#'especially if it's even slightly informed *by* an emotional reaction'

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

tfw you keep trying to write up a concise Introduction of a Complex and Interesting Concept You Think About a Lot, getting distracted by an infodumping derail about The Breadth of the Subject, and running out of steam and having to start over ashdndmfb

[meydang]

cute wings

(sfw)

Nameless!Sunday x Nameless!reader

Based on Sunday's ultimate animation and my own headcanons about halovian's lore.

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.

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"So what was that move you whip out earlier? The one with the vines and everything!" You said, clearly impressed while sitting down on one of the couch.

"Have you been hiding the other two pair of wings or do they only come out when you do that last move?" You asked eagerly when Sunday enter the parlor car, the both of you having just gotten back from your trailblazing expidition together. Your eyes following him as he joins you on the couch, with sparks of curiosity in it.

It hasn't been that long since Sunday joined the Astral express, but he could definitely say that it's been enough for him to start opening up to all the nameless and vice versa.

"Ah, are you refering to my supporting spell?" This is the case especially for you, with your seemingly endless energy and desire to learn about everything, it's only a matter of time before you start flooding him with all these question about anything that piqued your interest.

"For halovians, our wings are like a representation of our emotion and power, similar to that of our halo." Sunday pause for a moment, you guessed to try and think of an answer that will satisfy your question.

"To put it simply, take that fight we just won earlier for example, I was using my power to aid us, the wings that appeared were due to my strong emotion and use of power at the moment." He turned to look at you as you nod multiple times, trying to grasp your head around the new information like a lost puppy trying to figure out where it is.

You do that quite often - something Sunday has took notice and find endearing.

Cute, he think.

"Sooo... does that mean the wings can only come out when you are in a state like that?" You finally said after some time. "Aw pity, I was hoping you could make them appear anytime you know, I think they are really adorable!" You said what you were thinking with all honesty, completely oblivious to the fact that your last comment caught the halovian off guard and flustered to his core, hints of red dusting his cheeks.

"Th-that is not entirely correct, I can make them visible if I want to, but I'll need to be in a state of strong emotion or focus on my power in that case." Sunday tries to brush of your compliment about his wings with his answer, but before he could given it anymore thoughts, you have already came up with an idea.

Sunday jolts slightly as you prop your chin onto his shoulder, your face display a smug expression, looking up at him with your hand on top of his own.

"Wait, if I'm correct... Then I'll just have to make you feel emotions strong enough for your cute wings to come out, right?"

Huh? What did you just say? What are you planning? How did- what? There is a million things going through Sunday's head right now and the fact that your gaze are still fixed on him while this is happening does not help at all. Sunday doesn't know what is worse, the way he got insanely flustered just by a few compliments or you being extremely close to him right now.

"Well...? Aren't you gonna say anything?" He heard you said in the slowest and most teasing way possible, as if to get even more reaction from him. Before he could even answer, you stood up and move infront of him.

"Sunday." you said while bending down to face him, your hands on your knees and face tilting down at him with an adoring smile.

Huh?

"Yes?" He managed to say, his head spinning to guess what are you planning to say next.

"Although it hadn't been long since you join the express, you have been adapting and trying your best to keep up with the crew really well." Sunday can feel his cheeks burning with every sweet words uttered from your mouth. You on the other hand, are determined to get his marvelous wings to come out.

"You have done a great job as a nameless... Don't you think so too?" You continue, still looking down at him but leaned in a bit closer, too close for Sunday to maintain his composure. If he still has any, that is.

"Ah, th-thank you. That's very kind of you to say." As his wings move to cover his face, he can here an audible 'aww' coming from you which caught him by surprise. Resulting in him moving them to his side again, for a better view of what was happening.

"It worked!" Opening his eyes, Sunday sees you smiling and gushing over his wings - ah, right, his other wings that have appeared due to him being oh so flustered just by your simple remarks.

"May I touch them?" You asked, your gaze gentle, yet still intense that it makes Sunday gulp nervously as his face turn even more red.

"Yes, you may." Sunday doesn't know why he gave you permission, as if you being in such close proximity to him wasn't enough to get his heart pounding. Especially with the fact that his wings are actually pretty sensitive.

With a happy grin, you reach out to glide over the feathers with the back of your hand, not missing how doing it make Sunday shudders a bit.

"Oh, sorry!" You retrieve your hand after noticing.

"No no, it's fine... please continue." He assured, not wanting you to feel bad. Even if he doesn't exactly want you to keep thumbing his wings like this... purely because it's making him all embarrassed and a blushing mess.

"You know... what I said earlier about you joining the express. I wasn't just teasing you, I actually meant it." You reach out for his wings again, this time with a soft smile, making sure he knows you are being sincere.

Sunday made a dumbfounded expression, or atleast you think he is, his face shows a mix of gratitude and confusion as he stare at you.

"I am grateful that you hold me on such high regards, though... I do not believe I have made any significant contribution to the express, more less better than all of you." Sunday answered truthfully. How could you say all these good things about him when he doesn't deserve any of it? How are you still able to welcome him with open arm? After all his mistakes, after the grand pursuit of a dream paradise through such manipulative methods, and-

"Sunday!"

He blinked,

Once,

Twice,

"Hey, are you okay? You just zoned out for a moment." You move your hands from his wings to his shoulder, sitting down next to him again, tone worried.

"Sorry... I was just deep in thought. Were you saying something?" He quickly apologized, feeling bad for making you worried. Yet again another reason he doesn't deserve your praises, Sunday blames himself.

"I said stop thinking bad about yourself. Don't ever say anything like that... nobody is perfect, everyone has their own flaws and values. You just have to not let your doubts get to you." You turned Sunday towards your direction a bit, so that he's looking at you in the eyes.

"Hm, promise me you'll never think negatively about yourself again." You said firmly, waiting for him.

"I-I promise." With an exhale Sunday replied to you, smilling. "Thank you."

You smile back "There we go, now that's my little angle~"

!?

This is the second time you have caught him off guard in this conversation. Little angle? At this point he swear you will be the death of him eventually, Sunday think as you suddenly lit up.

"Well, let's lighten things up a bit..." you said, pulling out your phone. "Say cheeseeee" what are y-

Snap

Just like that, a picture of Sunday smilling sheepishly and flapping his wings was sent to the astral express family group chat. Earning you a panic, embarrassed Sunday and the multiple 'aww's from the trailblazer and March.

_

The Astral Express Family

You: (picture)

You: I found a happy bird on the express today~

March: aww

Trailblazer: wow! Six wings!

Trailblazer: aww

Sunday: ...

_

[emotionalmessss]

hope you’re well ♥️ may i request a headcanon where yan!chrollo’s partner escaped but when he confronts them (or however you write it-it’s up to you!) they are really remorseful like “i knew i shouldn’t have left” on their own volition? thank you! ♥️

A/N: ouu, I really like this idea. I can never say no to Yan!Chrollo lol. I’d be more than happy to answer, and I’ll try my best! Thank you for the request, enjoy! :) (this ended up much longer than I expected)

Warnings: yandere themes, unhealthy/forced relationship, stalking, implied kidnapping, kinda implied non-con, psychological abuse, hardcore manipulation. chrollo is a dick.

Chrollo is no saint, but he definitely has the patience of one–though only to a certain extent. With you, however, he seems to have all the fucking patience in the world. Because of Chrollo’s emotionally complex nature, I kind of feel like it’s difficult for him to form emotional attachments, especially with those outside the Troupe. Connections have never really been a priority for Chrollo, nor do they come easily to him. But, with you, it’s different. You’ve always stood out, and his relationship with you is something that he treasures deeply. In his own twisted way.

Ever since Chrollo first laid eyes on you, he’s been utterly fascinated–a reaction that probably confused him at first, considering his interests usually only involve the wellbeing of the Troupe, books, and stealing valuable objects and Nen abilities. Chrollo has utilized all his available resources to gather as much information about you as possible, spending countless hours studying every single aspect of your life. Say goodbye to your privacy because there’s no such thing when it comes to Chrollo. And sure, a few members of the Troupe probably found Chrollo’s behavior unusual, but they knew better than to question the boss.

Chrollo might be completely infatuated with you, but he’s not blind to how difficult the situation is for you–he is well aware of human nature, and even more familiar with you. In fact, he completely understands your struggles. But, does that mean he’s going to let you go? Fuck no. As far as captors go, Chrollo has been incredibly lenient with you, hoping that you’d eventually realize that there is no one else in the world that could cherish you the way he does. And when you escaped from him, you betrayed that sliver of trust he gave you.

Your escape was successful, congrats. Managing to slip past Chrollo’s defenses was a challenge in itself–and you should be proud–not everyone can outsmart the head of the Spider. But, that’s just the beginning, don’t celebrate just yet. Surely, you’ll have to deal with a fuck load of complications, like starting your life over from scratch, fending for yourself, constantly watching your back, and maybe, just maybe, going as far as adopting a completely new identity. Things couldn’t get any more complicated, could they? Oh, they can and they will. 

It wouldn’t be long before you started to doubt and question everything–your thoughts, your feelings, your emotions, your choices, and most importantly, Chrollo. You might’ve thought you had the upper hand, but somehow, for some fucking reason, Chrollo always has the last laugh. Chrollo would never allow himself to show it, but he would definitely feel slightly irritated with the situation and your behavior. You actually had the audacity to run away from him? Have you forgotten who he is and what he's capable of? It’s not very often that someone would defy him, and part of him secretly applauds your pathetic–yet somewhat amusing–actions. Did you truly believe that he wouldn’t be able to find you again? 

I’d imagine that Chrollo probably saw your sudden absence as nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Annoying? Yes. Unexpected? No. Would he have expected you to be remorseful after escaping? Not entirely. Fortunately for him–and unfortunately for you–Chrollo knows you very fucking well. So well, in fact, that he’s become really good at predicting not only your next moves, but also what goes on in your head. He knew it wouldn’t take long for your mind to overwhelm you–that fresh start of yours isn’t feeling all that fresh anymore, is it? 

Chrollo wouldn’t go find you right away, no, he’d let you struggle for a bit before he made a move. The Troupe would probably question their boss’ somewhat unusual approach to the situation, but they wouldn’t push their luck–they knew better than to risk overstepping any boundaries, especially when it involves you and Chrollo. Just because his love for you is fucked up unconventional doesn’t mean he’s going to act impulsively to get you back, that's not how Chrollo operates, his methods are much more refined and efficient than that. 

But, that doesn’t mean Chrollo won’t be thinking of you. You’re always on his mind. He’d deny it, but the mental image of you–somewhere far away and stressed out, trying to move on with your life–was oddly satisfying. Some might say that’s cruel, but Chrollo sees it as conditioning. And Chrollo is a master manipulator. He may appear relatively passive on the outside, but you should never underestimate him. I feel like nothing is off-limits with Chrollo, and he’ll do anything and everything to make it impossible for you to leave him. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. So, it's really not much of a surprise that you’re remorseful about running away. That’s exactly what he planned. 

From the very beginning, Chrollo has been subtly manipulating and conditioning you, instilling doubt and dependency within you. He’d isolate you from the outside world and from the other people in your life, both physically and emotionally. He kept you by his side, never allowing you to stray too far. Even when you thought you were alone, he was watching. He gave you the illusion of freedom–a door that was occasionally left unlocked, access to his entire apartment, the opportunity to go outside, but only with him. He’d make you question the relationships you had with everyone that wasn’t him, slowly turning you against them. Do they actually care about you? Do they actually understand you like he does? Those were his ways of making sure there was nobody else you can interact with, forcing you to become dependent on him for everything.

Chrollo wouldn’t stop there. There were times when he would let his guard down, allowing you to see moments of vulnerability. He would tell you things–his past, his thoughts–enough to make you believe there was more to him than the monster you feared. When you eventually opened up to him about your own thoughts, he’d listen. He always listened so fucking carefully. He made you feel like he understood you better than anyone else ever had, or ever could.

And it all paid off in the end. For him, at least.

It’s almost been two months without Chrollo and surprisingly, it doesn’t feel as good as you thought it would. In fact, your newfound freedom feels fucking horrible. It doesn’t make sense–you should be thrilled that you’ve managed to escape after being held captive for one year. You had planned this escape for months, spending countless nights going over it again and again in your head until it was foolproof. It worked, yet you were far from satisfied.

Feeling more than a little conflicted about your state of mind, you move to sit on the couch in your living room. The old, faded piece of furniture creaks beneath your weight as you settle into the cushions. It felt cold and unfamiliar. The couch was probably older than you–faded, torn, and pilling–unlike the expensive plush one that Chrollo has. That one felt warm and familiar. Anxiously, you stir your half drank cup of coffee and take a sip, grimacing slightly. Even his fucking coffee was better than yours. 

This new life was supposed to be a fresh start, but instead, it was a constant reminder of everything you left behind. It seems that no matter how hard you try, you just can’t get Chrollo out of your mind. Every little sound–footsteps, doors opening–sent you into fight or flight mode, always on edge. It felt like you were living with a shadow that was slowly closing in, but you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to run away from it. Fear, longing, and resentment were just a few of the emotions you’ve learned to cope with, but it never got any easier. 

Part of you missed the late night, deep conversations, the way he listened intently, as if your words were the most important thing in the world. Now, your nights are restless, haunted by constant nightmares involving a certain raven haired man. Maybe it's Stockholm syndrome? There’s no way to be sure–therapy costs money, and you aren’t exactly rolling in it. Your hands tremble as you place the mug down, spilling the dark liquid all over the side table. Still trapped in your mind, you get up from the shitty couch and head towards the kitchen, moving to grab a rag to clean up the equally shitty coffee. 

A small creak from behind catches your attention, making you pause momentarily to glance over your shoulder. Like countless other times, there's nothing there. Maybe you don’t even need a psych to diagnose you, since you’re already going insane. Sighing, you grab the rag and start walking back toward the living room. 

“A bit late for coffee, is it not?” The smooth sounding voice instantly makes you freeze in place, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with a rush of emotions. There’s a certain lightness in his tone that’s not usually present–it’s almost like he’s teasing yet chiding you. Either way, you weren’t going to concern yourself with the semantics.

It feels like your body has been completely paralyzed. Yet, somehow, you manage to summon the courage to slowly turn your gaze towards the source of the voice, finding it at the front entrance of your apartment. What you see is enough to make you feel faint, your head spinning and your stomach dropping like a stone–it’s Chrollo, looming in the doorway, his large eyes focused solely on you as a soft, enigmatic smile plays on his lips. Unconsciously, a whimper escapes your lips and your mind suddenly kicks into overdrive, frantically attempting to process the overwhelming reality of what’s happening. All those conflicting thoughts from moments ago flood back into your mind.

You find yourself caught in a whirlwind of emotions, torn between the relief of finally seeing him again and the chilling fear of what this unexpected encounter might bring. You had started a new life here, a life that was simpler, quieter, more peaceful. But as you stand there, facing Chrollo and the flood of memories he brings, you can't help but question–was it truly peace? You must’ve only been standing there–stuck in your thoughts–for a few minutes, but Chrollo seems to notice your dazed state and decides to speak up again, effectively snapping you back to reality. 

“May I come in? We have so much to discuss.” Chrollo says, his voice as gentle and as reassuring as you remember. Without waiting for your response, he's already stepping across the threshold and moving into your apartment, making his way toward the living room. His approach is calm and measured. It’s almost as if he’s been in your apartment a thousand times before, and as if he has all the time in the world. Rooted to the spot, your hand trembles as you clutch the damp rag, watching as Chrollo takes your previously occupied seat on the couch.

“Chrollo?” You find yourself whispering, your voice barely more than a shaky exhale, hesitant and filled with uncertainty. Saying his name after the silence of these past months feels strange, foreign, but oddly enough, you find yourself not hating it. Chrollo doesn’t immediately respond. Instead, his gaze remains fixed on you as he sinks deeper into the couch, leaning back casually and letting his hands rest on top of his thighs. The silence stretches on, lingering too long, and a part of you believes he’s doing it on purpose. 

“You seem troubled,” Chrollo observes, his dark eyes softening a fraction. “Come, sit. Let’s talk.” He insists softly, tilting his head toward the empty spot next to him on the couch, a silent command for you to join him. Despite his calm demeanor, it’s quite clear that he won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. He won’t deny it–your little escape was mildly infuriating. But he wasn’t entirely without compassion–at least, that’s what he liked to believe.

Your chest tightens painfully at his words, each breath feeling like a struggle, as if your lungs are refusing to expand. Your vision blurs as tears gather, threatening to spill over at any moment. You’ve reached your breaking point–the emotions you’ve been painstakingly avoiding have finally surfaced. The ache of remorse gnaws at you, a torrent of regret and guilt that you've been desperately trying to suppress. You open your mouth to respond–to say something, anything at all–but find yourself choking pitifully on a sob, no words coming out. 

The tears start to fall, pouring down your cheeks as you stumble blindly toward the couch, dropping the rag on the ground and barely registering the resigned sigh that Chrollo lets out. You plop down onto the couch next to Chrollo, feeling utterly pathetic about your current state. Not even a second later, Chrollo’s arm slips behind your back and wraps securely around your waist, pulling your trembling body toward his. You don’t fight it, instead allowing your face to bury into the comforting warmth of his chest, while his hand gently cradles the back of your head.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat over and over again, your voice cracking as you sob into his chest. 

Chrollo’s quiet again, the silence only broken by your sniffles and unsteady breaths. His fingers thread soothingly through your hair, softly shushing you. “You’re okay, I’m right here,” he reassures, his voice stripped of its usual firmness, now softer, gentler, almost tender. His expression remains unreadable as he looks down at you, his eyes revealing nothing of thoughts that are undoubtedly coursing through his mind right now. Internally, however, he feels a tinge of satisfaction upon hearing your apologetic pleas. Maybe things can go back to the way they were, or maybe they'll morph into something new, something better. 

There’s another pause, a moment where he lets you compose yourself. He doesn't mention your escape, or the remorse you've shown–not just yet. In truth, Chrollo is not the least bit surprised by your emotional spiral. He knows you well enough to understand that this is not merely a reaction to his relentless pursuit and eventual discovery of your whereabouts. No, this is an entirely different kind of response, one born out of internal conflict.

If it were any other man in this position, they might have felt guilty for putting you through so much torment. But Chrollo is not ‘any other man.’ Far from it. As he watches you break down in his arms, he doesn’t feel any guilt. He doesn’t see your suffering as something he should apologize for. Why would he? For Chrollo, he sees this as a necessary consequence of the bond he’s carefully created. And he can see that you’re finally starting to understand.

During your time together, Chrollo had a way of making you question everything. Slowly but surely, he instilled a sense of doubt and dependency within you. It was never obvious. That wasn’t his style. 

He had a way of making you believe that the outside world was cruel and dangerous. Every time he caught you looking at the door, he’d remind you–without even needing to say a word–that he was the only one who could truly protect you. A raised brow and slight tilt of his head was more than enough to remind you of everything he had told you before. He was never threatening about it, he didn’t need to be. A simple look from him was all it took for you to hesitate, to second-guess walking out that door. 

Would it really be better out there than here? Could you really handle Yorknew City? Surely, there were people out there much worse than him, right? People who wouldn’t think twice about taking advantage of someone like you. You could imagine it so vividly: faceless men with rough hands that wouldn’t give a shit about you, your struggles, or your pleas. They’d only see you as a pretty little thing to use. Chrollo never said it outright, but the implication was always there: he wasn’t like them. His touches, though somewhat unwelcome and borderline possessive, were never violent. 

At least with Chrollo, you knew the rules and boundaries–his rules and boundaries. And he never lied to you, not really. The world really was dangerous. There really were people out there who would hurt you. He made sure that you believed he was the best choice. And who else was there for you, really? Not your friends, the ones he slowly convinced you that they didn’t care as much as they claimed. Not your family, who couldn’t possibly understand the complexity of your situation. No, it was just Chrollo. He wasn’t the monster you wanted him to be. He was something far worse: he was everything you didn’t know you needed. And that was much more fucking terrifying.

Finally pulling himself from his thoughts, Chrollo decides that he’s made you suffer in silence for long enough. “You should not have tried to escape, [name],” he says, his voice gentle but carries a clear note of criticism and disappointment. He deliberately uses your name, refraining from the endearing nicknames he usually employs. It's a subtle punishment, a way to remind you of your mistakes. He knows exactly what kind of impact it has on you–how the distance it creates makes you feel small, like a reprimanded child. “Predictably, it didn’t end well.” His tone is soft, almost conversational.

Chrollo pauses again, his fingers suddenly halting their soothing rhythm in your hair. Abruptly, he withdraws the comforting contact, depriving you of the warmth you didn’t even realize you’d come to depend on. You can’t stop yourself from tensing in his arms, struggling to stifle a choked sob. You can’t see it–not with your teary face buried in his chest–but there’s a faint curl of his lips, a flicker of satisfaction at your reaction. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing. He lets out a deep, exaggerated sigh, his hand pulling away from your scalp completely. Now it rests on the frayed backrest of the couch, lazily tracing patterns on the rough fabric. 

“Running… it doesn’t suit you.” The words are so plain, so final. It's not suggestion or opinion, but a fucking fact. It’s the way he always spoke to you, as if he knew you better than you knew yourself. “It only leads you to pain and suffering. Surely, you’ve realized that by now?” There is no anger or frustration in his voice, just that same steady, disorientating calm that makes you second-guess everything. He speaks as if this entire situation is simply an inconvenience to him, which makes it near impossible to decipher his true thoughts and feelings. 

And then, Chrollo gently but firmly tilts your head up, leaving no room for you to resist him. Not like it would do you any good. Forcing you to meet his gaze, he studies you intently, his dark eyes partially shielded by the strands of raven hair that fall across his pale face. “You’re an intelligent woman,” he murmurs, and for some reason, it felt more like he was mocking you rather than giving you a genuine compliment. “I’m certain that you can grasp the situation.” As he speaks, his grip on your face tightens significantly, hinting at the threat that lies beneath his words. It’s his little way of telling you that you should know better.  

You wince as his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your jaw, more out of surprise than pain. The pressure isn’t unbearable, but it’s enough to remind you of his control. You don’t have much faith in your ability to form a coherent sentence right now, not when your throat feels tight and your thoughts are a jumbled mess. Instead, you nod in response, hoping it’s enough. 

Chrollo’s eyes flicker with approval, and maybe a hint of amusement. It’s impossible to be sure with him. He releases your jaw as he lets out a satisfied hum of acknowledgement, now wiping away a few stray tears from your damp cheeks. The gesture should feel comforting, but instead, it leaves you feeling hollow, like being soothed after a punishment you never deserved. “Good girl.” The praise rolls off his tongue easily, but there’s no warmth in it. “You’re emotional,” he says, almost to himself. “But you’ll understand in time.”

“It’s time to go home. We’ll continue this conversation later,” He adds, reminding you that this matter is far from resolved.

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Mercy ~ T.R.

A/n: I haven’t actually watched this far into the show, this is all from second hand understanding, so if it’s a little OOC I apologize :)

Request: “Can you do a Theo Raeken x Mreader where the reader never doubted that there was goodness in Theo’s heart even tho he committed terrible acts, the reader supports Theo because they knew that he was led astray since he was a child. The pack believes that the reader maybe crazy and when they discuss that Theo deserves everything bad that happens to him, the reader defends him, which makes Theo feels like he doesn’t deserve someone like them.” By anon

Word Count: 2100+

MASTERLIST

"Stop that." 

Y/n was a pretty passive person. His strengths came from maintaining focus and calm. Hiding, not being seen, never losing control. When he spoke, it was always even and his gaze gave nothing away. He wasn't particularly comforting, or good at fighting, but he was extremely good at getting out of a tight situation - or sneaking into one without consequences. It left him often as the one who could get reinforcements, deliver information where it was needed, or learn important things others couldn't because he hadn't been noticed or stopped.

Which meant easily enough that when he glared at someone, or when his sharp tone snapped through the room with genuine anger, the pack knew it was a severe reaction. If you didn't know him, it would be easy to dismiss the outburst as quieter than Derek's, or softer than what Isaac or Stiles might have hit with. There was no sass or sarcasm and even very little poison in the words... but the fact that it was so full of emotion was telling.

Especially because all they were talking about was Theo.

Scott raised his eyebrows as he shot Y/n a sideways glace. "Stop what?"

"Don't talk about trauma you don't understand," was all Y/n said.

Stiles' face twisted slightly with an anger leaning confusion. "What are you talking about? Theo tried to kill Scott and take over all of us. Including you. He did horrible experiments on the chimeras he did get his hands on - and most of them died. All he has done is cause pain and misery since he got here. Who the hell cares what he's been through?"

Y/n's sudden pointed look stopped Stiles dead. It was equivalent to a blade being pressed to his throat, or a gun leveled at his head. It was a threat - a promise - and he knew to back down immediately. "You never know what kind of person others' experiences would have made you if you'd lived through them. Theo was a child. And before you go off or dismiss me like you have in the past, Stilinski, no I don't condone or dismiss the vast amounts of harm he has caused the people around him. I'm not saying anyone is required to forgive him just because he had a hard life. I was there when Kira sent him to hell the first time, and I helped every step of the way. I stand by what we did. But he doesn't deserve all the pain and suffering he's been through, and it does matter, and he deserves a chance to get better and be a different person." He grew quiet for a moment, sensing everyone in the room growing tense and avoiding his eyes. He sighed and stood from his chair. "I'll see you guys later - let me know when you need me." He left the room, leaving everyone staring after him with wide eyes and parted lips.

Despite how important he found his message, Y/n knew not to push it. It wouldn't go anywhere to hit a brick wall over and over again. It would just break his hand.

-

"What's your deal this time?" Scott sighed the words, his shoulders drooping. This time Theo was in the room, and they'd been trying to ignore Y/n expression as it grew darker and darker, but Scott was powerful because he cared - of course he couldn't last forever.

Y/n's eyes were trained on the windows to the side of the room they were on, taking in the view of the outside past them. Trying to focus and ground himself. He needed to answer this calmly no matter how volatile he felt; they needed to be united in the face of those who depended on them. Like Liam and Theo. 

When he did speak, he could feel every single pair of eyes on him. "I will not stand for that talk in my presence. Keep your harsh words to yourself, or I will intervene."

Stiles, who had been the one going off on Theo, rolled his eyes. He was still wrapped up in his ow feelings and thoughts and didn't have the wherewithal to control himself - even under such threat from Y/n. He fell back on what he was best at: not shutting up. "Theo killed his own sister-"

Y/n snapped. He rushed Stiles, hands wrapping in his shirt as he slammed the other boy against the wall. Everyone scrambled, but Scott held up a hand and caught his breath, eyes wide. They all paused. They had trusted Y/n to not go too far this long; they needed to keep doing so. This was important to him, and it needed to happen. Stiles looked startled but unhurt, so they could hold their breath for just a second. Each person was coiled though, ready to launch the second Scott gave the signal.

"Derek tried to start his own pack and fucked up Jackson's entire life. He has been universally unhelpful, an all-around dick, and general trouble since day one and we forgave him. Isaac was part of that pack, and actively antagonized everyone in our pack - especially you and Scott. He got into fights, belittled other people, and fell through plenty of times when we really needed him. He's disappeared completely when we need him the most and we forgave him anyway because we understand him and see his perspective and work around it. Jackson actively tried to kill us for weeks, but we wrote it off because he was being controlled. But he was that vicious far before he was a monster, and actively bullied and belittled all of us. He put Scott in danger several times and tried his best to ostracize us and make us hate ourselves. Even Lydia used her intelligence and power to hurt and tear down other people - but she's the most active part of this community just because her powers forced her to be here and we accepted her the way she was after that, allowing her to be truer to herself as time passed until she became a genuinely kind and caring person.

"There have been plenty of people who have actively hurt us that we've forgiven. Don't even get me started on Peter. But we forgave them anyway, and they were far older than Theo was - and most of them did what they did without any outside influence. Theo was a child, and whatever horrible thing they did to the other chimeras for a month of two, Theo got for seven fucking years. I don't care what you think or what you know, shut your fucking mouth or I will shut it for you. He's been given the chance to change, and he's trying his best to. He has done a lot for us since he's been back - especially for Liam. He's one of the only ones who's treated Liam's struggles seriously while you make fun of the boy for what he deals with - and you know what? Now that I'm thinking about it, who the hell are you to say anything? You want to start digging shit up about the Nogitsune? How about Allison?"

A hand landed on Y/n shoulder as Stiles' face went pale. "That's enough." Scott.

Y/n caught himself, letting Stiles' shirt go and stepping back. You don't have to forgive him, or like him, but if you're going to talk shit it better not be where he can hear you. Or where I can hear you, for that matter. Next time I'll just deck you - I'm tired of your bullshit." And with that, he left the room. He knew there would be some kind of repercussions for that... but he didn't care. If he left the pack then perhaps it was just time for it to happen. 

He was sure that was the end of it for now, but he heard the door open behind him again as he made his way down the hall. Of all the people he had been expecting to see when he turned to defend himself - he had not been expecting Theo himself.

The brunette boy slowed out of his jog once he'd caught up, stopping too close to Y/n. There was something in his eyes. Tears, at his water line, but also so many emotions that twisted and roiled - too many for Y/n to even begin to decipher. Y/n was taken aback by the emotion, and froze in place, unsure what would happen next. Final Theo managed a, "Thank you," but it was so thin that Y/n knew there was so much to that than the simple two words would be communicating normally.

So he took a second to think, so absorb it all and try to understand. His expression melted and softened, opened up and allowed sincerity and vulnerability to come through. He had been watching Theo struggle for ages now and he was more than willing to let it show plainly. "I'm glad you're back, Theo. That you've taken this chance to learn new things and become a new person. I knew back then that you were capable of good, and you haven't disappointed."

Theo's eyebrows came together. "You did?"

Y/n shrugged, growing a bit sheepish. "I doubted it in the end... I mean, everyone has some good in them, but I decided that it was over, you'd lost your chance, and it hit me to my core. But you served plenty of penance in hell, and when you came back... I could tell you were so different. And I hoped again. And it all paid off. You're becoming the person I always knew you could be. I'm proud of you."

Those emotions turned across Theo's face again and he paused for a whole second before something snapped, or broke - something. Theo closed the distance between them, grabbing Y/n's face and pulling him into a kiss. Y/n hummed in surprise but the sound turned almost immediately into a moan when their lips actually met. The kiss was hard and passionate. Their hands pulled at each other, both of them losing whatever control they had in that moment to do their best to drown in each other. 

Y/n hooked his fingers in Theo's belt, pulling him closer, and whatever anxiety Theo had about the moment melted away. His hands moved from Y/n's face to his hair, fingers wrapping around the strands and tugging on them, forcing his head back to tuck Y/n flush against his chest as every inch between them was filled. Y/n moaned again and Theo sighed into the kiss, his expression relaxing and a smile coming to his face. He reacted again, forcing Y/n to scramble to keep up with him as he moved them through the hall until Y/n's back slammed against the wall.

It was aggressive and desperate but didn't actually hurt. Y/n found himself surprisingly comfortable and only enjoying every moment they shared now. There was tenderness to the kiss too. Small things, like the tips of Y/n's fingers running across the top of Theo's waistband and ghosting the skin there; Theo's thumb rubbing the softest circles at the back of Y/n's neck where the smalls of his hair grew thinner than the rest of the thicker hair, allowing his skin to feel the contact and tingle at such affection. There was nothing sexual to it, which also made every single kiss and bite as Theo caught Y/n's bottom lip or skated away from his lips and began to trail across Y/n's jaw and down his neck - it was all accompanied with sighs and kisses if Y/n's hissed in pain. 

How long had Theo wanted this? Because the sheer relief and desperation communicated Y/n's own feelings like a mirror. 

After a few minutes they both relaxed and melted into each other, their touches and holds relaxing until Theo simply leaned into Y/n, their foreheads pressed together. It was quiet for a few beats, and then - "I don't deserve you."

Y/n scoffed. He reached up, gripping Theo's jaw between his fingers. "I'll kick your ass too, Raeken."

That made Theo smile. "Feel free." He left another kiss on Y/n's lips, but this one was lingering and soft. It was more intimate that way, and they were both left a little dazed. "Will you go on a date with me?" He still didn't seem entirely sure, which was almost laughable after the kisses they'd just shared, but Y/n didn't say anything. 

Who was he to give someone shit for questioning the person they liked liking them back when they thought it impossible?

Y/n sighed, nodding. "Yeah. I'd like that."

Theo pressed their foreheads together and they sat there for a long time. Y/n got the feeling that neither of them would feel alone ever again... They had each other now. They'd be just fine.

-

Story Tags: @badblondebisexualboy

Male reader Tags: @ravenpuff-oli @sortzz

[l-in-the-light]

Does Law consider himself as sexy?👀 How does he react to being complimented or so having a crush on him? Embarrassed, afraid or maybe proud? 🤔

How would he react when someone calls him sexy or says he's handsome? His first reaction would be probably this: disbelief. Next step would be: ignoring. Then, if that person still persists, Law would observe and if he thinks the other person is actually truly smitten with him, he would probably start to show off a bit, because why wouldn't he? Whenever his crew swoons all over him he does the same after all. Which is why I believe he actually would want to be pampered with attention and adoration, just not to the point that it would overwhelm him. Unlucky for him, that's exactly what seems to happen most of the time: when people fall for him, they create a fanclub dedicated to him and worship him. Would he be proud though? I don't think that's the right word here... more like amused and a tiny bit attention-starving.

Would it make him embarrassed? Yes, if that person is very dramatic about their crush and declares love to him at every possible occassion. He might start to avoid them and he would cringe and flinch a lot. He doesn't like huge displays of emotions and feelings, after all. Same with flirting, he just wouldn't even know how to respond to that. But if it would happen often he would try to find answers that could be interpreted in multiple ways and leave the person guessing, because he can be an asshole like that. It's an added bonus that it also acts like a defense wall as well.

After the first enjoyment and novelty of it passes, Law would then try to take a step back. Because he would start to feel afraid, maybe because he doesn't actually return the feelings (and he is considerate!), or maybe he doesn't want that person to know him better (he has bad experience with people knowing about his past, especially about the disease, and then rejecting him, after all).

Now, does he think of himself as sexy? I guess he would think he doesn't look half bad, objectively, but I think it would be more about himself enjoying his own manly look, than trying to swoon anyone. Like: yeah, he's a guy, he has a six pack, he might as well show it so other guys don't see him as a weakling and instead accept him as one of the tough guys. That kinda thing. Personally, I call it male ego/herd fever.

Admittedly, if it happens often enough, he might actually start to believe that either he's kinda sexy or the whole world went suddenly bonkers, or both. If it's the first option, I can imagine him being absolutely insufferable about it, but not in a narcisstic way: smirking knowingly and acting more confident about himself and maybe even showing off more than usual, just for the fun of it.

It would definitely help his poor self-esteem significantly, but at the end of the day it probably wouldn't matter that much. After all Trafalgar Law is a thinker, an overthinker even. He would quickly figure out that being seen as "sexy" doesn't mean much and sometimes isn't even that far away from being objectified as some sort of sexual fantasy, and it's not really about people liking him for who he actually is. That's why he would quickly stop paying it much attention and wouldn't let it get to his head. But he would definitely notice the interest people show him and store it somewhere in the back of his mind as potentially useful information. For what though? No one knows, because it's not like Trafalgar Law would act on it in any way, heh.

He might act differently though if it's someone he likes (and trusts already) that swoons over him, as long as it's not done in overly dramatic fashion, with huge displays of emotions. I think he would actually truly appreciate and enjoy it. Maybe one day, when they're alone and he feels slightly out of his mind, he would dare to ask the question: Why? Why is his significant other so swooned by someone like him? And he would listen and remember every single word he hears as the answer and keep it safely tucked in his heart from now on, even if he would find it difficult to believe in the answer.

And if it's Luffy and Luffy just answers something stupid and random, like "You're so cool, like a hercules beetle!", Law would be sour about it. But later he would realize that whatever bullshit Luffy said was actually honest and precious, once he finally understands the context of it (in this example: he would understand that hercules beetle is the coolest creature to ever exist in the world and it's Luffy's biggest trophy, treasure and pride). Law's world would never be the same anymore after that.

...I feel like I again wrote a meta fanfic, haha. Hope you had fun reading your answer <3

[lenorashore]

 In The Shadow of The Table

Fun in the Library - A sneak peek chapter of my Seb x f!MC fic Velvet Whispers, releasing next week! *edit:* It's here! Tags: H.job, public mstbn., s*men swallowing, Sebastian x MC Rating: Mature Words: 1.6k

The library was quiet, the only sound being the soft rustle of pages turning and the occasional creak of shoes on the floor. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, their spines a kaleidoscope of colors and titles. It was the perfect place to lose oneself in literature, but for Sebastian and MC, it had become something far more enticing.

It had been a few weeks since the two had become "official" — especially in the most intimate sense. Sebastian made it clear to everyone that she was his, staking his claim with a possessiveness that discouraged even a passing glance in her direction. She didn’t mind; in fact, she enjoyed the role, relishing the pride he took in her.

They had decided to spend some time researching various trails of the highlands, meticulously preparing for their search for Anne, which would begin the next day. But while Sebastian busied himself with the logistics, MC had taken a moment to dive into her own research. She was intrigued by the differing reactions to natural-born magic and wondered why her ancient magic didn’t surge with Sebastian like it had with Garreth and Rookwood. The question lingered, stirring a mix of curiosity and unease.

She was about ready to put down the book and rub her temples when she noticed an entry regarding the lustful and adoration-related effects of magic. She quickly skimmed the page and her eyes widened at what she read.

The Instinctive Shield of Natural-Born Magic

Natural-born magic, unlike learned or acquired magical abilities, possesses an inherent connection to the wielder's very essence. This deep-rooted bond fosters a unique protective instinct, manifesting as an automatic defense mechanism during moments of peril. Scholars often refer to this phenomenon as the "Instinctive Shield," a term that captures both its immediacy and its life-preserving intent.

When the wielder encounters danger — whether physical, magical, or emotional — the magic reacts without conscious effort, deploying defenses tailored to the nature of the threat. The instinctive response often aligns with the wielder's unique magical affinity.

What makes this phenomenon particularly remarkable is its ability to detect emotional danger that the wielder cannot, such as instances of lovemaking with an individual who is not considered to be their soulmate. The magic is capable of predicting one’s future and, in likeness, can warn the wielder of the unsuccessful fate of a current relationship, especially during lovemaking upon penetration. Unlike deliberate spellcasting, which requires focus and intent, the Instinctive Shield operates on a subconscious level.

She covered her mouth at the information. Her magic… had been trying to protect her.

It somehow knew that Garreth and Rookwood were both only trying to take advantage of her. It was trying to warn her that neither of them was her soulmate. But apparently, Sebastian was?

She looked at the boy sitting right next to her, his brown hair fell gracefully over his forehead, giving him a slightly disheveled yet undeniably charming appearance. Her mind flashed to their first night together.

“Come, darling. Let me feel you.”

She instinctively closed the collar of her shirt, a comfort mechanism to the rising heat between her legs.

"Let me in..."

Her breath hitched in her throat and she could feel the sweat beginning to drench the hair at her temples.

"So fucking tight..."

Suddenly, he adjusted in his seat and the outside of his thigh rested against hers. She clasped her hands together in her lap, almost as if to prevent her arousal from escaping. She looked over at Sebastian. He was focused, almost too absorbed in his research to notice her subtle movements. She watched with bated breath as his veined hand moved slowly down the page, his fingers tracing the delicate script with a reverence that made her bite her bottom lip.

After taking a moment to look around the mostly empty library and ensure no one was around or staring, she leaned over, her hand slipping beneath the table, brushing against the cool wood until her fingers found what they were seeking. 

His trousers were a barrier, but not an impenetrable one. With a slight tug, she managed to free the hard length of his arousal, her fingers curling around the silken expanse.

Right before she took hold of him, Sebastian was still engrossed in the book. “I think if we take the path from the Cragcroft Floo point up into the mountains, we might be able to-”

Sebastian's head snapped up at her sudden hold around his rod, his eyes shifting between her hand and the pages before him in a mixture of surprise and unmistakable desire. His lips parted, but no words came out, just a soft gasp.

"What... what are you doing?" His voice was barely a whisper, a teasing mix of disbelief and longing.

She bit her lip harder, savoring the thrill of the forbidden act. "Just helping you focus," she replied with a giggle, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.

He swallowed hard, the movement of his throat stark against the dim overhead lights. "Here? Now?"

She nodded, her grip tightening slightly as she began to stroke him with slow, deliberate motions. The fabric of his trousers provided little resistance, allowing her fingers to glide along the full length of him. Sebastian's breath hitched, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment before snapping open again, riveted on the pages to not arouse suspicion.

"God, you're bold," he muttered, his voice strained.

She smirked, her thumb flicking over the tip of his erection, feeling the moisture there. "Only for you."

Sebastian groaned again, this time louder, his hips shifting subtly in response to her ministrations. His free hand dropped to the table, gripping the edge as if to anchor himself. The intensity of his reaction spurred her on, her strokes growing firmer, faster, each movement calculated to bring him closer to the edge.

"Fuck," he breathed, his eyes half-lidded with lust as he tried to focus on the book. "I didn't think..."

She leaned in closer, her mouth inches from his ear. "Shh, don't speak," she whispered, her lips grazing the sensitive skin just behind his earlobe. The gesture caused him to jerk in her hand, a small, involuntary motion that spoke volumes.

She returned her attention to her task, her fingers working expertly now, knowing exactly how to drive him wild. The heat from his body seeped into her palm, warming her skin as she stroked him with increasing urgency. Each pass of her hand brought him closer to the precipice, the tension in his body becoming almost unbearable.

"Please," he rasped, his control fraying. "Don't stop."

She didn't plan to. If anything, her pace quickened, her thumb swiping over the tip in a way that made him shudder. Sebastian's head fell back, his torso arching slightly as he struggled to maintain his composure. The muscles in his forearm tensed, his knuckles white against the wooden table.

"You're killing me," he groaned, his voice breaking.

She grinned wickedly, her confidence growing with each passing second. "Good," she murmured, her mouth now dangerously close to his. "Because I want you to remember this."

Sebastian's eyes snapped open, a fierce blaze in their depths. "No one has ever... done this to me before," he confessed, his voice raw with emotion.

She leaned in further, her lips brushing his lightly. "Then let's make sure you never forget."

With that, she tightened her grip once more, her strokes mirroring the rhythm of her racing heart. Sebastian's entire body stiffened, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

"Just like that…" he whispered, his eyes closing again as he surrendered to the sensation. Her hand moved like lightning, the friction building to a fever pitch. Sebastian's hips bucked involuntarily, his back arching as he reached the point of no return.

He gripped her shoulder and whispered with intensity, “MC!” 

Her name on his lips was all the confirmation she needed. She could feel the pulse in his cock, the way his body tensed, signaling the impending climax.

With one final, determined stroke, she squeezed just below the head, applying enough pressure to send him over the edge. His entire body stiffened, his toes curling as he let out a choked moan. Hot, sticky fluid spilled over her hand, the sensation making him quiver uncontrollably.

His release echoed in the quiet library, a testament to the intensity of the moment. His fingers loosened their grip on the table, his body sagging slightly as he came down from the high. She remained still, her hand still wrapped around him, allowing him to savor the afterglow.

Sebastian took a deep, shaky breath, his eyes slowly opening. He looked at her, a mixture of gratitude and amazement in his gaze. "Wow," he whispered, his voice soft and tender. "That was... incredible."

She smiled, feeling a sense of accomplishment. Keeping her eyes locked with his, she brought her hand up to her mouth and licked it clean, a deliberate act for him to witness. His lips remained parted, his breathing heavy as he took in the image of her swallowing his essence. She gave him a sultry wink and released a finger from her mouth with a pop.

Sebastian shook his head in disbelief at her forwardness with a smile as he adjusted himself, straightening his clothes with a sheepish grin. "I don't think I'll ever look at this library the same way again," he said, his tone light but filled with meaning.

"It's nearly curfew, students," Madam Scribner's voice called out from across the room. "Everyone back to your common rooms now."

As they gathered their things preparing to leave the library, Sebastian reached out, gently taking MC's hand. "Thank you.”

She squeezed his hand in return, a silent promise of more to come. "Anytime, sweetheart," she replied.

With a final glance at each other, they both stood up, blending back into the flow of students leaving the library. Yet, the memory of what had transpired beneath the table lingered, no doubt staying with her forever.

[mugunghwc]

@badheart said: "You know him," she added and even seemed slightly amused about it, considering how everything had begun, but looking at Han's features now, she got a bit unsure. In retrospect it almost felt like a bad idea to tell, as if she had just betrayed him, even though there was no contract or anything of the like between them. "Ah... I needed to go to South Korea and I wasn't quite sure if I could safely do so, so I dared to get in contact with the man, that liked to linger around the swimming club," she revealed and paused for a moment. Unsure about his possible reaction, especially after she had insisted of him being more careful. "I think he sees your group with different eyes now, as his own sees no value whatsoever in their people."

Her words did not remove any suspicion that he still carried about that man. However, it took a certain type of individual to earn her trust and even more-so, to get close, by the sound of it. He did not know how to feel or even think about this new information that he was provided—learning that she had taken off to his home country with another man that was not him. He felt jealous of that man's good fortune, yet Han resolved to conceal any emotions he might be harbouring at the moment.

"I'm glad you weren't alone, then." He admitted after a moment. The silence suddenly becoming too much, which urged him to start the engine and have the radio on. The music set on a low volume in order to still allow a conversation between them as he drove. The last time they had been together in a car had been on that damned stormy night... a thought that kept coming into mind due to how she had made him feel. How much he had desired back then. Her fingers holding onto her zipper, threatening to lower it down and give him what he wanted... It was distracting. "The Jingweon from our motherland isn't as merciful. In my opinion, it's an outdated way to carry out things." But they were strong for a reason, which wasn't something that Han could argue with. His shoulders offered a shrug while keeping his stare head on. "He's welcome to meet me, if he's still interested." Although, if his interest lie on him solely, was another thing. It was then, that Han's stare drifted in her direction. "How do you feel about him?"

[popblank]

Been trying to gather my thoughts about Tamara de Lempicka as a character, and the difference between Eden Espinosa’s Tamara vs. Mariand Torres’s Tamara:

EE’s Tamara: Her Tamara seemed to me to be a little more self-serious and intense to the point where it both fed into the humor (e.g. when she meets the street painter and very earnestly steps in to try to correct his perspective while completely missing his offended reaction), but also informed her interactions with basically everyone else she interacted with. That focused seriousness and disregard/cluelessness about others’ feelings really made a lot of little moments—especially with Kizette, Rafaela, and Tadeusz—more understandable.

I remember thinking after seeing the show in La Jolla that she had done a very good and solid job as Tamara, but something about the performance was a little bit out of focus. I’m not even sure what that missing element even was, but between La Jolla and Broadway it seemed like she found the central spark; by the time I saw it at the Longacre it was the kind of performance (for me at least, if not the professional critics) where you’d jump out of your seat for bows, because she fully embodied that central role in such a way that it’s hard for me to think of the character of Tamara and not think of her in it.

MT’s Tamara: Her Tamara seemed a little lighter than EE’s in both vocal tone and personality. To me she came across as a blithely self-involved upper-middle class lady whom you might not take seriously until you find (to your surprise) that she has steamrolled right over you to get what she wants, and she herself might not even notice that she has done so. I liked her “I Will Paint Her” a lot, but I thought she also was excellent in “Speed” and “Just This Way” – she really conveyed the sense of sorrow and despair (with an interesting little dash of entitlement) from losing Tadeusz and Rafaela.

(On a less meaningful note, Mariand Torres seems to be slightly shorter than Eden Espinosa, and I remember feeling worried during some parts of “Woman Is” when Tamara is running up and down the stairs with her long robe open and billowing behind her, which seemed like it could easily snag or cause a mishap. Thankfully it didn’t!)

The moment that for me best illustrated the difference in the portrayals between Eden Espinosa’s Tamara vs. Mariand Torres’s Tamara happened early in the show, when Tamara’s mother tells her on her wedding day, “Don’t forget to smile. You’ll be surprised where a pretty smile can take you.” What I remember is that EE’s Tamara halfheartedly attempted a smile that looked much more like a grimace, while MT’s Tamara pasted on a smile that was bright, pretty, and fake. So I see MT’s Tamara as one who is better at putting on the façade.  

The second example that I found interesting was in “I Will Paint Her.” I have always interpreted “I Will Paint Her” as Tamara almost (but not quite) understanding that the overwhelming feelings she has upon seeing Rafaela for the first time are actually romantic and/or sexual, and not solely artistic inspiration. The humor is one of my favorite aspects of this song, and I just find that interpretation funnier than the alternatives. (The muted horn sound after the line “she’s just a woman who’s pretty” makes me laugh, because it’s as if the music itself is having a *looks into the camera* moment.)

One reason I like EE’s “I WIll Paint Her” is that her emotions are bursting forth and only occasionally (on those “I will…” pauses) she realizes what she’s been saying; she seems to be surprised by herself, and in trying to grasp at reasons why she’s feeling this way, she lands on what she currently knows best, which is “art.” I did really like MT’s “I Will Paint Her” as well, but after the “I will…” pauses, her follow-up seemed a lot more deliberate and knowing. In the moment I thought she was just overemphasizing the point for the audience, but thinking back on it, it could also be that she is more aware of where her thoughts and feelings are leading, so she is trying to regain her decorum and maintain a little plausible deniability. (You could interpret EE’s version this way too, really, but I am just choosing not to.)

[whetstonefires]

The thing about the Shazam! (Captain Marvel but they don't have the rights to call him that) movie is that overall it's pretty good? Even if I question the pacing choices made in terms of screentime breakdown for '14yo boys making mortifying life choices and humorously failing judgment calls' vs. 'character development wrt to literally anything else about this fairly large cast.'

It's hokey; it should be. It's got some decent themes and fun character bits and set up good solid hero/villain parallels to subvert.

But.

But it massively clotheslined itself with a major storytelling fuckup connected to the opening hook mystery, whose resolution is meant to be the emotional inflection point of the whole film.

Because the thing is, this movie chose to be slightly interesting in how it approached its 'family' themes. In a variation on 'family of choice' (since your foster family are in fact assigned by the government and Billy not having a choice about living with them only about trusting them is a major story element) it went for the more nuanced and kind of interestingly grimy take that the people who are actually in your life giving a shit about you matter, if you let them, and that you need to stop giving the people who failed to love you power over your happiness.

Which is not a bad premise at all! As messages for a movie about a kid being sent to a group home go, that's the most upbeat you could possibly get and still be tied to reality.

The Vasquez couple are written and played well in these terms too because they really, genuinely care, and are making so much effort, but as system graduates themselves they never had competent parenting modeled for them and god does it show.

And the mental health problems of the kids who got enough characterization to have them were similarly...realistic in a best-case-scenario sort of way.

But! Still with the but! Even though they pulled off a lot of this fairly touchy premise rather well, there's a crack in the foundation that makes the whole movie kind of collapse on a thematic level.

Because the movie (following the prologue introducing the villain's backstory) opens with a juicy emotional hook where small Billy is separated from his mother at a Christmas fair and never sees her again.

Cut to some years later, establishing status quo scene, he's a Troubled Youth rebelling against the system in an endless quest to find his mother and go home. He is committing minor felonies to get access to police information about women surnamed Batson so he can go to their houses because eventually one of them has to be his mom.

His case worker after he's picked up again refers to his mother as 'someone who clearly didn't want you,' which Billy rejects as bullshit, and he's valid! Because that is not what you say when you have actual information. That's a surmise. That's a sentence that says Child Protective Services and the police couldn't find her either.

Especially because you don't immediately chuck a kid into foster care because he's found unattended. Maybe you do that later, after a lengthy period of oversight, depending on his mom's reaction to having him returned and her race and socioeconomic status and apparent mental health and so forth. But you don't just not contact her, and you definitely don't refuse to tell the kid about the result once you have.

The only normal situation where an accessible record exists of a kid's original parentage but it's denied to the kid is in sealed adoptions, which are a formal procedure that clearly didn't happen here. There is every indication in this opening sequence that his mom was never found.

Which means she's a missing person. Either because they located the correct Billy Batson and his adult never came back to their house (which would suggest foul play or some other drama) or because despite being old enough to be in school and knowing his own name, no one could find evidence that Billy existed prior to turning up at that street carnival.

Which would constitute a very mysterious situation! What is he, from a cult? Another dimension? Did someone (in the social worker's proposed scenario, Billy's mom) erase all record of her kid somehow? Was magic involved?

So: the way we're introduced to this scenario, there's a legitimate weird mystery here that none of the adults in Billy's life care enough about to do anything but tell him to write it off, the way they have. That his missing person clearly did it on purpose.

Billy's being ridiculous because if what he's trying would work then he wouldn't need to do it; his social worker could have arranged a meeting years ago. So it's a useless self-destructive behavior he needs to let go. But he's valid, in that he's being very obviously failed by the system and is doing the only thing he can think of to try to address his situation for himself.

And then! The Big Reveal is that his mom has been living under her maiden name in the same city as him this whole time.

Which the Gamer Kid Who Turns Out In This Scene To Be A Hacker (he's about 10) learned by. Breaking into a federal database.

So he goes to her house and it turns out. She'd been a teen mother and her babydaddy walked out after marrying her, and her parents cut her off, and she was depressed and felt like a bad mother so. When she saw the cops had her kid, she just walked away. And she wants to believe he's been happy and better off without her.

And the emotional arc of the film rests on how Billy comes to terms with this. With the fact that his past will never take him back and he has to learn to find joy in himself and his present situation and his future.

Having let go of that idea, he's able to emotionally commit to his gaggle of foster siblings and realize that unlike the villain, who was obsessed with punishing the people who never loved or accepted him, or the wizard who was focused on finding The Perfectly Worthy Champion, what you needed to be good and not lost was to be part of a mutually supportive group, like the wizard Shazam was before he and his siblings were betrayed. And then they can be a superhero team, woo!

And that part is actually depicted fairly well, all things considered!

But the problem is that the audience, to vibe with this properly, has to roll with the revelation that Billy was wrong to cling to the mystery of his vanished, beloved mother and the fantasy of going home again.

We have to be willing to participate in the idea that the Resistant Child Subjected To Foster Care was in the wrong.

And he wasn't! He wasn't wrong! His understanding of the situation was flawed but it should not have been flawed in this manner.

Because this scenario as it's depicted doesn't make any sense. The cops do not just keep your kid without following up if you fail to collect him from the baggage claim. CPS does not fail to provide a kid with the readily available evidence that he's been voluntarily surrendered to them, when he keeps running off trying to go home.

Why would they do that, after all? Billy's misbehavior was a huge hassle for them. They gained nothing by denying him access to his mother and the information about her that was, you recall, sitting totally available in a government database that could be hacked by a random 10 year old asian-american orphan. They just...made their own lives harder for no reason, while extending the suffering of a child in their care.

If the cops tried to return him back when and she said 'no i left him with you on purpose please keep him' maybe she gets prosecuted for child abandonment and maybe not, but either way, billy would know about it.

But if the screenwriters had made it clear early on that this information had been offered to him and he'd chosen not to believe it, they couldn't get a proper Reveal at the end because it would just be Billy being unable to continue pretending something the audience had known not to believe all along.

And they couldn't cram a good reason for the scenario they'd set up into the space they'd accorded it.

So they were just like, it's fine, if we cram enough cliches into this space people will react to the familiarity and go 'ah yes i know this one' and go along with it, and not notice that this isn't an actual coherent reply to the question that was set up an hour ago and therefore is emotionally unsatisfying somehow.

Anyway this is an important storytelling guideline: if you put in a mystery to control either the actual plot or, even worse, the emotional storyline, that mystery and its resolution have to make internal sense.

If you pull the Real Situation out of your ass, and it's not a matter of red herrings or That One Fact you didn't have that makes all the rest fit together differently, but in fact no one involved could have figured this out and especially if the people who did say this in the first place had no good basis for it, but still get narratively awarded the Correct trophy in a way that contributes to the thematic climax so the audience has to care. Then that will not get good results. It will make it hard to deliver on your intended themes.

Some people will not notice or care! This is true! But a lot of people will, and you'll get enough of a better punch even with the other folks, if the setup and denouement fit together properly and don't require reaching, to matter.

And when people do notice at all, rather than their naturally flowing along with the climax you're steering toward and experiencing A Story, there will be a tendency to notice you standing there placing roadsigns toward the Intended Emotional Response, and call you a hack.

People call out plotholes way too vigorously sometimes, so I want to be clear: it's not the lack of supporting logic I mind. It's that the active presence of illogic, of what's presented as a chain but is broken along its length, means the central character arc intersects with the core theme in a noticeably forced way. Which is bad craftsmanship on a meaningful level.

There is a loss of cohesion where you cannot satisfactorily resolve how the scenario we were initially shown came to be superimposed over the revealed truth, because that relationship between elements is very important to making a 'revelation' storyline land, you know?

In this case it's particularly vexing to me because the last-minute asspull and its thematic weight reaches back around and at the last minute moves the whole movie thematically to the other side of the line wrt whether it's approaching Billy, our protagonist, as a subject with whom we're supposed to identify or an object whom we're supposed to observe.

It makes all the high-school-freshman-posing-as-adult gags retroactively less funny because we were now more explicitly laughing at him, and takes a lot of the depth out of the emotionally sincere moments.

Up to that point I had really appreciated how, despite wavering that way, Shazam! hadn't actually fallen to the MCU Spiderman temptation to dehumanize its protagonist. Which seems to arise out of this weird tendency I've noticed to assume the natural sentiment of adults toward adolescents is bemused contempt, and that therefore if they ask their audience of paying grownups to empathize too closely with a teen hero instead of setting him and his Immaturity up as a clown for our amusement, they'll get themselves banished to the Children's Fiction ghetto.

And, of course, if they'd been fully committed to one side or the other of 'Billy is a protagonist the viewer relates to closely' or 'Billy is a protagonist the viewer relates to distantly,' they wouldn't have gotten snarled up about how much information to hand over when.

Committing to either option (giving us only as much information as Billy had and constructing a story that was solid from a being-Billy angle or giving us more information than Billy and operating confidently in the realm of dramatic irony) could have worked quite well. But because of the mixed signals and unstable narrative distance, they wound up with a distinctly weakened finale.

[francis-writes]

oml i am literally OBSESSED with rabban and no one writes for him except you! (thank you so much for that, genuinely)

i was wondering if you could write some headcanons or a scenario where the f!s/o of rabban is caught by him wearing some of his clothes because they don’t see eachother often?

im not sure if harkonnen have like clothes that aren’t meant to be worn in battle, but for the sake of this, maybe it could be something like a cloak?

(maybe you could throw in some nsfw too if that would be ok?)

thank you so much in advance!! :D and have a great day/night/evening

Okay, so I already mentioned that unfortunately Rabban spends most of the time away from you, on military missions. Depending on the situation, you only see each other during the nights, or he's away for a few weeks straight. In theory, House Harkonnen and Giedi Prime in general are heavily based on its military power, but other members of his family and people on higher positions spend part of their time on councils and creating strategy, meanwhile Rabban works almost exclusively in the field.

You don't have much to do and even if you find yourself a hobby, that's still not enough to distract your attention from yearning, especially that you share a room with Rabban and everything reminds you about him. It's probably not helpful but sometimes when you're free, you just sit there with his his things or clothes that still smell of his body (at least when you manage to hide them from servants collecting laundry).

(By the way, I suppose there are more casual clothes, but these are mainly shirts and other things worn under "armor" or however you call these protective parts of clothing; and also elegant outfits like that robe/coat worn by Piter de Vries. But yeah, I guess most clothes are made to be useful both everyday and during possible combat; there also might be some things like nightgowns and pajamas unless most Harkonnens prefer to sleep naked)

But even when you're busy with something, at least in your chambers, you started to wear his clothes. Unless you're well-built like him, these clothes are too big and hang on you but that's kinda comforting. It reminds you how you feel in his arms, when he embraces you and you nuzzle into his chest, feeling hidden and protected from the world.

Anyway, Rabban didn't know about your little habit, not that you deliberately hid that fact... well, you simply didn't mention it in conversations and you took off his clothes when you knew he was gonna come back soon. It wasn't a crime but you would feel a bit awkward admitting it. It was too sentimental behaviour, nothing that a Harkonnen would approve of.

But it all changed one day when Rabban came back earlier from his mission and somehow no servant came to inform you (well, maybe he ordered them to keep a secret on purpose, because he wanted to surprise you; or perhaps it was another of the little accidents that create every story). You didn't expect to see him before the next day, so when he entered your shared room, you were still dressed in his oversized shirt.

While he was walking there, he was really excited and full of intense conflicting emotions - happiness and arousal before seeing you, anger, anxiety and stress after the last fights, fear about reaction of his uncle... but when he stood in that door and saw you standing there in his shirt, all those worries disappeared for a moment. He just looked at you, slightly surprised.

You were surprised as well and you weren't sure what to say in this situation, so you just said "You're early..." and didn’t explain anything more.

Rabban just nodded and got in, closing the door behind him. He walked closer and eyed you up. "Is that my shirt?"

You felt a bit embarrassed so you looked away from his face and explained "Yes. Sorry that I didn't ask but I missed you and this, uhhh... this reminded me about you and made me feel as if you were close... I know it probably sounds silly, but-"

"No, it doesn't" Rabban interrupted you and took you in his arms, pressing you to his body. You looked at him and he seemed actually... happy? Touched? Slightly turned on?

He kissed you and his hands slided under this shirt, caressing your naked body. When he broke the kiss, he looked at you with a smile. "That's really... well, how do call it... nice, sweet..."

You raised your eyebrow "Cute?"

He nodded. "Yeah, cute"

Rabban pulled you on the bed until you landed on top of him. He embraced you with his arms and smiled gratefully as you caressed his cheek with your hand.

"You could tell me, I would leave you more things. But apart from that, I think it was kinda unfair, since I didn't get anything from you for my travel"

"I am sorry, but I doubt that my clothes would fit you-"

"Who says anything about wearing them? It would be enough to see and touch them. Or, if you wore them for some time, I could still feel your smell" Rabban smiled and kissed you again. His fingers caressed your inner thigh and you shivered under his touch.

"What part of clothing do you have on mind?" You asked jokingly, but Rabban replied in completely serious tone:

"I am not picky, I will be happy with whatever you give me"

[nterini]

In Defense of Hira - A textbook case of C-PTSD caused by Childhood Abuse and Neglect

In a lot of the shows that I watch, especially with teens or young adults relating to trauma, or any genre really, there’s always a playful question on my mind: where are their parents? However, at this point in show, it’s becoming so much more apparent that the lack of support Hira received growing up, is fundamental to the way that he sees himself and his position in the world around him. So much so that as much as I want to joke about Hira being as dense as a stone wall, I find myself becoming increasingly uncomfortable in how much my own trauma and reactions to isolation mirror Hira’s.

Symptoms of complex PTSD

Feelings of worthlessness, shame and guilt.

Problems controlling your emotions.

Finding it hard to feel connected with other people.

Relationship problems, like having trouble keeping friends and partners. (Source: NHS)

How was Hira Traumatized?

He was left to his own defenses at an early age and had to fend for himself. Just because they provided him with a house and money for food doesn’t mean they took care of him. He was also bullied for a speech impediment and isolated by his peers as a result. He’s probably never had anyone listen to him closely or had close emotional or physical relationships in his life. Extended periods of neglect in childhood and then more intense isolation later on is extremely damaging.

Trauma manifests differently. Before therapy, it was really difficult for me to wrap my head around the fact that I wasn’t actually invisible to friends and family. It took a quite aggressive and embarrassing event, (now funny and touching really) for me to understand that if I deviated from my own patterns or if I disappeared or didn’t contact people for hours that people would actually miss me or think about me. I went out and watched a movie after an event, and told one person through text. After the two hour movie, I turned my phone back on and found 30 missed calls. My mother had informed me that she had called the police and that the principal had formed a search party for me. My face was plastered all over Snapchat by my classmates.  I was mortified by what I believed to be a waste of resources and time on my behalf. Such a loud display of love and even then all I could think about was hiding away and making myself smaller. I wasn’t even decent enough to acknowledge the pain, worry, and fear they felt at the thought that someone they loved went missing. It took multiple years later: a very a tentative mother and aunt, very involved teachers, mentors and friends plus therapy for me to stop feeling like a ghost. To get out of my own head and stop trying to fade in the background as a coping mechanism. After being abandoned by his mother to live alone in a house so she could be with the family she wants, after being isolated by his classmates for having a stutter all throughout high school, only one person knocked loudly enough at the door attached to the fortress Hira built in his mind to cope with his trauma. Kiyoi.

That mental fortress is why Hira is alive today. It kept him safe when he had to sleep in the dark alone as a young boy when he had to cook his own meals. His social ineptitude is due to years of isolation and degradation by those around him. He wasn’t deemed worthy enough by his own mother to be taken care of. Yet Kiyoi loves and sees him. Kiyoi says his name and holds his hand and kisses him and suddenly Hira is solid mass. Not a shadow on the wall or the useless child not worth keeping. He becomes slightly more than nothing. In Hira’s mind he becomes a pebble. Sigh. Well it’s a start. But it’s not enough. It’s gonna take a real miracle for Hira to overcome years of trauma and see himself as a human being. I believe in him though. He’s so brave. No like really though, some of the shit he says is so cringey it takes real guts. Kiyoi is not going to give up on Hira anytime soon he’s too much of an exhibitionist for Hira and a freak (endearingly). Also, Hira is obsessive and intense, so they’re a perfect match.

He just needs proper counseling and a bit of time. I’m rooting for them.

[fandom-reblog-central]

Fandom (dpxdc) Thought 2.5:

Context: Halfa!Jason Todd, ghosts communicate through emotions, liminals can do it to a lesser extent

Jason unknowingly keeps trying to push emotions to his family, not realizing he’s trying to communicate. With his family’s awkward outward reactions combined with the lack of response to his core, he feels isolated. Even thought it’s an accident on both ends, it has an effect on him.

To make it a bit worse, the batfam is liminal with all the death in the family and Lazarus exposure. They accidentally reject the emotional conversation from Jason’s core, so neither party knows why Jason is so on edge, but they don’t push for answers.

Danny (bad reveal, good reveal, literally Just Vibing in Gotham—whatever works) hears Damian’s core humming or trying to trill/chirp, and of course he has to help the sick liminal/baby-halfa core. With a LOT of bonding, Danny gets Damian to drink some healthy ectoplasm, and he feels a lot better. He even brings Jason over, knowing the connection to the Pit was stronger in his older brother and wanting to extend an olive branch after the… everything.

Once Jason starts feeling better and Frostbite is brought into the conversation, Damian realizes he can’t hide this from Bruce forever. And, with how many people in his family—hell, his contact list—had been exposed to the Lazarus pit, or gotten caught up in time shenanigans, or had been killed, it was best everyone knew. With Danny’s only request being “say I’m a meta instead of a ghost,” Damian goes to his father’s study.

(Forgive the ooc/awkwardness I don’t normally write fanfic lmao)

Damian entered Bruce’s study. “Father. I have something to inform you of. We have made a terrible mistake with Jason.”

Bruce’s train of thought pauses at hearing his youngest call Jason “Jason” instead of “Todd.” He looks up from his WE paperwork. “What is it, chum? Is he okay? Are you okay?”

“We are both well, Father. It is…” He grimaced and visibly tensed. “You have to promise to not be angry with me.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at hearing his youngest say such a “childish” phrase. “I will do my best. I’ll at least let you finish talking first.”

He knew this was the right thing to say when Damian relaxed slightly. Therapy was a wonder.

“Um…”

Oh. Oh no. Damian Al-Ghul-Wayne was not one for uncertainty—especially not in a conversation he started.

“Go on, lad, I’m listening,” Bruce said in as gentle a tone as he could (without getting too patronizing for his proud little Robin).

“I met a meta of a ghostly nature. He assessed that there was Lazarus Water in my body, and when he replaced it—“

“He what.”

“You said you’d let me finish.”

Bruce pulled out a notepad, jotting down bullet points to return to.

[Pit in Damian?? REPLACED?? Unknown ghost meta]

“Once he replaced it with the healthy alternative, I found…” He swallowed. “I found that I could more easily accept and show love. My time in the League played a part, of course. However, the Lazarus Pit had an effect on me as well, latching onto my desire to be worthy of a place here. I essentially have a rudimentary organ that runs on and communicates via emotion. Jason does as well, and his is stronger than mine. We have unknowingly been rejecting this more emotional form of communication, making him feel unaccepted and misunderstood.”

[emotional organ??? Accidental rejection? Possible to learn emotion communication?]

Damian shifted his weight under his father’s intense and worried Interrogation Glare™️. “Now that we know the problem, and are attempting to rectify it, we feel much better. Due to everyone around us being exposed to death, the Pit, or time travel, Jason, the meta, and myself thought it best if everyone was made aware. Our meta friend has a doctor who has specialized in this organ and the culture surrounding it for decades. He can apparently better help us manage our health alongside a regular physician.”

[meta doctor. Contact… everyone]

Bruce set his pen down and didn’t move for a few moments. “Are you finished?”

Damian nodded. “Are you angry?”

Bruce let out a long breath, closing his eyes. “I can never tell. Fear and rage feel a lot alike when it comes to protecting my family and my city. You’ve gone against a lot of my training, which displeases me, but I still love you, and I always will. We’ll see what your punishment is when I get more details. I don’t want to punish you for good outcomes, but the methods are important, especially in our work and at your age—“

“You can stop now, Father. I understand now what Drake means when he says he doesn’t know how to respond to the sincerity therapy has given you. I’ll gather the family for a debrief.”

Bruce opened his eyes to see his youngest wincing a little at the emotional vulnerability, but something else caught his attention.

His son’s green eyes faded to blue.

[catflowerqueen]

Indigo Park theory: When Rambley mentions that the Critter Cuff is also a “mood ring,” he does not mean that in the traditional sense. Rather than tracking guest moods, it actually affects mascot moods. Like how it made that high pitched noise to subdue and scare off Lloid. And the reason it didn’t work with Molly is possibly down to the age of the cuff, or possibly she is simply immune.

There was apparently a meet and greet with her, which might imply that she was supposed to interact more directly with guests than Lloid was as a theater performer—so Molly would have been exposed more and built up an immunity.

But I could see Rambley being either unaware of the exact functionality of the cuffs, if his AI isn’t in control of them beyond tracking purposes, or being unaware of what a traditional mood ring actually does, considering that he was using facial recognition at the end to gauge the protagonist’s mood, rather than looking at things such as heart rate—which he knows the cuff tracks. Though that also just might be further proof of him not actually having a lot of access to the cuffs.

Though, even if he does know exactly what “secret functions” the cuffs might have and the affect they are supposed to have on the mascots, he might not understand it or the mascots’ reactions to it/hatred of it considering that they wouldn’t affect him the same way. He doesn’t have a body, after all, and what binds him comes down more to programming—something that is probably harder to break free of or build up “immunities” to, even if he is adept at using loopholes to get what he wants.

That and, like… it isn’t clear whether or not he can feel things like pain. Emotional pain, probably, considering he is able to express wants and desires, but the equivalent of physical pain? Inconclusive. After all, he didn’t show any sort of reaction to the various times he glitched out—he didn’t even comment on those instances at all! But it is possible that glitching like that really doesn’t hurt him, or that it messes with memory storage and he just isn’t aware of it happening. We have too little data, considering this is only chapter one.

…It also isn’t clear whether he sees the mascot Molly that chases you and the Molly from, say, promotional materials like the plushies or her cutout on the railway ride as the same people. They are his friends, sure, and he has a real beef with Lloid… but how much of that is just for show? Like… he isn’t stupid. He knows very well that the reason, say, Rooftop Racers is in such a deteriorated state is not due to Molly “crashing into it.” And he even admits that a lot of his actions were just an attempt to get the player to have a fun time.

In that sense, it is possible he doesn’t actually see Molly and Finley as “friends,” or possibly even “real” entities considering he exists on a completely separate plane than them. He might not hate “Lloid” so much as the character that the lion represents. And his lines in the ending song about wanting to “reunite his friends so he won’t feel so left behind” could be read as slightly ambiguous to who those “friends” really are—not so much the other characters as just wanting people to come visit the parks again so he can do his job and interact with others. Especially considering that he, you know, outright killed Molly by shutting the door on her head.

He knows very well that he is an AI, after all—he even mentions using defragmentation as a relaxation technique! And after the whole decapitation thing when the façade dropped, he did start referring to the other mascots as, well, mascots rather than as his friends (and Lloid). At least outside of the information kiosks.

Anyways. That’s just some thoughts—there really isn’t enough information as of now to know for sure.

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

Here's something!

In the middle of battle, the Dorfs’ wife gets seriously injured. He rushes her to the healer's tent &... she nearly dies. Like, her heart actually stops beating for a minute or two.

I imagine him breaking down in utter despair, but then, he feels her fingers tighten ever so slightly around his. So weakly, but still it was something.

When it's all over, her eyes open weakly, a small, tired smile on her face.

I heard him whispering quietly, his voice shaking, “A'nï… A'nï barákúl ladhi gib uàyúl būjūn'so plix'nï…” (I… I believed that death had stolen you from me…)

Her voice rasps at him, yet the sound is the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard, “You won't be getting rid of me that easily.”

Later, I can’t help but think that he’d also be curious about what she experienced in death. Though, when asked, she says that he probably won’t believe her. Commenting that she actually doesn’t quite believe it herself.

Ganondorf insists & she looks at him for a moment & told him that when she was… wherever it was she’d been, there’d been a some twink there. Like, a bizarrely “pretty” twink. Which, she’ll comment, not her type. Too teen heartthrob, not enough “could crush a man’s skull with his bare hands.”

But, anyway, the pervert tried to kiss her, so she punched him in the teeth & told him she was married.

Apparently, he liked her loyalty, so he decided to “grant her a boon”? And then she woke up.

She asked if her husband knew what that meant. Who seemed to just stare at her, before calmly informing her that she’d most likely just gained the favor of Ôyáseem, Gerudo God of the Wind, Thieves, Temptation, & Death. He is known to detest infidelity & will grant boons to those who resist his temptations to remain loyal to their significant others.

I’d very much like his thoughts, feelings, opinions, & reactions to all this, please & thank you? Especially to the fact that his tiny little wife had impressed the death god of his people by all-but assaulting in.

When you punch god in the face because you are HAPPILY MARRIED THANK YOU-

I love this. Ganondorf (and apparently Demise as well. We cannot escape him no matter how much I tell him that THERE ISNT ANY GERUDO IN HIS ERA.) taking in how much his wife loves him and dammit he will never chance losing her again. Nemma may need a beating stick because the man just became her personal body guard. No personal space, because he will never leave.

Wife nearly dies, but comes back? Ganondorf: WHERE EVER YOU ARE I WONT BE FAR TO FOLLOW OHHHH I LOVE YOU SOOOOO JUST SO YOU KNOW I LOVE YOU MEANS YOU ARE NEVER EVER EVER EVER GETTING RID OF ME-

^ Personal headcanon lol

Chat says differently me thinks->

***********************************************************************

When Ganondorf's wife nearly dies on the battlefield, the moment is shattering for him. Each version of Ganondorf, shaped by his experiences and personality, would react in his own way, but the underlying emotions would be strikingly similar—despair, helplessness, and a profound sense of loss. Seeing her heart stop would break something deep within him, especially given how much he values strength and loyalty. Her heart faltering would feel like the world itself was slipping away from him.

When she squeezes his hand, even the slightest movement would send a wave of relief through him, though it might take a moment to register. He’d whisper to her, voice shaking, hardly daring to believe she was still alive. Her raspy response would feel like a lifeline, a reassurance that he hadn’t lost her.

Afterward, when she recounts her experience of nearly dying and mentions the strange encounter with the “pretty twink,” Ganondorf’s reaction would be a mix of curiosity, disbelief, and a deep, almost reverent respect for her.

Wind Waker Ganondorf might laugh a bit darkly when she mentions punching the deity. His eyes would narrow with a mix of pride and relief, though the idea that his wife had impressed Ôyáseem would sober him quickly. He might tease her about being so fiercely loyal even to the gods, but beneath the humor, there's a deep sense of gratitude that she’s still with him, and perhaps a bit of awe that she now carries the favor of such a powerful deity.

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf would be more serious. He’s not one to easily express his emotions, but hearing her story would stir something deep within him. He’d likely be silent for a moment, processing the idea that his wife had not only faced death but had also won the favor of the Gerudo God of Death. His respect for her would deepen, though he might not show it overtly. Instead, he’d hold her close, perhaps whispering something about how he’s glad she’s as stubborn as ever.

Twilight Princess Ganondorf would be deeply affected. His connection to ancient powers and his own experience with divine forces would make him keenly aware of the significance of her encounter. He might react with a grim sort of pride, appreciating her defiance in the face of such a being. He would be deeply relieved that she’s alive and would likely become more protective of her, though he’d admire her strength all the more.

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf would have a mix of pride and possessiveness. The idea that his wife impressed a god by rejecting him would fill Ganondorf with a sense of fierce pride. He might even feel a bit of rivalry with Ôyáseem, though he’d never admit it. He’d likely make some comment about how no god could take her from him, and his grip on her would tighten, both as a show of protection and affection.

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf might react with a sense of grim satisfaction. Having seen the power of the Zonai and other divine beings, he’d understand the gravity of her experience. The fact that she resisted such a being would impress him deeply, though his reaction might be more internalized. He might quietly vow to honor the boon she’s received, recognizing the favor of Ôyáseem as something that could be both a blessing and a responsibility.

Demise would likely be furious at first—not with her, but with the situation that nearly took her from him. Hearing her story, though, his fury might turn into a sort of grudging respect for Ôyáseem, though he’d never voice it. He would be more openly protective after this, perhaps even more possessive, viewing her survival and the boon as something that proves her worthiness even more. Her loyalty would resonate deeply with him, though he might express it in a more intense, perhaps slightly ominous way, promising that no force, mortal or divine, would ever take her from him again.

In all versions, Ganondorf would be deeply moved by her experience, though his outward reaction would vary based on his personality. The idea that she had impressed Ôyáseem by resisting his advances would only strengthen his love and respect for her, though he might also feel a renewed determination to protect her from any further harm.

[all54321]

The First Meeting

How Scar and Grian first met in the mafia au!

—————

At the ding of the bell, Grian looks up, “how can I-“ he trails off as he sees who walks in. He doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but he can’t deny how hot they look. The stranger glances around the store before approaching him. Grian clears his throat, “how can I help you?”

He approaches the counter, leaning on it to get closer, “I would like to conduct some business with you.”

“Business?” Grian echoes, slightly amused at his wording.

“My family would like to have a meeting,” he lowers his voice into a whisper, “with you Bad Boys.”

Grian feels a chill go down his spine, “what do you mean?” No one is supposed to know about that.

The other grins, “I know who you are, you and the others here.”

Grian stares at him, “who are you?”

The confident smirk doesn’t leave his face, “you may call me Scar.”

Grian’s breath hitches as he studies Scar’s face, there’s a long scar across his face, one that Grian should have recognized immediately. He just never expected Scar of all people to visit their bakery. Scar’s smirk widens at his reaction. Grian takes a deep breath, trying to hide his emotions, “what do you want?”

“To hold a meeting, as I’ve said,” he answers simply.

“What kind of meeting?” Grian asks, cautious. The Clockers are definitely infamous amongst even the top gangs. You’d be a fool to not have even a small amount of fear of them, of Cleo.

“Of business, plain and simple.”

“Really?”

“Yup!” Scar gives him a smile, “so all of us can sit down and have a talk.”

“Right-“ Grian gets interrupted as the door opens again, a small group entering, talking amongst themselves.

Scar gives him a look before murmuring, “we’ll drop off a message for a time and place soon.”

He nods, “alright.” With that, Scar gives him a slight nod, and turns to leave the store. Grian just stares after him, not sure how to react still. Not only has he come face to face which Scar, who knows exactly what their cover is, but he’s also incredibly hot as well. Grian really shouldn’t be catching feelings for someone like Scar, especially not with who his mother is. He’s not sure how Cleo would react to that. Grian isn’t sure what Cleo even wants with them.

He’s pulled from his contemplating as the other customers approach the counter. Grian gives them a fake bright smile, “how can I help you today?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Thankfully the day was almost over, so Grian can head home not long later. It’s especially good because he’s still very distracted by Scar’s visit. The Clockers want a meeting with them . It’s just so unfathomable to Grian. It doesn’t help that he doesn’t know what they want to talk about. It doesn’t help how hot Scar is.

He sighs the moment he steps back inside his place, Joel and Jimmy already right at the entrance. Probably waiting since he texted them that something important happened.

“Is everything alright?” Jimmy asks immediately.

Grian turns around and locks the door securely, “let’s talk about it further inside.” They both still at his series tone, nodding after a moment. They all head to the dining room, their designated meeting room, and take their seats.

“What happened?” Joel asks once they’re settled.

“Scar visited the bakery,” he answers. He adds on after a moment, “yes, that Scar.”

“What did he want?” He asks again after a moment.

“Apparently the Clockers want to hold a meeting with us, time and place to be determined.”

“You agreed?” Jimmy asks, surprised.

“In what world would I say no? He came into the bakery knowing exactly who I was. I don’t know how he got that information, and I’d rather not test to see what else he might know.”

Joel nods, “right. So there’s going to be a meeting but we have no information for it?”

Grian slumps, “yeah… customers came in so he told me that they would drop off a message with a time and place soon. Didn’t have much of a chance to ask for specifics.”

Jimmy sighs, “that’s fair. They probably won’t give us much time between giving us that information and the meeting itself, for a precaution.”

Joel nods in support, “and this delay is for you to inform us before then.”

“Yeah, most likely.”

~ ~ [Scar POV] ~ ~

Scar lets out a low breath as he steps inside his home. It’s not that the meeting went unexpectedly, he just never expected one of them to look like that. He shouldn’t be falling as hard as he is for Grian, not when there’s no guarantee that an alliance with the Bad Boys will stick.

“How’d it go?”

Scar startles out of his thoughts as Cleo walks up to him. He smiles, pushing his thoughts to the side, “it went well! Just need to inform them of a time and place.”

They nod, “I’ll have that ready soon.” Cleo stares at him for a moment, her tone turning a little darker, “are you sure everything went smoothly?”

“Yup,” he answers, popping the ‘p.’ At her look he adds on, “seriously, mom, it’s nothing to worry about.” Scar really doesn’t need to tell her about his sudden affection towards someone of different gang. Not right now, at least.

“Alright…” their tone is full of doubt, but she thankfully drops it.

[dexthtoyounglings]

Definition of Misinformation

Cal Kestis x Reader

Chapter Three of Definition

Summary: Definition of Misinformation; False or inaccurate information, especially that which is deliberately intended to deceive.

Warnings: just a lot of emotions today!

GIF NOT MINE!!

•--•

The droid was Cal's, no doubt about that. You had seen BD jump to greet him and leave to find the young man multiple times. But in the recent moments that you sat in the back room, hiding under the workbench, the droid opted to stay by your side. You didn't know what the buzzing feeling was inside of you, but it rested there like a constant reminder that those who raised you are gone.

Not only those droids, but the mother you never had is gone, the father you don't remember is gone. Siblings? Was it possible that there was another kid out there, being abandoned to grow up in a ship? Or had they nurtured that one? Aided in helping that kid grow up and learn from someone that was allowed to care.

You didn't know their names. You don't remember your mothers voice. Only the way her hair flowed of her shoulders, and the smile she wore on her face. The clothes that covered her body and her straight-spined posture. You wondered how many planets away she was.

You looked over to the droid, who had been watching you stare blankly at a corner while thoughts unraveled in your mind. He chirruped, shuffling closer to your figured. With your knees against your chest, arms holding yourself bundled together tightly, you felt slightly younger. You remember the first few years alone, hugging yourself and crying.

Why? Why were you crying? Maybe it was a bad reaction to your environment, the cold biting at you, but there was no use to cry.

"Hello BD," you whispered, watching him respond with beeps that you didn't quite understand.

His lens twisted as if he was zooming into your face. Was he as shocked by your appearance like you had been? You wouldn't have blamed him, you didn't look anything like your mother had. That is what shocked you. Somewhere inside of you, you had hoped to see and image of her in that horizontally long mirror. But you barely even recognized yourself as who you imagined.

The droid turned as if he was being controlled by a power not of his own, less dynamic in his movements like you had observed. A blue image flickered in front of you, a holoprojection. Sometimes TeeZee would project those, showing you different planets and ships, having you study to pass the long-drawn time together. But the light that formed from BD-1's holoprojector formed something completely different.

TeeZee. Your protocol droid. In his black metal and tall form. You could almost hear his voice in your head. But as you looked at him for longer, he started to get more real. Like someone had hurt your heart moments prior to seeing him, you felt a tenderness inside of your heart. Then his voice clicked into place inside of your head.

"Definition of nostalgia: a sentimental longing or wistful affection of the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations."

Was it real? Was this real? You had almost been convinced he was there, till you reached out to touch him. The blue light projected onto your hand as it faded through the image. Your eyes began to feel as if they were going to burn, and overwhelming feeling blanketing over your stretched body. No. It was false. It wasn't him.

"How long did it take you to find his model, BD."

You had asked without remembering his beeps escaped you, that you couldn't decipher them. You looked over as the droid cleared it's projector, leaving you with a feeling of abandonment from the protocol droid once again.

"A few hours."

Your head turned fast, making your vision spin for a moment. Too fast. Cal stood there, bare of a poncho, revealing his armor and belt, hanging a hilt off of it. His hair was messy from being tousled all day without care. He stepped towards you with light feet, standing before you and dropping his chest to press to his knees. He was above your eyelevel by a small amount, watching you with those soft, green eyes and eyelids that propped up curiously.

"What are you doing under there?" he asked, letting his chin rest on the top of one of his knees.

You thought about the question. You were lost, it was one you couldn't answer. There were no words that could answer that with confidence. You instead counted the scars on his face, the ones that were almost perfect to his skin tone, healed quite a bit, and then ones that were pink, fresh. What did he do to earn those?

You swallowed, finally reconnecting to his eyes, where he watched you patiently, though with much more patience than Cere had. "I don't know."

"Well," he paused, glancing over at his droid, BD looking back at him with interest, "How about you join me in the main room? There's some things me and Cere need to discuss with you."

You nodded, shifting your body. You hadn't realized how stiff you were sitting there. Cal put his hand in front of you, palm up to the ceiling. You looked up at him with your eyebrows creased.

"You're supposed to take my hand. It's a gesture to help someone up," he spoke, lips twisting into a small smile. Your chest thrummed at the sight, in turn ignoring the unknown feeling.

Grabbing his hand, he stood and pulled you up with a featherlight use of his strength, you ducked around the top of the table as to not hit your head.

The living room was the same way it was left, though Cere was with Greez this time, the latero sat directly next to her. You could tell where Cal had been sitting because there was an imprint. He happily accompanied it again, leaving you standing across the table from them.

Cal looked over at Cere, who nodded back to him before making eye contact with you. Cere clasped her smooth hands together, formally folded in her lap. H6 had shown you photos of people before, and you had seen that same pose multiple times.

"In many systems, it is polite to keep your hands in your lap when they are not occupied. Like this," the droid flashes her holoprojector of a woman with her hands neatly folded. And, as you did every time H6 flashed you a blue photo, you looked for your mother's distinct features in it.

Your throat closed, a feeing of claustrophobia clawing at you. And for what? What did it mean to feel like the air was thinning in the ship? You ruled out that it meant nothing, only that your air supply was slowly escaping.

"We are ready to tell you what we have running here," Cere spoke with a steady voice, one of no emotion.

She pressed a button on the holomap, but this time it wasn't a droid, nor was it a woman to have hoped gave birth to you. It was a cube, one with intricate designs carved into it. The contrast between the grooves and the flat of the cube, you guessed it was painted, given color, which was something you saw as elegant for such a tiny object.

Cere gestured to the floating cube, "This is a holocron, Eno Cordova's holocron. It houses information that only a Jedi can access. And this one houses the names of all the children that are force sensitive. Children that the Empire are trying to find and control."

"The.... The Empire? What is the Empire?" you asked, looking around at the three sitting on the couch. The disconnect that you felt in the knowledge resonated to that that you felt with the table between you and the crew.

Definition of Empire: an extensive group of states or countries under a single supreme authority, formerly especially an emperor or empress.

That doesn't sound right. The Republic is a democratic government. TeeZee told you that. He told you that the Jedi gave others choices, gave them freedom. He told you that a Senate let the people rule, Empires only existed in the outer-rim where people made up their own minds under the influence of fear and violence. An Empire couldn't exist in the inner-rim, especially ones taking force sensitives.

A sour expression settled on Cere's face, making her throat contour itself. And Cal's was nothing but filled with... grief. Was grief the right word?

Defintion of grief: great sorrow, especially that caused by someone's-

Death. What happened while you were suffocating in The Hysteria? What was happening outside when you were isolated from life? When you were ever so oblivious to life that it seemed to shift so drastically under your fingertips. Your hands reached down the pink frays that littered the bottom of Cal's poncho, fingers latching onto them. Your only hold on reality was twisting them between your index finger and thumb, trying to feel something in order to know this was real.

"What happened to the Republic?" you asked, finding no answers through the expressions on their faces, "What happened to the Jedi?"

Cere exhaled softly, her breath leaving without noise, "The Republic doesn't exist. And the Jedi- they're.. dead."

You could almost feel your stomach churn.

"What if the Republic were to fall?" you asked the tall droid. Childish wonder, the yearning for knowledge. The crave of insight.

"The Republic would only fall if it were forced to," he replied, "The system is supported by many in the inner-rim."

"Not all the Jedi though," Cal backed, "Me and Cere are still alive."

You felt confused, your head foggy with something of shock. Or maybe it was denial. Both could work. But his words sunk in, poured over your body and dug it's claws into your skin. Empire. Empire. Jedi. Jedi. Jedi.

You felt exposed. Cere. Cal. They were Jedis. They were force sensitive. They were important. To the worlds. To the galaxy. To the little light left burning where the Republic once blazed high.

"I know it's a lot to take in, I understand that. If you want to leave, you're allowed to. But if you stay, you have to agree to help as much as you can," the older woman spoke. And it gave you a sense of relief. Knowing that this kind of shock wasn't frowned upon.

You looked around the sectional. Greez flashed you a smile as you looked at him. This wasn't a happy moment, why did he? Why didn't you understand the gestures and faces they made, yet you were the same as them?

Cere held something of hope on her face, but covered in a blanket of guilt. You weren't good at reading people much yet, but you were guessing the look on her face was because of the information she shared. She hadn't prepared for you to not know about the Empire or what happened in the galaxy through the years you'd been disconnected from it. And you didn't blame her for not being ready - you would've have expected it yourself in her position.

And Cal. He stared back at you with a softness. You felt your heart skip a beat, seeing the way he fidgeted. Why did he play with his fingers? You peered down, watching you hands fidget with the strings you played with. You were doing it too. Why?

You looked back over to Cere, "I wanna help you. But I think I need a moment, please."

"You can take as long as you need. It's getting late anyways, it's best we all get some sleep," she shut down the conversation and stood up, walking to her room with marshmallow steps.

Greez glanced around the room with a comfortability in his posture, either over the grieving state of the room's atmosphere or happy that it's over. "I think I'm gonna.. hit the hay."

"Hit the hay?" you asked, watching him stand up. He made eye contact with you, adjusting the pilot's jacket he had on. The sleeves fit perfect, almost too short, but perfectly tailored. His pants were high, but his whole outfit suited him. And he wore it with confidence. Did he look like his parents?

"It means to go to sleep. I'm gonna go to bed, kiddo," he said entering to the room parallel to Cere's.

And that left you with the freckled boy you fidgeted with.

"Are you also going to sleep?" you spoke up, your inquiry breaking him out of some sort of thoughts.

He leaned back on the cushions, "I don't think so. Are you?"

"I'm not tired."

He watched your stiff features, hiding most emotions from surfacing. Well, there weren't any to surface. Or, were there? Did you feel them? How did you know that you did feel them?

The emerald green that were his eyes looked away and shifted himself on the sectional. But all you did was look at him, waiting for something, or a question to ask him. Something, no, anything that didn't concern the battle constantly waged in your head.

"You can sit down. Unless you want to... watch me some more? I promise I don't bite," he joked, pink dusting his cheeks.

You tilted your head, "Do humans usually bite each other?"

He laughed, "No... they don't. It's just something people say. It means that I'm not gonna hurt you; you don't have to be shy."

Definition of Shy: being reserved or having or showing nervousness or timidity, in the company of other people.

"I'm not shy. I just did not know that you wanted me to sit down," you returned, sitting down next to him. He had this relaxed posture, his forearms lying limp on his thighs and his knees knocked apart from each other. You unintentionally copied the posture, catching yourself and forcing a straight back.

He smiled over at you, shrugging his shoulders, "It's not a bad thing to be, at least you wouldn't fall into a situation of trusting people too fast. Even though you already have."

You stared at him with embarrassment, laced with disappointment at the fact that this sweet, freckled boy was making fun of you. You wanted to take this feeling away, show him you weren't what he was laughing about. And you would.

Definition of impress: make (someone) feel admiration and respect.

•--•

Masterlist