#that being said he very much understands that choosing one of those and expressing it will influence the world

[olliepurples]

mdarc chapter 4 spoilers (tw negative)

i'm a couple of doors into the mystery labyrinth, and it's getting a little annoying having shinigami and yuma go "but how could this have happened? who could have done this?" when i literally knew it was yakou as soon as the game told me that the poison had a delay. this is so silly like "how could anyone have got past this, they would have died in thirty minutes!" ok! narrow your suspect pool to people who die in the next thirty minutes then! damn!!!

[laroserie]

— Various x-men characters dating a non-mutant!reader

— characters ; Scott Summers, Peter Maximoff, Kurt Wagner, Hank McCoy

— version with others characters ; not out yet

— warning ; no particular tw. talk about self estimee and doubt. (as always author has not started reading the comics and their knowledge come from the different xmen cartoon and my hazy memories of the film <3) ( also no cartoon gif for peter because i couldn't find any ... is he even in any of the xmen cartoons ), author decided that Peter has self-confidence issues, also Peter part kinda slide tracked and has more about Peter and his struggle than him dating reader whose a human ... sorry! (his part is also a bit short ...)

— Scott Summers

Scott has no particular qualm around you being a regular human, he loves you just as you are, and nothing can change that. That said, Scott cannot help himself but be, patronising at time. In his mind, you being a human just make you be at risks, you can't defend yourself if you get attacked, by others humans or mutants. He doesn't view you as weak, but, he know how fleeting life is. He isn't the greatest at expressing his feelings, and notably his worry for you.

He will also be more protective than if he was with a mutant. And it show in him being at first very against you befriending any others x-men, he very much care for most of them and he loves you very much, but he doesn't want to have those two part of his life mix up. He doesn't want you to get in dangers because of his job, but he also doesn't want you to possibly endanger one of his mission, he wasn't capable of choosing between you and one of his mission. Not to say, you are as or more important than his mission, but he was responsibilities as a X-Men and he cannot forget about them. But that said, with enough asking and pleading, making him crack and let you meet his friends and fellow X-Men.

Talking about you interacting with mutants, Scott will not let any remarks about you - well not being one - slide. He knows and understand why his friends may feel wary of humans, he get it, but you are different. You are quite literally dating him - a mutant, it couldn't make any sense for you to be against them. Scott may let it slide the first time actually, but anymore than that, and he's making them do extra session in danger room - or they aren't allowed in it, depending on who.

In general, there isn't that much of a different between how he treat his mutant or non-mutant partner, he just will be more protective and worried for them. He doesn't feel particularly insecure in your relationship - because of his mutation or your lack of mutation.

Again, he doesn't have any problems with you not being a mutant - he more so has problem being a mutant, not in general of course, but in your relationship yes. Peter can't really give an answer as to why, but if he had to guess it was probably due to this father, and the fact that he didn't want to do anything like his father did, to you. The worst is, he know damn well he isn't anything like him but he can't help but think that way.

He feels like he's going to mess your relationship up, because of what he is. He try to play it off as if it was nothing, but it's a feeling that lingers in the back of his mind often. He never truly wished to be a regular human before, and he still doesn't, but he just want your relationship to be more normal. Which isn't really possible. Peter knows that, he also knows that you don't care, about that kind of thing.

He can mask his doubts and awful self-confidence with his quirky attitude, he can fool most people pretty easily - expect you. At some point, it get to point, where you have to sit down with Peter and try to have a conversation about it, at first he will just act dumb and pretend he doesn't get what you are talking about, but his facade cracks relatively fast.

You listen, his fears and doubts. You comfort him, and assure him, that everything is fine, you reassure him that weither your relationship is 'normal' or not it's the last of your problem. You love him, he loves you and that all that matter in your eyes.

Now, Kurt could be the one that has the most difficulty dating someone that is not a mutant. He could be scared to hurt you more than anything. He's stressing out about doing or saying the worst thing, that will just break everything. One of the reason why he is friend, with his friends is because they share at least one thing - they can all relate on one crucial part of their identity - them being mutant, it's one thing that link them all together and make it at least a little bit easier to connect. You lacking that, make it hard for him. He still loves you all the same of course, but he feels like not being able to share something so crucial is sad.

So he desperately try to make it up in some way, he looks everything he can about your interests to be able to share that with you, everytime you share something about your interests Kurt will make mental note of it. And he will share a lot about what interest him in return. If you speak an another language that he doesn't know, he'll try to learn it, after all what is better than learning the language of your lover! Kurt can even teach you some german if you want to!

He wants something to link the two of you together even more. It's something he heavily crave. To be linked to you, by more than just, your love for each others.

Kurt may feel insecure at time, that you may leave him for well, a regular human, that isn't blue, has five fingers on each hands - he will try to keep it to himself, but he isn't really good at that. His insecurity just overflow and he end up offhandedly asking you while you are hanging out, if you could prefer to be dating a human rather than him. Obviously, you tell him that you don't, and ask where did this idea came from. He feels reluctant to admit as to why he asked. He feels, ashamed ? After seeing your reaction, he feels a bit silly, and even more when you comfort him and tell him that you very much prefer and could always choose to date him more than anyone else just because they are human.

On a more happy note Kurt loves seeing how amazed you are by his mutation, you never really were around mutants before - there isn't actually a ton of opportunity to meet mutants and to know that they are mutants, even if antis mutant politicians like to make people believe the contrary - most humans he met, weren't exactly thrilled by his, but you are the exactly opposite. Even after being together for a while and getting used to his mutation, there is still this curiosity and shine in your eyes when he teleport for example.

He is by far, the most chill about your relationship and you not being a mutant while he is. Well, that is if we are talking about Hank, after he accepted his entire mutation and all, which we are, Hank pre-self acceptance is different deal.

But once, Hank is settled as a scientific and has member of the X-Men, and has fully accepted his mutation, he doesn't personally really care. But sadly, a lot of people seemingly do and that's one thing that annoy him. The worst is it come from both fellow mutants, even his friends and colleagues sometime! And from regular humans. He doesn't really get why people care about him dating a non-mutant or you dating him - a mutant.

He personally try to not let it get to him, and if it does he will do everything but make you suffer because of it. It most often will result in him shutting himself in his lab for a bit of time, to calm down.

And like others, he feels like he needs to protect you because, you are so ... weak in his eyes, not in a bad way of course ! But in comparison to him you are so small and fragile. This cause Hank to usually like putting his arms around you, around you waist or on your back, to show you that he is there, and to show people around that you are his, and that they shouldn't try to hurt you in anyway.

[babycatglimmer]

An analysis of the trio of light, their emotions and their cards from book 7

WARNINGS: bias, overthinking, yapping, delulu, spoilers from book 7, personal theories, daydreaming and thousands of other things.

In all of Twst, so far, there are only 3 characters with light magic. These are Rook Hunt, Silver Vanrouge and Kalim Al Asim. And they, in turn, are the only ones who during book 7 won cards with the same element present.

The only sources of light in the game are also the only ones who cry during their cards. Even though in the main story they are not the only ones who cry in moments of stress or relief, Ruggie for example, they are the only ones who have received cards crying.

Initially I found this a curious choice, but the more you analyze it the more you realize that this occurrence comes from how, unlike most characters, these cards reflect the end of an internal arc for them.

Rook: Throughout book 6, Rook gives hints about how much Vil's overblot affected him psychologically. He talks about nightmares very briefly, and how he still seems stuck in that moment to the point that he risks EVERYTHING to save Vil, even though he knows how irresponsible he is being.

Rook feels guilt, he blames himself completely for Vil's overblot and it clearly haunts him psychologically. It's something that eats away at him, something that is so deep that it even affected his dreams, and that in a twisted way kept Rook far away from Vil in his dream world.

It was this guilt that woke him up, this regret, this sadness, this trauma that haunts him completely. And this is reflected in his card, being the first time we see Rook without his barriers, the guilt, pain and sadness dripping from every expression. He loves Vil, and this pain, the feeling of being a traitor, hurts him more than any arrow.

And it is in this pain that we see Rook's true facet. A boy who loves too much, who feels too much, but who hid it all with his hunter's mask. But as a contemporary poet would say, he is just a man who was making an irrelevant choice but at the same time changed everything.

Kalim: In many ways, Kalim carries a toxic positivity. He tries to see the good side of everything and everyone as much as possible, but he constantly ignores his own discomfort or completely negative emotions.

What is not good, what is not healthy, the way Kalim lives in eternal denial and always suppressing EVERYTHING inside himself.

Until he became furious. In that dream, with that version that practically mocks Jamil, Kalim found himself completely irritated and disgusted. Angry at himself, angry at Malleus and angry at everything that had happened before. It is in this anger that Kalim finally fully computes the events of book 4, it is in this anger that he understands his own feelings and those of others.

He cries because he is frustrated, angry and tired. He cries for everything he has been through, for everything he has been denied, and he cries because it was all stupid and unfair. Kalim, who constantly smiles and brings joy, for the first time is completely tired of the fake smiles and his own denial of reality. Smiling would not change his and Jamil's situation, smiling was not helping him at all.

From a passive smile to determined anger.

Silver: The only one of the three whose tears did not come from stress or frustration, but from pure and genuine relief.

Unlike the others, Silver has always had difficulty showing what he feels. It is said several times that people cannot tell what he is feeling. He has always been different from the others because of this.

"Too human for the fairies."

"Too fairy for humans."

This is actually a very present theme in Silver's narrative, and during book 7 the human factor is put in his face as a doubt. A doubt about Lilia's love and his place by Malleus' side.

At every moment the need to choose, to hide a past he never knew, to discover what his real role is in the narrative of this story. Is he the knight in shining armor who will kill the monster? Is he the prince of an enemy kingdom, who will once again make the same mistakes as his father? Is he one of Malleus Draconiana's followers, trying his best to save his prince from himself?

And the answer? He is Silver Vanrouge, son of Lilia Vanrouge and brother of Malleus. He is not a prince or a knight, he is a brother, a friend and a son. He, who managed to save the people he loved so much, cries with joy and relief for this.

Silver reached his happy ending, surrounded by people who loved him as much as he loved them. People who could not care less where he came from, because the fact was clear who he was.

He was Lilia's little boy, who would fall asleep anywhere spontaneously and unexpectedly.

He was Malleus' little brother, who always smiled in his presence and who always wanted to stay by his side.

He was Sebek's rival, who grew up together both in power and internally. The one who would be by his side, both with the same dream and desire.

They all cry for the same reason, as they have finally finished their stories.

The hunter is still loved by the queen, as she never saw his actions as a betrayal.

The sultan and the sorcerer finally understand each other, they finally understand that they complement each other and do not depend on each other. And together, they can achieve freedom.

The little soldier can now finally smile with relief, as he has finally acquired proof that he has a home to return to.

Simply beautiful, don't you agree?

[hismercytomyjustice]

Can I just say how much I adore the domesticity Lee Majdoub brings to his role as Agent Stone?

Especially knowing how he approached the role as him and Robotnik both being orphans, which gave them a point of connection from the very beginning.

Sure, his character could look at him and just be in awe of his brilliance (even tho our boy Stone canonically has 1 IQ point higher than him) or just fall over himself to appease him. But he doesn’t.

It might look like he does. He’s constantly bending over backwards to accommodate him and take care of him, but it’s not because he’s a mindless sycophant. It’s because he knows what it’s like to be alone and he doesn’t want Robotnik to feel that way anymore.

When we first meet Robotnik, everything about him is all shiny and chrome. But as Stone becomes more involved in the series, we see all these soft little touches being added. He takes those sterile spaces and makes them an actual home with additions like the granny square blanket.

(It’s not confirmed but regardless the man has shown he’s proficient in the textile arts, dammit. And who else is that crab is gonna make a granny square blanket?! WHO???!!!)

He cooks, he cleans, he tailors, he makes coffee, he helps him with his evil plans, he supports him and his dreams, he takes care of him.

Most importantly, he’s there for him, no matter what.

Robotnik consistently laments the fact he never had a family throughout the series, but he does.

Agent Stone took the time to learn how to do all of these things and also to share them with Robotnik. Because he understands home and family are what you make, not about who you share genes with.

And like, even when Robotnik bounces to go hang out with his long lost grandpa, Stone’s only concern is that he’s not being completely honest with him and that Robotnik could get hurt and he’s right.

He doesn’t tell him to stop spending time with him or that he shouldn’t care about him. He knows how much Robotnik has always craved a familial connection and now he has one! He’s willing to step back, even though it pains him, so Robotnik can realize that dream.

And when he’s proven right, he doesn’t gloat or act betrayed (even though tbh he has every reason to). He’s still there for him. Because Robotnik is his family.

The movies are all about found family and how, even if you lose the people important to you, that doesn’t mean you’ll never find someone to love and be loved by in return. We see that with both Sonic and Shadow. And especially in Maria’s quote about how “The light shines, even though the star is gone.”

Love is a choice. How you express love is a choice. This is especially true in the third movie. Robotnik’s grandfather is ready to burn everything to the ground so everyone else knows how Maria was taken too soon and feels his pain. But he had an opportunity to build a new relationship with his other grandchild. To take the love he had for Maria and her love for him and to share it with Robotnik. He can choose to love and be loved in return.

It’s not like Robotnik doesn’t freely give him his love. Even when his grandpa is about to straight up murder him, he still has a moment where he wants to tell him he loves him. Even after all his grandpa has to say to him is “You’re no Maria.”

(TOP TEN ANIME BETRAYALS OF ALL TIME)

Stone and Maria are great parallels too. Robotnik in the first movie feels so removed from humanity. His #1 priority is himself. And I think if he’d met his grandpa in the first movie, before he’d built his relationship with Stone, he truly would’ve believed his grandfather when he said, “There’s no one down there who cares about you.”

Instead he sacrifices himself (hopefully he‘s still alive somehow, please please please) for the sake of humanity. Or, tbh for the sake of his real family. He murked his grandpa without batting an eye the second he realized Stone was in danger.

We see this paralleled with Sonic too after Tom is hurt. He lets his grief and fear get the better of him and he initially makes the same decision as Shadow and Gerald did. He chooses to act in hurt and anger. Shadow calls him out on it too, telling him he made the same choice to take revenge, regardless of what the people he loves would actually want him to do.

IDK MAN. I just love these movies so much and I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS. T^T

[moonselune]

Hi! May I request dealers choice on the crew + Astarion with a VERY minimally verbal, minimally expressive Tav and them realizing that Tav is actually /incredibly/ sweet and kind and understanding, they're just a lil strange and extra quiet <3 if this request doesn't interest you then feel free to disregard

I did the boys for this one and I love the concept!!

Gale:

The evening was quiet, the kind of stillness that comes after a hard-won victory. Gale sat beside you near the campfire, the flames casting golden shadows on his thoughtful face. It had been a long day of travel, and the others were scattered about—some chatting, others already asleep. But here you were, seated together in a comfortable, companionable silence.

Gale had always been one to fill silences with musings or stories, often eager to share his thoughts with those around him. But tonight, he found himself glancing your way, curiously watching as you poked absentmindedly at the fire with a stick. You were so quiet, so restrained, and it fascinated him.

He had initially mistaken your silence for indifference, or perhaps shyness. But as the days stretched into weeks, he had begun to see the subtleties of your demeanor—the way your gaze lingered on the stars when the camp was asleep, the gentle attentiveness in your movements when someone needed help but didn’t ask. And tonight, as you sat beside him, he saw it again: that quiet care in the way you positioned yourself slightly closer to him than necessary, as though offering your presence without demanding his attention.

“I’ve noticed something about you,” Gale said softly, breaking the silence but keeping his tone gentle.

You turned your head to look at him, your expression unreadable but curious, your eyes reflecting the firelight like pools of still water.

“You’re… different,” he continued, choosing his words carefully. “Quieter than most. But not unfeeling, not cold. If anything, I think you might be the kindest person here. It’s just—well, you show it in ways I wasn’t prepared for.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, as though unsure how to take the observation, but you didn’t interrupt him.

He gestured toward the campfire. “For example, you always make sure the fire’s built just right so it lasts through the night. And earlier today, I saw you stop to pick up Karlach’s glove when she dropped it—she didn’t even notice, but you made sure it was back in her pack.”

Gale hesitated, then smiled. “And you brought me a cup of tea yesterday without saying a word. Just placed it beside me and walked away, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.”

Your lips quirked into a faint smile, one that he might have missed if he hadn’t been watching you so closely. You looked down, fiddling with the stick in your hand, clearly unused to such direct attention.

“It’s… endearing,” Gale added softly. “You’re endearing. And I think I’ve come to admire you all the more for it.”

For a moment, you didn’t respond, your gaze distant as you considered his words. Then, in your own quiet way, you leaned closer to him, just enough that your shoulder brushed against his. It wasn’t much, but for you, it was deliberate—a gesture of connection, of trust.

Gale felt his chest tighten, a warmth spreading through him that had little to do with the fire. He had expected words, perhaps an explanation or a deflection, but this—this understated act of affection—spoke volumes. You didn’t need grand declarations or elaborate displays. You simply… were. And that, he realized, was what made you so remarkable.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with sincerity. “For being you.”

You glanced at him, your lips curving into a small, soft smile, and nodded once before returning your gaze to the fire. Gale felt a grin tug at his own lips as he settled back beside you. In that moment, he understood: your sweetness, your kindness—they were there, just waiting to be noticed. And he would spend however long it took learning to see every quiet, wonderful part of you.

Astarion:

The night was calm, the camp quiet save for the distant chirping of crickets and the crackle of the fire. Astarion sat nearby, nursing a goblet of wine he’d stolen from the cellar of a long-forgotten ruin. It was more for the ritual than the taste—old habits, as he’d said with a faint smile. You were nearby, as always, your presence an anchor in the strange and often chaotic life the group led.

He wasn’t sure when he started speaking. Perhaps it was the comfortable silence, the way you sat there, calm and unhurried, that encouraged him. He’d been thinking about Cazador again—he so often was—and without quite realizing it, the words began to spill out.

“I suppose it’s strange,” he mused, his voice light but carrying an edge of bitterness. “Being free after so long under his shadow. It feels like… I’m still carrying him, in some way. Every decision, every thought—I can’t seem to separate them from him.”

He glanced at you, half-expecting a response. Most people, he’d learned, couldn’t resist cutting in. A platitude, a suggestion, a counterpoint. But you didn’t. You simply looked at him, your expression calm and open, as though urging him to go on.

It was unnerving at first. He was used to fighting for attention, for control over conversations, to prove he was clever or charming or worth listening to. But with you, none of that seemed necessary. He paused, testing the silence, and when you still didn’t speak, he continued.

“You know,” he said, his tone softer now, “when I first escaped, I thought freedom would feel… lighter. Like I’d cast off some great weight. But it’s heavier in some ways. The choices, the possibilities—they’re endless. And I’m not sure I trust myself to make the right ones.”

Again, he stopped, waiting. Your eyes met his, steady and clear, and though you didn’t say a word, he felt understood. It was a strange sensation, one he hadn’t experienced often—if ever. You weren’t dissecting him or trying to fix him. You were just… there, present and listening.

“You’re awfully quiet, aren’t you?” he said after a moment, tilting his head as he studied you. There was no malice in his tone, only curiosity.

You shrugged lightly, the movement almost imperceptible. When you finally spoke, your voice was soft, measured. “I like hearing you.”

He blinked, taken aback by the simplicity of your words. “You like hearing me?”

You nodded, your gaze unwavering. “You have a lot to say. It’s worth listening to.”

Astarion stared at you for a moment, unsure of how to respond. People had listened to him before, of course—but it was always performative, a game of courtly flirtation or manipulation. They listened to what they wanted to hear, not to him. But you… you listened like his words mattered, like he mattered.

A slow smile spread across his face, softening the sharp angles of his features.

“You’re a curious one, aren’t you?” he murmured, almost to himself. “So quiet, so… strange. But kind. Far kinder than I deserve, I think.”

He expected you to deny it, to reassure him, but instead, you simply offered a small, almost shy smile. It was disarming, the way you gave so little and yet managed to say so much.

For the first time in a long while, Astarion felt no need to fill the silence. He sat back, letting it settle around you both, a comfortable sort of quiet that he hadn’t realized he craved. After a while, he glanced at you again, his expression thoughtful.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” he said, his voice lighter now, a hint of teasing in his tone.

You tilted your head slightly, a silent question.

“Most people are so… loud,” he explained with a wry smile. “Always trying to prove themselves, to take up space. But you—” He gestured toward you, the motion almost reverent. “You don’t need to do any of that, do you? You’re just… you.”

Your smile widened just a fraction, and you gave a small shake of your head, as if to say you didn’t know how to be anything else. Astarion chuckled softly, a sound warm and genuine.

“I think I’m beginning to like it,” he admitted, leaning back against the log he’d claimed as his seat. “Though I’ll warn you—I’m not used to people being so sweet to me, or me reciprocating. You might ruin my reputation.”

Your eyes sparkled with amusement, though you didn’t reply. Instead, you simply reached over, your hand brushing lightly against his. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes—offering comfort, understanding, and a quiet kind of care that made Astarion’s chest ache in the best possible way.

For the first time in years, he felt seen. And it was terrifying, yes, but also… wonderful.

Wyll:

The camp had grown quieter as the evening stretched on, the crackling fire the only sound breaking the stillness. Wyll sat a little apart from the group, his polished boots resting near the fire’s warmth, his arms draped loosely over his knees. His usual mask of confident charm was absent tonight, replaced by something quieter, more introspective.

You sat nearby, as you often did, a steady presence that didn’t demand much from him. For weeks now, you had been close in proximity but distant in words, an enigma of sorts. Wyll wasn’t quite sure what to make of you at first—your silence had seemed aloof, even uninterested. But gradually, as the days bled into nights, he began to notice the things you didn’t say.

You didn’t speak over others in conversation, but you always seemed to listen deeply, your gaze steady and intent. You rarely offered compliments, but when you did, they were startlingly heartfelt. And when Wyll had stumbled in the aftermath of a fight, bruised and frustrated, it was you who had handed him a bandage, your hand brushing his briefly before you moved on without a word.

Now, as he sat by the fire, you approached, your steps soft but deliberate. You didn’t ask if you could join him—one of the many things he appreciated about you. Instead, you lowered yourself onto the log beside him, sitting close enough to feel the fire’s warmth but not crowding his space.

“You’re quiet tonight, reserved,” he said after a moment, his voice breaking the silence but staying low. "Well, more than usual."

You glanced at him, your expression unreadable, then nodded once. A faint gesture of acknowledgment.

Wyll let out a small chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “That makes two of us, I suppose. A rare thing for the Blade of Frontiers, isn’t it?”

The title rolled off his tongue with practiced ease, but there was a flicker of something behind his words—weariness, perhaps, or a longing for something simpler. People were always eager to heap praise upon him, to listen to his heroic tales of vanquishing monsters and saving the innocent. They admired him for his bravery, for his charisma, for his relentless drive to do good. And while he appreciated it, there were moments when it felt like a weight he couldn’t set down.

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes fixed on the fire. But then you reached into your pack and pulled something out—a small, neatly folded cloth. You placed it on the log between you and gently nudged it toward him with your fingertips.

Wyll blinked, curious, and unfolded it. Inside was a simple piece of bread and a chunk of cheese, nothing extravagant but clearly set aside with care. He glanced at you, his brows lifting in surprise.

“For me?” he asked softly.

You nodded, your expression still calm but your gaze steady. There was no grand explanation, no flowery words about why you’d thought to do it. Just the quiet act itself, unspoken but deeply thoughtful. Wyll found himself smiling, something warm unfurling in his chest.

“You know, people often throw grand gestures my way,” he said, turning the small meal over in his hands. “Praise, gifts, promises of favor. But this… this feels different. Better, somehow.”

Your lips quirked faintly, the smallest smile, and you gave a slight shrug, as if to say, It’s nothing.

“No,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “It’s not nothing. It’s… exactly what I needed.”

He tore a piece of the bread, savoring it as much for the taste as for the gesture behind it. Then he glanced at you again, his dark eyes filled with something unspoken.

“You’re not like anyone I’ve met before,” he admitted. “And I think that’s a gift, even if it’s one I’m still learning to understand.”

You tilted your head slightly, considering his words, and then reached out—tentative, deliberate—to place a hand briefly over his. Your touch was warm, grounding, and though you pulled away quickly, the gesture lingered in the space between you.

Wyll chuckled again, softer this time. “You don’t need to say much, do you? Somehow, you always seem to know exactly what to do.”

For a long moment, the two of you sat there, the fire casting flickering shadows over your faces. Wyll found himself relaxing in a way he rarely did, the weight of his heroic persona slipping away. With you, he wasn’t the Blade of Frontiers or the hero of ballads. He was just Wyll—a man who had been given a moment of peace in your quiet, steady company.

Halsin:

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the forest clearing. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the earthy scent of moss and pine. Halsin stood by a small stream, his hands resting on his hips as he watched the water bubble over smooth stones. He had led you here, eager to share one of his favorite places—a spot untouched by the chaos of the world, a place of pure serenity.

You sat nearby, your back against the wide trunk of an ancient tree, watching the interplay of light and shadow as the sun filtered through the canopy. You hadn’t said much since arriving, but then, you rarely did. Halsin had grown accustomed to your quiet nature, though it had taken him some time to understand it. At first, he had worried his stories or insights were unwelcome, his efforts to connect unreciprocated. But the longer he spent in your company, the clearer it became that your silence was not indifference but something else entirely.

You simply… listened. And you noticed things—details others might overlook. Like now, as your gaze lingered on a cluster of wildflowers swaying in the breeze, your lips curving into the faintest of smiles.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Halsin said, his deep voice gentle as he followed your gaze. “I’ve always admired how the simplest things—flowers, sunlight, the song of a bird—can bring such joy.”

You turned your head toward him, your expression calm but thoughtful. Then, without a word, you stood and stepped toward the wildflowers. Kneeling carefully, you reached out to brush your fingers over the delicate petals, your touch reverent.

Halsin watched you, his heart swelling with something he couldn’t quite name. It was rare to find someone who shared his love for the natural world with such quiet intensity. Most people saw beauty in nature, yes, but few seemed to feel it the way you did—as though you were attuned to its rhythms, its quiet wisdom.

After a moment, you plucked one of the flowers—a pale blue blossom with a star-shaped center—and stood, turning back to him. You held it out, your movements unhurried, and waited for him to take it.

Halsin blinked, surprised, before stepping closer and accepting the flower.

“For me?” he asked, his voice touched with warmth.

You nodded, your eyes meeting his briefly before drifting back to the stream. There was no grand declaration, no explanation for the gesture. Just the flower, freely given, and the quiet companionship of the moment.

Halsin turned the bloom over in his hands, studying it as though it were a rare treasure.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “It’s… beautiful. As is this moment.”

He meant it. There was a simplicity to your company that he hadn’t realized he needed. So much of his life had been spent in action—protecting, leading, fighting. With you, there was no pressure to be anything more than himself, no expectation to fill the silence with words.

“You have a way of seeing the world,” he said after a moment, his gaze lingering on you. “A quiet reverence, as though every small thing matters. It’s… humbling. And it reminds me of why I do what I do.”

You glanced at him again, tilting your head slightly as though considering his words. Then, without speaking, you gestured toward a patch of sunlight filtering through the trees, where a family of deer grazed in the distance.

Halsin smiled, following your lead. Together, you stood in silence, watching the deer move through the clearing. The world felt still, alive yet peaceful, and he realized how rare such moments were.

“You’re a gift,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Not just to me, but to the world around you. You see it for what it is—whole and sacred.”

Your gaze flicked to him again, and this time, your lips curved into a soft, fleeting smile. It was a small thing, but to Halsin, it felt like a gift in itself—a glimpse of the sweetness that lay beneath your quiet exterior.

Hope you guys enjoyed this and it wasn't too repetitive, I did try to differentiate them - Seluney xox

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Growing Pains

Hey lovely people 🫶 here is a bit more of the Stacy’s Mom universe. Its a nice mix of angst, smut and fluff. Let me know what else you'd like to see from them if you'd like to see more!

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WC- 5.9k

Warnings- smut, unprotected sex, age gap relationship, cream pie, bellybulging, praise kink, use of 'mama', angst, not too long tbh, mentions of misogyny, etc

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Harry was really good at ignoring what other people thought. 

It had always been one of those personality traits that people said they envied, but his whole life’s philosophy is why care if you’re happy? If he wasn’t hurting anyone, if he was happy and solid in what he was doing, why did it matter what someone else thought? 

He knew there would be inevitable pushback against him being in a serious relationship with Y/N. And it was serious, as he had made abundantly clear. It wasn’t at all conventional and in their small, gossip ridden town, it wasn’t a shock in the slightest that the rumor mill began buzzing as soon as they stepped out into town together for the first time, Harry taking her to dinner at a decent place of her choosing. 

Their dates had been majority in the towns over just so they could enjoy their little bubble of happiness. Y/N spent time at his place when Stacy was home for the first few weeks, Harry going to hers when she was away, but he had to assure her that he knew Stacy would be upset and he’d talk to her himself. 

It was a hard thing to navigate considering Y/N utterly adored her daughter. She’d been pushing her mother to go out on dates , get back out there, all of the girl power stuff since the divorce was finalized- but the woman highly doubted she meant with someone in her friend group. 

All things considered, the pros and cons had been weighed and juggled and there had been no reason to keep hiding it after two months in. For a bit, Y/N had been holding on to the secrecy because she was afraid he’d tire of her. That she’d damage her relationship with her daughter and in the town for a fling that the younger man would be bored with after a bit. It was unfair to think that of Harry, she knew that, but considering her ex husband had essentially done that very thing to her? It had lingered in the back of her mind. 

To his credit, Harry had been nothing but understanding and patient with her. He didn’t push too hard to go public, but he didn’t hide his desire for it either. Y/N was his, and he wasn’t ashamed of her in the slightest. He’d go up to bat for her again and again if it meant he got to keep her. The man wasn’t stupid- he knew a lot of the backlash would fall onto her. Something he’d happily take the burden of if he could. It was a conversation they revisited quite a few times, Harry holding her against him as his fingers traced the curves of her face while she expressed her fears. Luckily, it seemed that his feelings for her had proven it a worthy risk after he started talking more about the future. 

Maybe with anyone else it would be coming on too strong. Hell- it had come on too strong at first, spooking Y/N when he’d asked if she was open to having more kids. If she wanted to get married again. Both things she hadn’t given much thought to before he brought it up. It had sent her spiraling for a few days, worried that perhaps she wouldn’t be able to give him the things he needed. That he’d be throwing away his youth for her instead of exploring, that she would be essentially trapping him. Her worst fear was him resenting her for settling him down. 

It had caused their first fight, one of their only. His jaw had been tight when he showed up to her place after being ignored all day, arms crossed as she opened the door. He’d been dirty and sweaty from work, the sun hadn’t set yet but he had been worried sick when she had stopped replying after their initial good morning messages. 

“Are you alright?” Eyes scanned her all over to observe for sickness, injury, but found nothing. His features twisted as his eye scanned her pocket, jaw ticking when he saw the phone sitting inside of it. “What's the problem?” He asked lowly. “Worried me fuckin’ sick all day, but I see the phone in your pocket. Don’t play those games with me, Y/N. You’re a grown woman and that’s part of why m’so gone for you.” 

She blanched, swallowing the lump in her throat as she dropped her eyes. “I…” a shaky inhale interrupted the chirping crickets. “I don’t want to hold you back, Harry. I don’t want you to wake up one day, thinking about how you wasted the rest of your twenties on me. How… how you jumped in feet first, landing hard and buckling your knees because I’m exciting for a while.” It hurt to even think about, let alone say out loud. “I’m terrified that you’ll hate me for it. I think we’re going too fast.” 

Harry didn’t answer for a moment. All she heard was a sharp exhale, seeing him tip his head back in her peripheral vision. Like he was exhausted, trying to collect himself before speaking. Rolling his neck, he looked back at her. “So you’ve worked yourself up over a situation that hasn’t even happened. That won’t happen, considering I’ve been thinking about having you since we fuckin’ met. Is that right?” He sounded mad because he was. Frustrated, more so, at the situation. He’d been able to feel her pulling away a little bit the last few days but he’d felt that sickness in his stomach the whole day when she had been quiet and not responsive to his messages. 

It wasn't like he was a super clingy guy. He knew that he could be in person, he liked to be touchy, but he rarely expected constant communication. Y/N was her own woman and he liked that about her, but this wasn’t something he was a fan of. 

The tone of his voice made her reel back, eyes snapping up to him at he looked at her with an irritated expression. He never spoke to her like that, let alone looks at her like she was being ridiculous. It wasn’t a nice feeling in the slightest. “Let’s be honest here, Harry.” Her irritation rose. “Yeah, I’ve worked myself up over a situation that could realistically happen. It’s one thing to fuck older women, but it’s another to settle down and be in a committed relationship with one.”

It was the wrong thing to say, simplifying their relationship like that, and she knew it. His nostrils flared as he looked at her with slight disbelief. “S’that all we’ve been doing, Y/N? Fucking?” He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Cause I was under the impression that you were my girlfriend and we were figuring it out. Silly fucking me then. Just a little boy, huh?” 

“No- Harry, don’t you do that.” She growled back. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that I could be a lot of fun right now but later on down the line it maybe won’t be. Ill slow down faster than you, I’ll get wrinkles before you, I won’t be able to keep up-“

“And you know what I’ll do then?” He stepped closer to her. “I’ll slow down with you. I’ll get wrinkles too. I could be bald. Are you gonna leave me if my hair starts to thin?” 

“N-no.” She whispered, wind leaving her sails as she replied. 

“Yeah; I know you wouldn’t. Just like you should know I wouldn’t.” There was a pregnant pause, the warm early evening stinging her skin because, fuck. She was just terrified. 

“I wouldn’t. I’m not like him, and I know he… I know there’s that underlying trauma and stuff there. I know and m’so sorry an ass like that ever got his hands on you at all. But please try and see that I’m not him. There is no boredom. If there ever was- which there wouldn’t be- I’d come to you, I’d talk to you. I’d never cheat on you.” Stepping closer to her, his fingers curled around her cheeks, searching her face for something she couldn’t place. Apparently he found it, though, because his shoulders dropped and he nudged her face up in his grip, thumbs rubbing her the apples of her cheeks.

 “I’ve dreamed of you for years, Y/N. If I’d get tired of you, I’d have done it already. But honestly?” Licking over his bottom lip, he pinned his gaze to hers. “I don’t see how that’s even remotely fucking possible. You’ve become everything t’me so quickly it should be scary, but m’not anything but ecstatic. Giddy. Please give me some credit. I’m younger than you, but I’m not stupid. I know exactly what I’m doing. I’ve got the most incredible, intelligent, kind, generous, beautiful woman in my hands. Do you think I didn’t get a little nervous at first?” 

No, actually. No she didn’t. Harry hadn’t even hinted at it, but it grabbed her interest, confusion marring her features. To be truthful, he’d never seemed to waver when it came down to her and this relationship. “I didn’t.” She admitted, feeling a bit of shame for not even considering it. 

“Before I went for it, I was… it was hard to tell if you’d be alright dating someone so much younger than you. If you’d think I could handle you.” He smiled sadly. “There were a few times I was going to try and get you alone t’talk about it but fate was in my hands when you called me that night. I was over the fuckin’ moon, but still nervous. It made me feel better when I could tell you were looking at me, that I wasn’t makin’ it up in my head like I’d originally thought. And then…” his lip curled in a smirk at the memory of taking her against the counter. It was one of his favorite memories of all time. “Then I was pretty settled, but there were still nerves that you’d push me away like this. I thought I was in the clear this far along, that I’d proven how much m’utterly enamored with you but it seems I’ve got work to do.” 

The anger was gone from his body, replaced with a sadness. He didn’t like the thought of her hemming and hawing over if he would get bored of her when he constantly needed to pinch himself over the knowledge that she was his. “I just need to reassure you that since I was a kid, I’ve been set in my ways. I still like the same food as I did as a child, the same shows, the same music. If I really like something? It’s there to stay.” He wasn’t obtuse. Of course relationships had their issues and there was no expectation of perfection 24/7, but he wanted to keep it as peaceful as he could. 

Y/N’s face scrunched, bottom lip trembling as tears glossed over her eyes. It was embarrassing to cry over this, but the words were the reassurance she had desperately needed. “I’m sorry.” The apology was a little whimper before he sighed, pulling her into his body. Large hand running up and down her back, the woman leaned into the comfort of the larger man and relaxed into his form, burying her face in his neck. He still smelled like a bit of oil and sweat but his sweet and fresh soap lingered underneath, giving her the comfort she hadn’t known she needed so badly all day. 

“S’okay, darling. Let’s go inside and sit for a bit, hm? We’ve got t’talk a bit more about what’s bothering you.” 

And they did. They talked for hours that day, Harry holding her legs across his lap as he watched her express the fears she’d been holding back. In all honesty he knew it had needed to happen to make them stronger, and it did. 

It was showing a bit tonight, though. 

“What’s the matter?” His voice was delicate as his palm ran over her hip, curling his fingers into the soft shirt. “Hm? You’re bein’ awfully quiet tonight. Can tell something’s bothering you.” 

Y/N still was shocked at how perceptive the man could be. He seemed to know the slightest shift of her mood and  it had spooked her a bit at first, but now she realized she couldn’t hide much from him. Perhaps it was her own life lesson that she needed to trust someone, but still. 

“It’s silly.” She sighed softly, reaching a hand up to cup his stubbly chin. The comfort of his touch had only gotten stronger since they’d gotten together, the mixture of feeling delicate in his hold but empowered considering she knew he would move the moon if she asked him to. 

“Not silly if you’re thinking about it.” He clicked his tongue. “Off with it then, pretty girl.” 

“It’s… one of those women, the one you slept with from Stacy’s swim club… she was awfully bitter about us being together. Tried to tell me that I was just a phase of yours- which, I see your eyebrows, I know that isn’t true and that isn’t why I’m upset.” She laughed quietly, gently pinching his cheek. “I just couldn’t believe the audacity of her. Trying to tell me how passionate you are in bed, doing all sorts of catty things… I know she’s jealous, I’m rational enough to deduce that she’s just a bit crazy but it irritated me that she talked as if you’re some sort of object. Like you’re… an accessory or something.” 

Y/N had found herself very defensive of the man in the months they’d been together, and while she was aware he had slept with other woman, she hadn’t expected them to be so awful about him. 

“Darling…” Harry chuckled, shaking his head at the thought. “To her, I am an object. I gave her nothing of me besides physicality. And I can assure you, it wasn’t very passionate. It couldn’t hold a candle to you. In all honesty, I haven’t thought about another woman in months. Forgot about her, actually.” Harry had no woman on his radar except her. He was so utterly smitten with the woman in front of him that he knew he would never think of another woman in any sort of way again. 

“Yeah. It is silly, because I know you’re devoted to me-“

“And I am, Mama.” He purred, his hand gently tugging on the ends of her hair to lean it back to where he wanted it. “I’m completely and utterly devoted to you. You’re my goddess, didn’t you know that?” The hushed voice made her swallow thickly, the hand on her hip pushing under her shirt. “There is no one else I think about. They don’t exist to me. The only woman occupying my brain is you.” Lips pressed against her forehead, exhaling slow and heavy through his nose. “I’m obsessed with you. Don’t you know?”

“I-I do.” She stuttered. Somehow, the man years younger than her had a way of completely making her fall back into the shy younger girl she used to be. Giggly and giddy, shy when he would express such sweet things to her. Her ex had never been this verbally kind to her, let alone wax on about how much he adored her. It still shocked her. 

“Mm… good. Because I have no problem reminding you, baby. None at all.” His nose brushed hers, letting their breathing mingle. “I’ll be happy to remind you every single day that you’re the woman of my dreams and the other people I’ve been with don’t exist to me. They’re nothing compared to you. My dream girl.” 

Y/N took the first bite, pulling him down to kiss her. It was a need now, not even just a want. She needed to feel him, to taste him. It was still new to her, how adored he made her feel, and all she could do was hope he knew she felt the same. “H….” She whispered, breaking apart from their kiss as his hand slipped under the waistband of her shorts, wiggling down to cup her ass. 

“Hm?” He chuckled lowly. “Do you need me to remind you, Mama? Want me to show you just how obsessed I am with you?” 

The woman didn’t want to need that reassurance, but she really did enjoy a reminder considering she knew how he was going to give it to her. “I think I could use a refresher, yeah.” She replied, watching his grin grow before he kissed her again, hauling her body up and into his arms. Ignoring the squeal, he brought her into his bedroom, laying her on the sage green comforter and let his thumbs tug at the shorts. 

“I’ll give you as many refreshers as you need, my girl.” He hummed, letting his shirt follow and fall to the ground as Y/N followed suit. His eyes zeroed in to her panties, easily getting on his knees and grabbed her thighs to pull closer to the end of the bed. “S’been too long, hasn’t it? You’ve been mean and kept me away from my pussy.” He shook his head, kissing over the fabric. 

“I was on my period!” She squeaked, watching his fingers curl into the waistband of her panties. 

“And?” He lifted his eyes to her own. “Told you that it doesn't matter t’me. Put down a towel.” He wouldn’t mind in the slightest. Even more so because he knew it would potentially help cramps, but he respected her decision to not want to. 

“Oh god….” Her head fell back as his tongue licked over the sligh through the fabric, wetting it. “Harry… you can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack.” He assured. “It’s your decision, but M’just saying it doesn’t gross me out and I don’t care. But now you’re off of it, and M’gonna take full advantage of that.”

Y/N gasped as the panties were tugged off in a hurry, so fast she had barely realized they were gone before his face was buried in her pussy. “Oh my g-god, H.” She laughed in shock, though it quickly melted into a moan as he pressed his tongue over her and let his nose brush her clit. 

He had never been anything but thorough when it came to oral sex, and she had the knowledge that he thoroughly enjoyed it too. She would even contemplate if he liked it more than her, but it was hard to confirm that when she had the pleasures of his mouth. 

Harry hummed at the taste of her, slowly peeling her thighs to the side and using a finger to spread her open. “There she is. I missed this pussy, baby.” He mumbled, the sheen of her and his spit on his lips. “How could you think of me with anyone else when I can barely go four days without this, hm? Don’t you know how addicted I am?”

She had some clue. A shaky exhale left her as she watched him purse his lips, a string of spit dribbling over her exposed cunt. Somehow he made it so hot, it had become one of her favorite things. A trigger of sorts. She’d never imagined herself liking any sort of spitting, but there was something so filthy and carnal about the way he did it that she found herself squirming and wanting more each time. 

“I know you like that, baby. My sweet girl, like when m’dirty and spit on this cunt to get it wet.” He crooned, repeating the action. He watched as the spit dribbled down to her asshole, humming in satisfaction. “You don’t need the help, not with how drenched this cunt gets for me but you like it when m’filthy with you.” 

Y/N loved how Harry was in bed. From going to somewhat pleasant missionary to completely and utterly wrecked by a man who wanted nothing more than her pleasure, it had been a complete 180 and quite frankly, rocked her damn world. “I do. I like when you’re dirty and you act like you… act like you can’t get enough.”

“Oh Mama, I can’t.” He cooed. “I can’t get enough of this perfect pussy. Obsessed with it, obsessed with you. You know I think about it all day?” His thumb drew slow, firm circles on her clit, making her buck into him a little bit. He ignored it. “Think about when I get to get to you, how all I want t’do is tear whatever’s covering you up and make you sit on my face. You do love when I do that.” 

Oh, did she fucking ever. The man was relentless with his tongue but he became a whole other beast when she sat on his face. In an area she’d been reluctant to, she had become reliant on.  

“Please… I want to cum.” She pleaded. Days after the cycle she was particularly sensitive and the man knew that far too well. 

“Then cum.” He smiled, licking over her entrance. “M’never going to say no to making my girl orgasm. But you’re gonna just keep cumming and cumming, so remember that.”

Y/N had found herself well acquainted with orgasms after years of being reliant on herself for them, but it never ceased to amaze her how the man could play her body like a violin and almost demand her orgasm. How he knew the right spots, the right tricks. No one had taken the time to get to know the things she liked quite like him, and she knew this was a rarity. Her stomach tightening, toes curling as he played with her body like he was the expert in all things pleasure.

The combination on his thumb rubbing her sensitive clit and his tongue pressing into her hole, she could feel the orgasm wash over her. Hands in his hair, she let out a broken moan, the first of many she assumed he’d give her tonight. And just like she suspected, even after the orgasm had dulled slightly, he kept going. 

“Harry, fuck.” She gasped, feeling fingers inside of her cunt and his mouth switching to circling her clit. One thing she’d learned was that he was relentless, especially when it came to making her cum.

“What baby?” He grinned mischievously. It didn’t matter that his face was filthy with her, he seemed to prefer it that way. “S’not my fault I need this pussy. You’re too perfect.” 

For the first time in her life, she was being doted on. There wasn’t a single question in her mind that Harry really was as obsessed with her as he portrayed because there was no way he could fake it this good. Tongue dipping into her entrance and thumbing her clit, working her through another before she successfully tugged him off to meet her mouth. 

Frantic hands tugged at his belt, yanking hard as he chuckled against her lips. “Eager, aren’t we?” He cooed. “C’mon then, Mama. Take me out so I can fuck you the way your greedy little cunt needs.” 

The filth that came out of his mouth was better than any of the sex she had prior to him. His unashamed nature and insistence on honesty had been intimidating at first but now she had come to crave the crass words that used to make her blush so hard it hurt. “I need it.” She whimpered, her own voice unfamiliar to her as she whined at him to get inside of her. Unbuttoning his trousers and slipping her hand inside, she felt how hot and hard he was on her palm. The tip wetting her skin as she stroked him under the fabric, the other hand trying to push the pants down so he was free of the confines. 

“Impatient little thing. I love it.” He grinned, helping her as he balanced over her with one arm. “Can barely let me undress, need to get your beautiful body filled up with me in every way. That’s exactly how I want you every day.” Desperate for him. His hips rubbed into her hand, breathing getting harder as she swiped her thumb over the tip and made him clench his jaw. Her little outfit had been tossed off easily and there was something so dirty about him fucking her almost clothed and her, practically naked. “Put me in, then. You can do it, baby.” 

There was that added layer of intimacy that had her preening, sticky lips connecting with hers as she felt his hips lower and gave her that little bit of control. Swiping the tip through her slickness, he inhaled sharply through his nose before she placed him at her entrance, lifting her leg around his waist. His patience was thin, not waiting more than a few moments before sinking into her. Swallowing her whine as he slipped his hand under her neck to hold it, licking into her mouth until he was balls deep in her. Filling her up to the brim with him, making her feel that sort of full that only he could provide. 

“God…” Y/N whined, leaning her head back into the bed as Harry pulled out slowly, letting her feel every ridge of his cock before pushing back in hard. “You’re…” it was hard to talk at times when he fucked her. While he could run his mouth, Y/N had her mind scrambled as soon as he slipped into her. His dick made her feel drunk and in love. 

“Mhm, I know.” He soothed, though the smug look on his face made his thoughts clear. He loved that she was cockdrunk and fuzzy from her orgasms, wet and soft for him and welcoming his thickness inside of her. It was made for him. “You don’t even have a clue of how much I thought about this, my girl. Don’t even know the filth I’d think of seeing you in those pretty fucking sundresses- fuck.” He growled, the weakness for them evident. She’d noticed it early on, how he’d been exceptionally handsy when she wore them. Maybe she had five new ones since she’d found out- he would see them eventually. 

“What did you… what did you think about?” Poking the bear wasn’t usually her thing, but his mouth was sex itself. Being fucked slow and deep as he spoke about his fantasies of her was something she couldn’t pass up. 

“Things that are so dirty, it would make you squirm.” He mumbled, grinding himself inside of her. The wet walls around him clenched up as she looked at him with her hazy eyes, fingers tangled in his necklace. “Thought about taking you to his old office and bending you over that desk. Fucking you nice and deep with my hand over your mouth while everyone else was in the pool, go back out with my dick covered in you.” The cunt around him clamped down, alerting him to just how much his girl liked that idea. “You like that? Would you have done it for me, sweet girl? Let me hike up that skirt and make you keep watch at the window to make sure no one was coming inside? Because… I really wouldn’t care if someone heard.” 

Y/N knew it was fucked up to like the idea of being caught by her daughters friends while being fucked by one, but he had  this way of framing it that made her feel it to her bones. His thick cock hitting the right places as he spoke about a fantasy she wouldn’t mind participating in. “I’d probably be shocked and- and I’d probably let you. It had been so long and you’re so gorgeous…” she swallowed. “I knew you’d be able to fuck me good when I had those hints.” 

Those catching glimpses of him eyeing her up, or seeing how he gave her all his attention when she spoke. How he’d always help her out in the kitchen and chat with her while the rest of the group was involved in other things- letting his hand brush her or his body squeeze past her. He’d given signals. 

“Fuck.” His head dropped against hers, pulling out and giving a particularly deep thrust, making her clutch his arm. “Yeah? You’d let me fuck you like that? Filthy little thing, Mama. You amaze me…” the idea of her being fucked in her ex husband’s home office was a delicious fuck you to him and empowerment to her. Let a man who could properly make her cum and multiple times at that, show her how sexy she was to him. 

Y/N connected their lips again as she nudged him, signaling him to let them roll over. Harry was never one to tell her no when she wanted something, let alone when she wanted to ride him. “Would you let me sit in his chair, ride me like this?” Hands grabbed at her plush hips, helping her grind on top of him. “I’d take you anywhere, baby. Make you feel good wherever and however you want. You don’t even know how gone I am for you.” 

In some instances Harry’s honesty had her a bit nervous, but when it came to things like this? She was ever so fucking thankful he was an open book with her. There was no shortage of reassurance, no hiding how he felt. The man was as up front and honest as someone could be and after she got over how overwhelming it could be, she relished in how she never had to guess. Harry never made her wonder how he was feeling, if he was mad, if he liked what she was doing. He let her fucking know, loud and clear, and the anxiety she used to experience in her last relationship in that regard was practically nonexistent. “Me too. I am too, I promise.” She nodded, grinding herself down on his cock. 

Harry’s thighs and balls were going to be sticky and wet by the time this was done but he was craving that. Having her traces all over his skin was something he had come to look forward to, to look at as another part of the erotic package that was his girl. Hands held her hips as he helped guide her, head tipped back to watch the pleasure flash on her face. “It’s deep, isn’t it Mama?” He crooned. “Do you feel it in there? Fuck, I can see it…” His deep groan echoed in her room as he took his hand and placed it right over her belly. Felt each time she moved on him, his mouth falling open as he tugged her hand to feel it. “Right there. That’s how deep I am. My perfect fuckin’ girl, got me tucked in your belly like that…” His voice was wrecked, trying to ignore how tight it made his balls but that was an impossible feat. 

“Oh fuck… Oh fuck, you’re so deep in me.” Y/N sulked, brows furrowing as his hand kept hers on the spot, feeling it each time she sunk back down. “You’re… Harry, please.” Her eyes budding with tears, she rocked hard on his lap and knocked her head against his. “Cum in me, right there. I want it deep, I want it to stay there. Please, please… Please, H.” 

The pleading was so fucking hot that he could have keeled over. This object of his affections getting his dick as deep as possible, pleading with him to cum in her cute little tummy and tightening her cunt over him like the idea of it was the best thing her body had ever fathomed… He was the luckiest sonofabitch that got to live. Feeling the silky, scorching walls of her cunt clenching around him like it was begging for the same thing her mouth was, he couldn’t hold it back. 

The broken groan left the man’s mouth while she hurriedly humped over him, Whimpering against his cheek, her mouth fell open as she felt each and every ribbon of cum heat her up, slicking up her insides with his orgasm. Her hand fell away and covered his as he felt her grinding get sloppy, her clit rubbing against the thatch of hair right above his cock. It was messy, sloppy, unpracticed, but so fucking good she felt like she could pass out. Repeating his name as she came, her nails scratched over his bicep, using his cock like a toy to work herself through the orgasm. 

“There you go, baby. You’re so perfect.” He whispered, pulling her back and licking into her mouth. There was no denying that the man could kiss in any scenario, but when he was balls deep and she was full of his cum, his kisses were some of the hottest she had ever felt. In truth, she hadn’t realized a kiss could be that hot until he’d done it the first time. She whined as he sucked over her tongue, keening into his mouth as her tired body started to slow her grinds and sat with him snug inside of her. Even with a taste of him, she wasn’t properly done with him. “Fuck- stay there. Keep my cock warm.” He muttered, stroking the messy hair from her cheeks with his fingers. His body was sticky with sweat and her arousal, his own mix leaking from her and onto the bed, but there was no rush to go anywhere. 

“God.” Y/N exhaled shakily, resting her head against his neck. Words escaped her as she tried not to get too excited again with the weak twitches of his prick she could feel.

“That’s okay, but I prefer Harry.” The smirk was audible in his voice, but she didn’t have the energy to roll her eyes. The large paw of a hand ran up and down her back, the heartbeat still felt in her ears. “I’ll never get tired of that.” The second sentence was sincere. The man always did seem in awe after they finished having sex, like he couldn’t believe he’d gotten to this point. 

“Me either.” She muttered, keeping her eyes closed as she cuddled into him. He still had the scent of coffee on him, maybe a hint of cigarettes, but the comforting one outweighed the rest of them. Y/N hadn’t had a man like him before but she knew now that he was exactly what she’d been missing. Even if he had grease on his tee shirts, sometimes smelled like oil, and had a bit of a grumpy attitude- he’d always put her first. He’d work with his hands to build up the world for her instead of buying it. He had the skill and follow through to do so. “I wanna do it again.” 

“Christ, woman. I’ve made a monster out of you, haven’t I?” His tired chuckle made her grin against his throat, pecking over the hollow of it. “You’re gonna regret that later, but m’not gonna say no.” Flipping her over to lay on her back, her eyes met his again as he smiled down at her. “C’mon, Mama. Tell me what you want me to do next.”

[dotthings]

It took 1000 fake Deans until brainwashed Cas could kill a fake Dean without hesitation, and when it comes to the real thing he absolutely cannot. Naomi knows Cas’s personal attachment to Dean, she had to use 1000 fake Deans after all, she knows, yet she completely underestimated how strong Cas’s love is. Kind of like how Amara really thought her thrall over Dean would be stronger than Dean’s love for Cas.

“If he’s so sketchy, why were you praying to him?” Yeah Dean, why is that? And Dean’s so WORRIED about Cas. He knows something is off, and that there are unanswered questions as to how Cas got out of Purgatory. Cas can be ruthless and impulsive but this detached, cold version isn’t right and Dean knows it. He just wants Cas to be Cas and to be okay.

“If you’re in there and you can hear me, you don’t have to do this”

“This isn’t right” “I won’t hurt Dean”

“Cas, fight this, this is not you”

“What have you done to me”

The intercutting of Dean trying to reach brainwashed Cas and brainwashed Cas pushing back against Naomi’s influence is *chef’s kiss*

“I fixed you”/“I'm gonna help you. I'm gonna cure you of your human weakness same way I cured my own–by cutting it out.” Naomi and Ishim and their resentment of the love between Dean and Cas. Angels treating it like an abomination, a blasphemy, a disease, something broken in Cas, something that needs to be cured. The conversion therapy metaphor could not be louder.

“You want it? Take it. But you’re going to have to kill me first. Come on, you coward. Do it!” I know Dean is fairly clueless about the depth of Cas’s feelings for him, but some part of him knows because he deliberately goads brainwashed Cas. He knows something’s very wrong and the way through is to force Cas to the wall, to get through to Cas to break Cas free. Because Dean does know on some level. Dean believes Cas won’t be able to kill him. Dean knows. Dean believes.

“Cas. It’s me. We’re family. We need you. I need you.” It’s the “it’s me” that tips me off how much Dean actually knows. It’s not just an abstract idea to Dean about Cas being good, he does, somewhere in his brain, understand it’s about himself, too. That they have a particular connection. It’s me.

reciprocates for a long time. I think for Dean to say “I love you” at this point would have been too soon, for Dean to express it in those exact words. Cas wasn’t ready either. He shows it other ways, just like Dean shows it other ways. But it’s there. It’s as good as said. And Dean didn’t have to add the “I need you”—note the progression of we/familial terms to very specific “I.” It’s a big deal Dean says Cas is family, but he already said as much in late S6 and so the actual revelatory thing here is “I need you.”

“You have to choose, Castiel. Us or them.” Oooooh such suspense we just don’t know what Cas will choose!!! It is interesting Naomi uses the plural pronoun “them” when we know this is most of all about Dean.

Cas stops, he drops the angel blade first. And only then picks up the angel tablet. “What broke the connection.” Clueless idiots in love.

Dean only asks one thing. For Cas to stop.

It’s so unhinged that even after all that, when Cas reaches out to Dean to heal him, Dean still panics and doesn’t understand Cas won’t hurt him. Even after Dean’s faith that when it came down to it, Cas won’t be able to kill him, and he was proven right when Cas stopped and he dropped the angel blade. Dean contains multitudes. And it’s so unhinged that even after all that, after Cas gently put his whole palm tenderly against Dean’s cheek when he could have healed Dean with a finger to his forehead, even after the gentleness of Cas’s regrets and sincere apology and them talking out how Naomi had been controlling Cas, even after all that, Cas still thinks he has to go this alone and he has to keep the angel tablet safe by himself and he vanishes. Running from Dean again.

The most requited unrequited mutual pining love story. Cas is the repressed one who quietly painfully pines and his heart keeps breaking through, past the uncanny remote angelic surface, past the constant running away, he shows how deeply in love he is with Dean. Dean wears his heart on his sleeve and he is loud af and is in love with what he thinks is an unattainable object and who could blame him for not comprehending his love is returned. Cas is so often running away.

[neverenoughmarauders]

Lily's meaningless sacrifice

One thing that irks me is when people suggest that in canon, Lily had any idea that Harry would survive (this is merely a canon post, nothing to do with fanfiction). It irks me, partly because it's just incorrect and that's the sort of person I am. More importantly, however, it irks me because Lily not stepping aside when she had nothing to gain from dying is fundamental to the story.

Let's start with JKR own words from an interview in 2005:

MA: Did she know anything about the possible effect of standing in front of Harry? JKR: No - because as I've tried to make clear in the series, it never happened before. No one ever survived before. And no one, therefore, knew that could happen.

Lily knew nothing about the possible effect of standing in front of Harry. Lily was faced with this choice:

Scenario 1: Steps aside, and Harry is killed.

Scenario 2: Be killed, and Harry is killed.

Scenario 1 is (on the surface) objectively better (unless you're a DE and thus want less muggle-borns around). To Voldemort, it's a simple choice: In both scenarios Harry will die, in one, Lily will survive. In fact, this is what makes a lot of people defend Severus' choice to only ask Voldemort to spare Lily. Severus could not save Harry (and apparently it's totally cool not trying to save others if they bullied you).

Lily could not save Harry.

Lily's choice, as far as she is aware, is not whether to save Harry or not, but whether to save herself. And yet, Lily cannot stand aside. As JKR points out earlier in the interview, what Lily did is not that surprising to us readers ("I don't think any mother would stand aside from their child"). Why? Love. Because, as Dumbledore reminds us on multiple occasions: there are worse things than death - most notably in DH:

"Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love."

Love, and life with and without love is an undercurrent in the story. Lily's sacrifice is meaningless when made, and yet it's the biggest and most understandable expression of love anyone can show someone else. Lily cannot, and does not want to, live in a world where she has witnessed her son being murdered - especially when her husband has been murdered too. A world without Harry and James is no world for Lily Potter.

It is also - bear with me - not that different from what it was like to be in the Order at that time:

[Y]ou weren’t in the Order then, you don’t understand, last time we were outnumbered twenty to one by the Death Eaters and they were picking us off one by one...

“He — he was taking over everywhere!” gasped Pettigrew. “Wh — what was there to be gained by refusing him?”

The Order operated against the odds and were being picked off one by one. As Peter asks - what was there to be gained by refusing him? What was there to be gained from standing (metaphorically or not) in front of Voldemort's victims? I've said this before and I'll say it again, Sirius' answer is powerful:

“What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard who has ever existed?” said Black, with a terribly fury in his face. “Only innocent lives, Peter!” “You don’t understand!” whined Pettigrew. “He would have killed me, Sirius!” “THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!” roared Black.

Only innocent lives. They weren't fighting this war because they were winning. In fact they were very much losing. But they were fighting because it was right thing to do. Many Order members chose to die, rather than to step aside and let Voldemort take over. Only in their case it didn't make a difference - or at least, it didn't feel like it at the time. Members were murdered, and Voldemort was just getting stronger and stronger.

What was there to be gained by refusing Voldemort?

I firmly believe this is a theme that is repeated throughout the book: not just love and choice, but the obligation to choose what is right, no matter the odds (the irony that this was written by JKR will never be lost on me), and how love is a powerful motivator to do just that. Doing the right thing might seem hopeless in the moment - wasteful even - but that doesn't mean it's not worth doing, or that in the end, it won't add up.

Imagine what Harry felt like at the end of PS/SS when he risked his life to stop Voldemort, only to realise that Voldemort would keep trying to come back:

“Well, Voldemort’s going to try other ways of coming back, isn’t he? I mean, he hasn’t gone, has he?” “No, Harry, he has not. (...) Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time — and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power.”

Harry Potter isn't about doing the right thing because it will bring you rewards, but because it is the right thing.

“Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory.”

This speech doesn't sit well with a few people because it sounds like you're asked to remember what happened to someone who did do the right thing (spoiler: he died). But that's not the point, of course. Cedric wasn't killed for doing the right thing or making a hard choice - Dumbledore asks the students to remember Cedric because the enemy is willing to kill innocent people indiscriminately. Standing aside will not be good enough against people like Voldemort. There is, as Dumbledore put it, a need to keep fighting what seems a losing battle. Why? Only innocent lives.

Both James and Lily die that evening because they are unwilling to let Voldemort near their innocent son as long as there is breath in their bodies. James had no choice (this irks me because he did, he could have run away - he could have not fought Voldemort in the Order to being with. They all had a choice, but not the point). Lily had a choice. And she chose, like many had before her, to fight what seemed like a losing battle. She died, not knowing that she had saved her son. Her sacrifice was meaningless - like so many before her - and yet her sacrifice changed the world.

In the end, by choosing to do what was right, she was granted the wish she most desired: Her son lived.

[edamette]

Analyzing König's presonality

Original post made in TikTok by shikided, published here with their permission.

Let’s start with the fact that König is not shy or self-conscious.

Social anxiety in his case is expressed rather by aggression towards others. Aggression is his defense mechanism (it is different for all people, for some may be a smile, for example).

He can treat people coldly, as well as rudely, out of a subconscious fear of getting into an awkward situation, of being in a vulnerable position. Of course, he is unlikely to like being in a crowd, but this does not mean that he will start to panic and blush, after all, he is a disciplined soldier.

However, König is active and restless, as evidenced by the fact that he was not accepted as a sniper not only because of his height, but also because of his inability to stay in place for a long time. (This is suits his stormy temper)

His expressiveness is especially noticeable in the way he speaks, and Jim Boeven conveys this perfectly. Just compare the original voice acting by Konig and, for example, the Russian one. In Russian, his voice is much calmer and more direct, more balanced, which is out of character.

König is impudent, proud, sharp-tongued. “Pick your guts off the floor” or “and they said that I couldn’t be a sniper” – he’s literally spitting bile, and this still hurts him, as a consequence of the fact that he’s trying to look like a sniper, making himself a mask with his own hands. This desire meant a lot to him, and this is to some extent his personal protest. König did not fully accept the refusal, did not resign himself.

König is brave, even somewhat passionate, not afraid to rush straight into the heat: “get me back into the fight”, “I’m ready for another round”, “don’t worry, leave the heavy lifting to me”.

However, he understands the advantage his height and build give him and uses it. Moreover, he knows how good he is on the battlefield, and does not hesitate to say about it: “finally, some worthy adversaries”, “they are no match for me”. These phrases reveal a need for personal self-affirmation due to his childhood bullying and humiliation. König compensates for the lack of recognition with arrogance and pride, as even his name (King in German) suggests.

This, like his defense mechanism, can cause a disdainful attitude towards other soldiers: “who taught you to shoot?”, “not bad, I’ve seen better”, “let’s be honest, it’s better off in my hands”, “hands off, it’s mine”, curses are also present.

Some fans for some reason see him as a big child, few others as a brutal killer.

König is a fighting unit, a man trained to kill, that’s true, but that doesn’t mean he’ll kill you for some little thing. He can, of course, but he won’t. König is a hostage rescue specialist, His task is not only to eliminate, but also to save.

Pay attention to his pose in the menu. König does not look shy and cute. On the contrary, his movements are calm, even relaxed, he demonstrates confidence and strength. He raises his hand and points at the player, as if to say “Pikachu, I choose you”, or “we’re gonna make this day”

His phrases sound friendly towards us, like “together we should be victorious”, or “you can be in my team any day” and even “with you until the end”

He seems to be encouraging his comrade, with whom he is now leading a mission. König is closed and cold, but loyal and kind towards his people. Due to his character, I doubt that he has many people whom he truly values, such a person will be very attentive and selective towards those who surround him, therefore he seems to me be a loyal and reliable friend to those whom he truly considers them his loved ones.

Summary: König is an interesting character with a psychological point of view, with his own bee in his bonnet.

Closed, arrogant, cocky, loyal, devoted.

[studioeisa]

collision course 🏁 sunwoo x reader.

“I know what it was,” said Kim Sunwoo, strolling up with the unshakable confidence of someone who didn’t yet understand how much trouble he was about to cause. The young mechanic had a smirk plastered on his face, the kind that made Jeonghan instinctively want to flee. (Full Throttle, diamonddaze01)

or: sunwoo knows a lot of things about cars, but girls? a whole different story.

★ ferrari mechanic!sunwoo x race strategist!reader. ★ word count: 3.1k ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: non-idol, alternate universe: formula one. fluff, feelings realization/denial, confessions, car terms. alcohol consumption, swearing/cussing. sunwoo has a crush and is lame about it. i know nothing about f1/cars and relied heavily on google— so help me, god. (if anything is wrong/off? we ball.) ★ footnotes: this is a self-indulgent, belated christmas gift for @diamonddaze01, because seeing a sunwoo cameo in her ferrari!jeonghan fic was an absolute treat. in her words, "had to bring my other man in here somehow."

At speeds over 150 km/h, the aerodynamic downforce generated by an F1 car is enough to keep it adhered to a ceiling— theoretically allowing it to drive upside down.

It’s a stupid fun fact that Sunwoo likes to keep in his arsenal of pickup lines. He’ll be in a new city, grabbing drinks with the garage technicians and pit crew members, and he’ll pull that little nugget of information out of his sleeve with a winsome smile to boot. 

“Wanna hear something cool?” he’ll ask his victim of the night, gesturing for them to lean in closer so he can be heard over the thumping music. 

His success rate with the fact is at a solid 83%, which isn’t bad. 

Would be nice if it could work on you, though. 

Of course you wouldn’t be impressed with Sunwoo’s technical F1 knowledge. You had your own array of race tactics and data analysis, always knowing just how to make the car’s performance fit within the larger race context. 

You were brilliant, productive, and ruthless. The brain behind the brawn of the indomitable Scuderia Ferrari.

Sunwoo is reminded of it now as he leans over the hood of the SF-23, his brow furrowed with concentration. He catches your eye from across the garage.

“Hey, strategist,” he grunts out, and you approach gingerly to see what he’s griping about. 

Once you’re by his side, he asks, “You sure about this tire strategy? Softs at the start? I don’t know if we’ve got the grip for that, especially in this heat.”

Your expression remains perfectly neutral as you respond. “I’ve run the numbers,” you say. “The tire temps on the softs will be optimal. We can manage the degradation. The first few laps will be crucial, but we’ll have an advantage after that.” 

An advantage. Sunwoo lets out a derisive snort. 

“We’re talking about a five-second difference in lap times, and track conditions are ass,” he argues, wielding the wrench in his hand as he speaks. “One wrong move? We’re out of contention. I’m telling you, we’ll burn through those tires too fast.” 

“And I’m telling you, I know the risk.” Your tone is unwavering as ever, like you’re far too used to your decisions being questioned by hard-headed mechanics like Sunwoo. “I also know the reward. Trust the data.” 

There it was. Your go-to catchphrase. Trust the data. 

In the years that Sunwoo has worked alongside you, he can no longer count on two hands the amount of times you’ve thrown him that line. It was your way of getting him— and everyone else— to shut up, and he’d be damned if he tried to push back on it now. 

“You’re the boss,” he mumbles as he goes back to checking the car. 

In the corner of his eye, he sees the slight twitch in your jaw, as if you’re contemplating saying something more. You seem to decide against it, instead choosing to walk off with your chin held high. Maintaining faith in your own numbers, in your very credo of trusting the data. 

Sunwoo shakes his head to himself. He can feel the pull of his gut, but your confidence is hard to ignore.

It quickly becomes apparent that your conviction— and your blasted data— are not misplaced. The softs perform better than anyone had anticipated. By the time the race is nearly halfway through, your tire strategy is pulling ahead. 

The radio crackles to life with Sangyeon’s voice. “You’re going to need to hold your ground now,” the race engineer says. “Great call on the softs.” 

Sunwoo huffs out an exhale. Honestly, he doesn’t even know why he still tries at this point. 

You materialize at his side wordlessly. At first glance, there’s nothing in your expression that might give away what you’re feeling or thinking. But Sunwoo has known you long enough to recognize the upward arch of your eyebrow, the amused purse of your lips. 

I told you so, you’re saying without saying, and he can’t help the way that it makes him laugh. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, running one hand through his sweat-slicked hair. “You were right. Trust the data.” 

“Trust me,” you amend with a knowing smile.

Sunwoo doesn’t quite know why, but something about your subdued smugness bowls him over. You’re already wandering off to check the timing board before he can grasp one of his witty remarks, leaving him at a rare loss. 

It was the strangest thing to admit, but he found himself wanting to be harmlessly wrong again— if it meant seeing that look on your face once more.

An F1 car can theoretically drive upside down. In the same vein, you’ve not-so theoretically tilted Sunwoo’s world on its axis.

F1 tires can reach temperatures of over 120°C during a race, which is necessary for optimal grip.

Sunwoo is no stranger to heat. His job has taken him all over the world, has put him through the sweltering temperatures of Bahrain and the merciless climate of Brazil. 

He’s learned how to handle those. 

Hot people, however? 

You’re several paces away from Sunwoo, your fingers wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle. There’s a lot of celebration in this middle-of-nowhere Austin bar, especially after Jeonghan finished P1. But Sunwoo can’t be bothered to care about his intoxicated fellow crew members. 

Not when you’re dressed like a cowgirl— a fringed vest, a leather hatband, and a goddamn hat. 

Was the bar a cowboy-themed one? Yes. Was Sunwoo prepared to see you in something outside of your usual race-day attire? Not quite.

He’s in the midst of untangling his complicated web of thoughts when you catch him staring. He looks away a second too late, because you’re rounding on him mere minutes later. 

“Never seen a strategist in a hat before?” you drawl, your attempted accent so horrendous that Sunwoo can’t help but bark out a laugh. 

Play it cool, a voice says in the back of his head as he leans on the bar counter. 

“Didn’t think anyone could pull it off. Especially you,” he teases. 

You sip from your beer, your eyes never leaving his face. Something about the action makes Sunwoo’s breath hitch. 

“Yeah? Thought I was all numbers and charts?” you shoot back, the lip of your bottle resting over one corner of your mouth. It’s a sight that’s going to burn itself into Sunwoo’s brain for weeks, he’s sure. 

“I mean, you do spend most of your time with a headset on, looking like you’re about to break down tire strategies. Not…” He gestures vaguely to your get-up. “Whatever this is.”

You laugh, and the sound catches him off guard. It’s low and easy, like you’re genuinely enjoying this. The two of you had always worked in close coordination, but light moments were rare in your high-stakes positions. “I can do both. Multitasking is my specialty,” you say breezily. 

Something about your tone— confident, but with just enough challenge— makes Sunwoo’s heart beat a little faster. “Well, if you can multitask,” he says, trying to keep it light, “I guess you won’t mind helping me figure out how to not make a fool of myself right now.”

There’s the ghost of a smirk on your face. “You’re not making a fool of yourself. Not yet, at least.” 

“So you’re saying there’s still time?”

“Maybe. Depends on how much you want to embarrass yourself.”

It’s a bit dizzying, how fast-paced this conversation is going. As much as Sunwoo would like to blame it on the alcohol, he knows it runs a little deeper than that. 

“You’re drunk,” he says for the lack of a better thing to say. The rest of his sentence goes unspoken: You’re drunk, and that’s the only reason you’re bantering with me like this. 

“Maybe a little buzzed, but I’ve got a clear head,” you answer. When you go on, your voice is pitched just low enough that he has to lean in a bit more to hear you. 

“You’re not exactly subtle, you know,” you note, and Sunwoo briefly considers making a run for it then and there. 

The air suddenly feels too warm, too thick. He tries to laugh it off, but it comes out a little strangled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Those little glances,” you say, flicking your eyes over him in a way that makes him painfully aware of every inch of his body. “You were checking me out, Kim.” 

“Was not.” 

Crap, Sunwoo thinks as the answer comes out of him a little too fast, a little too defensive. 

He backtracks. “I was just—” 

But then you do that again— sipping your drink while staring directly at him— and the words hitch in his throat. He’s caught. Completely. 

The flirtatious, suave Kim Sunwoo is in over his head, just because his team’s race strategist deigned to toy with him. 

What a joke. 

“You’re just?” you prompt, the slight grin on your face giving away the fact that you know what effect you had on him. 

Sunwoo tongues the inside of his cheek. “I was just trying to get my head on straight,” he finally says.

He’s not used to being on the back foot. He’s always held his own in situations such as these, and yet here you are— subjecting him to a sudden, wild rush of feeling with a few choice words and moves. His mind is reeling over the fact that this is how lethal you are tipsy. How much more if you were sober? 

A corner of your lip curls just enough to be dangerous. “Well,” you say, almost too casually, “looks like your head’s all over the place now, huh?”

There’s an unfamiliar heat blooming in his chest, one that burns far more than any tire blanket. 

“Yeah,” he grumbles in response. “No kidding.” 

An F1 car— including its driver— weighs around 740 kg, with the car itself weighing just over 700 kg.

Remaining lightweight is crucial to any car’s victory. Sunwoo’s job demands that he maintain the steadiness of things, never sacrificing safety for durability and vice versa. 

He keeps his hands steady as he fastens the car’s bolts one more time. The hum of the garage surrounds him, a familiar rhythm that he could work in with his eyes closed. It’s in moments like this that he feels most at peace. When the noise fades into the background, when the weight of everything else in his life feels distant.

Except the weight isn’t distant today; instead, it’s in the same room as him. 

You’d laughed at his joke earlier. Some stupid wisecrack he made about Mingyu of McLaren. He doesn’t even remember what he said anymore, because the sound of your giggle had just emptied out his brain. 

Sunwoo wipes his hands on a rag, shaking his head. Focus, he mentally chides himself. There’s a job to do. There’s always a job to do. You have to—

“Hey, Kim.” 

Well, so much for that. 

His gaze snaps up to where you’re standing by the garage door. You have your arms crossed in front of you, and there’s a slight frown on your expression. 

“What’s got you distracted?” you ask point blank. “You’ve been off all morning.” 

Busted. Sunwoo almost wants to laugh at just how absurd this whole situation is. How did he ever think anything would get past you? 

He tries, still, to brush it off. “I’m fine,” he says as evenly as he can manage. 

You step closer, your gaze narrowing as you look him over. For a second, Sunwoo feels like you can see right through him.

“You’ve been quiet,” you point out. “And usually you never shut up.” 

He raises one hand over his heart, feigning like he’s been wounded. That at least draws a small chuckle from you, but you don’t look like you’re going to back down any time soon. 

“I’m just focused,” he says. “Gotta keep everything in balance, am I right?” 

“Balance,” you repeat with amusement. “That’s your thing, isn’t it?” 

Sunwoo could praise the heavens at the opportunity to veer the topic into safer waters. He snatches up the opportunity, immediately launching into an enthusiastic ramble of, “Yeah. It’s all about maintaining the right weight. The right balance between power, handling, and fuel efficiency. Gotta make sure nothing’s out of place, or else the entire thing could fall apart.” 

Really, he should’ve known better than to think you would let him off easy. 

“And yet, here you are,” you say in a way that makes him feel like you’re playing a different kind of game now. “Completely off-balance yourself.”

Damn it. 

You’re not talking about cars anymore. Hell, you’re probably not even just talking about how preoccupied he’s been. Everything from the glint in your eye to the teasing edge in your voice promises trouble, threatens to read him better than any book. 

“I guess I’m a little bit off-balance,” he admits, the confession escaping him before he can reel it in. “But I’m getting used to it.” 

You give him a long look, something unspoken passing between you. Then, without warning, you smile— something soft, almost shy, and Sunwoo forgets his damn name. 

It’s like a weight he’s been carrying for so long has suddenly lifted, even if just for a moment. A glowing sort of warmth spreads through him, light and freeing.

“You’re not the only one,” you muse, your tone almost thoughtful now. “We all are. Maybe that’s what makes us good at what we do. We’ve learned how to keep our heads straight even when everything else is... a little out of whack.”

What is this ‘we’ business, Sunwoo almost teases you. The undercurrent of your words has him thinking this conversation has nothing to do with the state of the garage, but everything to do with whatever weird tension has been crackling between you two. 

The truth is, he's never felt this light before. The weight of his feelings for you, the tension in the pit of his stomach, feels like something he’s been carrying around for ages— but right now, in this fleeting moment of understanding, it’s like the air has cleared. He doesn’t know what to do with it, but he knows it’s there. This strange, giddy feeling thrumming below his ribs.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice a little steadier. “I guess we make it work.”

Surprisingly, he’s not worried about getting things right. He’s not thinking about the balance of power or how much he can handle before breaking. 

All he knows is that in this moment, with you standing in front of him, the weight he’s been carrying feels a little more like something he can handle.

Maybe it’s the start of something. Or maybe it’s just a crush.

Either way, it leaves him feeling light. 

A well-executed pit stop takes less than two seconds, with each mechanic trained to handle their specific role.

Over the years, Sunwoo has steeled himself to the pressures of being precise, of being steadfast and reliable under the world’s most insane time crunch. Every millisecond counts. He knows that better than anybody. 

He’s done this a thousand times, and each movement is like a second nature. The tires are off, the new ones are on. The fuel is topped up. The car is ready to go. 

Soonyoung’s car is on its way again, speeding off into the distance. Flawless, just like always. 

Sunwoo lingers, his eyes drifting to where you’re standing. He lets out a long breath, shaking his head slightly. It’s getting harder and harder to ignore how he feels whenever you’re near. And for reasons he can’t quite pinpoint, it’s only grown more unbearable.

Every second he spends just working with you is like another fleeting moment, ticking away before he loses the courage to say anything.

You’re reviewing data on your tablet, and so you don’t notice him right away Sunwoo coming up to you. When you look up, there’s the slightest shift in your expression. The smallest softening. 

“Nice work,” you say coolly. There’s something almost fond in the way that you look at him, and it has him feeling like he’s on shaky ground. 

“Thanks,” he says, trying to sound casual. He knows he’s not fooling anyone, least of all you. He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that he’s sure makes him look more like a mess than the reliable mechanic he’s supposed to be.

There’s a brief silence between you, the sounds of the garage fading in the background. The team is starting to disperse, moving onto their next tasks, but Sunwoo can’t seem to shake the weight of the moment. The pressure of the milliseconds, the years of perfecting his craft, feel insignificant compared to the one question that’s been gnawing at him for weeks.

If he’s learned anything from his driver friends, it’s that hesitation can cost you everything.

“Listen,” he starts, his throat suddenly dry. He forces the words out before he can second-guess himself. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

You tilt your head to one side. A wordless encouragement of go on. 

Sunwoo takes a deep breath, his hands still clammy despite the cool air of the garage. He’s never been good at this. Not the racing, not the work on the car, but this— this thing that’s been building up between the two of you. 

“I know we’re both busy, but… after the race, I was wondering if you’d want to grab coffee with me. Like, outside of all this.” He gestures vaguely at the cars, the people, the entire race track that’s been your shared world for so long. “I’d, uh, like to spend time with you. Not as part of the team. Just... us.”

You blink up at him, processing the words. For a second, he’s sure he’s just made a fool of himself. Maybe he’s misread every sign. Maybe you’ll just laugh it off.

But then you smile. A slow, genuine smile that makes his heart skip a beat.

“Finally,” you exhale, and Sunwoo doesn’t have the room to press you on what you mean because you hit him with, “I’d like that, Sunwoo.” 

So this is what it feels like, Sunwoo thinks, to finish P1. 

“Great,” he stammers. “I’ll see you later, then.” 

“Later,” you echo, your tone teasing but soft. “Looking forward to it.” 

Sunwoo steps back, nearly knocking into a tool box as he tries to take his leave. You don’t care much for his less-than-gracious exit; in fact, it makes you laugh a little, and it only makes him feel giddier than ever. It’s like a pit stop in the middle of a race— short, but thrilling, and completely worth it.

Every millisecond does count. 

And for once, he feels like he’s made the right choice with the time he’s spent.

🏎️ end notes: fan fiction of fan fiction? likelier than you think. if you love formula one and seventeen, you're bound to enjoy tara's ferrari!jeonghan piece, full throttle (part one & two). and to tara: this is insane. we have to stop exchanging fics like they're christmas gifts. <3 you.

[scintillyyy]

hmmm i think to me. i do, on a completely logical level, understand and appreciate the read on the drakes where they had a kid out of obligation/because it's considered the done thing for heterosexual couples. it definitely fits with the fact that they did prioritize their own work, desires, and interests over the presence and hard work needed to raising a child.

but mmm in my opinion i don't personally think the obligation angle is like. quite it. as far as i see them. like idk. i definitely think that they were ill-equipped to handle the full responsibilities of parenthood and did make choices that prioritized not inconveniencing what they wanted to do and were ultimately *unskilled* in parenting but to me that in no way to me means that they wouldn't have not chosen to have tim at all with a more accepting heterosexual culture of not having kids. you can tell in the fact that jack, while often failing at the burdens of parenthood, is shown quite often to believe that tim is the best thing that ever happened to him. you can tell in batman #134 where alternate janet expresses great joy that she is alive to meet an alternate version of her son that she is extremely grateful for tim's existence.

and while often regretful parents still do find their children's existence at least worthy, that's genuinely not the vibe i get from the drakes. the drakes have genuine joy in their son's very existence and it's shown quite often how happy they are he's their son. they struggled a lot and did end up failing to fit him into their lives, but at the same time their time is also littered with them trying to fit him into their lives at least a little. tim even says that most parents wouldn't take their kids to the things like the art galleries and operas but his parents took him. i'm not saying that this makes them parents of the year, but these activities normally being something you'd get a babysitter for and them wanting to take tim with them instead indicates to me that they did want to fit him into their lives, they just also struggled a lot to do so. so i think that to reduce it to "they had a kid because society tells you to have kids -> they then didn't actually want to raise said kid" makes sense as something that does happen but i do think that to me. the drakes are a little bit more nuanced than that in their motivations. parenthood, even for the best prepared, is a fundamental upheaval to your life that you might think you're prepared for and then it turns out you're not because of how much it changes your life. you can want something a lot and then ultimately not be able to handle the responsibilities. but that falls under "should the drakes have had a kid/wanted to have a kid knowing they wouldn't be able to handle the struggles that come with the actuality of having one" which is a fundamentally different question of "did they drakes want to have kids or were the obligated to have one". and the drakes probably didn't know they wouldn't be that good at parenting! or that they wouldn't be able to handle it! truly parenting is one of those things where even with all the prep in the world, you truly have no way of knowing how you'll end up until after you've become a parent. so of course they would *want* to have kids. most people who choose to have kids do so thinking they can handle it and wanting it. and it's unfortunate when that ends up not being the case, but it's not so easy as only people who are going to be good at it, do it. that's the inherent tragedy of the drakes, to me. that they wanted tim more than anything in the world. if they went back in time they'd choose to have him again and again and again in any universe. they wouldn't make a different choice at all, if it means tim gets to exist. but that doesn't translate to them being able to handle parenting or beind good or effective at it. and that's the tragedy of their relationship imo. that they will choose him but will ultimately hurt him in that choice of him because of their imperfectness and inability to change themselves for him, who they want so dearly. idk for me the concept of "want" is separate from their capabilities to change for that want. and that's why i don't necessarily see it as an obligation on their part. they'd 100% do it all over again, have him again, have a shitty marriage together, if it means that tim gets a chance to grow into the wonderful person they clearly think he is.

and i always say that we never know the drakes before the circus narratively dooms them. their time at the circus before the deaths of the flying graysons show a normal family who is happy to spend time with each other. the only time we actually see them is after they have been broken beyond repair by the narrative. in fact, in a world without young justice, a universe where tim doesn't become robin and dick grayson doesn't seem to exist ergo they never went to the circus, jack and janet are both shown to be alive and present with tim, living as a normal family. they were fundamentally unable to handle the dooming of the narrative!! they didn't have a kid thinking "oh but what if we go to the circus and see people die, on second thought maybe we shouldn't i don't think i could handle that". they wanted tim! they just. couldn't quite handle everything that happens. that's what's sad. to me.

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

This is a very long post!

These last couple of months, it’s been interesting to talk about Nesta as a character and how her subsequent characterization is so integral to pointing out the problems in the series. Whether or not you view Nesta to be ‘real’ or ‘good’ character is one thing, and often subjective. Our own personal backgrounds may muddle or influence whether we like these characters or not.

The reason why I think Nesta is an interesting character is because of how she kind of…ruins the story, or the illusion of a story we are given. There are many times in the story where I think SJM could have elaborated on the qualities that she gushes about, but she intentionally chooses not to. For example, if SJM kept Rhysand consistent, I could see him disliking Nesta and wanting to actually hurt her, but have him think about Feyre and her wants and ultimately relent to Feyre’s want. One thing about Tamlin’s abuse that I think was done well was the fact that he genuinely seems broken up by the fact he can’t control his anger, and he feels something akin to guilt, but he doesn’t stop the abuse. It highlights the effect of the victim, not the intention of the abuser. I don’t know if it was intentionally done, but I liked that element of his abuse. I also liked that the dangers that Tamlin are worried about are real – the threat is real. Why? Because I think it proves, to some extent, that we should not justify abuse, even if the abuse seems rational. It proves that in this world, these men should still adhere to the fact of self-control. How can Feyre in a relationship with Tamlin if he can’t regulate his emotions around her?

But then the story does something weird – it embodies Rhysand with these very same qualities. It also recreates Tamlin’s abuse of Feyre with…Nesta – and then justifies it. Nesta arrives in a similar position as Feyre, yet the story goes to great lengths to vilify her for not reaching out; this is a far-cry from how the story (and stans) think about Feyre. (paint scene, fire scene, solstice scene, and hiking scene). We're supposed to sympathize with the decisions being made; so much rides on the fact that the IC are doing this out of the kindness of their heart:

Did Nesta notice the faint glimmer of worry in Amren’s smoky eyes—understand how rare it was? More than that, did Nesta understand that this meeting wasn’t to condemn her, but instead came from a place of concern? Her simmering stare told him she considered this purely an attack.

We're supposed to think about the worry of the Inner Circle and not think about the way they've decided to express their worry. Its similar to this scene that we get with Lucien to Feyre about Tamlin:

“I’ve given him time,” I said. “I can’t stay cooped up in the house forever.” “He knows that—he doesn’t say it, but he knows it. Trust me. You will forgive him if his family’s own slaughter keeps him from being so … liberal with your safety. He’s lost those he cares for too many times. We all have.” Every word was like fuel added to the simmering pit in my gut. “I don’t want to marry a High Lord. I just want to marry him.”“One doesn’t exist without the other. He is what he is. He will always, always seek to protect you, whether you like it or not. Talk to him about it—really talk to him, Feyre. You’ll figure it out.” Our gazes met. A muscle feathered in Lucien’s jaw. “Don’t ask me to pick.” “But you’re deliberately not telling me things.” “He is my High Lord. His word is law. We have this one chance, Feyre, to rebuild and make the world as it should be. I will not begin that new world by breaking his trust. Even if you …”

Lucien is continually asking Feyre to place Tamlin over her own happiness; he is asking her to consider his feelings before she considers his own - partially because this is the way Lucien is characterized to handle Tamlin's abuse himself. Cassian is asking Nesta to consider the Inner Circle's intention over how she feels. Amren and Rhys immediately shame and threaten Nesta - she is valid in her anger. She has interpreted this meeting as an attack...because it was. I think its especially telling that the later scene is asking Nesta to have empathy for Amren who is arguably the most abusive, abrasive, and unproductive person in that entire meeting. The second part of Lucien's monologue end's up being true for Nesta as the Inner Circle end up doing the same thing to control Nesta's behavior -- whether that be by leveraging Elain, outright forcing her, or even the decision to withhold Nesta's power from her -- these echo the exact same plot points we see in MAF with Feyre.

Let’s compare some scenes:

It was worse than a crown, actually. Built into the box were compartments and sleeves and holders, all full of brushes and paints and charcoal and sheets of paper. A traveling painting kit. Red—the red paint inside the glass vial was so bright, the blue as stunning as the eyes of that faerie woman I’d slaughtered— “I thought you might want it to take around the grounds with you. Rather than lug all those bags like you always do.” The brushes were fresh, gleaming—the bristles soft and clean. Looking at that box, at what was inside, felt like examining a crow-picked corpse. I tried to smile. Tried to will some brightness to my eyes. He said, “You don’t like it.” (MAF: Chapter 9)

“You’re going, even if you have to be tied up and hauled there. You will follow Cassian’s lessons, and you will do whatever work Clotho requires in the library.” Nesta blocked out the memory—of the dark depths of that library, the ancient monster that had dwelled there. It had saved them from Hybern’s cronies, yes, but … She refused to think of it. “You will respect her, and the other priestesses in the library,” Feyre said, “and you will never give them a moment’s trouble. Any free time is yours to spend as you wish. In the House.” Hot rage pumped through her, so loud Nesta could barely hear the real fire before which her sister paced. Was glad of the roaring in her head when the sound of wood cracking as it burned was so much like her father’s breaking neck that she couldn’t stand to light a fire in her own home. “You had no right to close up my apartment, to take my things—” (Silver Flames; Chapter 2)

She could barely stand to hear the crack and pop of the wood. Had barely been able to endure it in Feyre’s town house. Snap; crunch. (FAS: Chapter 21)

"He had Enough of the coldness, the sharpness. Enough of the sword-straight spine and razor-sharp stare that had only honed itself these months"

He understood. He really did. It had taken him months—years—after his first battles to readjust. To cope. Hell, he was still reeling from what had happened in that final battle with Hybern, too

Another grin as he lifted the small, wrapped parcel. “Your Solstice present.” “I don’t want one (FAS)

“Nesta forged a new Trove,” Cassian said, reining in his rage at the truth of Azriel’s words. “She could create anything.” He nodded to Rhys. “She could fill our arsenals with weapons that would win us any war.” Briallyn, Koschei, and Beron wouldn’t stand a chance. “Which is why Nesta must not learn about it,” Amren said. Cassian demanded, “What?” Amren’s gray eyes held steady. “She cannot know.” Rhys said, “That seems like a risk. What if, unaware, she creates more?” “What if, in one of her moods,” Amren challenged, “Nesta creates what she pleases just to spite us…’ (SF)

He appealed to Rhys, “You’re all right with this? Because I’m sure as hell not.” “Amren’s order holds,” Rhys said, and for a heartbeat, Cassian hated him. Hated the mistrust and wariness he beheld on Rhys’s face.(SF

“No. She knows the labor will be difficult, but I haven’t told her yet that it might very well claim her life.” Rhys spoke into their minds, as if he couldn’t say it aloud, I haven’t told her that the nightmares that now send me lurching from sleep aren’t ones of the past, but of the future. Cassian squeezed Rhys’s shoulder. “Why won’t you tell her?” Rhys’s throat worked. “Because I can’t bring myself to give her that fear. To take away one bit of the joy in her eyes every time she puts a hand on her belly.” His voice shook. “It is fucking eating me alive, this terror. I keep myself busy, but … there is no one to bargain with for her life, no amount of wealth to buy it, nothing that I can do to save her.

So much is happening here – there’s actually more scenes, but I don’t want to go and find them all. I wanted to include more similarities between Feyre and Nesta (I might make a separate post with all of those). To some extent, I think a lot of these quotes, even without elaboration echo the point I’m about to make. In quote #4, Cassian’s narration berates Nesta for not being integrated into the family and not being happy at Solsitice, but we the audience know that Nesta (1) isn’t being talked to, (2) she can barely stand the sound of the fire, (3) Feyre forced Nesta to come by essentially holding her rent over her head. And there’s just way to many parallels between how Nesta feels at the NC and how Feyre felt at the Spring Court. Nesta is drowning; she tells us that – Rhysand’s subtle anger is something she not only notices, but internalizes. She specifically mentions that she doesn’t take any of Rhysand’s positions because they were pity offerings; he’s only doing it because of Feyre. The story then decides to let him spearhead the conversations around Nesta’s autonomy. In the first quote, Tamlin's overall ignorance regarding Feyre's mental state, and her aversion to things such as the color Red were considered red flags; yet when Nesta has an aversion to fire, when she is neglected and nearly dies the story spends so much time trying to tell the audience that Cassian simply didn't know - it doesn't say anything about him.

But one of the biggest indicators of this ruin of the story is the fact that Amren and Rhys believe that Nesta should not have her power because ““What if, in one of her moods,” Amren challenged, “Nesta creates what she pleases just to spite us?” (Maas). The issue, as consistently reiterated, is a control one. They don’t trust Nesta simply because they cannot control her – that is what is highlighted as the issue in the story. Furthermore, Feyre doesn’t let Nesta know, she defers to a process that she doesn’t have to. She outranks everyone in that room; if she wanted to tell Nesta was rules would stop her – that’s literally been the way Feyre has characterized (see: Wraiths, the HL meeting attacking Beron, Tarquin and the BoB, Mor/Feyre w/ the Suriel), yet in this moment when she disagrees with Rhys – she essentially defers to his command. She simply expresses a subtle wariness and then moves on. Feyre has the power to just tell Nesta is the point that I am making here. It’s Nesta’s power; they forced her to do these tasks, and when she has one moment of autonomy in making the sword – they are argue that Rhys should make himself High King and Cassian, despite his earlier provocations, believes in this. He agrees with it. And even though I am going on this long, wordy analysis, I think a lot of what I am saying is kind of really clear In these quotes even without explaining.

To bring this back, Rhys (and Feyre somewhat) are only excused because the story believes their intentions were good (see quote #7), which conflicts with what we’ve already seen. These are…the exact same justifications we get about Tamlin; he truly believes that by making her safe, he is making her happy – but we know Feyre values truth over safety. And so the story undermines its lessons by not condemning the actions of its characters and instead leans into moralistic reasons. The argument now isn't even that Nesta isn't being abused, but stans and even the story (subtextually) believe that Nesta deserves the abuse - or that it's purely a consequence of her own immaturity, yet this is a far-cry to how Feyre is perceived in similar situations. The story argues that these characters understand that Nesta is not in her right mind - but constantly the story expects her act functionally in the face of her depression, even though the very reason the decided to lock her up is because they all unanimously believed she could not function by herself. She's expected to respond appropriately to their jabs, do missions on their behalf, train, and work at the library with no pay. She cannot leave Velaris without a Chaperone and all of her Chaporene are employed officials who are gone for the entirety of the book. No one ever actually offers to ever take Nesta out to see the town. I am seriously tired, and really concerned with the way Nesta's abuse is talked about.

[aprilblossomgirl]

i feel like i'm hurting so much for faifa in this episode. he doesn't deserve to hear that many hurtful words. before i continue, i think i need to say this first: as an asian myself, i will always understand why most (asian) shows choose forgiveness when dealing with bad parents/parenting, no matter how unforgivable they might be seen by the rest of the audience. and that, i believe, is not of any agenda by the showmaker. of course, to not generalize it, few medias didn't go through that route because of a different preference or goal in the storytelling. however, understanding forgiveness doesn't necessarily mean i believe it is always the 'right' way of wrapping up an arc.

thinking about the upcoming faifawine's story starting next week, i feel like some dialogues in this episode, no matter how they really felt off to me, are intentionally right there as a further backstory for faifa. and especially if the directing choice of faifa's expression changes through that scene with the whole family is anything to go by.

when yotha called fai, he said this first: "Tell me honestly. Don’t be scared of hurting anyone." as if yotha knows that fai always keeps his feelings to himself to avoid hurting anyone else.

fai trying to come up with a reasoning, "I was probably just angry with her, but I think everyone was hurt by what happened— Dad, Newton, and Mom." as if to avoid answering yotha's question, "Do you hate her?" with his real answer.

"If Mom really wanted to abandon us, why would she have taken me with her?" shows that fai was not being optimistic (as yotha implied) but somehow trusted the mom. only to be shattered later, "I thought if I brought Faifa who loves being with his Dad and brothers, at least he would ask me to bring him back to visit everyone often and we’d all see each other sometimes. On the other hand, if I’d brought you, Yotha, we might have been so happy that we wouldn’t have wanted to come back and see anyone here again..." (what nonsense! i cannot understand any logic behind this one.) in a way implying that she might haven't been that happy with fai, which somehow validate what he and yotha had been talking about before: "I don’t know why she took me with her even though you were the one who wanted to go." / "Because she loves you more than me." / "That’s definitely not the reason." oh, i was right. mom doesn't love me. but she's hurting. but...

imagine being faifa, hearing all of those hurtful excuses, but his immediate response was trying to justify why mom did what she did instead of trying to validate the real feeling he himself was having. and i say this with my whole being: that's a pretty accurate representation of how we, asian kids, mostly were nurtured. the scene just stabbed me right in the heart.

faifa might haven't said anything, but his face didn't lie. you could very clearly see how his face instantly dropped once mom told her reason for taking him instead of yotha at that time. and i still cannot forget the face he made a few episodes back when mom gave him something he was allergic to. the level of gaslighting here is too suffocating to witness. the emotional neglect just hits too hard. i cannot even begin to break it further into fai's loneliness.

all these made me wonder how the upcoming third arc will 'deal' with fai's inner wound. i hope the show won't brush it off because i think it would add more depth to the romance part, how he navigates his feelings once someone finally enters his life, as it has been implied that wine was also dealing with heartbreak.

[trashfangirlsworld]

I'm gonna attempt to make another post talking about stuff I've seen after q's stream, because I saw people say that the last one I made made them feel better, so here we go:

why is he speaking spanish: this is not something I necesserly saw after yesterday, but I did see it last time he streamed a statement regarding qsmp and the fact that he had to start this stream fucking explaining why he's speaking his native language to formulate what he wants to say better is fucking vile to me and anyone that said that last time does not have a right to stay in this fandom or to even talk about this situation.

he does not have a right to sound mad: i'm sorry, but he has every right to sound frustrated, he is not mad at the admins that choose to leave the project, he explicitly says he understand their decision and wishes them the best, he is frustrated at those that have caused damage to the server in the first place and are still the reason why he can't be more open about what's happening. We are talking about his passion project here, of course he's frustrated that this is happening, even if he completely understands why some admins are leaving.

he is enabling hate against lea and others! (people that have leaked information): quackity has every right to cite the reason as to why he can't openly communicate the way he wants to, especially when those leaks have been twisted and used against him by the people that were initially harming the server in the first place (those he fired). He openly says the he doesn't necesserly think that the people that are leaking stuff are aware of how those leaks are actually being used, so he's not blaming any specific person. Actions have consequences, no one is the exception to this rule in this situation.

he says any criticism is invalid!: no he just straight up doesn't. He says he's not bothered by people that give non-constructive critcism and whose goal is clearly to see the project destroyed. If you feel like this statement is a call out to what you have been saying, then maybe you should reflect on what you actually want here and potentially leave. If you have constructive criticism you want to say, once again keep in mind that quackity does not have twitter on his phone and the best way to commuincate something to him is through his public email.

As quackity himself said multiple times, if you're not happy with how things are going and don't want to wait for visible change it's fine, but do not twist and nitpick stuff because you don't want to step away from something if you don't have a "moral" reason to do so. I said this multiple times, but this is just a shitty fucking situation that does not have an easy and quick solution to it, and people will make decisions or mistakes that you will not like on all sides, it does not mean there is malicious intent behind those decisions. Again, we may not know their names and how many there were, but we know who is actually to blame for all of this and I hope quackity is in the process/is gonna be able to sue them. The admins that choose to leave because of any reason have every right to do so, something that quackity himself also expressed on his stream. It is very possible to support them completely while understanding why things are the way they are, as much as everyone fucking dislikes it.

I genuinely hope qsmp is able to come back stronger, however long it takes, because I personally think this project is good and does not deserve to end this way. Much love to everyone, once again remember to have empathy to everyone.

[mycroftrh]

*puts my hand gently on your shoulder*

The characterization and complexity of the characters and institutions in Clone Wars is adapted to the medium of a weekly action-adventure youth-targeted show.

Anakin is bold and rebellious and cocky because the brokenly-traumatized fundamentally-obedient hubristic-but-self-hating character we see in the movies doesn’t work as a long-form action hero. He acts a moral agent - someone with the capacity to independently, and without coercion or immediate overwhelming trauma, choose to do things that set off the Imperial March (or the reverse, for that matter, active moral choice towards good) - instead of just reacting and following orders because the latter, again, is great for the protagonist of a tragedy and bad for an action hero.

On a more surface level, he talks differently because the awkward stilted variable-diction speech of both the OT and the PT doesn’t make for good quips and post-kill one-liners and child-targeted dialogue - PT!Anakin’s best efforts at battle banter are “You’re shorter than I expected” and “My powers have doubled since we last met, Count” and OT!Vader’s is “The circle is now complete… Now I am the master…. Your powers are weak, old man.” Not to pull in yet more versions of him but as much as I love (and I DO) “Be careful not to choke on your aspirations” and “All I am surrounded by is fear and dead men,” OT!Vader would never say something that clever or cool. James Bond or Ethan Hunt or Indiana Jones would never say something that could viably come out of the mouth of either PT Anakin or OT Vader.

And I sincerely apologize for stepping into Jedi Discourse, but Yoda and Mace and the Jedi as an institution are, well, nicer, and more ethically sound, because their narrative role is very different. They’re central characters that we need young people who are identifying with Ahsoka and Anakin to see as The Good Guys over a long period of time. Their narrative role in the Prequel Trilogy, whatever we may think of them as characters, is as secondary antagonists, and in Clone Wars it is not, and therefore their characterization differs.

Obi-Wan’s a cool older brother because the repressed, emotionally withdrawn, commanding dad-uncle-brother of the PT is not someone young audiences can appreciate without getting, well, resentful towards, like teenage Anakin does. It takes practice and emotional maturity to understand how he expresses love, and to not find his Master-ness oppressive. And also if he were as commanding of Anakin as he is in the PT (including RotS!) it would reduce Anakin’s agency to a point where, again, Anakin wouldn’t be a viable long-form action hero.

Also something to be said about how the need for a child protagonist screws with Anakin’s overall arc about not having authority, agency, autonomy, and institutional power (and being childlike/stunted college-age during Revenge of the Sith - he was a teenager, and an emotionally immature one at that, when he became Ahsoka’s master, but he can’t properly act like one, because, well, the narrative needs him to be Ahsoka’s master), but that’s a larger topic.

And those are all very valid (and necessary) choices for the medium, and it’s also super valid for those to be one’s favorite versions of the characters, and they definitely shouldn’t be discounted in overall analysis, either; but they are different, medium-dependent versions.

[hadleysmis]

I have heard and read many interesting and thoughtful reviews of Les Misérables about how the themes and characters being deeply rooted in racism. However, I barely hear anyone really talk about the explicit stance the book takes in being pro-colonialism.

I don't really have the interest in re-reading the book to every chapter because of long essays such as the Argot one, where Victor Hugo paints a very negative picture in Frenches which differ from the standard form.

Now, this isn't just about Standard French, but also any linguistic children of it, because Hugo explicitly talks about the usage of Creole. To make his stance clearer, even one of the members of Patron Minette is 'Créole'.

We can't have depictions of mixed race or non-White ethnicities in books like this without colonialism being the foundation of it. I feel like sometimes people will happily call something racist, and then move on without talking about how topics such as colonisation is thought of and expressed.

I think one of the villains here is the colonial mindset. If we aren't taught about colonialism and the effects and horror from the said atrocities and beyond harmful psychology, then we will read pages and pages of content, and only reduce the conclusion to: "Ah, racism."

When we think about the criticism of class, hierarchy, social inequality, court procedures, justice, religious morality, perceived equality, and so on, we got such a deep analysis of it from Hugo about France.

At the same time, he proceeded to be explicitly pro-colonial inside the book, within his other books, and in real life statements as well. It isn't equal or excusable that Victor Hugo, and historical authors alike, can analyse their own country in such detail, combing through their thoughts on the matter, while sweeping generalisations such as 'France has a right to colonise Africa because we bring civilisation to it' is being said.

How come some societies are given the luxury of having the nits and grits be explored and criticised, while other societies are given willy nilly thoughts? Surely, one isn't expected to understand all the doings around the globe. So then, why discuss it in one's book?

Sure, old books— and even contemporary ones— from places born from privilege, having pillaged and colonised in unwelcomed spaces, will inevitably reek of the colonial mindset. That is a given. The main difference in contemporary books is that there is effort to erase that mindset, which can be admittedly difficult to do, if all your life, you had been groomed by the education system to be pro-colonialism, or at least unempathetic to it, or believe 'it isn't that big of a deal.'

When we are thinking about adaptations of Les Misérables around the world,— and in my case, around Asia,— there is an element of charm or fascination in how artists in different countries interpret the points, messages, and arguments presented in Les Misérables.

Especially for countries victims to colonisation, and those of which who continuously suffer from the consequences of it; I don't think there is near enough talks in the anglophone side of the fandom (I don't know about any other side, I only know the anglophone side) about what it means to restructure and reimagine the arguments presented by the book.

In particular, when we see countries who were victims to French colonisation, like Vietnam, where we get to see 'cultural resistance' against the effects of the oppressive French policies portrayed in their most famous retelling of Les Misérables; there isn't much talk about the political statement in the act of translation and adaptation alone has.

Here, in these adaptations, the stories are being handled most likely by those who are native to the lands, cultures, and languages, and they get to choose what political opinion the adaptation is going to have now, whether or not that is something we would personally agree with. The power is given to the people nevertheless.

Therefore, we no longer get sweeping generalisations or a willy nilly essays of thought about language use or ways of society of the 'uncivilised countries', and instead we get to see insightful criticisms of their own injustices through the adaptations of stories such as Les Misérables.

I don't mean to romanticise the adaptations, because of course there's flaws to them as well. The main point is that, the people who would not have a voice are giving themselves it, and they can insert details the oppressors would've never been bothered to consider.

The themes of Les Misérables are very flexible, and therefore applicable to many injustices in nations not even touched by France. To learn about countries and national pride from peoples' thoughts and artwork relating to Les Misérables sure is an odd way of me exploring world history and politics. I do admit it's a funny of mine.

But as a fandom, or as a collective of shared interest, let's not dismiss obvious colonial thoughts that a lot of Hugo's points sprouted from.

Let's also not forget that European empires aren't the only empires to exist, and other adaptations can fall short in representing the themes of Les Misérables most likely it being largely influenced by their own biases.

All in all, let's give adaptations more love, and address the political implications of it as well as the literal racism and pro-colonial mindset the book argues for explicitly.