#If they were humans and I had the chance to go out with one of them I'm obviously going with Ernesto

[velvet4510]

Why Magneto’s Storyline in X-Men: Apocalypse is The Worst (it’s not just Cherik)

Ok I just need to vent because this has been chewing away at my brain for far too long.

Cherik is far from the only reason why Erik’s family plotline in X-Men: Apocalypse is some of the stupidest, sloppiest, and most character-ruining pieces of writing I’ve ever seen. Haters may say “oh you���re just upset because he married someone who wasn’t Charles.” But, like, aside from the fact that the original timeline already established that Erik’s top priority was always the fight for mutantkind and he had no interest in settling down - whether that had anything to do with his feelings for Charles or not - the problems with the Apocalypse writing go WAY beyond just him & Charles:

Erik would never abandon his cause at this point. By the end of DOFP, Erik has just been imprisoned for a full 10 years thanks to the JFK situation. Meaning he has spent a full decade being forcibly inactive in the fight for mutants. And he just learned that all of his fears about humans and mutants came to pass in the future to the level where a time-traveler had to be sent to change the past. And he was so set on averting that future that he tried to kill his friend and the sister of the man he loved, and then made a whole speech on international TV begging for the mutants of the world to fight alongside him. This is the POLAR OPPOSITE of a man who would feel like settling down and walking away from the fight within the next decade. The Sentinels being cancelled did NOT make mutant life easy overnight; Stryker was still up to no good, and there is no way that there weren’t others like him doing the same. Yes, Raven’s actions made a very positive difference, but I think we have enough brain cells to agree that this did not mean things for mutants immediately became sunshine and rainbows to the level where Erik - the most (understandably) paranoid character in the X-Men series - would even consider taking a break, let alone giving up the fight permanently. Knowing what he did about the possibilities of the future would’ve made the Erik we know double down on his commitment to his cause and follow up on his actions in Washington.

Erik wouldn’t risk starting a young family at this moment in his life. Erik was a Holocaust prisoner, his people were massacred, his mom was shot when he couldn’t move the coin, and then Charles was shot when Erik accidentally deflected a bullet into him, and then every member of his Brotherhood save Raven were captured and killed. Not only is this more than enough grief for one character to have, but the man wouldn’t dare risk having a new family of his own when everyone he’s ever loved has gotten hurt (largely because of him), and when he’s an international fugitive. That is no time to risk being selfish, and he would know. He would’ve been the first to realize that a potential spouse and child would also end up killed, and so he’d avoid that altogether. In fact, he wouldn’t even consider it, because, as mentioned, he wouldn’t leave his cause behind. You know, if he was actually in character.

Magda is a human. At this point, Erik hates humans. Again, he has just been imprisoned by humans for 10 years for trying to save a mutant, and he just learned that in the future, humans would’ve wiped out mutants, exactly as he feared. Everything that happened in DOFP would only further inflame his already-passionate hatred of humans. He is not in the mental state to even begin to consider Charles’ philosophy and give a human a chance at a relationship, let alone marry a human.

The family lives in Poland. The country where Auschwitz is. The country where Erik and his family and people was imprisoned, tortured, and executed. The country where Erik had to watch Shaw kill his mother. Basically the LAST country in the freaking WORLD that Erik would want to ever see again, let alone spend the rest of his life in. Erik is fluent in multiple languages - he is shown to easily converse in French and Spanish in First Class - and has been all over the world thanks to his Nazi hunting, so if he really needed to flee the U.S., there were a hundred other countries he could’ve gone to and blended into (Canada, France, Mexico, anywhere in South America, heck, he even could’ve discovered Genosha during this time). But in the original timeline, he didn’t leave the U.S. at all despite being a national fugitive after escaping his plastic prison, and he never did get caught again, so….

Erik’s first meeting with Magda is completely OOC for him. Erik mentions that he told Magda who he was the first night they met and he trusted her then. EXCUSE ME??? Erik Lehnsherr does not trust strangers. Erik Lehnsherr does not tell the complete truth about himself and his past to just anyone; look at how deeply Charles had to probe before Erik opened up to him. This stupid line was obviously shoehorned in just to make their relationship seem like perfect soulmates and thus ensure it is doubly tragic when she gets thrown in the fridge 5 minutes later (more on that in a sec). Obviously the intention is for the audience to go “aww, he instantly trusted her, she instantly accepted him, this is true love…” Give me a break. You’re really telling me that Magda met this stranger one night, found out he was none other than the international fugitive who apparently killed the U.S. president and just tried to kill another president on live TV, and went “oh, no problem, honey, let’s make a baby and live the cottagecore dream!” That’s some BS if I’ve ever heard it, and I’m convinced the writers subconsciously knew it; there’s a reason that is revealed in a throwaway line rather than shown onscreen, because then nobody would’ve bought it.

Fridging. Magda and Nina exist in the movie for one reason and one reason only: To get brutally killed and give Erik even more grief and trauma so that he’ll seek revenge on the entire world, aka do what the plot demands of him, aka have the same journey as he did in First Class (more on that in a sec). That’s all. Neither of them are any more than one-dimensional plot devices. They are not characters at all. Magda isn’t even named in the actual movie (he doesn’t even say her name when she dies) - it’s so obvious they didn’t even know what her name would be when they made the movie. This is textbook fridging, and one of the worst examples of it of all time. It’s all the worse considering that Erik never met Magda in the original pre-DOFP timeline, meaning Magda originally most likely lived a long happy life and died old in bed. But now, she gets fridged just because the writers didn’t know what more to do with Erik. It’s misogyny of the highest level.

A parenthood story for Erik was already set up. DOFP already hinted at Erik being a father, with Peter’s comment about his mom. So if the writers wanted to show Erik as a father, and to include Magda, they already had a solution that would seamlessly flow from the previous film - make Erik and Peter’s relationship one of the centerpieces of the story, and let Magda be Peter’s mom! (You know, like she is in the comics!)

It doesn’t contribute anything new to Erik’s character development. From a screenwriting POV, this is unforgivable. May I remind you that Erik’s entire storyline in First Class revolved around grief and trauma for the loss of his family and people, especially his mom, and seeking revenge for it. Giving him a wife and daughter just so they can get killed too adds absolutely NOTHING to his character development. It’s merely retreading everything that already happened in his arc: he loses his family and goes on a roaring rampage of revenge. Completely superfluous, right down to Charles insisting that there’s good in him beyond the pain. The redundancy becomes apparent even in the dialogue, where Charles literally says “I told you since I first met you there’s good in you too.” The script itself can’t help but point out that all of this has happened before and literally nothing new has been added to Erik’s character arc.

See? It’s not just because of Cherik. Erik’s story in X-Men: Apocalypse is an atrocity in basic screenwriting and character development, on every level. And I will never accept it.

(Please tell me I’m not the only one who feels this way…)

[gay-dorito-dust]

You didn’t know what you were looking at but it’s physical stature and prowess didn’t usher in any reassurance nor calm to you, only a singular message; run away.

You were already hellbent on running the moment you saw a safe clearing but it’s eyes, although unblinking, kept track of your every move and acted accordingly and recalibrating for your next one as though it knew you on an intimate level. Making it impossible for your plan of escape to go off without this thing managing to catch you with the claw like arm poking from out its purple/golden back.

‘Do you still love me as I am, dear?’ It asked with a heavily distorted voice but you could hear the accent beneath it as though it was clear as day. It froze you to the bone the moment it hit your ears as doubt and denial clouded your mind.

‘Viktor?’ You stretched out a hesitant hand-as did he-but before your fingers could touch the cool metal of his own, you pulled back abruptly as though you were burnt. ‘No, you’re not him,’ you then growled as you glared at the being using Viktor’s voice against your own heart, ‘you could think you could trick me that easily by using my beloved’s voice and think that’ll catch me off guard for you to kill me?!’ You chuckled humourlessly. ‘Fat fucking chance.’

The being seemed to sigh as it took a step forward. ‘It is still me my love, just…a vastly more improved version. One without flaws nor imperfections.’

‘So humanity and emotions are what you consider flaws and imperfections?’ You amused sarcastically, not wanting to connect Viktor to this…heartless creature. ‘Yet they are what make humanity beautiful,’ you smiled softly as you fiddled with the trinket Viktor made you back in the Academy, feeling your heart ache, ‘it’s what made my Viktor beautiful. He was perfectly imperfect and I love him until I couldn’t but even now…I love him as though it’s my sole purpose but I guess I didn’t love him enough to stop what he would become.’ You then trailed off as your hand clutched the trinket of a mechanical blue jay.

You once told Viktor that blue jays that mated for life, with that in mind he had made you both matching mechanical blue jays no bigger then your palm, presenting it to you with a sheepish smile that you couldn’t help but kiss his cheek on thanks. You wished you could live in those moments forever but unfortunately you weren’t gifted with that power.

The being moved close to you and once more your guard was up as you watched him open his hand, showing you the matching blue jay to yours, no bigger then it’s palm, and your heart dropped to your stomach.

This couldn’t be, no, you refused it to be truth. This creature was your beloved Viktor? You prayed to the gods that wasn’t true. However it seemed that neither the gods nor fate were on your side.

‘Believe me now my heart? My blue jay?’ The being asked as you remained in stunned silence, his voice was muffled to you to the point of incoherency as you just felt yourself become numb.

Your lover had become something you couldn’t tolerate.

[sankta-wraith]

I’m about halfway through season three, and I’d just like to take a moment and look at how losing Rose has changed the Doctor.

First the obvious things: he’s more serious. During his time with Rose, he was mostly cheerful, funny, and generally quite positive. There were a few darker moments, but for the most part he had a pretty sunny personality, especially when he was with Rose. In season three, while he still tries to maintain his happy personality, he occasionally slips into melancholy and his cheerfulness often feels like a bit of a facade. This isn’t to say that there aren’t moments when he’s genuinely happy, but they seem to be far less frequent than the durst two seasons. He smiles less. He doesn’t have as many quips. He’s barely laughed at all. But that’s to be expected. He just lost someone he loved; it makes sense for him to be more withdrawn and sad.

The thing that struck me the most was how reckless he’s become. He’s always been a bit reckless, but he’s also tried to avoid things that will most likely kill him. He might be constantly getting himself into very dangerous situations, but he (almost) always thinks of some way to not die. (I think it’s because he knows that if he dies the Time Lords die with him, but that’s a different post.) In season three, he’s practically suicidal. So far, he’s allowed himself to come dangerously close to death at least five times, some seemingly without expecting to survive.

First was in episode one, when he let the Plasmavore drink his blood so she wouldn’t register as human on the scanner. He had no companion at the time, so he couldn’t have expected anyone to come for him. Even if someone had found him, they would have needed to do a blood transfusion, and since he’s not human it’s unlikely that human blood would save him. (I’m actually not sure how he survived that. Martha gave him CPR, but that didn’t fix the blood loss issue.) Even knowing all of that, he still allowed the Plasmavore to drain his blood without hesitation. He technically could have regenerated, but that didn’t seem to be part of his plan. I’m still not quite sure how regeneration works, but I’m pretty sure he has to be conscious for it to happen, and he was definitely unconscious when Martha found him.

The second time was when the Carrionite did he voodoo doll thing. This is admittedly a weaker example, since he does have two hearts, but I’m not entirely convince that he knew he’s be able to restart his other heart. He can clearly survive with just one heart (at least for a little bit,) but it significantly weakened him and it’s unclear how long he would have survived it. Had he been unable to get both hearts working, he probably would have died later when his remaining heart gave out under the strain, or been finished off later by the Carrionites and unable to defend himself. And yet he seems remarkably unconcerned, even when he realizes what she going to do. This isn’t to say that he wasn’t worried, but maybe not as worried as he should have been.

Third is when he willingly offers himself up to the Daleks, fully expecting them to kill him. This is one of the best examples, because he is 100% convinced that they are going to kill him. He’s so convinced that it actually comes as a shock when they decide not to kill him on the spot. Sacrificing himself makes sense in this situation, but it was a bit shocking how fast he agreed. I had expected to frantically try to come up with a plan, or at least to try fighting, before he decided to sacrifice himself. I certainly hadn’t expected him to straight up tell them to kill him.

Fourth was when he put himself in the direct path of a lightning strike/gamma ray burst on the off chance that some of his DNA would get transferred. Again this is an excellent example because not only did he put himself in its path, he actually held onto a lightning rod and wouldn’t let go for the duration of the gamma ray burst. There’s also the small fact that said lightning rod was on the top of the Empire State Building, and if the lighting and radiation hadn’t killed him a fall probably could’ve. That is literally the definition of suicidal.

The fifth and (so far) final time was when he, once again, sacrificed himself to the Daleks and demanded they kill him. Yes he knew that the Dalek-humans had some Time Lord DNA in them, but he still couldn’t be sure it would be enough. If you still don’t believe that he’s suicidal, I think seeing him stand in a room full of people with lasers/guns and telling them all to kill him should convince you. If even that doesn’t work, then you should consider the fact that the last three all happen in the same episode.

Let it never be said that losing Rose didn’t affect the Doctor.

[lavatory-sealed-hanako-kun]

Words on Chapter 120

“You became what you hated most.”

Point Nr. 1: When Teru attacked Kou with spirit lightning to save Nene, Kou was already a ghost.

I am going to throw out a seemingly controversial take here immediately: Teru did NOT KILL Kou and additionally, there are NO PARALLELS between him and Hanako/Amane within the current events and arguably most of the entire manga. Especially not in relation to his hate of Hanako for having killed his twin brother.

This is going to be a very detailed and long one, so have fun.

In chapter 118, Sousuke and Kou are dragged into the exact same door, next to which Aoi later finds Nene's hair clip laying around. We know from the current chapter that this door leads to the basement of the Red House and the opening of the well. We also already know what purpose this well had, since it was established in chapters 68 and 80, that this is the well leading into the pit to which the Kannagi were sacrificed as offerings to a god.

It's a pit of sacrificial corpses, which due to the events of chapter 118 where Sousuke and Kou were dragged into that door and down to that basement, as well as this current one where Kou's possessed spirit tries dragging Nene into it, is clearly a spot still piled up with sacrificial bodies, nowadays the victims of the Red House. And those two boys were both thrown in already.

So now back to the scene where Teru attacks Kou!

Teru specifically uses his spirit lightning to slash at Kou’s hand gripping onto Nene. His sword blade never comes anywhere near Kou's body and we know for a fact that, while spirit lightning can hurt humans who are to some degree supernatural-

It has never been shown to go so far as to chop off limbs or leave very long lasting damages. (Which again, Kou’s hand being chopped off wasn't from Teru's blade either, it never came anywhere near Kou or Nene.)

After the attack, Kou's entirely blood and gore-free wound is shown and he suddenly starts crumbling into mist, exactly like most of the supernaturals did throughout the manga, showing us that this is exactly what a supernatural looks like when they’re exorcised!

Point Nr. 2: Teru knew Kou was already dead.

Alright, buckle in.

When we see Amane kill Tsukasa in flashbacks, it is bloody. He's got him pinned to the floor, using a knife to stab him in the torso, clearly spaced out in some way but committing a very real murder on a very real, living person beneath him.

Without even fully getting into just how completely different Teru's and Kou's dynamics are with each other, in comparison to the situation Amane/Hanako and Tsukasa have going on, you can't just claim that two characters are “parallels” to one another simply because they both happen to have siblings? Tsukasa and Amane were twins, Teru and Kou are not, they’re not even each other's only siblings, they have Tiara there too. Amane was never the one to sacrifice his childhood and future for Tsukasa's wellbeing, he killed him. Teru didn’t take his brother's life, the Red House did.

Tsukasa and Amane always had a very strange dynamic, glued by the hip and overly dependent on one another, Tsukasa even sacrifices animals and later himself to the wishing entity to grant Amane a chance at life without constant pain and illness. For several reasons Amane wants less and less to do with his brother as time goes on, they're still close, but Amane’s keeping his secrets from Tsukasa, and he in turn even accuses Amane of wanting him gone again. Amane immediately refutes that, yet still through a series of still somewhat unclear events, Amane later ends up brutally killing his own brother with what looks to be a kitchen knife (so very likely at home) on the floor, very dazed, but clearly intending to hurt Tsukasa.

Now back to a member of the “I professionally catch strays from the fandom” trio.

I’m going to remind everyone of the fact that this isn't the first time Teru has attacked Kou with his spirit lightning within the last few chapters. A couple chapters prior, when Sousuke invites Kou to search the school for his missing upperclassmen, they encounter the Red House. Aka Tsukasa's possessed soul most likely, since it only seems to take on the appearance of victims it already devoured and we know from the Yugi family photo in chapter 119 that Tsukasa must have died either before or after he went into the red house as a 4 year old, since he doesn't show up in the photo even when he would've still been very young. (This is a bit of a timeline discrepancy, considering the clock keepers went back to 1968 and not 1959 when Tsukasa first goes into the Red House, but I won't get into that right now.)

After this encounter, Kou gets possessed from chasing the entity around and right as he's about to seriously hurt Sousuke, Teru interrupts them by blasting Kou with spirit lighting, a thing he acts VERY CALM about (keep that in mind!). His stance is measured, he's clearly using a lot of force here too despite not using his preferred weapon, it even leaves Kou knocked out and a bit charred on the ground, but clearly not severely hurt in any way.

When even Akane points out how this was a bit overboard, Teru basically assures him that this wouldn't actually hurt Kou, he consistently has a ton of confidence in his brother's toughness.

This also shows he has experience with also using spirit lightning on possessed people and that it proves severely damaging or even fatal on supernaturals, but seemingly never on living humans.

And yet, attention back to the moment it all goes down: Teru is clearly screaming Kou's name in distress, moving to slice the space BETWEEN him and Nene, intending likely to merely free Nene from Kou's grip. If his intention was to just exorcise the entity possessing Kou’s body like he did earlier (in a very calm manner), why didn’t he just blast Kou with spirit lightning again? Why was he screaming his name with a face of agony before even making his attack?

It's because he already knew by this point, that wasn't Kou's living body, that was his ghost. Kou was already dead. He was too late to save him and now all he can do is stop him from dragging another victim down into the well.

Point Nr. 3: But how did he notice?

We can guess Teru has almost completely different senses from anyone else in the cast. He feels and notices things even Kou, Nene and Akane, all of whom can see supernaturals, don't notice. He mentioned seeing literal cracks between the near and far shores in chapter 73, he saw Hanako looking like that on the rooftop, he was the only one to immediately react to Nr. 6’s ambush attack and he is the ONLY ONE in the red house to feel a cold dread and fear of something powerful overcome him, a sensation neither Kou, Akane or Nene felt at all in the house. And again they can all see supernaturals, but they're not attuned to them like he is.

He could see down that well in complete darkness, immediately knowing that what he was looking at were the corpses of Kou, Sousuke and countless other victims. Akane needed a flashlight to get even a glimpse of what had made Teru collapse at the sight, he couldn't see it immediately, no one's eyes are as sharp as Teru's.

He knows supernaturals, he knows the clear difference between a ghost and living human, even when others can't see those. He knew from the moment he laid eyes on his little brother standing on the edge of that well, that he was already dead, a spirit walking without a living body.

He never “killed” Kou, there is no parallel between him and Hanako. He exorcised the shackled spirit of his beloved brother, possessed and puppeteered around by the red house to lure in more victims, because it knew they'd let their guards down around the sunshine boy Kou. He was one of Nene's best friends after all. 

Kou didn't want this, he would have never wanted to hurt Nene or lure anyone else to the same fate he and Sousuke endured here. In his very last moments, there was no anger, no blame towards Teru for attacking him to stop him from dragging Nene down. And none of the morbid fascination and happiness Tsukasa felt at being killed by his own brother.

All he felt was glad that Nene was safe now, hoping he'd get to see her again when the world turned back to how it once was. 

Endword!

So there you have it. Usually I don't make these kinds of commentaries for things I read, because quite frankly I don't care and I’m too busy to make these, thank you for sticking with me through this because huuhhh it took hours to make dear god. Props to everyone who makes these more often, solid troopers fr. I’ll make an exception for TBHK this time (and maybe if I’m asked to again)- solely because I see so many takes that I find are just very strange or completely wrong and that last chapter had me actually super interested in this series again.

I will take this is due in part to the very young average age of readers for this series and the fact it is often (as much as I enjoy reading this hot garbage, find its worldbuilding super fun and love the characters in it), just genuinely not a very well written series. It has an immense amount of plot holes, inconsistent character writing, situations for the sake of it with no proper set up and lets down on a lot of mysteries it builds up because it never resolves them, even several arcs later.

Anyways, if you disagree with my points and/or want to add something to this, feel free to comment, reblog or send in an ask about it. I think discussing stories does the best job at letting people realise things they never noticed before, so I highly encourage doing that lol. Also you made it to the end of this, you get a cookie. If I could bake cookies..

[aventurineswife]

Hi! Im a new anon who stumble upon your work recently. (I love it btw!) Can I request this scenario for the obey me fandom?

Imagine the MC is (or was) married in the human realm. However the brothers realized that the MC’s spouse is VERY attractive (Like if the spouse was Gojo Satoru). How do you think they would react with the news?

A Bit Of Jealousy

Tags: Lucifer x Reader, Mammon x Reader, Leviathan x Reader, Satan x Reader, Asmodeus x Reader, Beelzebub x Reader, Belphegor x Reader, Jealousy, Humor, Lighthearted Fluff, Possessiveness, Insecurity, Self-Doubt, Teasing.

Warnings: Some possessive and teasing behavior, mild jealousy, occasional insecurity (mostly comedic), discussions about past relationships, lighthearted humor.

A/N: HELLO AND WELCOME! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR KIND WORDS – I’M GLAD YOU’VE ENJOYED MY WORK! IT REALLY MEANS A LOT!! 🤭💖🫶

Lucifer stood with his arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed on you, as if contemplating something rather than merely listening. It had been some time since you'd mentioned your past life in the human realm, but this new detail had caught his attention.

"I had no idea your ex-husband was… that handsome." Lucifer’s tone was neutral, but the slight narrowing of his eyes betrayed a flicker of something else.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. "It’s not like I married him for his looks," you said, trying to downplay it. "He had other qualities that mattered."

The eldest brother’s expression remained composed, though you could see the tension in his jaw. He was used to being the most capable, the most desired, and the thought that someone else—someone so undeniably attractive—had captured your heart before him stirred a slight discomfort within him.

"You’re saying I wouldn’t have stood a chance?" he asked, his voice dangerously smooth, though a subtle irritation lingered.

You smiled teasingly. "Lucifer, you’re far too full of yourself. Besides, you’re the one I’m with now, aren’t you?"

Lucifer’s gaze softened, and with a possessive gesture, he pulled you closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "You’re lucky I’m still allowing you to be with such an inferior man."

Mammon’s jaw dropped, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. "Wait, wait, what? Your ex-husband was that good-looking?!" His face turned a deep shade of red as he paced frantically, tugging at his hair. "How the hell did someone like him end up with ya?!"

You rolled your eyes but couldn't suppress your amusement. "Mammon, it wasn't just about looks."

Mammon, the Avatar of Greed, shrank slightly, as if trying to come to terms with the idea that he might not measure up. "Well, The Great Mammon is way better than some human, right?" he muttered, but the lack of his usual bravado made it clear that he was internally battling his insecurities.

You walked over, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You know you're amazing in your own way, Mammon. It’s not about competing with anyone."

He grumbled under his breath, still clearly unsure of himself. "Yeah, yeah. Guess I’ll just have to show ya why I’m the better pick."

Leviathan froze, his eyes going wide in disbelief. "Wait, wait—that guy?!" His voice wavered, and his face flushed a deep shade of crimson as he processed the revelation. "You were married to him? That’s like… the ultimate level-up in real life! He must’ve been like some kind of rare, super rare character from a game or something!"

You blinked, surprised by his immediate reaction. "You know who he is?"

Leviathan fidgeted nervously, his excitement quickly mixed with insecurity. "O-of course I know him! He's everywhere, with that... unbeatable vibe, and he’s always so confident. I—I don’t think I could ever be like that..." He looked down, voice cracking slightly. "I mean... why would you marry someone like him when you could’ve had a shy, awkward guy who spends all his time gaming, not that I’d have had a chance or anything..."

You raised an eyebrow. "You think he’s that good-looking?"

Leviathan’s cheeks flushed deep red, his fingers fumbling awkwardly with his game controller as if it were a lifeline. "W-Well, yeah... I mean, how can I compete with that?" He mumbled, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and self-doubt. "He’s like... a living anime character, with that whole ‘cool, untouchable’ vibe... I’m just an otaku, surrounded by figurines and my games!" He sighed, slouching in his seat as his eyes dropped to the floor. "Guess I don’t stand a chance, huh?"

You chuckled and patted his head. "Levi, you have your own charm, don't worry."

He mumbled a soft "thanks," his cheeks still tinged pink, as he returned to his game, likely pondering his own appearance in a whole new light.

Satan raised an eyebrow at the news, his usually calm demeanor remaining composed as he closed his book. "I see," he mused, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "It’s no surprise that someone of his appearance would catch your eye."

You tilted your head. "What does that mean?"

Satan leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. "It means that while his appearance may be striking, I’ve always known you to be a bit more discerning when it comes to your tastes." His smile was teasing, but there was something more beneath it.

"Jealous, Satan?" you teased.

He smirked, but his eyes flickered with an almost imperceptible hint of rivalry. "Jealousy implies that I feel threatened." His voice lowered, a bit darker. "But I do wonder if someone like him could match my charm… or my intellect."

You raised an eyebrow. "Planning to challenge him?"

Satan didn’t answer immediately, his smile growing more enigmatic. "Perhaps. It might be amusing to test whether he could truly hold a candle to someone like me."

The moment you mentioned your ex-husband, Asmodeus gasped dramatically, his hands flying to his face. "Oh my goodness, you were married to him?!" His eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and fascination. "Tell me everything! His skincare routine, his hair—how is he so perfect?!" He practically swooned, his voice rising in pitch with every word.

You chuckled, a bit amused by his over-the-top reaction. "I think it's just natural for him." you said, trying to deflect the question.

Asmodeus’s eyes grew wider. "You’re telling me he’s that perfect without even trying?! Oh my, I’m in love with him already!" He threw his head back, letting out a dramatic sigh.

You rolled your eyes, laughing. "You can't just fall for someone based on their looks, Asmo."

He flashed you a playful grin. "Well, darling, you’ve clearly got exquisite taste. But between you and me, I’m still the real star here, aren’t I?"

You laughed again, shaking your head. "You never change."

Beel stared at you for a long moment, clearly trying to process the information. "So… he really was that good-looking?" Beel asked, his voice calm, though there was a note of genuine curiosity in it.

You nodded. "Yeah, he was."

Beel scratched his head thoughtfully. "Well, if you’re with me now, then I guess he must not have been perfect for you." He said it so simply, almost like a statement of fact.

"Exactly," you said, smiling warmly at him. "There’s more to someone than just looks."

Beel smiled back, his expression content. "I’m glad you feel that way."

Belphie barely reacted when you mentioned your ex-husband. His voice remained lazy, but his smirk hinted at his amusement. "So, your ex was that attractive, huh?" He yawned, stretching casually. "Guess he doesn’t compare to me."

You raised an eyebrow. "Are you comparing yourself to a human?"

Belphegor’s smirk deepened. "I’m not comparing. Just stating the facts. But if he was that perfect, I’ve got my work cut out for me."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but laugh at his arrogance. "You never change, do you?"

Belphegor stretched out comfortably, flashing you a lazy grin. "Of course not. But in case you forgot, I’m the only one who matters to you now."

[daretoassume]

Hello , I hope you see this.

I might be a bit desperate.

So 2 years ago I wanted to kill myself but then I had a huge “spiritual awakening” where I say things beyond human comprehension. And from that moment I decided to give life a chance, I knew that life actually had a meaning and that was for me to discover what was beyond what I could think. It gave my so much clarity of the world around me and who I was. From that moment I also started to randomly consciously manifest things without knowing about manifesting. I’m not kidding when I say this but in that time I manifested 6 million overnight while I was just kidding about being a millionaire while listening to my rich music and then when I woke up my parents had the good news. I also manifested others things that I thought where extremely special. But I didn’t really put in effort it was just fun experimenting with my powers.

So then I decided to deepen myself in the laws. I started with law of attraction. And I ended up meditating so deeply everyday that I was so passionate about finding the ultimate truth of reality inside me, that I was extremely depersonalised from my 3D and basically lived inside my brain. I could ask things and receive answers on my questions, like the one time i asked how to invent something that could end humanity ( I still have a full doc on how to build to most effective machine that could end humanity in less than second) I also got the answer of questions about reality and my vessel. So that’s when I realised there was nothing but me. And that I was experiencing myself from the experience of myself ( if that makes sense!) I found that there really was nothing and everything at once while I was giving meaning to it. So that’s when I started with extreme anxiety and depression because I struggled so much with intrusive thoughts, not being able to ground myself in this reality and being so so scared of my thoughts. Still to this day my thoughts scare me so much that I can’t help but experience anything other than fear from myself. It’s like I’m living in a constant nightmare. I have watched so much law of assumption post and videos dedicating every second of my day on being focused and disciplined to affirming and being in the state of having what I want, but it makes me so fuckiyn angry and I don’t know why. Everytime I see a post I feel depressed because deep down I know everything but everyday I wake up in the same reality where everything fucking sucks ( I have been forcing myself to be kind self love gratitude letting go void state visualisation whatever exist I’ve done it all) and when I finally have build up that trust that everything is working out in my highest favour and I always get what I want and the 3D can’t tell me nothing yk I can delude myself into knowing I have it but it’s been over a year and I just can’t bear this reality anymore I know I’m meant for another reality and there’s just nothing for me to find here anymore. And I really don’t know what to do anymore I feel like I’m stuck in this reality where everything seems to get worse. And my thoughts are also getting worded everyday for the last year but whenever I tried manifesting a better self concept mindset etc it got worse when i don’t even want to be the person that is in conflict with themsef because that’s just a idiotic thing to do. But can you help me out?🫶

what you experienced, everything that you learned, was so profound. it is truly a gift to have such insight, so treat it as such. try to examine why it scares you so deeply. there is something within that fear that is asking to be understood.

you have seen how effortlessly you created before, simply by being playful and detached. you were experimenting, having fun with it, and not placing too much importance on the outcome. that is why there was no resistance. things flowed into your reality flawlessly. you already understand the law. you know how to apply it to your life. you do not need another blog post or video to teach you what you already know.

what you need now is to go deeper within yourself, to truly understand why you feel this way. these feelings are not here to torment you but to guide you toward something deeper. perhaps there is a message waiting for you, something significant you need to uncover, or even a realization that you are meant to share with others. your emotions, no matter how overwhelming, are part of your journey. they may be pointing you toward a greater understanding of yourself and your purpose.

if you feel an inner pull to create something meaningful, to express yourself, or to pursue something that sparks joy, do not ignore it. act on it. even if it feels small or insignificant at first, do it. follow what excites you, even in the simplest of ways.

i know it’s easier said than done, especially when it feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. but remember, we both know the truth—what we focus on expands. even a small shift in focus toward what you prefer can create change. we often feel so much these days that we forget to acknowledge what we can be grateful for. take a moment and ask yourself: what are you truly grateful for right now? your family, your friends? doesn’t it bring you some happiness to know you’ve learned so much already? i am not saying you are ungrateful. i am suggesting that maybe starting with gratitude, even in the smallest way, could help shift your attention, even just a little.

as you take time for introspection to truly understand what is behind these emotions and why you feel the way you do, you might also set some goals for yourself. try doing something that excites you, even if it’s small. i know this reality can feel limiting, and maybe that’s why you feel like you don’t belong here. but if you see it as a curse, then that’s the experience you will live out.

what if you see it as an opportunity to discover something profound within yourself? what if the very limitations you feel are only reflections of the state you’re currently in, waiting for you to shift?

you don't have to force yourself to change everything all at once. just start small, day by day.

you already know how powerful you are.

[amaryllis-sagitta]

Hi again, going through the different endings of DAV, I was pretty surprised to hear Solas being all like "I am a god!!" when Rook beats him in a fight. I know he has pride issues but that felt so OOC to me?? I was wondering if you had an opinion on it?

Hi, thanks for asking again!

There are 3 tiny (or not so tiny?) moments that I think push the envelope on Solas's characterization in a way that allows us to portray him as more genuinely sinister than the main line established in Trespasser, post-Trespasser media and most of DATV, which is the "Pathetic, stubborn man ridden with massive unprocessed guilt and shame, who can't make a choice without some catastrophic collateral for the life of him, and the unforeseen consequences of his choices repeatedly push him to double-cross people and have them do his dirty work".

One moment that had me thinking is the third memory of the rebellion - I mentioned earlier how Solas's pose and facial expressions make him unduly smug when Felassan calls out that they were supposed to do better than send out an army of spirits, appealing to their nature in seemingly good faith, when they were really a distraction doomed to fail. It shocked me because it seems to strike at one of Solas's core values. It's supposed to hurt more in relation to spirits because we know how much Solas despises wasting, destroying or twisting spirit purpose. And yet, in his confrontation with Felassan, he seemed content, smug even, about achieving victory against Elgar'nan and didn't show a trace of regret.

Another moment is the jab in the Fade that "at least you have Varric to talk to", again with a smug sense of satisfaction. Learning about this line took me by surprise because for all the disingenuity Solas is capable of, I never had him for someone who takes delight in such petty cruelty, especially when the matter is also personal to him to a degree. Varric's death should have hurt him by virtue of their mutual respect gained in DAI, so has the game underdelivered in representing this? Or are we really pushing a narrative that he never really changed his mind on non-elves, or chose not to acknowledge them as people, so Varric was just a disposable fool?

The third specific moment that shows Solas in a worse light is the moment you mentioned in the ask. Though, watching this scene, I feel we need to cite the full sentence:

Rook: [...] I am not alone, but you will be. The Veil needs to be tied to the life force of an elvhen god. And now it is, Dread Wolf. Solas: You sneer at me as though you understand. You are mortal! Compared to you, to your infinitesimal existence, I AM A GOD!"

This is a conditional state of an ending, when you decide to fight him and at least the companions in your party have reached the Hero status, which means they survive Solas's counterattacks, so in the end Rook doesn't stand against him alone, and does not end up in the Fade prison with Solas. This is where Solas is at his most desperate, I think, because when Rook remains alone in the Fight ending, it's a pyrrhic victory. Solas doesn't lash out then, because he isn't done with Rook. The context of "I am a god" is that Rook will soon perish while The Dread Wolf will prevail for centuries still, and no mortals can stop him in a way that matters.

But could it also be a trigger for his greatest fear: that there's a realistic chance he can very nastily die alone with his regrets and self-loathing? Because he does not say he is immortal - he never bound a dragon, so he can't take advantage of the Evanuris perk. Neither does he accept a definition of godhood. It's a matter of scale and comparison; in this final moment, he's looking for a way to belittle Rook and their team.

In fact, the "I am a god" in this context represents the extreme of the views he's held about mortals before - arguably, before joining Inquisition. Though I think that even then, he had trouble humanizing races other than elvhen. If his mind has really swayed throughout DAI, it feels barely half a step towards acknowledging that mortal elves, especially the Dalish, might have a point in their approach to history. Then, in Tevinter Nights, he says to Charter that the elves who survive the un-Veiling might find the "new" world better. Not really a win.

I believe a proper background for this is found in two conversations. First, when Rook keeps poking at Solas's plan to tear down the Veil and he stops eluding the question, Rook says "Spoken like a god". Solas's reply in this moment frankly sounds... too deflective. Like it's coming from someone who genuinely needs someone to constantly whisper "Remember you are but a mortal, Caesar" in his ear.

The second moment is when, after having the loud argument with Elgar'nan to get Rook out of a Fade pocket of despair, Solas admits Elgar'nan is who he feared becoming - callous, tyrannical and contemptuous. I guess Solas's worst moments are supposed to show how close he really could get, because the "I am a god" most definitely defines an ego trip that comes from a place of great insecurity.

If I were a hater looking for a hook to make an uncharitable argument that "He was amoral all along and his gentler side was a mask that just waited to slip", I'd start there.

[thebramblewood]

thebramblewood's Legacy Universe: A Primer

I've never really been one for following specific legacy challenges, but I do get incredibly attached to families and love seeing genetics play out, so generational gameplay has always been my thing. Recently, I've been very distracted by Helena Zhao Is Dead, which means my long-running family of nine generations (!) has been on indefinite hiatus for most of this blog's life.

I discovered their save got accidentally deleted, which is probably for the best, considering it was the same damn save I started back in 2018. Luckily, I had the current generation in my library, and I missed them, so I decided to bring Naomi and Micah back for Life & Death. I thought it might be helpful to summarize past events for those who might be interested in their family's background. Don't worry, we're not going all the way back! I love my earlier generations, but I didn't start getting into a more story-based approach until pretty far in. So here are the relevant details from generation five on (and I really did try to be brief, I promise).

GENERATION FIVE

This generation's heir was Gaby Martinez-Jang. After saving Strangerville from the Mother Plant with her ragtag investigative team, she moved to Sulani with the hunky conspiracy theorist she met along the way, Alvin. The impetus for this journey was Alvin being adopted and deciding he wanted to learn more about his birth family. In Sulani, he not only met his biological sister, Kaimana, but also discovered and embraced his mermadic ancestry! Meanwhile, Gaby became a conservationist and even won a Starlight Accolade for her documentary film on Mua Pel'am!

GENERATION SIX

Gaby and Alvin's one child, Noelani 'Aukai, became the new heir. After struggling to figure out their identity as a teen, Noelani's love for music led them to pursue DJing and producing. They started off doing pop-up performances in Sulani that gained traction on social media and led to a record deal. Meanwhile, they were falling in love with their childhood BFF, Nani Kealoha. Eventually, the two of them moved to San Myshuno, where Nani pursued her political dreams and Noelani was thrust into stardom.

This is where it becomes really important to pay attention. Noelani's other best friend was Malia Kahananui. The result of MCCC shenanigans, she became the granddaughter of Mele and Alika Kahananui because I thought they were too old for a surprise baby, lol. She was left with her grandparents by her reckless and impulsive mother, who was always going off on grand adventures and eventually just never returned. A yoga enthusiast and masseuse, Malia discovered her talent for communing with the island spirits when she was visited by her recently deceased grandparents, who encouraged her to nurture the gift they never got the chance to tell her about.

The spirits were always cryptic, but during one visit she received a more specific warning: "One day, there will be a cataclysmic threat to the realm where all spirits go. Humans occupy this realm, too, humans with supernatural talents who coexist with us in exchange for the protection they offer. A human of modest background and raw power is the only one capable of defeating this threat. They will sacrifice greatly to save our realm from extermination." She promptly filed that information away for a decade or two.

GENERATION SEVEN

This generation's heir was Noelani and Nani's son and robotics enthusiast, Sione 'Aukai. Unfortunately for him, he was almost immediately overshadowed by his eventual spouse, Malia's daughter, Cassie. Oh, Cassie... Possibly my favorite Sim of all time. As kids, they had a long distance friendship, bonding over their love of magic and fantasy. When Cassie started having dreams of a world beyond her own, her mother remembered the warning from the spirits and, fearing the worst, tried to deter her interest, which only made Cassie more stubbornly determined to seek out magic. Malia thought her daughter's rebellious streak might be fixed by a change of scenery, so she moved in with Sione's family in San Myshuno.

Unfortunately, Sione decided he was "too cool" for their shared childhood interests and rejected Cassie's long-time crush. Even so, they agreed to share a house for uni, where he studied Robotics at Foxbury and she studied Art at UBrite. Cassie soon decided college wasn't for her, but she used her connections in the Secret Society to make her way to the Magic Realm, where she met L. Faba and finally began her magical training. A few years later, she and Sione met up again in the city, finally worked it out, and got married. (Can you tell I'm a big fan of the childhood friends to romantic partners pipeline?)

GENERATION EIGHT

Sione and Cassie have twin girls. Rowan 'Aukai is the heir of generation eight. Rowan and her sister, Sabrina, are just beginning their own magical educations when tragedy strikes. A rogue spellcaster, having acquired forbidden magic, storms the Magic Realm and kills the three Sages. As word spreads, Cassie is one of the first spellcasters to arrive. She defeats the rogue spellcaster but dies of magical overload. Overcome by grief, Sione forbids the girls from continuing their training. Rowan misses magic and her mom every day, though everyone else seems to be moving on. She starts having visions of her mom trying to communicate something important. After clashing with her dad, she runs away from home, determined to teach herself the magic she needs to bring Cassie back to life.

Rowan ends up in Evergreen Harbor, where being a homeless teen in a smog-infested city isn't conducive to developing her magical prowess. She temporarily loses her abilities but is introduced to a couple who takes in wayward teens. After a dream visit from her mom, her magic returns. She and her friend, Alejandro, research all things paranormal and find themselves in a haunted house, where she receives advice from Claude René Duplantier Guidry. Eventually, she returns to the Realm, which is shockingly still intact, and where she finally learns what she needs to do. She casts dedeathify at her mom's grave, and her family is finally reunited.

GENERATION NINE

Whew, we're finally almost finished. Generation nine is ongoing, and its heir, August Uchiyama, only just became a teen the last time we saw him (and will probably look a bit different when we see him again because I have to remake his teen version 😭). After bringing her mom back, Rowan started dating one of her friends from Evergreen Harbor, Raveena Uchiyama. They eventually got married, settled into a hippie lifestyle on a big Henford-on-Bagley farm, and had five kids. August is the middle child and only boy. He's had a rather idyllic childhood full of farm animal friends, oversized crops, and adventures with Uncle Alejandro and Grandma Cassie. He has a lot coming up for him that remains top secret. 🤐

Back to Naomi and Micah, they're August's older twin sisters. (They also have younger twin sisters, Tess and Sadie.) Since August is the heir, they've existed mostly in the background so far. But Naomi proved herself to be a cigarette-smoking rebel who frequently snuck out at night and cut class to hang out with her delinquent friends, and Micah was a reserved, rather moody teen who enjoyed painting and journaling but eventually branched out and joined the cheer team. In The Mourningvale Files, they're meant to be in their late 20s and still struggling to find their footing as adults. I'm excited to develop their characters more before I eventually (hopefully) make my way backwards to fill in the rest of August's story. This may be the final generation for how fucking long it's going to take me to finish. 😅

And that's what you missed on thebramblewood.tumblr.com!

[temis-de-leon]

Please make sure to take care of yourself 🥺 Write whenever you feel like it and when you have the time but don't force yourself to write 😤 - Romance Anon

Crush hugging him because of a horror movie - 500 F.C.

Characters: Diavolo x gn!reader

Main Masterlist

500 followers masterlist

Requested by: Romance anon

A/N: Toni Colette, the woman that you are. And thank you Romance, for your never-ending patience <3

C/W: a bit suggestive there at the beginning, pinning, very vague description of Hereditary's ending

.

He would be lying if he said having you so close to him, practically sitting on his lap, while moaning a myriad of ‘oh my God’, ‘please, God’ and, his personal favourite, ‘Dia, Dia, Dia…!’ wasn’t affecting him in the slightest. It was, and heavily; he just wished it took place under different circumstances.

Mainly because he was low-key freaking out too, although not as much as you.

Having seen a fair number of sinners, he knew some mortal minds weren’t simple or kind, which made the darkness of life and the suffering of others a rather pleasurable affair for them. It was fascinating, apparently, a broadly studied aspect of human society, and not just one of many media genres, that propelled the pharmaceutical and therapeutic intervention businesses; a cause and a consequence, something that should’ve been avoided or couldn’t have been helped.

And yet, out of all horrors, you chose a demonic possession movie? Were you trying to tease him?

Paimon wasn’t even that bad once you got the chance to meet him properly! He was an erudite whose knowledge covered all the arts, philosophy and science. A friend of Lucifer’s, keen on reciprocity foremost and eager to start a conversation with anyone who offered him the same amount of time and interest as he did. Unfortunately, Diavolo had the tiny suspicion you wouldn’t be in the mood to meet the captivating demon, nor his demanding dromedary, after watching the disturbing movie, but you should really give it a try!

He could still understand you, though.

“Oh, dear” he said in a quiet breath as the boy on the screen slowly turned around and miraculously missed his mother crawling on the walls.

Your eyes, which had been previously peeking between your fingers, closed shut. You turned to press your face against his chest again and he deeply hoped your fear kept you from noticing the rapid beating of his heart and the way his hand closed around your waist to bring you closer. His cheeks burned, not bothering to hide an enamoured smile. There was no use in doing so when you were trying so hard to disappear from the world amongst the creases of his uniform.

Still, you had asked him to watch the film together and he would be more than damned if he disappointed you in such a trivial matter, so he forced himself to look at the screen intensely, even when a naked man loomed from the shadows and the boy had to run away for his life, tripping and falling and barely climbing to the attic on time.

“I have to say, MC” he mustered, eyes open wide as the woman (Annie?) violently banged her head against the trap door while Peter cried in desperation from the other side. “I can’t understand the appeal of watching this. When you said you wanted a movie night, I thought you’d choose something… tamer”

More romantic is what he wanted to say. Diavolo had hoped to understand love from a human standpoint and see what you liked in order to do the same. Rose petals and champagne by the fireplace? Or shopping and dining in the most expensive places in the Devildom? Dancing in the rain? Stargazing? As observant as he was, he had no clue whether you reciprocated his infatuation, so, sadly, he preferred having your full attention on him whenever he showed his feelings; and at that moment not even an emergency would’ve made you let go of his embrace. It's not like he would ever complain about that, anyway.

“I didn’t want to watch the movie alone” you finally whimpered, letting go only enough to look up at him. “And I figured if someone could make me feel protected it would be you”

Your glassy eyes vaguely reflected his speechless expression and, suddenly, he was aware of everything. The weight of your body against his, bringing warmth and comfort, the smell of your clothes and the softness of your skin; your scared pouting and embarrassed blushing. Not knowing what to do with it anymore, he let his free hand awkwardly drop over your calves and immediately almost imploded when you instinctively tucked even closer.

There was no noise for a blissful moment, save for the heavy breathing and the buzzing coming from the speakers, and Diavolo briefly asked himself if a horror movie was still a good background for a love confession.

Then, a wet sound; a sawing motion.

You slowly turned to the gigantic TV, impending doom in your expression quickly morphing into heavy distress when the mother appeared once more on the screen. Your appalled scream almost made him cover his ears before you hid your face in his chest one final time.

“OH MY GOD, DIA, OH MY GOD”

Diavolo just hoped Barbatos wouldn’t ask any questions in the morning.

.

.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom

[korrahegao]

Mel Medarda is Kayle

Edit: This post does NOT contain spoilers or leaks for Arcane Season 2 Act 3. These are all just theories I have in regards to the season thus far.

The season finale is almost upon us, so this is my last chance to get this out. Allow me to explain:

When we last saw Mel, she had been captured by the Order of the Black Rose. While Arcane hasn't expounded much on this organization, we hear the voice tormenting her in her captivity call her: "Sister." I believe this is the voice of Morgana. More specifically, Blackthorn Morgana.

This Morgana skin shares so many design themes and even the color pallet of the thorny vines and spiked chains and even the rosebud motif of the Oculorum. Not to mention the obvious relation between Roses and Thorns (Black Rose and Blackthorn). Even her League of Legend Abilities; Dark Binding, Tormented Shadow, and Soul Shackles are comparable to their in game VFX.

Which brings us to Kayle. In the League of Legends lore, Kayle and Morgana are sisters with an animosity toward one another. Using this as a basis without diving into the deep lore, there are many aspects about Mel Medarda which lend some explanation to the events of Arcane.

At first glance, one can see the similarities in Mel's attire and that of Silver Kayle.

Moreover, Mel Medarda sports Golden filagree along her back and shoulders. These appear to accentuate (or perhaps inhibit) where Kayle's wings and pauldrons would be. Perhaps they are not merely decorative, but serve a deeper purpose.

As many who play LoL know, Kayle's Ultimate is Divine Judgement. Kayle protects herself or an ally granting them invulnerability before exploding in a luminous blast of holy fire.

Furthermore, In S2E1 when Jayce is explaining to Mel how he is trying to save Viktor, Jayce states:

"It should be me up there, instead of him. I still don't understand. He was right next to me. How does the explosion do that to him, and I just walk out without a scratch?!"

And perhaps more importantly, in S1E9, in the final scene, Mel Medarda is the one nearest to the window that Jinx's Super Mega Death Rocket shatters. Mel was in fact the one nearest to the epicenter of the Blast! But the penultimate image we see in Season one is... her golden filagree gleaming!

She and Jayce were unscathed because, perhaps subliminally or subconsciously, she was able to save herself and Jayce, the ally nearest to her, with her Divine Judgement. Councilor Salo lost his legs, and the other Councilwoman received scarring near her eye. And yet, Mel and Jayce were unharmed!

Lastly, the League of Legends wiki is undergoing an overhaul as Riot continues to implement the notion that "Everything is canon." There is a blurb on her wiki which reads:

This explanation is inline with Mel Medarda casting aside her humanity as pictured in the last scene we saw her in (S2E5) thus far. Historically, Kayle had been interpreted as an angelic figure. But the continually evolving lore of League of Legends eventually let to the implementation of her humanity. Further, the line about "her mother's mantle as the divine Aspect of Justice" does have a slight connotation toward Ambessa. At the end of S2E3, when endowing Caitlyn to her elevated position, she states:

"Your mother will have Justice. I swear it."

While this began as a gut reaction to Season 2 Episode 5, the more I delved into it, the more it grew into a coherent working theory. Now, I have no idea how the end of Arcane is going to play out, but there is an abundance of evidence here, and I actually am hoping this is the outcome!

Did I leave anything out? Anything to further prove this theory? Let me know! And thanks for reading!

[party-poison-218]

Rekindling The

Flames 💜

Toji x reader, second chance! Angst,

Fluff :3

This is just a one-shot.

Tokyo had always been a city that felt alive, a constant hum beneath the surface. But for you, the city felt hollow, like a stage set waiting for a performance that never came. After years of quiet solitude, you'd managed to carve out a life that was... safe. Predictable. But that didn’t stop the ghosts from haunting you. And none haunted you more than the ghost of Toji Fushiguro.

You hadn’t seen him in over four years.

When you met him, you were captivated by the rawness of him. Toji wasn’t like anyone else. He was a sharp-edged, dangerous—an assassin who lived by no rules except his own. It didn’t matter that your love for him was filled with chaos and danger. He was everything you needed at the time: exciting, unpredictable, a storm in human form. But eventually, the storm became too much. The blood, the lies, the constant fear that he would disappear—along with you. You walked away, left him behind, and tried to move on.

But you had never truly moved on.

That morning, as you walked through a quiet street market, you didn’t expect to see him. Toji had a way of blending into the shadows, becoming invisible to the world, but not to you. And yet, there he was, standing at the edge of a café, as if time hadn’t passed, as if you hadn’t left him all those years ago.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but they still held that familiar intensity. The corners of his mouth twitched upward, not quite a smile, but enough to remind you of the way his grin used to make your heart race.

"Well, well. If it isn’t the ghost of my past," Toji’s voice was rough, gravelly, yet somehow comforting in its familiarity.

You took a steadying breath, unsure whether you were relieved or angry to see him again. "What are you doing here, Toji?"

"Same as you, I guess. Trying to stay out of trouble," he said, leaning casually against the doorframe of the café. "Didn’t think I'd ever see you again."

You narrowed your eyes. "And yet, here we are."

He chuckled low in his throat. "Yeah. Here we are."

You hesitated, unsure if you should walk away or stay. You had spent so much time pretending you didn’t care about him, pretending that he didn’t affect you. But the truth was, you had never truly let him go. And now, faced with him again, all those emotions you thought were buried resurfaced.

"How’ve you been?" Toji asked, pushing off the doorframe and stepping closer to you. His presence felt like a heavy weight, but it was one you had never quite been able to escape.

You swallowed. "I’ve been fine. I moved on."

"Yeah, sure you did." His voice was soft, almost teasing. It didn’t sound like the Toji you had known—who was often sharp, indifferent, and blunt. There was something different about him now. Something... vulnerable? You couldn’t place it.

He gestured for you to join him inside the café, and after a long pause, you did.

The café was quiet, filled with the soft murmur of a few patrons and the clink of coffee cups. Toji didn’t look like the same man you had walked away from. His once-polished, dangerous exterior was now rougher, like he’d been worn down by the world. He had that haunted look in his eyes—like he’d lost something, or maybe never had anything to begin with.

"I thought you were done with this life," you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you took a seat opposite him. You hadn’t planned to confront him like this, but there was no hiding from the truth.

Toji shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "I thought I was too." He met your gaze, his eyes hardening for a moment. "Guess life has a funny way of pulling you back in."

A silence fell between you both. The years that had passed seemed to disappear in the space between words, but the scars from the past remained, as fresh as ever.

"I’ve been… trying to live a quiet life," you confessed. "I didn’t want that chaos anymore, Toji. I wanted peace."

Toji’s eyes softened for a moment, and for the first time, you saw something akin to regret in them. "I know," he said quietly. "I never wanted to drag you into my world. You deserved better than that."

You clenched your fists under the table, fighting the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. "Then why did you pull me in at all? Why couldn’t you just walk away from it?"

Toji's jaw tightened, and you saw the familiar frustration flicker in his eyes. "Because I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to." He looked down at his hands. "Still don’t know how to."

The honesty of his words hit you like a punch to the chest. This wasn’t the Toji who had pushed you away so easily. This was someone who had been through hell, who had been broken by the very things that had once made him feel alive.

"I didn’t want to hurt you," Toji said, his voice almost too soft. "I was never good for you. You deserved someone who could give you more than what I had to offer. But I... I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Even after all these years."

Your heart skipped a beat. His confession was raw, vulnerable, and for a moment, it felt like the walls you had built between you both were starting to crumble.

You took a deep breath, your emotions swirling inside you. "You left me, Toji. You didn’t just walk away. You shut me out completely."

He winced, the pain evident on his face. "I know. I thought I was protecting you. I thought I was doing what was best for you by keeping you away from my life. But I was wrong."

You didn’t know what to say to that. You had spent so many nights wondering if he ever thought about you, if he ever regretted walking away. Now, hearing him speak so openly, you felt like a weight had been lifted from your chest—but at the same time, you didn’t know how to navigate the broken pieces of your past.

"What now?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Toji leaned forward, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. "I don’t know. But I’m not going to walk away this time. Not unless you want me to."

The silence stretched between you both, thick with unspoken words, raw emotions, and the weight of the past. It wasn’t a simple decision. It never could be with Toji. But for the first time in years, you felt a glimmer of hope.

Later that evening, as you walked side by side through the streets of Tokyo, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were making a mistake. Toji Fushiguro had never been someone who played by the rules, and yet, here you were, stepping back into his world.

But as you glanced at him—his tall frame, the hardened lines of his face softened by the quiet of the night—you knew one thing for sure: You weren’t walking away this time.

[caramelt4me]

Secret. - Part IV

(Yandere Idol X Kidnapped Reader)

Trigger warning: mention of sexual themes, gaslighting, manipulation, implied violence and mental health ab*se

·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

Prologue Part I Part II Part III Part IV

𝕋he muted hum of the TV filled the quiet living room as you aimlessly scrolled through the endless list of movie options, each flick of the remote accompanied by a restless sigh. Your eyes strayed repeatedly toward the guestroom door—still closed, much to your disappointment.

You glanced at the clock, taking note of the time once again.

Thirty-seven minutes.

Thirty-seven minutes had passed since Asher excused himself to check on Nex—a task that shouldn’t have taken more than twenty. But he seemed to break his own record each time.

It had been three days since your lover had dropped the bomb on you that the maknae from his work would be staying at the cabin for a while to recover from a near-fatal overdose.

Of course, it was understandable. You recalled the worried look that would occasionally cross Asher’s face when he mentioned the youngest’s spiralling addiction. Still, you couldn’t help the guilt-ridden frustration gnawing at you.

The cabin was supposed to be your sanctuary—a private retreat for just the two of you.

Or so you had thought.

Shouldn’t he have at least discussed this with you?

You didn’t like the idea of another man in your space, a space that was meant for you both. As much as you understood the need for confidentiality, you couldn’t fathom why Nex couldn’t be placed in a top-notch rehab facility that could handle both his recovery and the secrecy.

Sure, your selfless lover knew a thing or two about caring for those with psychological needs, thanks to you. But that thought only fuelled your irritation.

Were you just another charity case to him?

Was there no distinction between Nex and you in his eyes?

With a huff, you let the remote clatter onto the coffee table, abandoning your futile search for a film for your seemingly ‘postponed until further notice’ movie date.

But then, a wave of guilt washed over you as the intrusive thoughts spiralled.

When had you become so selfish?

Just a while ago—if you remembered correctly, you were the one urging him not to give up on Nex, to not let the drug scandal ruin his life—You had whispered words of encouragement, pleading with the silent disappointed Asher to give the youngest one last chance to fight his demons.

But that was then.

The last chance was over the moment he tried to overdose.

Your bitter inner voice justified the thought as you shut your eyes, attempting to will away the irritation and guilt with an angry nap. Asher wasn’t coming out of that guestroom anytime soon, and you knew it.

Your thoughts drifted back to the day five days ago when you had fainted—recollecting the time Asher had excused himself to take the call. It was definitely about Nex. It had to be. He didn't want you to feel guilty for trusting the maknae, you reasoned. But your mind wouldn’t let it go, dragging you even further back into memory.

You recalled a seemingly ordinary night, curled up in Asher's arms.

As your lover spooned you in his arms, his husky voice teased in your ear about how softer and cuddlier you had gotten while he had been away.

You nudged him sharply with your elbow—looking annoyed yet flustered as you warned him to not fat-shame you. But on the inside, you didn’t need an introduction to his azure love-stricken eyes as they lingered on your figure; nothing too remarkable or noteworthy apart from the self-doubt that stemmed from it—yet to him, it was an epitome of human perfection.

He kissed your neck deeply, his lips making sure to leave a visible mark—as in the meantime, his one hand gently unbuttoned the top of your nightdress, while the other tugged your hair behind to prevent it from getting in his way. Once he had free access to your cleavage, his lips moved to taste the soft subtle skin of your bosom—earning a little gasp from your bashful lips. Your little protests were as insincere as your blushing cheeks—unable to hide how enticed you were by the raw primal look in his icy eyes, as he nibbled on your flushed skin.

“You taste sweeter than caramel, baby,” He cooed in between, his tongue darting out lick his lips hungrily. “Tell me, what have you been up to really these past two days to become so irresistibly delicious?”

You cringed aloud at his cheesy line, your hands diving into his thick dark hair in an attempt to push him away. But it only made him cling tighter, his arms wrapping around your waist like a vice. His angelic face pressed against your chest as he took a deep inhale of your scent, his voice dropping to a needy murmur.

“I missed you so much, baby.”

His obsidian blues sought out yours, his fingers clumsily cupping your face as he gazed at you with a vulnerability that left you momentarily stunned. His proximity made your knees weak, yet the warmth of his embrace was your safe haven.

“Did you miss me too?” he asked, his voice soft and hopeful.

“Hm,” Was all you managed to say—the words caught in your throat as you suddenly felt too self-conscious to even converse properly. But that didn’t deter your lover from trying to get the answer he was looking for.

“Did you miss me as much as I missed you?” He purred lowly, getting closer to your ear—his hot breath fanning your flustered skin.

Your breath hitched, as you watched him lean back –his lustful blue eyes eagerly waiting for the words of confirmation to spill out from your timid mouth so that he could claim it in a heartbeat, but instead you seemed to have found another loophole—and nodded in quick approval.

Asher groaned in mock despair, resting his head on your shoulder like a child denied his favourite treat. Your lips curled into a mischievous smile, but you quickly dropped it once he looked back at you.

“Why are you always so mean?” he pouted, his nose brushing yours endearingly. Yet, your nerves must have been truly made of steel in that moment—to be able to glance away from his heart-wrenching gaze.

“I can’t wait to see you again the moment I leave your side,” he murmured, his voice a mix of playful accusation and raw yearning. “And you… you probably wouldn’t even notice if I were gone for a month or two, would you?” Your silence teased him, and his dramatic sigh made you chuckle despite yourself.

Alas, if only the past Asher knew how clingy you would get after not seeing him for two weeks in the future—let alone two months.

“Be honest,” he urged, his brows furrowing. “Don’t you ever watch my performance clips when you miss me? Fancams, even?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, masking your growing smile.

“The disrespect!” he gasped, before breaking into a grin of his own as he playfully tackled you, all pretence forgotten.

Perhaps back then, you should have told him the real reason why you avoided the crumbs of his life as an idol. Maybe then, he would have understood, maybe even been considerate enough to not leave you hanging in the living room while he disappeared behind the closed door to sort things for Nex.

But what could you have said, really?

That you wished, with every fibre of your being, for him to never leave your side—not even for a second? That the sight of others touching him, joking with him, sharing the smallest parts of him, felt like an unbearable intrusion? That you purposely avoided digging into his world, avoided learning too much about his group members or his public persona, just to preserve the illusion that he was yours alone?

Could you admit aloud that you felt a near-physical urge to keep anyone, human or otherwise, from getting too close to him?

Would Asher still love you if he knew what kind of creature you really were?

The thought coiled around your heart like a vice, a twisted cocktail of insecurity and paranoia. You told yourself he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Not if he knew the depths of your possessiveness or the shadows of your doubt.

Perhaps that was the true reason you were tucked away in the cabin—not for your sake, but for his safety.

You often thanked whatever force had granted you this gift of botched memories, your fragmented mind offering a second chance to rewrite the wrongs you were certain you had committed. In the shards of your past, there was one constant—Asher. That unshakable certainty only convinced you further that you had always been obsessed with him, long before you became his lover.

The thought haunted you—You weren’t one of his many fans.

No, at least not a real one.

—But perhaps, a stalker.

Someone who didn’t see Asher as an idol, but rather an object of obsession.

You were no muse like Mary from Guilty Files—but the depraved artist herself.

Had you wormed your way into his life, manipulated him, crafted lies so intricate that even he had believed them?

It made sense. It explained why someone as radiant as Asher would devote himself so completely to someone as unworthy as you. Surely, you had hijacked his heart, forcefully binding him to you in a web of manipulation. And now, it was far too late to undo the spell.

So, you stayed hidden. Out of sight. You told yourself it was penance, the least you could do. You convinced yourself to be content with the mere fact that he still visited you in the cabin, despite everything.

But the medicine, perhaps too effective—may have muddled your thoughts, blurring guilt and regret into anger and betrayal. A sense of déjà vu washed over you, leaving you feeling wronged, betrayed—only to come full circle as you remembered a version of the tale your fractured mind would patch together from time to time.

If only you knew that you had the whole story flipped around.

A wave of self-hatred washed over you. Guilt, the heaviest it had ever felt—settled in your frail chest—threatening to burst out and spill any moment then. The realization—even though faux, was a gut-wrenching blow to your conscience.

Panic set in as you struggled to breathe—your heart pounding in your ears, a frantic drumbeat echoing the chaos within. Hot tears streamed down your face, blurring your vision. You gasped for air into the endless void, your lungs constricting with each desperate breath. But just as the darkness threatened to swallow you whole, you jolted awake from your nightmare—gasping for air, before your terror-stricken eyes met Asher’s worried-sick blues.

Without missing a beat, your arms wrapped tightly around him, instinct taking over as you panted, your body trembling and drenched in cold sweat. The frantic rhythm of your kisses—pressed sloppily against his neck and cheeks—betrayed the panic clawing at your chest. You didn’t notice the soft nonsense Asher murmured to soothe you; the only thing grounding you was his warmth.

But then the thought hit you, sharp and cruel—

A parasite.

You were nothing but a filthy leech sucking off his life.

The word echoed in your mind, making you freeze mid-movement. Your frantic kisses stopped as you pressed your face against his neck, seeking refuge, too afraid to speak or to confront the spiralling chaos of your self-loathing thoughts.

Asher’s response was immediate, his voice calm and familiar as he cooed to you, one hand gently patting the back of your head while the other traced soothing circles on your back. He didn’t need you to explain; he knew the way your mind would play tricks on you once in a while to paint you the villain—when in reality, you were right in his arms, being lulled by him.

A bittersweet pang hit him as he held you, watching you mourn for sins you believed were yours—when in truth, the guilt was his to bear. The weight of his lies, his actions, should have crushed him, but instead, he felt a strange satisfaction as you clung to him so tightly, almost desperately—making him an utter blushing fool.

He couldn’t deny it—part of him loved these moments when your self-control slipped, when your nails dug into his skin or your teeth left marks he’d savour for days after. Those fleeting bruises became his secret treasures, physical proof that he belonged to you as much as you belonged to him.

He wanted to claim your lips badly enough, but then his icy blues flickered to finally acknowledge the elephant in the room—or rather, the awkward maknae, who was contemplating where to look while you two were getting comfortable.

As the bubble of intimacy shattered, Asher sighed reluctantly. He placed a light kiss on your temple before leaning back slightly to meet your oblivious, still-teary eyes.

“Baby,” he began, his tone gentle but firm, “I want you to meet Nex. He’s feeling well enough to finally come out of his room.”

The words lingered in the air as you reluctantly turned, meeting the maknae’s hesitant grey eyes for the first time.

___

The rhythmic crash of waves against the shore provided a soothing backdrop to the otherwise still evening. Damian leaned against the cool metal railing of his sea-facing apartment balcony. A wisp of smoke curled upwards from the cigarette held loosely between his fingers, disappearing into the twilight sky.

His dark chocolate eyes, shadowed by a tousled fringe, flickered over the screen of his phone. A quick text to Jay, a fellow soloist and industry friend, confirmed Theo and his attendance at the upcoming birthday bash. A brief smile played on his lips as he tapped out a message on Theo's behalf.

With a satisfied sigh, he extinguished the cigarette, the orange ember fading into the darkness. Then, he glanced at his reflection in the dark screen of his phone—running a hand through his messy hair, as a wry smile played on his lips.

“I need a bath,” He commented under his breath as he checked out his dishevelled appearance. Just as he slipped his phone into the pocket, a notification buzzed to life. It was from the group’s social media manager, a flurry of posts awaiting his approval as the leader.

He sighed lightly, a new cigarette finding its way between his lips as he ignited it with a practiced flick of his lighter and inhaled deeply.

Getting his phone out, he unlocked it with a simple touch—no password or ID to bypass unlike his industry peers.

A slight frown creased his brow as he noticed an error in one of the posts. A quick text to his manager, a concise correction, and the issue was resolved.

With a final drag, he extinguished the cigarette, the smoke swirling around him as he stepped back inside—his dark eyes flickered briefly to the clock, then darted—almost unconsciously—to the faintly blinking blue lights nestled at the back of his personal library and study table. Even hidden within a cabinet of his wardrobe, the surveillance cameras would have gone unnoticed by anyone less observant.

However, Damian’s expression betrayed nothing—his face remaining calm, almost bored. It was as though he had expected the intrusion.

Gathering a fresh pair of PJs from his wardrobe, he carried them under one arm while placing his phone on the study table. With a quick swipe, he connected it to the Bluetooth speaker. Moments later, the bathroom filled with an almost absurdly cheerful jingle—a playlist he reserved for his extremely long bathtime.

It was as if he wanted the not-so secret onlooker to lose interest over time—pay less attention to him at least during that time of the day.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind him. Damian’s sharp brown eyes immediately scanned the room, scrutinizing every corner and crevice for any newly installed cameras or suspicious additions. Finding none, he let out a quiet sigh of relief.

His fingers worked swiftly, clawing at the edges of a seemingly ordinary tile on the wall. With a subtle tug, the tile came loose, revealing a concealed compartment. Inside lay a burner phone, a plain black diary, noise-cancelling earbuds, and a few essential stationery items.

He retrieved the earbuds first, slipping them into his ears to drown out the cloying, brain-rotting jingle still playing over the speaker. Once cocooned in silence, Damian powered on the burner phone and unlocked it, the screen illuminating his features as he opened his inbox under a fake email address.

He was expecting two specific emails.

The first message caught his attention, and his brows furrowed as he read its contents. A quiet huff escaped him. Just as he had suspected—there was no record of Nex being checked into any rehab overseas.

It wasn’t hard to confirm.

A pink-haired, strikingly attractive Korean male, contractually obligated to maintain his appearance until the group’s next comeback, wouldn’t exactly blend into obscurity. Moreover, Nex was scheduled to resume solo activities in two weeks—a timeline that didn’t align with a genuine rehab stint. Damian’s jaw tightened.

Nex was missing.

And, unsurprisingly, the CEO was helping cover up the truth.

Again, for Asher.

Grabbing his diary, he jotted down the key details, his pen tapping rhythmically against the paper as his mind raced to connect the dots.

But why Nex?

Either him or Theo should have been targeted, if at all by the eldest—both the younger members were silent during the tense exchange after their last tour. Isolating the maknae made no sense, Damian thought, biting his nail out of habit in deep thought—when suddenly, his eyes widened as it struck him. Unless,

Nex had been foolish enough to mention the Cabin directly to Asher.

“That idiot,” he muttered under his breath, tossing the diary aside and grabbing the burner phone again. His mind couldn’t help but expect the worst.

He scrolled to the second email; one he had initially dismissed as unimportant. Anxiety coiled in his chest as he opened the message, fingers trembling slightly as he tapped on the attached PDF.

The forensic lab report loaded slowly, each passing second grating against his nerves. When it finally opened, Damian’s frown deepened.

The blood type matched Nex’s, not Asher’s—evidence enough that the maknae had been the one bleeding. However, there was no trace of unmetabolized drugs in his system. This ruled out an overdose before the incident in the bathroom.

But the next line puzzled him further. The white, powdery substance scattered across the floor wasn’t a narcotic.

It was sugar.

Specifically, sucrose and tricalcium phosphate—common ingredients in icing sugar.

For a moment, Damian stared at the report, thinking it had to be a mistake or some sort of cruel joke. He scrolled through the document again, searching for any mention of drugs, but all the samples he had discreetly swabbed from Nex’s bathroom contained only blood and sugar.

Sugar? Really?

Damian leaned back, tapping his pen against his chin. Something didn’t add up. He replayed the scene in his mind, recalling the smeared blood and the faint trail of dragged footsteps. Nex hadn’t been conscious when he was moved—of that, he was sure. But why sugar? It felt like a bluff, almost playful, as though Asher’s initial plan was to just mock the maknae into sense—but then he ended up kidnapping the latter.

“Too sweet of him,” Damian muttered, his voice laced with sarcasm.

What was the point of it all? Torture? Intimidation? If so, why risk exposing his secret by releasing the maknae just after two weeks? Was this just another round in their cat-and-mouse game?

Or was there something far more sinister at work this time?

The question lingered, a persistent thorn in Damian's mind. His gut, ever reliable, told him that the supposed ‘Cabin hostage’ was at the heart of it all.

Asher had been “well-behaved” for too long, even helpful in recent months to uplift the group’s image—like a ticking bomb biding its time before it exploded.

What if his meddling had been the spark to reawaken the blue-eyed Devil?

The thought gnawed Damian’s mind, twisting his gut with an uneasy mix of guilt and fear. He couldn’t shake the feeling that his attempt to uncover the truth had only fed the fire lurking within Asher’s cold, calculated demeanour.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Damian shoved the burner phone, diary, and earbuds back into the secret compartment. He pressed the tile into place, ensuring it left no trace of its existence.

Then, stripping off his clothes, he stepped into the shower. The icy water crashed against his skin, a sharp contrast to the heat of his racing mind. He tilted his head back, letting the cold torrent drown out the cacophony of theories spiralling through his thoughts.

___

The car screeched to a halt at the signal, tires squealing slightly against the asphalt. A heavy silence filled the interior, broken only by the rhythmic ticking of the dashboard clock. Damian sat in the driver’s seat, brown eyes staring blankly out the window, his mind elsewhere.

He was going back to the scene—back to Nex’s apartment.

Damian knew Asher and his ever-loyal right hand, Manager Baek, were fully aware of his last visit. Yet, it didn’t stop him.

Unlike his growing suspicion about Asher holding someone captive at a cabin, Damian had been careful not to let the other members catch on to one of Asher’s more disturbing habits—the on-and-off bugging of their phones and apartments. It was a relatively new development, cropping up in the past year and a half since the oldest’s long hiatus.

He had always made a point not to pry into the strange habits and obsessions of his members. Each had their quirks, their unique ways of coping with stress, and as the group’s leader, he felt it was his duty to preserve their fragile sense of brotherhood.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

But then came the overheard conversations—Manager Baek on the phone with Asher, his words dripping with secrecy. Mentions of a cabin, of “her,” and of extensive grocery lists for deliveries.

The details painted a troubling picture—Asher was holding someone hostage.

With even a child, perhaps, he thought—misinterpreting Asher’s use of “Baby”.

He tried to rationalize the rest.

They were all teetering on the spectrum of insanity, weren’t they? Obsession, paranoia, secrecy—it came with the territory of their high-stakes, suffocating lives as K-pop idols. But even in his skewed perspective, Damian recognized that kidnapping and captivity crossed a line, even if substance abuse didn’t.

That’s where he’d made his first mistake.

He had voiced his concerns to Theo in the green room, hoping his hot-headed but loyal bandmate might provide some clarity. But before he could finish explaining, the other two members had walked in, overhearing enough to shatter the tenuous silence that kept their group functioning.

Asher hadn’t been there—it was one of his rare days off—but the damage was done. Now, Nex was missing, and Damian was certain Asher was behind it.

And it was all his fault.

If only he’d turned a blind eye, like always.

If only he hadn’t interfered.

The self-recriminating thoughts echoed as Damian stepped out of the elevator at Nex’s building, moving on autopilot, spare keys in hand. But his steps faltered as he approached the door.

There, slumped against the wall, was a familiar blonde figure—dishevelled and ghastly pale, he instantly recognized. “Clade?”

·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

@shadowytravelerlover

[lancermylove]

Butterfly Effect

Fandom: Obey Me

Pairing: None

Warning: None

Prompt: Barbatos sees a butterfly, and it all leads to chaos.

A/N: I got 3 hours of broken sleep last night, and this is what my mind came up with.

———————————————

Barbatos saw a beautiful butter with iridescent blue wings. Its wings resembled overlapping glass shards and shimmered like a kaleidoscope. He suddenly had the urge to go to one of his favorite gardens in the Human realm and took the day off. A rare occasion, but he wanted the day to himself for once.

Even Diavolo was shocked, but the prince agreed. What could go wrong were Diavolo's last famous words.

Without Barbatos, the breakfast was late, and Diavolo had invited the brothers over. The brothers and the prince started to get agitated. While waiting, the prince asked Lucifer to take over everyone's schedule. He was reluctant but couldn't say no.

The food finally arrived, but when they started to dig in, their faces turned pale. Who cooked the food? Was it who they thought?

Mammon quickly stood up, feeling nauseous, causing the candle stand in the center of the table to fall over. Next thing everyone knew, the dining table was on fire.

Solomon walked out of the kitchen with one more dish in hand and was speechless to see Mammon running around with the back of his jacket on fire while Satan and Beel chased him. Lucifer and Diavolo were trying to put out the fire; Belphie was slumped against a pillar, half asleep and half nauseous. Levi was blowing on the fire to put it out while Asmo was in the corner filming everything. The sorcerer sighed and used a water spell to put out the fire.

Everyone was relieved Solomon's cooking was burned to a crisp in the fire, but then they noticed the dish in his hand. Satan 'accidentally' pushed Mammon against Solomon, causing the baking tray to crash to the ground.

While they tried to figure out what to do about breakfast, the prince snuck into the kitchen to use the opportunity to cook and surprise everyone. But when he dumped random ingredients into a cooking pot and turned on the heat, the pot exploded.

Asmo ran into the kitchen and was horrified to see its state. The prince looked helpless, so the fifth brother insisted on using a cleaning spell he had learned from Solomon. However, the spell backfired, covering the castle with soap bubbles and trapping everyone inside.

Beel couldn't control his hunger and started to eat random objects. The others didn't have the energy to stop him as they tried to find a way out of the castle.

"Um...did anyone else hear that?" Belphie asked, but no one heard anything until Beel returned to the dining room.

"I...don't feel well..." he mumbled, touching his stomach.

Beel hiccuped loudly, causing sparkles to surround Solomon, turning him into a kitten.

Satan was instantly charmed by the kitten and chased it around. "Just one hug, please!"

"Wait, Beel, what did you eat?" Diavolo asked. "It...wasn't an egg that looked like chocolate...was it?"

"Yea-" Beel hiccuped again.

Second hiccup: The furniture spouted legs.

Everyone watched in curiosity, horror, or intrigue as the dining table chairs ran into walls over and over again.

Third hiccup: Thirteen, Simeon, and Raphael appeared out of thin air.

Raphael looked confused, but the Grim Reaper was all for the chaos and chasing Solomon. She knew she would never get a chance like this again to get back at Solomon while he was unable to use magic.

Fourth hiccup: Levi was teleported into a large painting.

"Get me out of here!" He shakily cried.

Simeon ran to the painting and tried to calm him down while trying to find a way to help him out.

Fifth hiccup: Asmo's hair glowed neon.

He went into full panic mode. Every time his mood changed, his hair color changed.

Asmo wanted his followers to see his changing hair, but Diavolo pleaded not to record any of this as he didn't want Barbatos to find out.

The prince had to find a way to fix everything before the butler returned. Just the thought of what he would do sent chills down Diavolo's spine.

Sixth hiccup: Mammon became invisible.

The second brother didn't realize it. He tried to make comments about things, but no one responded.

"Hello? You ain't gotta ignore me. At least look at me! Anyone?"

Mammon tried to wave his hands in front of his younger brothers, but still no reaction.

"What're all of ya ignorin' me?"

Seventh hiccup: Belphie's legs were no longer under his control.

His legs moved on his own. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he couldn't stop walking around.

He held onto objects, but his feet tirelessly continued pulling him forward, along with the objects he held onto.

Eighth hiccup: Lucifer vanished into thin air.

"Lucifer?" Diavolo called out. He didn't want to be in his situation alone, but the Avatar of Pride didn't respond. The prince couldn't sense him in the castle either.

He couldn't take it anymore. Diavolo ran into his bedroom and locked the door. Barbatos would find out, and it would be the end!

Mephistopheles stomped to the castle entrance, huffing and puffing. The prince was supposed to meet him half an hour ago, so why hadn't he shown up?

"Hm? The air...why does it smell of dish soap?" He mumbled and paused to look around but assumed someone must have washed dishes and walked past the area he was in.

Ignoring the unease in the pits of his stomach, he opened the castle door. Mephisto didn't have time to react as a tidal wave of soapy bubbles hit him and carried through the streets of Devildom.

"Enough!" Lucifer reappeared in the castle and snapped his fingers, reversing the spells and curses - the soap bubbles vanished, the furniture was static and arranged in its proper place, everyone returned to their normal state, and Beel stopped hiccuping.

Diavolo raced down the stairs and threw his arms around Lucifer, but the Avatar of Pride respectfully pulled out of the hug. The prince was no longer in trouble!

Later that day, Barbatos stood in front of the castle entrance and took a deep breath, bracing himself for chaos. But when he opened the door, the place was spotless. Nothing seemed out of place. It was normal. Too normal.

He walked to the prince's office, and to his shock, Diavolo was dutifully reading through the stacks of papers on his desk. Something was not right, but the butler found no evidence of chaos in the castle.

The following day, Barbatos saw the blue butterfly fluttering through the castle's garden and landing on the table in the seating area. The butler smiled and cautiously approached the butterfly for a better look, but it fluttered away immediately.

Right as he turned around, Barbatos froze and glanced at the newspaper on the table. "Soap Suds and Sorcery: Uncovering the Bubbles at the Royal Castle!" By Mephistopheles.

Furrowing his brows, the butler read through the article. So that was what had happened. And everyone thought they could get away with hiding the truth from Barbatos. The corners of his lips curled up into a wicked smile.

———————————————

➣ All Masterlists

➣ OM Masterlist: [Genre][By Characters]

➣ Tumblr Only ML: Obey Me

[frozenjokes]

it’s not even language barrier induced miscommunication at this point we are just lying

better reading experience on ao3

It was a rare thing to see the humans freeze up like this, so much like a prey response, and it took Mumbo a few seconds of inquisitive clicks to realize what they were looking at. Oh.

“Is.. That a mermaid?” Scar asked, quiet, but thankfully not scared, goodness, Atlas could have told Mumbo they were popping up to say hello! They knew Grian had been so jumpy about Mumbo that he’d run away for a whole week! So stupid. Mumbo had just gotten through to him! Mumbo swiveled back toward the water, fins twitching irritably, but he didn’t get the chance to tell Atlas off before they spoke first.

‘Why are they looking at me like that.’ Atlas shifted where they were perched, distrust and discomfort clear in their stiff posture. ‘Make them stop.’

‘You were staring at them first! Get out of here.’ Mumbo shot back, though Atlas huffed, unimpressed.

‘Just wanted a look. This is deeply unnatural, Mumbo, I’ve decided.’

‘Good for you. Have fun thinking about it at the bottom of the lake.’

‘When is the human speaking mermaid going to visit?’

Mumbo didn’t get the chance to tell Atlas for the millionth time that he didn’t know and had no way to contact Etho when Scar began to trot towards the water, Mumbo stuck staring dumb as he went. Given that Grian had a similar look of bafflement on his face and Atlas was.. tense.. Mumbo guessed all three of them were on a similar wavelength.

“Hello!” Scar waved as he reached the waterline, radiant and innocent and so, so stupid. “Are you one of Mumbo’s friends?”

‘What is it doing.’ Atlas raised themself a little higher on their rocky perch. ‘Make it stop.’

“Scar!” Grian’s voice was shrill, “Let’s try not approach the stranger mermaid! We do not know if it’s friendly!”

Scar scoffed, “Uh, of course it’s friendly! Mumbo clearly knows the guy, they must be friends! I think if this was a stranger, we would know. For god’s sakes, Grian, you saw what he tried to do to Etho!” Scar continued to wave, stepping slowly into the water. Mumbo moved to intervene, frightened once again by the human’s blunted survival instincts, and at the same time Atlas hissed, long and low. At the very least Scar had the sense to stop where he stood, but he looked no less bright. “Hello, hello, I’m Scar!”

Scar startled when Mumbo ducked over his head from behind, blinking in rapid succession with those large, empty of thought, green eyes.

‘Stop it. They don’t like you. They don’t like humans.’

Scar stared blankly, as if enchanted. He smiled, disgusting in his innocence. “Well hello there!”

‘Stop being stupid.’

“I love you too!”

“Human, bad, annoying.” Mumbo was pretty sure he remembered those words correctly; if he’d pronounced them wrong he would never know, because Scar’s expression did not change. To solidify the meaning, he extended to Scar his most stern thumbs down. Scar did not react to this either, and Mumbo was starting to wonder if his brain had been melted in a heat vent.

Whatever trance had befallen them, the two of them looked up at the sound of a large splash, Atlas retreating back into the water. Mumbo’s fins relaxed, while Scar made a long noise of distress, hopping a little further into the water as if he’d ever have a chance of catching up. Mumbo left him to it, unconcerned. His fins prickled as he turned around, hoping to approach Grian, but unsure if the human would be receptive. As it stood, Grian was still staring starkly into the water, concern etched over his face as Scar hopped around in the shallows. Mumbo whistled, something light but sharp in an attempt to catch Grian’s attention, and was relieved that when Grian turned to face him, the stress in his brow eased.

Mumbo moved forward, and when he sensed no extreme fear, he continued, settling a comfortable distance away, but close enough for Grian to hear him. Scar seemed to notice this change at a delay, scrambling onto the beach to Grian’s heroic rescue, goofy as that was.

“Etho is here?” Mumbo had been meaning to ask for a while, but he wasn’t exactly sure which human words would get his point across clearly. Scar nearly tripped over Mumbo in his clumsy run up the beach, but Grian didn’t react to him, more focused on the question Mumbo hoped he’d asked correctly. Grian was so intent, it took him a moment to call Scar off as his companion sternly reprimanded Mumbo, who showed Scar just how much he cared with a brief flash of teeth.

“You want to see Etho?” Grian asked, and Mumbo didn’t know what he said, but he assumed that Grian would come to a more accurate conclusion than Scar would if whatever Mumbo had said ended up being more nonsensical than anything. He found himself frustrated at how hard this was; he’d felt alright going through the motions with Etho, but he’d always gotten feedback, and if Mumbo was stuck, they could work together to smooth things out. Maybe he was frustrated by just how much he’d forgotten. Mumbo had quite a good memory, a facet of himself he took quite a bit of pride in, but with no one to practice with him, it felt like nearly everything he’d learned about the human language had slipped away.

Truly, Atlas was the central reason that Mumbo was asking, but he also just.. wanted to see them again.

“Yes,” Mumbo tried, and he hoped the confirmation he was giving was for the correct assumption.

“I’ll call him!” Scar announced proudly, Mumbo cringing back from the noise, then cringing further when Scar scrambled over to their bags to get his Dreaded Noise Machine. It was a phone, Etho had told him as much and used one as a means to contact Joel, but Mumbo did not like or trust it, and he hated when it made noise. Humans were hard enough to understand in person, why in the world would they talk to each other through a horrible distorted noise box where nothing made sense. Both humans seemed to find Mumbo’s distaste for their phones amusing, which was all the more irksome.

After a little bit of fiddling, the phone began to dial. Then it stopped. With another press of a button it started again, then stopped, then started and stopped and started and stopped until Etho’s distorted voice sounded through the speaker.

“Hello, Etho! You’re on speaker, and I’m at the beach with Grian and Mumbo. What’re you up to?”

Whatever Etho said in response was a garbled mess, not even understandable as words. Mumbo shrunk away, giving up at trying to parse any of the words from either party until a soft whistle sounded through the other side, heavily distorted, yes, but intelligible.

‘Glad you’re well. I do not want to come to the beach.’ Well. Typical of Etho, if Mumbo was being honest.

‘Will you travel as a mermaid here? Sometime soon?’

‘I hope not.’ What a lovely ray of sunshine Etho was, Mumbo had forgotten in their time away from each other. Etho had inherited a focal trait from their time as a human, being that they went out of their way to be as utterly insufferable as possible.

Etho switched back to the human language after being pestered by Scar and Grian, only for the two of them to react in similar expressions of outrage, which was vindicating if nothing else.

“Etho-!” Scar really started to lay into them then, and while Mumbo shrank at his tone, that did not stop Scar, “Your friend wants to see you after he’s been gone for two whole months, he’s asking about you and you- you do not just get to say no!”

Etho started to say something, meek sounding, but Scar cut them off, “Sure you’ll be around when you do your little switcharoo, but that is NOT what you told him- he probably thinks you don’t want to see him! Huphuphup, just because you and Joel are engaged in some kind of pissing match right now doesn’t mean you can act all aloof when someone tangentially mentions your issue-“ there was a brief pause of garbling over the call before Scar bristled, “I’m not saying it’s your fault! He’s an asshole! That doesn’t mean you get to make it everyone else’s problem! Apologize!”

There was a short pause.

‘Sorry.’ the whistle came through softly, ‘I’ll be back next time I change.’

Mumbo brightened, but before he could tell Etho this was exactly what he wanted and that he was very excited to see them, Scar cut in, probably demanding to know what Etho had said, probably. Mumbo was really starting to get annoyed with Scar, all this yelling and pestering- but before Mumbo could whack him, Etho was whistling again.

‘I will be there tomorrow.’

Mumbo blinked, fins flicking.

‘As a mermaid?’

‘No.’ Before Scar could interrupt again, Etho hung up, the line going dark. Scar didn’t seem entirely pleased with this, but Mumbo wanted no more of his noise machine, making an attempt to snatch it out of his hands, an attack which Scar clumsily avoided, eyes wide.

“Mumbo- Mumbo no! Not my phone!” You would think the humans understood by now that kicking and flailing around on the beach activated some amount of Mumbo’s prey instinct, but they did not, so Mumbo took great joy in chasing a panicked Scar around the beach for a little while until his scales felt a little too dry and itchy from the sand, and he retreated into the water. Mumbo was relatively sure phones were one of the human items that could not get wet, so he hoped he gave Scar a little spook in revenge for the great crime of being annoying.

If Mumbo had indeed scared Scar, the human certainly didn’t hold a grudge, gallivanting right back into the lake after depositing his phone. Ultimately, Mumbo was quite pleased; he didn’t like to hold a grudge either, and at a moderate volume, Scar’s constant babbling was a noise he’d grown to miss in the quiet of the deep.

Still, he was a little concerned about Etho’s visit tomorrow.. he really hadn’t planned for Atlas to meet the human version, but.. it was probably fine. All in all, Mumbo was a little too excited at the idea of showing off the human language to reject an Etho visit, even if it might take longer for Atlas to really warm up to the guy.

Maybe he’d work on Grian’s prosthetic tomorrow as well! He’d do it now, but wasn’t sure how much tolerance Grian had left for him today, and in hindsight, maybe chasing his suicidally reckless friend around the beach for ten minutes was a stressful experience for Grian as an onlooker.. oh well.

Tomorrow was going to be a great day.

…

Mumbo usually spent his days with Atlas, tinkering or otherwise, but ultimately just being in their company, hoping to ease their discomfort with being so close to the surface. It was stressful for Atlas to be up here for such a long time, so close in proximity to an apex species that was waging a war on their people and their home, a war the mermaids would lose, and a place Atlas would never get to see again.

Atlas was curious and motivated, but they were also deeply worn, clear as the old scars that littered their body. Despite chasing change, collecting knowledge in hopes to preserve it, ensuring that no mermaid people were ever truly lost, Atlas did not always handle that change well, especially when things did not go their way. Convincing them to come here was probably a stressor within itself; this was a departure from Atlas’s self declared life mission, preserving language, connecting the travel-wary mers across the world through new song, new spells, and bolstering a species loyalty across nations so that when one pod chose to fight and die for their right to live as they’d done for thousands of years, others might join them.

This was a vacation. A pursuit of a passing interest in intelligent, complex language, for once not directly motivated by the slaughter of the Northern mers. It was not easy for Atlas, Mumbo knew it, but after so many years of endless work, Mumbo was also relieved they were taking a break to do something for themself.

Today, though, Mumbo was not at the bottom of the lake. He was up by the shore, in part working with Grian’s prosthetic and making minor adjustments (both humans had seemed VERY confused when Mumbo tried to take the glove back; couldn’t they see it didn’t fit properly yet?), as well as trying to figure out how in the hell to tell Atlas that the human-speaking mermaid Mumbo befriended was actually also a human. Mumbo was also concerned about Etho in general; he had forgotten how difficult to get along with Etho could be sometimes, and Atlas was, by all accounts, the same way. Either they would mesh or they wouldn’t, and Mumbo had a feeling that Atlas’s realization that Mumbo had kinda sorta fudged the truth might not go down so well.

But Mumbo was going to tell them. Just as soon as he finished this one final adjustment on Grian’s glove…

And then he heard crashing through the brush, looked up at the sky, flinched because ow the sun, realized it was midday, and promptly dove into the water. Atlas must have sensed Mumbo’s panic by the way he was swimming, alert and tense by the time Mumbo made it down to them, which was not the atmosphere Mumbo had wanted to have this conversation in.

‘What’s wrong? Humans?’ Well, that was a concerning if not predictable place for Atlas’s mind to go, again, not suitable for the information Mumbo needed to break to them very quickly.

‘Yes- Well, no, it’s just my humans but they- Listen, you remember the human-speaking mermaid I told you about, Ghost, right?’

‘I remember.’ But to Mumbo’s alarm, Atlas had started to move towards the surface, as if they didn’t believe that everything was fine and dandy like Mumbo had said- he would have been offended if Atlas was not swimming directly toward the thing Mumbo was not ready for them to see yet-

He tried cutting into Atlas’s path, but the other mermaid bullied their way past. ‘Is Ghost dead.’ They whistled the words like they were already resigned to the outcome, Mumbo left frantically trying to save this before it got out of hand.

‘Ghost isn’t dead! They’re here! They’ve just- they’ve got this condition-‘

‘Here?’ This seemed enough to stop Atlas in their tracks, clicking with some alarm as they scanned their surroundings, ‘No one is here, I would have seen them come in.’ Atlas continued forward, faster, like they were concerned Mumbo might have hit his head and become an unreliable messenger of the danger at the surface.

‘They’re sick!’ Mumbo stressed, uselessly, ‘You have to understand, Ghost is sick!’

Atlas’s concern only seemed to grow, stopped only briefly just feet from the surface to give Mumbo a quick once over, sniffing for blood or perhaps illness, to which Mumbo flinched away and Atlas moved on. Both mermaids surfaced at the same time, face to face with the three humans on the beach.

Scar looked like he was seconds from his usual routine of sticking his head under the water and screaming, and Grian hadn’t noticed yet, fiddling with their bags, but Etho was looking directly at them. They clicked their tongue once, perhaps an old habit, then shaded their eyes from the sun with a hand despite the cloudy day. Etho couldn’t see well, but regardless, Mumbo had a feeling they would be able to parse out the shape of a second body in the water.

“Mumbo,” Etho said, catching both Grian and Scar’s attention, ‘Who is that?’

Atlas’s reaction to this could only be described as violent, so starkly terrified they nearly leapt out of the water then back under again, like a fish woken from a sound sleep by the jaws of a barracuda on its scales. Mumbo only felt tentacles at the end of his tail for a moment before he was yanked under the water.

‘Did that human just speak!? Who taught it how to do that? Was it you?’

‘That’s Ghost,’ Mumbo said, shriveling into himself at every word, every second of stunned silence that followed the revelation, ‘They really are a mermaid.. just.. sick.’

‘WHAT!?’ The rise in tone was not conveyed through volume, but the utter intensity of Atlas’s stricken body language, limbs strained near quivering. Mumbo thought they might just explode. Again, Atlas exploded above the water, but they didn’t stop there, barreling towards the shore. Compared to Mumbo though, Atlas was not nearly as fast, and he was able to intersect and slow them down at several points, the both of them wrestling and fighting the entire way, Mumbo ending this battle by holding on for dear life and praying that Atlas didn’t intend on investigating with their teeth. But by the time the two of them reached the waterline, all three humans were behind the thick foliage and Grian was high in a tree. Mercifully, Atlas did not leave the water, staring and clicking rapidly like gathering this information at a faster rate would make any of this make sense. Etho looked quite a bit jealous of Grian’s position right now, bristling and terrified. Scar.. Well, when Scar took a step outside of the treeline, Grian screamed at him and Etho yanked him back. Maybe this proof of fear helped to relax Atlas, their posture loosening, but the stalemate remained, and Mumbo’s stomach churned when he realized he’d have to be the one to break it.

Slowly, awkwardly, he shuffled out of the water, facing Atlas with fins as relaxed and confident as he could make them.

‘Atlas.. This is Ghost.’ Awkwardly, Mumbo gestured, but it was pretty clear who he was talking about regardless, ‘My friend. Mermaid born, but- cursed. Sorry, I did not mean for you to meet this way.’

‘Mumbo!’ Etho’s whistled cracked like a human voice would from stress, ‘Did you drag me here to meet a hostile mermaid without any warning!? I wouldn’t have come! I didn’t want to come!’

Mumbo bristled, turning on them, ‘It’s not like I could get a word in edgewise! Scars wouldn’t shut their mouth, and you cut the line before I could ask you to wait until the change!’

“Scar!” No longer hiding behind him, Etho whirled on Scar, who jumped back in alarm, “He didn’t even want me here today!”

“What!? But he-“

Mumbo hissed, successfully stopping Scar from whatever nonsense he meant to defend himself with, ‘I’d say you’re both the problem, stop with the noise. I’m sorry for my own part in this, but you’re here now. If no one has a problem,’ Mumbo glanced at Atlas, whose body he couldn’t quite read, but seemed mild enough, ‘Then we can chat a little, right?’

‘I have a problem!” Etho balled their fists, throwing a little tantrum with their arms that Mumbo cared very little for.

“Is it.. safe..?” Grian asked, hesitant, to which Scar gave a noncommittal shrug.

‘Keep the other two on the beach, and I will be civil.’ Atlas looked wary, but not aggressive. When Mumbo looked to them, they briefly flashed their teeth, which.. Mumbo supposed was fair. He kept his fins low, an unspoken apology.

He kept this stance as he turned back to Etho, more of a pleading than anything, but when Mumbo gestured to a shaded corner of the beach, Etho seemed to give in, shoulders hunched. ‘Not like my ride will let me go home anyway.’ They retrieved something from their bag, one of the long blankets the humans commonly brought with them, and traipsed to the suggested spot. Scar started to follow, but was stopped in his tracks by a hearty hiss from Atlas and Mumbo, recoiling like a kicked pup.

“Is he mad at me?” Whatever Scar had asked, Etho shook their head without looking back.

“Just annoyed. I’ve got a hunch this new guy doesn’t like humans so much, so maybe don’t test your luck today.” Those seemed to be the magic words, Scar retracing his steps back to Grian. While he kept glancing back at Atlas, Mumbo was relieved he got the message. Once Mumbo was sure Atlas and Etho got along, he would tend to the humans on the other side of the beach.

Etho set their blanket near the waterline, but not close enough to get nicked by the tide, which was fine by Mumbo. He had a feeling Atlas would be more comfortable with the space, and decided to splay himself on the beach, half in and half out of the water. Despite this introduction being a minor disaster, he was pleased to see Etho, and excited for his two worlds to meet.

‘Are you from the north?’ Etho broke the initial silence, perhaps intimidated by Atlas’s admittedly unfriendly demeanor, glaring at Etho as if sizing them up. Though, honestly, that’s just kind of how Atlas looked on a good day..

They took their time responding, appraising, ‘You know Northern mermaids?’

Etho met this question with equal caution, ‘I know of them. Not so many of your stature here, at least there weren’t back home. I’m sorry. I’ve known human violence.’ Mumbo was quite shocked; maybe he should give Etho a little more credit, but in the time Mumbo spent with them, he hadn’t known Etho to speak with this much.. consideration.

‘What happened to you?’ The same could not be said for Atlas, who lacked any tact, but Mumbo sensed discomfort from them more than distrust, maybe exacerbated by Mumbo’s knee jerk reaction of shrinking back.

Etho only looked tired. ‘There’s a.. being not far from here. They take a human form, but hold a greater power. Curse, as Mumbo said, is an apt word. They took my body, and gave me theirs. Sometimes they will switch us back, and if you remain, you may see me around again.’ Briefly, Etho pulled down their mask, tracing the scar across their cheek, all the way down to where it disappeared under the rest of their clothes, ‘One of many violences afflicted upon me, all the way down my tail. The others did not scar, a facet of their magic. In a separate instance, I have also had my scales stripped, which I know you’ve likely seen in some capacity. I’ve heard they chain their still-living victims in the ice under the water. As bait, and renewable resources. Not a legal practice among humans, though I doubt this brings you any comfort.’

‘They- You- What?’ Mumbo did not know either of those last two tidbits, fins flared in alarm, but Etho shook their head.

‘I was healed magically. I will not say more.’

Mumbo accepted this wordlessly, though concern still gnawed at his chest in the wake of this new information. For Etho, yes of course for Etho, but for Atlas as well- Mumbo knew humans could be cruel, he knew many were monstrous, but he did not know to what extent.

Atlas straightened, meeting Etho with more respect, ‘I am Northern. They called me Cub, born of a mer of the same name, one hundred and thirty fifth to hold it, and another of a long line, Iskall. Both were killed by human hands, as was my twin. I defected, my great burden. With it, I’ve rescinded the name, though I do hope one day to pass it on in honor of their memories.’ Atlas paused, shifting, ‘I left to preserve a culture I am certain will be destroyed. I hope to connect our many peoples through language, so if battles like the ones up north are being waged, the other pods will not sit idly, but.. That is not why I am here.’ Atlas looked embarrassed momentarily, or maybe guilty, shrinking into themself, ‘Maybe I should not be here.’

Mumbo straighted, fins flicking as if he could physically dismiss the thought, ‘You can not carry the world on your shoulders. You have apprentices to continue your work, a little time away will not doom you.’

‘Call me Atlas,’ Atlas ignored Mumbo, not even acknowledging him with a twitch or flick of their tentacles, but this wasn’t unordinary behavior, just.. unfortunate. If Mumbo could not convince them otherwise, he would have to settle with this, bringing Atlas here, getting them to see the sun again.

Etho nodded, which Atlas seemed to understand as acknowledgment.

On an absent click, Mumbo sensed something behind him, turning with some exasperation to see Scar. The human blinked rapidly from his place in the sand where he’d been sliding on his stomach, looking guilty enough to know he’d been caught. Perhaps trying to hide, he let his face fall into the sand. Mumbo snorted, miffed, but not without amusement. He decided to leave Etho and Atlas to it, snaking around to take care of their nosey pest. The look on Scar’s face when he realized Mumbo was charging him was absolutely priceless, the human yelping as he scrambled to his feet, then yelling and laughing equally as he ran, sounds Mumbo had come to learn stemmed from great joy.

Needy human, can’t go a couple of minutes without constant attention.. Well, Mumbo would teach him to be careful what you wish for!

[a-vast-horizon]

Everything You Thought You Wanted

[Fandom: Pressure (Roblox)]

Sebastian makes a deal with Innovation Inc. and they’re able to make him human again, but humanity isn’t everything he hoped it would be.

~

Sebastian waved off another group of expendables, rifling through the stack of research they’d left with him. A lot of classified files–that was probably good. It had to be good, right? Knowledge was power, and this information was the only power he had when it came to negotiating with other labs.

Urbanshade couldn’t fix what they’d done to him; his own file had made that clear. But that didn’t mean it was impossible. All the other top secret research labs out there had plenty of scientists and researchers of their own, and they'd be able to find a way to make him human again. They had to be able to. 

He added the new files to the waterproof crate he’d been filling. It was almost full, a solid 50 pounds of confidential Urbanshade research and samples, a tantalizing offer to any of their competitors. He hoped. It wasn’t like he had many other options but to hope, and to keep sending updates over the radio.

He was already reaching for the radio when it came to life, a message cutting through the static. 

We’d like to make you an offer.

~

Since he was first taken there, Sebastian had never been more than a few hundred meters from the Hadar blacksite. The closest thing to freedom he got was working on maintenance, able to swim out in the open ocean, but with a heavy collar locked around his neck and armed guards watching his every move. He’d never had the chance to cross a large body of water, and therefore he had no idea just how fast he could be.

Every little flick and twist of his tail rocketed him forward, and it only took a few minutes for the blacksite to be entirely out of sight. The ocean was dark, the only light out here what he himself provided, and he was lugging a waterproof crate stuffed with fifty pounds of classified data and P.AI.nter’s computer mainframe, but he felt freer than he had in over a decade. For the first time since his arrest, there was no one here to guard him, to tell him what he could or couldn’t do. He could go anywhere, he could do whatever he wanted! 

Just for the hell of it, he looped into something like a backflip, cutting through the water with ease. The Urbanshade guards would never have allowed it on a maintenance run, and the Hadar blacksite pools weren’t big enough to accommodate this type of movement, so he’d never gotten the chance to try it before, but it felt so natural. He couldn’t help but grin as he took a second to corkscrew through the open water. For the first time in a decade, he was in control of himself, and he was happy.

~

“I need you to hold on just a little longer, Sebastian,” the woman in the white lab coat said. Even though he knew she wasn’t one of the scientists that had done this to him, that she was helping him, he still had a hard time caring enough to remember her name. 

Of course, the pain made it hard to care about much at all.

It had been painful growing to the size he was now, but as it turns out, growing bones was a lot easier than shrinking them. The chemical cocktail burning through his veins was supposed to eat away at his bones little by little, letting them shrink down to the size they were supposed to be while his reconstructed DNA worked on remembering just how big that was. 

His first session, he’d grabbed the metal table hard enough to dent it while trying to ride out the pain. Now, as hard as he gripped the edge, it didn’t budge. Slowly but surely, the treatments were working. 

If only they didn’t hurt twice as bad as everything Urbanshade had put him through.

It felt like days before the last of the chemical was flushed from his system, though the clock on the wall proved the whole round of treatment hadn’t even taken an hour. The woman flipped through his chart, scribbling notes with a pen.

“Good news,” she said. “As long as your body keeps responding as well as it has been, you should only have four more rounds left.”

Sebastian leaned back against the table, staring up at the ceiling light until spots danced in his eyes–just two of them, now, the third surgically removed and the cavity packed with gauze until his skull remembered it wasn’t supposed to have a third eyesocket. 

“Great,” he choked out.

~

“One more step, you’ve almost got it,” the physical therapist coached. “Lead with your shoulder, let your leg follow that movement.”

Sebastian tried to do what the PT said, just like always, holding tight to the railing as he dragged his right foot forward across the floor. His legs had only grown back to size a couple weeks ago, and they were still mostly numb except for the occasional wave of pins and needles, but the scientists had been eager to get him using them again as soon as possible. Sebastian was pretty sure he was holding himself up with his arms more than he was walking, but the PT seemed happy with his progress, at least.

It felt so slow and clunky to stumble along the rails or push himself around the facility in a wheelchair after years of slithering around the Hadal blacksite faster than any human could run, but the possibility of being able to walk on his own again was tantalizingly close now. When they’d first put him on the bar setup, he hadn’t even been able to stand. Now the PT said he’d likely be able to bend his knees and lift his feet within a month. 

His knees. His feet. Parts of himself he thought he’d never have again, and now here they were.

~

Sebastian Solace left the Innovation Inc lab a little over a year after he’d entered it with P.AI.nter’s computer in his arms and a fat wad of cash in his pocket. Innovation Inc. was already seeing returns on some of the Urbanshade data he’d brought them, and he’d been well compensated for it. Innovation had helped him get set up with a new identity and an apartment in the city, and he walked out of the facility on his own two feet. 

Sure, it wasn’t exactly perfect. He still had the gills that had been the point of the damn experiment in the first place, there were a few sparse patches of scales here and there that the scientists thought might not fall out, and he was still a good foot taller than he’d been before Urbanshade. No point getting hung up on that, though. He was human, and more importantly he was out. He’d be back to Innovation Inc. for a few medical check-ins, but other than that, he was done with that part of his life. He and P.AI.nter had the whole world in front of them now. 

~

The apartment Sebastian moved into would barely have fit him a couple years ago, but now it was roomy. He had a bed he actually fit on, all of him and not just part of his torso, and it was soft. There was a desk in the corner where P.AI.nter’s computer sat, letting it see the whole room. He got a TV and a sofa and a table, and for the first time in over a decade he had a kitchen to cook in. Not that he had any idea what to cook, but it was nice to know it was there. 

He spent the first month catching up on everything he hadn’t had since his arrest. Pizza was greasier than he remembered, but even more delicious. Fast food was more expensive, but worth every penny. He’d immediately gotten brain freeze eating ice cream for the first time in eleven years. And up here on the surface there was more than just food to be excited about. They’d made a sequel to his favorite movie, though once he tracked down a DVD of it, it wasn’t as good as the first movie had been. There were video game systems he hadn’t even heard of, whose controllers felt odd in his hands as he played. 

Most importantly, the internet had come a long way. It took Sebastian a while to get the hang of it, P.AI.nter coaching him through using a phone whose touchscreen didn’t register his fingers half the time, but he found his mom, his siblings. He had a phone number for them now, an address that wasn’t the same one he remembered but was close enough to visit. 

It took him a few days to work up the nerve to call, a few seconds of silence over the phone line to choke out a quiet “Mama? It’s me.” She was suspicious at first, and he couldn’t blame her, but once she came around–

He hadn’t let himself feel how much he missed her all those years, not until he heard her voice again and started sobbing.

~

Sebastian was still wary of sleeping. It felt too much like sedation for him to be comfortable with, especially in the hazy moments he was first waking up and couldn’t determine what was reality yet. Sleeping in a bed helped a little, but not enough for him to stop pushing himself to stay awake until the last moment. 

When he managed to fall asleep, Sebastian dreamed of the water. There were the nightmares, of course; the suffocating feeling of breathing water before his gills were fully developed, being squeezed into a too-small tank for observation, working on wires with a heavy collar around his neck dragging him down. But those weren’t the only dreams. On lucky nights, he relived those moments after his escape, weightless and swimming freely in open water that went on forever. His body spiraled and turned on a dime with the slightest thought, his tail twisting and rippling gracefully behind him, the darkness broken only by the faint light from his eyes and his lure. 

He woke up with the taste of saltwater in the back of his throat to a set of clunky legs that tripped over air and for a split second, he was disappointed. But this was what he wanted. This was what he had asked for.

~

The city was noisy and bustling. More people lived here than Sebastian had seen at the Hadar blacksite in ten years, every one of them with a life and a dream and no idea that the person walking past them with a scarf wrapped carefully around his neck had ever been a monster. It was overwhelming to go from near-isolation to society.

He got weird looks sometimes. He walked slowly and carefully, still trying to get the hang of legs again, more like an old man than one who was thirty. He flinched at loud noises and shot to attention at flickering lights. He wore clothes that were out of style, he didn’t know technology or pop culture. 

Sometimes he bitterly wondered whether people would have even stared at him any more if he was still a sixty-foot sea monster. He may have looked the part of a human, but he clearly didn’t do a good job acting it anymore.

P.AI.nter tried to reassure him that he was just out of practice, that he would get the hang of being around people again eventually. Sebastian hoped it was right.

~

Sebastian leaned out the window of his apartment, elbows resting on the sill, cigarette between his teeth. There were some things about being back on the surface that he vowed to never take for granted, and easy access to cigarettes was one of them. He sucked in a lungful of smoke and then exhaled it, watching it drift lazily away on a slight breeze.

The apartment was close to the shore, and the window overlooked the beach. It wasn’t one of those sandy, idyllic beaches where parents took their children. The waves crashed down on a sharp minefield of rocks, wearing them down too slowly to dull their sharp edges. 

Sebastian had crawled up that beach, rocks scraping his scales, claws digging for purchase to pull him out of the water. He breathed in more warm smoke and remembered the chill of the ocean depths. He shifted his weight on his feet and remembered his tail coiled under him.

“You’ve got that look on your face again,” P.AI.nter said. “You can’t seriously be missing the blacksite. That place was the worst.”

“I’m not missing it,” Sebastian said, taking another long draw of his cigarette. 

“This is everything we used to talk about!” P.AI.nter said. “We’re both free, you’re human again, and I get to draw instead of mining Roblux. All our dreams came true!”

Sebastian nodded in agreement. He remembered those conversations, long hours spent reminiscing about the surface world and talking about what they would do if they ever made it back. Somehow, through all those hours of talking, he had never stopped to think about what it would actually feel like to be there. 

He ground the cigarette out on the windowsill even though it was only half burned. He felt entirely too warm even without the smoke. 

~

[kudos and comment on AO3]

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Mission Parameters - 1/?

Written in conjuction with @bloodgulchblog's Touchstone way back last December when we both started throwing MillerChief (we can't keep calling it Milf) ideas around. Not quite ready to post in its entirety but I wanted to share a chunk for Potluck2024

To the dozens of you who now care about/ know who Miller is, thank you for playing in this space with us.

-

Spartans aren’t machines.

It’s a truth, a hard one that he’s having a difficult time internalizing. He understands on some level, but John’s never been one to include himself in any sort of kindness. Knowing something is one thing, believing it is harder. Especially when he wasn’t made to believe. He was made into a tool in order to spare others. He was made into a symbol to inspire them, to encourage more sacrifices that he thought they’d be spared from. They believe in him, even though he fails - even though he’s an imperfect paradox. He knows it is his burden to bear. John had not been happy to learn about the generations after him. Another bitter pill to swallow. Another truth; the UNSC, the UEG, and ONI would do everything in their power to maintain and grow their grip on survival and victory. That was a truth he knew and believed. He had had his part in that, in saving humanity he told himself, but now it was looking like that part may be over.

The IIIs surprised him, but they were familiar, having lived the majority of their lives as Spartans. They moved like Spartans, walked and talked like Spartans, were off-kilter amongst civilians like Spartans. The IVs were a different beast altogether- still Spartans, but with all the lived experiences of Helljumpers, SpecOps, and even some civilian types. Prodigies and geniuses. Spartans who chose to become a weapon-and-person. Ones who grew up hearing stories of him and decided they wanted it too- wanted to do their duty, not called upon to serve but vying for a chance to prove themselves or get even with the Covenant. Eager to become a number. Giving anything and everything to hit back.

It rankled some part of him that John tried his best not to listen to. The IIs did what had to be done. Wasn’t it supposed to stop with them? He wouldn’t wish the process on anyone, but the new hands jumped at the opportunity. They were still Spartans, but what did that mean now? Why were they still needed? And what was he supposed to do when he was outnumbered in a sea of the next model? Some of them were born after he’d put on the armor. Most of them had only ever known war, only ever seen humanity pushed to the brink. The ones he worked with were good people, but there was something sinister about the whole thing. They didn’t see him as an equal, he was a benchmark, a standard, and an unreachable one at that. The lucky one despite him hating that word. But the IVs didn’t know. He wasn’t a man or a tool to them. He was the Master Chief, the Spartan, the touchstone of the entire program-turned-branch. Their eyes glazed with propaganda and their words greased with blood. He wasn’t sure whose.

John didn’t know what to do with himself anymore. Recent events have had everyone worried about John. His team is worried. Commander Palmer and Captain Lasky are worried. Admiral Hood is worried, but at least John doesn’t have to look him in the eye as often as the others. He and Blue Team have been effectively grounded and put under close watch after disobeying orders. Everyone’s worried about the Master Chief and his insubordination. A handful are worried about John 117, but there’s one person still alive who’s worried about John in the most mundane of ways.

The babysitter. One Spartan Jared Miller. The guy on the radio telling them things they already know. Except that’s not true. Truthfully- again John had to acknowledge the truths staring him in the face- truthfully, having a handler had been… interesting. Blue Team had shared looks when they were told that they were going to test out handlers to see who’d be a good fit for them. The Blue Team, legends in the field who had been in active combat longer than most of their current peers had been alive. Getting a handler for them seemed like blasphemy. But having an eye in the sky watching their backs and giving them real time updates that didn’t cost them breaking cover or silence was…nice. Nice things didn’t happen to Blue Team. Spartans weren’t given support- they were the support. They were the boots on the ground and more often than not, the fodder that threw itself on the wheels to stop the war machine from devouring humanity. Now the tools were supposed to be people and have an entire network of handlers and techs and medical crew to care for and maintain them?

John had woken up to a changed galaxy.

Under orders Kelly-087, Fred-104, Linda-058, and John-117 ran drill after drill, exercise after exercise, and every simulation the War Games AI had with the few Spartan handlers stationed on the Infinity. That’s why John even knows Miller exists; Blue Team running the gamut of exercises with each Spartan mission handler to find the best fit. They don’t need one, never had, but what it meant to be a Spartan had changed while he was away. It’s still changing, growing around and past him. John isn’t entirely sure how he feels about it. Spartans existing and being promoted in the public eye, receiving preferential treatment, being looked after and support more than he’s ever known in his entire career. It was all so uncomfortable. John had thought he’d gotten used to being uncomfortable.

Spartans were evolving and he had to get with the times in order to not be left behind. More than that, John didn’t want to be a liability to his team. He just got them back and didn’t want to lose them again. A small dark part of him wonders if they would be better off without him. An aging Spartan who had run its course and should disappear quietly rather than drag out this misery in some kind of spectacle. John was tired of being an example.

John thought Miller was doing a good job, he just needed the confidence that came with experience. He was a fine handler for Blue Team after John had slipped his leash and gone off on his own, showing some unlikable non-Spartan characteristics. After Biko. Spartan IIs didn’t get grounded, but times had changed and there was a whole branch for them now. No more operating in shadows and being more myth than fact. The brass had been unhappy at the Master Chief going AWOL, Commander Palmer had been unhappy at them going against orders and making a mess for her, and Captain Lasky had been unhappy that John had decided to run away rather than deal with his failures. John was unhappy about that as well and it was why he was here, doing this.

A self-assigned mission, to figure out and help if he could.

Miller had a hard time not getting trapped in his own head. It's something John's seen in a lot of good soldiers over the years. Many good people he’s worked with struggle with shouldering the decisions they’ve made, the things they’ve seen.. John’s no exception. Miller's… just more obvious about it.

Miller pouts, he worries, he frets. It seems like anytime John looks at the man there's some kind of doubt clouding his face. Miller sticks out among the uniform sea of techsuits and buzz cuts because it’s the one un-Spartan thing the UNSC hasn’t seemed to iron out of him yet. He’s visibly nervous all the time. It's why John approached him.

Jared Miller seemed to be the one Spartan on the ship with more obvious problems than him. John wanted to find out why. Miller was a puzzle of anxiety, almost too tightly wound for a Spartan. But then John had seen him work, listened to him deliver intel and direct his own team. Spartan Miller was a fine handler, detail-oriented, mission-focused, and quick to respond to out-of-control scenarios. He just needed confidence both on and off comms, for his own good and the good of the fireteams under his leadership.

And John was going to help him. A handful of people had always told him he needed a hobby. John didn’t know what to do with himself, so he was focusing on someone else. It helped put things into perspective in a way. The IVs confused him, in some ways more than the civilian contractors and scientists that moved easily amongst the Spartans. More than the team of techs who insisted on his care and maintenance rather than letting him do what he’s always done. The entire culture of warships had shifted while he was asleep. John was a remnant of an older age haunting the new hires. There weren’t supposed to be Spartans after his class – his family. They had been called upon to serve-taken, to endure, so that there wouldn’t be a need anymore. So to quell the storm of thoughts he got anytime he left his quarters, John decided to study Miller. Fred said he was going to give the guy complexes, but John had thought about his time since waking up and running. He could learn, and maybe he could teach.

The fact that there were two generations of Spartans after the IIs weighed on John, but it was another thing he was going to have to learn to live with. The fact that there were 300 Spartan milling about on the Infinity was mind-boggling, and he would just have to adjust. With the ship now in drydock, many of the crew were taking the rare chance to stretch their legs and go planet-side. John was not. He was avoiding his team and avoiding the looks he got. He was having a harder time adjusting than he would ever care to admit, or even think. He was finding ways to keep moving even if Blue Team’s wings were clipped. John was entertaining something with the one person who was more anxious than him and who worried about John for the wrong reasons.

He needed to stop lying to himself. They weren’t the wrong reasons, but it was a novel sensation to have someone worry about his well-being in such a mundane way. Blue Team is worried John is going to work himself to death or snap, Command is worried about that too and doing damage control to whatever next mistake he makes. Miller is worried about John’s feelings while they dance around each other in this game of almost flirting and calling bluffs. It’s a game of chicken but with what John thinks are what normal stakes look like.