#hes grown a lot in coming to the modern age i think

[darling-gemini]

Wait before I go to bed I have something to say.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY EXODUS!!!

[gremlingottoosilly]

Cleaning services (perv!Konig x fem!cleaner!Reader)

Konig needs help in decluttering and cleaning his house. Unfortunately for you, he takes quite a huge liking in having pretty things like you around. And he isn't very nice about it.

TW: Perverted Konig, age gap, Konig masturbates at you without consent, implied kidnapping, yandere Word count: 3754 This work on AO3

There is no shame in having a professional cleaner, König tries to tell himself. 

Yes, he is a grown man with a very dangerous job that requires having a lot of responsibility. He holds the lives of his soldiers in his hands and risks his life every day not for the sake of his country, but certainly for the sake of his wallet and the reputation of KorTac. 

Hiring a professional cleaner for his house shouldn’t make him feel humiliated and embarrassed, and he knows it. Cleaners are basically like soldiers – doing stuff that other people can’t for a certain amount of money, providing services for the clients who can afford it. Besides, it’s a support of his local community – after everything he took from the people around his town, it’s only natural that he would support this growing business of cleaning services. 

There is no shame in having some nice old lady cleaning his house and watching over it while he is too busy trying not to kill himself or drown his head in liquor after a particularly rough mission. When you lose two guys on a run that was supposed to be the quickest task possible when you’re returning home with an injury that isn’t really that serious but brings your whole mental state into a very dark place, and when you’re forced to take 3 weeks of leave in the place you hate, hiring a cleaner to take care of everything really shouldn’t make him so ashamed of himself. 

Even if he can clean his space – the house is just too big for only one of him, and his ribs still have this funny feeling of fantom bullets traveling around his guts. So, he dials up the number of the cleaning services because he is too fucking old to understand their weird website and messenger ordering, even though speaking with a human operator on the other half of the line is somewhat more humiliating that having no idea of how to use a modern interface. 

There is no shame in asking for help, his therapist is trying to shrill it in his head all of the time and yet he is still hesitant when the cleaning professional is knocking on his door, finding this place surprisingly fast. König braces himself, thinking about all the ways he could avoid having a conversation – he drew a quick map of the place, put down the room cleaner shouldn’t be entering – his gun safe, mostly, already repeated in his head how he would greet them and swiftly extract himself from the situation. 

“Guten Tag, please, come in. This is the map of the place, don’t go to the red door on the right, don’t hesitate to ask questions, I will be on the second floor.” He takes a few wide, swift steps to his door and stops. Thinks again, overthinking, thinking too fucking much about everything, anxiously checking on his phone to read the message that yes, his cleaner is here and he should probably open the door or they would burst down the window. “Guten Tag, come in. Map of the place is here, don’t go to the red door to the right, please hesitate to ask questions, I will be somewhere around the house, lurking in the shadows” He braces himself to open the door, ready to see that sweet old lady who would spend the next 8 hours cleaning his house and then turn back another day to rinse and repeat until his house stopped looking like a place where a very, very miserable man lives. (Even if this is true) 

But, there isn’t a nice old lady with a bunch of cleaning supplies and determination to make someone’s life easier. 

But, there isn’t a cold middle-aged woman with a very professional no-nonsense attitude who wouldn’t even talk to him before going straight to work. 

But, there is a young girl. Well, not a girl, of course, if he had to guess you were somewhere around the “Too fucking young, but definitely legal” spectrum. Young enough to not be alive when he was already going to school, young enough to make him sweat, and definitely not old enough to be accepting a job where you’d have to spend so much of your life cleaning and scrubbing and sorting and…

There isn’t anything shameful in ordering a cleaning service when you genuinely need it, but you’re young and you’re pretty and he isn’t even wearing a mask because he is an old dumbass that forgot about it, and you look at him with your shiny eyes and…

Maybe, he should clean on his own – would definitely be less shameful. 

— Sir? H…hello? Good morning? Can you hear me? 

Yes, he can hear you. 

Yes, he would love to hear you every single day of his life, when he wakes up and when he falls asleep. 

— Ja. I apologize, I…thought it was mail. 

It’s a dumb excuse, but he can’t really say that he was just too fucking mesmerized by your shiny eyes and perfect hair and nice figure and basically everything about you. He has this nasty habit of imagining a future with people around him – with people who just fucking want to be left alone, and yet he still stares and looks and it’s probably ultra uncomfortable for them – but he can’t help imagining the life with every cute lady in the grocery shop or elegant lady sitting next to him on a train. 

He has a pattern – people who are not interested in him in the slightest. He has a pattern, a preference, cute girls, smart girls, popular ladies that were never even so much as looking in his direction. He could probably score someone now, having a colonel’s salary and honorably discharged payments, but he gave up on trying to find anyone. He has friends, company, has work where he spent most of his life anyway – he doesn’t need anyone, he wants to think. 

Then you waddle into his life with a bunch of cleaning supplies and a small vacuum, barely able to handle everything in your hands. He rushes to help and envelops your hands with his – you are so much smaller in comparison, he has bear-like arms and horribly big everything. he feels awkward when he gently removes everything from your arms – when he tries to help by simply putting everything on the table of the next room. 

König hated this house – it was big, it was empty, and the only reason he didn’t sell it was because Mother’s things were still locked in her old bedroom and every time he tried to clean it and evaluate the cost of the house, he decided that he will Do It Other Day. Coincidentally, all of those days were also followed by three-month minimum missions, making him utterly unable to do everything about this place anyway. 

This is why you’re here – a hired cleaner, a sorter, you promised to de-hoard everything and see if there is anything of value. Perfect for someone like him, especially since he is paying you double for spending the whole day and a few days more in his house exclusively. 

Now, he looks at how awkward your smile is, how you fidget with the edge of the broom you brought, and how you can’t even start a conversation because he is simply staring at you, staying in the living room of this dead, almost abandoned house. Now, he looks at how cute you are, how perfect, and remembers that he didn’t score with anyone in half a year already – not even in terms of sex, the casual flirting was also forbidden since half of his unit was transferred and the new people weren’t really fun of his tough methods of breaking rookies in. 

When was the last time someone genuinely smiled at him? 

Ah, he is staring again. Scheisse. 

— Where do you want me to start, sir? 

He wonders how much he should pay you to clean him instead. Would you be gentle? Rough? Would you call him a pervert, which he is, and then slap him and yell at him for being such a horrible old dog who is ready to pounce at every pretty girl in his presence? He would do anything that would set his mind free of the thought about Mom. Her bedroom. This whole house that he can’t call home ever since he turned 6 and understood why Father was always so, so angry. 

— The living room. If it’s not too much. 

He barely stops himself from talking more – you look weird, you loom surprised, you look at him like he is fucking stupid and, in fact, he is. Of course, it wouldn’t be too hard for you, you’re his clean, for fucks sake. You come here to clean, you get good money for it, he shouldn’t feel guilty for using your services because, in some way, he actually provides you with a job and a cute thing like you shouldn’t go to other houses, with old perverts that can do unspeakable things with the adorable worker. 

Ah, yes, perverts like him. God, he is hopeless. 

— Alright. Do you want to note something, like if there is anything I shouldn’t touch? 

He would allow you to take your adorable, yellow glow-wearing hands to get into his personal savings and all of his bank accounts, if you’d want to. He curses under his breath, hating how professional you are – hard worker, perfect, simply a fantastic person who deserves more than working for him. You aren’t trying to shy away from the job and he almost resents you for it. 

You’d make a good soldier, he thinks – you’re able to hear the orders and oblige to them, you’re obedient and came even before the discussed time. You’d make such a perfect private for his unit, he observes. 

Ah, right, he was supposed to answer you. Shit. 

— No. Just don’t go to the second room on the left. 

— Alright. Anything else? 

He grumbles under his breath, trying to get into the right headspace to deal with someone like you. König knows it’s rude, to just ignore and leave you like this – but if he were to stay in he same room as you, he would do something horrible, disgusting, and completely dishonorable to you. So, he leaves – escapes – to his office. Father’s office, mostly, the only thing here that belongs to him are some documents and useless papers – and a laptop that he drags to every other room anyway. 

He doesn’t like this room, it reminds him of the worst episodes of his early childhood – yet, this is his only reserve. He doesn’t want to leave the house because the territory is secluded and if something were to happen to you, he would be the only one able to help. He also doesn’t want to leave his gun collection with you – he doesn’t want you to find it and freak out or hurt yourself. 

This is what he tells himself, at least. He wants to be there with you, in the same room preferably, but horrible for his anxiety, because he wants this illusion, phantasm of having a loving relationship. Of having a woman in his life, a lovely housewife who would cook for him, clean for him, and would be absolutely spoiled with gifts and attention. God knows he doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body – but he will carve one out of his ribs for you. 

And he only knew you for an hour tops. 

König feels like literally the worst man alive when he spread his legs and starts stroking his hard, glistening cock. He brushes over the swollen, red tip, not allowing himself to have any lube other than spit and oozing pre-cum – he tries not to cum embarrassingly quickly, thinking about your perfect gestures and smiling face. How perfect you look in your cleaning uniform – not like maids from the occasional porn he was watching, but still beautiful. Your body is perfect even with all of those ugly layers and grey fabric – and he can’t stop thinking about the sway of your hips or glimpses of your legs under your dress.

He thinks about you, bent over his couch, trying to clean the especially dirty spot on the furniture – how the material of your dress would be tight around your ass. The image makes him grunt quietly, stroking his barely wet dick even more – the pain from the dry sensation only makes the pleasure all the sweeter. He is hard, was hard for the past 10 minutes as you were introducing yourself and whatever your deal is. He is dirty, perverted, knowing only your name and your face – and he is still stroking himself, thinking about paying you extra just so you’d get on your pretty knees and suck him. Would you be sloppy, messy, get his cum all over your face so you’d have to wash it off? Would you be experienced, eager, trying to get as much seed as possible with that pretty tongue of yours? 

He is a lost cause because he hears the sounds of vacuum – you’re only a few rooms away from him, trying so hard to clean his house for him, to work through every bit of furniture and everything he acquired for the past twenty years or so – and he moans loudly, knowing that you don’t hear anything. You’re probably listening to music or some silly girl’s podcast about planets and gardens and maybe some university lectures. He’d pay for your courses, he would get you any book you want – having his salary and barely spending it made him softer in the saving habits. 

He can afford to splurge on a pretty girl who just needs a rich Austrian mercenary to sweep her off her feet. But, he is old – but, he is a monster who preys on someone helpless, using her pretty face to jerk himself off, and he doesn’t even deserve your number, although he has had it since accepting the service. 

His cock is big, angry red in his hand as he runs his finger over the bulging vein, teasing the sensitive flesh – always loud in bed, with grunts and moans of pleasure, he can barely contain himself now, only forcing his mouth shut when he doesn’t hear the sound of vacuum anymore. He strokes his dick fast, angry, and slams it into his fist, trying to make the pain last longer, so he won’t cum after a minute or two. He has the stamina to last longer – but it’s also the first time he was so horny since…he can’t even remember. 

König thinks about putting you in his bed – like a perfect housewife, you would hug his waist with your legs, would allow him to lick and grope at your tits, and won’t scream too much when he’d force his tongue inside of your precious pussy, taking every last drop of your pleasure. He wouldn’t want to be forceful, angry, you’re too precious for this and too weak for his strength – but he can imagine slamming into you in a matting press, cumming inside and not even pulling out, warming his cock in the heat of your body. 

Father would kill him for doing something so dirty in his office – but he is long dead, devil save his soul, and it’s König’s office now. Even when he barely uses it, even if he doesn’t really need this. It came in handy when he had to jerk off to the pretty cleaning girl who cleaned up after him – so, somehow, his father managed to improve his mood 15 years after he died. 

He cums with a low groan, whispering your name – he doesn’t understand how a pretty thing like you still works here and wasn’t taken by someone else already, but he would take what he can get. Never the one to get the first dibs, never being someone’s first choice – he feels terrible for thinking about you in such a low way, but his pleasure sticks to his fingers and, at this point, it’s too late to feel bad. 

Drying the tip of his dick with a tissue, he spends a good few minutes with spread legs, his soft cock laying on the chair, with cum still oozing out – such a waste, honestly, would be much better to stuff you full of his cock or even take your pretty ass, spread you slowly. Keep only the tip in, not pressuring you into anything more until you’d start moving yourself, like a good slut you will be. 

So perfect under him – the images and sounds of your voice are running through his mind, making him breathe heavily. If he was younger and had as much sex drive as before, he would already be hard – but he needs some time to relax, thinking about your pretty legs and adorable face. 

It takes him a few minutes of listening to your sweet voice to understand that you were not, in fact, a hallucination or a mystical fairy coming to make him come. You were standing outside of the office door, looking embarrassed and clearly hearing at least some of his horny mumblings – you avoid looking at him, and your fingers are trembling when you tug at the sides of your dress. Guilt immediately rushes to him again, he looks at you like a perfect treasure you are – and he is a horrible monster trying to hoard all of it to himself. 

— What is it, liebling? 

Petname goes smoothly from his tongue and he can only hope that you don’t know German – he is too embarrassed to talk to you, too anxious, his newfound shyness is a result of both your beauty and the post-nut clarity that already made him feel like a monster. He contemplates just giving you money and sending you off, paying double for the false call, and leaving you a 5-star review so you won’t get in trouble with your boss. 

You look so meek from his angle of view – he has to fight the urge to pinch your face, squeeze your cheeks, grab your waist in his firm hands, and just lift you in his arms, holding you to his bed. Maybe getting a nice set of cuffs to ensure you would never escape from him. 

— I finished with the living room and…well, I just wanted to ask if you want the decluttering work to be done today or tomorrow. 

He remembers how he basically paid you for a few days worth of work – and he smiles at exactly how perfect this decision was. Of course, you are a smart girl, a modest girl, you aren’t staying the night and would rather waste time on the road, much to his dismay, but at least he would see you for a few days already. 

He might not even let you go after. 

— Ach. Today, if it’s not too…

He stops himself again – of course, it’s not too much, you are a professional, not just a friend that comes to clean his place for a pack of beer and maybe some pizza. He doesn’t know how to talk to you, anxiety eats him whole, and he has to just avoid looking at you to avoid further embarrassment. 

— Alright. I will do it right away then. 

You smile awkwardly, your lips are twitching and he already knows that you could hear him moaning your name and sweet little praises while stroking his cock. You aren’t biting the hand that feeds you, not running away screaming at how perverted he is – poor girl, you probably need money more than you need personal safety if you’re fine with him heaving like this. If you were his, he would never allow you to be so careless. 

He moves behind you in the most dreaded room of the house. Mother’s bedroom, a room that she only used for sewing and only allowed him in when he was extra whiny after another failed fight with his bullies. All of her thighs are here – ever since she passed away, he just moved everything to one room and locked it, barely bothering to keep a key. He hates being here, almost as much as being in Father’s office — this room smells like death and old paper and you scrunch your nose in an adorable expression when you take a step inside. 

— I will divide everything into categories, alright? 

— Gut.

You look at him nervously, clearly scared that he is watching over you now. It might feel like a logical decision – after all, it was his mother’s vintage things, who knows what kind of jewelry she kept here, something that he won’t even notice gone until it’s too late. You and him both know, however, that this isn’t the reason he is looming over you. A perfect obedient thing, you deserve something better than his affection, but he still locks his gaze with yours, looking at your hands and going through various furniture pieces. 

You work like a fairy, not an ounce of laziness or exhaustion in your actions – even after you already spent a few hours cleaning his living room, you act like a Cinderella that got a bunch of magic mice up her rags. He licks his lips, looking at your perfect ass you as sit on your knees, starting with decluttering every little box there is. 

— Can I just put it back in boxes or…

You look the the contents – vintage makeup, some jewelry, head pieces that don’t look particularly expensive but were definitely well-loved. You wonder who they belong to – probably a wife, or, maybe, some of his relatives who lived here. He doesn’t seem like a married or divorced man – he does, however, look insanely lonely. 

It takes him a good few seconds to respond, too mesmerized by the little song you were humming a minute before. He imagines you in that old, chunky jewelry, some necklaces that cost more than your salary – and the thought makes him salivate. 

He smiles, leaning closer to you – hot breath on your face, you shift immediately, scared. He is so fast for someone so big, his movements are perfect and his eyes are cold – you feel the chill deep in your bones when he moves even closer, his lips almost brushing against yours. 

Suddenly, you are very aware of the fact that he locked the door to this tiny room when you both moved in. 

[mrsshabana]

𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐨𝐨 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞 - 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

ꔫ‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, 18+ MDNI, vaginal sex, creampie, breeding kink, pregnancy, age difference, angst, fluff, modern au ꔫ‧₊ Note 5k words. This is the last chapter for this fic, but I still have lots of things that I want to write for this au so be on the lookout for oneshots in the future. Thank you for all of your support for this series ♡ ✧:･ﾟ→ Part one ✧:･ﾟ→ Part two

“Fuck fuck fuck! What do I do? Her mom is gonna kill me if she figures out I’m dating her daughter! And then Y/N is gonna kill me for telling her mom!” Gyutaro thinks to himself as he begins to panic.

“Ahem,” your mother clears her throat and repeats her question, “Who the hell are you, sir?”

“Er um… Gyutaro?” he says as if he’s not sure what his own name is. 

“Gyutaro?!” her eyes widen.

“Shit… does she already know who I am? I thought Y/N didn’t tell her…” he thinks again. 

“Y/N! Come here!” she yells inside the house, then she turns back to Gyutaro and opens the door, “Come in, Gyutaro.”

“Um… th-thanks,” he stutters as he nervously steps inside, not sure whether your mother is angry with him or not. 

“Yeah, mom? What’s wro-” you stop mid-sentence as you come into the dining room and see your boyfriend standing there. 

“Y/N,” your mom says sternly, “This man just told me that his name is Gyutaro.”

You blush, “Um yeah… this is Gyutaro.”

“You failed to tell me that your boyfriend was a grown ass man,” she scowls and walks into the kitchen.

“Mom, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you! I was scared of how you’d react,” you plea as you follow her into the kitchen.

Gyutaro just stands awkwardly in your dining room, wishing that he could shrink and hide somewhere. His palms begin to sweat as he thinks about the consequences of his actions. Is your mother going to make you break up with him? 

The thought makes his heart ache. Is he going to lose his sister and his girlfriend on the same day? 

Your mom comes back into the dining room holding a teapot and some cups, “Gyutaro, come sit and make yourself comfortable,” she says as she pours a cup of tea for him. 

“Y-Yes ma’am,” he mutters and sits at the table.

You aren’t sure what to do or say to make things better, but you sit beside Gyutaro and give him a reassuring look in an attempt to comfort him. In response, he looks at you with a guilty look in his eyes as if he’s apologizing. 

“Gyutaro,” your mom says calmly as she sits across from him at the table, “I have three questions for you.”

“Y-yes?” he gulps.

“Do you have a job?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Do you have a criminal record?”

“No ma’am.”

“Do you pay your taxes?” 

“Of course!” he answers enthusiastically.

“Alright. Now Y/N, I have three questions for you,” she diverts her attention to you now, “Does Gyutaro make you happy?”

“Y-Yes! He makes me very happy…” you blush. 

“Does he behave like a gentleman?”

“Yes, always,” your cheeks redden.

“Do you love him?”

“I-I do,” you mutter, feeling shy about admitting this in front of your mom. 

“Alright, then I approve of him. Even though he’s a bit older than you, he seems like a decent man,” she states as she looks over at Gyutaro’s flustered face, ���Welcome to the family, Gyutaro.”

“Th-Thank you Miss L/N!” he lets out a sigh of relief, finally feeling in the clear that your mom approves of your relationship. 

“See mom! I told you he was a good boyfriend!” You jump up and give him a big hug, genuinely feeling so happy that your mom accepts your relationship. It was something you were really worried about, especially since your mom has always been very protective of you. Honestly, you're quite surprised she’s so cool about the age difference between you and your boyfriend. 

“I honestly thought you’d be mad,” you laugh nervously, hoping you aren’t jinxing it. 

She sighs and sips her tea, “You know dear, your father was the same age as me. And he left me when I was pregnant with you. He was young and immature. Age means nothing,” she shakes her head, “I rather you date an older man that pays his taxes and takes care of you than a man your age that only cares about himself.”

Gyutaro smiles, finally feeling like someone accepts him and doesn’t judge him. He sees where you get it from now. 

“And that’s why your father is in prison for tax evasion…” she mumbles under her breath, only Gyutaro hears what she says. 

“Aw mom… I promise you Gyutaro is nothing like dad,” you say, looking a bit somber as you take a sip of your tea. 

“I can already tell,” she smiles, “Well, you two can go have your fun. Just be home by ten.”

“Are we going on a date, Gyu?”

“Oh uh no… actually I came over for something else,” he swallows dryly, “Um… I told Ume about us.”

Immediately from the look on his face you can tell things didn’t go well. “Oh… Did she take it really hard?”

“Yeah,” he nods, choking up a bit, “She called me disgusting… then she slapped me and left,” he touches his cheek, still red from her hand. 

“She what?!” you gasp, totally shocked that Ume would get physical with her brother. You aren’t sure what words to say, it seems like nothing would be able to fix this. The one person who has been with him his entire life, the person he dedicates all of his hard work to doesn’t accept his relationship. It’s a really hard pill to swallow, and he’s still struggling to even think about it. 

The surprise meeting with your mother distracted him momentarily, but all of those raw feelings from his argument with Ume are flowing back now and he feels his eyes begin to well up with tears. 

“Ume is his sister, right?” Your mother whispers to you.

“Yeah,” you nod. 

“I see,” she puts her hand on Gyutaro’s shoulder, feeling lots of sympathy for him, “Gyutaro listen, your sister didn’t mean it and I think you know that. The two people that she’s closest to started dating and she’s probably feeling left out. Like you two will get closer without her and leave her. She’s just scared and said whatever she could to try to hurt your relationship. Just give her time, I promise she’ll come around.”

Your mom smiles softly, offering Gyutaro that motherly care he grew up without.

“Th-thanks,” he sniffles, trying to hold back his tears, “I know you’re right. It just hurt when she said those things, but I know she still loves me… and I still love her too. I just hope she comes home soon…”

“Maybe try calling her tomorrow if she doesn’t come home by then,” you suggest as you rub his back.

Gyutaro nods, feeling better after having talked to the both of you. 

Of course, it hurt like a ton of bricks crushing his balls, but he knows the pain is only temporary. Soon enough his sister will come back and he’s going to make sure she doesn’t feel left out. 

The thing is, even after a couple of days Ume doesn’t return home. Nor does she answer Gyutaro’s phone calls. 

Every day you receive worried texts and calls from Gyutaro asking if you’ve seen his sister. You haven’t heard anything from her, and to be honest you think it’s kinda messed up that she’s ignoring her brother like this. Sure they had a pretty big argument but she knows he cares about her, and she knows he’s losing his shit worrying about her right now. 

Seeing your boyfriend so torn up over it is making you really upset, and you’ve had enough of it. 

Ume has been ditching class for a couple of days, but she finally shows up. Coming into the room completely ignoring you, taking her seat at the opposite side of the lecture hall. Even though you hate confrontation you know you can’t just let her walk away after class ends, so you stop her as she’s leaving the lecture hall. 

“Ume! Hey wait up!” you shout as you follow her out of the room. 

“I have nothing to say to you,” she turns her nose up.

“Please talk to me,” you finally catch up to her, “I just want to talk, Gyutaro told me what happened.”

“Of course he did,” she scoffs, “Because you two are so buddy-buddy now. How about you just move in with him and take my spot in the house? I bet you’d like that, huh?”

“What? No! I’m not trying to take him away from you!”

“What else am I supposed to think?! You were my best friend and then I find out you’ve been hooking up with my brother behind my back! You’re a shady bitch!”

“It’s not like that! I was never “hooking up” with him!” You plea, “We just started dating like any other couple, I don’t see why you have to say it like that.”

“So what is it then? If you weren’t just hooking up with him what were you doing then? Do you want his money or something? Want him to be your sugar daddy?” she makes a disgusted face.

“No! You don’t get it! Just because Gyutaro’s older than me doesn’t mean I’m using him for this or that. I just like him because he’s a good guy,” you say, trying to get your point across without yelling at her, “Why can’t you just accept that I like him for who he is?”

Ume’s frown begins to soften and her eyes dart from side to side as if she’s thinking about something. She’s beginning to realize how selfish it was of her to think that someone couldn’t love her brother for who he is. Gyutaro came to the realization that he was unlovable long ago, and his beliefs rubbed off on his sister. But now she’s starting to see how wrong that is, she should have been his biggest cheerleader regardless of how glum things seemed. 

Sure Gyutaro isn’t the most attractive guy, nor is he the most charming, but she knows her brother more than anyone. And she can think of a thousands reasons why someone would fall in love with him. 

“I’m sorry Y/N,” she says, “You’re right. My brother is super slay, and I shouldn’t have been surprised you liked him. You’re the only girl to get close to him, so I guess it makes sense.”

You smile, finally feeling like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. 

“It’s alright, I know it came as a surprise to you,” you lean forward and hug her, “But I’m honestly just happy to have my friend back.”

“Me too,” she says with a smile.

After you reconcile with Ume, Gyutaro comes to pick you up from campus as the two of you had planned a date for tonight at his place. But when he pulls up to the curb and sees you with Ume he immediately parks his car and gets out.

“Ume!” he shouts as he runs towards you, “Where the hell have you been?!”

“Calm down brother,” she acts nonchalant about being missing for three days, “I was staying with a friend.”

“You had me worried sick,” his voice cracks as he tears up. Feeling a mixture of anger and relief.

“I’m sorry,” she gives him a tight hug, “I-I’ve been a brat lately. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did when you told me about Y/N… and I should never have hit you either. I’m really sorry, brother…”

“It’s alright, sis,” immediately Gyutaro’s attitude changes and he has a smile on his face, “You are a brat, but I love you anyways,”

For the first time in your relationship, Gyutaro actually feels normal. Knowing that he has the approval of his sister, he no longer feels so much shame about being older than you. He can confidently walk out in public with you now and hold your hand without giving a fuck. Someone stares at you weirdly? Well, fuck them! Gyutaro is with his girl and he couldn’t care less about anyone else’s opinion about it. He’s happy and you’re happy. That’s all that matters to him. 

The three of you go back to Gyutaro’s house and watch a movie together. The plan was for you and Gyutaro to have a stay-at-home date together, but you decided it’d be best to include Ume too so she doesn’t feel left out. It went well despite the fact that Ume decided to sit in between you and Gyutaro. 

After the movie ends Gyutaro asks you a question as he cleans up some popcorn that fell between the couch cushions, “So uh… did you want to stay the night?”

“Not with me!” Ume butts in, “She has your cooties now!”

“Ume! Shut it!” Gyutaro blushes, “Cooties don’t exist, don’t be so childish.”

“I was just kidding, brother,” she rolls her eyes, “Y/N just stay in my brother's room. Just promise you guys won’t be too loud.”

“H-Hey!! It ain’t like that!!” he shouts with a completely red face as Ume is already walking back towards her bedroom. He knows she’s just teasing him but he still feels very shy when it comes to this kind of thing. Especially since the two of you have only spent one night in the same bed, and both of you vividly remember what took place then.

“It’s ok Gyu,” you chuckle, your cheeks already pink from Ume’s earlier statement, “Let’s just get ready for bed, ok?” 

“Ok…” he grumbles as he finishes cleaning up his sister’s mess. 

Following Gyutaro to his room, you can’t help but think about what might happen tonight. Will you have sex with him again? How will it go? Maybe you’ll try a different position or maybe even oral this time. Your heartbeat quickens as you think about all of the possibilities. 

Little do you know, he’s thinking about the exact same thing. He wants to be intimate with you again so badly. And for the first time instead of feeling awkward and insecure, he feels confident about initiating sex with you.

“I’m going to run a bath for us,” he says after he closes the bedroom door behind you and walks into the bathroom that’s connected to his room. 

“O-Ok,” you stutter as your face heats up. Did he say he’s going to run a bath for us? Meaning he wants to take a bath with you?

As you hear the water running in the bathroom you decide to take off your clothes, only leaving your undergarments. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you take a deep breath and try to calm your thoughts. If you do end up having sex with him tonight, you want to be relaxed so you can enjoy the moment. 

But even though Gyutaro seemed cool and collected he’s freaking out on the inside. And that shows when he comes back into the room to see you in nothing but panties and a bra. Immediately the cool guy act crumbles and he’s staring at you like this is the first time he’s seen a naked woman. 

“U-um Y/N?” he stutters. 

“Is the bath ready?” you sit up to meet his flustered gaze. 

“Yeah,” he nods, tenderly taking your hand and leading you to his pristine bathroom. The first thing you notice is how clean and neat it is compared to Ume’s. 

Gyutaro avoids eye contact with you as he begins removing his clothes. First to go is his shirt, revealing his muscled torso and the large tattoo on his arm. He hesitates when taking off his pants, already feeling himself getting hard. 

“Fuck…” he mutters to himself. Not wanting to make this awkward by just flaunting his hard-on. So he faces away from you and quickly steps into the tub, covering himself with his hand just to be safe. 

To be honest, he got in so quickly that you didn’t even really notice. You do feel a bit shy removing your own clothes though, this will be the first time he’s seen you nude in a fully lit room. 

And your boyfriend can tell just how nervous you are so he doesn’t stare. Only reaching out a hand to help you get into the tub when you’re ready. 

The water is warm and soothing, the surface covered by cherry scented bubbles - which he strategically put in there so you wouldn’t be able to see how achingly hard he is. 

Leaning back with a content sigh, Gyutaro opens his arms to you, “C’mere.”

With a blush you come to your boyfriend and lay your head on his chest, snuggling up to him under the warm water. Surely by now you can feel it, so maybe the bubbles were a waste of time. But that’s ok because Gyutaro isn’t even worried about that anymore, he’s too focused on how lucky he is to be having this moment with you right now. 

“This is nice, Gyu,” you hum as you trail your hand up and down his chest, “I like being alone with you like this.”

“Me too,” he whispers while trying not to moan from your touch. “You-you look really beautiful by the way…” His gaze drifts down to see your curves peeking out from beneath the water. 

He can’t deny it anymore, how badly he wants to have sex with you right now. Ever since you did it the first time it’s constantly been on his mind. But not for the reason you may think. He loved it so much because he felt so loved. It was the first time in his life that he felt so intimately close to someone. That kind of love and closeness is something he’s craved for his entire thirty-five years of life. 

And after today, all of the confidence he gained from finally having his sister’s acceptance, he’s feeling less ashamed of himself. His girl loves him, so why shouldn’t he show her how much he wants her? There’s nothing to be afraid of. 

Mustering all of the confidence he has, Gyutaro gently caresses your cheek - moving a strand of hair away from your face and looking into your eyes. Immediately you feel your knees go weak and your thighs rub together with need. 

He pulls you closer and presses his lips against yours, initiating a heated kiss. 

You can’t help but completely melt into him, allowing him to guide you fully on top of him. Now you’re definitely able to feel his erection as it presses between your legs. But it’s no surprise, you could tell he wanted you by the way he looked at you before he kissed you. 

Beneath the water he maneuvers his hands, one cupping your breast and the other squeezing your thigh. Enjoying the slippery softness of your soapy skin under his touch. Moving his kiss down to your neck, he nibbles and sucks on your delicate skin. 

“Ah, Gyu,” you whimper and hold onto his shoulders. 

He can’t help but smirk, pride building up within him that he’s able to make you melt like this. “M’gonna make love to you,” he whispers into your ear as he moves forward, pushing you to lay on your back as he moves your legs to hang over his shoulders. 

Looking up at him, you feel like your body has become jelly. He looks so sexy as he hovers above you, from the way his long damp hair sticks to his forehead and neck to the way the water droplets cling to his abs and biceps. Not to mention the patch of hair that trails up to his belly button. It all makes you feel butterflies and you can’t help but spread your legs for him. 

Tightly gripping your thighs, he leans forward and whispers, “Don’t worry baby, I’ll go slow,” and gently moves his hips forward - gradually sliding into you, splitting you apart on his length. 

You gasp and squirm beneath him, your body sweats as you are not only surrounded by the warm water but also by his hot body on top of you. 

Once fully inside, he slowly thrusts into you just as he had promised. Making sure to pay close attention to your reaction to make sure you're comfortable. 

And you’re more than comfortable. If anything you’re too comfortable. The fact that he isn’t vigorously ramming into you as if he intends to put a baby in you is unbearable. So you grab his hips and forcefully plunge him into you, “Fuck me harder Gyu!” You pant, desperately trying to guide him to a faster pace. 

His eyes widen and his cheeks turn pink, but he doesn’t need to be told twice. With your permission, he grabs your hips and violently thrusts into you - so hard that the water in the tub spills over the edge. But neither of you care, too lost in pleasure to even notice. 

“Ahh, I wish you could put a baby in me, Gyu!” you moan, not fully realizing what you’re saying. But your statement sparks something within him and triggers a kink he didn’t even know he had. 

“Fuck… I wanna put a baby in you so bad,” he grunts, “gonna stuff you full.”

The thought of getting you pregnant makes Gyutaro absolutely feral. A family is something he’s always wanted, so just the mere idea of you carrying his baby drives him to fuck you even harder. Determined to get as deep as possible, ensuring that his seed fills you nice and full. 

With that thought in mind, he picks you up and holds you close to his body while he stands on his knees. Holding onto your hips as he pounds into you, the sound of wet skin slapping fills the room along with water splattering onto the tile floor. 

Meanwhile, you wrap your arms around his neck, holding on tightly while he fucks you silly. Saliva dripping down your chin and your tongue lolls out of your mouth, moaning and gasping as your boyfriend continuously forces the air out of your lungs. Your entire body begins to tingle, you know you’re getting close. And he knows it too by the way your walls are tightening around him. 

That’s the only warning he gets before you’re cumming all over him. Your body shaking as his strong arms hold you up. 

However, his orgasm hits him out of nowhere, as soon as he feels your orgasm hit you it pushes him over the edge as well. He didn’t want to cum just yet but you feel so good that he can’t help it. His cock twitches as it fills you to the brim with his sticky seed. The warmth spreading inside of you comforts you as your sensitive body lies in his arms. 

Gyutaro pants as he holds you there for a moment, trying to catch his breath. Then he gently lowers himself back into the tub, holding you and softly kissing you as you remain in his arms. 

Now that his orgasm has ended, he knows it was all just talk. That he can’t actually get you pregnant since you’re on birth control. But he can tell that a part of what you said was true and not only because it was in the heat of the moment. And it was true for him too. He really would like to get you pregnant and start a family one day. 

“Don’t worry my love,” he whispers, “One day we will start a family together, I promise.” 

You can’t help but smile and snuggle closer to him - hoping that one day you really will get to start a family with him. 

.˚₊┈୨♡୧┈₊˚.

And it won’t be long until Gyutaro makes you an official Shabana.

Because a year later he proposes to you. 

After you graduated and moved in with him he knew that he had to make you his wife. So it wasn’t long until he couldn’t wait any longer and just asked. The two of you were on a weekend trip to the beach when he proposed. Nothing too fancy, but it was nice and romantic. He hadn’t planned to propose that weekend either, he had been carrying the ring around in his pocket for weeks. But when he saw how beautiful you looked as you walked beside him on the shore, he knew he had to make you his wife as soon as possible. 

You had the wedding four months after the proposal. It was a small ceremony with close family and friends, but it was absolutely perfect. 

Ever since then your life has felt like a dream. 

Gyutaro got a promotion so now he doesn’t have to work overtime as often and there’s no pressure for you to work a full-time job if you don’t want to. Ume moved into an apartment in the city so now it’s just you and Gyutaro living in his house.  He’s even taken up doing some renovations in the kitchen and the spare bedroom too. 

It’s strange how your life changed so quickly after you met Gyutaro. You went from a college student living with your mom to being married and living with your husband in your own house all in the span of a year and a half. 

This isn’t the life you had envisioned yourself having after college, but you wouldn’t change a single thing. It’s perfect, and it’s only going to get better from here. 

“Honey, I’m home!” Gyutaro shouts as he comes into the house, “Sorry I’m late. I wanted to pick us up something from the bakery-” he stops when he looks around and sees you’re nowhere in sight. 

He peeks into the kitchen, “Where the hell is she?” next he checks the garden. “Y/N?” no, not there either. 

Usually, when he gets home from work you’re in the kitchen preparing dinner or sometimes outside in the garden. Sometimes you go out with your friends but you usually tell him first. He’s not mad though, he just assumes you went out and forgot to tell him. 

“Oh well, I’ll text her and see what she wants for dinner tonight,” he says to himself as he takes off his tie. His mind is lost in thought as he thinks about what he wants to make tonight, he’s thinking one of your favorites. 

As he contemplates dinner, he walks into the bedroom to see you sitting on the bed. Immediately he can tell that something is wrong. 

“Y/N? Are you alright?” he walks over to you and puts his hand on your shoulder, “What’s that in your hand?” He asks as he notices you’re clutching something in your hands, hiding it from his view. 

“Gyu… I-I have to tell you something…” you mutter. 

“Babe, you’re scaring me… whatever it is, you can tell me. I promise I won’t be mad,” he says in a caring manner, trying to comfort you. 

Your thoughts are spiraling, not sure whether he will be happy or angered by what you say. But you know that it’s something he needs to know. 

However, you can’t even muster the words. So you just hand him the object you had clutched in your palms. 

The room is filled with silence as he closely observes the object, “You… you’re pregnant?”

“Y-yeah, I’m pregnant,” you nod and look up at him, anxious to see his reaction. And it isn’t at all what you had expected. 

There are tears pouring from his eyes as he clutches the positive pregnancy test. All of his walls start crumbling down and he lets it all out, sobbing uncontrollably. 

“Gyutaro?” you gasp, starting to panic. 

Before you can reach out to him he lunges forward and embraces you, tightly wrapping his arms around you. “We-we’re gonna have a baby!” he sobs, “I can’t believe it.”

“Aw honey, so… you’re happy?”

“Of course I’m happy! Th-this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me!” he says between sobs.

It seems you were worried for nothing. You knew Gyutaro always wanted children but you didn’t know if he wanted them now especially since you haven’t been married for very long. Gyutaro has always been nothing but loving and supportive towards you, so of course he was overjoyed at the news.

Your husband drops to his knees and presses his forehead against your stomach, “This is everything I’ve ever wanted…”

“Aw Gyu…” you smile and kiss the top of his head, “You’re going to be a great father.”

Hearing those words makes his tears flow even more. “I-I had no idea you were pregnant...”

“It was bound to happen,” you chuckle causing him to chuckle too.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right haha,” he stands and gives you another tight hug. 

The news was shocking to him, but he couldn’t be that surprised. Ever since you got married you’ve been having unprotected sex so it’s no surprise that it happened so soon. However, even though he’s married to a beautiful woman there was still a part of him that told him he was too old to have a family. Too old to have a child of his own. And too old to make a woman like you happy. 

But now he’s finally starting to realize that none of it was true. 

And he does deserve this. Marriage, children, and most importantly you. 

“I love you, Y/N… thank you for making all of my dreams come true.”

Taglist: @gyusimp @kyu-kitsune @idontevenknowlsjsbsbdj @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @chibi-absol @sterzin @cherrysxuya @angelicsaiko @misskaorii @matsukaah @dawn-rays-dingo @hoshigafuru @gloomysel @tergyri @404starlight @irondreamerface @zoroisminty @edenminx @multisstuff @that1lxnlybxch @emberlovesthemoon @blurpleuni-squid @boggiesho @nekee-lilac02

[ryssabrin]

i feel like people who don’t like solas or solavellan have such a warped perspective of what the romance is and how fans of it actually engage in it. like i’ve seen a lot of (most likely het dudes lol) on reddit say they tried it to see what the fuss was but felt it was “demeaning” and i’ve seen it described as literally a horror story where solas is manipulating and using and lying to a young impressionable lavellan who gives up her entire identity for him and becomes a complete doormat to all the awful shit he does. that’s never been my experience and i kinda just want to ramble about how i see it and what i find romantic about it?

so full disclosure, if veilguard had come out a few years ago with how they portrayed lavellan and solavellan i might have been pretty disappointed. i think there is a subset of the solavellan fanbase that likes the wolf/halla or student/professor thing and they play their lavellan younger and agreeing almost without question to everything solas says. i see the appeal but i never played my lavellan that way and i really like the dynamic of it when lavellan actually goes against his advice at times. solas is a character that needs to have his preconceived biases questioned. especially in inquisition when he’s still coming to terms with the fact that the modern people of thedas are in fact people lol. so i was concerned at the prospect of my lavellan being taken out of my hands and having to listen to her make excuses for him and submit to everything he says. (which tbf i don’t think is how she actually comes across in dav, but that was a worry.)

however when i replayed my canon dai run this year, i realized i was closer to the age i always saw my lavellan as (early 30s), and as my lavellan is probably the bioware pc i’ve always played closest to my own personality, i took the opportunity to tweak her a bit and make some different choices. i’ve (hopefully lol) matured and grown a lot since i was 24 and so rather than going for the snarky sarcastic cool girl vibes i opted to play her with more diplomatic and caring choices. it made me see the solas romance in a completely new light. rather than some sort of student/professor dynamic or a pride and prejudice-esque rivals-to-lovers vibe where lavellan is fighting for his respect the whole time, what stuck out to me was how much their connection builds simply because lavellan is kind to solas. she hears him out when he wants to give his opinions and advice, she respects his expertise on the fade and spirits, and she offers him comfort and friendship when she sees he needs it. she impresses him because he finds himself wanting to indulge in her closeness. he finds a connection to someone he never expected to and it makes him rethink everything about the broken state he put the world in.

it’s worth noting that lavellan is always making the first move. she kisses him first, she pursues him. he tries to brush off the kiss as a spontaneous lapse in judgement and she doesn't let him. he only ever gives in to her advances, he doesn't make them himself. he calls their relationship "selfish" on his end. he knows he shouldn't be encouraging her but he can't help but long for her companionship. that being said though if lavellan shuts it down he respects it. he probably feels a little relief because the temptation is now out of his hands lol.

i feel like there’s also this perception that he’s constantly shitting on the dalish while lavellan just has to put up with it and that alone is reason enough to find the relationship demeaning. he mentions the dalish in one optional conversation chain where you ask him for his opinion on the state of the elves and then in the balcony scene where he realizes he’s misjudged the inquisitor after his personal quest. in both instances, lavellan can stick up for the dalish. in the optional conversation, lavellan can say that if solas had a bad experience with a clan once (which we know from dav is exactly what happened lol), that she’d like to correct that misunderstanding about her people.

it's worth noting as well that lavellan doesn't know solas is the dread wolf when he's criticizing the dalish. from her perspective, he's essentially a city-born elf who had some dalish look down their nose at him for not being a "true elf" like they are, something that not only happens in canon throughout the games and lavellan would be aware of, but literally happens to solas specifically, right in front of you. he doesn't say a single word to mihris and she doesn't know a thing about him other than his face is bare and thus feels comfortable referring to him with what is essentially a slur. but rather than confront her directly about it he just passive aggressively speaks to her in elven almost exclusively for the rest of the quest lol.

far from the dynamic being that lavellan is just putting up with someone talking down to her about her culture, i think it's reasonable to see her view is more that they're both members of the same marginalized group, but from different cultures. his position in criticizing the dalish is not punching down it's lateral. she loves her culture, but is able to recognize it has flaws and not every member in it treats other cultures well, particularly even when they're from the same marginalized group. (and it's also just really meaningful that the first "flirt" option you get in the solas romance is lavellan recognizing that solas has put himself in a very vulnerable position as an elven apostate joining the chantry-led inquisition and with whatever power she has she will make sure that it's not held against him.)

i do think the writing conveys that he does have his mind changed about the dalish at least a little bit, but one of his pet peeves is when people are ignorant and refuse any information that challenges their worldview. as a manifested wisdom spirit, it is a particular sticking point to him to not be listened to when he is providing knowledge. i think criticism of how he is towards the dalish is lacking without taking into account his nature as a spirit. obvs we didn’t know that in dai but we do now. when wisdom isn't listened to it turns to pride. "i told you so," "i'll prove i'm right," "you should have listened to me," etc. etc. he got his feelings hurt when the dalish didn't believe him (and according to dav, literally tried to kill him) and his ego's held a grudge ever since.

when it comes to the vallaslin, to me it’s less about solas wanting to dismantle part of dalish culture (he offers no actual opinion on the dalish during that scene) and more that it clearly bothers him a lot that he fought so hard to free the elves from slavery and the one community of elves that’s closest to the descendants of the people he wanted to free still wears tattoos honoring the very tyrants he wanted to free them from. if lavellan says she wants to keep them and that the dalish reclaimed them and they mean something else to her, he doesn’t argue. i actually don’t like that solas’s post breakup banter with cole implies that lavellan thinks he might have broken up with her over the vallaslin. it’s putting thoughts in the head of my character that i personally don’t see her having. the way the breakup plays out, there’s not a single indication that it has anything to do with the vallaslin. i like to pick the “i believe in us” option because it shows lavellan having some idea that there’s something solas isn’t telling her and that’s the main reason he’s walking away. and the irony of course is that we learn in dav that that was the moment he came the closest to just giving up everything to just be with her.

so when i played through dav with my solasmance lavellan and she talks about what drew her to him it all just felt so right. he was kind and wise and sad but he made her feel like she was the only thing that mattered to him. (and that was very almost true!) there was a passion and intensity to their relationship that made her think he was the person she wanted to be with forever. when she says "i thought i would have followed anywhere he asked me to" you could read it as her saying she would have joined him in tearing down the veil if he asked and depending on your lavellan that might be true (though in the next bit she talks about how she would have been trying to change his mind anyways). but you could also read it as what her mindset was while she was with him during dai. before joining the inquisition, she knew him to be someone that traveled the world looking for lost secrets and history. why would she not have wanted to join him in that? is that not something you do when you're in love with someone?

something else that i find really compelling about solavellan is how solas relates to the inquisitor (not just lavellan) as a figurehead stripped of their personal identity. he knows from personal experience exactly what that's like. in the romances (not just solas's), the inquisitor is able to find someone that knows and cares for them for who they are, not what they represent. this aspect of the inquisitor's arc is honestly why i like keeping the vallaslin. my lavellan wants people to be able to look at her as the inquisitor and see a dalish elf. it's one small act of defiance and in reclaiming her own narrative. so thinking about what she might want to do after her responsibilities to the inquisition are over, it's reasonable to think she might want to just go wherever solas goes? because she loves him and feels like herself around him. even her asking him to let her come with him in trespasser feels more motivated by the fact that lavellan sees solas isolating himself and closing himself off and she's sad about it because she cares about him. that was why she wanted to grow close to him in the first place.

and i genuinely don't think it's all that wild that lavellan still holds a torch for solas 10 years later. i personally was friends with this guy in high school i always had a crush on, and towards the end of senior year it looked like it could actually end up turning into something. but then he immediately left for a summer abroad after graduation and eventually moved out of the country full time for school. we kept in touch off and on and caught up when he was in town, but nothing romantic ever happened. for years after i would catch myself thinking every so often what could have been and what he was up to. for solavellan, they were actually together. they had mutually expressed feelings and though their time together was maybe a few months at most, it was intense and passionate. they split up not because anyone's feelings changed, but because of solas's baggage. it's really not unrealistic for lavellan to continue wondering to herself what would have happened if he had been honest with her sooner. if she could have convinced him to change course. and it's not like she has the luxury of retiring and just not thinking about him anymore. that's not a conscious manipulation on solas's part to string her along, that's just the reality of their situation.

and even with all that in mind, in dav lavellan is still able to have the self-awareness to understand that the good in him that she believes exists and all that they had together and what she meant to him could all just be wishful thinking on her part. that she's giving him the benefit of the doubt "imagining his broken heart" when he doesn't deserve it because it makes her feel less foolish. she's not blindly faithful to him. i just loved everything about that scene and every word out of my lavellan's mouth felt spot on and perfect for how i saw their relationship. i could not have been more relieved lol.

as for the ending, i really really dislike the bad faith read that the only thing that matters is mythal and that he somehow loves mythal more and if that weren't true then lavellan alone would be able to convince him to stop. varric says about solas that he wants to be a hero, but it's easier for him to play the villain because it means he didn't fail, everything bad he's done is a choice. once you've done one bad thing, betrayed one friend, manipulated and sacrificed some pawns, committed one lil genocide, etc. lmao, it becomes easier to do it again. you've already crossed your moral event horizon and now you just have to find an end that justifies the means of all your misdeeds. what i've said about solas before is that what's frustrating is that he does genuinely feel remorse about the shit he does, but he needs to believe it's necessary and he will keep doing it. he needs to believe it will all be worth it in the end. it's not that he thinks feeling sorry makes up for it necessarily, but that he had to do it. he had to be the one taking on all of the bad things to hopefully one day do a good thing and it will all work out.

(as a side note when solas says "i would not have you see what i become" in trespasser i always thought that meant he was going to resort to some awful corruptive magic or something but it turns out what he actually meant was "i'm about to be a real asshole and do some incredibly awful things and i don't want you to see that side of me" which is much sadder.)

so when rook says "you don't have to do this" solas counters with "i've betrayed and fucked over and killed so many people who trusted me and if i stop i will have done that for nothing." so then the inquisitor jumps in with "as one of those people, i'm telling you that you can stop." but then we get to the heart of it. he thinks he failed mythal when she died the first time and was unwilling to listen to her as flemeth. he needs to make that mean something. he needs to justify to himself what mythal made him into. so he needs to hear from his mythal, not morrigan's mythal who has the benefit of the wisdom and hindsight centuries of living among mortals gave her, but his mythal, the one closest to who she was when she died that what he is is broken. that she's the one that broke him and he alone doesn't have to bear the weight of everything he did because of her. it's not about loving her, it's about the specific relationship he had with her. with that baggage unpacked, he's not only able to let go of his prideful need to prove himself right by tearing down the veil, he's also free to choose what he always really wanted: lavellan.

and still! yet again! he does not ask or assume anything on her part. she offers! of her own free will. something that really rustles my jimmies about a lot of solavellan criticism is that people act like lavellan has no agency. that she couldn't possibly make the choices she does of her own accord and it has to be solas manipulating her. that has never rang true to me at all. she always made the first move. i think this more uncharitable read might unfortunately be encouraged by how many actual solavellan shippers play into the wolf/halla thing but i personally don't think that's the dynamic that weekes actually wrote. it is lavellan that pursues solas, not the other way around. and weekes was honestly so careful in how they wrote the romance so that when solas's identity and plans are revealed, it doesn't feel like he intentionally tricked you or took advantage. i actually really like the ambiguity of whether or not they slept together because to me it does feel like that's a line solas wouldn't cross, but i get why that doesn't matter as much to other solasmancers.

i also think there's this perception that solavellan is a ship with an unhealthy power dynamic that needs to be "fixed" in some way or at the very least apologized for before you're allowed to like it. for me it's honestly kind of the appeal? not that there's some goofy dom/sub thing going on lol but that in spite of how "superior" solas may or may not feel to lavellan and the modern elves, he still falls hook line and fucking sinker for her. lavellan has so much more power in the relationship than she realizes. she changes his entire perspective on modern elves and his ultimate goals so bad he had a complete crisis of faith and had to run as far away from her as he could. how could he have broken the world so badly he needs to catastrophically break it again to fix it if it could create someone like her? someone he wants and cares for so desperately? it's the push and pull of him trying to stay away but selfishly indulging as long as he can that's so juicy to me! it's so good and i just wish other people could see that, even if they don't care for the character.

anyways. i don't have a conclusion. i don't want anyone to think i'm vaguing about them. this is honestly the result of some thoughts that have been brewing for a while and a lot of common criticisms i've seen over the years. i didn't want to respond directly to anyone in particular bc i learned my lesson about not doing that waaay back in the shenko fandom iykyk lol. i just really like the ship! i think it's tragic and romantic and lovely and poetic and mythological and all that good stuff. it humanizes solas as a character and makes me think about empathy and compassion and how much faith you can have in someone if you love them. or how it might feel to sacrifice love for something you think you need to do, only to ultimately realize you never did and find that love patiently waiting for you to get your shit together. or to love someone and know they love you back and that they love you so much they had to leave or they would have given up everything they thought they needed for you and then to be able to actually get through to them and get them back. "she could save him if he'd only just let her"! it's a very niche wish fulfillment fantasy and it's me! i'm the fan being serviced!

[enteringdullsville]

I got bored so I made a thing. Modern Nick AU featuring a handful of the child protagonists, a chibified SpongeBob being their chaperone? A summer camp setting, perhaps? With everyone save for Danny, Jenny, and Dora having their ages fudged to be closer?

Sure, why not? From left to right:

Sanjay Patel

He may or may not have snuck Craig into his cabin, and Craig may or may not have started charging people for “sage advice from the talking snake”

Sanjay’s a relatively good kid but kind of a hellion. Manny spends much of his early life in a moral dilemma. Having them be partners seemed like a logical decision

His bowling pin head was really hard to adapt to my usual style without utterly mangling his face, but I think I did alright

Manny Rivera

He’s wearing the boots and scarf from his El Tigre costume

Bessie thinks he’s the coolest thing, but his and Danny’s egos clash almost immediately

This presumably takes place after he’s settled on heroism, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a troublemaker

April O’Neil

She’s quite possibly the only person getting any actual work done in camp

She’s ostensibly the least insane person in the group, but she’s prone to egging on the others’ antics and starting bets on how much things will escalate

Her age has been dropped a couple of years, so she’s often with Lincoln foiling Dora’s whole escape artist routine

Tommy Pickles

Still on his filmmaker career from All Grown Up! He has a lot of footage of a lot of things in a lot of places

Normally mild mannered and agreeable, but being given “strict orders” instantly makes his good mood vanish

His mind tends to wander when he’s bored, and it has no regard for its curfew

Lincoln Loud

He’s a weeb canonically, so he’s been given a vaguely animesque appearance

Whatever camp this takes place at, I can guarantee at least one of his sisters had been there prior. Since most of the characters here are the Everyman type, Linc’s cunning and trickster attributes are played up a bit

Has no regard for the fourth wall. Tommy has no clue what he’s on about and thinks he’s insane

Aang (Just Aang)

Whether or not he can bend is based purely on what’s funniest at the moment, especially since he and Dib make it impossible for this to be canon compliant

He’s definitely living in an AU with a less horrific backstory. Less responsibilities, less issues

Wouldn’t hurt a fly, but he’d definitely give a wasp a warning shot if it was being a jerk

Danny Fenton

Danny, and only Danny, is actually a little older here. He and Jenny are the counselors. Lucky them.

Doesn’t even bother with the secret identity since Bob’s the only one dense enough to not connect the dots

Being able to turn invisible is really helpful when Dib has questions he doesn’t feel like answering

Jimmy Neutron

There he is, officer. That one’s the ringleader

Aang’s existence is a constant source of frustration for him since he can’t come up with a scientific explanation for all…that

He’s right off the heels of Nicktoons Unite and is wondering when and why SB became so serious

SpongeBob SquarePants

The only adult we see at the camp for some reason, and the only nonhuman besides Jenny

I messed up his scaling, he was supposed to be small enough to fit in someone’s hand, hence his overly simplified design. That’s the height he is in-universe

Ironically and disproportionately strong. Not Jenny’s level, but about as strong as he is in Unite…without being adjusted for size. In other words, he can easily pick up and throw the campers like rag dolls

Jenny Wakeman

The only nonhuman kid at camp, as well as the oldest/youngest at 16/5

She’s the one thing stopping land bears from tearing the camp apart

She’s justifiably a little wary since she’s not exactly nature proof, but all the kids think she’s the coolest thing

Timmy Turner

A closer look at him reveals three familiar looking trinkets shaped like a wand, wings, and a floaty crowny thing

He doesn’t need magic, anyway. He’ll make everything possibly go wrong his own way

He and Bessie butt heads almost immediately; Timmy’s fine with one hypercompetent overachieving Girl Scout in his life, but he does not need another

Ginger Foutley

Usually found with fellow artsy types Rudy and Lincoln

Riddled with anxieties and restless leg syndrome. She comes of as brooding, but she’s just introspective

Since April’s a menace, she’s the actual least insane camper

Eliza Thornberry

It took her a bit to realize SpongeBob could actually talk to begin with and that everyone else didn’t have the same power as her. In fact, there’s a non-zero chance there are a bunch of animals from assorted Nick shows that are screaming in the background constantly and it’s messing with her head

I gave her just the one braid to make her distinct from the other Elizabeth in the cast

She slips in and out of her father’s mannerisms. SMASHING!

Rudy Tabootie

Mysteriously disappears to parts unknown it’stheChalkZone every now and then when he needs to blow off some steam

I find it funny how stylized I made everyone else while Rudy’s just slightly taller

SpongeBob sees a lot of himself in the kid. Rudy doesn’t know how to feel about that

Dora Marquez

Y’know, I added her as a joke, and she immediately became my favorite

She’s the youngest kid at her canon age of seven, so she’s coddled by everyone else. She HATES it, given that she’s been adventuring on her own for the longest time, so she’s a lot more cynical than usual. Easily the biggest departure from the norm

Constantly tries to escape supervision in favor of wandering the wilderness, but the talking cheese won’t let her

Arnold Shortman

He doesn’t know how he ended up as the “cool guy”, but he’s not gonna fight it

Appears detached and aloof, but he’s more likely just dissociating

Always seems to know what he’s doing to the point of parody. As smart as he is, I must reiterate he’s just improvising

Dib Membrane

Eliza, Rudy, and especially Timmy aren’t too keen on hanging around him for very obvious reasons

The fact he’s with people who are reasonably sane this time around means he’s in much better spirits. Lincoln’s probably his best friend at the camp, although Dib’s still a loner

He and Jimmy always run the risk of killing each other if they talk for more than two minutes at a time due to differing views on magic

Bessie Higgenbottom

The kid most likely to actually listen to the inane drivel that comes out of SpongeBob’s mouth

Since she’s still working on the whole Mighty Bee thing, she’s all over Manny, Danny, and Janny

There are very few campers that aren’t at least a little intimidated by her

There were a few other characters I wanted to add like Nate Wright (Big Nate), Annie Bramley (It’s Pony), Mikey Munroe (Bunsen is a Beast), but I scrapped them for space.

I elected to only use one character per series, causing me to drop Korra, Sheen Estevez, Ronnie Anne Santiago, and Hazel Wells for being spinoff characters (especially since Sheen and Ronnie Anne were around before getting their own shows). It also forced me to remove Fanboy and Chum Chum from my initial plan entirely.

I additionally wanted to keep SB as the only organic nonhuman character due to the inherent absurdity of having him as the sole adult figure, which is why Dib and April represent their series rather than Zim or a Ninja Turtle and why I chose not to use Harvey Beaks.

[thebaldursmouthgazette]

Okay so I’ve been thinking lately about spirits and the concept of change, specifically in the context of personal growth. And forgive me if this is a little disjointed, because there’s a lot of various topics that come together.

Because spirits in the fade are very rigid. They represent one feeling or concept, and they represent it rigidly. It is their being, and their purpose, and if they stray from it they become corrupted into demons, they are no longer their original purpose. Justice is no longer just. Compassion is no longer compassionate. Wisdom is no longer wise. Changing in this way is not a good change for spirits.

But people as we know them do change and grow. It is a part of life. And we don’t lose who we were, we just move on from it. The old versions of ourselves remain part of us and we build onto them. And I wonder if taking physical form to be like humans allowed spirits to change and grow the way that regular people do (and I say regular people to mean people as we know them, as actually exist in the real world, since DA spirits are sort of a thought experiment in many ways, and not actually real). And I’m wondering about how the sudden ability to do that would affect spirit society. I’d imagine it would be very taboo to change in that way, because previously, before taking form, change to a spirit is tantamount to death. They may not recognise that personal growth is not a bad thing. It’s not a corruption, it is a part of life.

Sidestep for a moment. When Bellara confronts Solas for killing the fragment of Mythal in Flemeth, he replies that that was not Mythal. He doesn’t consider her advice. He has no qualms about killing her. Yet when the fragment of Mythal we get from the crossroads talks to him, he sees her as Mythal. Listens to what she says. They are both fragments, yet one is considered Mythal and one is not. What is the difference?

The Mythal who we meet as flemeth has lived in the world and among people for a very long time. She has lived as an elf, as a human. She’s lived in a swamp. She’s fallen in love with an alamarri chieftain (most likely Tyrdda Bright Axe). She’s had lots of direct experience with people, and has allowed that experience to change her. She has allowed herself to grow. She now sees modern people of all races as people whose lives have meaning. There is no test of how well we can grovel in front of her to get her help with the blight in origins. In dragon age 2 she accepts a simple exchange of one favour for another, even with a Hawke who shows her no respect. She tells Merrill she bows too easily.

If we take the fragment we meet in Veilguard as a representation of who she was in ancient times, she is very different. She’s changed, but in ways that make sense given the new experiences she has. But solas claims that is not her, and I think it’s because she has changed. She has grown as a person when spirits should remain stagnant, and therefore she is no longer Mythal to him. She is a corruption of Mythal.

She’s also not easily recognisable as a spirit. She doesn’t represent one single concept anymore, and certainly not the one she started as. I’d figured out that the ancient elves were spirits before veilguard came out and I’d have put her down as justice/vengeance and said it wasn’t a very good fit but the closest I could find. Meanwhile the other fragment is definitely retribution and a very condescending brand of benevolence.

I bring this up because there’s another ancient elf that isn’t recognisable as a spirit and that’s Felassan. I could not begin to guess what sort of spirit he is, but he definitely was one. And I think it’s because he has grown and changed too. He has, as people do, allowed his experiences to shape him, change his opinions on things, learned and grown. And while it is not stated, I think this is part of why Solas kills him. He has changed when spirits are supposed to remain stagnant, and thus, in Solas’ eyes, he is no longer Felassan.

So I do think that that sort of change and personal growth, for good or ill, is something that the ancient elves gained the ability to do when they took physical form. And I think it’s one they rejected as taboo, because change is something they considered a corruption of your true self, even though that is not what this personal growth was. Which brings me on to my next point: fragments.

We know spirits can fragment themselves or be fragmented. We know Dirthamen and Falon’Din are fragments of the same original spirit. We know Mythal split into different fragments, with a theory being that she split down different facets of herself (so the fragment that became Flemeth Mythal was a part of her already moving away from benevolence/retribution). I’m wondering if it might have been the custom, after taking physical form and gaining this ability to grow and change in a constructive way as people do and rejecting it out of fear, to fragment yourself if you noticed such a change coming upon yourself, to keep yourself strictly within your purpose and being.

This ties in to my theorising about the cave “Prides End” on the peak of “Sundermount” where a pride demon named “audacity” with an in depth understanding of the blight has been trapped sundered from the fade for an unimaginably long time, and how that might be a part of Solas he fragmented from himself when he sundered the titans.

And a while ago I briefly saw a post about how the wolf statuettes are made from the same material as the Mythal statue we obtain, which IS her. And I can’t remember what the post said beyond that, but I wonder if those regrets are something Solas removed from himself so he couldn’t learn and grow from them. So he would remain stagnant and true to his purpose (even though he changed to pride a long time ago, and learning from these would allow him to move on from that).

It would also add further context to Cole’s quest. Because Cole’s quest is NOT about becoming more human or more spirit. That is a choice he comes to himself. What Cole’s quest is about is whether he should show this Templar unconditional compassion (his purpose), or allow himself to feel anger towards him for what he did to the original Cole (the thing that brought him into physical form, and something outside of his spirit/demon dichotomy. His demon form mercy kills, he doesn’t seek revenge).

Solas is projecting on Cole, but it’s not just about having a physical body, it’s about changing and growing as a person. Cole is fine with changing and growing, he’s fine either way. But if spirits are supposed to remain stagnant and rigidly true to their purpose, then Cole shouldn’t let himself grow. He should deny that growth and cut parts of himself away if necessary. And, of course, Solas does not consider that Cole is fine either way because Solas is rigidly remaining as Pride, and therefore he must be right by virtue of being the one who thought it.

The kicker, of course, is that while Solas is rejecting any and all opportunities for growth, and cutting out the parts of himself that seem to be changing and learning, he has changed, more than he realises. Not for the better, as he could have done had he allowed old friends and new experiences to teach him that sometimes he is wrong. But despite all his active and determined resistance to any change at all, it has happened anyway. It’s just happened in a twisted and gnarled way instead. He’s not changed for the better and learned from the people of the world, he’s twisted in in himself and isolated himself from everything and everyone.

[shakingparadigm]

I think the matchup between Till and Luka can hold a lot of meaning within it, and I'm not sure if it was intentional but the way their personalities and levels of experience contrast can bring to mind a kind of "out with the old, in with the new" concept that's so commonly seen in media.

There's something so fantastic about Alien Stage's character design and how it manages to successfully portray Till as young despite certain aspects of his design suggesting otherwise. Till's grey hair and prominent eyebags are significant examples, along with his relatively tall and gaunt figure. These features are commonly used to signal that a character is of old age, weak and jaded. Despite this, Till is the youngest of the cast and has the fighting spirit to match, debuting with the most energetic and eccentric performance in the season. His magazine nickname "black sheep" emphasizes that Till's style is unique and a standout amongst the rest of the contenders. An erratic, more modern kind of style that becomes both a point of contention and attraction to the audience. He represents the "new", messy and full of youth, sharp lines and pure energy. An eccentric avant-garde way of art that challenges the reigning status quo.

Luka's appearance does little to indicate his true age of 30 years. His looks can simply be described as angelic, almost cherubic with his light blonde curls and soft features. Even as a child who was most likely the oldest of his batch, he was short-statured and incredibly fragile. There's the factor of Luka's hair and how light blonde is a color most commonly associated with youth and childhood, eventually fading away as one gets older. Despite Luka's soft and innocent facade, he is the eldest and most experienced of the cast. Solemn, almost hollow, and with little of the vibrance and energy expected of his looks. The fact that Luka retains his almost porcelain appearance even as a full-grown adult is a testament to not only Heperu's experimentation, but also of Luka's association with constance. He almost never changes, presenting a state of purity and perfection that has been honed to its absolute peak. From the garden to the 49th stage to the present, his image has never faltered. Dressed in pure, flowing white, his style is classic and traditional, with smooth, enveloping tones and elegant movement. His performances are displays of tact and grace that are delicate in execution but immense in impact. Luka represents the "old", or rather the constant. Unchanging, a performance that extends from the previous season (which, in an extremely fast-moving and trend-obssessed society, may be considered "old") to the next, aiming to reign for many more years to come.

The conflict of the Challenger and the Champion is one that commonly involves the idea of opposites. Luka and Till seem like two completely opposing forces, one as the serendipitous symbol of perfection, and one who comes crashing in, wielding chaos. Luka is the comfortable constance, catering completely to the audience, while Till is the change, catering completely to himself.

Of course, another common theme within this type of conflict is the hidden parallel, the "we're not so different" dilemma that brings one party to a sense of unease. It's become increasingly clear that Luka and Till have very similar upbringings, the major difference being what their guardians choose to present to the public. Experimentation, biological alteration, torturous practices and performance against their will. An extensive history of abuse is what lies underneath their stage personas, and while Heperu makes sure to keep this secret under wraps, Urak allows for Till's suffering to be known. Shock value, spectacle, anything to put the eyes on an unruly pet who wants nothing more than to be left alone. Heperu's methods, while more discreet, are no less diabolical.

Much sacrifice is required in order to reach the level of talent that Luka and Till have developed, and despite the imbalance it seems as though they are the only two people who can understand each other's extent of self-sacrifice.

There's another layer of "I'm just like you" that began to surface during ROUND 6, where Till's sharp edges softened in clutches of alien control. His parted hairstyle, the chains near the shoulders of his outfit... quite the familiar ensemble indeed. Almost like a dark mirror of Luka, but not quite. Not yet.

As of now, it's unsure whether or not Till will succumb completely to this loss of control, manufactured into a copy of his greatest opponent. However, judging from the very little that has been revealed about ROUND 7 so far, it seems that the passionate and fighting Till will make a resurgence.

The final round is now underway, and no matter who the winner is (or if there will even be a winner at all), it's sure to be an absolute spectacle.

[slytherinshua]

THE NIGHT WHERE IT ENDED

genre. vampire au. angst. little bit of fluff. warnings. guns. vampires fighting against humans. a lot of blood. major character death. kinda half proofread half not. pairing. vampire!hanbin x vampire!reader. ft. vampire!zhanghao, vampire!seungwoo (x1/victon/solo), and vampire!sejeong (ioi/gugudan/solo). wc. 3.7k. request. @blue-jisungs begged me to write pt 2 but i think she's regretting that decision now skjdksd oops. a/n. i'm sorry for this fic okay like srsly i'm sorry 😭😭😭 divider by @/sweetparty.

read part 1 here read part 3 here

“Why are you restless, my love?” Hanbin asked softly as he wrapped his left arm around your shoulder, the fabric of his robe draping over your skin and shielding you from the cool night breeze.

“I think we are making a mistake, Hanbin.” You said quietly. Hanbin could feel the weight of your words despite how vague they were. He tilted his head and focused his crimson eyes on you, attempting to read your thoughts. 

The skill was challenging to use on other vampires. You were neither human nor a recently turned vampire, so your thoughts were safely hidden from most. The connection of your souls made it easier for Hanbin to get in, though. And when he did, gathering a few more pieces of information about what was bothering you, he knew you were probably right. 

“You mean about humans?” His hand slowly rubbed over your arm, a simple tranquillity spell dispersing from his fingertips. This, unlike the mind reading, was something he could do without any effort. He often used it on you when he could, to help calm you in any way. You always noticed when he did, and he knew you appreciated the gesture by the look in your eyes. The same happened now, as he felt your body slowly relax in his hold. 

“They are coming into the age of technology— progressing at a rate faster than we’ve ever seen before. The elders have grown foolish. They have not seen the outside world for themselves in hundreds of years. They still think humans are weak and easy.” You explained the things that Hanbin knew very well. As merely a short thousand years old or a little more, both of you were at the front of missions and leading forces. Being young and able-bodied yet skilled enough to face almost anything, there was little left to improve on.

“Their guns have grown more powerful. So have their bombs. They are no longer scared, weak, foolishly mortal beings who run around with pitchforks and torches. They have weapons causing damage that not even the best of spells could hope to remedy. I’ve explained this all to the elders, but they won’t listen to my suggestions. They don’t believe me.” You said in defeat, faced with an impossible task.

Never before had you seen your fellow vampires die so quickly. Bullets seared through their bodies faster than the wind, and it only took a couple to knock a vampire unconscious. It was only a matter of time before the wounds killed them. The simple truth you were faced with was almost impossible to accept.

Humans were growing stronger than vampires. Despite their weak bodies, their propensity for fear, their stupidity, or their short life-spans. The advantage they had over vampires was constant adaptation and invention. You could barely name a change in the castle in 800 years, but the changes to the human world were endless. And each one was more impressive than the last.

Diseases that had once killed millions were being researched and prevented, a problem of the past for humans. Modern technology in the form of telephones, space travel, and computers aided in all facets of human life. It was simply astonishing how fast the world could change. Vampires simply had no way to keep up, you realized.

“It will take time for them to come around, but they will. When they see for themselves how many we’ve lost— how we are no longer overpowering humans tenfold. They will surely change their course of action then.” Hanbin words soothed your worried heart. You felt foolish for wanting to believe every word that came out of his mouth, but it felt like second nature. You just hoped he was right.

“This is it?” You asked, glancing at Hanbin from across the table to catch his nod. On the marble surface lay a large rifle, one that had single-handedly taken out 3 of your vampires that evening with just 5 bullets. 

It had been several months since your worry had started, and you realized now that you had vastly underestimated how quickly humans improved. What once took 10 or more bullets to fatally injure a vampire now decreased to just 1 or 2. If this is what humans could do in just a few months, what more developments could they introduce in 10 years?

“They’ve developed this model for the past couple of months to specifically target our weaknesses. They must have studied one of our men to know that silver bullets would be more deadly than anything else. When aimed at our hearts, it’s very easy to kill a vampire with just 1 shot.” Hanbin said wearily, his expression growing dim like yours.

“For the first time ever, they’re killing us faster than we’re turning them.” You muttered, trying to not let the thought terrify you. It could easily mean the extinction of vampires within a short hundred years.

You turned to the elders who you were consulting about the issue, studying their pale faces. Seungwoo looked stone faced, which you expected. He was one of the few elders who knew about the situation, as he often went out into the human world, disguising himself as one of them. As the most advanced healer among the clan, he had tended to many of the injured fighters in the past months. He was familiar with the damage the weapon could do, and the number of vampires that had been lost to its deadly silver bullets. 

Zhang Hao looked surprised, and maybe even a little bit scared at the news. His eyes were wide, but he kept his face as stoic as possible. He was one of the most powerful vampires concerning spells. His magic was strong and his knowledge was vast. He knew ancient rituals and was able to create entirely new incantations by studying old texts. You respected his opinion on the issue, and was sure he would be able to advise how to train the younger vampires with protective charms.

You skipped past the dozen or so council member elders, and turned finally to Sejeong, watching her face twist in anger. She never failed to lead the vampires expertly, but her temper was a cause of concern for you. She held grudges against the humans more personally than Hao or Seungwoo. She had often been at the front of the battlefield hundreds of years ago, and she had seen no shortage of vampire bloodshed. Under her reign there had been centuries of peace, as she wisely chose to not engage with the humans unless necessary. Now that they were actively seeking out her citizens, though, she wasn’t willing to let it slide. 

You could predict many possible outcomes from this. Sejeong’s ruling might result in peace once again, or in a war that no one would be able to survive. It was your duty to trust and follow her every command, operating on her word to the best of your abilities, but you had never experienced such high risks. You were worried you might not make it out of this battle, or worse, that Hanbin would face death with you.

The 3 elders you had watched expectantly, having been the very 3 to conjoin yours and Hanbin’s souls, were well aware of the risks. Vampire souls were not naturally supposed to meld together, and although you and Hanbin were perfectly matched, your joining still faced consequences. If one of you died, it was likely that the other would not be able to survive alone. Whenever you called to one another through your tattoos, you had to bear the burning sensation that came from using such power. If one of you was in pain, the other experienced it too. There was never a burden that could be held by just one person. You and Hanbin were a pair, and you simply could not be separated. 

It was back in Hanbin’s tower after the meeting that you voiced your concern. After Sejeong decided on facing the problem head on, just as you expected, and it was only a matter of days before you would be sent out to attack.

“I think it would be best if we stuck together at all times. If you get out of my sight, I won’t know if you’re safe.” You said quietly, biting the inside of your cheek in worry. Hanbin walked across the room, joining you on the couch, lacing his hand with yours. 

“I won’t go anywhere without you, even if it means disobeying the elders' orders. We don’t know what could happen to our souls if one of us gets hurt. We’re meant to be together, not apart.” You continued, meeting Hanbin’s crimson eyes with yours. 

He nodded, “Whatever you wish.” He squeezed your hand reassuringly.

“I should close the curtain. The sun is coming up.” You kissed his cheek and stood up to do so. Hanbin’s eyes watched you as you walked across the room and drew the blinds. He leaned back against the sofa, gaze still fixed on you as you shuffled through the bookcase on the wall, picking up a history book about ancient vampire civilizations. He could see the anxiety in your eyes, and he felt a twist in his stomach, mirroring yours.

“Calm down, Y/n. We’ll be alright, no matter what happens.” Hanbin said. He motioned for you to put down the book and come back to his arms. “Stop worrying about me. I’ll be fine. I won’t get hurt. I promise I won’t.” He whispered to you, a comforting smile on his face.

You wondered how he could always be so sure and confident. You were constantly riddled with worries, but, like always, Hanbin assured you, easing your anxiety with his words or his spells. You could feel his magic work on you as he wrapped his arms around you, and you instantly felt at peace.

You stayed in his arms until the sun had fully risen, savouring the quiet moments while you still could. There would be no spare moment to relax once the full moon came. You couldn’t ask for him to keep the calming spell going all day, but for as long as you were in his arms, you allowed yourself to let him take your mind off of everything.

You even managed to fall asleep from how comfortable you were cuddled in his hold. When you woke up and looked up at him, his eyes had fallen shut as well, but you could tell he was only dozing. Beads of sweat had gathered on his forehead from how long he had been casting the spell. Even though it was a fairly easy one that he had mastered centuries ago, keeping it going for hours at a time still took an extreme amount of energy.

You kissed his cheek, watching as his eyes opened slowly. He smiled and wiped his dewy skin, sitting up slowly. You felt the spell wear off as Hanbin relaxed his shoulders, and the thoughts flooding your head came back immediately. A sigh left your lips. You couldn’t ask him to keep it going for any longer. You felt guilty for how long he had been doing it already, knowing just how exhausting it must have been.

“You didn’t have to do that for so long.” You whispered, standing up from his lap and circling around to the back of the couch. You unclasped the outer cloth of his long robe, leaving just the tunic and pants he was wearing. Your hands fell to his neck and shoulders, slowly starting to massage the muscles, working out the knots he had developed. 

His eyes fell shut, a pained whine escaping his lips from the sensation. He was always so focused on taking care of you, he rarely noticed when his own body was suffering. He felt relieved as the pain slowly subsided with the help of one of your healing spells, the touch of your fingers over his bare skin becoming softer.

Your fingers lingered on the side of his neck when you were done, circling the pads of your pointer and middle finger over his pulsepoint, feeling the faint beating of his heart. It was slower in pace than humans, but it was still felt from the touch of your finger. 

The life of vampires relied on magical powers (and a constant supply of blood) over bodily function. In his life as a human, Hanbin’s heart had been the most vital organ to his survival. But now, keeping his body healthy so his powers flowed freely was of equal importance. The two were still intertwined, a constant balance was the key to being a powerful vampire. Poor bodily function translated to weakened power. The fact that you could still hear Hanbin’s heart clearly was a testament to his abilities. It would take an extraordinary force to weaken him to the point of death, and that thought comforted you.

You had seen many conflicts in your lifetime, mostly human wars of which vampires were no part of. But it was an entirely different feeling standing at the front of the battleline in the dead of night, preparing your strongest spells, knowing you were vastly outnumbered by the enemy’s army. 

Hanbin was by your side, his finger still barely grazing your hand, trying to get as much strength from you before the fight started. Fear filled both of your body’s, but a strong determination overpowered it. The risk was immense, but you needed to win. You would come out of it alive, no matter what.

The explosions were deafening, ringing in your ears at ten times the intensity that they sounded to humans. It was dizzying, and you could barely keep track of the spells you were casting. They seemed to be working well enough to defend yourself, as any man who charged at you soon found himself in a pool of his own blood on the grass. 

You weren’t sure how long you had been fighting, or how many more men you could hold off. It felt like they just kept coming. You had never used this much power all at once, but you couldn’t stop even for a second. It couldn’t go on forever, right?

There was no big explosion, nor were any human soldiers in range to hurt you. You weren’t in the line of gunshots. There was no possible way a grenade could have reached you without you noticing it. So why did you suddenly feel such excruciating pain?

Hanbin. Where was Hanbin?

The smoke on the battlefield hindered the humans from seeing, but you were effortlessly able to clear a path. It was easy to find Hanbin— you always came back to him without even thinking. You knew where he was immediately, and your legs carried you to him in an instant. 

His eyes looked scared as they met yours. He was on his knees, surrounded by the men he had taken out, their blood soaked on his skin and clothes. The crimson of his eyes had faded, suggesting his weakening state. You couldn’t tell what blood was his, but you could tell that he was losing it fast. 

“Hanbin— get up. Get up, please.” You grabbed his arm in a panic, pulling him up to his feet and supporting his body on yours as you quickly found a sheltered spot to let him sit.

“What happened? Why are you hurt— you said you wouldn’t get hurt.” You cried, holding a bloody palm to your tattoos, trying to summon a healing spell. Hanbin was barely breathing; struggling to stay conscious for you.

After hours of fighting, your power had grown weak. The pain you experienced, mirroring the injuries on Hanbin’s body, also prevented you from conjuring the spell. You gave up trying to get it from the source, realising that it wouldn’t work in your current state. Instead, you placed your hands on Hanbin’s chest, your fingers touching the ink on his collarbone. You closed your eyes tightly, mustering as much strength as you could to reach his body. His tattoos flickered, wanting to shine brightly from your touch, but unable to summon enough power for it.

He gasped, air flooding his lungs again. His eyes watered from the pain, and he instinctively tried to push your hands away, although he knew that they were what was still keeping him alive. The blood loss was driving his body and mind crazy; the need, the thirst for it, overwhelming. You realized what was going on from just his face, the unmistakable sign of a bloodthirsty vampire flashing in his faint eyes. 

“Take mine.” You said quickly, pushing your garment to the side, exposing your neck to him. 

“N-no, I can’t.” He whispered, terrified at the thought of hurting you.

“Please. You’ll die.” You begged, your voice laced with desperation. Strangely, you had no fear. You didn’t care about how much it would hurt, or if it would drive you bloodthirsty as well. You just needed him to survive.

Due to his weak state, you were able to overpower him. You forced his mouth open in desperation, revealing the sharp fangs on his top row of teeth. He cried, having no strength to stop you. He would rather die than risk causing you harm. 

Hanbin submitted to your wishes, knowing that if he didn’t comply with biting you, you would find a different, more dangerous way to give him your blood. He sunk his fangs weakly into your neck and forced himself to suck. The taste of your blood trickling down his throat instantly curbed the insatiable need for it. You cried out in pain, feeling your strength wither as your blood left you. The sound broke Hanbin’s heart, icy tears falling from his eyes.

The taste of your blood was sweet and warm, but Hanbin refused to enjoy a single drop of it. As soon as he felt a fraction of his strength coming back, he used it to push you off of him. 

You looked back at him and the entire world seemed to disappear. The fight was still ongoing behind you, but no shouts or explosions reached your ears. His eyes slowly gained back their colour, flickering to yours and softening. With tear stains on his cheeks and blood splattered across his face and neck, he reached for you gently, hesitantly. Almost too hesitant to be quite like him. 

“I hurt you.” He said in anguish, his eyes unable to leave the wound on your neck. “Why did you let me hurt you?” He searched your face for an answer, and it stared right back at him. Losing him would be more painful to you than any wound, even if he was the one who gave it to you. He could hurt you, wound you, or even kill you, and you would still give yourself up to him without needing to think.

Vampires always felt cold, but Hanbin’s touch felt exceptionally gelid when it reached your cheek. He looked gaunt, his exhaustion evident even after he had gotten some strength back. You needed to get him to safety, somewhere where skilled healers could tend to him. His eyes looked scared. Not scared of the battle, but scared of himself and what he had done to you.

“You could never hurt me. Just please stay alive.” You whispered, holding his bloodied hand. His eyes still naturally drew back to your neck, shaky breaths leaving him as he processed your words and nodded weakly. 

He bent to kiss you with the energy he had, the action portraying a million thoughts and feelings. You felt him crumble in your arms, his body giving out on him as his lips touched yours. You held him steady, supporting his neck so his head didn’t fall. His eyelids drooped, and with a trembling breath you realized the carmine colour of his eyes was fading again.

“No, no— Hanbin, please.” Your hands fumbled, trying to think of what to do. You simply had no power left to give to him. Your hand slipped to his waist, trying to readjust him into a better position. That’s when you felt the warm liquid on your hand. 

The wound must have been from a bullet, you deduced quickly. No other weapon that humans possessed could have caused him to bleed so much. The bullet had pierced him in merely half a second, lodging itself in his side. It was a wonder how such a small piece of silver could do so much damage to a vampire as powerful as Hanbin. He was dazed, the feeling of you pressing on the wound to try to stop the bleeding the only sensation he could discern.

Shouts grew louder in your ear. Although you had found a hidden space away from the battle, you were still exposed to danger. You stood carefully, pulling Hanbin up with you. Your only hope now was to get him back to safety as quickly as possible. His soul was still clinging to the bit of energy you had given him, but you wouldn’t have much time before it ran out completely. 

He stumbled as he rose to his feet, doing his best to support his own weight. He would have fallen back into your arms if something hadn’t hit him quicker. A small piece of silver, not more than 2 centimetres, seared straight through his chest, and a gasp fell from his lips.

You heard the shot. You felt it too, in the middle of your chest, a scathing pain spreading up your neck. You failed to catch Hanbin in time before he fell. 

It was over. You knew you had failed. Your options were expended and your time running out. Dropping to the ground as well, you clung to his body. With no energy left to fight, much less save him, you accepted the loss. Closing your eyes, you gathered him in your arms and pressed a kiss to his forehead as if you were comforting a small child.

It was a send off, of sorts. A last goodbye, and a testament to your love. He took his final breath, cradled safe in your arms, protected from the world. After all he had given for you, he deserved to rest comfortably. 

As his soul perished, you felt yours fading as well. He was taking you with him, knowing you could never live apart from him. Intertwined in every way, even until death. That was the fate you and him shared.

↳ zerobaseone taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @okshu,, @chewryy,, @haecien,, @sobun1est,,

@emmylksblog,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @chenleszone,, @sxmmerberries,,

@talking-saxy,, @cupidslovearrows,, @dimplewonie,, @50-husbands,, @hursheys,,

@kristianities,, @kangtaehyunzzz

[the-necromancer-wife]

I've read a lot of theories pointing out that Skully might have grown in an isolated, religious-like community. But I don't think that's the case. Allow me to elaborate:

TW: Spoilers/ long post/ just me analyzing Skully

It's sort of a cliché for Tim Burton films that the main character is a hermit of some sorts. Someone who is not adapted to the society or social conventions and usually lived by themselves or basically under a rock.

A few examples could be: Barnabas Collins in Dark Shadows, Willy Wonka in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (and Charlie himself), Edward Scissorhands, Jack Skellington and of course Vincent Malloy.

So my hypothesis so far:

>Skully is not only based on Jack Skellington's appearance, but also in Tim Burton's characters archetype:

Skully had a hard time adapting to the enviroment he presumably lived in and presented difficulties with bonding and forming relationships with others his age. At first i was inclined to believe he could be on the spectrum (autism or asperger) and I don't really discard that possibility yet, but I don't think his social difficulties are entirely caused by autism. I think he is visibly different from others in opinions and behaviors and that's why he's labeled as "the weird kid". And "the weird kid" is not always autistic.

He is similar to characters like Edward Scissorhands who grew up isolated and was visibly different. As a result of his enviroment, he didn't know how modern society worked and he was misunderstood and rejected.

This is one of the main elements on every Tim Burton movie: a certain someone that had a different childhood or whose life experiences led them to have a different (sometimes excentric) approach that wasn't socially accepted, although they weren't really hurting others.

The psychologist Lev Vygotsky wrote about how important the enviroment and social interactions were for a child. The difficulties Skully presents are common in those who didn't really get to experience those.

If he had grown in a conservative community, he wouldn't have access to any material related to Halloween. Why would they keep those books around? And if the community was in fact centered around Halloween as a celebration, why would they be labeled as conservative? Either he was raised in a conservative household or he harvested those ideas himself by isolating and reading old books. Which makes sense and leads me to my second hypothesis:

>He's partially twisted from the character Vincent Malloy.

I already explained who Vincent Malloy was in another post but basically he was obsessed with Vincent Price (the horror actor), and had a dark and twisted view of the world as a result of this, plus the isolation and the books he read.

Skully could be somehow twisted from Vincent given his obsession with Jack Skellington and his behavior indicates, as I said before, that he wasn't part of the community he grew in, just like Vincent.

Jack Skellington, the pumpking king, is depicted everywhere as the harbinger of horror and fear, even if Jack himself is rather a sensitive individual that wants to do things differently. The whole Nightmare before Christmas plot revolves around that: People having a wrong view about Jack as a result of him being the Halloween representative and Jack carrying a crown that's too heavy for him.

Vincent Malloy also enjoyed the dark and twisted world of horror and fear. But I'll elaborate more im my next point:

>Skully's mannerisms and obvious gaps in common knowledge come as a result of his isolation as well as him (possibly) reading horror books that also helped to form in him a more gloomy representation of Halloween.

Skully's arcaic mannerisms and language could be from books he read. Just like Vincent Malloy enjoyed to read the books of Edgard Allan Poe and ended up introjecting some of the elements depicted in those novels as well as those represented by Vincent Price (for Skully, Jack Skellington)

Also, little Vincent decided to isolate himself because of how much he enjoyed to play with his imagination, leading him ultimately to the development of a maladaptative daydreaming that consumed him. And of course, the disinterest in playing with other kids since they didn't really share his obsession.

If this is the case and Skully was a kid that grew without contact with his immediate community (his choice or not), that would explain all of his troubles socializing at school.

And also his outdated knowledge on many things. Is not that he was born long ago before magic stones were a thing, but more likely HE didn't know magic stones existed. At some point he abandoned his solitude, of course. Maybe when he started school.

>His parents and/or relatives are not really involved that much in his life.

It's kinda obvious by now, but Skully could come from a family that neglected him emotionally or materially. If that's the case, it would explain a lot.

>It would explain his poor dental hygiene, as nobody teach him how to take care of his teeth and lips properly. As the clothes are provided by the book we can't really tell if he was wearing modest or elegant clothing before he entered that place. But why would the book would alter his mouth's appearance? The only obvious answer is that it didn't and Skully doesn't know how to brush his teeth, one of the first things a parent should teach their child to do.

>It would explain why he was isolated for so long. Either he isolated himself or was recluded by his parents. Either way, his parents should have known better than to leave him locked up from the outside world or should have intervened to help him interact with others.

>In the case he had a turbulent relationship with his parents or they were emotionally unavailable, that would explain why he developed his hyperfixation. Looking forward to a historical figure like Jack could be a result of him not feeling identified with neither a mother figure or a father figure. Of course this is a very very flexible statement as this is not always the case.

Anyway, everything I said here could be accurate or not. This are just my considerations given the information i have so far.

[dearunreliablenarrator]

I'm here, queer, and highly likely to disappear*; but here's a very unreliable introduction to this narrator.

Hi, I'm Saturn (for now at least, i think.)

I'm a black 20-something year old writer with a imagination that happens to be active at the wrong times. When I'm not writing, you'll find me struggling through classes and holding my cats in air jail for chewing on my clothes. and you probably thought a college dorm dryer was bad...

I often use music as a progression for my writing, using it to build the personality and lifes of my characters, cause I think you can tell a lot about a person with the type of music they listen to. This goes the same for food, whether they're cooking (or lack thereof), eating (which there'll a lot of and not just food), just for the sake of storytelling. Cause food can tell a story too!

You'll also see the use of Sims4 in these posts, there's nothing better to me than to be able to build my world from the ground up even if it is tedious. I often burnout myself out between both writing and building so its nice to be able to switch between the two! here's a small character visual as a start!

it's also nice to watch my characters evolve real time, they tend to outgrow some things faster than i can keep up.

As a current researching and scrappy practitioner, you will see hints of practical magic(k)/workings/information in my works. Influences from traditionally african american practices will be underlying themes in this world of mine; within my scope of course. How my characters navigate through a world that is both mundane and spiritual is something they'll have to overcome in all aspects; and how they affect future lives and timelines is all hanging on the fading tradition of storytelling.

follow, share, and embrace their stories; because there's only one way to keep them alive.

as for what i write or rather my niche: the unreliable multiverse

genres: (comp) (hist) (queer) romance, urban/southern horror, urban fantasy, and apocalyptic sci-fic.

topics/tropes: religious deconstruction, religious trauma, witchcraft (mundane, practical, scrappy, cultural, A(A)TRs.) anti-racism/racism,politics, social structure,found family, star-crossed lovers, childhood friends to lovers, ancestral/familial secrets, morally-grey protagonists,coming of age, the anti-christ, HEA, small town horror, mental illness/disorders, philosophy.

for some these topics may be a lot, and while i want my writing to be a source of escapism...fiction will always be influenced by reality, and that is something that will be in my writing (just not to the extremes), expect CW and TWs but they will not always be there.

CURRENT WIPs: the big three

Where The River Bends:

Bored of modern romance and her own life, Elaine Brown suffers from being a daydreaming, skeptical, hopeless romantic. In a plead to the Universe to grace her with a new addition to her routine, she finds herself stumbling into spell unlike her very own. Warren Soo has be dreaming of a life where days can feel like a breath of fresh air. When a random chance driven by his choices puts him in the space of unsuspecting Elaine, he can't help but be bewitched by the ease in which her days go by. Together, they navigate the modern world of romance with just the sprinkle of magic.

theme song

tag: #goddamnitsamson

Aletheia:

Sanctum, place of human design created to preserve those who survived the last of nature's destruction. When humanity was suddenly reckoned with the damage of over creation they are forced to pick between two things.

Stay or leave.

For those that had the ability to leave, Sanctum embraced them with open arms; promising a generational haven within their walls. Here, the people are communities; removed from the worries of past plagues and mortal insecurities. But all peace must follow order.

Questioning the world she's grown in , Emilia Porter has wanted to escape the stone boundary of Sanctum. Taking a chance to explore the land beyond, she registers for the Vanguard; the exploration and task forces that protect and serve the lasting stand of humanity.

Now away from the containing hands of those who seek perfection, she must weigh the truths; both tailored and unwritten.

theme song

tag: #findthetruthyouseek

Cherries Under The Sun:

A southern gothic horror that follows Grace Davis even in her dreams. Stuck in a constant cycle of despair, Grace often finds herself living in a loop of a forgotton past, wondering about the should've, would've, and could haves of her life. When her small college town of Marietta is shaken by a rise in missing cases, her hollow world soon becomes a flash of white papers and bloody lines. Now that her daily life of being ignored comes to halt and the lives of those around her are blurring together, they must now find a way to get their world back to normal. Before it is erased altogether.

theme song; intro; taglist

tag: #howsweettheesound

I don't know what else to put here, but that my characters are much like myself. Weird, witchy, creepy, romantic, sensitive,sarcastic, inquisitive (that's a big word for elmo), and a range of clumsy that only a handful of people can enjoy sooo...

IF you've found me or my wips to be interesting, please feel free to follow, ask a question or comment. Thanks for reading all this and from reader to another, create the book you've always wanted to see. Edison out!

i also don't really know how taglist work but if you wanna here's where to keep up! #theunreliableverse

1.* psst...you can find me and (to be)published works here!

[lilystargazerwhite]

Touhou style myths! The Ninmenju is a yokai that has a very murky origin, but is thought to be from somewhere in the Middle East, that then traveled to China and then to Japan. In the Japanese account, the Ninmenju is a tree of human (baby) heads, who will laugh and cry and such. When they laugh too hard, they fall from the tree. Arabian and African tellings range from the tree eating animals and taking their heads, to growing full grown women who fall with a “waq waq” sound. These trees produced fruit in autumn and had a very sweet sour taste. 

WaqWaq is the name of the alleged island or island chain this tree is native to. This island, said to be inhabited by a kingdom of entirely women, resided “east of China” and was incredibly plentiful in precious metals.

The connection of the WaqWaq tree to the Ninmenju is a direct but somewhat complicated trail. The Ninmenju originates from a transcription of a 1600s Chinese text, which site the tree as coming from Daishi-koku, taken from the Ming distantly name for the Islamic world which came from the Persian word for Muslim. And while the Smith can be traced to Arabic origins under the name Al-waqwaq, the Arabic claim its origin as “Zanj” which is modern day Zanzibar. Whole lot of he said she said.

The real life equivalent of this tree is thought to be the pandanus, which is grown in Indonesia and Madagascar, referred to as “Bakkuwan” and “Vakwa” respectively. The real life equivalent of this island’s location is very murky and heavily debated, ranging from Polynesian to being somewhere near Madagascar, due to the old Arabic word for an area near Zanzibar being used to describe the location.

What’s an interesting tidbit is that records of Africans exist in Javanese writings as early as the 15th century, while bantu writings recall a failed invasion by island people by the name of Wakwak, who sought their metals and to enslave. These accounts, along with the pandanus fruit being found in both (modern) countries, meaning it’s not outlandish to conclude that the WaqWaq island is a combination of middle ages Polynesia and Zanj, the name and origin of the tree coming from the islands, while the stories of riches and location from Africa. This is just what I think, of course, and no one will ever truly know. Maybe there is an island of waqwaq out there, and people just sucked really really bad at making maps in the Middle Ages.

I wanted to do this one because it’s the only Yokai I’ve seen that is thought to originate from as far as Africa. I think it’s really cool when myths travel this far but still retain a traceable identity.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

S...... you asked for this. Literally.

But also I am asking you for this - please pretty please can you Evanstan-ify Chris saying a lot of good thing happened to him at age 24 for us??? 🙏🏻🙏🏻 Really intrigued by this and I'd love to find out what thoughts your brilliant mind is thinking about this scenario... Sending lots of love and hugs to you! 💗💗

Literally, I did ask for it, and I asked because...

gif by @/forassgard

Look at this fucking guy

His pretty, pretty princess lashes, his lips, and that wistful look on his face...

How could I not spend hours thinking about him? 😮‍💨😮‍💨

I'm thinking about how when Chris was 24, it would've been 2005, and so he hadn't met Seb yet by that point, but all roads lead to Sebastian, so, when he does meet Sebastian and they've been together for a while, somehow this interview clip comes up.

I don't have a set idea of how it surfaces--maybe someone (probably Mackie, lmao, trolling him because it's fun and because he knows first hand how competitive Sebastian can be when you push his buttons) sends him the clip saying he should if 24 is still his favorite age or not, maybe Sebastian stumbles across it on his own on YouTube and gets curious, or maybe he's missing Chris and rewatching old clips of him when they're in different cities for different projects which Chris finds out about, asking him how he's doing and receiving nothing but a blush, and then Seb gives him lip back for how he looked in those days, handsome yes, but the fashion, Chris, the fashion is... something. Whatever the reason, yes, that clip.

That clip needs a modern explanation.

And Chris, for all his dark eyes, confident smirks, and cocksure manhandling of Sebastian when he's feeling frisky, when something is suddenly sprung on him, he can get quite shy. It's adorable for such a muscle-bound, virile guy if you ask Sebastian. It's too innocent, almost. The way just the right, perfectly-timed out-of-the-blue innuendo, abrupt wink, or slap on the ass, and he's blushing.

The soft embarrassment almost doesn't fit on his large, broad frame, yet it's there. It's there and it's fucking vivid--spread like hot, liquid butter melted into golden toast from one cheek over the bridge of his handsome nose to the other, shaded by his glasses and thick beard. He can't hide behind any of it, though, not his beard, his glasses, or the sweeping wings of his grown-out hair shading his forehead, curling around his ears.

God, Sebastian wants to plaster himself to Chris, tip to tail, he could swoon and press into him so hard right now.

Chris blushing and stuttering--stumbling over his words and his own limbs in the suddenness of Sebastian's filthiness--is almost always accompanied by a narrowing of his eyes and a tilt of his head.

Sebastian is nothing if not the sweetest menace.

So.

Before I get more distracted by more gifs of Seb looking so bratty, Sebastian brings the clip up to Chris, asking a seemingly innocent question that he knows has some undertone to it. He can see the dazed, satisfied look beneath Chris' put-on cool. He knows there's a story there, one he wouldn't tell, couldn't tell, and he intends to find out what, even if he has to pull it out of his man sputtered, pink-cheeked word by sputtered, pink-cheeked word.

Chris tumbles through his answer with his voice stuck in that low, rough register that Seb has become so fucking intimately familiar with, reacting to it like a dog hearing the word "dinner." He could drool. And speaking of drooling and mouths and appetites... Chris' plush lips just get redder and wetter until they're glistening and swollen from all the biting and licking he does as he retells the story. Sebastian doesn't think he knows he's doing it. If he does know, then he's a bastard, a fucking cocktease, but--

That look on his face?

Nah.

He's not teasing.

Really, he's caught up in a heated, sticky whirlwind in his mind, sweeping him off his feet and carrying him into the thick of the tempest deep inside his body. A core of pure want.

As he's thrown roughly about by the winds, feeling the pull of old eroticisms, sparks reignited, he doesn't spare a detail. It might take gentle, urging encouragement from Seb at first, verifying sincerely that he does want to know, and it's not making him jealous to know, quite the opposite--as he listens intently, hanging off the edge of every detail with his fingernails dug in, Seb finds that he has to involuntarily shift in his seat, half-shivering, letting his knees fall wide open as his blood starts to heat and thicken, redirecting to his knotted gut.

Seb thickly swallows the excess spit pooling in his mouth. Inhale, exhale; he has to remember how to breathe. He can't help but imagine every fucking word he manages to pull out from his lover's oh-so alluring mouth.

In the same way that Chris fidgets by sinking his teeth into his bottom lip and licking it lavishly, his eyes move and change; they flit back and forth like a flame pushed by a howling wind. He's staring between Sebastian's eyes--their gazes meeting and all but crackling with the intensity--and some middle distance that Seb can't see but knows holds all of Chris' visceral memories. Memories that wash over him in sticky, hot waves, lapping at his skin in phantom flames, pushing up against him as hot, humid summer breezes.

Chris' skin, normally pale, tints more and more pink the deeper he dives into his tale.

He usually talks with his hands, but as he goes on and on and on... he doesn't.

Rather than making gestures to add emphasis intentionally, he's obscenely absently rubbing his big, heavy palms up and down, up and down, up and down, the length of his muscular thighs. It almost looks like he's soothing himself against the onslaught of intensity; it almost looks like he's groping himself against the onslaught of the intensity. Either way, he can't help but touch.

Touch himself.

Every now and again, though, Chris suddenly realizes what he's doing, his hands creeping inappropriately high on his own body, and he shoves his hands back under his thighs, sitting on them. But. They just keep coming out to play the deeper into his story he gets. He can't help it.

Every new detail is more alluring than the last.

Sebastian hoards every piece of them, stowing them away like something gleaming and precious. They are. The way he's describing it, god, it is precious in the most perverse way--trusting her completely, feeling so vulnerable and exposed to her, all but on his knees at her mercy while certainly not literally, physically being on his knees, just emotionally, gutting, so gutting, his eyes rolling for it, his mouth gasping uncontrollably, no, moaning uncontrollably while the rest of his body shook, boneless and limp at the same time that he wanted to writhe, maybe he was writhing, squirming, fisting the sheets, arching his back to get more without stopping to think of if he should or not, fuck, whether or not he was squirming for it, he definitely was crying during it, his first time crying from the intensity of the physical sensations, he's cried during sex before for emotional, connecting reasons, he had never been so fucking turned on like that before that he couldn't help it, the tears just came out, falling, spilling over, running down his cheeks, smeared into the pillows, so fucking insane, so good it was shocking, nails digging crescents into his lean hips, embarrassing, but not, impossible almost, the way it felt, stretched, raw, full, too much, and, just, too much--swearing after the fact that he couldn't fuckin' have that all the time of he'd go crazy.

Too good.

Chris got pegged.

Chris Evans got fucking pegged in 2005 and it was too good.

Having all that spilled out in front of him in a beautiful, messy masterpiece, Sebastian honestly fucking wants to shove his hand into his pants right here and now. Fuck getting into his own pants, though, he could just sliiiide his hand down over the front of his pants and cum in his pants like an overexcited teenager, panting, whining, picturing his biggest crush on the backs of his eyelids in varying positions, all these possibilities, not really knowing, but wanting to know so fucking bad it hurts. He is so fucking turned on. He's a goddamn glowing neon sign, lit with bright, obvious red arousal.

Jesus Christ.

But, Chris keeps going and the hot-shower thick, foggy air dulls slightly. His voice takes on something gentler and softer. As good as that was, it just happened a few times, maybe not even a few? Kinda hard to exactly remember. Maybe just twice? Three times? Four... nah, not actually four. Less. It had to be less. There's no way it was that much. They broke up eventually--obviously, for him to get to Sebastian. He'd much, much rather be with Seb, of course, he fucking loves him and they work great and it's so. good.

However, continuing down the path, investigating more and digging deeper, hoping to hit that deep, raspy register again like you hope to hit water when digging a well, Sebastian pushes him a little more, a spark of hope (or something else, something more inappropriate) within him--did he seek it out more, then? It couldn't've just been that one woman, right!? Just with her? And not even a decent number with her. Just a rarity? If it really was all that, wouldn't've it have been more!? Sebastian just fucking can't get that image out of his head: Chris, big, muscular, masculine, so gutting-ly masculine, and, ugh, just manly, yet bent over some plush bed, ripping through the pile of pillows crowding his red-hot face, the sheets and bedding all fucked up around his thrumming body, sweating so badly he glistens temptingly, moaning so loudly as he takes some brightly colored strap up the ass for the first time, and uncomprehending of how good it feels to be fucked. Unable to deal with it. He'd be totally consumed in the pleasure the lucky lady is giving him--fucking him. And if he's not grasping at the sheets then he'd be touching himself, gripping his own body bruisingly, trying to ground himself, trying to deal with the exquisite pleasure and failing, failing so hard with, shit, maybe some lipstick or makeup from earlier making out smeared over his gaped mouth, smeared into his bearded jaw, and smudged down his thick throat--

But, no.

Chris explains that at first, he was too tender to think of it for a while--no matter how mindblowing it was--then when he was recovered enough to wonder about it... he trails off. He doesn't know. He doesn't know why, really.

Out loud, Chris wonders if maybe he just doesn't attract those kinds of women? Girls that would be into that, though--he laughs--he can't imagine there are many women totally fucking put off by the thought. But, he's aware of how he looks, and with a casual, all-too-smooth, stretch-and-rest, he sprawls an arm out to cover Sebastian's shoulders, his hand scruffing the back of his neck meaningful look, he knows what Seb's preference with him is. It's fine. He likes that, too. A lot! He likes it a lot--getting rough and throwing him around, giving him orders, folding him up into a ball, and fucking him until he cries. Yet, at Sebastian's prompting, he finishes with how it just never came up. So he didn't do it again. Just that time.

A few times.

Seb needs a m i n u t e to catch up.

He needs to get a handle on himself.

He's not sure if he'll be able to deal with the knowledge of 24-year-old, in 2005, Chris letting a woman put something up his ass. That was not cool then. And Seb'd, just, kind of assumed based on their fucking around that Chris hadn't done anything like that (Sebastian thought he was the kinky, experienced one between the two of them but maybe that needs to be teased out of Chris, too (that is SO a pet project for another day)) and, honestly, Seb doesn't know if he should be jealous of her for being his first or if he should demand to be given her phone number so he can call her up and thank her, maybe he'll send her fucking flowers, for Christ's sake. That mental image is delicious.

Thank you.

Of course, though, he's sensitive to Chris' big heart. He can understand that waiting while still heartsore completely. And, yes, he shivers continually from Chris' hand, still heavy and big on the back of his neck, making everything around him shine just a little brighter, feeling a little dreamier. But, he is nothing if not constantly on edge because of Chris, anyone would be, he's a walking wet dream, at any given time, Sebastian's mind is half-full of dirty fantasies, so he can't really be blamed for it when he just blurts that shit out--

"I could fuck you, you know."

Chris' mouth opens and shuts. Multiple times. He's gaping like a fish out of water, no oxygen to be found. But he can't seem to help it. Some wordless sound that is supposed to be communication but isn't comes out of his open-shut-open mouth.

"Chris, babe," Seb jokingly pleads with him, leaning in, hand on his thigh, "did I break your brain? Are you okay?"

His mouth moves more as if trying to say that his brain isn't, no, it's--it's fine, he's fine, he... Chris apparently gives up as quickly as he starts to defend himself, stumbling through, "you know, I, uh, um," he shifts in his seat, "don't laugh, okay?"

"Okay," Seb agrees immediately.

"I-I didn't think of that," Chris mumbles in his general direction.

Seb slaps a hand over his mouth to muffle what is, certainly, a laugh despite what he just said.

Chris glares, "Seeeeeeb," he drags out, whining in that Boston-boy way he has sometimes. Nothing but a big, jovial kid at heart.

"I think I should feel insulted," Seb recovers, choking back one last humourous bark, but before Chris can protest to his words, he continues, "I don't." He clarifies. "I don't feel insulted. And don't look at me like that, I'm pretty sure I know what you mean, anyway, you don't have to say it. Y'know? Yeah, like, yeah," he agrees with himself, "we started hooking up but you didn't have experience while I just wanted it bad," he bites his lip, shooting Chris a hopefully killer, dark glance before carrying on, "so there was one way that was easy. Big deal," he shrugs, "we got into the habit of doing it one way," again, he shrugs, this time with one shoulder instead of two, "I should've asked. I just assumed."

"I should've asked," Chris emphasizes, then under his breath, he adds, "I should've thought about it."

"Well," Sebastian's hand lands back on his knee, dragging itself, fingertips teasing and light, up the length of his thigh towards his crotch, "you're thinking about it now, right?" He's looking up at Chris through his lashes, knowing (because Chris has confessed as much to him) that he looks deceptively sweet and coltish for someone who damn well knows how to get into trouble--especially with that mouth of his.

When he expectantly sucks on his bottom lip, waiting for an answer, Chris' eyes fall there.

Predictable.

He gets lost. It's easy to see--to hear, even with the catch of his breath.

So, to help him out, because he's nice like that, Seb tilts his head to the side and clears his throat at the same time. He could just giggle with the apologetic look that graces Chris face, acting like a good, respectful man caught staring at someone's boobs on accident. As if he hasn't done worse to Seb. As if Seb doesn't want him to do worse.

"Yeah..." Chris finds his voice. Eventually. First, his eyes get that same foggy glaze as they have in the video, right fucking in front of him this time, better than any camera could ever capture. He's thinking about it. Fuck, he's probably overlaying that past pleasure with his ex and every wicked, filthy thing Sebastian's already done to him and new possibilities. New delights and overwhelming pleasures that Seb could show him, threatened with a good time. More than good. Seb is gonna ensure that it's better than good. Chris' impossible eyelashes flutter, "yeah, I am. I'm thinking about it."

"Good," Seb whispers back, a smirk sharp on his lips. He folds himself into Chris' lap, following the line of his arm back towards its owner, taking it and curling it around his waist.

Instinctively, those lovely fucking hands find their way beneath Sebastian's shirt. Skin to skin. His heart races.

"I could fuck you," Seb breathes, repeating himself nonsensically.

"Yeah," Chris agrees, blinking up at him from where he's perched in his lap.

A bolt of arousal stabs through Sebastian's chest suddenly, all but making his bones fucking rattle, god, he cards his hands through Chris' hair, sliding through his grown-out locks like silk, and manages to catch at the end, tilting his head back so he's really fucking looking up at him, "tell me you want it," he hushes, their lips just barely brushing.

Chris' paws harder at his waist, squeezing him, "I want it," he groans. Arching his neck, he fights to connect their lips for real, he just wants a kiss, but Seb deftly evades him. He lets his hands fall from his luscious hair and instead holds his head, his jaw, in his hands, feeling that thick fucking beard and reveling in it. He's gonna have this fucking beard between his legs again. Soon. He has to. He will. Yes. "I want it," Chris repeats.

"What?" Seb asks, letting his thumb rest on the pillow of Chris' bottom lip.

"I want you to fuck me," he shuts his eyes against the sheer tidal wave of lust carried in his proclamation, the words punched out of his chest in a breathy moan, gently biting at his thumb, kissing the tip.

Fuck.

Sebastian rips his thumb out of that lush mouth with a distinct 'pop' and smashes their lips together instead. Immediately it's fucking hot and heavy and a little wet and--

God.

Sebastian wants to fucking eat him.

He doesn't give a shit about Chris' glasses pressing against his face a little too sharply. He isn't thinking about how normally he wants to be the one torn apart and swallowed. He can't give any more fucks than the one he's gonna fucking give this man. He's gonna fuck him hard. He's, he's--

He's thinking about nothing but the exotic, erotic way Chris is opening his mouth to him and letting him have. Seb is ravenous to devour and Chris has tilted his neck back beneath the weight, letting Seb lick into his mouth. Seb makes something of a purr that he can't really help, it just happens. Kissing. They're kissing so much, lips locking, and it's as fucking toe-curling-ly good as it always is just a little different. Different, novel, but they still fit together like they were meant to be. It's hot. Intense. Flush against each other. Chest to chest. In lap. Rocking, grinding. Kissing.

Making-the-fuck-out.

Usually, Chris is the one running his mouth with dirty talk between filthy hot kisses while Seb humidifies the scant inch (if that) of atmosphere between their bodies with moans, whimpers, and other wordless, involuntary cries of pleasure that he can't hold in. But, in this moment, thrillingly perilous, Seb can't keep up with the words spilling out of him. There's nothing that can dam the flood. Lust all-expansive inside him, no more room. He's gonna fuck Chris. He's gonna fuck him good. He's gonna fucking fuck the shit out of him until he cums his brains out.

He wants to see Chris broken in the best way--broken open with his fists curled so tight that his blunt nails dig into his strong palms. He's gonna dick him until he's dumb, mouth wide open, hanging open, making garbled, needy sounds with red, red, red lips, but blushing redder. Hotter.

Good.

Seb wants to fuck him good, he wants to slide inside him, tight, tight, tighter than anything as he clenches down on his dick. He wants Chris' eyes to roll back as he feels what it's like to have a blood-hot, throbbing cock in his ass. He wants him to choke, feeling it in his throat. He wants to reduce his confident, cocky man into a pile of mush. He wants to hear him swear like a sailor, speared on his cock, as Seb laughs weakly, shaky, in over his head with how it feels to fuck him, pressed up against him, chest to back, balls deep in that fucking ass (oh my god, don't even get him started on that shapely ass), lost in it just as much as he is.

Christ.

They're gonna be a hot mess.

Chris has ruined Sebastian for everyone else. He's that good. The best he's ever had. So, it's time to return the favor again. He already has, he knows he has, but there's always room for improvement, yeah? He wants to make it good for him, he will make it good for him, and he'll be good for him--gonna blow his mind with his dick. Fuck yes.

I could go on forever with this, really, I could. If only I had the time. I would fucking love to write Chris' shock and dirty thrill at being opened up, feeling the tip of Sebastian's cock pushing into him for the first time, audibly letting go of every half-coherent thought he has, biting off, "Seb! Seb! Ah! God! Seb, Sebb, Seb, it, fuck, it feels s'good, you're so thick, oh my god, ohmygod, it's so hot, s'thick, fuck, how do you take it, how--how do you take me, mmngh, its so much, ah!"

Bonus:

I keep thinking about this Chris, too, like 🥴🥴

gif by @/b-n-a-o

[karlachismylife]

Five times Karlach and Soap didn’t celebrate Christmas together and one time they did

Through alternative universes and unfortunate fates. Brought to you by Modern Warfare OST I've been listening to instead of Christmas songs and this bloody perfect comission by @veeegaaas. I am deeply in love with their art style, the soft, often powdery or pastel colours and lines making it feel so touchable and comforting. My Christmas miracle this year is me being able to comission this piece, I gave them full artistic freedom and I am so happy I did. This is my heart here.

The way they're looking at each other makes me want to die a bit less.

CW: MCD (a lot), but happy ending, mentions and brief desciptions of self-sacrificing, coma, torture.

Frozen ground

Even the lower city of Baldur’s Gate feels like a shiny jewel when it’s covered in silver frost of approaching winter. Days closing in for the Solstice, early morning still feels like night, killed off and buried under the starless skies, thick smudge of fog and clouds painted over all celestial bodies. Karlach sniffles, cold air cutting into her nose like an icicle spell, and pats herself on her shoulders that are just starting to widen in a promise for her future massive build, once she’s all grown big and adult. Gortash noticed too, recently, told her he’s proud of her and is sure he made the right call picking her up from the dirt.

She sure as hell isn’t planning on proving him wrong, even if he sounds like a right prick when he gets all patronizing over her, as if they’re not friends.

SAS training is exhausting. There’s a part of Johnny that feels like turning into a mad rabid dog and falling on all fours to the ground to chew into the frozen soil, dirt mixed with ice crunching on bleeding teeth, last bits of sense escaping him due to sleep deprivation and bone-stinging cold. There are mere days before Christmas left, yet instead of warm lights and angels singing he’s only seen training ground’s cool floodlights and heard orders barked into the night, degrading words coming at the recruits in mist clouds from their CO’s mouth.

It's worth it, though. All worth it when he feels eyes blue as fine aged ice following his every move on the obstacle course – all worth being finally acknowledged as outstanding.

Her boots are cheap. Gortash promised her a new pair for the Winterday, probably already bought them and wrapped with a pretty bow on top – Karlach knows she’s already got a present for him, carefully chosen and clumsily packaged with a heartfelt postcard. The message inside is written by someone actually literate, but she dictated every word and put her signature underneath.

Who’s gonna tell him, thinks Karlach in the two seconds as she falls on the ice-covered cobbled floor, too slippery under her old worn boots with soles ground into nothingness by miles and miles of walking.

Who’s gonna tell Gortash there’s a present for him hidden under her pillow once she slips and doesn’t reach him in time to push them both out of the attacker’s way.

Who’s gonna tell him she tied a bow on it as red as the blood pouring from her cracked open skull.

Johnny doesn’t blame the poor lad who had probably frozen his fingers off long before they even reached this part of the drill. It’s cold, it’s so painfully cold that his own eyelashes crumble like hoarfrost on a wild pine tree that’s still waiting for someone to decorate it and put a blessed star on top, shining bright and pointing to the baby Jesus’s crib. It’s so cold that Johnny would’ve probably dropped the grenade himself if he wasn’t just so damn good with them.

Instead, Johnny drops himself, broad chest pushing against the threat and shielding others from a ticking death.

It’s so cold that his frozen, stale mind only has time to start regretting never finding a way to buy a Christmas gift for his Mam. As long as he remembers himself, he had always gotten her at least something.

His ID discs survive the explosion to hang at he very top of his Mam’s tree, right under the angel’s wings.

In the making

Soap has proved himself. Months of grueling training, years of hard focus on the task, unmatched persistence and constant pushing of his limits have lead up to this moment. Johnny passes the selection, having already earned his reputation, and even several seconds behind that Garrick prodigy can’t taint his triumph.

He’s the youngest candidate to pass it in British Army history, and this is his first mission under Captain Price’s command, a bright start of even brightest future. Johnny’s sun shines octilions of lumens, more than any light that came before him.

Like a hot-blooded dog freed from its leash, Soap pounces and returns with the cargo manifest countless lives depend on. Steel birds of prey tail him, deadly song of guns rattling behind his back, but he won’t let his grip on the prize slip.

A good hound doesn’t part its jaws clutched on the prey’s throat even in death.

Karlach’s heart is bleeding. Hell’s whips cut deep into flesh, drawing blood that boils immediately in the heat of war-soaked air of Avernus, flakes of sulfur ash clinging to the wounds to prolong her agony, but the pain Zariel’s minions can inflict cannot measure up to the one that’s tearing her up from inside.

Nothing hurts as bad as the shards of broken trust stuck in her chest, despair and betrayal spreading through her system like inflammation. Deep inside the young tiefling something precious is dead and rotting, poison and puss oozing out with blood and tears, throat too sore to cry out more. She’s akin to a wild animal butchered alive, dislocated shoulders screaming each time Karlach struggles against the restraints, mind set solely on freeing from this nightmare.

Zariel studies her acquisition and deems it ready. A red hot iron rod reflects in Karlach’s painfully wide open eyes.

It’s always several seconds. Precious moments dragging before the time strikes and he hears a beautiful melody of holy bells calling for the midnight mass. Old clocks ticking a few times while he waits for his turn to open the rustling packaging paper on a present. Four seconds setting him behind Gaz on the record list.

He’s only one second late to secure a grip on his Captain’s hand and avoid the destiny of a falling Christmas star.

Bering Strait is perfectly clear blue. Johnny’s eyes amalgamate with its cold, indifferent waves. Northern lights are his Christmas bells and Christmas lights now.

If John Price could, he would bring his body back home, but he can’t.

Pain has a way to make you confuse hot with cold, Karlach knows it well by now, countless burns in her throbbing skin feeling like there’s ice permanently etched into it. There should be a point when everything turns numb, that’s what they always said, but she’s been through so much and still feels a lot. Feels more than she would want to at this point.

Horrifyingly huge shears cutting into her sternum with a crunch of a festive caramel apple come as a relief.

Karlach’s heart aches even when it’s removed. She sees it, drugged on Devil’s spells and black opium of anguish, going still in a clawed hand, and then everything turns white.

Somewhere up there, on another plane of existence, it might be already winter. Fluffy blizzards throwing soft snowflakes into laughing children’s eyes, blinding them on a small hill they roll down from, clothes covered in snow and soaked, skin growing progressively numb from the cold – but not their hearts. Somewhere up there burning wheels roll down that same hill, celebrating Winter Solstice, and the druids keep children warm around huge campfires, pine and clove mingling with breathy smoke in the air.

There’s a fire burning in her chest, so tall than no one would be able to jump over it and cleanse for the new turn of the Year Wheel, and it still feels cold. Karlach’s fingers grow numb with no snowballs to throw.

She is nothing but a pile of ash, same as the Winterday campfire after a long night, after her body rejects Zariel’s engine.

We did it, soldier

If it wasn’t for the obvious matte colour showing under the timid sunrise of their victory, Karlach would believe that the ash carried by the breeze is a gently first snowfall, harbringer of upcoming winter and the festive joy it brings despite dark, unfit for survival nights. It’s been a long time since she’s seen snow, thin coats of crystal white on the rooftops and pavements seeming like a distant dream more than reality.

She does remember snow is supposed to feel cold, though. Nothing like the fever that makes the air around her quiver and ripple, mocking the uncalm sea waves bothered by fallen enemies and crashing into the dock that’s slowly starting to sizzle under her feet.

Engine’s finally cooked.

Karlach feels guilty for wanting just a little more time to pretend ash is, in fact, snow.

London is a big city, packed with money and even more – with a constant desire to earn more. Still, there’s something calming about seeing Christmas shopwindows in November. A very human hope to live long enough to see the day itself.

Task force 141 is there to ensure it happens for these people. Soap is there to protect Christmas from going out in a blazing hot fire of a terrorist attack.

The wire he’s supposed to cut is accordingly red; collect all red wires Johnny’s cut on duty – and you can weave a little Christmas garland, naked glint of copper insides mingling with the gold of ornaments and sparkly star topper. There is no cinematographic timer with a countdown, otherwise Soap could pretend the bomb is just about to douse them in confetti as the numbers hit all zeroes.

There are gunshots approaching from behind his back.

Friends are there to see Karlach’s radiant smile as she falls to her knees, succumbing to the flames. Shining brighter than the sun over this newly saved world, feeling warmer than a home’s hearth when the family lights a new fire for the new year and lets the old one burn out into a black spot, smouldering long into the new dawn.

Friends are there to watch Johnny spread Christmas red too early into the calendar, eyes full of wonder, devoid of anger and threat, staring up like a kid in a church. Trickle of blood frames his face like an expensive silk ribbon, only the best for the greatest gift people of London could receive so far in advance of the holiday season.

The city’s going to be alright.

Mind flaying

Karlach feels like her engine is still somewhere there, in her chest, now uncharacteristically narrow and devoid of all the muscle gain she worked for. Gone are the scars, testaments to her will to live; old steel grommets flayed off with the hot red skin; both horns fell off like that of a young deer before the upcoming winter.

But the fire that kept her blood hot and spicy like mulled wine is still dying its slow, drawn out, dishonourable death. Instead of a passionate flame, Karlach is just a fiery orange rim of a slightly warm coal now, breathing last breaths under the ashy skin of her new body.

That is, if she’s even still Karlach somewhere deep inside.

Johnny still looks like himself. His cheeks are undeniably chiseled now, jawline starvingly sharp instead of the adorable roundness everyone who knows him is used to; his mohawk is long gone, too hard to keep up in these circumstances; baby blue eyes stay closed and have lost memory of the happy crow’s feet that used to be permanently etched into their corners. But it’s still Johnny.

It's still his Mam’s wee lad lying there in the hospital bed, brain scans scarce with good news after a miracle – God himself standing between Johnny and the bullet as an early Christmas gift – allowed him to keep breathing even after getting shot straight to the temple.

Everyone in the family can see him silently withering away on that bed, but there aren’t many things as stubborn as Scottish hope.

Many things have already stopped worrying Karlach. Past passion, anger, fear, joy – seem less than distant memories now. She knows what they are, but her knowledge is as dry and flat as a library page, odorless ink burning up with no smoke, ashes so thin they barely leave a residue on fingers that smear them around.

When the campfire is already that weak, you just fall asleep, waiting for the brimming red somewhere in the centre to die down, and wake up in the morning to a completely cold pile of coal covered with untouched, senseless snow.

Karlach never notices when she slips away.

Johnny’s body responds less and less to things happening outside. At first his fingers twitched, stoking the fire of hope, at the sound of familiar voices. His heartrate responded to a loving touch, electricity in his system seeking a way to communicate through the barrier of his coma. The longer he stayed, the rarer became these answers.

They know he’s locking himself inside, disappointed in his inability to push through, like a stubborn kid throwing the towel after a particularly hard task doesn’t bend no matter the effort – Johnny’s never been one to give up.

His Mam knows he’s still fighting when they finally pull the plug.

Skullface

Karlach thinks of him, pulling the skull bandana further up her face in the cold November streets of London. She’s doing this for Johnny too – even if Soap would never approve, she’s doing it for the lad that’s been like a brother to her all the way, up until the day they split, deep ravine of incompatible views lodged between them by corrupt hands of those they both believed in. Molotov lights up nice and easy in her hand, liquid flame hitting a policeman kitted out into anti-demonstration gear.

It's for Johnny and all the other lads they send out to die not for regular people, but for the rich, powerful and utterly uninterested in what their profitable game of politics and war does to everyone else.

Johnny thinks of her, listening to the skull-faced voice in his ear in the cold November streets of Las Almas. He’s doing this for Karlach too – even though she went her own way, betraying what they both dreamed of and deemed righteous for the sake of her new worldview, the one that put them on the opposite sides without ever actually becoming enemies. C4 trap falls under the Shadows’ feet nice and easy, expensive PMC gear shattering into black shards with a splatter of a soldier’s blood.

It's for Karlach and all the other people whose lives will be ruined if Soap doesn’t get to the church and stop the goddamn missiles from starting something dangerously close to another world war.

Karlach knows they’re going to torture her, like they did to her other comrades, now rotting in prison, some with lesser time than others, health irreversibly damaged by the hands of so-called protectors. When they punch her till she barfs, she feels sorry for the brothers that were broken like this, ratting out her and her allies, signing empty protocols that would be filled with whatever the police needs. When they bag her horned head, she expects to be waterboarded like they did to others.

It's too late to cry out once she hears a dry chatter of a teaser. Karlach’s body only jolts twice before the pacemaker she earned in the military malfunctions and stops.

Johnny knows Ghost isn’t joking about what Narcos will do to them if they catch up faster than Shadows – videos or not, he’s seen the bodies first day he arrived here, and he doesn’t fancy looking like one of them when he leaves this rain-soaked place. Wouldn’t be the worst place to die, though, he thinks – at least he’ll come back on the Day of the Dead, sugar skull to match LT’s and all, right?

His one little selfish regret is that he doesn’t get a chance to see what’s under that skull before a lucky Shadow snipes Ghost from the top of the fence around the church. There is another bullet to guarantee they’ll stay in limbo that is the city of souls.

Together

Snow is falling in picture perfect, windless, snow globe manner, landing on their hair and immediately turning into little water droplets from the shared heat. Wherever eyes fall, there’s brilliant white, blue undertones of the tinies snowflakes neither of them is able to catch and hold.

Only makes more sense to hold each other instead.

Karlach’s tiger eyes burn brighter, reflecting warm yellow glow of the generously strung up lights on the giant Christmas tree they’re standing next to. At home, they unanimously agreed on a multi-coloured one, but the outside world is, as usually, much tamer than the artistic chaos that follows their shared life.

Was a hard enough task for Johnny to find a teddy bear extraordinary enough to suit Karlach – Clive has been getting lonely on the nightstand he’s permanently banished to in order to avoid getting kicked off the bed.

Karlach got him oil paint expensive enough to exchange for a wedding ring – her priorities as straight as their hair, both their outgrown hawks curling and shrinking the more they stand under the wet, warm weather snowfall.

They’re drinking each other as if it’s the only day of magical winter holidays they will ever get to spend together.

An invisible hand pushes them both at the same time, warm, slightly damp from the wet breath, lips locking in a sweet kiss, cinnamon and wine-soaked pear finding way to their tastebuds and forcing them to deepen the touch. Johnny breaks a second faster, strong arms wrapping tighter around her broad shoulders and waist and pulling Karlach in for a taste of festive desperation. An angelic chorus rings in his ears with the holy bells as he feels her toothy grin blooming into the kiss, giddy and unapologetically in love.

“We did it, soldier,” she whispers, opening her feline eyes just a little to admire the never-freezing waves of his gaze, shining against the sturdy dock of her flaming heart.

“Didnae even need tae steel mistletoe for that, aye,” Soap agrees, brushing his nose against Karlach’s. She’s trying to keep her cool so hard – her pulse is thrumming like crazy under his rough fingers splayed against her feverishly exposed back. “Let’s go home, lass. Ah’m fucking freezing mah arse even with ye in mah arms.”

“Wasn’t my idea to walk around in kilt when it’s bloody snowing, mate!”

“Aye, maybe ye’re gonnae say ye dinnae enjoy the view, too?”

People try to walk around them, rightfully scared to get pushed over on the slippery pavement as their fake argument gets heated and turns into hip nudging war. Loud laughter hangs in the air long after they pass, woven with mist into the twilight of upcoming wonder.

No matter the universe, no matter their fate, there is at least one world they’re together on Christmas.

[selfishpresley]

When the infantilization of drivers fail: the case with lando norris

Personal watching of Formula One from my perspective started out with Michael Schumacher.

A man that embodied the Ferrari ideal driver. Someone with a very strong mind. A great talent with a fast car that created a combination within the sport that was only replicated with the Mercedes dominance that he had a hand in creating.

This was more than twenty years ago, and when a lot of young motorsports fans were kids.

This was the first wave to the rising popularity of the sport.

Sebastian Vettel, people could argue, contributed to the second. Daniel Ricciardo had a hand in the next coming waves. Lewis Hamilton moreso.

In the past five years, we've seen an exponential increase in spectators for formula one. Mostly to do with the popularity of 'Drive to Survive'.

From the casual fan to the most obsessed, the way that fans view drivers range from a deep love to the most ardent hate.

No matter what the opinion might be with Lando Norris, he is a victim to a kind of thinking that has affected the younger drivers from the 2019 lineup.

Victim might be too sympathetic of a word. Especially given that his media presence has helped create the kind of under-dog characterization that his fans have held onto.

You could say that this was because of the younger fans coming into Formula 1 are leaving their previous 'fandoms' of K-Pop or Taylor Swift or Sherlock or Doctor Who.

They do have a hand in perpetrating a kind of; infantilization of drivers.

Although, they are not to blame when it comes to Lando Norris.

This video by Dakota Sage, titled "The Babygirl-ification of Formula One", reminded me of the kind of online perspective that many recent fans have of certain drivers. (the video is very anti-RPF)

Baby-girlification or infantilization has been around for a long time, mostly affecting women to fetishize their already young age. It is just a recent thing that began to affect fully grown men. The term 'this *insert grown man here* is so baby girl!', has been a recent development in the broader issue of fan behaviour.

A lot of men in these fan-sports spaces like to make fun of, a mostly female kind of comments of certain drivers.

Lauding themselves as a superior sports fan because 'they aren't like these girls that only like a driver because he's physically attractive'. Or they take the sport seriously.

This kind of thinking is not only hypocritical but it causes a further alienation of new audiences that formula one is so desperate to get.

It's not just 'women know nothing about sports', it's evolved to 'these women don't know enough and they just like to see a pretty face'.

It creates a kind of 'men-women' rivalry that is very reductive to the general atmosphere that motorsports brings. Especially with the modernization of sports in general.

I will say that this is not just exclusive to online spaces. It's seen rarely in real life events. Mostly people waiting outside hotels of certain drivers (parasocial) or others giving out friendship bracelets (kind/normal some could say) or the obsession with WAGs (parasocial and psychotic when it becomes harmful).

In the case of infantilization, we will focus on one driver. (Note: there are many that are baby-girlified. Mostly white males.)

One 'under-dog'.

Lando Norris.

Lando Norris began his career at the young age of nineteen. Joining a large team that had been struck by cheating scandals and weak engines, McLaren had fostered Norris' talent two years prior. It took little time for people to fantasize that Lando could be the next great british racing champion.

The next Lewis Hamilton...

He was this young driver that started off strongly, showed great promise with more experience.

In the early years, Lando was at the forefront of people's minds.

"Little Lando Norris' was the young boyish British darling. And that has not changed as of the Mexican GP in 2024. A far cry from the 'golden days' of Michael Schumacher, Lando Norris was seen as everybody's son.

The only thing that has changed is how he is viewed within online spaces.

During the Max Verstappen dominance last year, during the Silverstone Grand Prix, Lando Norris was looking like a real contender to be the one of the other few drivers to win a race that season that weren't Max or Checo.

Lando qualified 2nd, and the majority of the people that didn't want to see Max win. Including fans of Lewis Hamilton. Some Checo fans. Charles fans. From one corner of the world to another, people were rooting for Lando to win.

What could have been his first win was taken by Max, he was about three seconds behind. He led a lap for a second it seemed.

And people had hope that the Red Bull dominance was going to end, especially in a season where things 'started getting boring'.

The online reception to Lando was at its best.

It looked like the set of recording 'we are the world' on Twitter before it started getting popular on Tumblr. Tiktoks were made supporting the British driver. Instagram videos and post coming out to support him.

Today, if we exclude the loyal Lando fans, online reception to Lando Norris has taken a nosedive.

Many could attribute this to his backhanded comments about certain drivers, his attitude with fans, his behavior with certain drivers.

All of that could be forgiven.

Lando is a wealthy, white, attractive by european standards, successful young male.

Worse people have been forgiven and defended for much worse things.

Now why is this now not being forgiven? Why is this not working now?

What happened to everybody's under-dog?

What happened to Pookie or babygirl Lando?

The infantilization of Lando at the beginning of his career has attributed in the negative public opinion.

It has failed him.

It is the reason that people in many online spaces don't like him anymore.

The fans have been convinced that Lando was just a kid. A boy that was so good, that he was racing in the highest series of motorsports because of his talent at a very young age. In our minds Lando was our little brother.

A child, one could argue.

If you see a driver as a child, or worse yet, a babyish man; you will attribute each one of his flaws to childishness.

He complains? or he whines like a baby? Is he sassy or rude? Is he reporting broken rules or snitching?

Lando fans would just see it normally, the rest less so. Most would see it as a young man with negative attributes. Moreso now that Lando has gained confidence in the sport. Has gained experience. Has a competitive car now that is competing with Ferrari and Red Bull. Two teams that have dominated the sports for eras at a time.

Now... Where did it all change?

There was no watershed moment.

More attention, more time in the sport, more success; comes with more 'hate'.

Especially when Lando Norris doesn't do much to help with the accusations against him.

He's whiny? Then you see a video of him complaining about a racing incident.

He's annoying? His particular brand of humor is put on display.

His team is definitely not helping.

McLaren has turned into a once great team that housed the likes of Senna to a team that stole documents from Ferrari to a team that likes to toe the line of being likeable.

And it's not Lando's fault in this case.

Lando is up against everybody else.

His public image is against everybody else's.

He isn't the young talent anymore, but in people's minds he is still so young. He's 'little lando norris', he's the streamer that plays with his friends online like most boys do.

Lando Norris is still seen with Lolita colored glasses. And it's not helping his recent success and his popular 'hate'.

A thing to note, there are valid criticisms to the decline in Lando's image.

His comments on someone's favorite driver. His behaviour with certain fans and drivers.

His poorly hidden following tab which includes the likes of Andrew Tate.

His lucky charm in the form of former president Donald Trump.

These are things that need to be brought up more often and in conjunction with criticism of other drivers. Including favorite drivers.

Infantilization of drivers could be innocuous, if it didn't continue past the age where they should be seen as a baby girl.

[jewishregulus]

tomreg thoughts?

if i can speak plainly they deserve to live inside a band au in which tom is the lead singer of a grunge band that hit in the 90s that modern teenagers speak about like “ugh i just wish i was there at the peak” and regulus an up and coming musician / ex groupie who enters a publically debated age gap relationship with him all over tabloids . it’s giving bradley cooper reading lolita to suki waterhouse . there deserves to be parasocial twitter debates about the ethics of their relationship. “regulus is a grown adult who can make his own decisions!” “he met tom when he was 15 he wasn’t very grown then! and he’s 18 that still isn’t properly grown for this 30 year old!!!” and sirius deserves to be mad as fuck about it .

but in a canon compliant sense i think it adds a lot to regulus’ story and character to make his relationship w tom / voldemort more romantically charged in a not good way . this is a person who has been taken advantage of and felt unsafe in all forms of human connection . and now we can add romantic connection to this . regulus is characterized by his LONELINESS and i think it creates very interesting narrative opportunities for even his love life to be burdened by this toxic dark mess . he is never free from being a puppet or a projection for others . if regulus is james’ little doll wife consensually w tom it is not a CHOICE . regulus is a very easy to manipulate and control person as long as he feels valued , and tom does actually find some Real value out of him. it isn’t all a performance which i LOVE! in tom’s weird sick way he does genuinely care about regulus bc the only kind of care he can muster is based on what is useful for him .

toxic age gap yaoi becomes real when you task your controversially young boyfriend to test the protection methods of your soul and then he tries to destroy that piece of your soul the same way your grooming did to his . sorry if the people don’t get it

[menlove]

Hey have you read any good McLennon fix-its

OH BOY HAVE I. i love mclennon fix-its they genuinely heal my soul & they're for sure my favorite i'm ngl. here we gooooo. just pulling from my bookmarks in no particular order...

favorites have a 💖 next to them!

blood on the tracks by mynamesbetty

gen-mature. 66k modern au, 11 part series, eventual fix-it. He was a grown man, a rock star, richer than Croesus, emotionally stable, and more than capable of handling a surprise visit from his ex-husband. Paul married John when he was eighteen and divorced him at twenty-nine. Two years later, John pays Paul a visit.

'til touchdown brings me round again to find by wardo_weditit

explicit. 12k. It was one thing when he was doing this for Elton—yeah, because of a bet, but mostly because Elton is his friend and he wants to support him. It was just a one-off thing that seemed like it could be fun, or cool, or maybe even memorable. But now, if Paul’s going to be there, it takes on a hell of a lot more meaning because that’s the way it goes, that’s what things with Paul always do. Or, Paul comes to see John's surprise appearance at Elton's show, and grand gestures abound.

here you come again by harmonising

mature. 16k. (take this one w a grain of salt i can't remember if it's a full fix it? but well. john's alive, so) 1982. John comes back to England. He and Paul spend a weekend together.

Grow Old With Me by inherownwrite 💖

explicit. 8k. Paul breaks his arm, and John panics.

and when broken bodies are washed ashore (who am i to ask for more) by wardo_wedidit 💖

mature. 39k. “Jesus, took you long enough,” John says, adjusting the duffle over his shoulder. “Thought I might be out here til morning at this rate.” For a second he wonders if he’s drunker than he thought, but no. As far as he can tell, it is still 1980, and he hasn’t seen or so much as spoken to John in ten years. Or, John comes to stay with Paul in Scotland to ride out the press storm of his divorce to Yoko, and Paul learns to stop running away.

i was a younger man then (now) (post hoc) by fingersfallingupwards 💖

mature. 27k. (i'm not kidding i think this one is my favorite ever mclennon fics. it's only 27k but it feels like an entire novel. this lives in my head rent free forever. this is my heartstopper or whatever the kids are saying) John’s twelve when a bloke appears from a flaming pie and says, “From this day forward you are Beatles with an ‘a.’” The bloke is Paul. Or: paul and john meet at all ages and eras and john is the time-traveler’s wife the way only john lennon can be

Stop all the clocks by javelinbk

mature. 30k. For the following kink meme prompt: ‘1967. After Brian dies, Paul decides not to go ahead with MMT, and takes John up to Scotland for a month instead.’ Also based on the following comment on said prompt: ‘pls someone let them fuck tenderly in 1967’

I Need My Love to Be Here by notgrungybitchin

explicit. 8k. After John gets his first panic attack in Hamburg, he starts to realize that Paul might be the only person who can bring him back to himself.