#it would have been pretty to think they were fated but they weren't in real life etc

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

The "yeah I showed up at your party" chapter is also interesting because Betty / The 1 / Mirrorball / TLGAD / Invisible String / Cardigan also have a recurring theme of being misunderstood and/or punished for your choices, wanting desperately someone to see you for who you really are, never quite feeling accepted and seeking love where it might not ever be fully returned in the way you wanted or hoped...

[imaginidol]

Jongho: Backstage After-Hours

!!mentions of NSFW!! 18+ !! do NOT interact if you are not comfortable with smut!! as requested, here is a Jongho smut fic for you! This one is also pretty long so be prepared for that :3 IF you are comfortable, you may read more smuts here: hongjoong, san, mingi, yunho, wooyoung. PLEASE feel free to request more if you'd like! I'll get to ALL requests soon!!

The last thing you would've expected of this year was to be screaming your lungs out at a front-row seat for ATEEZ.

The shock overwhelmed you the night that the ATEEZ tickets were released for their tour, and no more than four seconds into the queue, you managed to snag a front-row seat.

Front row. Front. Row. To ATEEZ.

Sure, this meant you'd be working overtime for the next few weeks, but it was a small sacrifice to pay for the unmatched excitement that would await you soon. You've never been so quick to put any purchase like this into your credit card, and now the day finally came and here you were--screaming you rabid lungs out for the boys who made you the happiest person in the world.

Your live-in-the-moment excitement bounced off and influenced the fans around you. Soon enough, your side of the pit was the most fun to visit by the boys. They loved the energy, the fact that you were hopping around and screaming your heart out, singing along to all of their songs, and you were one of the few fans who didn't have a phone up to your face capturing the perfect fancam for the entirety of the 3-hour long concert duration.

Now, if your luck for front-row hadn't been enough to convince you that fate was indeed real, you were surely re-considering it when a security guard briskly walked up to you as you started leaving your seat, asking you to follow him once the concert ended.

Am I in trouble? is all you can think in your head as you nervously walk behind the guard, going over the events of the night that might've caused a misunderstanding.

Maybe they think I'm a sasaeng. Maybe my tickets were a fraud!?

To your surprise, you weren't yelled at or interrogated at all. Instead, a tall, slender woman with a KQ shirt greets you with a smile.

"Before you accept to come backstage and we proceed with anything further, I'll need you to sign this," she hands you a pen and a clipboard with an NDA form for you to read and fill out.

I'm being given an NDA. A Non-Disclosure Agreement. These things only happen in...

You shakily hand back the form with your information and initials signed.

...fanfiction.

The woman takes you towards the back and you quietly admire a multitude of stretching backup dancers, audio and sound engineers, large camera and videography equipment, and so much more.

It's a lot brighter than I ever imagined a backstage to be, you thought, attempting to distract yourself from the impending elephant that would soon ensue.

Finally, you're introduced to Choi Jongho, main vocalist, main dancer, and the infamous maknae of ATEEZ.

No. Fucking. Way.

"Ah, I didn't think you'd agree to come back here," he bows his head, offering you a warmest smile and a water bottle. "I'm Jongho, thank you for coming."

He offers you a seat on a single-seater sofa, closing the door of his dressing room behind him. He sat himself on another single-seater to be closer to you, and now you were practically face-to-face with one of the most beautiful boys to ever cross your existence.

This isn't happening. This isn't happening. This. Isn't. Fucking. Happening.

"I know who you are," you giggle, introducing yourself and offering your warmest smile, ignoring the obvious screaming and fangirling raging on in your head.

"I wanted to meet you backstage because I wanted to tell you that I saw you up front," he smiles, "and I really liked your energy. I wanted to meet you so bad."

"You liked my energy?" you scoff, "Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?"

"You wouldn't be too surprised if you knew what it's like from the stage," he smirked. "There's always a camera on you. I don't blame anyone, of course, because you do what you want with what you pay for. But sometimes the crowd is too immersed in their videos that they forget to enjoy the moment. It makes me feel like a robot."

He turns to you, covering his mouth in slight embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to invite you here to listen to me vent."

"No," you giggle, "I totally get it. I enjoyed the moment with you guys too, and I loved seeing you come to my side of the stage when we linked. Sharing interactions like that really made me feel like you guys noticed me, too. You're really great performers."

"Thank you," he smiles.

Several small conversations (and several arm pinches to make sure you weren't dreaming or anything) later, you manage to calm yourself down the more and more you talked with Jongho.

He really is just an ordinary person, just like me.

"Who's your bias?" the boy suddenly asks, leaning back against his chair.

"My bias? Currently you, obviously," you laugh.

"Nah, you're just saying that 'cause I'm right here," he says.

"Fine. My bias currently is Yunho."

"Currently? What, it changes?"

"Mm-hmm," you nod, "I can't ever stick to one bias. You're all just so fun to stan."

"Okay," he grins, "we could change it from Yunho to me then, right?"

You grin, covering your mouth as your cheeks flushed a deep shade of red.

"How about you?" you poke back.

"Me?"

"Yeah, who's your favorite fan? Is that even a thing?"

He lets out a loud laugh, turning back to you.

"You could be my favorite fan," he smirks.

"You're also just saying that," you smile.

"Can I be honest?"

You cock your head to the side, a curious smile beaming across your face. "Honest? About what?"

"You're the only fan I've asked to come backstage for this tour," he says quietly.

"You're lying," you giggle.

"I'm not," he whispers as a more endearing smile crosses his face. "I think you're also very pretty."

He eyed you steadily now, slow blinking and leaning back against his chair. You couldn't help but think about where this could lead to, if you allowed it.

"Is that why you made me sign an NDA?" you smirk, crossing your legs and leaning against the armchair.

The boy scoffs, looking away in embarrassment. "No, I didn't mean to come off as--"

"Relax," you tease, "I'm just messing with you. I think you're really cute, too. Way cuter in person."

You eye him steadily now, a sly grin meeting his. "Can I be honest now?"

He keeps his eyes locked on you, marveling at the way the apples of your cheeks illuminated your face when you smiled.

"I'd love to put that NDA to good use."

Jongho smiles slowly, relaxing against his chair and man-spreading his legs.

"Come here, then," he whispers.

His expression fades to lust at the sight of you slowly making your way to his lap. One of the many things he loved about you tonight was your outfit. You were wearing a black and white blazer dress with a deep, plunging neckline. An outfit that made your pretty face stand out in a crowd, but also one that implied you were grown enough to fuck.

And man, was he glad that you were initiating it.

You lean over him as he pulls your legs over his lap, grazing his lips gently against yours, closing your eyes as you caressed each other's faces and bodies in unison. As he kisses you slowly, he brings a hand against your thighs, curiously outlining his fingertips over your curves. You bring a hand to his jaw and push further into his mouth, inviting his tongue into yours with each fervent kiss. Jongho glides his hand from your hips to your inner thighs, circling his fingers around your clothed groin. The feel of Jongho's fingers poking at you through your clothes was enough to make you crave for his warmth against your body.

"Jongho," you whisper into him, "let me entertain you tonight."

You begin sliding off his lap and start unbuttoning your dress, taking a few step backs as you slowly and seductively exposed more of your collarbone, shoulders, and breasts. You step out of your dress and fold it neatly on the floor, using it as a cushion for your knees.

Jongho bites his lower lip and brings a hand to cover his mouth to hold back a grunt. Seeing you bend to your knees in front of him was enough to ignite an emerging boner rising deep inside his black sweatpants.

You slowly glide your hands against his hips until you reach the waist of his pants, tugging at them slowly until his boxers were out.

Cute, you think, as you're greeted by a pair of pink AllSaints boxers.

"I ran out of black pairs," is all he can embarrassingly admit, his cheeks growing bright and hot at seeing your smile.

"No," you whisper, "these are so much better."

You pull his boxers down to reveal his long, hardened cock already pleading for your entertainment.

You dampen your lips as you begin stroking the erect member with your hands, pulling soft, deep strokes as the boy reposed against his chair.

He bites his lip harder to hold back a low grunt, his lust for you enticing further at the feel of your warm hands wrapped around him. He exhaled deeper and heavier breaths as you began twisting his member, gently stroking it over and over. Suddenly, he felt the warmth and wetness of your tongue delicately licking against his tip.

The boy reaches a hand to your head, calmly running his fingers through your hair before proceeding to nudge you further, bringing your mouth gingerly around his cock. You obeyed, sucking on him considerately before picking up the pace.

You experimented with your timing for a bit, switching between your hands and your mouth (and sometimes both) wrapped around his throbbing member. The boy's breathing intensified as he began to feel himself on the verge of reaching a climax. He massaged your scalp as he pushed you deeper into him, soft sounds of gagging and choking erupting in the air.

The boy lets out a whimper as he looks down to see you shying away from him, licking your lips and wiping your mouth as you stood up.

"Why'd you--why'd you stop? I.. I was so.."

You grinned, knowing that edging him was part of the entertainment deal you wanted to give him exclusively.

"Are you being entertained? I didn't say I was done," you grin, climbing back on his lap and wrapping your thighs around his cock. You leaned into him, placing your hands over his shoulders as you slowly began riding his dick, throwing your head back as your soft moans progressively got louder. All at once, the tempered boy was also thrusting himself underneath you, desperately wanting to take charge of what was about to come.

And so, when he couldn't hold himself back anymore, he did.

He stood up and carried you towards his vanity mirror, sitting you against the tabletop. Your legs wrapped around his waist, sinking your fingernails deep into his back, gasping as the boy started fucking you. And he was going in hard.

From behind you, he caught sight of himself in the mirror as he fucked you hard, and to his surprise, the reflection in the mirror had aroused him even more. The way your legs were clenched and buckled around his waist, the way you bounced up and down at every protruding thrust, the way your head was leaning into his shoulder as you desperately bit into his blades with hopes of silencing your screams. Now he was going in harder, clutching onto the sides of the desk as the furniture rattled underneath you both.

He turned to face you, sticking his tongue inside your mouth agape. At this point, he was taking full control of you and your body, and all you could do was try to ease the thristing moans repeatedly escaping your lips.

"Fuck," Jongho grunts as he feels himself on the verge of climaxing, and in a sudden instant you find yourself on your back against the floor in an attempt to make you more comfortable.

If only there was a fucking longer couch instead of single ones, he quietly cursed in his head, pulling your legs over his shoulders and mindlessly fucking you on the carpet. While the floor wasn't the most comfortable place to fuck, it had come in great luck as Jongho had managed to finally reach your G-spot.

You tightened your handgrip against the legs of the vanity desk behind you, letting out the last of your cries before feeling the hot release of your orgasm rush through your lower abdomen. You noticed the boy's face scrunch up as he was about to ejaculate inside of you, and then in an instant you felt the rush of his hot cum spilling in and all over your inner thighs, making a mess of the floor beneath you.

"Fuck," he panted, bringing your legs down from his shoulders and wrapping them around his hips instead. You looked in awe as the sweat drops rolled down his forehead, his mouth agape and eyes closed as he tried to steady his breathing.

You sat up and placed your hands around his jaw, giving him a quick kiss before he could open his eyes again.

"What was that for?" he smiled tiredly.

"For being a good performer off-stage, too," you smirk.

He laughs, repositioning himself on the floor to where you were sitting across his lap again, his hands wrapped around your waist and your arms around his neck.

"You're a good fan," he says, his eyes softening as a smile crossed your face, "both in a crowd and in private."

You smile, letting him pepper kisses all over your cheek, jaw, and lips.

"Are you gonna look for me when you come back for your next tour?" you say, cocking your head to the side.

"I don't think you believed me when I said you're the only person I've picked from a crowd for this tour," he insists again.

"You're lying, that's why I don't believe you," you tease.

"I'm serious. I mean, I've invited people over before... for my past tours... but none of them have had as much of a colorful personality as yours. You're the first who really stuck out to me in a long time, really. Both on and offstage. I hope you never lose that part of you."

"Awe," you smile warmly, "look at you being so sweet. It makes me kind of want to bias you, now."

"I haven't been able to change your mind from biasing me instead of Yunho?" he furrows his brows in annoyance.

"I don't know yet," you shrug, planting another soft kiss against his cheek.

"Then I guess that leaves me only one option," he grins, giggling into your neck and rocking you gently back and forth, "be my girlfriend one day, so I can make more time to convince you to always choose me."

small pt. 2 coming soon!! (sfw :))

[fatuismooches]

Kind of dark stuff ahead? Basic Dottore warnings to be honest (blood, experimentation, he pretty much dissects someone, straps them down while they cry and beg for mercy, in front of the other Fatuis since they made you cry as a lesson, so yeah)

Been thinking about Dottore displaying to everyone in the lab what would happen to them if they crossed you, or Tsaritsa forbid, made you cry. By this point, everyone who works with Dottore or in his labs would know of you. And it'd take longer if you were sickly, but as soon as your presence is discovered, and the regular workers are aware of your standing as their Lord Harbinger's lover, immediate respect is afforded to you without any question. Do they have millions of questions? Yes, absolutely, but they prefer to keep their lives. Surprisingly though, you're... quite nice to them? It's honestly a breath of fresh air considering how the segments treat them, so the respectful way the agents treat you is a mixture of how they actually like you and how they don't want to end up as the Doctor's next test subject. There are always newcomers who are wholly unaware of you and who you are, so the older agents try to inform them as soon as possible. However, one learned the truth far too late, sealing his fate. Berating you for one minor slip-up that was just an accident, that was out of your control. And the other Fatuis are there absolutely panicking, trying to explain that you were not just an experiment, that you were- it was too late, because tears were already rolling down your eyes as you quickly exited the room. And the agents think, they are so fucked because they have no idea what the Doctor will do to them now that you've cried in their presence. They can only hope that he will have mercy on them, and punish the idiot who made you cry directly.

The next day, a multitude of Fatui agents, soldiers, scientists, and really whoever happened to be in the lab that day, were called into a room. It was very random, considering they never had meetings since the segments didn't like to be bothered with such frivolities, but upon entering the room, the same sinking feeling pooled in their stomachs. There was a lone operation table in the middle of the spacious room, along with a small table that had yet to hold anything. Strapped to the operation table was one of their fellow agents, bound and gagged, his screams were the only thing filling the room as the other Fatuis could only watch on speechlessly. Next to the (former) agent, was their Lord Harbinger. And no, this wasn't one of his segments, it was Prime, the real Il Dottore himself. Prime himself came to make a statement. Many of the agents hadn't even seen him until now, only encountering his numerous segments. And to the side of him was Omega too. The combination was enough to make some Fatuis want to faint and throw up, but they knew they couldn't for they weren't sure if they'd wake up again.

"I do believe that this is enough people. Word gets around quite fast around here, anyway," Prime hummed to no one in particular as if there wasn't a man crying next to them. Nonchalantly, he circled around the operation table, paying no mind to the muffled "please" and "i'm sorry" echoing like a broken record from the agent's mouth.

"It has come to my attention that some of you have trouble understanding orders," Prime Dottore began, his voice striking the highest amount of fear into the Fatuis. "I make myself clear, do I not? So why do you all still lack common sense? Why..." his gaze suddenly snapped to the tied-down man, "have I discovered that some of you still fail to respect [Name] the same way you do with me? Do you believe that you, a lowly person such as yourself, have the authority to speak to them in such a way?"

"I despise having my time wasted, especially by fools. Therefore, I expect this will serve as a reminder if you ever dare to think about crossing [Name], and consequently me." Prime then adjusts his gloves and motions to Omega, who then begins to set the table with... medical instruments he's retrieved from a bag. Only that they will certainly not be used ethically. The man only becomes more frantic at the sight of the dangerously sharp and pointy objects, but there's nothing you can do, once you're in the Doctor's clutches.

And so the group of onlookers got a front-row seat of one of the Doctor's experiments. As horrifying as it was, no one dared to look away.

Let's just say no one ever dared to make you sad ever again.

[differenteagletragedy]

Just an unreasonable amount of angst, takes place some time after Baxter's Step 4!

If there was a through line of your love life, a neat little string that wound through everything and wrapped it all up in a nice, pretty bow, then you'd hoped it was Baxter.

You wanted it to be Baxter. You needed it to be him.

And for a while, you convinced yourself that it was. You'd met him for the first time at 13, where you shared a formative dance on a crowded floor, then again at 18, when he spent a short summer by your side.

You fell in love with him then, you were sure of it. And then five years later, when fate brought him into your life once more, it felt undeniable. Life wouldn't be so cruel as to take this beautiful person in and out of your life over and over, would it?

It wasn't that cruel, you learned. But maybe you were.

A hand touched yours, pulling you out of your thoughts. You looked up and warm amber eyes met yours, the corners pulled up.

Baxter smiled at you, gently running a finger along your knuckles.

"Where have you been, darling?" he asked quietly.

You glanced around -- he'd taken you out to dinner, a particularly nice dinner, even by his standards. You'd finished up most of your meal, but you saw that as your thoughts had been wondering, you'd used your fork to make a mess of the remaining food.

You winced a little, looking at it. It looked like a toddler had been playing in their food. It was disgusting, just like ---

"Are you with me?"

Baxter squeezed your hand, and you forced yourself to look at him, really look. You took in his crisp maroon suit, his artfully styled hair -- grey now, you noted, not jet black. The little bits of lightness showed up in the twinkling light of the candles on the table, and you saw it as you always had -- proof that you'd helped him feel comfortable enough to truly be himself, imperfections and all.

For a while, you thought he'd helped you in the same way, but his worried eyes and the pit in your stomach told you that even though years had passed, even though he had been nothing but kind and loving and gentle with you, you weren't as healed as you liked to think.

You were still broken. Irreparable, even.

"Hey," he said, just above a whisper. "What's wrong?"

You gave a slight shake of your head and forced a smile, thankful in the moment that you'd faked it enough in your life that you could make it seem real.

"I'm fine," you told him. "Just tired, I guess."

He studied you for a moment longer, and you could tell he was trying to decide to just what extent you were lying. It wasn't a good feeling -- both lying to him and knowing that he knew you were -- but you pressed on.

Finally, he stood, tucking his chair in behind him. He walked to your side of the table and once again reached for your hand.

"Care to dance, then?"

You took his hand without thinking too much -- just enough to know that if you thought more, you might find a reason to say no. It was a terrifying thing to consider, so you just didn't.

Baxter slid one hand into yours and placed the other on the small of your back, pulling you in close. The restaurant had a small dance floor with a piano off to the side, and a few other couples were already there, moving together like the two of you were.

You idly wondered if they were happy.

Time passed, you weren't sure how much, but long enough for your discomfort to ease. Baxter was a charming dance partner, and the way he held you tight against him, coupled with the two drinks you shared at the bar between songs, had you feeling better.

It was just anxiety, you reasoned. Unfounded fear. It didn't mean anything. You wouldn't let it.

It was easy to be brave with Baxter. After a string of failed relationships over the years, some small, some big, sometimes you struggled with letting people in, but he was always different. So gentle and supportive, he provided you with unrelenting grace.

"Can we go for a walk?" he asked, and you agreed.

He paid the bill, and soon you found yourself being led to a nearby strip of shoreline. The salty air bolstered you mood even more, enough that you almost felt OK.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, and he placed a kiss on top of your head. When you pulled back, you offered him a smile -- a real one. He smiled back.

And then, in the blink of an eye, he let you go and knelt down on one knee. He dug around in a coat pocket for just a moment before pulling out a small black jewelry box, which he moved to open.

Before he could say a word, long before he could get out the question you knew he was going to ask, you gave him an answer.

"No."

His mouth was left hanging open. He'd been ready to launch into a speech, one you just knew he'd rehearsed, something full of warmth and tons of little lies about how wonderful that he somehow thought were true, but now he was lost.

You couldn't say for sure who started crying first, or if you'd tried to pull him up or if he'd tried to pull you down, but soon you were both hunched over together on the beach, tears falling fast. You were trying to cave in on yourself, and despite the fact that you'd just broken his heart, he was holding you through it.

"Can you just talk to me?" he finally asked, his voice husky with emotion. "Please, can you just talk to me?"

But you couldn't, not really. Not in any way that would have made a difference.

You tried anyway.

The explanations you offered him were messy and sad and disjointed -- "you can do better than me," "you don't have to stay," "you deserve better" -- and while they were true, they didn't quite get to the heart of it.

You wanted to give him an out, a reason why he should leave, an excuse to walk away clean. A quick, easy break that you should have given him a long time ago. If you couldn't do anything else, you could do that much.

What you should have anticipated was that your boyfriend knew a thing or two about keeping people at a distance, and even more about self-loathing.

He cried with you, clutching you against him on the sand. He rocked you gently as you sobbed desperately, and he ran shaky hands over your back, through your hair, all over to try to find a magic spot that might soothe you.

"Let's go home, all right?" he asked when you finally settled. "We don't have to talk about it. We can pretend it never happened."

"How is that going to work?"

He chuckled darkly, and said, "I'm not really seeing another choice here, love."

You paused, then told him, "You could leave."

He kissed your temple, then your cheek.

"Not an option," he said plainly.

You saw there with him a while longer, long enough for the panic to recede. The surrounding streets became quieter as it got later, the city emptier.

"Let's go home," he repeated.

It wasn't a fix, of course. You weren't sure a fix existed for what was wrong with you. But he wasn't running, and he wasn't letting you run either. And at least for tonight, that would have to be enough.

[notmorbid]

their vicious games.

dialogue prompts from their vicious games by joelle wellington.

life has never felt like a game to me.

stand up straight, honey.

there's no place for me here. there never was.

i've got to look better than 'nice'.

no wonder they're secretly terrified of you.

you don't have to prove anything to everyone.

you always make me feel like i'm the main character in a movie.

with knowledge comes the responsibility to know when to keep your mouth shut.

rich people aren't weirdos, they're 'eccentric'.

i don't believe in fate. not for people like me.

everything is going to change, but maybe it should.

you have a smart mouth. i like that.

i can't believe you showed your face here.

what makes you think that there are no rules?

all i want is for you to do better than i did.

if you open the box, there's no turning back.

you pretend you have nothing to say, but i can tell you do.

i know i don't belong, but it only makes me want it more.

i could be convinced with a well-structured argument.

why are you apologizing for ___?

it's fine. i'm fine. i just need to breathe.

you'll never be one of us, and you shouldn't want to be.

getting them before they get you is the only way to win.

what is going on? no talking around the real answer. tell me the truth.

i suspected, but i didn't know. not for sure.

i have to disappear myself.

god, this house is creepy.

will you trust me to help you?

i could have made you prouder. i should have made you prouder.

you look different without your makeup.

get a fucking grip. this isn't a period drama.

you're an adult now. you can pick your own friends.

fearful people make boring conversationalists.

what do you like to eat?

i worry you won't recognize me when i get out.

there are so few secrets when one revels in their own wickedness.

the trick about lying is that you have to believe yourself, for anyone else to believe you.

there is nothing worse than a boy who is lovely and knows it.

i'd do anything for you. be anything for you.

when has a girl ever been allowed to want?

if you don't stop it, you're endorsing it.

there's something different about you.

integrity doesn't mean much to the dead.

it's been so long since i felt anything but afraid.

you strike me as sneaky.

you think you have me figured out yet?

i don't remember it, but the body keeps the score, right?

there are no girls like me. there is only me.

i'd rather you hate me than you be dead.

are you ready to behave?

you are playing a dangerous game, and you will lose.

i am not one to be vexed. people get hurt when i am.

don't get soft on me now.

you're wearing boat shoes? unironically?

you don't get to walk away from me.

why do i take up so much space in your head? i'm practically living there rent-free.

i've got your back. do you have mine?

we are long past sense. sense doesn't belong here.

how do you think i'm feeling?

you're just like your father in a different font.

i've seen enough. i've heard enough. i've had enough.

my loyalty is to ____ alone.

i don't want to hurt you.

why can't you just leave me alone?

i saved you because you weren't going to save yourself.

it's all so easy for you, isn't it?

if you're not going to stop bad things from happening, have the decency to watch. eyes open.

i could love you. i know i could.

your room looks like you.

you were always so disappointing.

i won't leave you until i have to.

____ would want more for you.

stop throwing yourself in front of projectile objects for me.

i'm pretty sure if we survive this, i'm going to have a goddamn concussion.

i'm not the villain of your story.

i don't think i'll ever be sure of anything again.

even my eyes have betrayed me over and over again.

is that what you think of me?

i think that you ruin everything you touch. you want to devour everything you see.

i'm still here.

i didn't know you could cook.

are you sure you don't want to do anything different?

you're the only person who understands.

i never want to forget about you.

don't touch my shit.

i don't know if i'll ever be okay.

there will always be someone new to become.

[mr-nauseam]

Love and devotion or why Marcus is the key to Snowjanus (part I)

Dedicated to my dear buddy @julietasgf , who asked me to publish this "analysis" I did

.

The arena scene is one of the most important moments for Snowjanus. This is something that the fandom has understood but there is one element that I believe is not given enough importance when it come to contextualizing the circumstances that cause the incident to occur in the first place: I'm talking about Marcus, specifically his relationship with Sejanus.

I. Childhood friends

I do not intend to hide the fact that this is an interpretation that instead of seeing sejarcus and snowjanus as incompatible and individual ships, I consider them complementary and simultaneous.

So we start from the assumption that Marcus is something like Sejanus's first love.

He is that and more, Marcus is the representation in a human body of the possibility. Of what Sejanus's life could have been if he had stayed in district 2. Marcus was Sejanus's classmate, if he had never left they would have studied together for another couple of years, seeing each other every day, they could have met in the streets and played together.

Their relationship could have been more than just a kind gesture that Sejanus remembers with nostalgia and holds close to his heart. The reality is that they could have been friends, they could have lived a life together.

Marcus, it is then this lost opportunity that breathes, and exists in some far corner of Two, the same Sejanus often thinks of when he misses home, that old life where he didn't feel suffocated the way he feels living in the Capitol. His real and painful life.

And then the games happen.

While I think having a tribute in his care would have driven Sejanus crazy anyway, it's undeniable whichever way you look at it (Chance chose Marcus to be reaping. Strabo chose Marcus to teach his son a lesson) that it was Marcus -of all the people- the tribute of Sejanus what pushes him over the edge.

Which breaks him enough to try to end his life but before we talk about that, let's talk about Coriolanus.

II. Snakes and rabbits

Coriolanus meets Sejanus at an early age. They are 8 years old when Sejanus a newcomer to the Capitol was on the playground with big eyes and a bag of gumdrops. The usual assumption is that Coriolanus was the only one to accept a gummy from the district trash and their fates were sealed from then on.

The relationship between Sejanus and Coriolanus is one shaped by circumstance. If had the Plinth not moved, if had Coriolanus not made the decision that bothering Sejanus was a waste of time, if had Sejanus not carried a bag of gumdrops that day...the reality is that they would never have met.

They would never have had reason to talk to each other in the first place if it weren't for the very particular circumstances they live in. It is the world what places them in positions where they must coexist, where they must rely on each other.

While Marcus is possibility and kindness. Coriolanus is reality and toughness.

He's so Capitol in every way with his fake smiles, mind games and cunning personality but he's also the only one Sejanus has. The only one he can consider a friend, the only companion in his lonely existence away from his leaf.

They have a strange and imperfect bond but one that exists and is valuable until the games arrive again.

Before I continue, I would like to stress here, that it is possible that Sejanus is not as naive as many think about the subtle contempt that Coriolanus had for him and in general the fact that Snow is a person who pretends all the time. Sejanus mentions later in D12 that he has noticed that Coriolanus has always been the type to silently observe others and decide when to act, besides the fact that during the games, Coryo never hides his negative feelings towards the people of the districts nor his prejudices. He has a pretty good awareness of who Coriolanus is.

III. 10th Hunger Games

During the games Sejanus's two worlds collide. The first with Marcus, it is the distant past that Sejanus clings to, it is the life he could have had that he misses and longs for, that he still dreams of getting back but now Marcus is where he shouldn't be in the Capitol, cold and oppressive place that has been slowly killing Sejanus.

Marcus who is no longer a distant memory. He is now again a reality of flesh and he is in the worst place in the world in mortal danger. And not only that, but he, whose existence encapsulates the longing for home that Sejanus has, has made a decision: he has decided to give up.

Many people (including Coriolanus) considered Marcus a potential winner of the games because of his height and strength. This is an idea that is constantly repeated before Marcus's escape, but Sejanus, his mentor, the only person Marcus refuses to speak to, and from whom he refuses his help (although his district mate did not) knows better that this will not be the case.

Not because Marcus can't beat the others, but because his attitude is not a simple rejection of Sejanus, but a sign of resignation to his fatal destiny, in fact his contempt for Sejanus seems to overcome his desire to survive, because Sejanus could have been an element that Marcus could have taken advantage of if he had wanted to actually win the games an return to home. And while we never know what Marcus would have done in the arena, if he get it unharmed, it is quite remarkable that at least in the movie we have a quite explicit scene in which he asks Lamina to kill him, of course his circumstances were unbearable at the time, but again it is important to note how Marcus does not seem to have a will to live in most cases.

(We will go deep on his escaped during the bombing a few points later).

So Sejanus feels that he is witnessing a slow suicide that he cannot avoid, which makes him feel desperate, but also the possible death of Marcus at that moment, means the death of the symbolic life of the life that Sejanus longs for, misses, and has clung to all these years to survive in the Capitol.

We could say that Sejanus's own desire to live is intimately related to his old home and therefore to Marcus.

Which brings us to the next point, and that is that it is important to recognize that Sejanus and his ties to his district -his home- are a way for this character to hold on to the possibility of what his life could have been. In other words, a life that does not exist in reality. And to which he only longs for in the face of the horrible conditions he has faced in the Capitol. Because just as his relationship with Marcus is full of probabilities, before he move from D2, so was his life in the Capitol, the Plinths may have faced less cruel circumstances (Strabo in fact holds out hope that for the children of Sejanus the Capitol may be a gentler place than it has been for them. Ma Plinth does not share his opinion) but again the reality they have to face is one where they may have saved Sejanus from the games but not from a violent xeonophobia and bullying that destroyed his self-esteem. But something particular to those circumstances that Sejanus longs for, is that in a certain way he longs for a life where he would not meet Coriolanus nor need his company. A Life in Two. It's a life without Coriolanus. Because Coriolanus is the only good thing in the hell that is the Capitol. As in fact Marcus was the only good thing about a life in Two less idealized (We The Plinths are highly despised at home, Sejanus tell us. How far will people's anger go before the traitor Strabo and his family?), but before talking about the parallels between Coriolanus and Marcus, it's good to remember what they represent in Sejanus's life.

I don't want to be repetitive but Coriolanus is reality, cruelty and maturity. Marcus is possibility, and fantasy if we want to call it. It relates to Sejanus's childhood, with an idealized vision of the world and hope. If Marcus dies, not only a real human being who is important to Sejanus dies, but also his childhood, his illusion for a better Panem, the dream of homecoming and his own will to live.

It is a risky bet and in the face of the rejection that Marcus shows towards Sejanus, and aware of his own limitations, is that Sejanus seeing his worlds crossing (Capitol and D2), relies on Coriolanus the only person he can trust in the helpless land of the Capitol where now Marcus is also trapped.

Sejanus asks Coriolanus to switch tributes. And not only he asks him because he trusts Coriolanus, but also because as I said before he knows him, knows who he is (ambitious, cold as snow, wants to win), and believes he is the right person not only to take care of Marcus, but to save Marcus's life. Here's the thing. Sejanus needs the worst of Coriolanus in order to survive the hunger games, he's heard him talk about Marcus like he's a winning horse, and although it's not the ideal scenario, he offers the deal under that slogan (win, take the glory Coriolanus!), because he wants Marcus to survive, because he wants his love and his hope alive.

[666writingcafe]

A Reward: Diavolo/Simeon

Part Four of Special Bonus Content

Content Warning: name-calling, biting

Diavolo and Simeon are off in a corner, looking rather serious as they're whispering to each other. I know that they have a professional relationship resulting from a mutual desire to unite the three realms, but I didn't think they talked much beyond that.

Apparently, I was wrong.

The two of them approach me, stopping at the foot of the bed. Simeon looks like he's seconds away from bolting, but Diavolo rests a hand on his shoulder, making him stay in place.

And then it dawns on me.

"You're scared, aren't you?" I ask Simeon, who nods his head.

"It hit me all at once," he whispers. "It's one thing to think about doing this, but actually being presented with the opportunity is something else entirely. I mean, I know we're in the dream realm, but that doesn't mean there won't be real-world consequences, and I..." He trails off, swallowing nervously.

"He fears that he's about to fly too close to the sun, so to speak," Diavolo continues. "And he's not sure whether to risk the fall or not." That makes sense. Simeon's feelings towards me are intense, but at the end of the day, he's still an angel. He's been conditioned for thousands of years to not succumb to sin. If he follows through on any of the fantasies I saw, his life as he knows it is over. He no longer would be able to call the Celestial Realm his home.

"It also doesn't help that I was all gun-ho about it earlier." Simeon looks down in embarrassment. "I don't want to look like a chicken by backing out."

"Bro," Mammon pipes up. "None of us are gonna judge you if you change your mind, least of all MC. We might have chosen our fate for different reasons, but that doesn't mean it was an easy decision to make. I remember Lucifer and I going back and forth about it a buncha times before we even thought about our first move. So not knowing which direction you're gonna go in is completely normal."

"Didn't think Mammon had it in him to be insightful," Levi mutters, earning a hard jab from his brother.

"You know my position on this, but if you feel like you need to take a back seat or leave this dream entirely, then that's fine as well," Diavolo tells Simeon, making me raise an eyebrow in disapproval.

"Really?" I ask the prince. "We're playing into tropes now?"

"He's right." Simeon's statement surprises me. "If it weren't for the apple, then you wouldn't be here, and you're the best thing that has happened to me in a really long time." The next thing I know, the angel's straddling my lap.

"I hope you're ready, MC," he murmurs. "Because I plan on making the Celestial Realm seem like a cheap imitation of heaven by the time I'm done with you." Diavolo clears his throat, reminding Simeon of his presence. The angel merely smirks as he asks me,

"Think you can handle both of us, MC?"

"Well, only one way to find out."

The dynamic that quickly develops between Simeon and Diavolo is insane. With only brief glances, they're able to communicate in a way that rivals the twin telepathy of Beel and Belphie. Between the two of them, they're able to work me up in a matter of seconds.

"This isn't fair," I whine. The two men chuckle.

"Did you really expect us to take it easy on you?" Simeon whispers, grinning wickedly. "You should know better than that, MC."

"Perhaps they're not as smart as we thought they were," Diavolo adds in a teasing tone.

"Or maybe being fucked by multiple men has made them temporarily stupid." Simeon pinches my chin between two of his fingers. "Is that it, MC? Have all the thoughts in your pretty little head been wiped clean and replaced with the sole desire of receiving as much dick as you possibly can?" Diavolo tightly grips my thighs.

"Answer him," he hisses. I manage to stammer out a "yes".

"Well, I'll give you this: at least you're honest," Simeon responds. "I suppose if you want to act like a needy whore, then we have no choice but to treat you like one." He glances at Diavolo, who nods in agreement. The next thing I know, my back's pressed against the prince's chest, my wrists restrained by his hands. Simeon nearly towers over me as he begins stroking himself.

"Are you ready?" he asks me.

"For what?"

"This." With that, he begins pounding into me relentlessly. Diavolo, meanwhile, bites down on my neck and begins sucking. The combined sensations are making me rather lightheaded, but not necessarily in a bad way.

I feel like I'm in a state of pure euphoria.

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick

[sercj]

Alright, I'm finally typing it out. Gather around, all, for the tale of the time my friends and I kidnapped a blueberry and drug them into the Vault of Glass.

Once upon a time, I used to have friends I would play Destiny 2 with regularly. None of them that feature in this story still do, to my knowledge, but at the time we were pretty cracked on the PvE side of things. At the time, we were raiding semi-regularly (when schedules lined up), and as Vault of Glass had just been added to D2 recently, it was our raid of choice that one, fateful evening.

We, like any sane PC player, were using Discord for comms, and so I had hopped into the channel to wait, and headed to the Cosmodrome for my favorite time-killing passtime - blueberry watching. For those of you unfamiliar, blueberries is an affectionate term for new destiny players, named after the color of the low rarity gear they end up decked out in, blue. The Cosmodrome, being the first public area a New Light ends up in, is often a place where you can see adorable new players getting the hang of things.

At this time, the voice channel began to fill up, and one of my compatriots joined my fireteam. We initiated some hug emotes with a blueberry and were just all-in-all chilling when we got word that one member of our team would be unable to join us. Then someone (I forget who) suggested 'hey, what if we took this blueberry along with us?'. It was a patently absurd option - we had no communication with them. Their mishmash of blue armor and crappy weapons would clearly be outclassed by the raid, leaving them unable to damage enemies and likely to die instantly if any of the vex even looked in their direction. But we started to plan a bit - really, we could do every encounter with just 5 people. We'd have to protect the blueberry, but that could be done, theoretically.

I think, in the end, we came to the conclusion that we'd try it, but they weren't likely to stick through it. After all, we weren't (and never did) using the in-game VC, or text chat. The two of us hanging out with them in the Cosmodrome sent a fireteam invite. And the blueberry accepted. So we joined the rest of the team in orbit, and launched Vault of Glass.

I could go into our specific strategies for each encounter, but for the most part it was pretty same-y. We'd use emotes and shooting to get the blueberry into a defensible position, then 5-man the encounter. And somehow, this worked. I have taught many, many people many raids in my time (including many people from this friend group!), and I have never seen someone pick up so quickly on what we needed them to do. With no actual words passing! An absolute, biggest-brained legend of a guardian.

We did get this guy all the way to Aetheon. And with some tricks (and good RNG), we were able to even defeat Aetheon. With some random blueberry nobody knew, or talked to! Unfortunately, they didn't get Mythoclast (can you imagine, though!), but they did celebrate with us with their default dance emote, and we all went our seperate ways. Nobody friended them, we just re-released them into the Cosmodrome like they hadn't just helped us save all of time or whatever the point of Vault of Glass is.

Now, perhaps this was a returning player, or someone on a new alt, who already kinda or entirely knew what was going on. But there's no real way of knowing, and it's just as (if not more) likely that this was a brand new player. Can you imagine what kind of a 'first experience' that new player had with the game? How puzzlingly odd to begin with, developing into concern as the activity we brought them to was clearly beyond them, to the 'fuck it we ball' attitude to stick with it all the way through. A true champion.

And imagine the lore perspective too. Fresh guardian, still got gravesoil in their armor, hasn't been to the tower yet, and they get scooped up into the Vault of Glass? Battle Aetheon? AND WIN!? The reaction from Shaw, or hell, the Vanguard as a whole would be amazing. Our guardians getting reprimanded for taking some fresh new light and dragging them through such a crazy difficult experience they weren't prepared for. Fun stuff to think about.

I wonder how that player is doing now. If they still play, how this particular experience flavored their perception of the game and its community. I know the community at large can be extremely toxic (and worse), but I still strive to embody the community impression we made on that day. Patience and Understanding, being goofy and silly about it, inclusive and kind. Dunno, maybe that's just me being sappy about a fun memory with friends gone by.

[valiantstarlights]

[Dreamling Week Day 4: Fake Dating] Fidelity

This is from the Comic!Hob x Show!Dream and Comic!Dream x Show!Hob AU, inspired by @alexxuun 's art. I'm interpreting 'fake dating' to mean miscommunication between 3 parties, where one thinks that the other two are dating, but they're really not.

This is the continuation of (and the actual happy ending I imagined for) The Burning House (AO3 | tumblr).

CW: Comic!Hob being mean, angst (heartache) with a happy ending.

Dream watches Hob, his Hob, the one he has been in love with for a long time, walk away and close the door behind him.

And he cannot, he cannot...

Dream of the Endless does not need to breathe, but he thinks he might be hyperventilating.

"You okay, sweetheart?"

He flinches and shakes off the hand that the other Hob has placed upon his shoulder. "Do not call me that."

"Do not call you--" This Hob, the other, more arrogant one, who does not look like his Hob at all, laughs in his face. "So, what, now that your Hob is back, you're just throwing me away?"

Dream raises his chin. "It was your decision to stay. Not mine."

And it was. He had said and done nothing to convince this Hob to stay or leave. He had still been reeling from the feeling of his Hob suddenly disappearing from this universe, and he had been waiting by the portal that appeared, hoping against hope that his Hob would return to him.

And every second the portal remained open and his Hob isn't stepping through made him think, 'Have I not suffered enough? Am I fated to lose everyone I love?'

Hob, the one constant in his life for 600 years, suddenly taken from him. Not by his sister, but by the universe itself. He had been unable to withstand it.

And then this Hob came and swooped him up. Promising to stay. And Dream, heartbroken beyond fixing, allowed him to touch and to do to him what he wanted his Hob to do to him. He had been held and kissed, and he had received the other Hob's touches like a lifeless doll.

And then his Hob returned.

Returned and seen, misunderstood and left.

Dream cannot take any more heartbreak. He doesn't think he has enough of his heart left to break, but apparently, there are still large enough shards to be crushed under a heel and ground to dust.

This Hob, the other one, the one he does not even love, has a cruel smile on his face. "Fucking typical behavior from a Dream of the Endless," he says, his even teeth bared like fangs. "You're a real piece of work, you know that? You, and the one from my universe."

"You should leave," Dream says.

"And go where?" This Hob asks. "Do you see a portal back to my universe anywhere, sweetheart? Can you conjure one up? You seem pretty helpless awhile ago, looking at the portal like a heartsick maiden waiting for her one true love to come back from the sea."

"The rest of the world is wide enough, is it not?" Dream says. "And if you and my Hob have a similar history, then you must have also sailed around the world in the 1700s."

This Hob snorts. "'My Hob,'" he repeats mockingly. "He's not yours, Dream. Weren't you paying attention? He thinks we're together now."

"And yet we are not."

"You know, this reminds me of when we met in the 1800s, when you claimed you weren't lonely. Well, newsflash, Dream of the Endless, you're so fucking lonely that any Hob would do for you. If my counterpart had not returned, you would have happily spread your legs for me and wept so prettily while crying my name."

Never. Dream would have wept, but he would not have accepted another Hob that isn't his into his body. "An eventuality that will not happen," he says, "since my Hob has returned to me."

This Hob shakes his head, chuckling. "Again with the 'my Hob.' He's not yours, darling. And having seen him for myself, seeing how he looked at us, I know he's never going to take you back. I wouldn't, if I were him. And," this Hob pretends to think about it before he snaps his fingers as if he just remembered something. "Oh yeah. I am him."

"He is not you," Dream says, though he feels himself wavering. The two Hobs might not be the same person, but they still have a similar enough history. Would Dream be able to claim he knows his Hob better than Hob's own counterpart in another universe? "I will...I will talk to him." He will do anything for Hob to look at him again without heartbreak clear in his beloved brown eyes.

This Hob looks at him derisively. "You? Talk about feelings? Not exactly your strong suit, but alright. I'll wish you luck with that, sweetheart." He smiles savagely. "You'll need it."

Dream looks away from him and stands up, not bothering to smooth out his wrinkled clothes and instead just uses his sand to do it for him. A second later, his clothes looked impeccable once more. "You should go, Robert."

"You sure you don't want me to stay and offer you a pity fuck when my counterpart eventually throws your feelings back in your face?"

Dream ignores him and walks down the same path his Hob took and goes down to the Inn.

--

"That was quick," was what his Hob says the moment he spots Dream sit down on one of the barstools. He says nothing else and goes back to repairing the beer tap.

"Hob."

"Hold on, I need to concentrate on this for a bit or it's gonna spew beer all over the counter."

Dream obeys and watches him fiddle and tinker with the thing in silence. It looks pretty old by modern standards, but Hob still handles it with care.

Just like he handles everything with care.

Dream watches Hob's handsome features, brows furrowed in deep concentration, his rough, capable hands and the muscles on his forearms, the width of his chest and the lock of hair falling down his face...

Hob does not see, but Dream's hands are slightly shaking. He is terrified that anything he says will push Hob further away from him.

That he has all the words in the English language available to him would mean nothing if he cannot put them in the right order to make Hob understand that it's only him for Dream.

He needs to be honest. State his feelings clearly and earnestly so that when his words reach Hob, he will feel the sincerity in Dream's words.

He needs to be brave, even when he's fucking terrified. He thinks inanely that walking through hell isn't half as difficult compared to this.

Hob is sticking his tongue out a little as he concentrates on turning a bolt, spanner in hand, and it draws Dream's eyes to his tongue, then to his lips.

It looks redder than usual.

Dream's nostrils flare in anger as he catches the feeling of something other that clings to Hob's lips like a miasma.

Had the other Dream..? Had he dared--

But of course he did. Dream could not think of anyone who would let his Hob go unkissed. And were he braver and more honest, he himself would not have let Hob depart in 1789 without kissing him senseless. He should have. He had thought of little else ever since Hob came to his defense. It had rained flower petals in the Dreaming for an entire decade. Jessamy had said nothing, but if ravens could smile, she would have worn a shit-eating grin on her face. Mervyn certainly did, while Lucienne had the best poker face of them all.

"Alright," Hob says, a few minutes later, when the beer tap looks in a slightly better condition and he had asked the bartender to call for an actual professional to either do longer lasting repair work, or advise them on the technicalities were they to upgrade to something more modern. "You wanted to talk?" Like his counterpart, his Hob sounds dubious about Dream's conversational skills.

"I will try," Dream says honestly. At least Hob knows not to expect much from him. It's a little disheartening, but Dream hopes it would mean that Hob would forgive him if he comes across like a bumbling fool rather than the actual Prince of Stories. "But before anything else, I would like you to know that you are the one I am in love with."

Hob trips a little on his way to sit on the barstool next to Dream's. It would have been funny had Dream not felt so desperate. "What? But...but you and the other me..."

Dream shakes his head. "I thought you were never coming back," he says, tears once again brimming from his eyes at the thought of Hob being gone from him forever. "I thought...The other you said..."

Hob clenches his fists. "What did he say? That I'm never coming back for you? Is that what he said?"

Dream hesitates, then nods miserably. "He said that you would not want to return because of how I treated you, and that you would pick any other Dream other than me. That I had been too cruel."

The other Hob said many other things, but that was the one that stings the most. The one that hits too close to home.

But Hob is seething in his seat, a coiled snake about to strike. "I'll kill him," he says. "I'll fucking kill him for saying that shit to you." He looks like he's going to get up and leave Dream to do just that to the other Hob, so Dream darts a hand out and squeezes Hob's hand in his.

Hob freezes at the touch, and Dream realizes that this is the first time in 600 years that the two of them had skin-to-skin contact. Hob is looking at their joined hands in shock and wonder. "Dream..."

"Stay with me," Dream says. Pleads.

"Alright," Hob says easily. He sits back down and intertwines their fingers, as if he's afraid that now that Dream has gotten him to stay, he's going to let go of Hob's hand. If it were up to Dream, he'll hold Hob's hand forever and never let go again. "Alright," Hob repeats. "He can live for one more day."

Dream huffs a laugh at the unexpected statement. "You should not kill yourself."

Hob scrunches his nose at how strange the sentence sounds in this context. "Trust me, Dream, if it's that bastard, I'm sure killing myself would feel cathartic."

Dream looks down and huffs a laugh again. He'd laugh a full-bellied laugh if it were just him and Hob in the room, but as it was, he'd rather not frighten both the employees and the customers of the New Inn.

Hob is smiling fondly at him when he looks back up, then clears his throat awkwardly when their eyes meet. "So. Just to be absolutely, perfectly clear on this, you definitely, definitely prefer me over that asshole?"

Dream nods shyly. His heart feels like it's beating too loudly that Hob must hear it. Or at least feel its frantic beat against their intertwined fingers.

He must be courageous and speak his mind. Hob will appreciate it. Hob has always been truthful to him, even at his worst. "It's not just prefer, I'm afraid," he says, slowly and carefully. He wants his words to convey the depth of feeling he has for this man. "I have been in love with you since the 1600s, longed for you the entire time I was imprisoned, especially on the day we were supposed to meet in 1989, but I only realized that it was love I felt for you when I saw you again in 2022, beautiful and waiting for me."

"Fuck, Dream." Hob tightens his hold on his hand. "You can't say things like that and expect me not to kiss you."

Dream unconsciously licks his lips and sees Hob watch the flick of his tongue with avid interest. Fortune favors the bold. "Kiss me."

'Please. I long to feel your body against mine and bask in the warm sunlight of your soul.'

Hob sways forward, but hesitates at the last second. "You're absolutely sure it's me you want?"

"Hob," Dream says, already leaning forward himself to lessen the distance between them. "You, this you, are the only one I have ever loved."

Hob makes a wounded noise and leans the last bit forward to capture Dream's lips in a perfect kiss. Dream kisses him back with all the passion he feels, and perhaps it is a bit too desperate for their first kiss, but he cannot be expected to hold back now. He wants this, has needed this, ever since he saw Hob again after his imprisonment.

Someone wolf-whistles in the background, and Dream realizes that they are still in the Inn. Hob moves as if to break the kiss and Dream whines, gripping Hob's coat tighter.

Not yet. He can't let go of Hob's lips just yet.

Hob calms and returns to kissing him back, and pulls Dream closer to him until they're both just standing in between the two barstools, lips locked like a pair of lovers who have been separated for far too long.

They'll be fine. It's not like anyone would kick Hob out since he owns the place, and Dream doesn't think Hob would let anyone kick Dream out. And besides, they deserve this. It's been a long time coming.

They kiss until Hob has to lean away to take a much needed breath of air, and once that's done, he leans in to kiss Dream again.

They kiss until Dream is satisfied that the other Dream's taste is gone from Hob's lips, until the two of them are wholly each other's Dream and Hob again, as it should be.

"I love you," Dream says. He does not know how much time has passed since they started kissing, but his lips are tingling pleasantly, and his heart feels lighter than it ever has in centuries.

"And I you," Hob says against his lips. There are tears in his eyes as he says this, and Dream leans up to kiss them away. "Gods, Dream, I think I've loved you ever since I first laid eyes on you."

Dream knows he does not deserve this wonderful man, but he's working on becoming someone who does. He's going to make Hob the happiest person in the world. "I apologize if I took too long to return your regard. I--"

Hob laughs and interrupts him with a quick peck. "Hey, none of that. We both got here in the end, didn't we?"

"We did," Dream says. He could not bear to think otherwise. He kisses Hob again to banish any remaining negative thoughts and doubts, and Hob happily returns his kiss.

Hob, his Hob, has chosen to return and come back to him. And Dream chooses him as well. No other Hob would do.

They are both right where they should be.

[xioterep-art]

New POV! Inspiration from:

Pov: 𝘪 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 - a wriothesley playlist.

Women Thief Reader x The duke of the Fortress

Trigger warning: Slight chocking, Cursing, Hair pulling, suggestive content.

Disclaimer: art is not mine.

Running as fast as you could and sweating rivers, you cursed under your breath. 'Why was he there?' This is all you could think of as you escaped that man...

A moment ago, everything was going smoothly; you could swear that your plan was perfect! If it weren't for that huge, muscled bastard, you would have acquired that diamond already!

As you took another turn, huffing like an old dog, you heard heavy footsteps near you, making your heart beat so fast as if it wanted to run away from your ribcage. A low huff was heard near your ear, causing you to stumble and fall, your dignity alongside you.

Face-first, a sarcastic sneer accompanied a deep, husky voice speaking in a provocative tone, "Is this all you've got? Even a turtle would've run faster than you, little rat." Gritting your teeth, you felt your arm being grasped firmly and lifted with such ease that made you realize the deep trouble you were in.

Regaining your balance, you stood up on your feet, locking eyes with blue, predatory-like orbs that made you gulp the non-existent saliva down your throat. "You've been creating chaos all over the place these days; I am getting annoyed," he said with a low and dangerous tone, glaring down at you.

"You must be mistaken, great duke! I was just... You know... Walking nearby, and I was afraid that you would suspect me as I am well-known..." you said with a toothy smile, employing all the acting skills you've got.

"Do you think I am a fool to be messed with?" He responded harshly, squeezing your arm tightly. "I think I've been going easy on you lately," he glared again, making you shudder with a grimace on your face due to the pain in your arm.

You must admit that you've been a little too much these days, caught by him numerous times, the count lost. A real troublemaker for a tiny woman, your small and weak appearance makes it hard for people to suspect you as the feared thief in Fountaine.

All you could do was stay quiet while looking at him with a guilty expression. "Come on... Can't you let this go? Just this time... Pretty please?" you begged with wistful eyes.

"Why would I let go?" He stared down at you with an offensive grin, making you want to wipe it off his face – unfortunately, you couldn't, as your fate lay in his hands. "Maybe, in the name of our 'friendship'?" You smiled innocently at him.

"Plus, I didn't even cause a-" Talking again, you soon got cut off as you were slammed against the nearest wall, earning a loud gasp as you cursed him out loud, "You damned duke! What was that for?!" You glared at him, your head tilted up even more due to the new position, making you look like a tasty prey.

"Committing crimes is not enough? Now you are insulting the Lord of the Fortress of Meropide? Have I not been harsh in the past?" He asked in a lower tone than before, leaning more towards you, his left hand still grasping your arm while the other one was against the wall behind you.

"I can play rough if..." He whispered in your ear, taking away any mischievous thoughts from your pretty head and making your mind go blank for a moment with the sudden and close proximity, "that's what you want, little rat," he added as his big figure covered you completely, shielding you from the gentle caress of the moon's light. His scent overwhelmed yours – a manly and powerful one – crushing your sanity into pieces as it entered your nose.

Losing your words, you kept looking at his face with your eyes slightly wide as you processed what was happening. "Cat got your tongue, little rat?" He asked again, snapping his fingers in front of your face. Snapping back to reality, your head suddenly got pulled backward. Wincing with pain, you thought, 'Did this bastard just pull me by the hair?' A low moan escaped your mouth, "What do you think, miss?" He said with his face near yours, both your breaths mixed, and his lips towering over yours.

Struck with that sudden proximity for the second time, you lost your voice for a moment before smirking again with your head still being grabbed by the grand duke, "How so? I didn't think you were into this, sir," you said with a cocky attitude, ignoring the pain coming from your scalp.

"I am just giving you some correction, little rat; you have been annoying these days," he said as he slid his other hand's finger from your jaw down your throat, making you shiver, and leaving your thoughts in disarray. It was a gentle touch, unlike the firm grip on your hair.

"I don't think I need it, sir," you said, flustered, your cheeks burning as you felt his hand grabbing your neck and squeezing it slightly as a warning. "Oh, and I think you need it," he replied, amused by that dazed look on your face. "If I knew that this was the solution to ending the misery you've put me in all this time, I would have acted a long time ago..." He whispered again, putting his face in the crook of your neck, sniffing your scent hungrily, giving you goosebumps.

Sliding his hand to your side and gripping it in a bruising way, you frowned slightly, but what made you surprised was how hard you were squeezing your thighs together. Biting your lower lip, the realization came crashing like an aggressive wave into your soul.

'I am now in real deep shit this time...' you thought to yourself.

It will, indeed, be a long night for your poor body and mind.

[racefortheironthrone]

How would you characterize Ziggy from the Wire? After several rewatches he's probably the character I've changed my mind the most about. The man is a goof, but he's not exactly dumb. Reckless, misguided and desperate for approval in a class clown way, but he was pretty smart when come to down business with the cameras and how to steal the cars.

Fucking Ziggy, man. Often dismissed, frequent target of ire from the fandom, and yet...I absolutely understand what the writers were doing with this character and I think that in his own way, Ziggy is one of the most poignant tragedies in Season 2.

Because the thing about Ziggy is how close he is to escaping the downward gyre and yet his ultimate fate is completely unavoidable, given his circumstances. As you say, Ziggy isn't dumb - unlike most of the dockers, he knows how to use computers and other tech, he's been to community college, he's wired into current events. If he was less of a self-destructive fuckup, and if he wasn't a Sobatka, you could imagine him eventually getting a white collar office job and being able to afford an apartment out in the county, settle down and start a family, and live a very comfortable white middle class suburban existence.

But unfortunately, Ziggy is a self-destructive fuckup and he is a Sobatka, and those things are very much related.

See, the problem is that Ziggy adores the social world of the longshoremen, the premorning drink at the local's bar, the nicknames and the stories, the historical memories - hence his whole conversation with his dad about "back in the day" - and he wants nothing more to be one of the guys. And at moments in the bar, you can even see that he's got a kind of charisma that the other dockers can respond to, he can be the fun guy at the party.

But the problem is that Ziggy just isn't cut out for that world and the longshoremen can sense it. He doesn't have the work ethic for it, he doesn't pay attention and gets bored too easily and would rather run some get-rich-quick-scheme than take an extra shift. He doesn't have either the physicality to pull off the macho shit that's always been a big part of longshoremen culture, or the interior sense of self-worth that would allow him to laugh off jokes at his expense, which is absolutely vital for a work culture where a big part of everyone breaking each other's balls all the time is the social contract that you have to take as well as you can give.

But because he feels this pressure to live up to the standards of his father and the Sobatkas before him, he won't leave. Instead, he develops some really unhealthy social tendencies. The first of which is that he's a relentless showoff, trying to make up for his personal deficiencies by driving a classic muscle car that's supposed to make you a Real Man like in the movies, or a fancy leather coat when everyone else is wearing hard-wearing work clothes - and this prompts his hapless feud with Maui, who has no patience for this kind of display. And because Ziggy's ego is both incredibly large and extremely brittle, he reacts to every putdown and social setback like it's the end of the fucking world.

The second one is that he becomes a class clown. He starts out as the fun guy at the party, but he's a complete addict to positive attention, so he doesn't know when to stop. He keeps the joke going long after it's stopped being funny, he keeps drinking after he's reached the fun drunk phase until he gets completely sloppy and starts taking his dick out - because the fact that he's got a big dick is one of the few areas in which he measures up to conventional masculinity, so why not show it off?

And all this would add up to a life of quiet desperation, if it weren't for the fact that Ziggy gets involved in crime. The allure is quite tempting; it absolutely fits into his get-rich-quick, self-worth-through-possession mentality, and it's this entirely different cultural world of machismo that he can try to flourish in. But the same problems that he faced within the Local reassert themselves out on the streets.

The corner boys, black and white, sense that Ziggy is weak - that he can't handle himself in confrontations - and when he comes to them to sell the drugs he's bought on credit, they rip him off with the barest pretense. And pretty soon he's in debt to people who aren't going to put up with his bullshit and they start putting the loanshark's squeeze on him. Even when Nick solves his problems, this only makes matters worse because it only highlights that Nick can manage himself on the corners in a way that Ziggy can't.

And thus Ziggy starts getting more and more self-destructive - he starts ripping off bigger and bigger-ticket items off the ships, the kind of expensive merchandise that will bring heat down on the port and the Local, because the suits notice a whole bunch of cars or high-end digital cameras going missing in a way that they won't a few cases of booze. He takes that stolen merchandise to the Greek's people, but because he's a class clown who doesn't engender respect, they decide to short-change him. And Ziggy has decided to prop up his ego by buying a gun, and the rest is history.

[mrsnancywheeler]

hiii omg so sorry i haven't been in your inbox! finals have been sweeping me away, but i've been lurking 👁️👁️ ok so i was listening to my playlists and had some #thoughts, so I shall share them to make up for the time i was gone 🤝😎 ----- I Want to Write You a Song - One Direction

I want to lend you my coat One that's as soft as your cheek So when the world is cold You'll have a hiding place you can go I want to lend you my coat Everything I need I get from you Givin' back is all I wanna do (…) I want to write you a song One to make your heart remember me So any time I'm gone You can listen to my voice and sing along I'm such 1D trash 😭😭 But this was on my yearning playlist (lmao) and I was thinking about how Finnick would 1000% write this song for his sweet girl. Like this is such a simp song (respectfully) and we all know Finnick is so in love with her its SICK ----- In Agreement - Lizzy McAlpine I talk to my friends about you Pretty sure they're tired of hearin' it I say "I met a guy, and he treats me real nice" Which is good for a change I talk to my friends about you And I think they agree my exes weren't always great And I don't really buy into fate But you tell me I'm pretty And you don't ask for too much 'Cause you know and I know That promises sometimes can hurt When it's barely begun And I don't want this to fall through Collapsing is what I'm used to But we're all in agreement This is something I should hold onto (another song on my yearning playlist LMAO) but this is very much sweet girl coded #idk bc this is definitely her inner monologue when she first meets Finnick and they start dating 😭😭😭 AND WITH THAT IN MIND, IT MAKES THE LYRIC "'Cause you know and I know that promises sometimes can hurt when it's barely begun, and I don't want this to fall through. Collapsing is what I'm used to" HURTTTT ----- girl i've always been - Olivia Rodrigo *just the entire song*

No like, walk with me here 🚶‍♀️ because this is definitey something that could've been written by Billy's muse HOWEVER, it can be either about Billy OR, OR!! Eddie. Do we see the vision👁️👁️. For Billy, it's written from the pov of a reader who has a lil kick to her, who's done being the doormat and rips into him after he disrespects her and he's all like "???" For Eddie, it's more from the perspective of a reader who is always gonna pick Billy over Eddie. And she told him this many times. Yet, he still pursues her. And yet, he still get's upset that she always picks Billy. His intentions aren't coming from a good place. Like that one blurb you did about Eddie not being a fully good guy, y'know? I'm not good at explaining things so I hope I'm making sense LMAO ----- BACK TO FINNICK AND HIS SWEET GIRL! Block Me Out - Gracie Abrams

Now I only let me down When there's no one else around I've been thinkin' way too loud I wish that I could block me out I wish that I could block me out, out I think I'm burnin' alive, but nobody sees the fire 'Cause when I open my mouth, I seem to be stuck in silence And I thought of leaving tonight, but I couldn't drive this tired Plus, after all of this time, I should be a pretty crier (😭!!) Wish I were heavier now, I'm floating outside my body It's not their fault, but I've found that none of my friends will call me Until I'm left to myself, it's honestly kind of funny How every voice in my head is trying its best to haunt me This is another sweet girl coded song. This could deffo be applied to her after her games and after she's rescued from the Capitol :(((( ----- Finishing off with a bit of Miss Swift, this one part of Delicate reminds me of Finnick's sweet girl in the last couple of chapters: This ain't for the best My reputation's never been worse, so You must like me for me Where she's finally letting Finn back in and allowing herself to be comfortable with him :') Also, some its and bits of Marjorie also remind me of this fic when I think about it from two perspectives:

The autumn chill that wakes me up You loved the amber skies so much Long limbs and frozen swims You'd always go past where our feet could touch And I complained the whole way there The car ride back and up the stairs I should've asked you questions I should've asked you how to be Asked you to write it down for me Should've kept every grocery store receipt

If I didn't know better I'd think you were still around I know better But I still feel you all around I know better But you're still around

One being Finnick when he's missing the reader while he's in 13 and she's at the Capitol :( (Sometime I remember that part in Chapter 1 of The River where he smells peaches in his oatmeal and starts breaking breaking down, and I cry 🥲) But the other one being the reader thinking about Conway. Even though he tried to kill her, she still reminisces about the best parts of her friendship and can't help but feel the guilt and regret whenever she does. ------ OK HEHE THOSE ARE MY #THOUGHTS 💆‍♀️ I didn't realize how long it's been since i've been in your inbox and it's been WAY TOO LONG! never again 🫡 I love yapping about these things and I love hearing your thoughts about it!! Also, apologies in advance for when Tortured Poets Department comes out bc it'll be the biggest yap session ever once I make a connection between Finnick/Billy and any of the songs -🦅

AAAAAAA POOKIE I CALLED AND YOU CAME ILY 😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥺💋💋💋💋

(sorry this took so long to get to I get so easily distracted and there's an to get through)

you're all good pookie, I hope finals are going good and that you're taking care of yourself babes 💕

finnick odair the type of man to make you a mixtape that's kinda messy and done wrong but you don't care because he's so sweet and you can hear him talking and all the songs that make him think of you, he's such a simp, and so adorable

justice for finnick's sweet girl. she really had so much hope, felt so loved, so in love and had it all torn away from her. she's so giddy to be perceived by someone especially finnick odair and just addicted to him

billy's muse getting annoyed with eddie and giving daisy some lyrics about eddie instead this time bc she's so done with the way he's always being so sweet and comforting and lovey dovey and then trying to convince her to leave billy for him even though she's told him from the start she wouldn't, and he makes her feel so selfish, and cold for it. but "now you're on my case, how could I go? you never dreamed I'd be so cold and, then with venom on your tounge you ask me who I have become" honestly in this case I think billy would love the song because it validates that she'll always pick him, that eddie, although he's a nusciance, isn't a real threat and never had been.

and eddie gets annoyed for a good while and is pissy about it, which is painful for muse because she feels like she's got no one when her and billy argue. but eddie comes crawling back trying to win her over again regardless of how clear she's made it that he never stood a fighting chance.

SIDE NOTE: this song also makes me think of conway and sweet girl especially in that moment during their games when he's realizing everything and says she's changed which she denies. "so don't say that I've been acting different, I'm nothing if I'm not consistent" "I got wrapped up in the game again and you woke up in an empty bed, and I can't say I'm a perfect ten, but I am the girl I've always been"

aaaaa finnick's sweet girl, my poor tortured baby. the crying, the destructing when left with her thoughts, the death wishes, the silent cries for help that really aren't that silent, I want to hold her so bad

and for delicate, finnick's anxiety about not knowing what's not enough and too much for his sweet girl, where is the line? "is it cool that I said all that? is it chill that you're in my head? cause I know that it's delicate."

finnick thinking about how he should've done more, should have paid more attention even though he has her memorized, that somehow he should have savored every moment with her because he can't bear being without her. and the guilt because he wishes he'd supported her more, helped her heal more, he lies awake thinking about how he should've convinced her that life was worth living, that she was worth it because he has no idea what's happening to her now.

AND her thinking about conway, how she should've really paid attention to each tiny detail of their life before the games, each smile, joke, laugh, every damn moment before she destroyed it all. before snow destroyed it all. and she does see him everywhere and try not to break down, the beach they used to play on, the alleys they used to hide in to chat endlessly, their favorite field, favorite swimming hole, everything and it just makes her grieve.

I LOVE YOU POOKIE AND MISSED YOU 😭😭❤️❤️

SO REAL AND PLEASE SO I'M SO SO EXCITED FOR THE ALBUM AND I'M ALREADY SEARCHING FOR CONNECTIONS (billy and his muse as my boy only breaks his favorite toys, but daddy I love him, I can fix him (no really I can) I can do it with a broken heart)

[blackjackkent]

The temple is lined with alcoves on which are bloody altars with corpses laying on them. Unfortunately - we recognize two of them: Fist Rowan and Angleiron the smith, the two unfortunate people who Orin replaced in order to speak to Hector directly. Several acolytes are standing next to each corpse and commenting with academic interest on Orin's methods of killing. None of them really seem to notice Hector and his friends wandering by.

And at the center of the temple, we finally find what we're looking for:

Oh geez.

Orin crouches over Lae'zel's unmoving, unconscious body laid on the stone slab. Her fingers are twitching with eagerness to rend, to cut and slice and destroy... but she is holding back. Waiting.

Waiting for me... Hector thinks bleakly.

"Spread out," he mutters to the others. "Be ready."

He has never felt more horribly vulnerable than he does now, as he steps away from his friends and move to the stairs that lead down towards Orin and her underlings.

Orin's head twitches, an animal scenting the wind.

"I smell it..." she whispers. "Gortash's corpse-stain. His killer approaches."

Her eyes flick up to him and her lips curl gleefully. "See how good I was? How *patient* while you drained the tyrant's juices for me?"

Then the smile fades - suddenly, like a torch being snuffed out. Her pale blank eyes narrow to slits. "But Sarevok's crimson was not yours to spill," she snarls. "He was mine! You had no right to take him!"

Hector says nothing, just comes to a halt a slight distance from her, standing utterly still, barely even breathing. He has rarely been so afraid as he is in this moment, knowing the terrible danger he and his friends have walked into, eyes open. The madness and violence of this woman is beyond measure.

But he focuses instead on Lae'zel, spread on the table; one of the most powerful, difficult, incredible people he has ever known, one of the pillars on which he has depended through this whole terrible journey - lying spread like a piece of meat, unable even to fight back. That is why I came here, he reminds himself.

The whole city's fate hangs in the balance of Orin's survival, of course, and he wants to save them all - but that is abstract, distant. Lae'zel is real and immediate and here, his friend, in danger. One puzzle piece of the family they have built out of nothing, through the wilderness and into the dark.

Orin catches the turn of his gaze, and the smile returns, mocking this time, ice-cold. "Did it think it could *protect*?" she sneers. "Did it think it could save?"

Her hand flicks at her belt, pulling the long crimson dagger that rests there and moving it in a single smooth motion to rest at Lae'zel's throat.

"Only the blades can offer salvation..." she croons softly, looking down at Lae'zel's unmoving body with a sort of bestial hunger.

Hector draws a short, harsh breath. In spite of his terror, his voice emerges remarkably steady and loud enough to echo under the vaulted stone ceiling. It is not bravery for himself, but for Lae'zel - a cry into the dark demanding that the blade come to his throat instead of hers.

[PERSUASION] "I did what you asked!" he snaps. "I killed Gortash, so let her go!"

(A/N: Holy shit.

I actually thought we were going to have some SERIOUS PROBLEMS here, because Hector's -1 CHA made all of the available speech checks unpassable by normal means, and failing the check leads to VERY UPSETTING STUFF involving Orin stabbing Laezel through both eyes, which clearly we weren't going to allow.

Admittedly, this wasn't EXACTLY a savescum but it wasn't exactly random either - I ran down through all the checks to make sure they had the same DC, which they did, and was pretty sure I was going to have to back out and either find some extra buffs for him or run this conversation with another character, which would have been very annoying. But I just happened to hit the nat 20 on this last of the checks. :D I was actually planning to give Hector the intimidation check if it had been passable, but fate has decreed we go with persuasion instead. XD)

Orin's head snaps up and she leaps suddenly, lithely, over Lae'zel's body to land next to the altar facing Hector.

"You do not lie, underling..." she says. Her voice begins as a purr, but quickly rises into a manic scream, her blank eyes widening. "It is your blood I am destined to spill. Your death spit will stain these walls, little lamb."

"Your murder should have been exquisite! A crypt-born effigy to greet Bhaal's bleeding dawn! And now it will be nothing!"

A sigil in deep blood-red begins to glow around her feet. Hector backpedals away, staring as her god's magic begins to rise around her.

"COME TO ME, FATHER!" she screams. "SET MY FLESH TO YOUR UNHOLY PURPOSE!"

The magic bursts through her, her body shifting and changing as Hector has never seen her transform before, into something much larger, all claws and teeth and scales.

"Oh, FUCK!" he hears Karlach shout behind him, but he has no time to respond as the creature's claw slams into him, knocking him backwards onto the stone.

[pencopanko]

Hi! Could you write ♥▼ for Rosa, ♡♦ for Miguel (besides music), ☯ for Luisa, and ☮ for Abel, please? I know it's a little much, but I love your headcanons. Take your time and thank you in advance if you decide to answer this!

Hi hi, hello!! Thank you so much for liking my headcanons! Of course I would love to answer your ask! I love Rosa and Abel almost as much as I love Miguel (to the point that they are part of the main cast for an AU I am working on), and I would be glad to talk about Mamá Luisa too! It's a long one, so I'll put it all under a Read More.

This is from this ask meme, by the way!

Let's start with Rosa: ♥ Family Headcanon ♥

This is inspired by rainydesignastronomywriter's brilliant Rosa-centric fanfics on AO3. I like to think that Rosa is a real daddy's girl and takes a lot after him. She loves her mamá to bits, of course, but she and Berto are very close. One can even say that she is her father's soul of his soul. During their dance at her quinceañera, Berto could not hold back his tears after realizing how much his darling daughter had grown up. And he cried even more at her wedding.

▼Childhood Headcanon▼

Out of all the young Riveras, Rosa was the quickest to learn how to read. She liked playing like a typical little girl, of course, but she enjoyed reading a lot too. She would ask Berto or Carmen to read to her sometimes, but there were days where she would read on her own too.

-----

Now, the boy of the hour, Miguel:

♡ Romantic Headcanon ♡

As a kid and up until him attending high school, Miguel wasn't too keen on the idea of romance for himself. He loved writing love songs, but most of the songs in that nature are about the romances around him like that of his own parents, Mamá Coco and Papá Julio after he found out about how the two of them met, Tío Berto and Tía Carmen, Abuelita and Papá Franco, that one song he wrote for Abel so that the latter could serenade his beau, a joke song for Rosa and Marco (De La Cruz's actual great-great-grandson who had been considered an honorary Rivera for the longest time), and the countless songs he wrote in honor of Mamá Imelda and Papá Héctor.

That is, until a girl a year above him caught his eye: Shaila Medina Álvarez. She was, to him, aloof in a graceful way, much like Tía Victoria but without her sarcasm. Miguel became smitten around her since the moment he heard her sing. She had a voice similar to Laufey's but not as "blue", if that makes sense. This puppy love didn't go anywhere for the longest time, until they reunited when both of them had become adults and they both realized that they were better off as friends. Shaila has since become one of Miguel's biggest supporters in his musical endeavors. Each of them ended up finding other people that they truly fell in love with, but they still keep in touch every now and again.

♦ Quirks/Hobby Headcanons ♦

Ever since the fated Día de Muertos of 2017 and all of the dirt-digging on De La Cruz, Miguel has become super duper into researching topics like cold cases, less-known historical events, et cetera. It got to the point that sometimes he'd say that if he weren't a musician, he would love to become a historian.

He's also become even more artsy after that night. He's always been pretty decent at drawing (nothing like Papá, Tía Gloria and Papá Franco yet, though), but he also picked up alebrije-making. His first ever finished one was that of Dante. Designing his figure was extremely easy... for reasons coming up next!

His main quirk, however? Being able to visit the Land Of The Dead and communicate with spirits. After Día de Muertos in 2018, things didn't go back to normal. He starts to develop odd symptoms like having a glowing petal-shaped tattoo where the flower petal touched him (inspired by "Out Of Time", a brilliant Coco X Atlantis: The Lost Empire time-travel fanfic by Panic_CelestialInk on AO3), seeing spirits and the likes in his own realm (inspired by another fanfic I read long ago titled "Afterlifes" by Storm137), and, of course, visiting Papá Héctor and the rest of the family whenever he wants.

It comes with a price, though. When he first gained this ability, he and the rest of the Riveras found out that he was to work under La Muerte from that day on. His curse made him a creature of both the Dead and the Living, and now his task is to help lost souls cross over as well as to assist in exorcisms under the patronage of Santa Cecilia, the patron saint of music and the namesake of Miguel's hometown.

-----

Let's get to Mamá Luisa!

☯ Likes and Dislikes ☯

This is true canon fact, but she loves telenovelas. She never misses an episode, and would sometimes fantasize herself living as an actress. She would sometimes tell Enrique the plot of her newest telenovela obsession, and even though Enrique does not understand what she is saying he loves to listen to his wife anyway. And that is also why she loves her husband, Enrique.

She loves music too, and once dreamed of becoming a singer. Unfortunately, she cannot keep a note even if her life depends on it, but she does have a good sense of rhythm and she can dance well. This is also canon fact from one of the picture books, but I'm adding this here too. She loves Selena, Gloria Estefan, Shakira, Paulina Rubio, and Alejandra Guzman. Basically she loves the pop girlies. One of her fondest memories after the music ban was lifted (and also before, but without music) was teaching Enrique how to dance.

She also enjoys talking to Tía Carmen and Papá Franco. Before the music ban was lifted, they were the ones with whom Luisa could easily talk about everything to (besides Enrique, of course), especially regarding how much she missed music and how seeing her son's yearning for the forbidden art hurt her heart. You can imagine her relief when the music ban was finally lifted.

Luisa dislikes stubbornness, which she has learned to somewhat tolerate after living with the Riveras. She quickly learned that stubbornness runs in the family, and while she is capable of tolerating it she would still call them out if things go too far.

She also dislikes harsh punishment on children. While being somewhat strict herself, Luisa rarely raises her voice--being raised in a gentle home herself--and almost never uses La Chancla unless provoked, much like Tía Carmen. The kids love her and Tía Carmen for this.

-----

Now for Abel! I think he is VERY underrated, and deserves more love and appreciation.

☮ Friendship Headcanons ☮

Out of the youngest generation, only second to Miguel, Abel is easily the most sociable of the bunch. He has a lot of friends with whom he loves to play fútbol with, drink with, and later on sing with. His friend loves him for his kind heart and silly demeanor, but it is also fun to have a little banter with him every now and then. Abel loves his friends almost as much as he does his siblings and cousins, but there are two who know him best: Manolo Guiterrez and Ynez Ramos Castillo, Doña Castillo's granddchildren.

Manolo is two years older than Abel and is also his best friend from middle school. Besides with Mamá, Abel often talks to him whenever he is down. Ynez was Abel's classmate, also from middle school, and they were pretty close too. His friendship with Ynez later on develops into a romance after Abel successfully wooed Ynez with a song, with the help of a disgruntled Miguel.

And these are what Shaila, Manolo, and Ynez look like!

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

ok genuine pros and cons of the once upon a broken heart trilogy

Pros

Garber's worldbuilding is fascinating, there are so many concepts in there which I wish were expanded on more because she's always throwing in more ideas and chunks of information which I love. The story curse. Bells trying to tell you things. The cursed forest which traps you in there by almost showing you the one thing you want the most. Genuinely such a good atmosphere.

I was gripped. It was gripping. Batshit, on occasion, but gripping. I read each one in two hours and then bought the next. I gasped. I threw the books down in shock. I said 'wait what the fuck' out loud on a number of occasions. Sometimes I want something that's just plotted so quickly with so many plot twists and these books delivered.

I did like Evangeline! And Jacks sucked but enough balance was given to it that by the end I didn't hate that he was still around. The bar's still on the floor but it maybe rolled uphill a little.

Speaking of - as mentioned, love to see Garber committing to enemies to lovers properly. Create a man who commits real crimes babes. We love it.

This wasn't expanded as much as I would have liked but the idea that Eva was out of commission for the world-changing war between humans and fates and the rise of the new queen was actually pretty fun - it vanished in the later books but the idea in the first one that she had missed the fairytale was really cool.

Cons

I truly do not believe they actually liked each other and as such I truly do not believe a happily ever after was really valid. Divorce in three years.

It felt rushed at times, and there were plotpoints that weren't really tied up. Due to this, the plot seemed thin and there were too many coincidences.

While I said I liked Eva, she was a litte bland. Nice, with some very interesting character traits (I liked her inability to stop hoping, it's lowkey rare to be highlighted so much), but often fell a bit flat.

Regarding the previous point, I think this was because the narrative gave her so little agency. she was shunted from one place to another. She was constantly being knocked out and having to be carried away from her location by a man. She thought she did actions of her own volition and then surprised she was being played all along! This combined with her frankly impressive obliviousness did frustrate me - I got the feeling she could have been a character I liked, if she had just been given the chance to act.

The ending did not make sense like I'm all one for true love saving the day but girl the mechanics of the curse please do explain.

[minjeochi]

again. tw: sh.

You looked like a mess. You were always a mess. Hell, have you ever been truly put together? Complete? Whole? That forged mask you've strapped to your face is just that—a mask. A lie. You know the truth. You always have. Do you really think your silly little fantasies of hope will save you? That if you bang your fist relentlessly against the door of fate, it'll finally crack open and welcome you? How pathetic.

"But you're trying your best," your reddened eyes begged. Your damp eyelashes agreed, curled up and tucked underneath your eyes' waterlines as you lifted your head. "Please don't. Not again." But you scoffed at the reflection of your trembling pupils, the shaky amber irking you. Were they always this murky? And your eyebags, Jesus, the deep purple indents grossed you out. If you could rip them off of your face, you would. And your nose too. And your lips too. And your chin. Your eyes. Your eyebrows. Your cheeks. Your forehead. Your ears. Fuck, you felt a new stream streaking your cheeks again. They just kept coming, huh?

But you had enough of your stupid crying ritual. What good did your tears bring anyway? Now your eyes were stinging and your cheeks were glowing red. You looked like a clown. A little too fitting, wasn't it? Don't you fucking lie to yourself. You know it won't work now, not when those dams of self control were already creaking at the forefront of your mind. Your eyes hardened as you sat up suddenly, a new sense of purpose filling you faster than the bathroom tap filling up the sink. "But you've been doing better," your legs twitched in defiance, refusing to stand up at first, your feet planted to the carpet and held down by an invisible force begging you to stay still. "Please don't. Not again."

Ha, like that would stop you. You knew better than to feed yourself that stupid delusion anyway. Sure, you had been doing better—but you weren't the best. You weren't doing enough. You weren't enough. You knew your worth. Your real worth. Everyone knew it too, even if they didn't say it aloud. Hell, they barely kept it subtle with their whispering and snickers behind your head. God, you're so embarrassing. Is it truly surprising that no one wants you? Look at you, chasing the warmth of a star while your freezing hands lay in olden frost built up over the years. Permafrost. You will always be what you are right now—frozen, all year round, eternally. Don't you dare thaw out and pollute the atmosphere. You do enough of that already. You deserved to be buried, thrust deep into the Earth's crust, hidden away mercilessly.

Before you knew it, your hands had yanked the washroom cabinet open with so much force that the hinges squeaked in protest. You cursed at the whiny golden shits, berating them for their noise. But they were just like you, weren't they? Whining 24/7, stuck in place, a nuisance? Luckily, they were replaceable. Just like you. Haven't had enough self dehumanizing yet? Don't worry, the mirror right above the sink had your back, reminding you of the disgusting monster you were. Hair disheveled. Eyes red and swollen. Hands trembling. Breathing heavy. 'Pretty' your ass.

You had to take accountability for all the harm you've caused with your existence. Every word you uttered. Every action you committed. Every breath you took. They were all violations to everyone's peace, stirring the red beast of anger within so many and provoking the green beast of disgust within far more. Pity. Annoyance. Rage. It was your fault. It was always your fucking fault. Was there anything you ever did without hurting someone in the process? Don't try to fucking deny it. You knew it. They knew it. So did that shiny metal, its sharp and jagged edge glinting as you hovered it above your flesh. "But you've come so far already," your fingers twitched in defiance, refusing to move. "Please don't. Not again." And for a second, you actually paused.

Was this worth it? Did you really deserve it? Was this all you amount to? Assassinating yourself coldly with your words? Carving holes into your own brain with your bare hands? Tearing your heart apart into tiny pieces that continued to twitch and ache for your kindness?

"Yes." You said. And like a feather finally ending its pursuit from the tree and landing on the earthy soil, the blade finally found your skin. One. Two. Three. Four. Eight. Fifteen. Twenty six.

Congratulations. You did it again.

- July 15, 2024, 8:36 PM