#didn't intend to be this long actually but

[meracyn]

BITTER || kwon jae-sung

sypnosis. after a painful breakup that left you mentally scarred, you are forced to see kwon again, this time at the sekai taikai tournament. after successfully avoiding him many times, he finally got you to himself. the question is– will you go back to him again?

notes. cursing, reader is female for this & part of miyagi-do. kind of angst? trying out a new style for these lol

You arrived at the bar with the rest of the Miyagi-Do members. After many hours of rough training sessions and competition at the Sekai Taikai tournament, you all agreed it was fair to have some fun for a while.

The music blared through the speakers, every vibration being sent to your body. It was pretty full, but you weren't going to let that prevent you from having fun. Robby and Miguel went off on their own, as well as Demetri and Hawk. Devon had stayed back since she claimed to feel unwell, leaving you, and the female captain of your dojo alone.

You made your way to an empty spot, when you heard an all familiar voice call out to you. Looking up, you saw Sam, who sat next to you on the table, offering you a drink. "Here, you did great today by the way." She said with a smile.

Taking it from her hand, you took a sip. "Thanks, you did too." Not long after, Sam excused herself to take some fresh air outside, reassuring you she wouldn't take long.

As you were left alone, you eventually got bored and decided to go up to the bartender and order a stronger drink, which was probably a bad idea as you ended up drinking more than you intended to. Your vision was slightly blurred and your head was starting to throb.

"Ugh.." You groaned, pressing a hand against your forehead as you tried to walk out of the bar, stumbling on the way before you bumped against someone. Muttering an apology, you took a step forward when a hand grabbed your arm.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" A sharp, low voice practically hissed at you. You felt your heart stop as you recognized the voice all too well, bringing back painful memories you thought were already gone. You tried to get out of their grasp, but their hold became much more firm, making you unable to leave.

"Let me go," You said, your tone coming off more aggressive than you thought.

"And let you be with those guys who are practically eyefucking you?"

Clenching your fist, you finally looked up. Like you figured out, it was Kwon.

Memories of the breakup flooded your mind, reminding you of the pain you felt back then. It only made your head hurt even more–and your heart, too.

"I can handle myself, thanks." You mumbled, taking the opportunity to remove your hand away from his touch. "I don't have anything to talk to you about."

Kwon reached out to hold you again, this time an arm around your waist, pulling your back against his chest. "Actually, we do need to talk."

You shook your head in anger, attempting to get him off of you. Kwon dipped his head low in response, his lips beside your ear. "Do you really want to cause a scene right now?" He asked, his tone sending you shivers down your spine.

You reluctantly stopped moving, as Kwon took your hand and led you out of the bar, headed towards a dark alley. The air was very chilly, a stark contrast to the bar’s warm atmosphere. As soon as Kwon stopped walking, you yanked your hand out of his.

"Why did you even bring me here?"

"I didn't think you would be at the Sekai Taikai."

"But I am, what about it?"

"You keep avoiding me."

"Yeah. The same reason you ended our relationship turned out to be in vain." You retorted, voice wavering slightly. The alcohol was starting to affect you more by the second, causing you to hold onto the cold, rough wall behind you.

Kwon took a step closer to you, faint hesitation flickering in his eyes for a moment before disappearing just as quickly. He lifted his hand to cup your cheek, thumb gently stroking your skin. "Remember those nights we spent together?" He whispered.

You shook your head, feeling a wave of drowsiness overcome your senses. "Kwon..don't.." You said quietly.

"Let us try again," Kwon persisted. "Give me another chance..yeah?" He murmured, bringing your face closer to his. Your breath hitched at his actions, heart pounding.

"We can't." You pushed him away from you, making him slightly surprised. "We're in different dojos now. Focus on yours, and I'll focus on mine." Before you could continue any further, Sam spotted the both of you and quickly rushed over to your side, placing a hand on your shoulder as she glared at the male in front of you.

"Get out. Don't you dare get any closer to her." She threatened, before turning to look at you, concern evident in her eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah.. let's just go." You replied while avoiding Kwon's burning gaze. Sam nodded, letting you hold onto her for support as she led you out of the place.

You couldn't look back, fearing you would break and go back to him. Although deep down, you knew Kwon would do his best to do just that.

[avelera]

Theory: Why Jayce had to attack Cult Leader Viktor

It's a lot of conjecture, and I'm possibly reading more into the scene than the show intended, but I keep thinking about why Viktor abandoned Jayce in Arcane in 2.02, only to be glad to see him later and wish to meet in person. So here's what I'm thinking:

We actually got confirmation that "Sky" was the Hexcore all along.

We have Viktor saying that he left because he was "clouded by emotion". (Bookmark this one because I'm going to make the case that it was the opposite: that this moment was actually Viktor's choice and it was to protect Jayce on a subconscious level, because the Hexcore later welcomes Jayce back and wants to see him in person, in an attempt to assimilate him.)

We have some signs that there were weapons blueprints on the table, namely Cait's sniper rifle, which some fans pointed out could have been upsetting for Viktor to see, enough for him to leave. Certainly S1 Viktor was horrified by the idea of Hextech weaponry.

But, Viktor will later offer his assimilation robot army to Ambessa. And his robots are extremely effective Hextech weapons on their own, even if he sees them as peaceful assimilators, they are brutally effective in a pinch, judging just by the fact that it took Mel AND Jayce to take down Viktor's proxy robot in the Council chamber. So there is some hypocrisy shenanigans going on there with "no Hextech weapons." Unless, of course, it's Viktor who is against weapons and the Hexcore who is in favor of them, and sells the idea to Viktor by making the case that robot assimilation is a "peaceful" use of Hextech.

Now, if you go back to the Sky meta shared above, Showrunner Christian Linke says the Hexcore is the one who wants the Glorious Evolution. It's the one that wants to spread and give Viktor more power and influence. And the reason Sky took off was because its mission was done, Viktor had accepted the Glorious Evolution and the power Singed offered. It no longer needed to project "Sky" at him to string him along into doing what it wanted.

In general, there's a lot that's weird about what happens to Viktor after he leaves the lab. A man of science starting a cult is weird. The glowing footsteps he sees on the way to the shimmer victim shanty town are weird. It's notable that shimmer was what was needed for Viktor's own initial fusing with the Hexcore, so going after shimmer addicts is the perfect way to ensure that assimilation, if you're the Hexcore and you want to grow yourself.

We also have Viktor's voice which fades in and out of robotic monstrousness depending on what he's saying. It crackled over it just being "affection" keeping him and Jayce together. As the Machine Herald in 2.09, it mostly stays monstrous, but it drops down into his own voice, in a whisper without the overlay, when he calls the war around them a "senseless conflict". That feels like a true belief held by Viktor, rather than the will of a Hexcore that wants to spread, multiply, and assimilate everything.

And here's the kicker for me: why didn't Viktor heal Jayce when Jayce hugged him in that room? Jayce's wounds were pronounced and horrible from Renni's chainsaw, there's no way Viktor could have missed them. And why didn't he take the opportunity to assimilate Jayce, since they had skin to skin contact?

This is where I'd argue that it's because Viktor still was more himself at that point. And it could be argued that one reason he ran out of that room was to protect Jayce, on a subconscious level, from being assimilated.

The Hexcore-pretending-to-be-Sky needed to gradually seduce Viktor into going along with assimilation. It posed assimilation as healing, it showed Viktor the suffering of the shimmer addicts and the undercity in general. It played to Viktor's life long desire to make the world a better place, but it feels wrong because it's through mysticism rather than science.

And then, I would argue, once it had convinced Viktor to enact its plan by "healing" people to grow its power and influence, it wanted Jayce next as another addition to the cult and perhaps to incorporate one of the few people who could stop it. So it was not Viktor necessarily inviting Jayce back to the commune, it was the Hexcore posing as Viktor. I'm sure part of Viktor did want to see Jayce again, but we have to juxtapose the oddness of that moment with how Viktor soon after the transformation got as far away from Jayce as possible.

It would make sense, then if Wizard Viktor when he gave his instructions to Jayce really did need to be adamant that Jayce destroys Cult Leader Viktor rather than talk to him. Because Cult Leader Viktor was seductive, and he had just enough of real Viktor's motives and personality left to make a seductive case for Jayce that this was the way for Hextech to help the world.

So Jayce couldn't hesitate, he couldn't let Cult Leader Viktor (who is an unknowing instrument of the Hexcore's desire to expand itself) get a word in edgewise because of how quickly that Viktor could probably seduce Jayce into joining him. Hence the brutality and speed of the attack.

Because Cult Leader Viktor did have to be destroyed. The cult was never a good thing. The good that was left in Viktor was heading towards the disappointment of his ideals shortly in any case, either through running out of power, or from Ambessa's imminent attack. Jayce joining Viktor's cult would have doomed the world and the only way to keep him from joining was to fight rather than talk to Viktor, and that went against every fiber of Jayce's being, because Cult Leader Viktor was almost literally designed in a lab to get Jayce to surrender to him rather than fight him.

And I think we should be really suspicious of how freshly transformed Viktor pushed Jayce away, while Cult Leader Viktor wanted to pull him back in, especially with the implication that it was the Hexcore that wanted to assimilate Jayce in that moment, and just how effective it would have been at seducing Jayce into accepting assimilation if not for Future Viktor's explicit warning.

[lightlycareless]

I was reading your scorned ex husband stories and they made me so sad(especially the second one) then I started thinking about the twin au and like what if the twins parent trap them in a different divorced au? Lol. Naoya is still a dick obviously for splitting up twins(seriously who would do that??) but maybe not completely irredeemable for Y/N to forgive him 🥺 Hehe this is just something silly I thought up and wanted to share

Hellooooooo

Heheh this got me watching the movie again, right in the nostalgia. It had been so long since I last saw it that I actually didn't remember most of it, but I do think however: how the hell did they think that was a good idea 🤣 gee, talk about parent of the year.

Anyways, some liberties were taken to make the story work, though the premise is essentially the same.

Also, these are the works anon is referring to :) Ex-husband 1 & Ex-husband 2. Now onto the warnings:

Warnings: none major. Naoya is an a_hole, as always. Naomi and Naori are adorable, but poor kids seriously :'(.

Happy reading!!

If Naoya does this, you effectively hate him from that point forward.

It is non-negotiable, you never want to see him ever again, especially after the cruel words he used to justify the separation of his children:

“I only ever cared about Naori anyways.”

You made it your life-long purpose to keep Naomi from someone as despicable as her father—though it hurt you to do so, for it also meant you’d be away from your beloved son; just 2 years into his life… you barely got to make any memories with him before he was stripped away from your arms.

But such was the divorce agreement: the two would keep one child, and out of their lives.

Naoya remains in Kyoto with his son at the Zen’in estate, while you move back to Tokyo, close to your family but distant enough to have your own apartment. Just the two of you, the little home you always wanted.

In an unexpected turn of events, Naomi and Naori would go on completely unaware of each other until enrolling in the same elementary school.

It was almost undetectable at the beginning since Naomi now had your last name—but once teachers and students alike began to realize their physical similarities, it became impossible to ignore.

“No… we don’t look alike.” Naori would quietly complain. Out of the two, he was the least enthusiastic about this advancement, doing his best to avoid the limelight due to his reserved nature.

However, that wouldn’t mean anything to Naomi: ever the bubble one, she was nothing but to have a new best friend that looked just like her!

“We’re almost like twins!” she gasped—same hair color, eyes, height… how could they not? “I’ve always wanted a baby brother too.”

“Well, I don’t! And I could be older too, you know? Besides, why would I want a sister that’s weak and ugly…?”

Intended to hurt her, Naomi only laughed at his words, for it would take much more than that to bring her down—one could even say that the two were reflections of their respective parents in that matter: the only contrast between the two, as a matter of fact.

“That’s not true!” she happily refuted, taking hold of his hand and heading to the playground. “Now, come on! I want to go on the swings, and I need someone to push me!”

Though Naori was greatly unwilling at first, he’d soon warm up to her, mainly because she was part of the few, if not the only, kid that didn’t bother him because of his shyness; always rushing to the rescue whenever bullies began to swarm him, as well as reassure him there was nothing wrong with being the way he was.

And if that wasn’t enough, the food Naomi began to share with him (courtesy of you, after much insistence from her part) effectively validated their friendship.

“When will you ever bring him over?” you tease, it’s the happiest you’d ever seen your daughter! And for that, you couldn’t help but feel glad and obligated to repay the favor.

“I don’t know, mama. Nori-kun tells me his papa can be quite strict.”

You chuckle.

“Well, I’m sure I can convince him next time the parents have a meeting at school.”

“His papa doesn’t go to school.” Naomi frowns, her words making you sad for the poor child. “Says he’s too busy.”

“Oh, that’s awful. Well, what about the mama?”

“He doesn’t have one.”

Your heart longs to comfort him.

If they only knew…

And as time went on and their friendship flourished even more, so did their interests for one another; beyond those of their favorite colors and toys, and more into… personal grounds.

Matters that had always quietly hurt Naori one way or the other since he could remember; more so since you had been nothing but sweet and kind to a figuratively unknown kid, which highlighted the fact he never had that one thing he always wished for.

What he might never have, since his father has long given up on it, considering the way he coldly changes the subject, or completely ignores it. Naori simply… doesn’t talk about it.

Until now.

“Why don’t you have a dad?” He dares to ask; it’s no secret that the one to pick him up at school is one of his father’s many subordinates, always changing, not enough to be interesting to the other parents outside of how rich (or a jerk) he must be to have employees pick up his child.

Compared to you, always spoken of fondly for the following reasons:

If it was Valentine’s Day, you’d send Naomi with a big box of candies so she could share with all the class.

Halloween was the same, even hosting small gatherings if the children wished to celebrate in a safe environment.

If it was a classmate’s birthday, you always made sure to send them a personal gift or attend their birthday party. Your gifts might’ve put some parents to shame from time to time, but it didn’t matter, you kind of grew to be some kind of celebrity thus a few always tried to be on your good side—or Naomi’s, so to speak.

Naomi’s birthday… well, some fought to be on the guest list.

In other words,you were an amazing for both kids and parents alike, enough to inspire Naori to daydream about what it would be to have a loving mother like you—to always be at the door once it was time to leave, patiently waiting for the moment your daughter would come into view and subsequently pick her up into a tight, warm hug, followed by a kiss and wide smile as you urged Naomi to tell you all about her day.

Or more importantly, wonder if you were open to adopting him.

“Oh… that—I… don’t know!” Naomi responds truthfully. “Mama never talks about him.”

“Have you asked her?”

“Once or twice, but all she says is that I should focus on my studies!

…

But I can see how sad she gets whenever I mention him.” She continues. “Mama isn’t very good at hiding “adult talk” and neither is my auntie, so I always get to hear how lonely she is when they talk about him! … and how she should try dating other people, or whatever that means, so she wouldn’t feel like that anymore.”

“I think is when you marry someone.” Naori tries to explain, Naomi scowls out of disgust.

She doesn’t like the idea of sharing her mama with someone else, grows somewhat jealous too.

Well, maybe if it was Uncle Nanami, he’s always been nice to her and her mama. Not Geto because she plans on marrying him herself.

And she supposes her papa too… but how could someone you love make you sad?

“I don’t want her marrying anyone.” Naomi shakes her head. “She’s happy with me!”

“But don’t you wonder about your dad?” he asks. “What did he look like? How did he meet your mom?”

Or how they fell in love?

Naturally. Because just as Naori, and even after you tried your hardest to distract her from it… she too longed to have a father. Someone to play with her after finishing all her homework, put her over his shoulders and let her see the world from his height, or protect her from the monsters that lived inside the closet…

There must be an answer to both of their mysteries—people don’t simply disappear.

And such, is how they assigned themselves a new mission; a task of the upmost importance, requiring all their attention and care if they wish to uncover why they only have one parent—and who was such peculiar character.

Anything that could hint such solution is a chance they’d take, however…

To Naomi, this endeavor proved quite fruitless, for any indication of your past relationship was effectively ripped from the evidence. Quite literally: thousands and thousands of pictures cut in half, neatly removing the person that accompanied her mother—whom she assumed to be her father. And that’s without mentioning your consistent disapproval of the matter. Naomi was right where she began.

This lack of advancement both frustrated her and placed more pressure onto Naori’s efforts, which shockingly, turned to be quite more than what they bargained for. Getting results neither could���ve imagined, not even in their wildest dreams…

“Naomi-chan… I’m not sure if you’re ready to see this.” Naori would caution as he placed down a large wooden box before her, filled with his findings.

“Why? Why not, Naori-kun?” she frets, surely it couldn’t be anything too outrageous.

…Could it?

Yes, it could. And it was.

Because beyond the astonishing realization that all the pictures Naori brought were in virtually perfect shape…

The fact they both recognize the people in the photo, Naomi’s mother, wearing that same bright eyed, wide smile look on her face whenever particularly excited. Happy—alongside Naori’s father, with his usual dyed hair, ear piercings, and striking eyes…

Holding two newborn babies—named Naomi and Naori such as the inscription in the back stated, alongside their birth time and date (Naomi is older, at last is known) …

Is what truly shocked them.

…

…

…

You. Naoya.

Naomi and Naori.

Mama and papa.

A family, for all intents and purposes.

What everyone around them proclaimed: siblings.

Naomi and Naori were siblings. Twins.

“Does that mean we—”

Naori nods. If it hadn’t been obvious enough by now.

Nonetheless, as thrilling as this discovery was, for it essentially made their respective dreams come true… another question arose. One that undoubtedly could not proceed unanswered.

“Why aren’t our parents together?”

Or most importantly:

“How can we get them back together?”

“But what if they don’t want to?” Naori frets.

“I told you already! Mama looks very happy wit him, and auntie says she’s very lonely too… besides, if they get back together that means we’ll finally be a happy family! And isn’t that what you wanted?”

Naori presses his lips together, nodding.

“I want a happy family too. I’ve always wanted a papa to play with!” Naomi continues.

“And a mom to hug…” Naori adds. “What do we do?”

First…

Get them together, face to face. In other words, talk. It’s how adults always preached problems got solved.

Since you had given Naomi the impression you’re not interested in anything pertaining to Naori’s dad, she had to get creative. Force you into a position where you wouldn’t be able to ignore her as you’ve done before—and one where Naoya would inevitably have to go to school too.

It had to be a convincing excuse, and since the two were children in need of dire solutions, their innocent minds led them to the most extreme resolution yet.

“I need you to punch me.” Naomi says, determined.

“Why?!” he gasps.

“Because I need to get hurt for mama to come, and if you’re the one in trouble they’ll have to call your papa, and then, the two will be here, just as we planned!”

“Can’t we do something less dangerous…?” Naori doesn’t like the idea of getting in trouble with his strict dad, as if he weren’t insufferable enough…

“No, Naori. It must be this!”

“But I don’t want to punch you…”

“Come on, we have to do it to have a family!!” she insists. “Or do you not want mama to make you food every day? To hug you too??”

He swallows.

“I do.”

“Then do it!”

And… he does. After taking a deep breath, clenching his fist and hitting Naomi in what she could only describe the weakest punch she could’ve ever anticipated. Surely, not enough to make this case convincing.

“Naori! You have to hit harder than that!”

“I—I tried!” he cries.

“No, you didn’t!” she cries back. “You didn’t even try!”

“Ye—yes I did!” Naori frowns. “It’s not my fault I’m not as strong as you!”

“Yeah, right! You’re a boy, you’re supposed to hit harder!” Naomi adds, smirking soon after an idea crosses her mind. “… Then I guess you don’t really want a mama.”

“I do want a mom…”

“No, it’s fine. I should’ve known not to trust you with something so important anyways—” she says, words that brush each and every one of Naori’s insecurities. “You’re just as weak as everyone else says…”

With a frown on his face, and a sour tightness in his chest, little Naori quickly clenched his fist and prepared himself to prove her wrong once and for all. Show that he wanted this just as much as she did—if not more.

Naomi was trying her best to get a rise out of Naori, everything necessary to motivate a genuine hit out of him and get their plan in motion—she never meant any of those words, intended to apologize after all was said and done, though she doubted it would matter once they got what they sought after.

But it was almost comical how it happened, how he miscalculated his steps, how far his hand had to travel to hit Naomi, and how he ended up doing far more than necessary: but convincingly so, in the end. Tripping over her and sending the two tumbling down, loudly hitting the ground in such a motion that had them scraping their skin, and of course, tears following suit.

“Maaaaaaa, I want my mamaaaaa.” Naomi intuitively cried, tightly holding onto the teacher as the two were sent to the infirmary.

Naori didn’t cry much for his father, he rarely did considering his prominent absence, but just one look at his teary face and trembling lip, and it was obvious whom he sought for comfort—the same one the school somehow convinced to come along and deal with this unfortunate incident.

As well as the supposed altercation that made way for all this to happen in the first place.

“No, what do you mean a fight??” You’re the first to arrive, demanding a believable explanation from the teacher. “That’s not—that doesn’t sound like my daughter!”

“I know, I thought the same… but that’s what the kids are saying.” She explains. “That Naomi-chan was inciting Naori-kun to punch her, and that she was even saying awful things to get him to do that. I don’t know what they were doing, if they were playing a game or… I don’t know; all of it is so weird—I’m sorry.”

You sigh.

“It’s fine. There’s no need to stress when it’s already happened.” You explain. “Is the parent of the child here already?”

“Should be soon, but I don’t know if he’s actually coming, Naori’s dad isn’t quite… present.”

You frown at the name.

“Naori? Wasn’t he Naomi’s best friend?”

She nods.

“It just makes everything even more unbelievable… really, what’s gotten to them?”

You hope to figure such when speaking to the poor child your daughter allegedly antagonized, after apologizing for such behavior of course. Which you’d have to deal with after returning home—Naomi… seriously, what could’ve possibly gone through her mind to incite such act? Was she being bullied? Did Naori suddenly decide he no longer wanted to be friends with her?

And why did his name appear to be so… familiar?

You’d figure it out soon enough when entering the infirmary, quickly scanning across the room for your daughter—only to freeze upon locking into Naoya’s; a much smaller, softer version of them, that is.

“Mamaaaaa!!” Naomi quickly cries when seeing you walk past the door, rushing to your side and hugging you tightly, the adrenaline of the whole succession still vivid in her mind. “Mama, it—it hurts a lot!”

Comforting her ought to be your utmost priority, but at the sight of your estranged child, the baby you were forcibly stripped away from… you couldn’t think of anything else but pinching yourself to see if this was a dream—if he was truly there, before you: flesh and bone. After so many years of distance…!

And naturally, hug him. Keep him so, so close to you and never let go; to make up for all the time you’ve spent apart and the things you never got to do because of his undeserving, cruel father…

Who stomped past the door soon after, equally freezing when seeing his estranged child, and ex-wife after 5 years of imposed silence. Startled, as if he hadn’t been the deciding factor behind it all.

Or perhaps, the reason why Naori enrolled in this school in the first place.

“Y/N.”

“Naoya.”

Looks like there’s much to catch up to.

Obviously, part 2 is needed. Essentially where Naoya will disclose more of what the hell was going on in his mind when pulling that stunt, as well as some angst. I have to. hahaha

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this little thing I wrote; I do love it when we indulge into domestic au... but not at the expense of the kids 😭😭😭 think of the children!!! lol.

Well, 0nce again, thank you so much for sending in this ask!! Now take care, and hope to see you soon!!

[samsalami66]

Hiii Ssammyy! @embroiderling here!

I've just seen you posted that long list of prompts. Can I ask for a fake marriage/relationship dreamling, with the prompt "kiss me while everyone's looking."?

🫶

Hey there @embroiderling! Have this little fic I definitely didn't write just after I got that prompt... <33

Read here or on ao3!

Dream wasn’t entirely sure what led him to the situation he was currently in; running down the streets of Los Angeles like he was chased by the devil. Perhaps it had all started when he met Hob Gadling on the set of his latest show, witty and charismatic and throwing him smiles that would light up the entire room. Or it had been when Dream found himself smiling back, accepting the easy friendship Hob proposed for them and meeting him outside of filming for drinks and movie night and sleepovers at his home spent trading stories and a glass of wine.

But actually, it had probably been the moment Dream agreed to Hob’s insane plan of marrying him. 

Yeah, they probably skipped a few rather important steps right there, between friendship and marriage, but that was not really the problem they were facing. No, the fact that they were two of the most well-known actors in the industry that married for something as crude as a green card was not really the problem. The fact that they had both been married before, that Hob was a widower and Dream divorced, was also not it. 

The problem was that being married to Hob was easy. Too easy. Marriage with Calliope had been… harder. They had both been characters, stubborn and intense and with a temper to match. For Dream, marriage had always been about damage control, about preventing some inevitable argument or other. But eventually they would always end up yelling or crying or hurting each other, before doing it all over again the next day. 

Marriage with someone Dream had never intended to marry, had not even found himself interested in at first, should have been worse. 

Instead, marriage with Hob Gadling was heavenly. They lived together. Shared a bed. Hob did not mind Dream cuddling up to him to steal some of his body heat. They would read together on the couch, then talk about their current books while they made dinner. When Dream complained about the laundry needing to get done, Hob would do it and not allow him to help. He would come back with a pot of tea and the offer of a massage should Dream’s feet or back or neck hurt from acting all day. 

Dream found himself searching Hob’s touch whenever he could and never being denied. When out on his own he would see something and bring it back home for Hob and receive the world’s biggest smile in return. So he did it again. And again. Their living room was overloaded with antiquities and books and little trinkets, all lovingly displayed. 

And they never fought. Over a year of living together, of sharing a house, a room, a bed, a life, and they did not fight once. How could life with Hob be so good, when Dream’s entire life before hadn’t been? 

Well, the answer should have been clear. But for some reason, Dream hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t noticed, and now Hob was gone. Not gone gone, just. Gone. His friend, his husband, was gone from their home and Dream did not know where he had disappeared to after their… disagreement. It hadn't been a fight. Because in a fight, both parties got angry. In a fight, partners tried to hurt each other after they had been hurt first. But Dream hadn’t been hurt by Hob. Hob would never hurt him, not in a million lifetimes. Instead, he hurt his friend for no reason but his own stupidity and insecurity. 

And now… now he was running. Not away. He was running towards Hob. Or at least he hoped so. Finding his husband was a much harder matter than Dream had hoped for when he started running. But he was getting closer, he was sure of it. Their bench. That would be where Hob was. Sitting on the right side, peas in hand, feeding the pigeons. It had been one of Dream’s favourite rituals. Whenever a role got to him too much, twisted his stomach into knots and left his heart aching, he would sit on that bench and feed the pigeons. 

And now, as Dream turned the corner, he saw his husband sitting in the spot he had claimed when he had first joined Dream in this little ritual of his. Those beautiful brown eyes were staring off into the middle distance, while one of his hands threw peas to a flock of birds and the other turned his wedding ring around between his fingers. 

The sight made Dream’s heart ache, his best friend reduced to nothing but numbness. He had done that, and he would make it right again. 

“Hob,” he called once he was close enough to be heard, and his husband’s eyes immediately snapped towards him. There was surprise there, possibly at the sheen of sweat that plastered Dream’s hair to his face, proof that he ran all the way here. Not that he stopped just because he found Hob. No, he ran straight into his husband’s arms, which wrapped around him all too willingly. 

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong, love? Are you alright?” The words ached, because Dream was not worth this level of care after how he had hurt Hob. But now that he wasn’t running anymore he couldn’t breathe, and so he allowed his husband to hold him for a moment, just until he could form an actual response. 

“I am sorry, Hob. For what I said.” There was no answer and Dream supposed that none could be given anyway, and so he continued. “I had not realised how… deep your affections for me were. I. I expected some catch, for I had not known marriage could be so wonderful.” 

There was pain in Hob’s eyes and Dream suspected it was not because of him, but rather for him. 

“And here I was, thinking I’ve been rather bloody obvious.” 

Dream huffed a laugh and took Hob’s hand in his, so that their wedding bands were resting against each other. “Looking back, I wonder how you ever became an actor.” That, at least, got him a grin. “I do not want to leave you. Not when the five years are over, not ever. You’re it, Hob.” Silence, stunned, but there was also a bud of hope that was threatening to spill into a smile so bright it would break Dream clean in two. 

“So kiss me now, husband mine, while everyone in this blasted park is looking.” 

[evenyvn]

𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐄. — detective!alhaitham x troublemaker male!reader

chapter 03 ; tête-à-tête

cw : lowercase intended, alhaitham is kind of rude but what's new?

previous. — masterlist — next.

[original work]

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃ [ UTC ] ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

　　　　a few days have passed since the awkward meeting and conversation between the genius detective and (m/n). alhaitham's cold attitude did not seem to discourage (m/n), the street fighter was even more attracted to the detective even though the man had clearly and firmly stated that he did not want any further conversation.

the local thug increasingly appeared at the police station even though he had no cases at all. initially, the police officers had repeatedly trying to kick out the (h/c) haired man, but (m/n) would come again the next day without exception.

the officees finally give up after trying to kick out the troublemaker of a man for tge nth time and just let him do whatever he wanted as long as he didn't cause any commotion.

(m/n) also seemed to follow alhaitham more often wherever he went, like a chick following its mother. at first, the genius detective ignored him and only focused on continuing his work, reading important documents and avoiding talking to (m/n).

as if alhaitham had the ability to create a giant wall between him and (m/n), maybe because that was alhaitham's natural trait but for some reason, (m/n) felt that there was more to it, he felt that alhaitham was hiding another side behind his cold attitude.

until one day, right at lunch break, (m/n) got the chance to talk to alhaitham without any work getting in the way. (m/n) caught the gray hatred detective walking into a coffee shop located quite close to the police station.

(m/n) followed alhaitham, he sat at a table not too far away from the gray haired man. his (e/c) eyes watched alhaitham who was ordering a cup of coffee in a very controlled and carefully planned manner. 'black coffee, no sugar'—how typical of him, (m/n) thought with a small smile spreading across his face.

a few moments after ordering, alhaitham finally walked to a seat right in the corner of the coffee shop, away from the crowd. (m/n) decided to take the move and walked towards the detective's table with a little anxiety in his heart.

"may i sit with you? mr. detective?"

alhaitham, who seemed lost in his own thought, turned to the source of the voice, with a not too happy expression on his face—green eyes stared sharply at the figure standing in front of him. "i prefer to sit alone," he answered softly but firmly and in control.

(m/n) chuckled, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere. "oh come on, i know you're actually lonely, right?" with his casual way of speaking, he tried to convince alhaitham, "i just want to chat for a while, i won't bother you."

alhaitham continued to stare at the local thug, for a moment—a hint of suspicion crossed his green eyes—but he quickly looked away and returned to his cup of tea and some pastries on the table, "i'm not interested in talking," again, alhaitham replied in a monotone but firm tone.

unfortunately for alhaitham—(m/n) didn't give up so easily. he took off his leather jacket and pulled a chair then sat in front of alhaitham, still maintaining a smile on his face. "you must have your own reasons why you are so cold," he said in a more serious tone. "but i'm sure, behind your cold attitude, there are many things that you don't show."

"actually, there's nothing to show," replied the detective slowly, this time in a lower tone. "i just don't like dealing with people with no important matters, especially those who like to make trouble."

a smile spread across (m/n)'s lips, "i understand that i do like to cause trouble, it's like i'm a trouble magnet, but i'd like to think i'm more than that, just like i think how you're more than what you show right now."

the detective stared back at (m/n) sharply, but the expression on his face changed slightly. as if he was starting to get interested because of what the (h/c)- haired man had just said.

"then, what do you really want?" (m/n) shrugged, "i just want to get to know you better, do i have to get a reason for that?" alhaitham was silent, as if considering what (m/n) had just said.

to be honest, the detective was quite surprised by the local thug's words, it wasn't every day that he spoke to someone as honest and absurd (in a good way) as (m/n).

as a detective, reading and judging other people to know theit intention is like reading a children's story book to alhaitham, but (m/n)—such an eccentric and wild figure that makes it a little difficult for alhaitham to read the man's true desires.

the gray-haired detective just sighed as he sipped his cup of black coffee, that was the first time alhaitham really felt a little shaky. he didn't want to admit it but (m/n) really catch his interest now—more than he imagined.

the rising tension between the two of them was not just a matter of conversation, but rather an inner battle that had secretly begun.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

previous. — masterlist — next.

don't forget to support the original (Indonesian work) here!

✦ likes, reblogs, and comments are very appreciated ♡

[bambi-kinos]

hey... what do you make of just like starting over and real love? do you think theyre rlly about paul? i think they are, but i struggle to believe john was finally making up his mind like that

Paul almost certainly thinks that (Just Like) Starting Over is about him. He purportedly listened to it on repeat for days right after John died and then there's the "walrus" referenced in the first draft of the lyrics, as well as the line about making love in Paris. I absolutely believe that Paul is the primary recipient of (Just Like) Starting Over.

I don't think it was John making up his mind per se...I think it was more like, John was unhappy with how he had left things with Paul and he was feeling optimistic about their future, so long as they stayed the course and renewed their love. However John is still John, he reached out to May Pang the same year and reconnected with a bunch of people out of the blue. Which is to say that yes, he did want to renew things with Paul and patch things up with him. But he also prepared some back ups in case that didn't work out for him. I think it was Harry Nilsson that received a middle of the night phone call from John where John was really warm to him after being out of touch for years. (Just Like) Starting Over was written with Paul as its true object and in John's heart of hearts I believe he wanted to make a new bond of love with Paul, but I also think that it is written as such that John could tell any of his old flames that "this one's for you" and mean it.

Which brings us to Real Love, I think that Real Love is also intended to be about Paul. However Real Love is a lot older and to quote a random twitter user I saw when Now and Then dropped, "it's another Lennon misery fest." When John wrote the beginnings of Real Love he certainly had Paul on his mind (hence the "lalalala farm" bit in the initial "Real Life" noodling around.) Whatever was going on with John staying in the Dakota, he was clearly longing for Paul and desperately wished things were different. But Real Love lacks the hopeful and anticipatory tone of (Just Like) Starting Over. I think John wanted to do more with Paul than sit in a studio with him again IYKWIM.

Real Love feels a lot more like an expression of John's regrets and how he wished things were different, that he had gone a different way. It actually strikes me as more of a venting song than something John really wanted to polish and bring to the public, "why must we be alone?" is a question John seems to have been asking himself through out the Dakota years. He put himself in this position and he is trying to understand why he did it to himself, even asking seemingly silly and pointless questions like "why am I so alone, why isn't Paul here with me, didn't I hold him in my arms just yesterday?" ('Yesterday' again....I said something wrong now he's gone away....and I don't believe in Yesterday myself....I never wished I had written it....now I long for yesterday....)

But when you're making vent art you don't ask yourself sophisticated questions, you ask yourself really obvious ones that you know the answer to but you've been scared to answer fully because it means accepting that you've known this entire time and haven't done anything about it. The Real Life demo we have ends with "just call him on the phone."

(Just Like) Starting Over is John making his first steps towards a new future that he wants Paul to be a part of while still being uncertain about what that entails. Real Love is John coming to grips with the scale of his loss and bewilderment at how he got here, the intervening years between his successful love affair with Paul vs the drug addled years in the Dakota being a smeared blur.

I don't think John had necessarily made up his mind about Paul. More like he realized his relationship with Yoko had run its course (whether he knew she was a parasite is another question.) That was his chance to be with Paul again.

[ghouljams]

Heya Ghoul... I have a question.

How do you tell if you've been like... affected by something? My ex practices Wiccan stuff and she is very obsessive and still texts my old number and like... yeah, I'm worried about her doing something. We were together roughly two years and she's still trying to contact me after a year of no contact and she's saying how like I'm her soulmate and stuff and I'm just... not into her at all anymore. Like she gave me emotional trauma and stuff, almost convinced me to move up to where she is (long distance, manipulative) and I'm not comfortable going out of state right now because that's a huge reset I don't want to do again...

Not to ramble here too much, I'm sorry if it's too weird or something so feel free to ignore this, but I really don't know who to ask in terms of the practice. I'm also not really sure how to bring up the topic of spells or hexes or whatever, I'm not trying to be dismissive in any way but it's like talking about just feels stifling and awkward. We (ex and I) never really talked about her practices and stuff, but sometimes she'd talk about a ritual she did or wanted to do, or spell jars she wanted to make... I never really learned how to talk about it, either, in general so maybe it just feels weird because it's foreign. I don't doubt it exists, but it's not something I understand very well.

I didn't intend to dump this on you but I did so in sorry about that. Thank you for reading, I hope you have a great day.

Hello hello you have come to the right witch.

First of all FUCK WICCA that shit is just magic stollen from other religions and closed practices, plus it was created by some random white dude in like the 80s so it's not even this deeply ancient practice that people think it is.

Anyway Wiccans also have this whole thing about "do no harm" but lemme tell you something, i am not Wiccan and I will do harm. So here's what you're gonna do.

We're going to start with a cleanse. I like doing a Limpia, since that's the most hands on and accessible.

You're gonna get an egg and rub that Thang all over your body. I mean all over, and try to focus on "cleaning" yourself off with it. Be careful not to break it but make sure you rub it over the top of your head, sole of your feet, stomach/heart/hands, you wanna get anything you think feels bad. Then we're gonna crack the egg into a glass of water.

Now you can read the egg and see if she's actually hexed you, but for your purposes it doesn't matter because even if she hasn't we're gonna throw some salt, ceyanne/chili powder/red pepper flakes, and some garlic into that water. Then you're gonna toss the whole thing down the toilet, close the lid and flush it.

Cleanse done.

Next your gonna take a jar or a bag and you're gonna put anything sharp that you have in your house and you're willing to get rid of into it. Nails, thorns, thumb tacks, needles, pins, toss it in there. If you're using a jar add some vinegar, if your using a bag don't. Then we're doing hot stuff again: chili powder, red pepper flakes, anything spicy goes in your ward. Add some salt. Spit in it. Write a warning on a piece of paper "anyone who sends harm my way will get it back 3 fold" and shove it in there. Then bury that thing. Preferably you do this at the edge of your property but if you can't bury anything out it over your door.

Done.

Other witches get real fancy with their wards but I'm lazy and most people don't have a ton of fancy witchcraft stuff, so we work with what we've got.

Otherwise. Idk magic isn't real, the worst she can do is just like keep trying to contact you and being annoying. She'll get bored eventually and move on to tormenting someone else, but if she does send anything your way or you feel like you're not acting like yourself, do a cleanse.

[neverpathia]

you, my good sir, are a gem 💞💞💞 love all your stuff 🩷 any thoughts on how a smittunist meeting/conversation would go if they meet on or after happily ever after?

WAHOO and i know this probably isn't exactly a writing request but here's a funny thing, i actually kind of had a scenario like this in mind, and i was kind of thinking about writing it out and posting it when this ask came in! so i might as well just kill two birds with one stone (heh) and answer this request while writing out that excerpt here mwahah

sigh. have i said that romance wasn't really my thing? perhaps fortunately for you all, I may have lied.

so this came out a little more shippy than intended, and it's a bit long so I'm sorry if it gets boring, and it's kinda ooc but it is what it is I guess

===== ===== ===== =====

What had he done wrong?

What had he done wrong? What had he done wrong?

What had he done wrong, what had he done wrong, what had he done wrong what-had-he-done-wrong what-had-he-done-wrong? The finest garments a Princess could ever have been clad in. The most lavish settings a Princess could ever have stepped into. The best meals, the best games, the best of everything that she could ever have asked for. It was perfect. All of it ought to be perfect.

The Smitten had given her everything, but for that, he had been reduced to nothing.

Less than nothing.

Because 'nothing' at least required a 'something' to define it, and she was supposed to be his 'something'. Once upon a time, she had been his 'everything', and she would have remained so for all of eternity. It was their happily ever after. Everything would have been bliss. Perfection. The last chapter of their story; the closure they had been offered once and for all.

But there was the Princess, and there was the rest of them—the rest of him—dancing under the starlit sky he had shunned so. Dirt beneath their feet, grass-blades scraping the skin of their legs.

And here he was, trapped in the cabin. The torches no longer burned and only the dark was left. He, too, was the dark now. He was one with the bleak nothingness inside, left to rot away as they pranced and laughed.

They all no longer required him. Perhaps they never had in the first place.

So he watched them dance as he faded, because it was the only thing left to do. Their movements were graceful, elegant, and so natural. There was something about it that his 'grand paradise' had so plainly lacked. He couldn't comprehend it. It lay beyond raw passion, beyond what he thought was-

"May I have this dance?"

Something, someone had entered the cabin. Someone familiar. Like that other heroic voice, or like the Smitten himself; he was a semi-corporeal shadowy echo floating just as he did. He seemed to know him, though he didn't recall meeting him. This one was wily and devious. He shouldn't have liked him.

Yet he felt inexplicably drawn to him, like they were meant to be one. He could tell that he had been a piece of the Decider, the Hero. They both had. And the Smitten had felt the same pull at the banquets and games, but it had been resisted for all their sakes. How had it not been enough? How had it not been enough?

"Why have you come?" The Smitten's voice, once reserved only for the Princess's ears, came out far too hoarse. "Leave me be. Allow me to decay in solitude."

The other one, the Opportunist, cocked his head. "Hm, no, I don't think so."

Before the Smitten could respond, the Opportunist grabbed his hand and yanked him back onto the grand carpets. He pushed him—pulled him—twirled him around—

"Begone." The Smitten, weakened as he was, could only manage a low angry murmur. "I did this. It was I who failed to cover every eventuality. And she is unhappy. I made her unhappy. I...made...her...unhappy."

"Yes, that's true," said the Opportunist, but he continued with the dance.

Here they were, cavorting about a hollow mimicry of a palace, when at least one of them should have been dancing with the Princess instead. Outside. Where the Smitten had failed to take her; where he could have saved everything.

"So?" Resignation sat heavy, thick and bitter beneath Smitten's tone. He tried to wrench his hands away from his new partner's, but for some reason, he couldn't. "Isn't that what I deserve? Harken, am I not the true villain of this new story? Go forth. Enjoy your happy ending while it lasts."

Opportunist stepped to the side, his fingers still splayed across Smitten's palm as he shrugged with one shoulder. "Well, this ending looks like the Princess and the Decider's. Doesn't have to just be theirs, though. It could be ours too."

"I do not remain one of you any longer," Smitten spat. "For how should I?"

The Opportunist smirked, a horrible mirror of the Smitten's own smile at them from across the table earlier. "But you were! At least I remember you. Besides, this can still be a happy ending for everyone! Including you."

He brought his mouth closer to the Smitten's ear. "Or, forget about you, I'm the one who wants this dance."

Smitten was too tired for rage. "Why?"

"Well, I can't quite put my finger on it myself," Opportunist mused. "But it's like, the Decider and that other one and you and me and the Princess, we're all fragments of the same thing, you know? Except there's two major parts, us and the Princess."

Opportunist paused for a bit, silent in contemplation, but he and Smitten continued to move in tacit harmony.

"There it is," said Opportunist. "Of course I'm drawn to the Princess, we all are. But I feel more drawn to you. Because the Princess and the rest of us, well, the crack between us is too wide and we're too separate. And even if I'd joined their dance, there's still a missing piece somewhere, and I suppose it must be you. But you're a closer thing to me than she is. We fit tighter, better perhaps."

Opportunist bowed forward and Smitten leaned back in response. Their bodies pressed close together: chest against chest, hand clasped in hand, fingers gently intertwining.

"So that's how it is." The Smitten stared into the Opportunist's eyes, but he didn't know how to read them. It all felt so right and it all felt so wrong; it felt so impossible; it felt like something that he should never have been able to feel.

And he couldn't understand it at all.

"How dare you?" Smitten rose, forcing the Opportunist backwards. "How dare you utter such...balderdash?"

"It's just how I felt, since I know you like feelings so much."

"No. This is nonsense! The Princess is the only absolute right. We must be with her, you must be one with her. How could you forgo such a chance? How could you forsake her, how could you choose to stay behind in this wreck and deny your true happy ending, how could you? Do you go against her? Are you mad, are you impertinent? For we have wronged and I may not make right, but you...you. How dare you?"

"How dare me?" This angered the Opportunist. "As if you did anything right! As if you're not the one responsible for her suffering in the first place! We ate and we ate and we ate then we played and we played—do you know how boring it got? How stale? And then it all lost its meaning and everything was just so empty! And you caused it, and you forced her to sit through everything! She was so scared! So before you even think about going all 'oh, how dare you, how dare you,' think about that first."

For a few beats, no one spoke. And still they danced, two shadows, graceful blank silhouettes amidst the vast unlit chambers.

"Alright, I take everything back," said Opportunist. "In the end, you've lost. Look at you. You were so powerful that reality itself bent according to you and your simpy little desires. And now, what are you? An exhausted little thing."

The Opportunist led the dance, steering him this way and that, with but a few flicks of his wrists and turns of his heels. He grinned. "So I'm still a winner, and you're still the loser here."

Smitten glared at him. "Have you no shame?"

"Not one bit, no."

"You have come to gloat, then? To laugh at my fall?"

"Why, yes I have! Can't say I don't enjoy it. See? I've come up on top. Just as I've always wanted."

And the Opportunist did laugh, throwing his head back as he cackled and shook. Amused, he veered aside, dragging the Smitten with him in a circle.

"So that was you," Smitten seethed. "The one who said we could stay in the cabin, she and I. The one who started everything. You caused it. You. You!"

"Yes." Opportunist sighed. "Fine, I admit it. I did something wrong there."

He violently jerked Smitten's arm backwards with his own, as if he wanted to wrench it from its socket.

"But who was the one who ripped our heart out?" demanded Opportunist. "And who made this whole place like this, and did everything he could to keep her unhappy? That definitely wasn't me. No, I think it was—"

"No more, I beseech you." Smitten interrupted. "I..."

He hesitated.

"I did make her unhappy. And right now, she's happier. Without me."

"Of course she is. You brought this loss upon yourself, lover-boy. Now isn't that satisfying."

Smitten didn't speak.

"I do agree with you, to be honest," said Opportunist. "You do deserve this. To fade away alone and unloved."

Smitten looked up at him. "Then why do you still take my hand in yours?"

Opportunist didn't respond either.

And there was another moment of silence. They quietly dared each other to pry apart their hands, to cease this dance, to stop these motions altogether.

But they didn't.

"Something about this still feels whole," said Opportunist. "I'm more complete here. Don't you feel it?"

"I don't know." The Smitten averted his gaze. "Truth be told, I don't know how it's meant to feel. But I think I do."

A few more steps. A few more turns. Pulling together, falling apart, pulling close again.

"This feels more complete," whispered Smitten.

"It does," said Opportunist. "But I still don't like what you did."

"And nor do I," said Smitten. "You vile, scheming wretch."

"You delusional lovesick psycho."

"..."

"...Are you scared to let go too?"

Something grey threatens the edges of their sight. Yet they dance still.

"I am."

Something ancient pulls at them, passes over the walls and floors. Yet they dance still.

"But you know I still can't forgive you, right?"

Something feathered reaches out and away, consuming, morphing, becoming. Yet they dance still.

"I know what I've done. I'm sorry, I truly am."

Something taloned stretches into the long quiet, and a mirror is touched. And the dance ends; still they stand hand in hand.

"I hate you." The Opportunist reaches out and pulls the Smitten into an embrace.

"I hate you." The Smitten reciprocates, resting his head against his shoulder, pulling him in, ever closer.

Shards of broken glass dissipate into oblivion.

[relaxxattack]

old ass homestuck here (been reading since 2013, read with it all the way until the end of act 7 but i consider that the true end and never plan to read the epilogues) but i gotta agree i didn’t care for the squared sprites when they first appeared late in act 6 and i really don’t like them much more years later. i found davepeta slightly interesting but at the end of the day they’re the only one who even stood out enough to even pay attention to and unfortunately looking at them was visually very unpleasant due to the constant color flashing.

random disclaimerrrr this is really just my personal feelings, i'm not trying to make a statement about what is "true" or moral or whatever. i want to stress that i'm not against people making meaningful interpretations of davepeta... i understand the appeal of a trans/plural character. it's just hard to feel like any of that was intentional?

power to hussie for making jokes; but it's kind of confusing sometimes to frequently see davepeta - what felt like a really obvious joke made at the expense of the audience - touted like they're the most genius, intentional, meaningful, well-thought-out character ending or trans representation

especially with nepeta in particular... i guess it's left pretty up to the viewer to decide whether or not she was really done dirty at the end, but. personally i still think she was done fucking dirty. the death -> fefeta -> davepeta pipeline was not very rewarding in my opinion. she also never had a choice in any of these? it was not a consensual fate. she wasnt allowed to explore her own identity or choose this, her identity was simply shafted once again after a long pattern of it being shafted and mocked

davesprite is a suicidal character who gets made to end himself. and i guess thats empowering as a metaphor for some trans people but for me it was like ??? physically absorbing another person and then ceasing to exist didn't relate to me heavily but maybe it does for others! i've heard some talk about it being plural too, which i can also see, but they don't act like that's at all intentional in the story. i've heard a lot of "dave struggles with not being the alpha dave so he gets to stop being dave! :)" but why does he have to? he was dave first and longer, shouldn't the meteor dave change his name? 'dave gets to finally stop being a boy and embrace being a trans girl' does she do that? or is her individualism taken from her and regifted to a catgirlboy that is not actually trans at all but textually stated to be identifying as half of one cis girl and half of one cis boy?

guh i am trying so hard to not sound invalidating to how other people feel empowered by this character. while also explaining how its Not for me. once again disclaimer i LIKE what people have done with davepeta it just feels like, strangely un-empowering to me for these two characters to have their agency taken away in such a manner.

rose's dead corpse who literally just watched the love of her life die in front of her face gets dug out of her final resting place and immediately starts throwing herself at every women in the vicinity

arquius in particular is one i see get completely nostalgia goggled too because every moment they were on screen was painful dialogue-wise; but these days arquius is thought of like a vehicle for hal and equius gender thoughts. which is a concept with merit because of course both hal and equius have stuff going on gender wise and it makes sense to combine those but like. the character wasn't like that in canon and it never felt like they were meant to be like that. most of the time they were.. jokes. insulting jokes.

i get WHY its read a trans or plural narrative. just as a trans and plural person i did not read it that way or think that was what the author intended... and i find it a little uncomfortable in that regard

[thedevilworksharder]

Devan can't help but chuckle between kisses, choosing to practice some kindness and not mention the emotions his opinion of JP seems to call forth. "I'm pretty cute, yeah, I understand your struggle," he hums, nipping at his bottom lip. He pulls his head back and reaches up to grab his jaw, looking JP's face over. "I'll be honest, my love, I amn't the relationship type a fella. Hm?"

There's a long pause as his own confession, or the implications it brings with it, momentarily leaves him trying to find his balance. Devan hadn't intended to bring up the past. They're not someone who apologises for things, they're not someone to regret. And he won't, and he doesn't. But there is a conversation, an explanation, that has thus far remained unspoken that they realise JP has a right to be privy to.

And so they sigh. "C'mere to me, yeah?" he starts, sitting up with his legs crossed under him, fully facing the man. "I left before." Simply stating facts, he did do that. "But it wasn't to do with you." Well... "Technically it wasn't. It was to do with you, but it ain't in the way you're thinkin', see." There's a tension in the manner Devan is speaking, like it's hard to get the words out, even though his body language is relaxed; there's a frown on his face like he's thinking hard, examining each word he says step by step before slotting it into a sentence. "I realised that if I stayed, we'd have become somethin'. An' I probably wouldn't have ever left." They shrug. "Or at least not in any timely manner anyway. An' I wasn't ready for it. Lord, I ain't ready for that shite now an' I might just never be. Right?"

Devan tries to recall any serious relationship he'd been in in his life and comes up blank. Before anything serious could even threaten him, he'd leave. The only commitment he'd ever had was to his job, and even that required a certain non-committal to places, people, and situations. They'd been all over the world, explored cultures with people from these places, dove into histories, shared so many moments with so many people... and none of them ever stuck. Not for lack of potential or chemistry, but simply because he'd rip the seed from the soil before anything could actually bloom.

And it was always fine that way. But he'd been too late ripping out the seed with JP. And they figured, if they just didn't water it, it would die on its own. But then it didn't, did it?

"I didn't come here for you, lad," they shrug again, no dismissal in their voice, no intention to hurt him, no sharpness or condescension, just... honesty and sincerity. They hadn't come here for JP, they hadn't even expected JP to be here. "But ya are here now, an' so am I. Na, that's not--" It's the first time in their whole relationship, past and present, that Devan has ever taken words back. His words have always had precision to them, they are chosen carefully, Devan knows what he's saying and he's always meant what he says.

It's a realisation that strikes him too, in the moment that it happens, and instead of frustration or embarrassment or shame, he simply chuckles. "You fuck me up, John-Paul." Their hand wraps around his throat and they lean closer to give him another kiss. "I got some priorities straight these past few months, in that people can make or break ya. Never thought they were more important than the thrill a the job. You're mine now, aye? An' I'm yours. An' that doesn't mean I'm your boyfriend, or you're mine, it doesn't mean we have so start tellin' people we're gettin' married."

His hand on his throat squeezes, lightly, but with intent, the determination in his eyes evident of a person who has done bad things for less and would do worse for him. "You're mine. You're in my skin. You're in my mind. No one's gonna take ya from me. Not even me."

His focus broke when Devan finally broke the silence, shaking his head gently. John-Paul's embarrassment over this still being such a big deal flared up. He shouldn't have said anything. He shouldn't have said anything. He fucked up. Already. He knew it. How could he have thought someone as open as Devan would be okay hiding? He continued to silently chastise himself for the assumed failure, slowly blocking out everything around him.

But then Dev was making his presence known and John-Paul's worry began to slowly dissipate. His hands easily found themselves resting at their hip and sliding along their arm to hold onto their wrist. "Don't. It's not the same with them," he said of his siblings, shaking off their perceived ignorance of his 'love' life. "I know they wouldn't care. It's just never come up, so I never said anything," he explained it away. "It's everyone else that worries me. Not to mention there's alot of baggage behind why I've kept it to myself."

John-Paul's brow furrowed in worry when they admitted it was going to be a problem, he really didn't want that, but his expression turned to one of confusion as he went on. The knit in his brow softened as they continued, realizing they weren't leaving. That they were choosing to stay. Each kiss sent a chill up his spine. Each compliment stole his breath away. Self doubt clenched at his chest. He feared he wouldn't be able to live up to the image Devan had of him - his talent to screw up even the surest of shots undeniable.

It was Devan's value of him that nearly sent him over the edge. He had to squeeze his eyes shut to avoid the tears now threatening to dampen his eyes. He didn't know how to handle all the praise. All of Devan's wanting of him. That they were on his side. Other than his siblings, who he still sometimes believed felt more obligation by blood to be there, no one willingly made his protection a priority. And not his physical protection, he could handle himself without a doubt, it was his emotional insecurities that need the helping hand. But it was overwhelming to actually find it (in the apocalypse no less) and his words refused to form. He leaned them up just enough to press a kiss to their lips after the promise to defend his honor.

"I don't think you'll need to do that. At least not yet," he finally managed to choke out, swallowing back the lump forming in his throat with a small, nervous, short chuckle - joking in the face of seriousness his usual coping mechanism to break the weight of his anxiety. "Just give me a little more time, okay?" he asked genuinely, a thumb caressing their cheek. "That's all I need. And I promise it won't be long. It's hard to hide how much I like you," he admitted with gentle teasing in his voice before pressing another kiss to his lips.

[zephyrchama]

I hope demons have sayings that sound really weird and messed up to humans, just as there are many diverse sayings across varying human languages that don't always translate easily.

---01

Lucifer looked up warily as you entered his office before breathing a sigh of relief. "I thought you were Mammon, here to give me another headache."

You strided over to his desk to take a peek at what he was working on. It looked boring. "We both know you love your little brother. What could be so bad this time?"

Lucifer buried his eyes in his hands, brushing his hair aside with the tail end of a pen. "He's been gnawing on my toenails all week."

You coughed in surprise, smacking your chest to loosen up the muscles so that clarifying questions could be asked. "What? Why? How?"

"Just general Mammon buffoonery as usual. For some reason he's especially persistent this week."

"I have literally never seen Mammon chewing on toenails..." Your lip curled back in disgust just imagining it. "Has he... done this before?"

"What?" Lucifer narrowed his eyes, puzzled. "Oh." His gaze softened once he realized what was happening and he huffed in amusement. "Mammon hasn't actually been gnawing on my toenails. It means he's getting on my nerves, as you might say."

You clasped your hands together and sighed, letting a wave of relief wash over you. "Please. Just say that next time."

----02

"C'mon, c'mon! If ya move any slower I'm gonna exfoliate Diavolo!"

You were running as fast as you could, despite Mammon being the reason for your tardiness. You didn't have much to lose, but Mammon could be in deep trouble for missing another morning class.

You wheezed and almost ran into him, not realizing he kindly came back to carry you. "Wh..." After a few deep breaths, you choked out your question. "You're gonna what? To Diavolo?"

Mammon thrust his bag in your arms in a rush and picked you up instead. He spoke as he began running, "yeah. He's gonna have my neck if I'm late again!"

"I get that, but is Barbatos gonna make you wash him...? Or...?"

"Wha? Are you still half asleep? Is that why you're runnin' so slow?"

You leaned your head back against his upper arm to stare up at him in frustration. He couldn't ignore your pouty face inches from his own. Mammon's ears grew red. "Knock it off!"

"Tell me what you mean!" you ordered.

Mammon growled and ran even faster. "What do you mean? I'm just tryna get us to class!"

---03

You scooted your seat closer to Leviathan. He perked right up and froze as you approached to whisper in his ear.

"Levi, XYZ."

"W-w-what? Is that a code?"

"No, XYZ. PDQ."

He reached for a pen and began noting the letters down. "P... D... Q... Got it. What's next?"

You shook your head. "No, Levi, your barn door is open."

"What game are we talking about? I haven't picked up Moondrop Basin in a few weeks."

You made a zipping-up motion with your hand. "Your fly!"

"Oh." Leviathan ruffled the back of his hair and swatted the air around his head. "Is it gone now? I didn't see any bugs."

Though reluctant to be so blunt, you were out of euphemisms. "Levi, your pants' zipper is open."

With an "eep!" he turned away to fix his problem. It took a few seconds. In his haste, the zipper kept getting stuck. He was mad when he turned back around, his face colored crimson. "Why didn't you just tell me? Without turning it into... into some game!"

"I did! XYZ, PDQ, That's what we say in the human world! Examine your zipper, quick!"

"That's so dumb!" he seethed, punching his knee. "What a spumid flaming cabbage. Your sayings are so weird."

---04

"Ready for the next one?"

"Hit me," you told Satan.

He grimaced from across the desk, raising his eyes from the paper to look at you in concern. "What? No, I'm not going to do that."

"Not literally, it's a human saying. It means 'give it to me,' or something like that."

"Oh." Satan jotted that down in the margins of his own notes before reading off the next phrase on his list. "This is one of my favorites. It's a colorful saying, but if you're really mad at someone you can call them a snot-cobbling banshee. I like to say this while cursing their next three generations."

You wrote that down. "How often do you use this saying?"

"Not too often. Well, maybe once a week with my brothers. It goes along with this next phrase which implies someone is dangerously stupid. Barbed dingbat."

You nodded. You were truly learning so much on this cultural exchange program.

---05

Asmodeus came into the kitchen as you were preparing dinner and wrapped his arms around your neck. He looked exhausted.

"Careful, I've got a knife, don't want to accidentally nick you," you warned. "What's up? Long day?"

"Like you wouldn't believe." Asmodeus peeped over your shoulder to look at the vegetables you were cutting. "I'm so glad you're home. You know, all day, all I could think about was..."

He proceeded to say some incredibly vulgar things. Detailed depictions of debauchery. Irredeemable acts of indecency that cannot be repeated on this blog. It made you put the knife down in a tizzy.

"Are those more demon idioms?" You snickered awkwardly and wiped your hands on a towel. "I've been learning about your sayings recently. Can't say I've heard those ones yet."

"What? Oh, no." Asmodeus lifted your hand, raising it to his lips to lick a stray fleck of vegetable skin off your fingertip. "These aren't sayings, this is just stuff I've wanted to do all day."

---06

"I could just eat you up."

This was something Beelzebub said often, and something he repeated again today. His hands were occupied with a fresh four-pounder with cheese, but his eyes kept drifting from it to watch you shoot paper balls into a wastebasket.

"You know, humans have the same saying. Isn't that funny?" You bounced up to grab some of the wads on the floor that didn't make it into the basket, to try again.

Beelzebub swallowed the mass in his mouth. "Really?" he asked between bites. "I thought you guys stopped doing cannibalism, mostly."

"Uh." You missed your throw. What should have been an easy shoot bounced off the edge and rolled away from the wastebasket. "Yeah, we did. Just so we're on the same page, you're saying I'm cute, right?"

Beelzebub was concerningly quiet as he chewed.

---07

"Are you on your way back to class?" Belphegor stopped you in the hall. You hadn't even seen him there on the ground, curled up next to a shady pillar.

"Skipping class again?" you asked. "I thought you liked magic theory."

"Maybe," he yawned. "It's too easy sometimes."

Belphegor fished around in his pocket for a second before pulling out a tightly folded-up sheet of paper. He offered it up. "Can you turn this in for me? I don't want my grades dropping over late homework."

"Sure thing, but it might be better to turn it in yourself. I heard Barbatos is doing random checks in all classes this week. He'll notice you missing."

"Nah." Belphegor's head drooped down as he prepared to doze off again. "If you see him, just tell him I'm being flerchen in the garden."

That sounded innocent enough. "Okay. What does that mean?"

"Means I've got the sniffles," he lied.

---08

Barbatos' eyes grew big and he placed a hand over his heart, furthering crumpling Belphegor's homework sheet in the process. He looked around to make sure nobody overheard before leaning in. "I must ask that you never say that again."

Behind him, Diavolo's palm was clasped over his mouth as he struggled not to draw attention with loud guffaws. He had his back to the classroom, shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

"Why not?" You nervously shifted from one foot to another. You'd been had.

"It's not a topic I can explain here. Perhaps you and the Young Master should excuse yourselves for now. I'll come collect you both later."

Barbatos readily escorted you and Diavolo out of the room, shutting the door behind you so that class could begin without interruption.

"I'm just the messenger," you tried to defend yourself. Diavolo's fit of giggles was renewed. He grabbed on to your shoulder for stability while doubled over, trying to ride out the laughter.

"Did... did Belphegor tell you to say that?" He wiped a tear running down his face. You furiously nodded.

"Haha! Do you remember where he's hiding? I'd sure like to have a word with him."

You couldn't tell if Diavolo was going to praise Belphegor or tear him a new one. Perhaps a mix of both. However, the curiosity over what you said was overwhelming. You wanted to know the full extent of what it meant before seeing Belphegor again.

You decided to bargain with the prince. "I'll show you, but first you have to tell me what that means."

[hajihiko]

[blasphemousclaw]

Prince of Death

[burning-fcols]

「 ☆ 」 Lucifer had asked for clarification... and no one can say Adam didn't provide it. He just wishes it didn't offer more questions than it answered. Yelping when he's abruptly forced off the bed by his hair, it's less from the pain and more from the sudden manhandling. Hardly the first time Adam has taken his hair as a means of relocating the smaller male— he seems to have a fondness for utilizing the fluffy blonde locks —but Lucifer hadn't expected it in the midst of such an emotionally volatile conversation. In hindsight, he probably should have...

Most people would likely make a note of this, for future reference, but Lucifer has more pressing matters to deal with. Like the sudden slap of confusion that contorts his face into the epitome of ❛ what the Fuck are you talking about ❜ . Quirking a brow and cocking his head ( in a subconscious mimicry picked up from Adam ) , Lucifer bluntly goes, ❝ ... What? ❞ Not actually intending for an answer, he continues while hands make quick work of exposing Adam. Just because he might be confused doesn't mean he's not willing. Adam gave him a WAY, after all.

❝ Not sure what this has to do with how much I've missed you— ❞ He mutters to himself, delicate hand already stroking the others girthy shaft to bring it to attention. He's already allowed Adam to fuck him... Repeatedly. ( and would gladly choke on Adam's cock even without this condition ) ❝ —but I guess it's as good a way as any. ❞ Not like Lucifer had any ideas. Satisfied with his work, serpentine tongue flits out to taste the tip. Darting a few times instinctively before it extends to slowly lick the head, leaving behind a warm glistening trail.

Figuring that ❛ starving ❜ for Adam's dick doesn't mean he has to deprive the other of foreplay— it feels counterproductive to proving his care —Lucifer starts to bathe the large length before him. Dexterous tongue drags across its side, wetting one and then the other. Curling around, over and under as he lathers Adam's dick. Moving in closer as he works, face shamelessly presses against the shaft with no heed to how it dirties him. Tongue reaching to prod and tease as rosy cheeks rub what he's meant to blow, the King of Hell happily hums as he tends to the cock of a man he's meant to hate... Fluffy feathered tail wags beneath his coat, making the fabric rustle.

Once he feels as though Adam has been warmed up enough, long tongue retracts, spit shining upon Lucifer's lips and chin. Before lips wrap around the head of Adam's dick— and the small Sin ENGLUFS it in its entirely. Gag-reflex nonexistent and size not an issue when facing the potential of an unhinged jaw, Lucifer simply adjusts his mouth as needed while the girth is forced down his throat in one abrupt motion. Moaning at the sensation of being harshly filled— even if from this side —tongue pushes up against the dick nestled in his mouth, toying with it as he gives Adam a second to adjust to the feeling of being enveloped ( even if the vibrations and impatient prodding works against this goal ) . 「 ☆ 」

Narrowed gaze glared at Lucifer, who looked up helplessly at him. Who so far, had been supposedly honest and in effort, tried cheering Adam up earlier. But how much of it was true, and how much of it was Lucifer blowing smoke? The larger man can't be certain. The ex Commander doesn't think he could ever be certain when it came to the Devil. He hated the man below him for making him feel so many things. For making him even have feelings in the first place. Wordlessly, Adam grabs Lucifer by the hair, dragging him off the bed and on his knees. (Similar to the aftermath from the first time they fucked.) There's no humor in his glowering expression nor his tone when he speaks again.

"Blow me like you're starving for my dick. If you don't, then you're blowing hot air."

[levil0vesyou]

Y'know I used to always say I liked kids in person but not in theory (reverse from my feelings towards dogs) but I think I finally realised how to word it more accurately. I like kids as people, but not as a responsibility. I do not trust my ability to take care of a kid even temporarily if there's no well-adjusted adult nearby I can ask stuff and call if anything happens, but I love the passion children have for their interests, their fearlessness wrt breaking societal rules they haven't been forced to learn yet and their curiosity about almost anything that's even remotely interesting. I like children, I just don't like being given responsibilities I'm not equipped to handle

[i-write-things]

Hey! I love your characterization of Chrollo. How do you think he would react if his darling was afraid of the dark? Like she needs to let the shutters open a little in order to have some moon light, ect?

Oh, well, this depends on the Chrollo. Sometimes there are scenarios where Yan! Chrollo reacts a lot different from regular Chrollo. I'll do both because I don't know which one you're asking for. Regular Chrollo: Honestly, he's a little confused. He doesn't understand why an adult is so afraid of the dark, but he just assumes it has to do with some trauma. He will at some point confront you about it, asking if you have some trauma that makes you afraid of the dark. If the answer is yes, then he asks about it. He reminds you that you don't have to tell him, but he would encourage you to get it off your chest. It doesn't matter if you tell him about it in the end, no matter what, he will comfort you and do his best to slowly help you get through it. He's also very considerate and will get a nightlight for whenever you sleep together. (He tried his best to find a spider themed one, but there wasn't any, so he settled for a space themed one, lol)

If it isn't related to any trauma, however, and you tell him that it just scares you, he will be a little confused, but try his best to understand. Are you afraid of being alone in the dark? Or, more accurately, not being alone? Are you afraid of not being able to see what's in front of you? Are you afraid of spirits? He's actually intrigued, but still confused. Despite this, he never judges you. Everyone is afraid of something, after all. Why should he be judgmental about it? Fear is fear. He'd try to comfort you, but it won't be as much and constant as compared to if you have trauma. Instead, he will focus majority of that time on trying to slowly get you over it. If you don't seem to be making any progress, however, he might just cut you off cold turkey of any light source during the night until you get over it. He'll still be there with you, but he thinks if push comes to shove, you might just have to get over it the hard way. Yan! Chrollo: Now, this is where it really takes a turn. You see, Yan! Chrollo has a different mindset from regular Chrollo. Regular Chrollo thinks, "Oh no, my love is afraid of the dark, I must help them get better and comfort them." As opposed to Yandere Chrollo's mindset, which is, "Hell yeah, another advantage!" You see, Yan! Chrollo......he wouldn't actually help you get over your fear. In fact, he might put you in the dark a little more often so he could be there for you, wrap his safe, strong arms around you and tell you that nothing will happen while he's here.

"Shh...don't worry, love. Nothing will hurt you.... I promise."

When you start falling with Stockholm syndrome, he might be a little better, though, because he doesn't have to force you into his arms anymore, he can just do it and you wouldn't resist. Or hell, you might even do it yourself. Once you start seeking out comfort on your own and once you start behaving better and acting more affectionate, then he will make your life a little easier and leave the shudders open slightly to let some moonlight in. If you're really nice, he might even get you one of those old LED alarm clocks that sit on your bedside that light up and tell you the time. This way, it's a little less dark and you can at least keep track of how much time has passed, since he knows that being in the same house for who knows how long really fucks up your sense of time. Something he does similar to regular Chrollo, however, is he does still wonder why you're afraid. But don't worry, he'll go ahead and ask while your wrapped up in his arms. Even if you don't answer, he'll get the answer from you eventually by analyzing your every move.

Overall, I'd say Regular Chrollo is better to have in this situation because at least he comforts you in hopes you feel better and actually tries to help you get over it, unlike Yan! Chrollo, who does the opposite and makes sure you never get over it, so you rely on him and constantly seek him out for comfort.

Either way, you'd have someone to hold you and cuddle with every night and whisper sweet nothings in your ear until you drift off to sleep...