#I know that canonically there’s nothing going on

[hatreds-og-imagedescriptions]

[ID: a chart going from 10 to 1, with explanations of the ratings on the left and images of characters with queer flags and descriptions of said characters on the right.

10: "Explicit canon. Clearly stated in the original media." Trans Barney from Dead end Paranormal Park. "Barney says "I'm transgender"".

9: "Implicit canon. Never explicitly stated, but 100% canon in the original media". Nonbinary Raine from The Owl House. "Raine never says "I'm nonbinary," but uses they/them and is never referred to as a man/woman (also, confirmed by Dana)".

8: "Creator confirmation. Never stated in the original media, but confirmed canon by the media's creator". Aroace Lilith from The Owl House. "While never mentioned/implied in TOH, Dana has confirmed that Lilith is aroace".

7: "Heavily implied. Never confirmed, but likely true (either by canon evidence or creator implication)". Genderfluid Nimona from Nimona. ""Aaand now you're a boy" "I am today" (anyway, the whole movie has trans/GNC themes)".

6: "Possibly implied. Hinted at in the original media, but could be explained as something else". Trans Doofenschmirtz from Phineas and Ferb. "Doof COULD be transmasc, or the whole "raised as a girl" thing could just be for the bit".

5: "Fanon. Never confirmed, but generally accepted by the fandom". Aromantic Alastor from Hazbin Hotel. "While only confirmed to be ace, most of the fandom also sees Alastor as aromantic".

4: "HC with evidence. Headcanons supported by a dedicated fan's detective work". Bisexual Mabel from Gravity Falls. "People have noticed bi flag stickers hidden on Mabel's scrapbooks".

3: "Canon neutrality. Could be true, could be false, but overall makes sense and doesn't contradict the original media". Genderqueer Pleakley from Lilo and Stitch. "Maybe Pleakley is genderqueer, maybe he just wanted to crossdress for the mission, who knows? That's why it's a headcanon."

2: "I made it the fuck up. Based on vibes, has absolutely nothing to do with canon". Bisexual Megamind from Megamind. "No evidence, no explanation, he just has Disaster Bi™ vibes".

1: "Um? No? But go off. Directly contradicts canon (but who cares, that's why it's fun)". Trans Stanley Pines from Gravity Falls. "Even though flashback scenes prove Stan is AMAB, some people HC him as transmasc." End of ID.]

Canon/Headcanon likelihood chart

So I've been thinking about @macdenlover 's "levels of headcanon" chart (about how heavily a HC is influenced by canon), so I decided to make my own scale about how likely a HC is to be true (including different levels of canon) using queer cartoon characters as examples :)

I just spent an hour making this because I was bored. Enjoy.

Inspiration:

[fishbonex]

Under The Influence (of Regret)

Vi x fem!reader

Summary: An already altered discussion has an even worse consequence.

Word Count:

Warning: HEAVY ANGST, mentions of alcoholism, canon-typical violence, arguments, screaming, BLOOD.

note: this story takes place after the end of arcane.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.

War and grief have the power to change a person. Maybe for a while, or maybe forever, but change is a certainty.

You didn't escape it, neither did Vi.

You were a constant presence at Caitlyn's mansion, at her insistence. She knew that having a friend around would be good for Vi and for herself. And you didn't want to be alone either, after everything you'd witnessed.

With the periods you spent away from your apartment, it was necessary to always have a small suitcase with your things, despite Caitlyn's insistence that you occupy one of the closets in the room you were assigned.

The problem with taking your clothes was that Vi got into the habit of borrowing them, or just taking them out of your suitcase and then showing up wearing one of your shirts.

But you didn't care. Stealing your clothes seemed like a pastime to her, or pestering you to read to her in front of the fireplace. You didn't mind any of that, since you'd rather have her doing those things than drinking whole bottles of booze.

Vi's addiction to alcohol has always worried you, you closely followed the bad period she went through after the fight with Caitlyn.

She scoffed the first time you suggested she try cutting down on her drinking, got angry the second time, and only softened the third time when she saw how upset you were about it..

The first few months after the war were the hardest, as she grieved over Jinx's death. But you tried to make her comfortable, giving her space and staying close when she seemed more open. The following months were easier, even though the pain was still there, she knew you would be there for her.

With a soft knock on the door of the room she shared with Caitlyn, you waited only a few seconds before hearing permission to enter.

Vi smiled softly as you poked your head in the doorway before stepping all the way in. She was sprawled out in one of the fancy chairs near the fireplace.

"Hey, smarty pants." she held out a hand as you approached.

"Hey, what are you doing?" you rubbed your thumb gently over her bruised knuckles. They were already healing.

"Just... nothing. I couldn't find you and Cait is working in her office." she replied, leaning her head against the back of her chair. "What about you?"

"I'm sorry to tell you, but I need my brown jacket." You replied, seeing her look up at you. "I'm going home today."

"Why?" she asked, letting herself sound fragile, something she rarely did.

"I need to wash my clothes and, I don't know, live in my own house? For a while. Before they kick me out." you shrugged.

"There's a washing machine here, I bet you can use it. And Cait already said you can live-"

"Vi." you interrupted her with a warning tone. "I don't want to talk about this again, you can come see me, or I'll come here when I have time, I don't know. Where's my jacket?"

She let go of your hand and frowned cutely, making her look like a kitten.

"In my middle drawer." she nodded towards the large closet that took up almost an entire wall in the room. "On the left side of the closet."

"In the drawer?" you asked, frowning as you walked over to the closet, opening the doors and looking at the drawers she indicated. "You know where you're supposed to hang a jacket, right?"

"Nonsense," she replied, turning her face back to the fire. "I saved it, that's what matters."

"It must be full of mold, yuck." you joked as you opened the drawer, soon spotting the thick lining of your jacket, picking it up and bringing it close to your face.

You were about to close the drawer again when you saw a smooth surface, glass? Against your better judgment of leaving Vi's privacy alone, you opened the drawer wider and moved the few clothes that were covering the small bottle out of the way. Bottle. A small, light bottle of liquor. Someone had drunk more than half of it.

Your stomach sank and you stopped listening to Vi's voice rattling off a response to your earlier taunt. You lifted the bottle and turned to her.

"Vi, what the fuck is this?" you sounded harsher than you intended. "I thought you were done with that."

She turned her face to you, her expression darkening into anger, "Gimme that." she stood up and walked over to you.

"What's this nonsense?" you took the bottle out of her reach as she stepped forward and tried to take it from you.

"You don't have to get involved in this. Give me the bottle." she held out her hand and you stepped back even further.

"Please, you've come so far. Does Cait know? She'd hate to see you drinking again." you could feel your eyes burning with tears that wanted to come out.

"You don't know anything about me and Cait. Give me that." she advanced on you and you felt anger.

"No!" you shouted. "I thought you-"

"I told you to give me that!" she raised her fist in the air and you felt your head being thrown back hard, making you stumble.

You lost your balance and the things you were carrying fell. Your vision blurred slightly and you soon felt blood running down your now sore nose. Bringing your hand up to your face, you panicked slightly when you saw the thick liquid covering it.

You turned your wide eyes to Vi, who was staring at you, transfixed. Getting up from the ground, you quickly walked past her and stomped away.

The large bandage on your nose was uncomfortable and unsightly. Your nose throbbed and every now and then a wave of pain would hit you, making you curl up even more.

But the pain you felt when you remembered Vi's words was greater, she was right, after all. You knew nothing about her and you shouldn't meddle in her life.

The next day came in a blur and you only realized it when you heard a knock on your door. Groaning in discontent, you dragged yourself over and opened the door a crack.

Your expression quickly fell when you saw Vi standing there, your suitcase slung over her shoulder, your brown jacket in her unoccupied hand.

"What are you doing here?" you spat.

"You... you left your things at Cait's house, I just wanted to bring them to you." she said, her gaze roaming over your face, a hint of worry present.

You reached your hand through the door opening, "Okay, give it to me."

"It's heavy, I'll put it in there for you." she lowered her face and continued to look at you, so that her eyes seemed bigger. "Please."

You huffed and opened the door wider, stepping aside for her to come in. She walked past you with cautious steps as you left the door ajar. You crossed your arms, watching her place your suitcase on the coffee table, resting your jacket on top.

Vi turned to you, her gaze lingering on your face. She looked shy, which was not like her.

"I didn't mean to hit-"

"You said you came to bring my things and you already did, you can go." you interrupted, your nose starting to hurt again.

"I would never hurt you on purpose." she took a step towards you, making you step back. "I didn't mean to do it."

"But you did. And you were right, anyway. I don't know anything about you and I'm not going to interfere in your life anymore." you replied, your voice serious. "Go away."

Vi's eyes shone, the shine of tears she didn't want to shed. She shook her head and walked past you.

[thewertsearch]

pipefan413: In following years, she was left to ponder all that might have been. pipefan413: What might have been if there had been no baroness to keep the girl and boy apart? pipefan413: What might have been if the baroness had not disappeared, and she had the opportunity to use her secrets against her!

What could still be, in a world about to be rewritten?

All bets are off, at this point, and Nanna and Grandpa could easily be rebooted into a couple. Hell, they might actually raise John and Jade this time around - which, come to think of it, may have been the future that Crocker was actually seeing.

As always, the possibilities of the Scratch are staggering – but, with Doc Scratch looming over everything, they’re sure to come with strings attached.

pipefan413: For you see, the girl had uncovered so many dirty secrets about the terrible batterwitch, including the most troubling one of all. pipefan413: Of course no one would have believed her, but she knew. pipefan413: She knew the baroness was not human! :B

Wait, what?

This one's a real curveball, I've got to say - and I don't have a clue what this might mean, or what Crocker's secret identity could be. Homestuck’s other species feel far too alien to pass as human - surely if Crocker had horns, green skin, or an insect-like carapace, someone would have smelled a rat.

Like... this is Betty Crocker's 'canon' design, and her skin tone alone rules out most of Homestuck's aliens. I suppose she could be using some sort of illusion magic - but at this point, I'm making up mechanics that we've never seen before. That's usually a sign that you're barking up the wrong tree.

Alright, then – I’m guessing that Crocker is a robot. They're probably the easiest type of creature to disguise as a human, since they can be custom-made. Plus, it’s consistent with the real-life lore that Crocker isn’t actually a real person; she was created by someone else.

CG: WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING NOW. CG: [...] WHY DID YOU GO BACK TO SEE HER? YOU DIDN'T MENTION THIS LAST TIME.

I assume ‘her’ is Echidna. We’ve been giving the kids’ Denizens a lot of focus in this sequence, and now it’s Jade’s turn. It also means that Cetus is next - which is going to be fun, since she's the only Denizen in the session that we know nothing about.

It seems like none of the kids will actually be fighting their Denizens -they're all choosing to consult with them, instead. Is it starting to dawn on the remaining trolls that they may have misunderstood this mechanic?

[sagesbard]

What song the crew would play while ✨shaboinking✨

CW: NSFW MDNI I do NOT condone any of Jimmy's actions this is an AU where the crash never happens and pony Express is just a regular shipping company.

Curly

Dark red by Steve Lacy

Something about the beat just gets him going yk?

It's not to the point where every time he hears it he pops a boner but it definitely does something to him.

He doesn't normally have music playing in the background when y'all shaboink but sometimes he does it it's already playing.

There have been times where instead of telling you he's horny he just plays that song and you already know what's coming. (Him, he's cumming)

As you go up and down on him his moans echo in the room, bouncing off the walls as the song plays in the background. He's thrusting up into so you can't think straight but in reality he's doing to to the beat like Jimmy does.... The second he slips into you his brain goes on autopilot, the only thing mattering to him at the moment is you.

Seeing red by Dustin Lynch also kinda gets him going but not in the way Dark red does. (I'm just now realizing they both have red on the name what a cawinkydink.

When he listens to it it just makes him think about the two of you.

Daisuke

Redbone by childish Gambino 100%

He likes the slow beat of it but the part near the end turns him on like no tomorrow for some reason.

Probably because by the time that part comes on both of you are messes by that point, your moans paired with that song makes him go absolutely FERAL.

Similar with me and your mama by the same artist except he's a bit rougher with this one.

He actually plays music pretty often when y'all shaboink.

He's used to using music to cover up sounds.

When the base comes in it's almost like clockwork when he bites your neck or something along those lines.

Anya

Moonlight by Kali Uchis

Kinda like Daisuke she likes the slow aspect of it.

It's very relaxed and makes her feel calm in a way.

There have been times where she just needs to unwind so she puts on that song and you automatically know that she's either horny or stressed, both end with you eating her out.

Your fingers slowly going in and out of her as the music continues.

Jimmy

A little bit harder now by she wants revenge

He doesn't catch himself but when he's playing that song he ends up fucking you to the best of it.

His hips grinding against yours as you whine and moan until you realize it's the same speed as the fucking song. Nothing wrong with that though, you didn't mind as long as you got fucked dumb. Which you were every time.

Animal attraction is also on there. But he just plays that to kinda tell you he's in that type of mood ykwim?

The way his heavy breathing matches the beats and knocks of the songs is making your head spin. Each thrust burying himself deeper into you until you can't think straight.

A/N: OMG hiiiiii I haven't posted any head canons in a while so I thought I'd treat y'all to something while I work on my next one shot. Since exam season is over and I'll be spending the holidays with my family the posting schedule will probably be a little iffy. Anyways I love y'all and happy holidays 💗💗

[ghostgirl-22]

The threeway kissing scene except when artrick start kissing tashi slips away all smug like "my work here is done" and art just gets so into it hes not thinking about shame, being repressed or anything else rn, hes just whimpering "patrick... i cant stop" as theyre grabbing and rubbing against each other

"You dont need to" and they 👉👌

I could definitely see it! Tashi’s giving them the side eye cause she’s heard all kinds of things about fire and ice. But one of the things she kept hearing was how coupled up they were.

So when she asks if they’ve ever done anything and Arts denying it so vehemently and claiming that—- sure, Patrick gave him his first sexual experience but it was totally platonic and they were on separate sides of the room in separate beds both thinking about a girl “Kat Zimmerman,” one glance at Patrick’s face is enough for her to figure out what’s going on.

The way Patrick’s just stumbling behind the story trying to give Art the validation that he needs… maybe he even feels a little bit bad for telling her in the first place after Art begged him not to. Probably because it’s got Art all adorably flustered. She clocks them both immediately <3

CW: 18+ !NSFW! Canon drift

-/-/-/-

They’re both next to her in seconds when she sits on the bed. Art feels his world opening up when she kisses him first. He’s losing his mind at the feeling of her lips, her tongue. He grabs hold of her thighs a little nervous. She breaks the kiss. She’s got her face so close to his just breathing in his mouth. He loves the smell of her, the taste of her. He’d do anything to be with her.

She’s going back and forth between them. Art thinks he’s gonna die for how hot this is. They’re giggling between kisses. Nervous energy all around.

Then shes pulling them both in and it’s just a mess of tongues and mouths and spit and breathing. She tastes like cherry chapstick and Patrick like tobacco and together Art just wants more and more. He’s not sure when he realizes it.

That he’s just kissing Patrick.

It’s not like anything is changing. He still feels so good he wants to die. He’s chasing after the kiss, eager when he feels Patrick’s tongue. Patrick’s hand cradling his face, then his hair. He doesn’t want to stop. He’s grabbing at Patrick. Pulling him closer like they’re not already close enough. He can hear Tashi sigh but he still doesn’t know if he can stop… not until Patrick pulls back just a little bit.

Art follows him and steals another kiss. “Mm, holy shit,” Patrick’s grinning, teasing his fingers into Arts hair to steady his movements.

“You guys want it bad huh?” Tashi says, quietly, her eyes all sparkly. “Can’t even sleep in separate beds. You’re pushing them together and shit but you’re just roommates? I’m sure.”

Patrick is grinning like he knows something Art doesn’t know. Art tries to kiss her again but she presses her palm against his chest, holding him back. “Do that again.” She tells him, looking back and forth between him and Patrick.

“Patrick can I— can I please?” Art whispers. He’s all scrambled up, not sure why he can’t think. Nothing feels real right now. It’s like being high. Or being at Disneyland.

“Of course you can,” Patrick says softly. “What do you need?”

Art’s not sure what he needs he just knows he isn’t finished, he needs more. He grabs at Patrick’s shirt, the same shirt Art was wearing earlier and Patrick gets to his feet so he’s in front of Art, bent in half kissing him, then climbing on top of him, straddling him.

Arts grabbing at his thighs. Touching everything he can. Patrick’s bigger than him, feels so heavy and warm on his lap. Art jerks his hips up and Patrick sighs against his lips. Moans when Art starts rubbing him where he’s started tenting. He pulls Patrick down on top of him, like a heavy weighted blanket as he lays back in the bed.

Pushed together because Patrick needs to be close all the time. And then even closer than that.

Patrick’s body is covering him now. His stupidly big cock is pressing hard along his stomach. His mouth is all over Arts body.

“I wanna— wanna fuck you,” Art groans as Patrick sucks hickies into his throat.

“Yeah? Is that what you want, sunshine?” Patrick’s saying, hot breath ghosting along his neck, soft, deep voice resonating, making Art shiver.

“Yes,” Art moans, helplessly. He’s rutting his hips up, pressing himself along Patrick’s ass for friction.

He feels so out of it— so desperate.

“Fuck okay, you wanna fuck. Stay there. I need to find something.” Patrick says anxiously and Art groans when Patrick climbs off him and they’re forced to separate. He didn’t even realize Tashi left; he feels vaguely disappointed. Then Patrick comes back. Climbs on top and helps Art with the condom. It’s slippery wet with lube. Art’s holding onto Patrick… slipping it slowly in and two seconds later he’s doing it. Fucking into him, like Patrick’s a girl. A real tight virginal girl. Feels so fucking good on his cock. Art’s almost more desperate now.

Patrick’s breathing deep, moaning as he kisses Art all over.

Art is barely aware of anything but the continuous movement of Patrick on his cock and he finishes so embarrassingly quick he almost pulls the pillow over his face to hide himself. Now he’s actually grateful Tashi isn’t here anymore.

Surprisingly, Patrick doesn’t tease him. He’s just staring at Art and grabbing at his own oversized cock, jerking it slowly. Arts so mesmerized he can sense the distant thrum of arousal slowly beginning to bloom inside him again.

Patrick’s fingers are wet with lube, sliding up and down and up and down as precum leaks from the tip. The whole time he’s got his lips parted, saying nonsense things like, “you’re so fucking pretty, baby,” “Look at you,” “Better than a fucking dream.” His eyes never leave Art’s body.

And then suddenly he’s groaning as hot creamy liquid spurts all over Arts bare stomach and chest. Art kinda likes the feel of it, he hadn’t expected that it would feel so heated. Almost hot. And the way Patrick is panting like he couldn’t help himself, eyes still roving hungrily over Art. The idea that he needed to do that just because he was looking at Art. It all makes Art feel so good and warm.

They almost miss it. They’re lying in bed talking frenetically about how crazy the nights been. It’s like they’re drunk off of one beer split three ways. And then Art gets up to clean up a little bit and go pee when he spots her note.

I have to go back to my room but I didn't want to interrupt. Hope you boys have fun. See you tomorrow. ︎︎

Written on the little hotel notepad and signed T, with a heart.

And sure enough she’s in the stands at their match the next day just eager to hear more about what happened last night.

(And they never fight over her number and she never gets injured and she gets to be a star tennis player and has two boyfriends and her boyfriends are boyfriends and… and… and…they live happily ever after. The end.)

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎

[sflow-er]

Henry and Simon’s dynamic over the three seasons

For YR Faves Fest 2024 organised by @youngroyals-events Prompts: 2. Favourite teen side character (+ 7. Favourite not-quite friendship)

In one of my replies to the recent side character ask game, I briefly mentioned being partial to the dynamic between these two. So for this Faves Fest, I decided to elaborate with an analysis post (featuring screenshots of variable quality)!

I want to preface this with a brief acknowledgment of Henry’s privilege and classism. It is not my intention to diminish them. I do, however, feel that it’s a bit apples-to-oranges to compare them to Simon’s views (citrus pun intended). 🍊 is politically active and has put in the effort to form his own beliefs, while 🍏 shows us time and again that he is ignorant of the world outside the elite bubble and not inclined towards deep reflection. He is largely a product of his upbringing and the (liberal conservative) values imparted by his parents.

While Henry doesn’t grow enough to change his core views and values in the canon timeline, he does change his views on Simon. This isn’t enough progress for them to become actual friends before we leave off (I doubt Simon could be friends with someone who only exempts him), but I would still argue that they end the show on amicable terms.

And yes, I mean that in a mutual sense, even if Simon doesn’t soften towards Henry quite as much as Henry softens towards him!

So, let’s dive in!

Dialogue taken from the English CC and [abbreviated or corrected].

1.01: the tax debate

Henry: “Take my dad’s estate, for example. They’re struggling to make ends meet because of the high taxes.” [Simon chuckles and explains his views] Simon: “Like your dad. [Do you know how much he gets in EU subsidies every year]”? Henry: “And what the fuck does your dad do?”

Like most viewers, I find it a lot easier to relate to Simon’s views than Henry’s here – but I do think Henry often gets judged quite harshly for insulting Simon at the end. His comment does not come out of nowhere (cf. Stella’s unprompted dirty look at Simon and Sara when she talks about welfare scamming).

Henry only knows that his father has said their estate is struggling, so of course he won’t take kindly to Simon suggesting that they are actually getting undeserved subsidies instead. It’s also important to note that this estate isn’t just any old farm. It was granted to one of his ancestors as a reward for their services to the Crown, which makes it a core part of his family history. As we learn in 1.04, Henry is a Society boy and very proud of his noble ancestry, and Simon’s comment likely feels like an insult to his entire family. So although his retort is unquestionably rude, it is understandable that he lashes out.

Also, Henry has no way of knowing that Micke is a deadbeat. He is just applying a common stereotype (and potentially making assumptions based on the views Simon just expressed on welfare).

1.02: parallel but separate experiences

Early in this episode, we see Simon side-eye Henry and Walter for the paid tutoring. He decides to follow their example, but as we know he can’t actually afford it, we can already guess it won’t go as well for him as it did for them.

Next, we see Henry in the group as the rowing team ignores Simon at morning training. The camera also pans to him and Walter when August gives that bizarre speech about Simon’s class journey.

These moments highlight how different life at Hillerska (and beyond) looks for Henry and Simon. They are technically coexisting and even doing the same things, but their experiences are nothing alike.

However, there is also some potential for development here. August’s words about rowing bringing people together (and also about the class journey) should absolutely be taken with a heap of salt, but as we no longer see any open animosity between Henry and Simon, we can still wonder if rowing played a part.

Being on the same sports team is an entirely new frame of reference for these guys. They are no longer just the sosse and aristocrat who have been going to school together since pre-canon and clashing over their views; they are crewmates. They may be able to ignore each other for most of the time, but they may also have to do some team activities or even cooperate on occasion. At the very least, they will be around each other several extra times a week from late September/early October to Christmas break. This could definitely help to put them on more neutral ground.

1.05: Henry pays attention to Wilmon

In this episode, Henry learns more about Wilmon than the average Hillerska student. He is present when August tells the Society that Wille and Simon “hang out”, and also when Wille changes the plan from Simon to Alexander.

What’s more, he actually looks fairly thoughtful leaving that last meeting. We don’t know if it’s just shock over Wille’s ruthlessness, if he’s thinking about the plan to set up Alexander, or if there’s something else on his mind.

Now, this may veer into overinterpretation, but for the sake of thoroughness, let’s also include the blink and you’ll miss it moment before the Lucia procession where Henry notices Wilmon texting each other. In this cropped screenshot, you can see him looking at Simon, who has just put his phone down and is looking over at Wille.

1.06: Henry shows restraint

As we know, Henry is the only classmate who tries to treat Wille normally after the video, asking if he “saw the match yesterday” (he absolutely knows Wille didn’t). What is perhaps less noticeable is that he also shows more restraint than most of his schoolmates when the rumour mill gets going.

In this scene, Henry is pretty dispassionate reminding Walter that Wilmon sat next to each other at movie night and the two of them talked about it. There is a stark contrast to Walter, who absolutely pounces on that bit of gossip.

That one quick scene could just be a coincidence, but the same thing happens when Wilmon return to school. Instead of engaging with the others who are all eagerly talking and whispering, Henry is already sitting at his desk minding his own business when Wille arrives. His only reaction to Simon showing up is this quick look, which is immediately followed by his show of kindness to Wille:

So the restraint does look very intentional.

As an aristocrat, monarchist and Society boy, Henry is loyal to Wille, who he now knows has been carrying on with Simon for a while already. He also knows how far Wille went to protect Simon, despite the fact that Simon had actually supplied the drugs, so he is going to side with Wille.

What’s more, Henry’s behaviour in these scenes also confirms that he isn’t hostile to Simon. We can surmise he probably doesn’t think Simon is the most appropriate choice of partner for the crown prince, but he is willing to take his cues from Wille. We never see him sneer, joke, or say anything nasty about Wilmon as a couple (cf. Stella and Fredrika joking about surrogacy).

We are also shown his reaction to Wille hugging Simon before we move on to season two.

2.02: the floorball hug and walk-by

The first interaction between Henry and Simon in S2 is them celebrating a floorball goal with a spontaneous hug, as seen at the top of this post. What a difference a term makes!

Now, I don’t think this moment is meant to signify that they are friends all of a sudden, and I do feel it comes slightly out of the blue. I suspect it was included as a nod to those who already liked Henry after S1, but I for one would’ve preferred to actually see their reconciliation.

But then again, if their initial antagonism was always class conflict rather than personal beef, maybe there was no need for apologies…? Maybe each of them just accepted that the other was going to be around and decided to try and get along (potentially aided by their shared rowing team history)? Henry is following Wille’s lead as we already saw – and as for Simon, I doubt he would be hugging Henry even in the heat of a game if he held a grudge. Whether we saw it or not, they have moved on.

In the same episode, we also have the locker room scene.

Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t believe Henry actually overhears the entire conversation, but he may have still heard something about them having to wait two years (as Simon did raise his voice for that). It’s also possible he comes out of this scene assuming that Wilmon still “hang out” in secret. In any case, he probably assumes that Wille wants to keep the whole thing quiet, as per the usual “policy” on queer relationships among the upper classes. In addition to his monarchist ways, he also seems to be casually friendly with Wille in S2 (keeps inviting him to do stuff, from coffee to pranking Sprucewood). So it makes a lot of sense for him to keep whatever he overhears or suspects to himself.

2.03, 2.05 and 2.06: book report scenes

While Henry must be a nightmare to have in the group, he and Simon are nice to each other in all the book report scenes. This is further proof that they are in a place where they can talk civilly and even work together.

They start the project before the rowing race and only present it the day before the gun range scene, which means they had these group sessions for at least a few weeks (the timeline is a bit wonky here).

2.04: Henry snitches on Wille and Felice

The lunch scene at the start of the episode starts with this bit of vicarious interaction, as Henry and Simon (and Wille too) are amused by the nonsense Walter is spouting about girls:

Also, Walter's monologue feels more comphet every time rewatch it, but I digress.

As this post is focused on Henry and Simon, I’m not going to dig too deep into Henry’s role in spreading the story about Wille and Felice. Suffice it to say that he did tell his canonically gossipy bestie Walter, and it was recently pointed out to me that he seems to have let something slip to someone else as well. In the common room, Walter goes “det var du som sa till…” [you were the one who said to…] just as the focus shifts to Wille and Nils, which suggests that Henry either purposely told someone or misspoke without realising it. The latter would explain why he seems genuinely appalled when Wille confronts him, but it’s not a hill I’d be willing to die on!

If Henry did spread the story on purpose, I assume it was because getting with Felice was considered a credit to Wille and also “fair game” to tell, unlike the relationship with Simon that Wille wanted to keep hidden.

Still, Henry and Simon are definitely on better terms in S2. Even though Henry inadvertently causes pain to Simon with his part in the Wille and Felice thing, they still keep working together on the book report without any animosity.

Insofar as Henry’s lacklustre effort can be called working. Simon is a bigger person than I am for not blowing up at him when he announces minutes before the presentation that he won’t be taking any questions.

3.01: background Henry

We start S3 off with this one-sided interaction where Henry reacts to Wilmon kissing with a mild smirk. No more waiting or secrets to keep.

3.02: double standards on the camping trip

It’s not entirely clear what Henry is thinking when he says the infamous line about gay couples being allowed to share but not straight ones. I think some people read it as him deliberately putting Wilmon on the spot, but personally, I doubt he even realises it’s going to make them uncomfortable. He’s just noticing the double standard and pointing it out to mess with the teacher.

While Simon is very clearly not pleased with Henry for the comment (glares at him while saying to Wille that people are going to think they plan to have sex), he does not seem to hold that against him. Because what we do see them doing soon?

Sitting next to each other by the fire, even though Henry could’ve easily sat with Walter and Simon with Wille:

Also, it seems Henry isn't new to camping, as he tells Wille that part of the fire is too hot to grill a sausage in.

The part where things get interesting is when Henry acts classist towards the Marieberg students.

Henry seems to be down with meeting Rosh and Ayub, who are there as Wille and Simon’s friends. But after Fredrika brings up New York, he agrees that the situation turned “stiff as fuck.” That stiffness was entirely Fredrika’s fault (I think she is at least semi-consciously trying to mark herself as the most compatible partner for Stella there), but Henry seems to feel it was more about Rosh and Ayub not fitting in.

He also sneers and makes nasty comments when the other Marieberg students get into an altercation with Malin, which elicits a frown from Simon.

And yet, Simon does not condemn Henry as strongly as he might have done in the past.

Importantly, Simon tells Wille “it wasn’t the right time for everyone to meet.” This indicates that he could’ve imagined them all getting along at a better time, and it’s pretty clear that also includes Henry. Furthermore, “you [meaning Wille and the others] don’t realise how privileged you are sometimes” is actually a pretty neutral way of putting it. Simon would have been entirely justified if he had said the others were classist pricks, but he blames their privilege and lack of understanding instead of their character.

All of this forms a backdrop for my interpretation of the scenes in the next episodes.

3.03: First of May

Simon: “You do know that you’re not off so you can party the day before, right?” Henry: “Uhh…what?” Simon: “It’s the First of May.” […] “The day of the labour movement?” Henry: “Okay, so what’s their style? How do they celebrate?” Simon, scoffing: “You don’t celebrate. You demonstrate.” [Henry and Walter share a chuckle]

This may be a controversial take, but I don’t think Henry is being particularly nasty to Simon here.

He actually looks and sounds quite sincere asking how the labour movement celebrates. When he and Walter laugh, it reads more as “there he goes again, our very own sosse, saying wacky things!” than the kind of disdain he expressed towards the Marieberg students in the last episode.

Simon also doesn’t take the laughter as an insult; he’s just stupefied by their ignorance. Also, note that he already scoffed at Henry’s question, marking the question as silly.

This exchange is immediately followed by Vincent attacking Simon for his beliefs, which feels like an intentional trick to create contrast between his and Walty’s treatment of Simon.

3.04: the lollipop

In this scene, Henry starts out asking quite nicely and seriously if Simon has another lollipop, as if they had that kind of rapport. Simon makes a face, but then he just shakes his head and nicely says no. It’s only then that Henry switches to offering money for the already half-eaten lollipop, to which Simon reacts with disbelief.

He does not, however, get snarky with Henry. He settles for exchanging a look with Wille as Walty go on to complain about the hunger strike. Only when Henry isn’t present anymore does he point out to Wille how ridiculous Henry was being.

In a sort of parallel to the lunch scene, Simon and Wille now share a chuckle at the wacky thing Henry said:

Feel free to disagree, but I actually wonder if this could be a common pattern between Simon and Henry. They have accepted that they aren’t going to see eye to eye on many things, but instead of getting into conflict, they just roll their eyes/laugh at how the other can seriously believe/say such things. Then they let the conversation move on to something else.

Which is a perfectly valid dynamic. They can acknowledge that their outlooks on life are wildly different without hating each other for it.

3:06: Henry includes Simon

Look, I dislike the library scene as much as the next person. The talk that Henry interrupts between Wilmon was so much more important than anything he could possibly say. It was just a moment of comic relief that didn’t add anything to the story.

Except… Now that we are tracing Henry and Simon’s “not-quite friendship” arc, this scene does give us a conclusion.

Henry: “Hi! Uh, what are you wearing tonight?” [He rambles on about clothes] Wille: “I don’t know if… If I’m coming.” Henry: “Okay…?” Simon: “I don’t know if I can come either.” Henry: “Oh come on, you two have to come!” [He rambles on about how much fun it will be] Simon: “Yeah, we’ll see. I have to go now.” Henry: “The point is that we have to be together! This is the only night we have together, maybe ever. [I mean, we are brothers!]”

In Swedish, Henry goes “vi är ju bröder” just as the music starts. This has been translated to “we are like brothers” in the English CC, which is already quite something, but the little word ju makes the original even stronger. It means that something is true, so instead of just saying they are like brothers, Henry is saying that is what they are.

(In the dub, there is an audible pause after like, so Henry is actually using it as a filler word. They should have put a comma in the CC to denote that.)

Given that Henry prefaces this ramble with “you two have to come” and barely stops to acknowledge Simon’s exit, there’s every reason to assume he is still talking about all of them. He is saying he considers himself, Wille, and also Simon part of the brotherhood that will be disbanded indefinitely come morning and wants them all to have one last night of fun together.

Simon never hears the brothers part and is of course frustrated with Henry for interrupting, but he still takes his leave on a casually friendly note. He gets that Henry wants him to come and have fun (Henry is unaware that Simon doesn’t drink when he tries to persuade them by talking about the alcohol). Thus, Simon politely says “we will see” even though he has zero intention of going.

We do not see them interact at the party when Simon goes after all, but we do hear Henry being ushered away when Simon comes to talk to Wille. We don’t see it’s Henry, but someone insists that he wants to stay just as Walter and Alexander leave, and all three of them were there moments before:

I’m tempted to end this with a parallel to Wille’s initiation party.

Way back in 1.01, Henry and Simon were explicitly shown discussing the first party with their friends. They never talked about it with each other or interacted there – Henry attended as part of the in-crowd, and Simon only got to go because he procured the alcohol. But for this last party, it’s Henry who has procured the alcohol, and he specifically invites Simon to come. They still don’t hang out as they are both there with their respective friends, i.e. in their own bubbles, but those bubbles do bump into/brush past one another without clashing.

Kind of like Henry and Simon’s lives.

Thank you for reading this marathon post! I hope my take on these two brings something to your next rewatch, whether you agree with me or not!

[spdrvyn]

YOU'RE HERE, THAT'S THE THING — [ wc: 1.7k. college au. fluff-ish? ] nothing cute about uni life. nothing to romanticize about pulling off all-nighters. unless... ?

now that i think about this is the first miguel fic i've written that's not adjacent with spiderverse canon world-building wise 🤔 also kinda silly of me to write a college fic when i'm not even in college so be warned i'll sound probably like a dumbass but hope you guys enjoy anyway!

7:23PM in the evening. Twenty hours until your essay was due.

The blonded hues of the setting sun reflected onto your laptop’s screen, currently open with a completely blank Google Document and nary a draft or outline in sight. As the ice in your half-empty coffee had almost thoroughly melted, you realized that you were completely fucked.

Originally, there was a study group that you were intended on joining somewhere at the start of the week. Hell, you guys shared Notion calendars and made an entire group chat. Only when you courageously sent a message last night asking for a rain check on the plans, you were left on read and down one-hundred dignity points.

That’s how you ended up here, waiting for the adrenaline from the impending deadline to set in. The condensation from your drink wets your palm uncomfortably as you take a sad, bitter sip. Someone could be writing a story about your defeat, writing a ten-page analysis about it, and submitting it at least three days before the deadline like a normal person with a sense of urgency.

When you shut your laptop and concede to the pressure, Miguel walks in to your shared dorm. With thick textbooks and an open backpack slung over one of his shoulders, he pauses at the sight of you. “I thought you’d be out.”

The reminder that your group abandoned you sours your mood even more, you tersely reply: “They ghosted me.”

“Oh,” Miguel tries to sound sympathetic, but it’s obvious that he’s also struggling with a final of some kind with how he ushers all of his belongings to the table you’re currently occupying. He’s told you before that he rarely ever joins study groups, which makes sense. You’ve noticed he’s self-reliant and efficient to an almost terrifying degree when it comes to his academics, awake at ungodly hours of the night to pinch the highest grade that there is. If anything, it’s more likely that he’ll offer to tutor other people.

“What’s on your roster for tonight? I’ve got an essay,” You swiftly put on your document tab again, motivated by how he’s already flipping through his books and copying down notes on his tablet. God, you wished you could just start studying like that.

“Final tomorrow, haven’t started reviewing yet. I basically spent the last two days at the lab for my other final.” He’s writing at a speed that should be considered superhuman, all while he’s answering your pesky questions.

You don’t want to move to another spot, because it would seem rude. Not like his presence is unwelcome, his studiousness just makes you really, really envious. Also the fact that both of you are majoring in completely different subjects.

Majoring in Arts in Literature, while he majors in Genetic Engineering can cause difficulty whenever explaining plans to each other. Miguel puts in the effort to not confuse you with the STEM jargon while you try not to ramble about your current readings and explaining your interpretations of them to someone else instead of writing them down on paper to, you know, submit.

Either way, it hasn’t caused any big miscommunications with being so different and all. You hope he doesn’t mind you beginning to working with him too, as you shyly type a thesis statement into your assignment. Another sip of your coffee, sounds of Miguel scrawling, and you think you may be ready to take this assignment head-on.

~

12:40AM into the night. Fifteen hours until your essay is due.

Shockingly enough, you were able to finish three pages out of five. The grammar so far is probably going to drag you down by fifteen points and you usually send it to your friends to proofread, but it clearly isn’t an option given what time of the day it is right now. It’s still a lot better than the end you saw for yourself when you were left dangling on the edge of failure by your study group.

The caffeine had completely worn off by now, and your coffee had been drained somewhere around an hour ago. When that happens, you usually start to get antsy and it’s even harder to keep the momentum going and when that happens, you take a break and go for a walk or something.

Which is what you’re about to do, as you stand up, but you realize that Miguel is sitting still as a statue in front of one of his books and his eyes scan the words on the page, over and over again. You can’t tell if he’s also losing focus or if he’s knee-deep in focus.

“Miguel,” He sighs when you call his name and the noise makes you wince, fearing that you’ve upset him. “Uhm, I’m going to take a walk. Do you wanna come with?”

It’s an offer that you thought for sure he wasn’t going to take.

What you don’t expect however is for him to slam his reading shut, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose before getting up from his seat. With a huff of, “Sure.”

“Oh- we can go for a coffee run if that’s what you want. I don’t think I can sleep tonight.”

“Ok. Me neither.”

“Great, that’s- that’s great.”

~

Both of you stew in the (semi) comfortable silence as you make the trek from your dorm room and out to the expanse of the campus.

You realize how brisk a walk can become with Miguel considering how abnormally tall he is. Granted, you recognize his subtle effort to slow down for you when he notices how winded you got after only five minutes on the way to the gas station.

It’s a new height that you’ve reached with him, not like you never wanted to grow closer with him or anything. He is your roommate after all, so it only makes sense. Although despite your love for reading that has fender-bendered into a Literature degree in the making, you were never too great at reading people. Miguel is one of the hardest people to read considering his outward stoicism, and both of you being naturally introverted didn’t help at all.

Still, this was the perfect time in your life to make new friends and life-lasting connections. Besides you would also consider yourself pretty pathetic if you wouldn’t be able to make a new one out of your roommate, A.K.A someone who is confined to a room with you for a whole school year. Literally no other choice but to do so.

You wonder if he feels the same way too, but asking each other of your first impressions is a conversation that is really only befitting for people that have been together for years. A status that you have no idea that you’ll ever achieve with him someday.

Though you are quickly broken out of your kind of depressing spiral when Miguel opens the door to the store for you, with a muttered ‘thank you’ you behold the fluorescent lights and hint of smoke. The walk to the coffee machine is instinctive, and you pluck a bag of spicy chips from the shelf on the way. Miguel follows suit, only he picks a bag of pretzels and a pack of gum.

The dispenser chokes out a splatter of coffee into your plastic cup and you flinch at the noise, Miguel spares you a glance but goes back to fidgeting with the pointed edges of his pretzel bag.

“So, what’s your final about?” It’s a stupid question being completely transparent, but fuck it. You’re bored, and the silence only gets more uncomfortable the longer both of you keep quiet.

“Genetic inheritance, the traits passed down from a parent onto a child. That kind of thing,” He muses. “And you?”

“Oh, Les Miserables essay. Five pages total.”

“Long book, and long film.”

Your cup is nearly on the tip of overflowing so you quickly slide it out and put one under for Miguel. “Yeah, I had to do a re-read because it’s been a while. I only finished around two days ago and I started it again at the beginning of the month.”

He gives you an honest chuckle, you take it and you think you’ll remember the sound forever. “One of my, uh, friends sat me down to watch the movie. Fell asleep halfway through, but I do remember it being decent in the parts that I was awake.”

“Well if I can find a totally legal recording of the stage play, maybe that would pique your interest more.”

When you look up at him, he smiles and it might be the happiest you’ve seen him ever since becoming acquainted with each other. It’s not a lot, but you feel over the moon over a small talk about your stupid essay.

…Your stupid essay!

You cut the moment short by haphazardly closing the lids on both of your coffees, you hand it to Miguel who starts to emanate your hurried energy and the walk back to your dorm is very swift.

~

Morning. Some time before your essay is due.

That is what you can assume anyway, the sun is back and its rays peek at you from the gaps in the blinds. Your hair is a frazzled mess as you lift your head off of the pillow which is perched up against the armrest on the sofa, the blanket on top of you shifts, and this was also… definitely not where you fell asleep last night.

You were expecting neck and back pain, along with a mild headache once you woke up. As you came to the sloppy completion of your work, you called it a night, slammed your laptop shut, and decided to just sleep right then and there. Doing your night routine and getting into bed would simply be too much time and work when you probably wouldn’t even be getting that much rest anyway.

There’s a fresh glass of water on the coffee table and a sticky note from Miguel, who you could only assume was the one who put you here.

‘Had to head out early for my exam. Good luck with your essay, there’s food on the counter.’

You slump back into your makeshift bed and pull out your phone from your back pocket, there’s still seven hours until your essay is due and you only need around two for revisions.

Maybe you could sleep in just a little longer, dream about conversations that will never happen, cafe dates that never come to be. But after last night, rather earlier this morning, those odds shift in your favor.

[mononijikayu]

blue — fushiguro megumi.

As you walked hand in hand through the snow, Fushiguro Megumi felt like your warmth and his blended together, refusing to part as you made your way away from the shrine. The thought of that made him feel like the winter was nothing, the biting chill rendered powerless against the steady heat of your presence. It was the kind of moment that made the world feel smaller and quieter. It was as if the universe had decided to go on a pause just for the two of you. It was as if these two hands were meant to fit because destiny said so.

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Canon Convergence;

WARNING/s: AFAB! Reader, Safe For Work (SFW), Long Distance Romance (LDR), Aged Up Characters (Megumi and Reader are 18!), Young Love, Innocent Romance, Established Relationship, Middle School Classmates to Lovers, Teasing, Teenagers, Feelings, Fluff, First Love, Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Flirting, Humor, Domesticity, Slice of Life, Light-Hearted, Confessions, Pining, Holding Hands;

WORD COUNT: 5.3k words.

NOTE: im a bit late, i'm sorry!!! i had a whole list of chores i helped my family with and i met up with some people yesterday, since i might not see them for christmas due to schedules. but i'm here. i always imagined megumi to be the sort of person who loves so wholeheartedly and so innocently. i wanted to capture that for his birthday. happy birthday, megumi!!! you will always be so loved by me <33333 i love you all too!!! thank you for reading!!! see you for yuuji's own fic on 24th <3 (asia time)

addendum: i just want you to know that the exact number of the words are 5302. chinese/cantonese numerology expresses that 53 means my life, 0 means good and 2 means joy and sometimes double joy. it reads as 'my life is good joy' and i think between them reader and megumi, that's genuinely true <333

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

THE DARK BLUE SWIRLED AROUND THE SKY TENDERLY TONIGHT. Had there been more time, he would have enjoyed it more. But he knew there wasn’t. He had to get to you, immediately. He bit his lip softly against the cold winter wind.

Fushiguro Megumi tugged the bright tender scarf tighter around his neck as the frigid wind bit at his cheeks. He caught a faint whiff of the fabric, and something about the scent felt... off.

It’s a good scent, don’t get him wrong. But it wasn’t the familiar one he was used to. Had he bought a new perfume and just forgotten about it? 

He sighed to himself. He was too busy lately, going off on missions. And now a lot of his life had become footnotes, even if he didn’t want them to be. Megumi knew he had to do better.

He had to do whatever he could to make a better pace for himself. Still, thinking about that right now is impossible. He had to brush the thought aside. There were more pressing things to focus on—like how late he was. Again. 

Megumi could only hope that you weren’t waiting too long or that you had arrived late. But now he can’t help but think if you wore that thick Arc'teryx coat he’d gotten you. Or if you wore mittens or had enough hot packs on your body at this moment. Guilt started to echo into his head as easily as it was breathing. But he can’t help but feel that.

He took a moment to breathe, his breath visible in the cold air. He hated being late about absolutely anything. He likes punctuality, after all. But he especially likes it when it comes to you.

Because that meant he’d have more time with you. And more time with you means that he’d have you with him enough to sweep the thought of missing you for a little while. 

But being a sorcerer, the job description didn’t care about holidays or plans. Or even the personal, the thoughts and moments that made one happy. It just never stops. Not even when he was supposed to take you out on a date on New Year’s Eve. Megumi absolutely reviled it. If he saw a curse, he had to deal with it, no matter the time. 

And somehow, some sort of way, still, he knew you understood. You always did. You always reassured him of that no matter what. No matter how many times his responsibilities pulled him away from you, even just for five minutes.

You never stopped smiling when he finally showed up. You don’t stop having the warmest red on your cheeks when you see him. Your eyes always shone brighter than Sirius when you both stand beside one another.

Even though you weren’t a sorcerer yourself, you tried to understand his world, even the parts that didn’t make sense to you at all. It wasn’t fair to you, and he knew it. Yet, no matter how hard things got, you never gave up on him. You just didn’t want to, even when he had tried to keep you at bay. 

That was one of the things he appreciated most about you. Megumi had never had quite a lot of joy in his life, but he was to be honest, you were one of them. You always will be. And even now, you stand by him, even if it’s hard.

You didn’t care for the hard stuff, you always said it was part of it. Because what mattered to you, was having him in your life. And he was certain he felt the same way about you.

Well, it’s obvious.

Why else would he start running in this cold winter weather?

If it’s you, the person he loved most, then he’ll find a way?

After all, he wanted to be with you for as long as possible.

He paused for a moment, staring at the message. The small emoji made something in his chest tighten, as much as it made his body feel the warmest it had ever been. Despite everything, you still cared enough to wait for him, to worry about him. A small, rare smile tugged at his lips.

The faint vibration of his phone snapped him out of his thoughts. He fished it out of his pocket, his cold fingers fumbling slightly as he unlocked it. A text from you lit up his screen:

“Megu, baby, where are you? 🥺”

Megumi stared at his phone after hitting send, watching the little delivered mark appear. Megumi has thought about how many times he’d sent similar texts, always apologizing to you, for more often than he hoped, about being late.

He typed back quickly, his fingers stiff from the cold.

"On my way, babe. Sorry for being late."

Yet, you never seemed to hold it against him. He wished you had. Most romantic partners would be so fed up with such a position. 

Hell, most of them would have already left their partners. But not you. You never had thought of it, not even during middle school, when Gojo started to take him on his missions to observe. You were steadfast, because you saw his efforts. You saw how much he loved you. 

And that was enough. He never had to doubt that you loved him. And perhaps, that’s why he kept running. He wanted to get to you, as soon as possible. He wanted to see you. He wanted to hold you in his arms. He wanted to love you.

As he slipped his phone back into his pocket, Fushiguro Megumi picked up his pace. He had to. He had to arrive as soon as possible. For once, he hoped the world could hold its chaos at bay. Just for tonight. He owed you that much. He owed you all of the world. And he had to make it possible, even if just for a little while.

His phone buzzed again almost immediately.

“Okay, but you better hurry, baby! It’s cold! Also… why does your scarf smell like my perfume? 🤔”

Megumi stopped in his tracks, his brain processing your words at a glacial pace. Your perfume? His hand instinctively went to the scarf wrapped snugly around his neck. That was the weird smell he’d noticed earlier—the soft, floral notes he’d never associated with his usual scarf. His mind raced. If this was your perfume, then this wasn’t his scarf.

It’s your scarf. The realization hit him like a curse to the chest. Now, his heart was thumping hard on his chest. You must’ve grabbed his scarf  by mistake in a rush the last time you visited him and you forgot about it.

And now that left him with your scarf. And he hadn’t noticed at all. His face heated to warm scarlet instantly, the cold air doing nothing to cool it. Ah, this is…..

His grip on the phone tightened as he read your words. Cute. It was hard enough to deal with how much warmth you give him with your scarf, but the thought of you being so tender with him, loving to the point that he can’t take it.

Before he could come up with a reply, another message came through:

“Wait, Megu!… Are you wearing my scarf? 🥺 That’s so cute! Wah!”

He doesn’t know what to do. Everything about his love for you just grows deeper and he can’t help it. His face burned hotter, and he was suddenly hyper-aware of the soft fabric around his neck.

He hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard, before typing back:

"I didn’t realize until now. I must’ve grabbed it by accident. Sorry."

Fushiguro Megumi felt like the temperature had risen ten degrees despite the snow swirling around him. He tried to clear his throat, trying to wick away the scarlet blush spreading across his cheeks. But it was no use. He was never going to win against you. Never. 

Your reply came almost instantly, as though you’d been waiting for it.

“Don’t apologize! I think it’s adorable. It’s like you’re carrying a little piece of me with you 🥰.”

"It’s not a big deal." he typed, trying to sound indifferent, but his fingers betrayed him as he hesitated before adding: "It does smell nice, though."

His phone buzzed almost immediately. “You’re so sweet, Megu! You better hurry so I can see you all bundled up in my scarf. I want to take a picture and enjoy the cuteness of my baby!🫶 ”

Fushiguro Megumi let out a soft groan, burying his face in the scarf—your scarf. He takes in the soft smell of your scent, while feeling your words take over him. He could feel the heat radiating from his face as he resumed walking, this time a bit faster. 

He can’t run in this case, not when he’s overwhelmed by this, by you. You’ve ruined him for any other romance. This was it for him. You were it for him. And yet still, he couldn’t believe he was blushing over a scarf. Over you.

But that’s how it is. It didn’t need explanation, it didn’t need logic. That’s how it is to love you. And he wouldn’t have it any other way. Not ever. But still, as much as possible, he still wanted to play it cool.

There was a wonderfully warm feeling in his chest that he couldn’t ignore, not when it’s caused by you. Even if it was accidental, wearing your scarf made him feel closer to you, like he was carrying a part of you with him.

"I’ll be there soon, babe." he texted back simply, though his heart was racing as he hit send.

“I look forward to it! 🫶”

“I'll see you soon.”

“Love you, Megu~”

".....love you too."

══════════════════

IT WASN’T THAT LONG NOW WHEN HE MADE THE SHARP TURN TO AND ARRIVED. The faint glow of the shrine came into view, and quite expectedly, Fushiguro Megumi’s pace quickened even more now despite the biting cold.

His own breath puffed in little warm clouds as he rounded the last corner, and there you were, just like always, waiting for him by the warm illumination of the bright red shrine gates.

You seemed to be humming to yourself as you waited for him, all  bundled up in the white winter coat he gave you and those bright purple gloves trimmed with faux fur you so dearly loved. You hadn’t noticed him yet when he stopped.

But when you did, your eyes widened almost so excitedly. There was a slightly excited bounce in your step as you waved at him enthusiastically, your beautiful face lighting up like the warm spring flowers blossoming when you started to register his presence. Megumi could feel his chest tightened at the sight. 

The stress of trying to get here on time, the hardship of not meeting, the times he missed you — every bit of that started to fade away into nothing. He was here with you. You were here. And nothing can take that away from him, from the two of you. Because he knew it too well. He was home. 

“Megu!” you called out, your tender voice cutting through the quiet winter air.

He slowed as he approached, his usual calm demeanor taking over, but the pink sunrise on his cheeks hadn’t faded. Megumi tried to casually stuff his rather cold hands into his coat’s pockets, pretending the cold was the only reason his face felt warm.

“You’re late, Megu!” you teased, though your tone was playful, and that familiar smile spread across your face.

“Sorry.” he said quietly, stopping just a few feet away. “There was a—”

“A curse?” you finished for him, watching him blink. You grinned. “I figured. You always come anyway.”

He nodded, his gaze flickering to the shrine gates. “I told you to wait here for a reason. It’s safer.”

“I know, I know.” you said, rolling your eyes with a laugh. “I always know that I’m always safe, thanks to you. But I’m also freezing, so I hope you don’t plan to keep me standing here much longer! Let’s eat dinner!”

Your grin widened as your bright doe eyes flicked to the scarf around his neck. “Especially since it looks like you’re nice and warm in my scarf.”

Megumi’s hand immediately went to the fabric, his ears turning red. “I told you, it was an accident.” he muttered, avoiding your gaze.

“And I told you, it’s cute.” you said, stepping closer. 

“You’re wearing my scarf too.” He mutters under the cold winter air. 

You looked down slightly, your cheeks flushing red as you smiled. “Hm! And I love it! It suits me, having a part of you with me always when I’m cold, don’t you think?”

Megumi was taken aback by what you said for a moment. His cheeks turned even redder, even though he wasn’t sure how it was possible. He hums softly, lowering his gaze shyly. “.....It does.”

The soft crunch of snow under your boots was the only sound as you closed the distance between you. You smiled at him as you stopped in front of him. You reached up, on tip toes and gently adjusted your scarf around his neck, your fingers brushing against his skin for just a moment. 

“It suits you, don’t you think?” Your soft voice blossomed against the wind. Your gaze met his, as he raised his face. “Being so loved by me in winter cold too.”

He froze, his heart skipping a beat at the gesture. “You’re—you really are…..” he mumbled, though his voice was quieter, almost fond. “How can you say that so easily?”

“And you’re blushing, lover boy!” you teased, stepping back with a playful laugh. “You also said something like that too!”

“Am not.” he replied quickly, though the redness in his cheeks betrayed him.

“Whatever you say, my precious Megu~” 

You reached out and took his hand, your gloved fingers curling around his as you tugged him toward the shrine gates. You wanted to keep his hand warm from the cold too. He forgot his gloves, after all. And he knew that, his gaze turning to your tender touch on his, even though the leather.

“Come on, let’s get going before we both turn into icicles.”

For a moment, Fushiguro Megumi hesitated, looking down at your hand wrapped tightly on his own. Years together still hasn’t stopped him from being so awestruck by your touch on his.

To hold someone’s hand, it made him feel like he understood what love was like. Ever since that day he met you. You made him understand, with just a touch of your hand. And still, he continues to learn love, because of you. 

Megumi shook his head then he let out a soft sigh, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile as he followed you.Even if he’d never admit it aloud, your warmth, your wonder, your very existence, it made him whole.

And if this was a dream, he wishes he never wakes up. Because nothing of him would exist without you. He refuses to do so.

“Hm, let’s go.”

As you walked hand in hand through the snow, Fushiguro Megumi felt like your warmth and his blended together, refusing to part as you made your way away from the shrine. The thought of that made him feel like the winter was nothing, the biting chill rendered powerless against the steady heat of your presence.

It was the kind of moment that made the world feel smaller and quieter.

It was as if the universe had decided to go on a pause just for the two of you.

It was as if these two hands were meant to fit because destiny said so.

This, he thought, was more than enough to ground you both in the stillness of the winter night. The two of you ceased to talk for a while, your breaths forming soft clouds in the frosty air.

Neither of you felt the need to fill the silence. The quiet companionship you shared was enough, an unspoken understanding that words could never quite capture.

It was always like this with you. There was a gentle kind of closeness that didn’t demand anything more than your presence. It wasn’t loud or extravagant, but it was steady.

That was more than enough for him, to keep him grounded in a way nothing else could. Megumi didn’t have to explain himself, didn’t have to rush to fill the gaps, because you already understood. It was just like that between the two of you.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, noting the way the soft glow of the blue moonlight reflected off your hair and the peaceful expression on your face. A rare warmth bloomed in his chest, spreading slowly but surely, chasing away whatever lingering shadows had tried to follow him here.

Megumi’s grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, his way of acknowledging what he couldn’t yet say aloud. This, he thought, was the kind of peace he didn’t know he needed. And for tonight, that was more than enough.

When you both arrived at the train station, the warmth of the moment lingered despite the cold metal benches and the faint whistle of the wind echoing through the platform. The faint hum of distant activity surrounded you, but it all felt muted, like the world had softened its edges just for the two of you.

You both sat down to wait for the train, your hands finally parting as you settled beside each other. Fushiguro Megumi shifted slightly, resting his elbows on his knees and looking out at the empty tracks.

The silence between you was comfortable, but you broke it, your voice cutting through the cold like the first hint of sunlight after a long night.

You looked up at him with a soft smile. “Happy birthday, Megu.”

He froze for a moment, blinking as if he hadn’t quite heard you. Slowly, he turned his head to meet your gaze, his brows furrowing slightly. “What?”

You giggled, the sound warm and light as you looked at his astonished face. “Happy birthday, I said.” you repeated, your smile widening.

His expression softened as realization washed over him. He let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. He shook his head, as you looked at his most adorable expressions, reserved only for you.

“I forgot, babe.” he admitted quietly, glancing away.

“I know, baby.” you said, your tone teasing but gentle. “You always forget. That’s why I’m here to remind you.”

He didn’t respond right away, his eyes fixed on the tracks ahead. But the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips, barely there but unmistakable. He turns his blue–green eyes to you, as though you were the most wondrous thing he’d ever set his blue–green eyes on.

 “Thanks, babe.” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You reached into your pocket, pulling out a small, neatly wrapped package. You always were better at wrapping presents. You had the best hands in the world, warmest to touch and the most delicate with care. And perhaps that is what made him freeze for a moment. 

“And because I know you’d never ask for anything, I got you this.”

He looked at the gift, his eyes widening slightly. “You didn’t have to—”

“But I wanted to, baby.” you interrupted, holding it out to him. “It’s your birthday, Megu. You deserve to feel special, even if it’s just a little.”

He hesitated before taking the gift from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours for a brief moment. He stared at it for a few seconds, his expression unreadable, before carefully peeling back the wrapping paper.

Inside was a small, leather keychain engraved with his initials on it. Attached to it was a simple charm shaped like a wolf, a perfect reflection of his shikigami. Megumi stared at it for a moment, his fingers brushing over the smooth leather and the delicate charm. It was clear you’d put thought into this, making sure every detail would suit him.

Everything about it was just to his liking. You always knew it better than him sometimes too. Its design is sleek and understated, free from unnecessary embellishments, yet carrying so much meaning.

It was practical, simple, and deeply personal, just like him. And yet, the simplicity is what made it even more special, just like he knew he was to you.

“You… put a lot of thought into this, babe.” he said softly, his voice tinged with something unspoken, something he wasn’t entirely sure how to express.

You smiled, a faint flush rising to your cheeks. “Of course I did. I wanted it to be something you’d actually use. And… well…. I thought the wolf was a nice touch.”

“It is.” he murmured, his eyes lingering on the charm. 

His shikigami were a part of him, a symbol of his strength and the weight he carried in his cursed technique. But they were something he loved too. Especially his wolves. And now, here it was, captured in this small but significant token by you. Now it meant even more. Because you gave it to him. Now, it was something he could keep with him no matter where he went.

“Do you like it?” you asked, almost shyly.

Megumi looked up at you, and though his expression remained its usual calm, there was a softness in his gaze that made your heart flutter. “I do, babe.” he said simply, but the quiet sincerity in your boyfriend’s voice spoke volumes. “Thank you.”

“I thought it could keep you company, when you’re away.” you said softly, watching him closely. “You’re always busy helping people and running around. You keep doing so much for everyone else. I wanted to give you something you could keep with you, something to remind you…”

He glanced up at you, his blue–green eyes meeting yours. “Remind me of what?”

“That you’re never really alone.” you said simply, your voice filled with quiet sincerity. “That I’m always there for you, Megu.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his fingers tightening slightly around the keychain. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. And for a moment, those rare smiles, the smiles he could only show you. You, his most precious person. That smile had trailed on his lips for a moment.

“Thank you, babe.” he said, his voice steady but laced with something deeper—gratitude, maybe, or something even more profound that he didn’t quite know how to put into words. “I’ll treasure this well, I promise.”

You smiled, leaning back against the bench as the distant sound of the approaching train reached your ears. “Happy birthday, Megu.” you said again, your tone warm and light, your words laced with genuine affection. And then, as naturally as breathing, you added, “I love you.”

The words were simple but carried a weight that made Fushiguro Megumi’s heart stutter. He froze for a moment, wide-eyed, his usual composure shattered like glass under the heat of your confession. He’d always heard you say it over and over again. And yet…..it always made him feel like he was going to drown in your wonders.

He couldn’t help but feel himself combust with your words, the warmth spreading from his chest to his ears, and then outward until he was sure he’d melt into this cold blue winter night. Before he could even begin to stammer out a response, you squeezed his hand, your smile never fading. 

“Our train’s here! We gotta go!”

Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he blinked, glancing at the train now pulling into the station. You tugged him forward, your fingers laced with his, as if the moment hadn’t just turned his world upside down.

Megumi let out a soft sigh, a mix of exasperation and fondness, as he let you guide him toward the train. His blue–green eyes drifted to the keychain in his hand, its wolf charm catching the dim station light, and then to the scarf around his neck. 

The warmth of your scarf, still carrying your faint, comforting scent. For someone who often felt like the weight of the world rested squarely on his shoulders, tonight felt light. For tonight, everything just felt like a gift. The greatest gift in the world.

The train doors slid open with a gentle hiss, and you both stepped inside, settling into a pair of seats by the window. As the train began to move, Megumi finally found the courage to speak, his voice quieter than usual.

“You’re ridiculous, you know?” he muttered, though there was no bite in his tone.

You tilted your head, looking at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

His cheeks flushed again, and he turned his gaze to the window, watching the snow-covered scenery blur past. “You can’t just… say things like that so casually and just….watch me combust.”

“Oh, you mean when I said I love you?” you replied with a grin, clearly enjoying his reaction.

Megumi groaned, pressing a hand to his temple. “Yes. That.”

You laughed softly, leaning your head on his shoulder. “But it’s true, Megu!” you said, your voice softer now. “I do love you, truly! And I don’t see why I shouldn’t tell you over and over again.”

He was silent for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest as your words settled over him like the softest blanket. Finally, he glanced down at you, his blue–green gaze steady despite the pink still dusting his cheeks.

“…I know.” he said quietly, his voice barely audible. 

And though he didn’t say it back to you, overwhelmed by the wonders of those words on his soul, you knew that look in his eyes. That look of love, that wonder in the blue–green that said those words without leaving his lips.

It was all in his eyes that said everything you needed to hear. He struggles. But he hopes one day, he could say it to you without the struggle. 

You smiled to yourself, your gloves gone. You let your warm fingers still intertwine with his as the train rocked gently beneath you. He squeezed it even more and that had made you smile even more as you looked at him.

You hummed and leaned your head against his shoulder. His breath hitches before a moment later, his head resting on your own. You giggled at that. 

Tonight was perfect, you thought. Just the two of you, wrapped in warmth, as the world outside continued its quiet, snowy journey. And all you could see was the tenderness of all those shades of blue. That’s what it felt like when you were with him.

Everything was worth it. The cold was worth it. And so was the parting and the waiting. As long as you get to be with him and have this feeling of blue. As long as you could see those blues in his eyes.

Everything was worth it. Everything was worth experiencing. And you knew from the depths of his heart that he felt the same way too. Blue was the wonder of being with you. And he loves it too. 

══════════════════

epilogue

Later that night when you reached your house, the warmth of the entryway light spilling into the snowy night, you turned to Megumi with a thoughtful smile. He noticed the way your bright eyes sparkled.

It was a sign you were about to say something that might throw him off. He was familiar with that look since you were in middle school. But every time, he finds himself learning the depths of that mischief in your eyes. 

“So…” you began, glancing up at him with a hint of mischief. “Do you want to stay over tonight?”

Fushiguro Megumi nearly tripped over his own feet. His handsome face turned a shade of red that rivaled the setting sun, and he froze in place, his free hand holding your bag for you. You can see easily that he was clutching it nervously.

“W-What?” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly. “Why—what—why would you even—?”

You couldn’t help but giggle, watching him flounder. “It’s late, Megu!” you said, your tone as calm and reasonable as ever. “The buses aren’t running anymore, and so are the trains, you know! I’d feel bad making you walk all the way back to the dorms in this cold.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you held up a hand, cutting him off before he could get a word in. You already knew that you had a card up your sleeve. You grinned at him and giggled, taking out your phone from your coat pocket and showing it to him.

“And before you say anything about it being improper or whatever.” you added with a knowing grin, “I already asked Gojo–san if it was okay.”

Megumi’s face somehow turned even redder, and his hand shot to his temple like he was trying to ward off a headache. He looked at your phone for a moment.“You asked Gojo?”

You nodded, looking far too pleased with yourself. “Yup! He said, and I quote, ‘As long as you don’t let Megumi brood in a corner all night, I’m fine with it! Take care of my precious son, daughter in law!’”

Fushiguro Megumi groaned, running a hand down his face. What did Gojo mean precious son? And what did Gojo mean about daughter in law? That was just….

Megumi didn’t know what to do anymore. He can’t even believe Gojo gave his number to you. He couldn’t help but feel his face echo a look of a son embarrassed by his overbearing father. 

“Why would you even tell him that? Now he’s never going to let me live this down.”

You laughed, tugging gently on his hand to lead him inside. “Oh, come on. He didn’t care at all. Besides I had to, he’s your guardian! He said he’d rather you stayed somewhere warm and safe than out in the cold. Besides, it’s not like we haven’t hung out late before. We’d have sleep overs before too.”

“That’s different.” he muttered, still flustered as you closed the door behind him.

“How is it different?” you teased, tilting your head at him.

He hesitated, glancing at you and then away, his ears burning. “It just… is. I just…..”

You rolled your bright doe eyes playfully and reached up to unwrap your scarf—now his own scarf—from around his neck. “Relax, Megu. It’s not a big deal. You can have the couch if it makes you feel better. Or the guest room. I don’t think my mom will mind when she comes back! She loves you too!”

He sighed, letting you take the scarf off but avoiding your gaze. “Fine, fine.” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “I’ll….I’ll sleep here tonight.”

You grinned, your victory clear. “Come on, I think I still have some of your old clothes I took from you. I’m sure they still fit you.”

“You never returned that hoodie I used to like.”

You raised a teasing brow at him. “Do you want it back?”

“No.” He says back to you, and looks at his own scarf on your neck too. “You can keep the scarf too.”

“Good. Now come on, I’ll make some hot chocolate. Consider it a bonus birthday gift.”

As you walked toward the kitchen, Fushiguro Megumi stood there for a moment as he watched you start humming, looking for the cocoa. He let out a quiet sigh, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite himself. 

He was definitely going to hear about this from Gojo Satoru later, but for now, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was with you. And that was more than enough for him to not care about the world outside. 

[luciferanalyzestar]

I was cleaning and reorganizing my room, but I am taking a break to watch this. Also, what is going on with the thumbnails? Since Full Moon, they are getting more and more cluttered. Less is more.

Live reaction time, sad yippee.

That moment when you realize you have a WHOLE ASS DAUGHTER!

She is so real for this. Stella's VA always slays her lines, love her performance.

My new favorite background characters!! In love with the waiter imp's design. The background characters always look better than the main/speaking characters.

Okay, Moxxie and Millie are just yapping and being horny for each other, and I am just confused. What the fuck is happening? Visual noise. The M&Ms are my least favorite canon couple. maybe I will like them when Millie gets character outside of her husband.

Me when I buy too much stuff.

The joke is: She is homophobic. Since this sinner's situation is similar to what is going on with Blitz/Stolas/Stella? Is Stella going to be reveal to be homophobic? /lhj

Yes Via, your father is horny fetishizer who is a liar. Stolas is a bad father for not caring about his daughter and her wellbeing. He only cares about Blitz and his sexual desires. If my father or mother pulled something like this, I would not talk to them again. This is straight up abandonment.

When a stan sees a negative opinion about the Hellaverse.

Finally, Stolas says what we all been thinking, HE IS FUCKING STUPID. I guess being poor help wake up Stolas' braincells.

What in the fanfic? Anyway, the guy is a cheater, but they would have to kill the kids too. This does not seem like a Murder Family situation where the whole family was sick and twisted.

You are pregnant. What in the double fanfic?

Blitz throwing the sinner out the window made me giggle. Love jokes like that. See, it is possible for this show to be funny with swearing up a storm.

I hate Andy more than Stolas. Andy deserved that shit. Stolas beating the brakes off of Andy made me laugh. Why wouldn't Stolas be cool instead of being a UWU gay man?

What in the yaoi?

Loona is like a Dragon Ball character, how many forms does she got? This is for all the middle school wolf kids. The multiple eyes look dumb though.

I no longer like men. I'm homophobic now. Helluva made me hate men. /j

YES, VIA TELL HIS ASS OFF!!!!!! GET HIS ASS!!! RIP HIM A NEW ONE!!!! On an off note, Via's lines sound weird. I'm listening to the show via a Bluetooth speaker, and it sounds likes her VA was recording her lines in a closet to something. Especially the "chance to leave" part, I do not know I would be tripping.

Anyway, there is nothing wrong with cutting out toxic family members. Stolas was too busy getting his asshole tickled by Blitz to spend time with his daughter whose life was crumbling around her. I am tired of Stolas' bitch ass crying. Shut up. You should have drowned in that bathtub.

Loona has friends!!!??? I wish that was an episode of Loona finding friends instead of cringe episodes for people who have not grown out of the fujoshi middle school phase.

This show is jumping the shark. You know the writers are running out of ideas when they make one of the characters pregnant. At least make a male character pregnant, SWITCH IT UP!

Omg, this hellhound is like me for real, I own a pair of cheery earrings. Her design is peak like the other background characters. Someone please save her from this show.

YEP! :D Blitz misses Barbie so much that she has not made an appearance since. She really hates his ass that she removed herself from the show. I hope Blitz trips, taking Stolas with him and they both die and go into a better show with better writing.

RATING TIME: 4.5/10

I had more time cleaning and reorganizing my room than watching this episode. I felt nothing watching certain parts. The only moments I cared for was the ones with Via because of the leak storyboards of this episode. It seems like nothing was changed unlike what happen to Ghostfuckers.

Will I be watching season three? Viv said that season 3 take a while to be released and it is going to be 15 episodes long.

That would be around 2026. I do not know if I want to be watching this show when I am 25 years old. The writing choices of this show are baffling. I think (do not quote me on this) but Viv said season three will focus on the Ars Goetia in an interview which sounds boring. I do not care about their rich classist society. Is Helluva going to be Bridgerton but in Hell?

I can see myself watching Hazbin when I am 25 because there are AUs that I can indulge in when the show's writing gets worse and has like 1000 plots going on, if I do not care for one, I can pay attention to another one. Helluva's main plot point is just Stolas and Blitz, and I am bored of them. I dislike both of them as characters and as a couple/

I don't care for the rest of IMP, Fizz, Ozzie, Bee, Sallie Mae, Striker, and etc and their storylines. The only character I like is Mammon and Via and they do not appear that much.

Talking about this show is a chore. I had fun watching this show back in 2022 (I'm late to the fandom) but now, it is just a chore to sit though. The main plot is boring, and the side plots are the same recycle stuff. I have more fun reading the back label of shampoo bottles than watching this show.

[johnwickb1tsch]

you're the worst thing (i'm addicted to) + part 6

a john wick x Helen'sSister!Reader fic You are Helen's baby sister. Set a few years after the first movie, 2-4 never happened. Use of y/n. Warnings: canon typical violence. Smut. Mourning. More smut. Forbidden romance. Grey areas. Questionable decisions. Sweetheart!John, BAMF!John Depressed!John - If you can handle the movie you should be fine here... divider by saradika-graphics PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5

And I, I come here to be what you need, so you can fly, so you can fly -Detune, Kaleida

PART 6.

You always thought the boxy behemoth of John and Helen’s house looked more like a museum than a home. The dramatic lighting in the landscaping out front reinforces this impression, though gliding into the garage where the Mustang gives one last dying rumble before John kills the ignition maybe contradicts this notion. 

You have the startling realization that you have never been here, without Helen.

You see no traces of her in the garage. Her Lexus is gone. A motorcycle is parked where her SUV used to be. You wonder if John cleaned out her other belongings inside. It’s none of your business, how he decided to handle the remnants of her things, but the thought makes your heart ache in your chest all the same. 

“Ready?” he asks quietly, perhaps sensing your inner turmoil as you sit dead still in the passenger seat for too long, paralyzed in your thoughts of your sister. 

Not sure if it’s true, you nod anyway, making to extricate yourself from the low-slung sports car. John removes your duffel from the trunk, slinging the strap of the bag over his shoulder. You’d thought it heavy, but he handles it like you’d packed nothing but a bag of feathers, and it’s possible you admire the view of his powerful form from behind as you follow him inside. 

A part of you still can’t believe you are doing this. 

Now that your thoughts are only partially clouded by lust, your inner voice of judgement is still yet undecided as to how much loathing you deserve for this escapade. The garage leads into a mudroom, then the kitchen. John tosses his keys into a wooden bowl and flips a light. The open plan of the house gives you a clear view across the dining area and the recessed living room, and something in your heart unclenches as you realize he has not changed a thing. 

All of Helen’s carefully curated curios and objet d’art remain in place, and it’s almost as though she’s still there, in a way. Your eyes fill with tears, and desperately you try to blink them away before John notices you’re having a mini-crisis over the sight of Helen’s coffee table books on modern architecture. 

You are saved by the sound of claws clicking on the tile floor. A handsome blue pitbull trots up to you, immediately leaning on your legs after a perfunctory sniff. “Oh. Who’s this?” you ask, leaning over to pet the friendly fellow. 

“That’s Dog,” John answers with the chagrined smile of a man who knows your next thought will be something along the lines of “You couldn’t be bothered to actually name your dog?”

In an attempt to be original, you let it go. “What a sweetie.” 

You wonder what changed Helen’s mind from her original plan. “I thought she was getting you a beagle for some reason,” you remark quietly as Dog licks your chin. You scratch him behind his ears and down his back, smiling as he wiggles blissfully under your longish nails. 

John sighs heavily in response. “Yeah.” You sense there’s a whole explanation behind that one word, and maybe you’d talked a tough game back in your apartment, but it’s late, and you’re tired, and you find you don’t have the mettle to pry any more explanations out of this man tonight. 

Especially not ones that seem like they’re going to hurt him.

You get the sense that John has endured a lot in his lifetime. The last thing you want is to cause him more pain. 

He weighs you with those soulful eyes, and you can’t help but feel like he’s reading a little too much between your lines. “I…can prepare the guest room for you, if you prefer?” 

You wonder if he senses your unease in this new and tricky situation–or if he’s the one changing his mind. 

“I’m not…sleeping with you?” you ask, trying and failing to hide your own disappointment at hearing this proffered out. 

“Only if you want to.” 

You find the last thing you want tonight, is to toss and turn with your thoughts of Helen, alone. 

You can still see the hint of lace of your panties peeking out from his breast pocket, and a part of you wishes he would just sling you over his shoulder and take you to bed. 

And take all the blame, you chide yourself. 

No. If you’re digging this hole…you’re doing it together. 

Maybe it’s not entirely fair, the way you close the space between you slowly, your heels clicking on the tile. “What do you want, John?” you ask gently, and you don’t mean to purr it so sweetly, but it just comes out of you when you’re with him. And maybe it’s also not fair, when your hands find his trim torso, sliding under the warmth of his suit jacket. You feel he is strung taut as tightrope beneath his fine clothes; yet the moment you touch him something seems to let go.  

His eyes slide closed, and he does not answer you with words, ducking to press his lips to yours. Whatever feelings of guilt had been stewing beneath your skin utterly evaporate, immolated by the fire this small gesture ignites within you again.

“Me too,” you admit against his pillow-soft lips, and you think his huff of self-deprecating laughter is nine tenths relief. 

“Come on.” He nuzzles your nose with his before turning to lead you upstairs. 

You realize you’ve been in his bedroom before–but again, only with Helen, as she shared some new pair of shoes or designer dress she’d bought, putting on a fashion show for you in the walk-in closet, usually before foisting “hand-me-downs” she'd never actually worn (and clearly bought with your taste in mind) upon you. 

It certainly feels different now, the neatly made bed glowing in the moonlight streaming through the floor to ceiling windows. You know that they’re mirrored on the outside, but you still wonder how one goes about not feeling like they live in a fishbowl. You suppose you are unaccustomed to living in a house without close neighbors. It’s a luxury you could never afford in the city. 

John turns on a lamp, and sets your bag gingerly by the bed. “I’ll make room for you in the closet.” 

You’d barely packed enough to require it, but still you nod, touched by the thought because you never would have presumed to ask. “Tomorrow,” you say quietly, your hands finding their way under his jacket again, pushing it from his shoulders. You drape it carefully over the back of a nearby chair, certain it cost more than your rent.

He watches you with those soulful dark eyes, and you feel yourself melting all over again. He seems to enjoy your hands on his body as you slowly work on undressing him, loosening the knot of his tie, sliding the patterned silk from under his collar. You move on to his shining white gold cufflinks. “Pretty,” you compliment, working the toggles carefully. 

He hesitates a moment before admitting, “They were a gift.”

“I know. I helped Helen pick them out from Dunhill.”

He looks at you from beneath his lashes, the flash of sorrow in his dark eyes fathomless as the sea at night. He still hurts so much, and you understand. You feel it too.

“It’s ok,” you say, speaking to yourself as much as him. “We should say her name. We shouldn’t skirt around it. I want to remember her.” You don’t want her name to be taboo between you, even if what you are doing is more than a little fucked up. 

He closes his eyes, dipping his head in agreement. “Thank you.” You get the feeling he means for more than just helping your sister pick out an anniversary gift for him. You just nod, and he presses his forehead to yours. You stand like that for a long while, two people who are broken but maybe, just maybe, have found a bit of light in each other against the crushing gloom.

You fancy that you feel the exact moment, when John makes up his mind for certain about you. He gathers you to him with a new edge of desperation, grips your curves just this side of too hard, like you might slip away if he doesn’t hold on to you. His mouth slants over yours, and you take the onslaught of his passion gladly, holding him to you with arms around his neck as he devours you. The fine zipper down your spine proves no obstacle for his clever hands; your dress slides down your body, pooling around your ankles. 

The hunger in his expression as he looks down at you in just your strapless bra makes your legs weak–it doesn’t matter, because he holds you, and he’s not letting you go. His voice comes rough with the edge of desire: “Y/n…I know I don’t deserve you. But God do I want you.” He doesn't give you much of a chance to answer, manhandling you onto the bed like you weigh nothing, which isn’t the case at all.

You would have told him that you want him too, more than you've ever wanted anyone, but his mouth is on yours and you're happy to kiss him instead. His lean body presses you down deliciously into the soft mattress; you open eagerly, twining your legs with his, holding him to you. He's still completely clothed, and you make an attempt to undo some buttons, craving his bare skin on yours like air to breathe. The promise of his hard groin against yours makes your vision spin. 

“I’m sorry,” he growls, seemingly at your breasts as he moves down your body, his hot mouth searing trails of fire down your skin. Your brain function is not at its best at the moment–you’re not sure what he’s talking about at all, and he doesn’t expand on his point until his teeth are grazing the curve of your hip. 

“I haven’t…been with anyone…since Helen,” he explains, his voice rough with want. “I might be…a little rusty.”

You have to bite down on a laugh. Not because it’s funny, but because it’s so endearing you could scream, and if this is John Wick when he feels like he’s not on his game…you don’t think you can handle this man at his best. 

“I don’t think you have to worry,” you sigh as he kisses the inside of your thigh, moaning as his soft lips travel higher. It’s almost embarrassing how wet he finds you, when he slips the tip of his thumb just past your weeping hole. The sound he makes is more animal than man as he falls to his knees at the edge of the bed, guiding your legs over his broad shoulders, and when his tongue touches your clit you see God. You cannot sit still but he holds you down with one big hand spanned across your belly, two of his fingers sliding inside you as he laves at your aching slit. 

“John,” you pant, your hands fisted in the bedspread out of desperation for something to hold on to, your back arched like a bow as he gives you this blissful pleasure between your thighs. “Please…” You can hardly think past his mouth upon you, your brain gone completely offline while in this man’s skillful hands. “Please, I want you inside me?” 

He growls against you, making your toes curl. You’re not sure if he’s arguing with you, or himself, but in the end he withdraws, wiping his mouth on the bedspread before standing between your legs. He towers over you from this vantage, and in a blissful stupor you watch him undo the buttons of his shirt with deft fingers. You find yourself holding your breath as he reaches the last one; a whine escapes you as he pauses in the unveiling. 

“Y/n…I have to warn you…I have scars.”

 He seems self-conscious about this, or maybe afraid of how you might react. You sit up, giving him your full attention.

“It’s ok.”

“I don’t…want to scare you.” 

You touch his hands on his shirt halves lightly; it’s possible you're trembling. “I watched you take out three guys tonight and stab one of them in the leg…and I’m still here.”  

He lets out a long, shaking sigh, nodding. “Yeah.” 

“I’m kind of figuring out that you’re a dangerous man. But I don’t feel like you would ever hurt me. Am I wrong?” 

“No,” he answers immediately. 

“Ok. Then take off your shirt, please,” you say with a hint of insouciance you hope will break his hesitance, your lips curving in a smirk. You unclip your bra in a gesture of solidarity, tossing it to the foot of the bed. 

He looks down at your bare form with a tenderness in his eyes that warms you all over. Are you allowed to look at each other like that yet? Like you are something precious to behold? There are unofficial rules against this, but you feel yourself doing exactly the same. You feel yourself falling, hard, and you don't have the sense tonight to catch yourself before you hit rock bottom. 

“Cheeky girl,” he chides you gently, and you can see your ploy succeeded in nudging him out of his cycle of self doubt, at least for now. 

“You want me to be quiet, John?” you tease him further, reaching for his belt. “Give me something to put in my mouth.”

He makes a sound low in his throat that makes you think of predatory animals that stalk the deep dark forest at night. For a moment you get an inkling of the beast that lurks beneath this man's skin as he pushes you back down on the bed with a hand that engulfs the base of your throat, his gaze sharpening upon you in a way that sends a wave of gooseflesh rolling across your skin, your nipples tightening painfully. He kisses you, hard, and once more you forget everything due to this man's mouth upon you. 

Through half closed lids you watch him shrug out of his shirt, tossing it in the general direction of the chair. He was not joking about the scars; your eyes sweep over his torso, your lips parted with awe, your thighs pressed in an unconscious effort to relieve some of the exquisite ache inspired by seeing him like this, a god of war finally bared before you. 

You inventory the evidence of past altercations. Cuts large and small, and puckered round rosettes of flesh you can only assume must have been bullet wounds. This man has endured so much, and your heart aches for him, even as you know he must have given just as good as he got. 

You fixate on a long, thick scar that leads down the center of his abdomen, disappearing into his waistband; the sight of it makes your mouth water. 

He's beautiful, scars and all. Maybe more so, because of them. This man has been to hell and back– and now he's chosen to be here, in this precious moment, with you. Your fingertips itch to reach for him, to trace his contours and hollows and the evidence written on his skin that he's cheated death more than once. But he seemed to want you where he put you, and so you wait, trembling inside like a blossom waiting for the kiss of the dawn to open.

You watch as he divests himself of the gun again, tucking it into the drawer of the nightstand. You see him eyeing the lamp, considering plunging the room into darkness again, and you click your tongue in warning. “You're not shy, are you John?”

He narrows his eyes at you, though he smiles like he enjoys your teasing. “You’re not going to let me get away with anything, are you?”

“I think you're beautiful, and I want to see you while you fuck me.” Again, there's a flash of that predatory look behind his eyes, a leviathan surfaced from the depths, there and gone. It’s possible that you squirm a little, when he fixes you with that sharp black gaze, and you don't notice for a good long moment when he's finally taken off his pants, because you can't stop looking at his eyes. 

“I think you’re beautiful too,” he tells you, and finally he is crawling towards you, and you can run your hands over the expanses of his powerful physique. The curves of his biceps and the plane of his chest. The ladder of his ribs and his trim waist, and the velvety hard length of his manhood filling your hand. He groans into the bend of your neck as you stroke him, guiding him where you need him most between your legs.

“I want you so much, John. I need you.”

He pulls back to look at you with the expression of a drowning man. You think you’re beginning to understand him better. That the thing he wants most deep down is to be wanted, and that maybe it surprises him, that you do. It breaks your heart a little, that he’s so taken aback by that, like he can’t quite allow himself to believe it. 

He’d said he hadn’t had a happy life before Helen. You wonder what exactly that entailed. All this flashes through your mind in a millisecond before you guide him to your entrance, teasing yourself with his tip slicked delectably with your own juices. You should take a moment to grab a condom, new partner and all, but you’re on birth control, and you simply do not have the willpower to leave his arms.

He lowers himself so that he is pressing you down into the soft mattress with his body and his mouth on yours. He rolls his hips, his thick cock gliding against your folds torturously. You throw your head back, keening with need, the muscles of your pussy cramped so tightly with desire that it hurts. “Please? I’m so empty without you.”

Maybe he senses the truth in your plea. It is the thing that breaks him, unable to tease you anymore. You groan as his thick head pushes past your entrance, just a taste but god it feels like heaven. He buries his face in your neck as he thrusts, little by little until he is fully sheathed inside you. 

“So fucking good,” he groans into your hair, and you hold him against you, your nails digging into his back as you hook your leg on his hip, pulling him deeper. “My good girl, taking me so well.” He rocks against you, rubbing your clit with his pubic bone as he fills you better than anyone ever has, and you are already on the edge of climax, your pussy fluttering around his length. You squeeze him inside you, winning a moan that feels like you've won a prize.

He fills you like he was made for you, and you are lost. Lost in the sensation of him inside you, engulfing you–you’ve never felt so claimed, nor, you reckon, have you ever submitted to a man so gladly. 

“You going to cum for me, y/n?” With his thumb on your clit as he thrusts, hitting that perfect spot inside you, it feels more like a demand than a request, or maybe just a sure prediction. 

“Yes. Fuck. John…” 

You lose the faculty for higher language as your second orgasm of the night crashes through you, ecstasy ripping up your spine like a tidal wave. Maybe because it’s been a while like he said, or just maybe because he’s that into you, John loses it too as he feels the clench of your greedy little cunt milking him, thrusting deep inside you as he fills you with the hot flood of his release. 

Maybe it should scare you, that you’ve never connected so perfectly with another man–but all you can manage in this moment is to hold him to you like you have no intention of ever letting him go. It feels like a long time before he rises from what the French call the little death, and how true it is. How is it possible to feel so exhausted, yet born anew? 

Words seem to escape him as much as you; instead he kisses you, a long and languorous lock of lips that curls your toes all over again, your pussy clenching in answer around his still semi-hard manhood inside you. It wins you another groan that makes you chuckle against his lips. 

The first thing he says to you after this complete mutual ruin is: “Imp,” and all you can do in answer is grin against his mouth triumphantly.

He’s not wrong. 

The two of you barely manage to clean yourselves up before you are snuggling down into the covers together, falling into a deep sleep. Maybe it’s foolish of you, but tangled up tightly in John Wick’s strong arms–you feel as though nothing can hurt you. 

[olderthannetfic]

I need to vent. Please bear with me.

I feel very frustrated with myself lately. I used to write fanfic, but now I haven't been able to go beyond the "taking notes" pre-writing stage for at least two years. And what I do manage to get written down feels lazy and derivative, even by fan work standards. I thought I was going along with the big themes I saw in canon, but looking back, all I did was copy canon's big emotional moments, change a few names and places, and call it a day. There's no originality to it at all!

I've tried following all sorts of advice to break my writers block, but nothing seems to work.

I tried forcing myself to write even when I wasn't inspired. And then I gave myself a break and set aside all my WIPs. I branched out and experienced media that was either new to me or I took a second look at media I haven't viewed in a while. I tried taking inspiration from real life.

And yet I can't make anything that's remotely original or complete. I don't know what to do in order to change that. I have a very real fear that I peaked two years ago, and from now on I'll just be a consumer instead of a creator.

To me, this feels like the worst case scenario. I had talent and I squandered it. And that doesn't make me feel good at all.

--

That isn't how talent works. If you had it at one point, it's still in there even if your current first drafts suck.

First, it might be a revision problem. You now have sky-high standards even compared to before, and producing "good" writing will happen on the second or third draft, but you're too frustrated to get there.

Second, you might need a different kind of break from writing. Maybe you should take up painting or knitting for a while.

[littlefankingdom]

I hate when people make out Bruce in their posts and fanfics as needing Alfred for anything.

"Bruce cannot cook because he always had Alfred."

"Bruce has never do his own laundry because he always had Alfred."

"Bruce never cleaned anything because he has Alfred."

Oh my goddesses, shut the fuck up. Can y'all stop treating Bruce like he is some random rich white guy and not Bruce??? HE RAN AWAY TO GO TRAIN AROUND THE WORLD. Do you really think the multiple masters he had would have cooked for him and do his laundry??? He probably was left alone with nothing but the clothes on his back to test his survival skills. He knows how to cook in the middle of nowhere, he wouldn't be alive if he didn't.

And even if we forget all of that, he was raised by Alfred Pennyworth. Y'all really think Alfred babied Bruce? He was his guardian, not just his butler. A normal rich kid with LIVING parents and a butler probably wouldn't know how to clean after themself, but Bruce? Bruce who got in so many fights as a kid? Bruce who was full of anger and pain? You think Alfred never made him clean the whole east ballroom because he didn't like the tone Bruce used to talk to him? I don't think so. I don't think the butler that has to take care of a whole ass manor hasn't made his rebellious ward clean some of it as punishment. Bruce probably has done chores in the manor way more often than Dick or any of his kids, because they are disciplined by Bruce, their father, not Alfred.

And that's not even talking about all the time in the comics where Bruce doesn't have Alfred, because he is on mission, or kept away, or Alfred left, and he takes care of himself. It happens in Knightfall, it happens in Gotham Knights, and neither of these time do Bruce get another employee, he takes care of himself on his own. ALFRED IS DEAD IN CANON SINCE 2019, Bruce takes care of himself. Also, he canonically has ocd and is known for being controlling, this man 100% needs his stuff cleaned in a certain way.

Unless it's something like "he can cook but he can fucked up because...", I don't wanna hear it. He doesn't need to be a Michelin chef, but he knows how to made basic food. He knows how to clean after himself. The reason he doesn't help more is because Alfred can be as controlling as Bruce about how things need to be.

And I'm sure some comics go against what I said here, but these are wrong and I will physically fight the writers.

[thebroccolination]

STOLAS AND BLITZ'S CURRENT RELATIONSHIP IS A TREASURE TROVE

Helluva Boss is the ideal source material for fanworks in so many ways. Especially because of where Blitz and Stolas's relationship is right now.

One of the show's more obvious issues is the pacing, and while I don't know a ton about animated productions, it's always seemed to me like they're creating an enormously ambitious production on a pretty limited budget, so they kind of have to power through these episodes at a hundred miles an hour without the luxury of going at the slower, more nuanced pace they deserve. But that's where fanfiction and fanart can really elevate what canon gives us, because the show is creating so much potential to explore, and we have time in between episodes to play!

Basically: I love it here and this episode was a buffet of goodness.

Following Mastermind, Stolas and Blitz are discovering that despite their physically intimate relationship and their feelings for each other, they don't actually know each other.

In Sinsmas, we see Stolas and Blitz discovering so many new things about each other, to the point where you wonder what they ever talked about until you remember: sex. When they reunited as adults, they never re-learned who each other is now. Instead, they jumped past personal intimacy to physical intimacy.

And now that they're working on their personal intimacy, I love that Blitz has flipped completely from acting cold to Stolas out of uncertainty and self-defense to committing to him, unrelentingly loyal and affectionate. The way he is with Loona.

So we have them learning each other in doses:

• Blitz's horse thing

• Stolas's secret medication

• What Stolas eats

• Social norms Stolas didn't have to know when he was part of the wealthy ruling class

• Hellborn culture

• Blitz's genuine love for the company he built, not just pride

• Just how different Blitz's way of life is from the one Stolas is accustomed to

• And the real Blitz as opposed to the idealized version Stolas invented in his fantasies

In Mastermind, Stolas has that line, "Why am I throwing my freedom away for this idiot?" in part because he was still mad at Blitz, but also because Blitz has been knocked off his pedestal, and Stolas has to relearn him from nothing.

But the thing is: this idiot loves Stolas.

He's not ashamed to eat with Stolas in public, not ashamed to protect him from the other Hellborn who hate Stolas because of the trial.

He's genuinely delighted spending his time with Stolas.

He'll hunt rats in an alley just to make sure Stolas is eating what he likes.

And he champions Stolas's very first secretarial attempt in very characteristically giddy flavor.

He risks his life to save Stolas's, a flip from Mastermind.

He wraps Stolas in his own jacket to keep him warm, even though Blitz just complained about Earth's winter topside.

And he wraps Stolas in a blanket, then eats hot coals/brimstone(/whatever those rocks were) to become a hot water bottle for Stolas.

Because ultimately, what Blitz wants and perhaps realizes he wants in this episode is that he wants to be a complete family with Stolas and their daughters.

And they'll get there in part by talking to each other about what matters.

Not fighting, not yelling, not walking away, just talking to each other. About their vulnerabilities and their fears and what hurts. About their past hurts and their worries for the future.

And they've never done that at length before.

The trial gave Blitz the wakeup call he needed, and now the season is ending with Blitz completing another curve of his character arc. Does he believe he deserves Stolas? No. Does he have the family he wants? Nope! But to get there he has to make things right with Stolas, and he's (mostly) done that.

What comes next for them in season three will be up to Stolas.

Blitz has embraced Stolas, but it's not quite reciprocal yet.

So I look forward to aaaaaaalllllllllI the fic and fanart along the way. :>

[ohdeerfully]

Hi,

I was wondering if I could request a story. Alastor x reader although they’re more friends at the beginning. And something thats probably not canon.

The reader is doing research for the hotel trying to find proof that souls can be redeemed. In her search she stumbles across newspaper archives about the Louisiana killer. Knowing that its Alastor she becomes interested and through more digging she discovers that his victims were actually all criminals ie rapists, drug dealers etc. She prints some of the info out (I don’t know why) and then back at the hotel she accidentally drops some of the papers and Alastor sees them. I’m not sure where to go from here, I want Alastor to get a bit angry but reader assures him that his secret is safe with them.

I know its long I’m sooorrry! Let me know what you think.

💙💙

heyyy!! thank u for the request sorry it took literal ages to touch...this short fic contains NO ROMANCE sorry alastor lovers. but i hope you still enjoy!

Silence Your Soul

Alastor x Reader (platonic) TW: nothing specific? alastor is a jerk but whos surprised. hazbin typical crimes

masterlist join my discord!

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After Charlie gave you a second chance at her hotel, saving you from the streets in the city of Pride, you were nothing but devoted to her cause. Offering her a hand in trying to prove that the damned can be forgiven and offered a spot in Heaven was the least you could do—although it wasn’t easy.

It was a late evening when you found yourself in an unkempt library at the edge of the city, only tended by a single employee that probably hasn’t seen a soul in weeks. Her excitement upon your arrival made you feel bad, seeing her nearly jump out of her chair as she greeted you made her loneliness awkwardly obvious. You exchanged pleasantries before meandering through the dusty aisles.

You had given yourself a challenge that you weren’t even sure was possible to complete; it seemed more so just busy work to keep you from getting bored at the hotel. Finding proof of redemption for one of Hell’s most prolific Overlords was crazy work, but you assumed if it was possible then virtually any other demon could be forgiven.

Fingers trailed over the spines of historical books and biographies, pursing your lips as you searched the overwhelming amount of titles at your disposal. As rundown as this library was, you would guess it had the inventory of hundreds of ordinary libraries you’d typically find while alive. It didn’t help that you really didn’t have a starting point—you had no clue if you’d even find anything written on Alastor. You only had a vague idea that he was a murderer in Louisiana.

By tedious preservation you eventually managed to find a biography very succinctly titled “Alastor - New Orleans Terror.” You clasped your hands together and raised it to the sky in relief before grabbing the dusty cover and bringing it to the front of the library. After a brief conversation and being asked to sign up for a library card—although more often than not books were never returned—you were on your way back to the hotel.

Charlie had provided you with a little office to do your work in, a small gesture as thanks for your dedication to her idea. You locked your office door and sat down at your desk, pulling a packet of sticky notes and a few pens closer before opening the biography on the resident Radio Demon.

A few hours later, around midnight, you decided to call it for the day with a hefty slam to the book cover. You pushed your chair away from the desk and stretched your arms above your head, bending your back over the head of the chair until a satisfying series of cracks went up your spine. You slumped back down and began to tidy up your area.

The book had a littering of tabs sticking out of the pages, numbered to follow the bullet pointed notes you wrote down on a few sheets of paper. You were pleasantly surprised with what you found out about Alastor, although now you weren’t sure how it would help Charlie’s case in proving all souls can be redeemed. Murder is bad, yes, undoubtedly, but a strong case could be made for Alastor regarding who and why he killed. His reasonings were rather… kind? Somehow? As kind as murder can be.

You tucked the loose pages into the back of the book, holding it firmly to keep all your notes contained. You clicked off your lamp, stood up, pushed your chair back under the desk, and left your office.

Investigators at the scenes of his murders always drew to a similar conclusion—his victims were often rapists, abusers, and two were even politicians with links to trafficking operations. Murder… could be forgiven in this case, right? Of course, Alastor is in Hell for a reason, he’s actually insane and extremely manipulative, but his reasonings for the actual crimes he committed were—

Your thoughts were cut off as you rounded the corner and full body slammed into the man of the hour himself. Shit, how did you not sense his presence? Or, better, how did he not sense yours?

The book in your hand flew almost comically a few paces away, pages scattering out and landing in a messy halo around the book. You took a few stumbling steps backwards, hand pressed against your nose, aching from the impact. Your eyes were blurred with pained tears as you lifted your gaze to Alastor’s smiling expression.

“Hey, shit, I’m sorry,” You said quickly, blinking the haze out of your eyes as you dropped your hand from your face. You began walking towards the book. “I should’ve been paying more attention.”

Alastor was faster, beating you to the mess with his much larger stride. “No worries at all, my dear!” He said all too cheerfully for it being the middle of the night. “Awareness goes both ways after all!”

He hummed as he bent over, swooping up the biography with his name plastered grandly on the front. His shit eating grin somehow doubled as he looked back at you, his long index finger tapping on the cover. 

“A fan?”

“Hardly,” You rolled your eyes, playing a bit coy to counter his confidence. “Just picked it up at the library. Since I work for Charlie I figured I could learn a bit about our more famous residents.” 

Your act didn’t seem to put a damper on his cheer as he briefly thumbed through the biography, but it didn’t take long for him to notice the numbered sticky notes. His red eyes casted towards you before looking down at the similarly numbered sheets of paper by his feet. You sucked in a breath before gritting your teeth. You could probably explain yourself through this if you thought fast enough. 

He knelt and gathered the pages, placing the book down so he could use both hands to shuffle through the papers. You waited, tense, as his eyes scanned your notes. As painfully quiet moments passed, you saw his brows furrow and grin grow tighter.

When he looked back at you, his expression remained calm, but you could tell by the harsher prickling of static on your skin that he was frustrated. 

“While I’m quite pleased to see someone so interested in my living affairs,” He said rather forcefully as he stood, papers still gripped tightly in one hand. “This extensive meddling is rather annoying. What was it they said about… that one curious cat?”

The air grew a bit dangerous with his words as his voice dripped with venomous radio static. You were frozen in place, thoughts flying in every possible direction for words to calm the Overlord.

“H-hey, I’m just working for Charlie, you know, like I said earlier,” Your explanation came in an embarrassing stutter. You figured you may as well just tell the truth, although leaving out the part that you chose to research him. Of course, maybe it would butter him up enough to let you go if you told him how interesting you found him and his previous life; you chose to keep your dignity for now.

“Well, I ask you to leave me out of it,” He responded quickly, and you knew he wasn’t really asking. You nodded feverishly, promising to obey and reaching for the papers in his hand. He tutted before moving his hand away.

“I assume you’ve dedicated quite some time to this research, no?” He mused, waving the stack of pages tantalizingly just out of your reach. You sighed in defeat, hand falling to your side. 

“Yeah, a bit,” You admitted, folding your arms. He laughed for a moment and then you saw a green aura emanate from his palm before a burst of flame consumed the papers. Your mouth twisted into a frown as you watched green-tipped embers of your hard work sizzle into nothing on the red carpet below.

“Well! Then that’s far too much sensitive information on my history, so better it to be gone,” He explained, patting his hands together to rid them of any remaining debris. His eyes then turned to the book, swiftly picking it back up.

“Such a fine piece of literature, really,” He sighed dreamily, theatrically tracing a finger over his own name. It almost made you sneer—what a self-absorbed prick. Then, that same green aura lit in his hand. “Shame it has to go.”

“Wait, wait, wait, that’s not mine, I need to give it back to—” A whoosh of bright flame cut off your pleas, and you groaned in aggravation as shards of the book crumpled by his feet. You watched in helpless defeat as Alastor burned any remaining bridges to his living history. Perhaps that book managed to slip under his nose all these years as he built up his title as an Overlord. Now you had the awkward chore of trying to explain to the librarian why you can’t return her book.

“So…” Shit, that ominous tone in his voice was back as he met your gaze. You couldn’t handle the eye contact, so you swiftly looked to the side, down the hall, in meager hopes that anybody could interrupt this scene and save your sorry ass.

“All that remains, my dear, is you,” He stepped closer, and you similarly stepped backwards. The air in the room suddenly felt too heavy, the lighting too dark. Were you crazy, or were the shadows in the corners stretching towards you?

“I can’t have you running around Hell, whispering my secrets into the ears of the unworthy majority, right? No… that wouldn’t do at all,” Another step forward from him, another back for you. This continued for a few steps before your back hit a wall, sending a freezing chill down your spine. You knew running would only enhance his drive to strike you down, so you remained stuck in place. 

The antlers on his head seemed to expand and grow sharper as he reached a hand towards you. You squeezed your eyes shut and grit your teeth. If anything, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing your screams. 

The burn of flames never touched your skin, nor did the sting of tearing flesh. You cracked open your eyes, and saw that his arm hovered only a foot away from you, palm turned upwards. His piercing red eyes bore into your own, never leaving even when you struggled to meet his gaze.

“Unfortunately for me, maybe fortunately for you, Charlie is very fond of you,” He sighed dramatically. “But, still, I can’t have you walking freely around knowing what you know. You are now the last source of my history. So…”

His hand nudged, regaining your attention. You swallowed a lump in your throat, adrenaline still pumping through your entire body and creating an uncomfortable pounding in your head.

“My soul..?” 

Alastor’s eyes rolled before his grin curled maliciously. “Well, obviously, how else will I keep you from opening that mouth of yours?”

Your fingers instinctively reached towards your chest, toying with the fabric of your shirt. Was it really worth it?

“I don’t know how much of an incentive you need here, my dear,” He laughed, although his tone gave away his slight impatience. “You give me your soul and your silence, and I give you… your pitiful life. Hm. Sounds fair to me!” 

You chewed on your cheek. Man, fuck it, you didn’t really want to risk finding out if Charlie’s friendship was truly enough to keep Alastor from killing you. Your hand shot forward before you could give yourself any more time to ponder—or, any more time for Alastor to lose his patience and change his mind. 

As soon as your hand folded around his, a near blinding flash of green light forced your eyes shut as you turned your head away, a squealing and staticy noise filling your ears as you felt a heavy pressure on your neck and a lightness in your chest. In a brief moment, the room fell silent again and Alastor yanked his hand from yours.

You slowly opened your eyes again, timidly looking towards him. You didn’t really have any words at this point, only a sense of loss you couldn’t quite put a finger on.

“There, all settled,” He spoke cheerfully, a complete contradiction of his actions just seconds prior. “Have a goodnight.”

Without another glance, he turned heel and walked away, a light hum playing from his lips. You stood there, staring aimlessly down the hallway and then down at the carpet where blackened ashes of his history stood.

Honestly, right now you were just grateful you weren’t a part of the pile.

[thebaldursmouthgazette]

You didn’t prove anything, because literally ALL of your sources are propaganda that we know to be false propaganda meant to increase the gods’ influence. It would be like arguing Elgar’nan is actually the good guy because all the old tales say he is the loving and benevolent creator god. The old tales do say he is the loving and benevolent creator god, but that’s because the old tales are bullshit propaganda intended to gather worshippers.

Give me one single piece of evidence that it was Mythal who did the ritual (did the ritual. Not that she was involved. Not that it was her idea. Not that she ordered solas to do it. That she, personally, did the ritual), that is not filtered down through several thousand years of “Mythal the protector” propaganda that co existed with several thousand years of dread wolf propaganda. I’ll save you a trawl through the wiki: there isn’t any. You’ve proved nothing, because you don’t understand what your sources are. You don’t understand you are citing false propaganda written by an unreliable narrator. It’s not supposed to be read as historically accurate, yet you’re treating it like the absolute truth.

My evidence?

1) The initial memory: Solas says “it is awful, what we’re doing”. The dagger is created, but his job does not end there. He is not just giving the dagger to Mythal, he is continuing with the task of sundering the titans

2) the discussion: after the first memory, Emmrich mentions that they have all “experienced a memory”. While the player sees a shot of the mural and hears spoken dialogue, the actual characters have experienced the memory. Experienced Solas’ memory. So when they go on to discuss that solas did the actual sundering like it’s established fact, that is because it is. They’ve actually experienced the memory and do not need to dissect the specific wording. They actually know that solas went on to do the ritual.

3) Solas’ guilt: one of the revenants we see is the “slaughter of the pillars”, the pillars being the titans. The other two revenants are “betrayal of Felassan”, representing Solas murdering Felassan in his sleep, and “fall of the protector”, referencing solas killing Mythal at the end of inquisition. These two revenants are both direct actions that solas took. He did not get someone else to kill those people, he killed them with his own hands. The slaughter of the pillars revenant is the same. It would not make sense for this guilt to hold such a high place, among those he had killed with his own hands, had he not also sundered the titans with his own hands.

4) Solas’ reaction to being accused: during the banters before the final battle, Davrin and Harding both confront him for sundering the titans and causing the blight. He does not make excuses, as he almost always does. He does not find a loophole, as he almost always does. He does not find a way where he is technically not to blame, as he almost always does. If he had simply made the dagger and given it to Mythal, with the warning that she should not go through with her plan, he would mention it. He consistently takes any and every opportunity to make excuses for himself. This is one of the major parts of the plot, it is a major part of why he is unable to leave the regret prison. He finds any excuse he can to lessen his responsibility for his actions. If there was such an obvious way for him to do so, he would take it. He doesn’t, because it does not exist. Because he did not simply give the dagger to Mythal and advise against using it, he is the one who performed the ritual. And as it is, instead of trying to find, as neve puts it, “a pretty excuse”, he practically admits it.

5) yes, the art book: if it was just the art book alone then no, that would not be enough evidence. But it’s not the art book alone, and, importantly, I am not using the art book as a piece of canon. I am using it as proof that that was the writers intentions at least at some point in the process. There was a point, in the creation of veilguard, where they were intending for Solas to have been the one to do the ritual. And this was the case so late into production, that the art book was printed with that as fact. Even if they changed their mind, it shows that none of the sources from the previous games contradict solas being the one to have done the ritual, because at the very least it would be lore compatible for it to be solas, and more likely it would be because that was the plan in the pretty well planned out lore the entire time. And that they would have had to change their mind, because Mythal was not the original intention. With this insight into the production process in mind, it becomes clear that everything I have mentioned was written with the understanding that it was solas who did the ritual. Given that they wrote a lot of stuff pointing to it being solas, because the intention was that it was solas, and left it in the game and didn’t put anything in to suggest that it wasn’t solas, it stands to reason that that is because it was solas. They didn’t change it. It was solas.

You know in retrospect sundermount is a hell of a name for a mountain

[oddberryshortcake]

MY DEAR i apologize for the random drabble request pls don't feel pressured to do this if you do not wish🩵

but as u know, I love how you write the Dia gang🥺 and I crave crumbs of Lilia being put in a scenario where he actually needs to drop his 'ufufu' act and be protective over a one Silver Vanrouge

which is something I have not found yet in canon materials, very sadly, (but pls correctly me if i am wrong bc I am not in-the-know of all the vignettes and such)

There is one great moment in Book 7 where Lilia literally gets shot by a cannon while shielding Silver and he didn't even remember Silver was his son, his body just reacted on its own. Such good angst 😭 and then Jade's lab vignette has a pretty cute moment between the two with Lilia thinking Silver was getting poisoned.

But yes, I have written something for you (sorry it took so long lol) please enjoy and thank you for asking!

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

‘Shouldn’t he be taking less naps by now?’ Lilia thought to himself. 

In all of the human parenting books he read, most of them said that young humans tend to stop napping regularly at around four years old. Unless Silver was in the 30% margin of human five-year-olds needing naps, Lilia couldn’t find rhyme or reason for Silver to be this tired so frequently. 

When Silver was a baby, Lilia often praised him for his ability to go to sleep easily. It was a far cry from Malleus, who hated naps even when he was a wee little dragon. For a while, the only problem Silver really had was something called ‘colic’ and that thankfully passed by the time he reached 6 months. 

He had his suspicions it could have something to do with the state Lilia found him in…Lost in the throes of a protective sleep spell for over 400 years. The spell should’ve broken by now, otherwise Silver wouldn’t be here with him at all, tottering about in their front yard. 

He felt in his gut that some of Silver’s quirks weren’t normal, but he had no way of knowing for sure. He never lived with a human before nor took care of one. He kept telling himself that maybe human children would fall asleep standing up. 

He was brushing up on his reading because of his anxious observations. It was his way of dissuading himself from worrying. That’s when he heard what sounded like a heavy object being dropped down the stairs…The stairs that led up to Silver’s bedroom. 

“Silver? Are you causing any mischief up there?” He asks playfully, but he got no response which was odd. 

He went to inspect the sound and found Silver collapsed at the bottom of the stairs, limbs contorted in ways he’d see the deceased on the battlefield lie, not befitting for a little five-year-old. 

After a moment of standing there, in shock at what he was seeing, his senses finally came back to him and he rushed over to investigate. There was a cut just above Silver’s delicate forehead, and blood was gushing out. 

“Silver! Please speak to me!” He attempted, but got nothing. Then panic set in, those colorful little bandaids he had on hand wouldn’t be enough to close up this wound, and he had no healing potion on hand.

The blood reached down to his white eyelashes and wasn’t stopping. Was he gravely injured? Was he dying?

He already knew humans were fragile, but could stairs really kill him?

All these unknowns swirled in his brain and he felt like he did when Silver first got ill as a baby. Completely blind, making stuff up on the spot, a novice in the ways of raising a human, guilty of not handing Silver over to willing humans who would’ve taken him in and raised him better. 

He took Silver into his arms, not caring that his blood stained his newly cleaned white shirt, and took to a broomstick to fly all the way to the nearest human clinic. 

When he arrived, there was someone new at the front desk, a human employee he had never seen before instead of someone familiar. 

“This child fell down my stairs. He’s bleeding and he isn’t responding, I need help.” Lilia told her with urgency. 

“Sir, where did you find this child?” She asked, not knowing. 

He had fallen into his usual habit of referring to Silver as ‘the kid he looked after’ like he would around Baur. This woman took one look at him and knew they didn’t match.

“He’s mine.” Lilia asserted.

“But you’re-“

“Yes, I know I’m a fae, but he’s my child and he needs help! Where’s the doctor?!” He quickly lost his patience with her. 

His heart was already pounding out of his chest, feeling unworthy of calling Silver his own. The judgmental reaction he was met with had validated his feelings of inadequacy. 

The usual doctor stepped out and recognized them, apologizing for his new employee’s reaction. He took one look at Silver in his arms and took him to the back where Silver would normally get his annual check-ups. 

The doctor wiped the blood away to reveal that the cut Silver got across his hairline was not as deep as it looked. 

“There are many tiny arteries around the head, that’s why the bleeding was so profuse at a small cut,” the doctor explained, “With some gauze, it should heal up like normal.”

“But he’s unconscious,” Lilia told him, “that’s dangerous for humans.”

“This wound isn’t deep enough for that. Children often get more hurt when they try bracing themselves for a fall, but I believe Silver went limp before he fell down the stairs as you described.” The doctor told him as he wrapped the bandage around his son’s head. 

Silver didn’t necessarily look in pain, just asleep as he normally was…Except that wasn’t normal, was it?

“What do you mean? Are you saying he wasn’t conscious when he fell?” Lilia asks. 

The doctor turns to him, a serious expression on his face. 

“I know you’re new to this and as you’ve told me before, you haven’t interacted with humans much before adopting him…But excessive sleepiness is not normal for a child his age.” The doctor said, and Lilia felt the pit in his stomach grow. 

“It’s not?” He repeats dumbly, of course, it’s not! Why did he allow so much room for doubt in his mind, pushing his concerns aside, believing that he was making up it being an issue. 

“No, and the fact that his injury hasn’t woken him up is concerning. I think you should look into consulting medical mages or human doctors closer in the city about this.” The doctor recommended, “It could be an underlying neurological disorder.”

‘Or a blessing turned curse,’ Lilia thinks in his head. He couldn’t tell the doctor that, though, he couldn’t tell anyone. Not even Malleus, nor Silver even when he’s old enough to understand. This is his secret to keep close to his heart. 

“If you have any recommendations, please let me know.” Lilia requests, “I’ll take him to whatever doctor or mage he needs to go to solve this.” 

Would anyone be able to find out what’s wrong, though?

Ancient magic was seeped into his bones, there was no known cure for that. But if someone could find anything, then…

Silver stirred and was understandably disoriented from his change in surroundings. He started to tear up, which he hadn’t done in a long time, and Lilia pulled him into a hug where he could muffle his soft cries into his shoulder. 

“Thank you for always helping me.” He thanked the human doctor, who returned similar sentiments. 

“I was surprised when Dr. Zigvolt referred you to us,” he said, referring to Baur’s son-in-law, “A fae raising a human isn’t exactly common, but I can tell you both care for each other. You have a good kid, I’m sure you raised him to be that way.”

“So you’ve noticed,” Lilia replied light-heartedly. Silver turned his face to the familiar doctor, now ashamed by his tears, and wanted to thank him for patching him up. “What do we say, Silver?”

“Thank you sir,” Silver says in a small voice. 

“You two take care.” The doctor bids them farewell on the way out. 

As they left, Silver looked up at him with his side, auroral eyes, and tilted his bandaged head in curiosity. 

“Papa, you’re gripping my hand really tight. What’s wrong?” He asks, “Is it cause I hurt myself?”

Silver could be strangely perceptive, almost wise beyond his short years. Yes, Lilia had Silver in a tighter grip than usual, afraid a possible second slip up would send them right back to where they start. 

Lilia could never tell Silver about who his parents truly were or where he came from or even why he is the way he is. He would keep having to lie about that, and lying to that sweet little face was already so hard. 

Silver didn’t even know he was adopted yet, it’s like everything about their little life was one big secret. 

But he couldn’t lie about this. 

“I’m a little worried about you, that’s all. The nice doctor told me that your sleepiness isn’t normal.” He broke the news, to which Silver looked down at his tiny feet in shame, “But it’s alright because I’m going to take you to many doctors so we can find a cure.”

“That’s good!” Silver looked up with a smile, “Then I can still be a knight, right?”

“Yes, you can.” Lilia said, swinging both their arms back and forth, “And Silver?”

Silver looked back at him. 

“Please try not to scare your papa.”