affected by it, yet still tries to threaten you at the table to "feel more masculine and powerful"

Thanks for asking me !!! ❤❤

[akutasoda]

hiiiiii brant with a teen!reader who is basically homeless so they snuck onto his ship and the crew was absent for a while so they basically made it their home but then he came back and found out :3

welcome abroad!

synopsis - how brant reacts to finding a stowaway

includes - brant

warnings - gn!teen!reader, fluff, slight angst, maybe ooc, wc - 434

↪in your position, you never had anywhere to go. that was until you caught sight of lario when the troupe was touring, although at that point you were unaware of it belonging to them. so you figured there was no harm in boarding.

↪you reckoned you could take refuge there as it was certainly better than trying to deal with any acolytes and the order - even if you ended up being caught, which you were shortly after the troupe boarded.

↪and upon meeting you, he realized immediately that you had endured a lot, having an extremely valid reason for trying to perhaps get out of ragunna. he doubted someone as young as you was there to cause them harm.

↪so the only logical option to brant was to let you travel with and even join them, the more the merrier in his opinion - additionally he was never one to turn away someone in need like yourself.

↪and as a result of his rather brash, impulsive decision, brant would quite readily make himself responsible for you, taking the place as your guardian as you were still a teenager. much to roccia's dismay and slight pity for you.

↪naturally you would soon become welcomed into residence in penitent's end when they finally docked. it became your home very quickly, almost everyone there had been in some similar position and so there was a wide felt sympathy which led to quick acceptance.

↪brant was very much a flashy, spontaneous man. but he wasn't the captain for nothing. so it came with little surprise just how well he actually looked after you.

↪he would easily go out of his way to do things you wanted to go do, or simply was very happy to accommodate what you needed to make your life with them as pleasant as possible.

↪and it certainly wasn't just brant who was helping you adjust to their lifestyle, the troupe was like a family and very happy to welcome in their newest member - although quite noticeably brant was more present around you which could be mainly attributed to the fact he wanted to help you the most.

↪brant was like an older brother to you. he would always look out for and take care of you. although roccia is always you're second go to when brant indulged in a bit too much to drink.

[1hotmuyfunbro]

Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if Laurent and Nicaise were the same age...

• Imagine both of them being 14, meeting each other with all their traumas and pasts. I think Laurent, still under the Regent's manipulation, wouldn't have developed the strong personality he has throughout the trilogy. For me, that started to form when he was 15 and began to create his own prince's guard, and the Regent abandoned him. So we have two naive 14-year-olds: one is smart but still naive (Laurent) and the other, besides being naive, is clever (Nicaise).

• So, we know that Laurent, in some way, "admired (?)" or cared for Nicaise enough to call him brother, which hits hard considering what the word "brother" means to someone like Laurent! I once read that the reason Laurent didn't "compete" with Nicaise but did with Aimeric, aside from the age difference, is that Nicaise represents what Laurent probably would’ve wanted to see in himself. Laurent hates the naivety of his "young self," but he admits that Nicaise was smarter than the others... that he knew the Regent didn’t love him, not like the others.

• This also makes me think (I'm taking a risk here) that because of their personalities and pasts, Nicaise is more likely to carry his trauma in a different way than Laurent. Laurent grew up with love for almost 14 years, he knows what family is, what it's like to have a roof and a steady meal. Nicaise seems to have been a poor kid who didn’t have many options, either to survive or to refuse the Regent or the adults around him—HE WAS BOUGHT, meaning he was sold first ("a bought whore kid" is how Laurent calls him), probably doesn't know what a family is, or selfless love, or the security of a stable home. They’re both super resilient, but in their own ways. I also wondered why Nicaise kind of noticed the Regent, while Laurent didn’t until years later... I think, aside from their past experiences, it comes down to the difference between intelligence and cleverness:

• "The astute child would be more likely to notice deceit or abuse because they are better at perceiving subtle cues and understanding others’ intentions, reacting quicker to potential manipulation. The intelligent child, on the other hand, might identify the problem through logical analysis but needs more context or clear information to do so. The main difference is that the astute child perceives threats instinctively, while the intelligent child understands them more rationally."

• I like the difference and similarity between them and their traumas. Laurent, less used to unexpected experiences that ruined his life, still carries self-hate, guilt, disgust, and also struggles with being touched by others; while Nicaise, more accustomed to betrayal and pain, probably handles things differently. This doesn’t mean it’s healthier, but his trauma started at an even younger age than Laurent’s, which may have made him normalize what happened to him and accept certain physical touches like holding Laurent's hand or letting him lift his chin with a finger, or Audin wrapping his arms around him, etc. If Nicaise normalizes it, even if it still harms him, he likely deals with it in a different way.

• Finally, I think if Nicaise had survived, he wouldn't have developed a post-abuse state like Laurent's—maybe similar but different. And if they had met and talked when they were 14, Nicaise might have totally owned Laurent, but it would have been cute seeing them together. Maybe they could have even had an even stronger friendship?

Tell me if you thought something while reading it!

[bridge-arsonist]

Contrarian-Cold Parallels

Something I think is super underrated is the parallels between the Cold and the Contrarian. Because, though they present themselves very differently, at heart, they're much more similar than you'd initially believe.

The Contrarian is someone who strives to piss off the Narrator. Whatever he does, he just wants to ruin the Narrator's day. Have some fun, and mess with Narrator; those are his two main goals. He doesn't actually have bad intentions, though. He never wanted to create a fusion of multiple princesses like in the Stranger, in fact, he seems incredibly remorseful. He never realized the weight of his actions, that's all. The Contrarian is much more caring than he seems at first glance, trying to get the player to help turn the princess back at the end of the stranger route, and softening up considerably at the Shifting Mound's heart.

The Cold is actually pretty similar to this, though he has his differences. He, at heart, strives to ruin the Narrator's day and have fun/stay interested in things. Though he's considerably less remorseful for the fate of the princess than the Contrarian, he definitely is more caring than he appears at first glance. He tries to help the Slayer in his own way in Moment of Clarity (I believe it's even implied Cold's powers were what the Slayer used to help stay sane), and he tries to help the other voices bear through terrible pain using his advice of staying numb.

So, they both:

Want things to be interesting

Want to ruin the Narrator's day as much as possible

Don't really seem care about much else other than the two aforementioned goals

Can be surprisingly feeling despite their initial, uncaring presentation

Both seriously underestimate the consequences of their actions—With Contrarian underestimating the harm you can do to the princess, and Cold underestimating the harm she can do to you (sure she's just a ghost, bud, suuuure.)

Funnily enough, though, they spawn from opposing courses of action. Disobeying the Narrator from the start until you accidentally unravel everything (including yourself), and obeying the Narrator until he unravels everything, and then having no other choice but to purposefully end yourself to escape the eternal void he's trapped you in.

And so their presentations seem opposite: The lackadaisical, mischievous, prankster type; and the stoic, serious, calm type. But they both have a major, dare I say character-defining trait in common:

A seeming apathy towards everything except pissing off the Narrator.

In Cold's main route, and most of his others, you literally stab yourself because, well, fuck the Narrator and this torturous eternal void. And Contrarian's routes are... Pretty self-explanatory. You walk away with no discernable goal but the lulz and pissing off the Narrator.

Despite seemingly being completely opposite courses of action, these paths begin to converge into endings much more similar than they seem. You did everything so differently, but in the end, you're still here. With an unknown princess, and a voice who seems to care for naught but entertainment and that pesky raven in your head.

So different on the outside, yet so similar at the heart of it all; that's something I love about these two.

[hephaestuscrew]

Sometimes I think about Dominik Koudelka's assistant who takes Minkowski's call in Ep43 Persuasion...

In the moment, dismissing the voice on the other end of the phone feels like the right thing to do. She can't just put any random person who calls through to Mr. Koudelka immediately; if she did, there would be no point in him having an assistant at all. And when that random caller is claiming to be Mr. Koudelka's dead wife, of course it would be wrong to subject him to that. (Cont. below cut)

She's seen Mr. Koudelka in the denial stage of grief, if only from a professional distance. She knows that the only time he took off after he heard the news was the day of his wife's funeral. She knows he started working days so long it was a wonder he got any sleep at all. She's heard rumours that he tried to insist that The Times' coverage of the shuttle crash ought to use the word 'allegedly' more. Apparently he ignored every sensitively-worded inquiry about whether he wanted to have any input on his wife's obituary.

Mr. Koudelka certainly doesn't need some cruel joke reopening emotional wounds. It's better not to mention it to him. His assistant knows that she did the right thing. 

Or at least, she thinks she did. But she still can't stop thinking about that voice on the other end of phone, its desperation, its sense of urgency, its bizarre impossible claim.

So maybe she finds herself looking up Renée Minkowski, just to set her mind at ease. And there's surprisingly little information out there, but she eventually finds a clip of an interview from just before the launch of the Hephaestus mission. And that's when her stomach drops. She recognises the voice in the video. It's the same voice as the one she heard on the end of the phone. She's sure it's the same voice.

And what is she supposed to do then? Go to her boss and tell him that his wife is alive? Tell him that she lost him potentially his one chance to talk to his presumed dead wife? Admit that she didn't tell him about that call straight away? She's got no proof, just her memory. What if she's wrong about it being the same voice? Maybe it was a good impersonator, or a technological trick, or the power of suggestion. Is telling him the truth worth risking her job for? Is it worth risking giving false hope to a widower who has only just begun to move on? What if he doesn't believe her? What if he does?

[good-beanswrites]

And a sort of alternate version for the last Fuuta/cry prompt, from a normal au that lives in my brain -- some hurt/comfort with Mappi :')

Mahiru hummed as she stirred. The apartment was filled with the wonderful aroma of her cooking. A door around the corner clicked. Perfect timing, she thought with a smile.

She hadn’t been sure Fuuta would wake up in time for dinner. He’d been out cold ever since she picked him up from his dorm room. Well, he’d probably recount it as kidnapping, since he was in no state to actually agree to come along. But that was the very reason she’d dragged his weak form out of there – no one at the school had noticed that calls stopped going through to him, or that his social media pages all vanished overnight, or that he’d stopped attending classes. When Mahiru finally made her way to his dark, trash-piled room, she discovered him with a 39 degree fever and rambling frantically about death. She needed to take matters into her own hands.

And that’s exactly what she did. Fuuta could hardly keep food down, after his diet of instant meals, energy drinks, and painkillers (if the discarded containers around his room were any clue), so she replaced them with homemade soups and teas. She traded his rumpled bed for her own, which was sweet-scented and well-lit. Mikoto had even helped with a change of pajamas for him. 

Mahiru had taken the liberty of calling Fuuta’s sister to let her know the situation, though it was difficult to find her information without Fuuta’s phone. She couldn’t find it anywhere in his dorm. She’d also given Shidou a call, and he’d stopped by the first day to check in. He said Fuuta should be more coherent by day three, at least.

Mahiru could always count on him for reliable information. Sure enough, soft steps approached from behind. 

“Good to see you, sleepyhead~” She smiled over her shoulder. Though in a better state than when she found him, Fuuta was still a bit of a mess. He looked pale and thin in Mikoto’s clothes, which were already big on him. His eyes were bleary. Strands of bright hair stuck out at all angles. His expression was dull, taking in the cozy apartment. 

“Mahiru made your favorite for dinner! I bet you’re hungry.”

“I… don’t want it… ” His expression was uncharacteristically blank. 

Mahiru giggled; he must be really tired to be denying food. “Oh, of course you do!”

“No, you… you don’t understand…” 

“Come take a seat, it’s ready now.”

He took a step forward. “Mahiru…”

“You should be more careful, Fuuta-kun! Next time you come down with something, you should really let somebody know. It’s a miracle I came and found you in time, hm?”

She spun to set things on the table. The pride in her masterpiece faded away as his expression twisted up. His hands drifted up shakily to his face, and he started to sob. 

“Fuuta-kun!”

Mahiru hurried to him. His knees gave out as she wrapped her arms around him. He leaned down into her, his breath hitching and hiccupping as he tried to tell her something. “You shouldn’t… if you knew what I… I…” 

“Shhh, hey. Shhh...”

After a moment of broken phrases and body-wracking sobs, he regained his balance and pulled away from her. There was a look in his eyes Mahiru had seen in the last few days, when he was trying to talk through his delirium. She’d chalked it up to feverishness, but she now saw that this raw, revolted horror was something real. 

“I fucked up.”

The simple sentence sent him into a fresh wave of panic. He tried to step backwards and hide his face away, but she tugged his sleeve backward. Normally she wouldn’t be able to forcibly move him anywhere, but for the second time, he was too weak to stop her.

“Just breathe,” she said. “You can tell me.”

Mahiru had known Fuuta for long enough to hear the range of his voice – the excited chatter, the snarky muttering, the grating yelling. In all that time, she’d never once heard him sound like this. His words cracked and wobbled. Sometimes it was so hushed that Mahiru had to press her ear closer just to understand.

And by the time he finished, she understood why.

“I didn’t know,” he kept repeating. “I’d never h-have done it if… if…”

“It’s okay,” was all Mahiru could repeat in turn, through her own tears. It wasn’t quite the truth, but it wasn’t a lie, either. It was what Fuuta needed to hear, and that’s all that mattered.

“I just want to take it back… but there’s no way… What am I – what am I supposed to do?” 

“We’ll figure it out, alright? It’ll be okay.” She guided him around. “Let’s get you back to bed, okay? I’ll bring the food in to you.”

He paused. His teary eyes studied her in bewilderment. “W-why?”

“Eh? Well how else are you supposed to eat from there…?”

“No, I mean,” he swallowed hard. “Why would you do that? You… you don’t hate me…?” 

“Oh, Fuuta-kun.”

She wrapped her arms around him again. This time, he willingly returned the gesture. He grabbed onto her for dear life, and Mahiru was suddenly struck with just how much of a miracle it really had been, that she’d found him in the state he was. 

She held him close, one palm spread on his back, the other twisted through his hair. 

“Not at all. Now, let me feed you something, okay?”

“... Okay.”

[dykedvonte]

I feel like THOSE parts of the mouthwashing fandom would absolutely explode finding out that stuff like blood Meridian has a goofy fandom too

I think it’s less that the fandom is goofy and more people think people goofin around or with the sensitive subject matter don’t get the themes or plot or just avoid thinking about it.

I know a lot of people do but like it’s a fandom. People are gonna do weird or crazy shit and I just think we should use the block button more than openly inciting harassment towards something you don’t like vs trying to bring awareness to genuine problems. There is overlap but sometimes what people are saying or how they are going about it is a little crazy.

Then again I’m not used to how people talk about things on sites like twitter or in very popular spaces so maybe this is like normal there.

[soft-serve-soymilk]

Bitches be fighting (it’s the head children 😘☺️)

[elytrafemme]

also like everything aside i wish she would stop talking to me about the current events at my university, because even the vague and kind things she says makes me feel like we're on different fucking planes of living

[sysig]

It clearly wasn’t important to you (Patreon)

[gifti3]

Im cursing [REDACTED] right NOW