#he might have lost the fight against him. but he leveled the playing field.

[rriavian]

You mentioned in a recent ask how one of the things you loved about Corintheus is the balance of the ship. Could you tell me more about this? It's something I've never really associated with Corintheus and I'd love to know more.

Thank you for the ask! Sorry it took so long to answer—I ended up writing far too much and had to wrangle it into something shorter. Also (as a general disclaimer) this is based on the show rather than the comics. When engaging with Corintheus as a ship I can definitely see why the idea of balance might not be something you’ve come across before!

I suppose the personal answer is that (for me) balance is what makes a ship fun.

I don’t think either of the two would be satisfied by someone who doesn’t match them, and as a reader/writer I’m not satisfied by that either.

I’ve answered a couple of asks about power dynamics and how I like to balance them (original here, part two here), but there are also other ways in which balance can be found within relationship dynamics. It doesn’t necessarily have to be about physical strength/power. In many ways I write Corintheus as a negotiation of balance, (though of course the Corinthian is going for dominance most of the time). In canon we see him fighting for agency, fighting for freedom from Dream and all of his rules, and to me that’s an attempt to balance the scales.

There’s an obvious, and unavoidable, power difference that impacts the relationship but there's also a hierarchical difference, further complicated by the creator/creation dynamic. In many ways Dream is always going to hold all the cards. But that’s a character quality not a relationship one (most characters interacting with Dream also face it) and, again, it’s what the Corinthian spent all of season one seeking to counteract.

So I don’t think he would want to stay in a relationship where he had no power…not when a lack of agency was why he rebelled in the first place.

But I also don’t think Dream is really the sort to use brutal (clumsy) shows of power in a relationship context. As the Corinthian’s king and creator, sure, Dream will be absolutely merciless when he needs to remind his creation of the rules. There’s a line though (exceptions made for fun little roleplays perhaps, but even then Dream is going to be far more careful with the Corinthian than the Corinthian would be with him).

A common theme in my writing is the Corinthian trying to push past his own limitations to balance the field with Dream, and Dream, in turn, allows him to choose the game they play but he doesn’t necessarily makes himself ‘weaker’. He sees it more as ensuring an interesting game of chess ;)

Of course this could just be me wrangling these dynamics to make it personally satisfying, but I always draw my characterisation from canon.

Even when provoked Dream rarely attacks with the full limit of his power, remains incredibly well controlled, pitches the exact amount of force required. To use one of my favourite examples—and also one where traditional ‘power’ isn’t what makes the difference—Dream does this against Lucifer. One could add that this is especially intricate as he takes what I write as the Corinthian’s usual place in this scenario; except here the obviously stronger opponent also sets the game, Lucifer can't quite commit to leveling the playing field, and yet Dream proves he knows exactly how to play because he still wins. Which is one of the things that makes his relationship with Lucifer so interesting.

The scenario in hell is a nice example of how balance isn’t guaranteed by giving one character a power boost, nor is it lost if one character is ‘weaker’ than the other. Lucifer was objectively where the power scale tipped, and yet I don’t think anyone who watched that scene could really say that Lucifer came out the victor. It’s a perfect illustration of how Dream sees/uses power, how he can manipulate an external perception of it.

(Not just the characters around him, but us as viewers, which is again something I’ve brought up before).

Ok so there was a whole point here about the Corinthian and Lucifer but it’s not really relevant (and I’ve already gone a little off topic!!) so I’m moving on…

So. If ‘power’ doesn’t always matter…where is the balance?

The Corinthian is intelligent, a hunter, made to be patient and calculating, and he has the sheer gall to use that against Dream. Yeah season one was mostly running, but when he stands his ground the Corinthian stands and fights. He pushes back—looks so personally hurt by Dream as he does so—and extrapolating that development into other scenarios is what started my Corintheus journey haha. I think those attributes—the stubbornness, the perhaps overabundance of intensity that is quite inhuman—are shared.

They are both nightmares: that part of Dream finds someone who can take it (and vice versa). It can be played out in a way that is healthy for them both. 

I think that’s what so often goes wrong with Dream in his canon relationships—he’s too much for those who’ve tried. I think I briefly referred to this in another ask. But anyway! When the Corinthian wants something he goes all in to get it; his freedom in the waking world, his refusal to deny himself, ravenous to taste it all. Applied to Dream himself it’s balance because of how intense Dream also is. I think Dream is insanely attracted to that—the attempt of it, the eternal dance of it—he doesn’t want to be forced into a box, he wants someone to meet him where he is and still he knows that doing so will be a constant fight.

This idea is a theme in Baiting the Trap, though the Corinthian is only starting to become aware of it.

It’s the Corinthian’s nature as a ‘dark mirror’, because a reflection is a thing of balance. He brings out the dark urges, the selfish ones, speaks to the nightmare in Dream that isn’t evil but can be misunderstood to be so. Nightmares are a big part of Dream that I don’t think many characters within the narrative accept, or see as a good thing, but it’s not a part of him that should change. I think the Corinthian can draw that out and play with it.

They can do all sorts of fucked up/imaginative things with each other as outlets for a shared nightmarish nature, finding pleasure in what others might balk at.

The Corinthian objects to Dream’s rules, to a perceived lack of agency, but still thinks he’s doing what he’s made for. He has a differing philosophy in how he wants to be a nightmare in the waking world. This desire for freedom/agency is another balancing tool—it challenges Dream’s duty (and what that makes the Corinthian’s duty)—giving Dream a stage to reaffirm/explore that part of himself. While giving Dream a forum to challenge right back so that the Corinthian can reaffirm/explore the same thing.

In the weirdest of ways, Dream is complimented by a partner who is both a subject of his kingdom and a sceptic of it. The Corinthian understands, is just as inhuman as Dream is, but shows utter disdain right to his face—doesn’t put role and duty first—is selfish enough to want just him and fuck everything else. 

The scene at the Convention was what inspired me to write for Corintheus. Mostly because of how it was framed. As opposed to the meeting in ep one it’s a very different set up and that’s not really because of Rose. 

If anything the presence of a vortex should mean Dream zooms his way through this like ‘yeah that’s nice, but turn into sand now’ but instead he takes his time. He talks it out. They both have one half of the stage, opposite sides, opposite colour palettes, but there’s no game. They are both honest. It’s raw and real. And though it still ends in an unmaking it’s a very complex encounter. Yes it has the threat of duty hanging over it, but Dream is very clearly affected in a way he wasn’t when he punished Gault. 

Wow this is getting long. This is so complex for me that I’ve written over 100k about it. I hope this makes sense though! 

The Corinthian gets to push the boundaries with Dream, to do what he’d never thought he could, what he could never do to anyone else. In the waking he finds victims not equals, those he’s supposed to teach, to prey on but who he can never fully let loose on. No worthy opponent (no worthy lover). But Dream can be fought forever, is an incredibly powerful being that can be enjoyed past the limit, and oh does the predator in the Corinthian enjoy that. It’s the right kind of bittersweet because victory is impossible sure (balance in that too!) but there’s fun in it.

The sort that suits two immortal beings. It’s a meal that the Corinthian can never finish. It’s balance because he is never going to stop, and Dream is never going to move an inch.

It’s insatiable appetite vs an infinite feast.

[troius]

Six Hearts vs. Fullbringers: Chad vs. Jackie

So, one of these fights should probably address that there were more than just one perpetrator and victim to this whole scheme, right?

Something that gets lost when the Soul Reapers show up is the idea that the core betrayal here involved anybody besides Ichigo and Ginjo. Sure, Jackie’s fight with Renji winds up having some slightly redemptive aspects to it, but they get swallowed by Renji’s unfortunate attitude during that fight, as well as the fact that Jackie hasn’t actually done anything to him.

But Chad’s a different story! He was the first person Xcution targeted in their scheme to entrap Ichigo, a scheme that worked, which had to make him feel very used, even before Tsukishima stuck fake memories in his head and made him fight Ichigo. So if Chad gets to throw down here instead of being hastily written off, he’s going to have some deep feelings of betrayal towards the Fullbringers. And nobody, I think, will provoke these strong feelings like Jackie.

Because she doesn’t really have any excuses! She’s not a child like Yukio, or a teenager like Riruka, she’s a grown woman. She’s also not a sick, evil person like Giriko who just enjoys hurting others. And she doesn’t have Ginjo’s personal grudge against Soul Society twisting logic to justify her actions. She was the sane one of Xcution, and yet she still went along with their scheme, seemingly out of loyalty to Ginjo for picking her out of a rough place in her life.

And the funny thing is...that’s how Chad feels about Ichigo. They were that person for one another, back in middle school. But theirs was a relationship of equals, and together they developed strong, independent centers of morality that Jackie doesn’t seem to have. It’s easy to miss in all the Tsukishima nonsense, but Chad fights his best friend, for what he believes is moral principle!

So this fight becomes about Chad conveying that principle to somebody who he feels greatly hurt him, but who he also still has some positive emotions towards-- Jackie was easily the most welcoming member of Xcution to him and Ichigo, and I imagine Chad probably feels a connection with her foreign background as well. Chad’s not going to be shy about defending himself, but he’s not going to want to kill her.

Which is where the drama in the fight comes in, because the offensive half of Chad’s powers is “La Muerte”, which would probably be literal if he used it on Jackie-- I doubt she has Arrancar-level durability. The fight would revolve around him trying to win without using it, which would put them on a more even playing field.

I’m torn on how Chad wins-- using La Muerte on just Jackie’s fullbring would put her in the same place as canon, without her powers, but sort of seems to send the wrong message for me. He might just have to win with a straight, non-powered left hook, set up by a switch to using his right arm defensively instead of offensively. But where the fight as a whole ends would be right after that, where Chad extends that same hand with an open palm, giving Jackie a chance for redemption that actually feels earned, because she’s had to confront the things she did and the person she did them to.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Not Really Present

Aka: My angsty and slightly Au-ish explanation as to why Optimus Prime is such a mess in RID. Let's all admit it, Optimus was completely out of it in RID. Almost like he lost everything that made him, well, him! So here is my attempt at warping the lore a little to make it work.

Façade

Optimus may have been crafted with a spark designed to handle being reincarnated regularly while still maintaining his identity, but the process is delicate. His spark is given time to rest and then starts to get scrubbed of surface level memories and is bonded to a new frame in order to get him ready to reincarnate once again. After he gave himself to the well and had about twenty odd years of rest, Primus sent him back into the reincarnation pool, ready to start again and live normally until a Prime was needed to guide all Cybertronians in their darkest hour.

The scrubbing and frame bonding process was nearly complete and Optimus was getting ready to inhabit his new frame when he was yanked back into the realm of the Primes by his siblings. The Primes, being too lazy to go fight Megatronous themselves or call upon a new champion, opted to instead send Optimus, the brother they already knew to be capable. They cared very little for the fact that Optimus was supposed to be granted a peaceful existence, at least for a time, in exchange for his service. And so they gave him a rundown of everything that they needed him to do, thinking that all his memory loss would be fixed by giving him the Matrix which held a copy of all his experiences from his time as a Prime.

Optimus only had the faintest idea of what was going on due to how far the scrubbing had progressed, and all he knew was that his siblings needed him. And so he did not fight back as his siblings shoved his spark into an incredibly wrong frame and crammed the Matrix in his chassis. His memories returned to him but they felt distant, out of place, like they belonged to someone else. Which. considering his circumstances, they might as well have. Not only that, but they were scattered, mashed up, and out of place. Some things were clear as day whereas other things were foggy and unclear.

He was then drop kicked into the training with Micronus in an effort to help him regain his former strength. But Optimus, having been nearly completely reduced to a newspark by the time he was recalled, struggled immensely. Focus, skill, wisdom, and experiences that made him the mighty Prime who led the war against the Decepticons were no longer an integral part of his being. He knew based on the memories within the Matrix that he should be able to achieve great feats in all fields of combat and command. And yet as he was thrown against test after mind numbing test, he still had issues with basic concepts, having to practically relearn everything he gained wisdom in during millennia of war and his time as the Thirteenth.

It was frustrating beyond all belief to Optimus, with his former patience having been greatly reduced with the cleansing of his spark. Especially with Micronus never giving him a moment's rest and constantly belittling him for his mistakes and anything else he could find fault in. More than once Optimus considered attempting to strangle Micronus as he hovered watching him struggle against foes while giving him "advice" in the most mocking way imaginable.

Of course his distant and scattered memories were not the only problem, his very spark also played a part. Optimus was already half bonded to his new frame when he ripped away from it, leaving him not completely present in the frame his siblings made for him. The frame his siblings made him felt too tight and foreign, leading him to be unable to move with precision. Not only that, but he couldn't shake the ever present feeling of unease that followed him with every movement, like he was walking in another bot's body.

When the time came for him to fight Megatronous, he wasn't ready, physically or emotionally. Despite practically being a sparkling again, his kin did not hesitate to put him through to absolute agony that was merging pieces of their sparks with his. And then without so much of an ounce of gratitude for the service he was doing them, they forcefully returned him to the living realm, leading to a brand new host of problems.

The fight with Megatronous began, and Optimus couldn't help but feel absolutely useless throughout the whole thing. His memory told him that Megatron, a mech not even forged a Prime, was more difficult to fight. And yet he struggled bitterly in his fight against his fallen brother. His body didn't respond to his commands as he wanted, his reactions were slowed, and his memories were too muddled to give him the skill he knew he once possessed in battle. Nothing he attempted to do from his memories worked and he was quickly driven back. All Optimus could feel was crippling shame as Bumblebee and his team came in and saved him from death at the hands of an arguably weaker foe.

When the battle was done and Optimus returned with Bumblebee to his base at the scrapyard, he thought that perhaps time with familiar individuals would help him heal. He was wrong. If anything it made it worse. He felt even more out of place than before.

He still had a connection to Bumblebee, but it was also somewhat distant, his role in their relationship having started to shift in light of his altered state of being. Not only that, but Bumblebee had changed, becoming a new mech and still recovering from intensive trauma. This in turn meant that Optimus could not figure out how he was supposed to act around his former scout and the mech he once saw as a son. Not knowing what to do or how to act, he relied on his scattered memories to create a personality that matched the mech he once was. Everything he said and did was reused dialogue and performances from the war, and the few times he acted without the aid of his memories, his altered state became startlingly clear.

Before he knew it Optimus found himself falling back into less mature habits, acting like a rowdy and rebellious youngling more often than not. He argued with Bumblebee over simple matters, his emotions getting the better of him without millennia of experience to temper his mind. He was dismissive of others, completely focused on maintaining his crumbling persona and meeting mission requirements. He wanted desperately to match up to the memories within the Matrix, to really be Optimus Prime, but with his spark returned to youthfulness, it was an impossible task.

With the spark of a youngling, the memories of an ancient Prime, and the deep set desire to match up to his former glory, Optimus suffered trying to desperately find himself yet again.

Thankfully for him, while the team may refuse to see his faults out of respect and excitement, Knockout has no such reservations and has already prepared his office for a long awaited therapy session.

[dvandom]

Retief and the Peter Principle

Inspired by James Nicoll's essay on SF and the Peter Principle.

For those not into 70s SF, Jaime Retief is the protagonist of Keith Laumer's more light-hearted ironic post-Golden Age space opera stuff, a counterpart to his grimmer Bolo stories (albeit potentially set in the same universe, or Retief is in an AU of Bolo). He works for the Corps Diplomatique Terrestrienne (CDT), a secret agent of the James Bond mold masquerading as yet another ineffectual CDT drone. The typical story involves the CDT trying to do something stupid on an alien world, and while technically following orders Retief manages to salvage the situation by just being So Much More Clever than his ostensible superiors. A common point of tension is that the Terrans have the military might to crush any opposition, but without Retief (and possibly a few others like him scattered about), the Groaci would eat our lunch and dominate known space.

It's basically read as a broadly satirical take on U.S. attempts at diplomacy, a comedy of errors against an enemy that shouldn't be that much of a challenge but somehow is (Groaci war tech is mostly knockoffs of older Terran tech, and they don't have nearly as much of it). So, Retief has to make sure he has the proper hemi-semi-demi-formal leisure suit for the afternoon meeting, while also keeping the Groaci from stealing a planet out from under the CDT. Retief's boss is good at covering his own ass, taking credit for Retief's actions (especially those that were ostensibly direct violations of orders), etc. Classic struggle of the only competent guy at the company to keep things from falling apart when the institutional culture is just crap, right?

Now...it's quite possible that this surface reading is all that Laumer intended. But, while it's been many years since I read the books, I never got the impression that Retief himself though "blow the Groaci away" was actually a preferred solution. Whoever Retief really answers to seems to be generally okay with the "diplomats, not armadas" policy.

Potential Death of the Author time. Regardless of what Laumer really meant, these days I see the situation as a case of the entire Terran government suffering from the Peter Principle, in which they have been promoted above the level of their competence.

They are very good at military solutions. It's often pointed out that they could throw a switch and roll over the Groaci-held worlds on a moment's notice, without scratching the paint on the dreadnaughts. But at some point in the relatively recent past, they decided to be Better. To work towards diplomatic solutions, make allies rather than vassals. And the ludicrously incompetent actions of the Corps Diplomatique Terrestrienne demonstrate that no one really knows how to do that. The warlike phase went on long enough that institutional memory of diplomacy was lost, and they're forced to fall back on historical records going back to when Terrans were restricted to Terra. They desperately want to be the United Federation of Planets instead of being the Empire, but it's outside their competency. Meanwhile, the Groaci (and probably some other minor powers) have realized that this levels the playing field a LOT. They can do stupid and bad diplomacy as well as the Terrans can, and it's a lot more likely to get them what they want than trying to pick an actual fight in which they'd get vaporized. Some of them might even be honestly better at diplomacy than the CDT.

Retief's job, then, is to troubleshoot the process. The true brains behind the Terran government are smart enough to know they have no idea what they're doing, a lot of wheels are being reinvented and turning out to be rectangular. So Retief is put in a position to chisel them into a more round-ish shape before disaster happens.

Retief is the sergeant who keeps the newly minted lieutenant that is the CDT out of trouble, while being careful to maintain the illusion of the chain of command. Hemi-semi-demi-usually.

[angelmichelangelo]

Hello!! I have some turtle tot fic recs if you’re still in need of them!! Also just wanted to say that ur one of my favorite authors and I’m in LOVE with the way u convey emotion in ur works like the love feels so tangible between the boys and April and splinter and just!!! Ur so good at it and I am thanking u from the bottom of my heart for sharing ur talent and letting ur works be read 💙💙💙 ok now onto the fics!!

the pleasure, the privilege is mine by taizi (3/?)

Hamato Yoshi escapes from Draxum’s lab without mutating. This changes things by a lot.

Tie my shoes and count by twos by Frog_that_writes (3/6)

2 times each of the older brothers taught Mikey something.

-

"C'mon," he urged him. "You're gonna be walking like a champ in no time!" He stood, setting Mikey on the floor beside him gently, knowing that this would cause Mikey to make his favorite 'up!' gesture.

it’s golden hour somewhere by Dragon_Scales_and_Fairy_Tales (Marked as complete but author might come back and add to it)

Centuries ago, in a nearly-forgotten war, a member of the Hamato family’s bloodline was cursed by an enemy Death Oni.

400 years later, the curse is still unbroken. It goes like this:

Every generation– without fail, without interference, without exception and without cure– a child of the Hamato family is fated to die before they turn 16.

Everything is Figure-outable by minumi (1/? But can be read as a one shot)

Leo frets in front of him, looking between his brother’s mouth, his own hands holding a long cord of string and his brother’s crumpling expression as he stares at his bloodied fingers. He blinks at his brother’s mouth and stares a little bewildered seeing the loose tooth he was meant to be extracting still in his gums. Meanwhile in his hands... Oh no...

“D-Donbon? Um... I think, it’s okay, we can... maybe put it back?”

Frankenstein's Monster by TakingOverMidnight3482 (1/1)

It was very obvious, actually, Donnie realized as he figured out why Raph looked so upset. Every time they played any good guy vs. bad guy game, Raph was the big scary bad guy. He had to fight against them, and he always lost, because good guys always won.

~~

Donnie realizes that Raph doesn't like always having to play the bad guy in their pretend games, and he's determined to fix it.

Lost and Found (Family) by ashtreelane (2/2)

April O'Neil, eleventh-grade level reader, dedicated member of the ecology club, and toughest third grader in Amberson Elementary school has been left behind on a field trip.

Left to wander the streets, April takes shelter in a shadowy alley, only to find that she's not the only one with that idea.

The rest of her life changes the moment she takes the small, three-fingered hand draped in a too-big orange hoodie.

____________________

Or, two lost kids are lost together. At least one of them knows how to get around New York.

Ok that’s all I’ve got!! I hope there’s at least one fic here that you haven’t read 🤞🤞 hope u have a good day/night 🫶

AH THANK YOU! that is so kind of you to say!! my heart is very very full with your lovely words! i’m so glad you enjoy my writing, it really it all the more fun and fulfilling to write and post those fics - so thank you <3

and thank you for the fic recs! i hadn’t heard of most of these so i’m excited to delve into these :3

[the-noxes-are-here]

It wouldn’t be the first one I’d make, certainly not if I had all the skills but I think it’s a cute idea.

A pixel art game, very heavy on pretty art here, and story based/visual novel-like gameplay, of Nariek and Kenric, but younger. Maybe for a slightly more complex idea, it includes older Nariek as well. I detail below.

The Player plays as Nariek, making some choices in his attempts to be a good King of the Lost Cities. There is not much gameplay in this part of the game, there’s a lot of story and visual novel here, basically a lore dump and pretty reminiscing. These are day segments, which can be skipped.

Then there are night segments. Nariek falls asleep, and his dreams are merely flashbacks/memories. The Player now plays as younger Nariek. This plays out in somewhat “dating simulator game” style, but instead of dating anybody, the player is trying to get Kenric to like them/be Nariek’s friend.

This can include mini games like pixel art painting, to gift the art to Kenric. That could be a colour by number with some calming music in the background (the vibe for this game is a somewhat sad but pretty and chill game), and how accurate the colour by number is determines the quality of the painting, therefore the level of appreciation/attention Kenric gives it.

There could also be a minigame about making tea, you have to catch the ingredients or something like that, and etc.

There’s some dialogue sections with Kenric too, with the minimum attention Kenric gives to Nariek, and different replies have different outcomes.

There could be some fun hidden Easter eggs too, like Nariek’s poems from his emo phase, the comparison between the painting Nariek makes for Kenric lying in his house propped against the wall in the night segments, to the bloodied painting on Nariek’s wall that contrasts the prior painting in the day segments, and Clara’s silhouette in the night segments.

Anyway, depending on the choices and minigames, there would be three endings.

The Bad Ending: Nariek doesn’t get Kenric to be his friend in the slightest, Kenric literally despises him. Nariek wakes up from the final night segment and stabs a painting of Kenric beside his bed/sofa (he has probably overworked himself/not slept in ages and dozed off on a purple velvet sofa whilst sketching Kenric by a fireplace.)

The Canon Ending: Kenric doesn’t hate nor like Nariek, he majority ignores him, but doesn’t actively despise him, in Nariek’s delusionally obsessive little head, Kenric might even be being…friendly.

The Good Ending: Kenric and Nariek become friends. There’s probably a montage of them play-sword fighting in a field or something, maybe laughing and collapsing onto the bed of a field of flowers in the sun, just pretty best friend kids sort of thing. It is made very clear that this is a dream. Nariek wakes up and smiles melancholically, probably gazes sadly at aforementioned painting of Kenric beside his bed/sofa and then gets up to leave the room, it’s all very dramatic. Sad music plays, there’s a fade to black and you hear his boots clicking down the hall.

Yeah, that’s the game idea. I think it sounds cute, I don’t know. Have fun with that.

~ A. M. Frost

If you suddenly had all the skills and resources needed for making any type of game about your ocs, what kind of game would you make? And about which oc(s)?

[thisnameisnotspokenfor]

Chapter 28 Snippet (not really a snippet considering that this is what? Literally the first six pages of the next chapter lol)

((Warning: some things you may see here might not make it into the final draft!))

She’d been surprised to see him mount Allepac as casually as he had. But from the way how he’d done it, Asha couldn’t help but suspect that flying had become a rather common occurrence between the two.

“How did it end?” She’d asked, feeling the sea breeze pass her as they stood at the edge of the shoreline. “Cepheus?” She’d called, looking around as she noticed that now it was only her and her animals. “I- Cepheus!”

“Right here, my dear,” he’d called from beside her as she’d nearly jumped. “Sorry about that, I nearly lost you there.” He smiled, his eyes glowing the same moody blues and greens as the cloudy sky above them.“I take it you don’t want to see it?” Cepheus had suddenly asked from beside her. “The war I mean.”

She’d shook her head, “Not particularly no. I was just curious to know whether or not they won.”

“They did,” he answered, after a moment or so of thought. “But it wasn’t easy.” He’d knelt down in the sand as his finger had lazily traced lines within it. The ships flying overhead neared, their forms far more reminiscent of griffins now as she’d watched them disappear into the cloudy sky once more. “From what I gather the Atlanteans have always had one of two strategies when it came to dealing with their enemies. Thanks to their superior technology they’d always been able to eviscerate an enemy headfirst. But for the first time, that strategy didn’t work thanks to, ah-,”

“Allepac?” Asha finished.

“Yes, her.”

Something about the name had felt…familiar to her as she’d thought about it. But she’d opted to continue their conversation instead. “So what was the Atlantean second strategy?”

“Long-term warfare. You see, sometimes when countries fight, the goal may not necessarily be to decimate the other forces so much so as it is to merely tire your enemy out from fighting. It’s how smaller forces usually persist against larger ones. And given the fact that the Atlanteans could live up to hundreds if not thousands of years without aging. Then you could see why this strategy had worked so well in making their generals rather capable warriors.”

“Alright. So how did Erlan and his forces win?”

“Ha,” he’d chuckled as he looked back to the ocean. “You see. It was like Erlan said. Atlantis wasn’t just at war with one nation. They were at war with the world. A world where thanks to Allepac, they’d managed to level the playing field. The people of Erlan’s nation had embraced Allepac with open arms, and because of it, their lifespans had also been extended. They grew to be smarter, and with the help of the other nations, they gave Atlantis a lot of problems. The Atlantean king had wanted to end the war rather quickly in an ultimate display of Atlantis’s might, so he’d built a weapon, one capable of mass destruction.” His fingers traced the sand as she’d heard him say, “On the day when the weapon was supposed to be used. Something had happened. Some claim that it was an error on the Atlantean’s part. Others claim that it was the heart of Atlantis itself that had caused the weapon to suddenly misfire without warning.” He’d turned his eyes back to the ocean. “So in less than a day the empire, the continent was gone.”

A shiver ran down her spine as she tried to fathom just how powerful the weapon could’ve been.“Why would it do that?”

“Why would what do what?”

“Why would the heart destroy its own empire?”

“Because its people were on the verge of wiping out the world. The Atlanteans had grown arrogant and disrespectful. You’d seen how they were treating others. It was no surprise that the rest of the world reduced Atlantis’s legacy and power to nothing more than a fairy tale.”

“I did,” she nodded. “But I didn’t think it would matter that much to something of supernatural origin!”

“Well depending on who you ask, it did. Either way, the war ended with most of the continent destroyed and its capital city settling on the bottom of the ocean.”

The thought of a whole city sitting on the bottom of the ocean was terrifying to her as she tried to shake the visual from her mind.

“They’re not dead if that’s what you’re wondering. At least not yet.”

“Oh…” she wasn’t sure if that bit of information had relieved her or unnerved her. They were alive which was good, but then they were trapped on the bottom of the sea, which was bad. She supposed the ‘crystal’ could take care of them, but even then, the whole situation sounded sad. She supposed that’s why it was mythology, wasn’t it? Where the ending grew more bitter the more the reader pondered it. 

“Did you enjoy the story?” the star’s voice asked, cutting through the silence once more.

She nodded her attention more on the distant waves than the glowing figure beside her. “I did, but I just don’t understand...”

“What do you not understand?”

She turned to him. “I mean, they win, which is great and all, but what about this story interested the astronomers and the celestial courts to keep it?” She’d furrowed her brow in thought before she’d turn her gaze back to him. “Nothing about that makes any sense, unless…Those beings…the heart of Atlantis and Allepac…” The voices of the Atlanteans who’d been slaughtered by Allepac rang in her ears.

“Were they stars?”

Cepheus hesitated, his gaze not meeting hers.

She took a step back, unsure if confusion or amazement had filled her as she tried to piece it together. “They were, weren’t they?” She’d whispered. “They’re stars, just like you.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Cepheus interjected as she noticed his smile shrank. 

“But they were called primordius asterions or something along those lines, weren’t they?”

“You mean Primorus Asteriun?” Cepheus corrected.

“Yeah, that. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“But it’s just like how Erlan explained it, primorus clearly has ties to the word primordial, and Asteriun sounds dangerously close to Asterisms. Which are stars. Primordial star-,” she’d paused, as she nodded. “Wait…didn’t you mention the stars having ancient ones that weren’t safe nor friendly for humans to wish on?!” Her eyes widened as she nodded. Rising to her feet as she began to pace the shoreline. “Allepac is a star! She has to be! First, they call her a primordial being, and then her power had turned Erlan’s eyes silver. Just like there’s a silver court…and then it said that the heart had also been one of them…They have to be stars! They just have to be! But…what stars are they?” she’d paused, frowning as she rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “there’s no Allepac in the sky, that much I’m sure of.” Then she’d turned back to the star at her side, “What are their names?”

“Names?” he’d repeated. His eyes not meeting hers. “I don’t know what you mean….”

She shook her head, scowling, “Don’t lie to me Cepheus! You’ve already shown me this much!”

“Because I didn’t actually think you’d be thinking and paying attention,” he confessed with a grin. She’d watch as he’d lean back, yawning. “You’re certainly better than most who’ve heard this story. Usually, people are way more focused with the visuals than they are with the other stuff.”

She’d huffed, not satisfied in the slightest with his answer as she crossed his arm. “Cepheus.Please. You’ve been the only person who’s been at least semi-transparent with me lately!” the grin on his face had disappeared as he heard the note of pleading within her voice. 

“That’s unfortunate,” he’d winced. 

“I know, but what can I do?” she sighed as she sat back down in the sand next to him. 

“You can ask for better.”

“From the royal family and nobles of Rosas? Haha, I don’t think so.”

“You know Asha, when you think about it…don’t you and Erlan have a lot in common?”

She’d nearly been half tempted to crack a joke about the king taking wishes instead of souls, when she’d thought better of it. Deciding instead to ask, “What do you mean?”

“Well, you and Erlan are both peasants who are taken advantage of by a royal family. You both are often ignored by your superiors despite genuine efforts on your parts to improve the lives of others-,”

“I think that’s just an unfortunate coincidence,” Asha frowned.

“-And you both are looking to restore a past era of your kingdom that you deem superior. One that guides and inspires you. The only difference between you is that Erlan made a wish and look where it got him-” he waved his hand as the beach turned to mist around them, before solidifying once more. Now she could see they were in the castle. A much Erlan now dressed in royal robes with a crown on his head stood in front of a mural. 

“Erlan,” a muffled voice called out as she saw a woman walk into view. She was extraordinarily beautiful. Her jet black hair with silver streaks had been done into a beautiful bun that sat beneath as she wore a rather loose-fitting dress, one that Asha would guess, would have taken her a lifetime just to afford. 

Erlan’s eyes lit up as he turned to her. He gently took her hands in his as he’d pressed a kiss to the back of her knuckles. Her scarlet-painted lips smiled as she laughed. His eyes had lowered to her abdomen, where he’d rested his hand.

That woman must’ve been his queen. Asha thought. Curiosity filled her as she caught sight of the woman’s bright silver eyes. She’d been willing to bet that given what Cepheus had said about Allepac’s interference most if not all of the citizens here had silver eyes. But there’d been something startling about this woman’s eyes as they almost appeared glowing.

She couldn’t hear what they were saying as he pulled her into his arms. Holding her as the two had seemingly soaked in the mural beside them. 

It had taken Asha a second to snap out of her daze as she’d turned back to the star. The world blurs around her as the sounds of the beach and ocean quickly return. “Well, yeah, but you’re missing a crucial difference between me and Erlan,” Asha started as she gestured towards the castle.  “Erlan is a prince. He has powers. He’s practically the textbook example for your usual mythological chosen one! Now she stood up once more, storming about as her voice echoed into the night. ”Secret royalty with a powerful bloodline and parents with a prestigious legacy that he needed to live up to. Sure he sold his soul- but I mean look at how everything and I mean nearly everything worked out for him! You know what I would do if I had a tenth of the luck he had?!” Cepheus had said nothing as she’d deflated, trying to calm herself.

It wasn’t fair for her to yell at the star. Not when he’d only been trying to help her.

“You’re right,” the star said quietly. “You do need more luck, don’t you? But that’s what you have me for.”

“What?”

“I can level the playing field for you. Just like how Allepac did for Erlan. I can make all of your wants and deepest desires a reality. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

She hesitated. It…did sound nice. But then wouldn’t anything?

She’d put in months if not years just for consideration, and when victory had been so close, she’d failed. So many times. She’d let everyone down. Herself, her family, Valentino, and her birds.

But that’s what she always did.

She always let everyone down.

“And isn’t it only fair that little Asha deserved to see at least one of her dreams come to fruition?”

She shook her head, “no…no. I think you’ve got it all wrong.”

“Do I?”

“What I want to do and achieve, isn’t about me. It’s about the future and technology of Rosas. The people deserve better!”

“And who are you to decide what this better looks like?” he’d asked. Had it been anyone else, she may very well have been offended. But she could tell from the genuine curiosity of his tone that he hadn’t meant any harm by saying it. Or at least she’d hoped he hadn’t.

“Sure I’m not the king-,” she started.

“Thank God for that,” Cepheus sighed.

  “But so many other countries have amazing technology. That I wish the people of Rosas had as well. Sure we might not need it as much as everyone else does because we have a powerful king. But the king won’t be around forever.”

“You’re right. He won’t. I suppose after he dies his heir will assume the throne as per tradition,” Cepheus nodded. “But hadn’t that been one of your wishes?”

She’d felt her cheeks flame as she’d looked away, “being a princess was and still is any girl’s wish in Rosas. Power aside, a lot of people do like the prince.”

“I see,” Cepheus hummed. “You know, if you wanted, I could give him to you.”

“P-pardon? What do you mean by…give him to me?”

“I could make him fall for you-,”

“No, you can’t! You can’t just make people fall in love!”

“Really? Because I beg to differ. Now all you, or rather he would need is a curse.”

“A curse?!” she shrieked.

“Yes, a rather potent one. What?” He’d asked taking note of the questioning look she’d given him. “Everyone knows that most if not all princes are either cursed or live in a kingdom that is cursed. Well, most of them are anyway.”

“Nope! No! You are not cursing the prince!”

“Why not? Don’t you think you deserve to be a princess? Perhaps even a queen someday?”

“No. I don’t. In fact, that’s a pretty bold assumption on your part. Thinking that I deserve anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at me Cepheus. I’m not rich nor influential like the nobles nor royal family of Rosas. I’m not impactful or capable like my co-workers.”

Cepheus’s nose had crinkled, “If it makes you feel any better, Asha. I personally wouldn’t call them that capable-,”

“That’s only because you haven’t seen what they can do!” He didn’t look as if he believed her as she continued. “Things that I could only dream of doing. And the people of Rosas actually look up to them and respect them! No one remembers or cares about me! Not the officials, not the nobles, not the painters, heck, not even Rosas top playmaker who lives and breathes all things Royal family related knew I existed. ME!” She’d let out a sound of frustration as she’d drawn her knees up tighter to her chest. “When I was younger and the apprentices were originally discovered, rumors had arisen that the king would bestow noble titles on their families as his thanks for their children offering their services to him. All of their families have become rather affluent due to it. All, save for mine.” She sighed, unable to meet his eyes as she felt Valentino near. “Do you know what it’s like to embarrass your family like that? But it seems like it’s the only thing I’m ever capable of doing…”

[cryptids-lobelia-garden]

OKAY here we are, all caught up! For now. I don’t have any buffer or anything really specific planned for the next few days. Wish me luck. So! This one is set probably like.. three-ish months? Into Volo getting pulled into the agency/under Eclipse’s wing? So yeah, Eclipse hasn’t done anything super serious yet, just messed with his head.

Warnings: ngl I have No Idea what to tag this one.

Whumpee having Issues, that are only being exacerbated by whumper, who isn’t hurting him physically quite yet but he sure isn’t good for Whumpee’s mental or emotional state. Emotional hurt no comfort I guess is what this is. You know when you look back at something really shitty you did and go “…oooohh no.” Yeah it’s that, that’s what this is

Anyway uh. I’m not super happy with how it turned out, this scene is supposed to come in between some other stuff whenever I actually pull everything together, BUT!!!! At least the first draft is written! So I can edit it and string it together with other stuff later!

But yeah, the context this needs is by this point, he’s aware that what he was trying (subjugate Arceus and rewrite history) was never going to work out, and he’s been a little aimless since then, not sure he has a purpose. And this is him kinda finding one!

(Poor guy has a traumatization arc at the same time as his redemption arc 😔 wish him luck he’s gonna need it)

Day 3: Shame

“GIRATINA!! STRIKE THEM DOWN!!!”

Volo sighs as he watches it play out. Again, again.

Four teenagers, twenty four Pokémon, and two gods; one present, one absent.

One teenager blinded by a dream of a world without suffering, the other three fighting for the right to exist.

Six Pokémon against eighteen, and then the playing field is leveled by the help of a god, but still the three teenagers won.

Three siblings, one angry, one upset, one cynical, watching as their flute changes into one that can summon Arceus, and one teenager, alone in the world, angry at the god he’d worshipped for abandoning him in every single time of need. Angry at the god who had helped him for failing.

He had lashed out, and now he was completely and utterly alone.

Three siblings finding their way back to the home they had protected while one teenager grieves the life he never got to live. Three siblings chasing their dreams and meeting their goals while one teenager is lost, stuck with nowhere else to go but away. But he can’t go away, because Hisui is his home. His broken, pain-filled home, full of the memories of his people.

They have everything, and he is left alone.

Three siblings growing up and becoming champions of their region, one teenager finding a strange device and traveling to another time.

To another dimension.

Would things have been different, had I not done all this? Would I have more than just myself, my Pokémon, and Eclipse to rely on?

He scrolls back in time.

Three siblings and one teenager meeting for the first time. A Pokémon battle, and two of the siblings became fast friends with the teenager.

And a few months later, he betrays them for nothing but a chance at a plan that never would have worked in the first place.

“GIRATINA!! STRIKE THEM DOWN!!!”

..He turns his holocomputer off and lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling.

..maybe Eclipse is right. I deserve to hurt for what I put those three through.

We were all teenagers, but I was older. They were 15. I was an adult. I should’ve known better- I tried to KILL them.

And my actions indirectly killed so many more..

He lets his eyes slip closed.

..I’m lucky I have Eclipse. At least he won’t hurt me, despite the fact that I deserve it. Not like so many of the others in this place would.

..I wonder if things would be different, had I called it all off.

I wish I could go back and stop it. But that would only create a paradox involving the Agency itself. It would only make everything worse, might actually break reality as a whole..

He rolls over, curling up on his side and hiding in the plush blankets.

..Maybe, if I hadn’t been born, the world would be better off.

Thousands dead, tens of thousands hurt, and SO MANY displaced throughout time and space.. All because of a dream that could never have worked.

I need to help them. It’s my fault they’re lost, after all.

I can’t bring back the dead.

But I can at least help the living.

[krytus]

the thing between terry & daniel is genuinely so insane and so terrifying because like. ok. w kreese & johnny, kreese does love johnny in his own horrible way, he thinks of him as his son, but its an unhealthy possessiveness. he loves johnny up and until the point where johnny fully and totally rejects him, then he has no problem killing him. but no one else can hurt him. johnny is his, to love and to kill.

but w daniel and terry its like. theres this terrifying notion that there's no end to their relationship. terry doesnt want anything from daniel, he's not kreese who at the end of the day, just wanted johnny to love him (the way he is, not the way johnny wants him to be). terry hurts daniel because he enjoys it, he terrorizes him out of sheer glee.

and its such a fascinating detail that terry, after getting roped back into the War, doesn't start to spiral until daniel tells him to fuck off and die. daniel doesn't accept his apology, doesn't believe for a second that it comes from a genuine place (in contrast w mike barnes!! who offers such a sincere and genuine apology, held back over the years just bc he was worried it wouldn't benefit daniel to hear it). bc daniel isn't the forgiving victim, after all these years. the trauma terry made him go through affects him so deeply he almost chokes on it.

and godd terry in s5 just wants the simple pleasure of hurting daniel. pain in every part of his body, fear in every corner of his mind. he wants daniel isolated, just like before, in agony with no one around to comfort him. he corners daniel and scares him, threatens him. keeps him on edge so that daniel will self sabotage. makes him an offer of peace that he knows daniel isn't going to take, just to torture him with it later. terry's a cat, and daniel is his mouse. he doesn't want to see him dead, he wants to play with him, meet daniel's feeble attempts at resistance. he wants to take away daniel's support, his friends and family. he lays a trap when he takes over topanga karate, hoping chozen will walk right into it (which he does, but still, chozen is too clever for terry to catch).

and god, isn't that just the most terrifying thing ever? there's this man who hates you, who wants to hurt you, humiliate you, a man with seemingly unlimited resources and most of all, the time and passion to destroy every aspect of your life. and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

in a way, its good that johnny and chozen (and mike) just said fuck the consequences, we're going after terry. its not a choice daniel would have been able to make, i think (even if they'd all been sober). he'd want to Beat Cobra Kai and hope that would also lead to the downfall of silver, but a direct attack? is something he cant even consider. and you can it see in that final fight. daniel is scared, obviously he's scared. but he's fighting for his family. and in that indirect way, he's fighting for himself. this is the only way to be saved, to stop silver for good.

because terry's tactics only work when daniel is scared of him. the minute daniel has support, he's able to stand up. look terry in the eye without fear. terry looks so human, flesh and blood, not the monster of his nightmares. and daniel? daniel can beat him. and he does.

[ev-pierce-writes]

Doll

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier) x F!Reader

Words: 7.7K

Rating: Very much 18+

Warnings: P in V, oral (fem receiving), light (consensual) choking, praise, James Buchanan Barnes is a sad boy and only you can make him happy, mutual therapy over past trauma, a couple light spanks, and some sexy sparring

Note: Reader had a run-in with Hydra that gave you invisibility powers. Bucky is tasked with training you. Totally not canon, I just kept the parts I liked. Got the idea from a tiktok but I can't find it anymore oops. I'm thinking of turning it into a series of all the places you can fuck Bucky Barnes at Avengers HQ. Enjoyyyyyy....

---

"Alright, so I'm thinking absolutely the first thing you need is a suit. Because we can't have you sneaking around in clothes that give you away."

Tony Stark and Peter Parker stand before you at Avengers HQ, furiously tossing ideas back and forth, trying to come up with ways to build you the best possible suit. Last night had been...interesting, to say the least.

"Who's that?" Stark had said when you appeared all of a sudden from your room. "Come on Agent Hill, don't tell me you're taking in lost kids nowadays."

Your mother had only laughed, slightly inebriated and feeling loose because of all the drinking that was going on in your penthouse apartment. She was hosting one of those parties where too many superpowers drank too much alcohol and got a little too rowdy. "That's my daughter."

Usually, you stay away from such events, go out with friends, and avoid the house until it's all over. For the past four years, you hadn't even been in the house to need to avoid it. But now you're 22 and a recent college graduate and something about the party was drawing you in so you had emerged from your hideaway to join in the fun.

"Alright, Maria, how'd you manage to keep that one a secret?" Romanov spoke up.

Until this point, you'd remained silent, in shock at the sudden attention a group of superheroes had focused onto you. But you couldn't help yourself from responding now. You'd managed to hide away long enough. It was time to come into the open.

"I'm a ghost," you said jokingly, approaching the couch and stealing the drink your mother had been drinking to take a sip. It was strong and burned on the way down. The group laughed at your words, unaware of how true they really were.

It was then that you'd performed your little trick, the one that only a few of your closest friends had ever seen. You became invisible.

The laughter had immediately stopped. The girl who suddenly appeared out of thin air had disappeared right back into it. They could still tell where you were of course. The glass in your hand remained visible, floating in mid-air, giving away your position. And your clothes were still perceptible, not being able to change with you. But your features were otherwise undetectable, not even a shimmer revealing your face. You took another sip of the drink, liquid disappearing into an invisible mouth.

"I want her. On the team," Stark had said.

And that was it. The start of your superhero career.

"Explain again exactly how this works?" Parker asks.

You sigh and start from the beginning, again. "I can distort the absorption wavelengths of my cells so that the reflected light is in the invisible range, usually infrared."

"And how long can you hold it for?"

"About seven minutes now," you explain. "It's sort of like holding your breath. You can go underwater for a while, and you can practice holding your breath longer and longer, but eventually, you need to come up for air. Eventually, I have to 'recharge.' But I've been working on extending it."

Stark turns to one of the many holograms of his supercomputer, working with Friday to design a brand new suit to accommodate your skills. You're so engrossed in watching his process you don't even notice the shadowy figure appear in the doorway that leads to the training facilities.

"How'd you get these powers? Agent Hill isn't lacking in skill but it certainly isn't supernatural."

You knew Stark's question would come up eventually. It always did. Over time, it became easier to tell the story, but now you really don't feel like explaining fully, so you tell the short version.

"Hydra. When I was seventeen. They used me as a bargaining chip against my mom in a mission gone wrong and decided to experiment on me in the process. Left me with a lot of scars and a lot of therapy. Almost dropped out of school."

You don't remember much from the experience. But enough for it to leave lasting damage.

"Hydra?" a familiar voice asks behind you. Only now do you notice that Barnes is behind you. How long has he been watching?

You remain silent, just like you did the night before when he'd arrived late to the party, unable to speak under his gaze.

You had planned to leave not long after you joined the festivities. But when the elevator doors opened, a pair of blue eyes halted you in your path. James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier. You'd recognize those eyes anywhere. Crystal clear and icy, freezing you under their gaze. He wore a leather jacket and leather gloves, concealing his metal arm, but you knew it was there, hiding behind the layers.

Barnes had always been the one that caught your eye during your mother's briefings. His transition from the greatest warrior Hydra had to offer, and thus S.H.I.E.L.D.'s greatest enemy, to the trusted companion of Captain America and official Avengers member intrigued you. At first, he had been more of a schoolgirl crush, the little girl grappling with her new powers seeking guidance in someone who didn't even know she existed. But age had not reduced your admiration of him. Barnes' face was hard set in serious determination and his glance barely grazed over you before turning to the rest of the group. He paid you not a single ounce of attention, yet you felt dumbstruck in his presence.

But Bucky had noticed you that night. Noticed you in a way he wanted desperately to hide, so he disallowed his eyes from lingering on you. Who were you and why were you wearing pajamas at a party and how did you make them actually look good?

And not only did he notice you, but he recognized you. He wasn't sure how, but something at the back of his head buried beneath decades of blurred half-memories told him he knew you. It was a stupid thought, though. How could he know you?

From the doorway, his eyes narrow in concern, making you feel smaller than ever beneath him. How is that 5 o'clock shadow so enticing? You just want to run your fingers across--

Stark gestures at Barnes, completely ignoring his comment. "Good, you're here. Our young Agent Hill needs to get started with her training immediately. I want her in the field but she can't be going in inexperienced. Teach her the works."

It's rather bold of Stark to assume you have no combat skills. And to assume you even want to go into the field. But you follow behind Barnes in silence anyway toward the training facilities. It doesn't matter what you know and don't know. He's going to kick your ass anyway.

"Feet wider," he says, coaching you on your swing. His blue eyes have somehow darkened, and along with the faint beard, he looks positively dangerous. "Not too wide."

"I know how to punch, Barnes," you whisper under your breath. He's not meant to hear your words, but he does anyway.

"Oh yeah? Punch me then. Go for it." His voice is challenging in the way that reveals he knows he could block any swing that comes at him. But he wants to see what will happen. Your mention of Hydra loosened a memory in his brain somewhere, and though he can't quite place his finger on it, the memory told him you're anything but the kid he's treating you like. He wants to know what you really have inside you.

Your annoyance gets the best of you. You aim for his face, the way your mother taught you. And she taught you well, teaching you all the self-defense skills you might need moving through the world as a woman. But she did not teach you how to fight super soldiers. That's an entirely different world.

Unsurprisingly, Barnes predicts your move and his metal arm comes up to meet your human one, halting your punch mid-swing. His palm fully engulfs your fist, your knuckles slamming into the metal with a ringing sound.

"Fuck, that hurt," you seethe through your teeth, gripping your hand in pain. And yet, you still smile. You mean for your words to sound irritated, but they betray how much you enjoy getting a swing in. "Didn't have to do me like that, Barnes."

He ignores your pain, though secretly it pleases him to find how much force is truly behind your punch. Nothing, of course, his metal arm can't take, but strong enough. "Language, kid. Go again. And this time, try not to be so obvious."

Despite his advice, it's impossible. He predicts every one of your strikes and counters them with four times as much strength as you possess. You give him everything you have, and nothing lands.

"This would be a lot easier if you let me use my powers."

So far, Barnes has refused to let you fight invisible, not that it would have done you much good without a proper suit. But you're tired and sweaty, your hair falling from its ponytail and sticking to your face, your muscles aching and your heart beating fast. Barnes hasn't even broken a sweat.

"Unless you learn to fight without your powers, they'll do nothing more than level the playing field. You need to be at an advantage if you're going to survive."

Survive. You've done plenty of that already. You want better than survival. Barnes recognizes the look on your face, the one that expresses the desire plainly. He knows the feeling, drifting from one day to the next and wanting more than that.

His voice softens a bit. "We can call it quits for the day. Get some rest. We'll go again tomorrow."

He didn't intend to be so kind. It just sort of happened, drawn out of him by the not-so-innocent girl who still has a lot to learn but can hold her own better than most.

---

Tomorrow. Tomorrow's8 like the day before, 9 am at HQ, wait for Parker to get his ass up the elevator so Stark can begin, get sidetracked by coffee, and then finally return to the task at hand.

"Give this a shot," Stark says, handing you what looks like nothing more than a vaguely human-shaped paper suit. "Not exactly protective, but it's a new technology. Should conform to your abilities."

"You did this overnight?"

"Of course. Get changed."

The suit has little support and definitely no protection. You feel like a fingernail could rip a hole through it if you pull on it wrong, let alone a knife coming at you from an angry enemy. But it's a start. An impressive start. You stare at yourself in the mirror of the bathroom as you shift, the suit shifting along with you.

Back in the training facilities, where you know Stark and Parker will be waiting, you remain in your shifted form. They don't look up as you enter, somehow having not heard you, and instead are engaged in a heated discussion with Barnes about something you don't understand. So you creep up behind Parker, lean in, and whisper into his ear.

"I think it works."

You feel a little bad, but only for a moment. Parker jumps straight out of his skin, screaming a scream you didn't know was possible from the kid. Stark lets out a laugh as you rematerialize, and Barnes even cracks a smile at your prank.

"Yeah, yeah, I'd say so." Parker's voice quivers.

"Well, what do you think?" Stark asks.

"Very thin," you say, aware that much more is visible than you really want. "I feel like it's going to rip at any moment. And there's not a whole lot of support in this area."

You gesture vaguely at your chest, not knowing how best to explain to a group of men that a sports bra is a necessity for fighting, but knowing you have to make them aware all the same. You can feel Barnes' eyes on you, a little less polite than the others, and you find you like the way he eyes you up, a bit like a puzzle to be solved or a strategy to be devised.

"Right, right, I'll get on that. Only a prototype anyway," Stark responds nervously. "Back to work, Parker. Hill, Barnes, back to training."

Bucky tries his best not to picture what you might look like without that suit, but it leaves little to the imagination as you saunter away to change again.

And so the days move forward. You've never before been so busy or exhausted in your life. You just graduated college, which is a feat in itself, but all the training, all the work, keeps you on your toes so that by the end of the day, both your brain and your body are tired.

Still, you improve and get better at sparring Barnes, even taking him down a couple of times on your own, though you suspect he's going easy on you.

"Again." Barnes is already on his feet and helping you to yours. Today the sparring room is particularly warm, and you've long forgone your sweats for shorts and a sports bra. Barnes has lost the shirt as well, and his chest glistens with sweat beneath the fluorescent lights. Maybe it's the heat or maybe it's him, but the whole thing feels a bit dreamlike. Here you are, sparring with a man who could take you to the ground with one arm alone, and he's letting you kick his ass every once in a while.

But there's no way you can do it again. You feel destroyed by all the slamming onto the mat.

Barnes is doing his best not to be distracted as well, but those tight shorts and the top that reveals your midriff have to be on purpose. It's easy to admit to himself that he likes you, might even be attracted to you. You fight hard and relentlessly, rising to every one of his challenges and not backing down even when you're tired. You've already come a long way since that first encounter, and Barnes has come to look forward to the two hours a day you spend together in the gym. He had tried to tell himself it was the fun of having a new sparring partner, but in truth, he knows it's the determined glint in your eyes, the way you bounce on your feet in excited anticipation of the fight, the way you collapse on the mat after a hard session, chest heaving deep breaths in and out. But what he likes most is your heated gaze when he pins you to the ground, or even better, you pin him.

"Knock me down one more time and you can be done," he challenges. The familiar determination returns, though a flicker of doubt remains behind your eyes. He can tell you need encouragement. "Remember to use your size to your advantage. Don't let me get ahead of you. Keep me guessing."

You do your best. You really do. You hold your own for almost two minutes, but it's obvious you're only barely staying ahead of him. As soon as you falter, Barnes has you flat on your back on the mat without much resistance, immobilized by a knee on your thighs and his metal arm trapping your hands over your head. His free hand plants by your head and holds him up to prevent him from actually hurting you.

You gasp underneath him, trying to disguise the weird flicker of desire with breathlessness. He looks good from down here, all sweaty and dark and serious. But you're also a bit too tired to care. "I'm out, Barnes. Let me go."

Let me go. Please.

And that's when the memory returns. The full, real memory, the one that has been tickling the edges of his brain since he first saw you. You, a kid, his mission. Kidnap, don't kill. A small voice, your voice, begging. Please, let me go. What has he done?

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, standing up quickly.

"Language, Barnes," you say teasingly. But he doesn't laugh, simply exits the sparring room, abruptly leaving you, speechless and alone on the floor. What just happened?

After a moment of confused silence on the mat, you brush it off and stand, heading to your room for a shower. Stark offered you a place to stay at HQ, and you happily agreed. Though you loved being back with your mother after four years away at college, you cherish your independence. A room at HQ offered you just that.

A nice shower would certainly make you feel better after that confusing interaction. You pull on your robe and shower shoes, leaving your clothes behind so as to carry one less thing. But as you pass down the hall toward the showers, you can hear Barnes' voice drift through the slightly open door to his room.

"I remembered," he says. "It was her. I'm the reason she's--" He cuts off, appearing to be interrupted by whoever he's talking to on the phone. You pause by the open door.

"I know that's not me anymore but I'm still responsible," he continues. "I have to tell her."

Again a pause. By now it's apparent he's talking about you.

"No, Steve, we aren't a team. We aren't partners. I'm helping Tony out. I don't care if she doesn't want to work with me anymore, this is part of my redemption. I have to tell her."

The conversation seems over. You rush to the showers, not wanting Barnes to realize you were listening the whole time. Apologize, he said. Apologize for what? You've known him for a whole of four days and he's been nothing but polite to you. Cold, at first, but he warms upon acquaintance. And then he's downright sweet.

So sweet, you realize, for someone so damaged. He has every right to hate the world, and though he walks through it with a healthy dose of cynicism, he never lets that cynicism touch you. If anything, he's outright positive around you, an undeserving brat. A kid, really, though you don't like when he calls you that. You know you can be naive, positive on the verge of artificiality, and yet he never tries to burst your bubble. In fact, he seems to relish it.

The shower feels nice, but it does nothing to assuage your fears. Maybe it's you who has done something wrong? Now you're spiraling. You have to find out what's going on or it's going to drive you crazy.

You know what you have to do. You have just about seven minutes of invisibility before your shifting gives out. In those seven minutes, you can duck from the showers, sneak into Barnes' room, snoop around, and make it back to the showers unseen. Plenty of time. But you have to go nude. Now would be a great time for the suit, but no such luck. Naked it is.

Out in the hallway, all is quiet. Barnes' door is still ajar, but when you peek your head in, the room is empty.

Easy.

Where to start? His phone is a dead end, being one of those ancient flipping kinds rather than a new, high-tech smartphone. He has few personal belongings, the bed is made perfectly, and his closet contains only clothes.

The drawers of the nightstand are empty. Or nearly empty. At the back of the top drawer is unceremoniously shoved a small booklet with a pen stuck between the pages. It's worn and supple, as though held a thousand times and read a thousand more. You flip through, finding a list of names, some crossed out, others not. Your name does not appear, but something about the list tells you these are not ordinary names. These are the names of his victims, people Barnes hurt as the Winter Soldier. Your heart aches and your stomach clenches, the reminder of his past jarring against the kind demeanor you've come to know. But deep down, you know this isn't him, know he's a good man, despite it all.

You know better than most the first-hand horrors of Hydra's super-soldier experiments. Of anyone, you can relate best to the experience Barnes has been through. Your memories of that long week are blurry, but the pain remains, forever seared into your mind. You can only imagine a lifetime of that pain.

The sound of the door opening jolts you from your reverie and you close the drawer quickly. But you soon realize your mistake. Barnes would know he left the door open, would know exactly how he placed his book in the drawer, would recognize something was off. Unfortunately, you're right.

"Hello?" he calls into the darkening room. The evening is coming on fast and the sun dims to barely glimmer, casting the space in shadow despite the large windows on the south wall.

Bucky knows something is off the moment he finds your room unoccupied, having gone there with the express purpose of confronting you about his actions earlier in the afternoon. And though he has no way of truly knowing, he suspects you are now here, in this room with him, invisible to his gaze. Bucky shuts the door behind him and waits.

You're trapped. You don't have long before your powers give out; already the suffocating feeling that begs you to take a breath is coming on. And Barnes has closed the door, effectively sealing you in, as you can't open it without him knowing for sure that you're here. On top of that, you're clothingless. You've run out of options and Barnes seems to sense this. So, he waits, drawing out the moment of tension, building the suspense.

"I know you're here," he says finally, his voice soft and barely audible. "You can't hide that well. Next time, dry your feet off before you go leaving wet footprints all over the place."

Oops.

"I--" you begin, and immediately Barnes' eyes snap to where your voice originates from. "I'm sorry. I overheard your conversation with Rogers. I shouldn't have but I know it was about me."

Barnes sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, you're right. I have some things to explain. Though I'd much prefer talking to you if I could see you."

You hesitate. "Only a slight problem there. I'm not wearing any clothes."

If it had been any lighter in the room you would have seen Barnes blush. Instead, you watch him pull his shirt over his head. He hands it to you blindly, the shirt off his own back, soft with wear and long enough to cover the tops of your thighs. It smells of him, salty with sweat and sweet with the scent you've come to recognize only as him. You shrug it on and shift back.

"I'm sorry," you say again, having trouble concentrating with Barnes' bare chest at your eye level. Is that an old bullet wound on his shoulder? The reminder of a knife across his stomach? You can't look away, even at the seam where man meets metal.

Barnes shakes his head. "No, I should be the one apologizing."

He pauses for a moment and tries to begin several times before finally forming a complete sentence.

"It's my fault you're like this, that Hydra tested on you. It was me who kidnapped you, it was me who followed orders, it was me who completed the mission and got you hurt. And I'm so sorry."

You're so frozen in shock that the absurdity of the situation doesn't even register. There's nothing under this shirt, no underwear, no pants, no bra. And here you are standing in the bedroom of your greatest inspiration, listening to him apologize for being the one that facilitated your kidnapping, for being responsible for all the injury, the pain, the nightmares, the isolation, the...

It all comes flooding back, the things you had forgotten, or simply chose to not remember, and one of those things is his face.

You thought you'd dealt with impact. So many hours with a therapist, and you realize all you did was suppress the feelings, not confront them. And then you break, all the anger and sadness and frustration flowing from you at once.

"You piece of shit." Your voice begins as a whisper but soon amplifies nearly to a shout. "You monster, you bastard, how could you? How could you?"

All this time you forgave him for the damage he'd done, excused it as brainwashing and manipulation from Hydra. But now that it's you he's involved, you have somewhere to direct your anger, and you take it out as a shove straight to his chest.

He didn't expect that one. The words he understood. He accepted those, accepted that you would hate him forever. But then you're pushing and hitting him with all your force. Barnes could fight back, could hold his ground. But you need this, so he lets you shove him into the wall with a newfound strength. Finally against the wall, with nowhere left to go, you turn to pummelling his chest with your fists, repeating the words over and over, how could you, how could you, how could you.

For a moment, he lets it happen. But eventually, Barnes reacts, grabbing your wrists and holding them to his chest in an attempt to calm the fury that rages inside you. Surprisingly, at his touch, you still, slumping against him once the anger is replaced with nothing but sadness. That anger, one you never truly realized you'd harbored since your capture, bled from you all at once, leaving you exhausted.

You don't notice you're crying until a soft thumb wipes a tear from your cheek. Barnes releases your hands and wraps his arms around your sobbing body, pulling you close. "I'm so sorry," he repeats in your ear, his words a whisper against the rage inside your head.

Is it hours, or only minutes, standing like that, wrapped up in him, his skin so soft against your cheek? Time has ceased to exist, melting into the nighttime that encompasses the room in near pitch-black darkness. Your breath calms, your heart rate slows, the tears dry. He's only a man, a broken, misplaced, lost man. But he's also impossibly kind to you, caring enough to train you day after day, to pick you up when you fall down, to ensure you're happy here at all times. That's the man you know and rest your cheek against and seek out for comfort in this moment, despite him being the reason for your anger. But he's not truly the reason for your anger, only an easy outlet standing right before you.

This is not how Bucky had expected this to go. Perhaps to never see you again, yes. But to hold you in his arms, certainly not. And not just hold you, but comfort you. It surprises him how much he finds he likes it. And he can't ignore the fact that you're here in his room, wearing his shirt and only his shirt. He doesn't try anything improprietous, just wraps his arms around your waist, but it's not lost on him that your supple chest is pressed against him and the delicious scent from your still wet hair is filling his brain with a flowery cloud. His stomach clenches at the thought of burying his face in that smell for the rest of the night but he pushes it aside. That's not why you're here. That's not what you want.

But your next words surprise him. You pull slightly away, tilting your splotchy face upward towards his to look him in the eye. You take a ragged breath and speak.

"I forgive you."

Bucky is taken aback. That's not why he made this confession, not to seek your forgiveness. "You don't have to do that."

"I know. But I do. And I know you think I'm just a kid--"

Barnes lets out a short laugh, cutting you off immediately. "Jesus Christ, that's not true. You're not a kid. You're smart and strong and capable. And you've seen the ugly world for its true self and choose to remain good and happy all the same. I'm not like that and that makes you wiser than I'll ever be."

He takes a deep breath, unsure if he should admit to the feelings he desperately wants to express to you. The way you're looking at him, with a mixture of hesitation and admiration, makes the words tumble from his mouth without a second thought.

"But somehow being around you makes me want to be good again. Not for my sake, but for yours."

"James, I--" You've never used his first name before, but it falls deliciously from your lips, the sound of it nearly distracting him from the finger you run across the stubble on the cleft of his chin. Nearly. He captures that hand in his own, holding it there against his face.

"You don't have to forgive me. I don't deserve it," he repeats, eyes falling shut to the feeling of your thumb pressed to the corner of his lips. He still holds you close, the other arm wrapping tight around you, and though verbally he rejected the comfort your warmth offered, his body says otherwise, desperate for the acceptance his brain refuses to give into.

"Stop punishing yourself," you whisper. For a moment, he almost feels that he could.

And when your lips find his, soft and delicate, he forgets why you're even here in the first place, forgets his guilt and your anger, forgets even to react.

His lack of response has you pulling away, worried you've done something wrong, but then he's chasing your lips with his own, leaning forward to meet you halfway, gathering you impossibly tighter to his chest. He pauses, mouth mere centimeters from yours, eyes still shut, a deep breath heaving from his chest. He wants more, wants to kiss you again in all the places that count, but he can't quite yet.

"What was that for?" The question's not an accusatory one but simply curious. Have you always looked at him in this light since day one? Has he just not noticed?

"Are you blind, Barnes?"

He laughs and shakes his head. "None of that last name shit, doll, we've moved on to a first-name basis."

But your words are enough to surge him forward, this time capturing your lips in a dominating kiss that leaves you gasping for air. He takes advantage of your open mouth and presses his tongue to yours, seeking to fill his soul with your all-consuming warmth, to wrap it around him like a cocoon of your scent. His fingers slide down your back and slip under the shirt you wear, his shirt, grasping at the bare skin of your ass, filling his hands with your supple flesh.

You moan softly under his touch, relishing in the feeling of being encompassed by someone so large and so strong. The vibranium arm, which you expected to be harshly indelicate against your relative fragility, caresses you with the same gentility of the other. The intense contact sends your heart racing like it did all the times you were pinned below him on the sparring mat. Will he pin you like that in bed? Hold you down while he fucks you within an inch of your life?

The thought rouses a heat between your legs and stirs butterflies in your tummy. You don't even know if that's where this is going, but it invades your brain anyways. You're sure Barnes can feel your racing pulse beneath his lips when he kisses your neck, sending your nerves haywire as he creeps toward the neckline of your shirt. He inhales your scent, the hot air of his breath fanning your cool skin.

Everything about this is sloppy, the wet kisses dragged across your skin, his tongue tangled with yours, your fingers tugging at the hair that brushes the nape of his neck. Even his hips against yours are messy and rough, the heat of him leaving your core feeling slick, the wetness of it rubbing between your naked thighs. And then Barnes is sliding his hands back up your body, this time under your shirt, and tugging it over your head, his lips leaving your skin just long enough to toss the item to the ground.

You expect him to keep surging forward, to lift you in his arms and take you to bed like you want him to. But he pauses instead, hands cradling the back of your head, his eyes staring intensely into yours. Or you think he's staring into your eyes.

"Are you okay? Is this okay?" His voice is full of concern but raspy with arousal all the same.

"Yes, James, yes, I need more."

"Well, I would, it's just that you've disappeared on me again." One look at your hands and you know he was looking right through you, not at you. The swirl of emotions--pleasure, arousal, timidity even--sent you shifting without your knowledge. You can't help but laugh.

"Let me see you, doll," he groans, sounding exasperated that he can't rake his gaze across your naked flesh or find all the places he wants to touch you because they're invisible.

"You first."

A heated understanding lights up his eyes, still vibrant in the darkness of the room. Slowly, he releases his grip on you, relenting to not knowing where you are in space. You take an invisible step back to get a better view of the specimen before you. With one hand, he unbuckles his belt, sliding the leather from his pants and dropping it to the floor with a thunk. And then his pants are gone and he's left in his boxers, tight against the bulging muscles of his thighs.

And other bulging things. He doesn't hide his attraction to you. But still, you do not reappear.

Bucky begins to worry you're never going to, that maybe he's taken things too for. But then, a soft finger trails across his neck and he jerks in surprise. You're tracing the plain of his chest with a feather-light touch, dipping into the indent between his collarbones, feeling along the puckered scar of a bullet wound and the long slice of a knife. He feels healed beneath your touch, but it's not enough to satisfy the insatiable hunger building in the tightness of his groin. This entire evening has been a long, drawn-out, build-up of tension, and if he doesn't release it soon, it will snap like an overstretched rubber band.

He makes his move.

Apparently, Bucky's senses are just as perceptive here as they are on the sparring mat. His metal hand shoots up and wraps around the wrist of the hand on his chest, despite being unable to see it. The other reaches out and grapples at your invisible body in the dark, somehow finding your waist. He doesn't need to see you to manage to flip you around and press your back against his chest. In your surprise, your invisibility falters, and you flicker out of your shifted form with a flustered squeak, one hand suddenly pinned between your back and Bucky's rock-hard chest.

He holds on with an iron grip and walks you toward the bed, holding you up to prevent you from tripping in your ruffled state.

"You're taking too long, doll," he mumbles into your ear, and you feel his chest rumble with the vibrations. Your free hand flies to the one around your waist, which is slowly creeping upward toward your breast to twist at the sensitive nipple. "I know you like it when I pin you on the sparring floor. I can see it in your eyes. I'll take you like that right now if you give me the word."

Fuck, you want nothing more but you can't breathe enough to get the words out, opting for nodding vigorously instead. But Bucky wants words, gently prodding you forward to get a verbal commitment out of you. He will never take you against your will again. So you manage a long, drawn-out please and suddenly you're face-first in the sheets, bent halfway at the waist, your ass grinding against the delicious bulge pressed against your aching cunt. It pleases you that he has been thinking the same wicked thoughts as you when he slams you to the mat over and over again in training.

Bucky pulls your arm out from underneath you, joining it with the other and holding them together with his metal fist at your lower back, forcing your chest further into the mattress and your ass higher in the air. There's no way for you to move, no matter how hard you try. But you don't try, won't try. Bucky has you right where you want to be.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmurs in your ear and you breathe an affirmation. His teeth nibble suddenly at your ear lobe and you squirm, the sensation of his breath fanning your skin sending goosebumps along the trail of kisses he leaves down your spine. Somehow, you know this is only the calm before the storm, the gentle caresses of a man who's about to rearrange every organ in your body, all the way up to your heart if you aren't careful.

It doesn't matter to you that it's pitch black in the room; you wouldn't have been able to see anything with your face shoved into the comforter, even if the lights were on. But Bucky's starting to regret having left the lights off, wishing he could better see the curve of your hips, the swell of your thighs, or the bloom of his handprint on your ass when his hand comes down with a smack. He resigns to being satisfied by the mewling gasp that escapes your lips and your soft pleas to Do it again, harder.

So he does. Smack.

And then he's sinking to his knees and you can tell because he leaves a wet stripe of skin with his tongue over the globe of your ass and blows a shock of cool air across the rawness of your skin.  He replaces the sting of his hand with the bite of his teeth and then a kiss to soothe you again. The rollercoaster of sensations has you moaning against the mattress and rocking your hips toward his face and Barnes chuckles at your movement, your actions giving away the desperation you feel to have his tongue move to more sensitive places.

He is happy to oblige. You hadn't even noticed you'd been squeezing your thighs together until he slid a hand up between them, forcing them apart. It's a blessing your legs aren't doing any work to keep you up anymore because they feel like jelly under his touch. The hand between your thighs moves higher still until you feel his thumb pressed to your sensitive clit, warm and twitching with anticipation, desire coursing through your veins and dripping from your wet cunt. Your ears barely register that he's speaking, the blood is pumping so hard in your ears, but his words are exalting.

"Look at you, so wet for me." The hand around your wrists tightens just slightly. You are surprised by the extreme control he has over the cool metal fingers, and you almost wish he'd use those on you instead. And then he says, "you like it, don't you, doll, being at my mercy," and you forget all about the arm and decide it doesn't matter what hand presses down with a gentle strength on your clit as long as he doesn't stop. And he doesn't. Doesn't move, doesn't flinch or twitch or falter, just holds steady until your gasping mewls die down just enough for you to say, "yes, all for you, all for you, all..."

With those words, his thumb slips, between your slick folds into your pussy, finding the soft spongy flesh and pressing down again and you cry out with a careening moan that tapers off into a silent sob. He's taking his time, picking you apart, pulling at the laces that bind you together, and undoing them to release the tension he knows you harbor. But what about him? Is it not torture for him?

You breathe in a rough gasp, enough to squeak out a few more words. "I thought we were going too slow for you."

He laughs, he actually laughs, at your words, but relents.

"I hear you, doll."

I hear you. Oh wow. His tongue replaces his finger and you lose all coherence, able only to blubber some iteration of his name as the smooth muscle traces circles around your clit, finally allowing your orgasm to build with a steady contraction in your pelvis. Barnes moans between your legs like he's never tasted chocolate or buttercream or any of those other wondrous flavors and there's only you. And that moan sends you overboard, the vibrations diffusing down your legs and you tremble into your first orgasm. Your first orgasm.

He keeps going, riding out the waves of your high until you're crying that it's too much, James, too much and he pulls his tongue away from your oversensitized clit only to move down your legs. He's working you up again, teasing the smooth skin of your inner thigh with gentle nips and kisses until your body is craving release again, your cunt clenching around nothing but the memory of his mouth. He is deliberate in his ministrations, methodical in the way he must be with his missions. The flood of your first orgasm has dripped steadily down your thigh and he cleans you with his tongue, dragging upward along the sticky trail of your musky release until his tongue makes contact again and he pulls an orgasm from your desperate body once more.

He still hasn't released your arms.

"You know how long I've wanted to do this?" he groans, as you shudder again into the pleasure of his touch. He kisses back up the length of your spine while you twitch under him, his free hand dragging shock wave after shock wave from your cunt. It strikes you that this man is truly 106, not 26 like his body suggests, and you absentmindedly wonder if that's why he's so good at it, that he's had years to practice. And then his cock is pressing against your folds and you forget the notion halfway through thinking it. "You're so good to me doll, so good for opening up for me. Wanna feel your tight pussy around me."

You push backward, or do your best to without the employment of your arms, wanting desperately to feel him inside you. He is warm and all-encompassing and part of you thinks his cock spilling his seed inside of you would complete you like nothing else. But you know that's a bad idea and you can hear him already unwrapping a condom (where did he get that from?) and your body trembles with the anticipation. You haven't even seen him yet but you know he must be big, the way he grunts when the tip of his erection teases your entrance.

When he enters you it isn't gentle like the stroke of his tongue. It splits you open with a rough thrust, the laces of your heart fully undone and releasing you from their confinement. You choke on your own air.

And then he's releasing your arms, and before you can react, Barnes has you lifted, your back to his chest, your knees shoved roughly into the mattress so he can stand and fuck you from behind. The metal arm finds your neck and forces your head back, his lips dragging hot against your soft skin and muttering filthy praise into your ear, his hand gently on your throat to hold you there. Your hands fly to his, not to pull him away, but to convince him to squeeze, just a little bit harder. The pressure is grounding, and then the hand around your waist is trailing toward the bud of your clit and rubbing in urgent circles and you let out a silent gasp as he thrusts into you at a pace astounding for the position you're in.

You come hard, over his hand, around his cock, and for the first time Barnes falters, stunned by the intensity with which you clamp around him and if he hadn't made you come two times already he might have held out a bit longer to pull another one of those stunning orgasms from your slick cunt. But you're sagging, using him to hold you up against the exhaustion of repeated abuse so he releases, riding the wave of pleasure you started. Bucky groans out your name, surprising you with the gentleness of it on his tongue despite the rough hand around your neck.

When he releases you softly back onto the bed, you sink heavily into the mattress, feeling high on pleasure and drunk on his hands. He pulls away and shuffles around the room, and if you had had any energy left you might have complained at the loss of him but as it sits nothing will rouse you from the intense desire to simply fall asleep.

He continues to move about and then... the lights go on? You groan at the harsh treatment of your eyes as they adjust. But Barnes returns and pulls you against him and apologizes for the rude awakening.

"Sorry, doll," he mutters. "Wanted to get a better look at you." His fingers glide along your back and his face nuzzles into the top of your head, breathing into your hair as you press your forehead into his chest. Despite being exhausted himself he trails his hands all over your body, exploring the side of you that has been shoved into the sheets for the better part of the evening. You let him, although your nerves feel fried and oversensitive to touch.

"Watch what you do with those hands," you giggle as his fingertips brush over a nipple, "unless you're ready to go again."

"Already looking forward to next time?"

"You wish," you tease, but already you know for certain that there will be a next time.

[gofancyninjaworld]

Hello! I've been binging your posts abt opm and they're all so amazingly detailed and well written, there are some minor stuff I disagree with, but tbh that didn't lessen my enjoyment. Really, what makes opm so good is that you can enjoy it on a surface-level, but if you bother to prod and poke and investigate some more, it also greatly rewards the reader. Viewing it as a comedy or taking it straight as a bleak world, both could still work

Tbh when I read a part of Saitama's pov causing friction against the dog eat dog world of opm, from what I recall that you said something along the lines, if it's from Saitama's pov, it's a comedy, it's lighthearted, the monsters aren't threats they're annoyances (sure, some aspects of Saitama aren't always for comedy, but the point abt the pov still stands). It does serve as a kind of a break or at least a form of escapism that things would be ok, in contrast to whatever everybody else is experiencing (which is complete and utter hell). It was why Saitama could afford to be somewhat static in a sense

But I think 166 is such a crucial chapter, in that Saitama's pov greatly stops being comedic (there are some comedic elements still, but the lightheartedness has straight up gone and evacuated) and starts crashing and merging into the reality of the world of opm.

For once, we actually see some genuine, devastating consequences on Saitama's end, and it is something he is accountable for. I do recall that you said WC Saitama's issue is that no one really holds him accountable when it needs to (?). While manga Saitama gets a tasting dose of that from King countless chapters earlier, this time he gets a heavy and brutal dose of it. There's no sugarcoating this. While yeah I have no doubt the other heroes would come back, esp Genos, but the fact it escalated to this degree when it didn't have to, admittedly some of the blame fall on Saitama's shoulders. It may be God's will, it may have been Garou's fist that tore out the core, but it was also Saitama's carelessness that played a factor on why Genos is killed. For a man who can travel faster than the speed of light, was it really that impossible for him to arrive on time to stop Garou killing Genos?

He's not perfect. This is his lowest point as a hero — even a hero must be aware that people you care about can and will die in the field, but I guess Saitama got so swept up in his emotions and got his determination in his identity as a hero broken, that he pretty much said fuck it and tried to throw an earth shattering punch with everyone else as collateral. From what I can see it diverges from WC, this isn't really a "hero" vs. "monster" fight bc Saitama has stopped fighting this for the sake of righteousnes or justice or knocking some sense into Garou but rather bc it's personal and he's mad and he's grieving. Not to mention Garou has no agency here, his body hijacked by God.

By all accounts, I think Saitama genuinely wants to kill Garou — and I have no doubt Saitama will win the fight physically, ideologically... He may have already lost the moment he threw Serious Punch with complete and utter regard for those around him. The only thing I wonder if he'll lose again if he doesn't calm down and gets informed that Garou is being controlled by God.

On one hand, I'm sad that I didn't reply to this when you first asked this because my answer would have been very different. Still, events did unfold in an interesting way.

Thinking back on it, I agree that Saitama really did want to kill Garou. He might no longer remember this timeline, but we see it and we know that he can't claim not to understand where Genos is coming from on his revenge quest. He's the guy who would destroy everyone and everything.

The struggle he had with Garou was not so much to beat the guy down as it was with himself so that he did not lose who he was or what mattered to him in the process. That was a huge struggle for Saitama.

And that determination of his to keep Genos's core safe at all cost is probably going to be much more important than we realise even now but we'll have to wait and see what comes of it.

The fact that Saitama *did* come back in time in order to save everyone in time in the end would have totally pissed me off but for the fact that being able to do so came down to Saitama finding grace and empathy for Garou. That's what got through to him and got him to stop luxuriating in the bad guy who deserves to be hated schtick so instead he went '...but I can do better.' And did.

In a way, it's a shame that Saitama doesn't remember these events, or he'd realise that he also owes Blast his thanks for keeping the Earth safe from him. Hehe, instead he's slandered Blast, albeit without malice.

[andypantsx3]

defiant | bakugou/reader

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

status: complete

length: 4,485 words

summary: There are a lot of benefits to managing your pro hero boyfriend, but dealing with the PR nightmares he generates is not one of them. After Katsuki gets way too mouthy with a hapless reporter, you take it upon yourself to put him in his place.

Katsuki, however, has other ideas.

tags/warnings: smut, arguing, possessive sex, light bondage, aged up characters, reader attempts to dom bakugou (keyword: attempts)

notes: This is based several years after the events of my fic savvy though you do not need to have read it to enjoy this one!! This is also unedited because I am too lazy, my apologies for the various mistakes within. I will come back and fix them at some point. Dedicated to @bobawithpomegranate​ for reminding me I was supposed to be working on this.

It was a Friday afternoon at approximately three p.m. when Bakugou Katsuki lost his fucking mind.

You knew this information because you had been watching the press coverage of your boyfriend’s latest fight, an operation in which he and Kirishima Eijirou had paired up to defeat a villain with an earthquake quirk.

Katsuki and Kirishima had taken the man down in record time, mere minutes after the reporters showed up. You’d watched them pound the villain into the very street he’d ripped up in the first place, and now Kirishima was puttering around in the background of the news coverage, smiling as he chatted up civilians against the wreckage of the city street behind him. Which left Katsuki to saunter over to the gaggle of field reporters and give the customary interview.

His blonde hair was disheveled, and his mouth was quirked up into a sharp smile, the way it always was after he’d just come out of a good fight. But he looked otherwise unharmed, just as intense and savagely handsome as always. He even looked like he might be in a good mood, pleased with the results of his fight, and you thought he might actually keep the swearing to a minimum this time.

He ducked under the police tape, flaxen hair glinting gold under the afternoon sun, and stalked over to the nearest reporter, already opening his mouth to crow over his latest victory.

Which is when something off screen caught his attention.

There was a muffled question from one of the reporters--not from the network you were watching or the mic would have caught it--and Katsuki’s scarlet gaze cut to the side. You watched in horror as his expression slowly morphed into one of apoplectic rage.

“You fucking piece of shit,” Katsuki snarled, eyes narrowing, an explosion already crackling between his fingers.

The camera jerked to the side, catching the startled expression of another reporter. He looked vaguely familiar to you--tall, handsome in a bland kind of way, teeth bleached for his job as a television personality. You thought you might have met him briefly at the last Hero’s Gala, but you didn’t have time to linger on the memory--Katsuki was already on the move, fighting his way through the pack of reporters, looking ready to commit a murder.

“--think you can just fucking talk to me, asshole?” you heard him shout.

“What did he say?” a voice murmured off screen.

“--he just asked Dynamight how he feels about his success today,” another voice uttered, closer to the camera, sounding bewildered and more than a little alarmed.

“You’re gonna wish you had never fucking been born, asswipe!” Katsuki shouted over them.

He’d nearly reached the reporter when there was a blur of red and Kirishima was there, one bulky arm seizing Katsuki around the middle. He hauled Katsuki out of the sea of journalists, even as Katsuki struggled, spitting and snarling like a wet cat.

“You fucking try that shit again and I’ll fucking blow your teeth straight into your brain!” Katsuki hollered, drowning out whatever Kirishima was muttering to him.

Your phone screen lit up next to you, several notifications pinging simultaneously. You let out a gusty sigh, glancing down at the contact names. News outlets, looking to scoop their competitors by getting the first statement from the Dynamight Agency on Katsuki’s behavior.

You swiped over a screen and dialed the number for the PR department, watching Katsuki continue to rage on screen, struggling against Kirishima’s hold. The crags in Kirishima’s skin told you he was close to going Unbreakable, and the sight sent a hot bolt of irritation through you.

You had no idea what the hell Katsuki thought he was doing, launching himself at a reporter like that. A reporter who had apparently done nothing but ask him how he felt about the success of his fight, a question Katsuki--the smug fuck--typically reveled in answering.

It had been a long time since Katsuki’s last PR disaster (tackling pro hero Deku over the side of a buffet table after an innocuous comment at one of their first Hero’s Galas), and you’d gotten him to promise you to be more careful after that. You’d honestly thought he’d pretty much moved past that sort of thing now. He’d grown somewhat calmer with age--though not less foul mouthed--and as his girlfriend, you were able to exert some level of influence over his actions, as each year, your understanding of how to play him grew deeper and deeper.

So what the fuck he thought he was doing right now was absolutely beyond you. And also absolutely not appreciated, as you had much better things to be doing than cleaning up after him for a shit fit that he definitely could have controlled.

If there was something bothering him, you were going to make him tell you. And if he was up to his old tricks, maybe he needed a refresher on exactly why it was inappropriate to go off like a bomb at every little thing.

As Katsuki’s primary PR rep picked up on the other end of the line, already speaking to you in a brisk tone, you resolved yourself to the task. You were going to get to the bottom of whatever had sent Katsuki into a fit--and you were going to remind him how and why to behave himself.

Whether he wanted to or not.

The trickiest part of your plan was catching Katsuki off guard.

That kind of a feat was nearly impossible, as Katsuki had reflexes honed by years of experience, an alarmingly keen intellect, and a single-minded determination that was frankly terrifying to contemplate. It had been years since he’d been outmaneuvered by anyone in the field, and the odds were against anyone who thought they could get the jump on him.

Luckily for you, you knew that his single-mindedness was the one thing that could also be used against him.

You left the agency slightly earlier than normal, shooting off a message to Katsuki to let him know you’d meet him at home. And then you yanked open your proverbial bag of tricks.

You helped yourself to a long shower, lathering on some of Katsuki’s body wash instead of your own, a trick that--you’d learned after once running out of your own--sent him into something like a possessive frenzy, knowing you smelled like him, that anyone you encountered would know you’d helped yourself to a man’s personal effects and understand that you were already spoken for.

Then you rustled around in your drawers for a nicer pair of lingerie--not anything super fancy that would suggest you were up to anything special, but nice enough that Katsuki’s interest would be piqued.

And then you dug around in the closet for the most essential element of your plan--handcuffs. Your face warmed with the memory of the last time these had been used--a blur of rough palms and sharp teeth all over you, while you all but sobbed for more--but you frantically quashed the thought. Tonight, if all went according to plan, you wouldn’t be the one strapped helpless to the headboard.

You weren’t the one with a lesson to be learned, after all.

The scrape of keys in the door sent you dashing to hide the handcuffs underneath your pillow, and then the stomp of boots in the hall told you your boyfriend had made it inside. You hastily yanked a sweater and jeans over your lingerie, then went out to meet Katsuki in the kitchen.

He clearly hadn’t had time to change after his fight, still slightly disheveled, blonde hair mussed and scarlet eyes sharp as they narrowed in on you. His handsome features were twisted into a suspicious expression.

“The fuck’re you up to, ditching early? Thought I was gonna get fucking screamed at when I made it back to your office,” Katsuki growled, watching you intently as he stripped off his gloves and boots. They hit the ground with a dull thud.

Your heart shot into your throat, but you pasted on your best placid expression. “I ditched because I didn’t feel like dealing with every outlet in the entire country blowing up my office line. Thought I could get more done here where it’s quieter.”

You didn’t mention exactly what you planned to get done here, hoping Katsuki would assume it was all PR and damage control.

In a way, it was damage control. Just...not via traditional methods, exactly.

Katsuki’s eyes tracked you closely. He still looked skeptical. “You gonna let me have it then, princess?”

Oh you were gonna let him have it, alright. He just had no idea.

You watched him for a while, pretending to contemplate unloading on him the way you wanted to. “Just...not now. I’m too tired, I don’t even want to deal with it.”

He scoffed. “Bullshit. You live for giving me shit. Fucking out with it.”

You glared at him. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be giving me orders. And if I was gonna say anything before I’m certainly not now. Now go clean yourself up. I have work to finish, thanks to someone.”

You retreated back into the bedroom, smothering a grin.

Nothing got Katsuki jumped up like defiance. Years into your relationship, he knew on some level that he wasn’t actually in charge of you, but he still got just as worked up when you got mouthy with him as he had on day one. It wouldn’t be long until he came back in, trying to pick the same fight, altogether too interested in the attitude you’d give back to him.

He was such a boy.

You lounged around on the bed, pulling out your work laptop and firing off a couple emails while you waited, just for something to do. Katsuki’s PR rep seemed to have things well in hand, but you helped where you could.

Soon enough, Katsuki was stalking back into your room, hair dark from a shower, looking like he hadn’t even bothered to dry off before stomping back in. He wore only a dark pair of sweatpants, the hard planes of his chest on full display--you suspected he’d foregone a shirt on purpose, knowing how the sight of him usually distracted you.

Which it still did, somewhat, but you were too heady with your own plan to truly be diverted.

You smothered a laugh at the way Katsuki’s eyes immediately honed in on the lace of your bra strap, strategically peeking out of your sweater as you had arranged it.

Two could play at that game.

“Think you’re real fucking smooth, don’t you, princess?” he demanded, stalking over to loom over you in a vaguely threatening manner. You caught the clean scent of his body wash, just a hint of his syrupy sweet quirk under that.

Your thoughts fogged a little with his proximity so you pretended to ignore him, typing out some nonsense notes into your calendar for something to keep your attention off of him. The less you looked at him, the easier this would be. You were weak to his appearance, it was true, and nothing riled him up like not having your full attention.

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” you said vaguely, doing your best to sound distracted.

A rough palm shoved your laptop closed. “Oh I think you fucking do, princess. Think you’re gonna get all dressed up for me and then ignore me?”

You looked up into his face, just as his arms came down around you to cage you against the mattress. A thick spike of arousal jolted through you, but you pushed it down. Much as you were into this, he was not going to be in charge for much longer.

“And if I did?” you asked, victory surging through your veins at the dark look that entered his eye.

He leaned down, putting his face near to yours. “Gonna be real hard to ignore me when I’m fucking you so hard you’ll feel me for weeks.”

“You’re awfully confident for someone on such thin ice,” you breathed. You didn’t even have to pretend at being affected by his choice of words, your stomach fluttering with anticipation.

Katsuki wasted no time covering your mouth with his. The weight of him pressed you back into the mattress, your laptop tumbling to the floor with a loud clatter. Rough hands trailed up your sides, gathering up the fabric of your sweater and pulling it over your head.

Carefully, you eased him over, kissing him as hard as you could, so that you were the one on top, your knees braced on either side of his slim hips.

Katsuki swore, pressing you down on him with a rough palm on your back, evidence of his interest hard between your thighs.

And that’s when you struck. Using his momentary distraction, you pulled the handcuffs from beneath your pillow, weaving them through the headboard. You grabbed his hands as firmly as you dared, pressing them up over his head.

Katsuki noticed what you were doing the second before the handcuffs snapped shut over his wrists.

“The fuck you think you’re doing, nerd?” he demanded, flexing against the tight hold. You watched with interest as his bicep pulled with the effort. “Unlock these or you’re in for it.”

You sat back on his hips, smirking down at him the way he usually did at you. Triumph swelled in your gut like a symphony.

“No, you’re in for it, Katsuki. What the absolute fuck did you think you were doing today?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “You think I was just gonna let you get away with throwing a tantrum on national television for no discernable reason?”

“That’s none of your business,” he ground out. A bright spark lit up the skin of his palm, a sharp crackle slicing into the silence of your room. “Now unlock these while I’m still asking nicely.”

You trailed absent fingers down the warm skin of his abdomen, watching appreciatively as the muscle tightened under your touch. Katsuki hissed out a sharp breath.

He might be threatening, but he ran the risk of blowing off his own hands if he resorted to using his quirk right now. You didn’t think he’d chance his own skin just to get out of this situation.

“I’m your manager and your girlfriend--it’s one hundred percent my business. You’re not getting out of those until you tell me what the hell you thought you were doing,” you promised darkly. You let your nails scrape over the skin of his hip, just under the band of his sweatpants.

You felt his hips shift in interest.

“You’re really asking for it, huh, princess?” he said, his voice rough. “I’m not gonna be gentle with you when I get out of this.”

“Keep avoiding the question and you’ll never get out of this,” you said. You let yourself lean over him, reveling in his minute intake of breath as you pressed a kiss over his neck. “You want something, I’ll give it to you. But only if you tell me why you did it.”

“It’s between me and that fucking slimeball and that’s all you need to know,” Katsuki snarled.

You let your teeth scrape over his skin, the way he usually did with you. “Not good enough,” you said.

Katsuki’s hips shifted again as you pressed back harder onto him. You felt your own abdomen coil tight with hot excitement at the unconscious little circles he was making. But you couldn’t be distracted--you had a mission to accomplish.

“Mind your damn business you fucking nerd,” he growled, defiant to the last.

Well, you hadn’t thought this was going to be easy.

“You are my business,” you informed him tritely. “And if you ever want me to take care of your business again, you’re going to tell me exactly what is going on.”

“Fuck,” he said instead. “You’re so hot when you get mouthy.”

“Not the answer I was looking for,” you told him. You shoved down the hot flush that tried to rise through you at his admission. Even years later, you were weak to his praise and he knew it.

He bucked a little under you, like he was unable to help himself. “Let me touch you, princess.”

“Still not an answer,” you intoned. You held very still, careful not to squirm like he was making you want to, even as his thrusts grew more deliberate.

If he would just hurry the fuck up and give you an answer, you both could be getting what you wanted. But everything had to be a production with him, as usual.

He was lucky he was so hot, and so charming on the rare occasion when he wanted to be, because he really was a piece of fucking work. You deserved some kind of sainthood for your service to him.

You slid forward on his chest a little when he gave a particularly strong thrust, bracing your hands over his sternum, and the abrupt show of strength had you clenching your thighs unthinkingly around him.

Katsuki’s mouth twisted in a savage grin, like he knew exactly how he was affecting you. “This is your last warning, princess. Let me out or you’re fucking in for it.”

You frantically schooled your features back into some form of haughty disregard, reaching down into your nightstand for the keys. You twirled them absently around your fingers.

“I don’t think you understand what kind of position you’re in,” you said firmly. “The only way you’re getting what you want is if you tell me what kind of stick that reporter stuck up your ass. Or maybe he didn’t, and you’re just being a fucking brat. Either way, you’re not in charge here--I am, and you are the one who’s in for it.”

No sooner had the words left your mouth, however, than the tang of hot metal met your nose. Katsuki’s savage smile was bordering on feral now. You looked up in alarm to see that above his head, he’d worked his palms over to press to each opposite wrist, but he wasn’t blowing through the cuffs like you’d known he couldn’t. Instead, he was melting them.

You swore, scrambling off of him. You threw yourself off the edge of the bed, racing for the door like the devil himself was behind you.

You weren’t fast enough.

The world upended, the white of your ceiling paint swirling up over your vision. The next thing you knew, you were thrown flat on your back in your bedding, bouncing a little from the impact against your mattress.

Katsuki braced himself over you, hands firm around your wrists, eyes alight with the challenge.

“You were saying, princess?” he asked smugly.

You wiggled underneath him, trying to work a leg underneath his hip to kick him off you the way you’d learned in self-defense. Katsuki just shifted into the cradle of your hips, huffing out a rough laugh.

“I fucking taught you that move, nerd. Think you’re gonna get me with it?”

His hips pressed forward, his body a hot line all along yours, and you suppressed a groan at the feel of him hard against your core.

“That’s right, princess,” Katsuki breathed, pressing his face into your shoulder to bite at your throat. “Now I’m going to remind you who’s in charge here, and you are going to be good for me and take every single thing that I give you.”

He gathered your wrists in one hand, reaching down with long fingers to work off your jeans.

You shivered in delight at the thought of his dark promises, but some other, more stubborn part of you resisted. You had a fucking job to do, and no way was he going to reroute you so he could get out of talking about things.

“You’re not giving me shit until you tell me exactly why you tried to blast some innocent reporter into the sun,” you said hotly.

Katsuki paid you no mind, too focused on pulling your jeans off over your ankle, so you leaned in and bit his shoulder.

“The fuck--?” he demanded, reeling back.

“I’m serious, Katsuki,” you said, irritation rising. “You tell me what is going on this second or it’s just you and your hand for the next month. I’m not fucking around.”

“He’s not some innocent reporter, he’s a piece of shit,” Katsuki said. His fingers worked at the clasp to your bra, like he thought that was enough of an answer.

“And you know this how?” you asked, trying to shift to crush his fingers underneath your shoulder.

He glared at you for a long moment, red eyes hot on your face, looking like he was strongly considering just abandoning the conversation altogether and stalking off to blow something up instead.

“I know,” he finally ground out, looking like every word cost him, “because I overheard him in the men’s room at the last Hero’s Gala.”

So you did know the reporter from the Hero’s Gala. A dim memory came to you of shaking his hand, leaning over to get Katsuki’s attention to get him an answer to some question he’d asked. You were fuzzy on the details, as you’d had other things to worry about that night--the Hero’s Gala had ended with Katsuki in some kind of mood with Kirishima, the arm of Kiri’s suit burnt off, and Katsuki had refused to say more on things. They’d patched things up almost immediately after so you hadn’t pried, but now you wondered if there wasn’t more to the story--more including this reporter.

“Overheard him what?” you asked.

Katsuki’s fingers resumed their questing, releasing the back of your bra with the ease of constant practice. You let him, considering he was still giving you answers.

“Overheard him fucking talking about you,” Katsuki growled, his fingers digging into your waist, his touch turning more possessive.

You froze. “What?”

“Saying the nastiest shit about how you looked in your dress, what he’d like to do with you if you didn’t already belong to me,” Katsuki said, sounding disgusted. “Wanted to incinerate him but fucking Kiri got in the way. Told me I’d lose my license if I attacked a civilian and he took me to court.”

“Which you would,” you pointed out, your tone going breathier than you wanted when Katsuki slid his fingers up to pluck at your nipple. “That--um--that was still the case today, too. What did you think you were doing?”

“Didn’t think,” he grunted, palming your breast. He didn’t look like he was thinking a lot now either, eyes turning on your chest with that single-minded focus he was famous for. “I just saw him and saw red.”

You were starting to see colors too--white, mainly, as Katsuki released your wrist to trail his other hand over your panties with obvious intention.

“Oh, um. Well I’m glad you didn’t kill him and have to lose your license,” you said, your breath hitching when Katsuki found his way into your underwear. “I’m gonna--have to--ah--thank Eijirou.”

“You belong to me,” Katsuki announced imperiously, leaning back in to bite at your throat again.

You couldn’t bring yourself to be annoyed with him, now. Instead, his words relit some fuse within you, your arousal sparking back to life behind your navel.

Katsuki’s fingers curled within you and you couldn’t hold back a pleased little noise, shifting your hips to allow him better access.

That was all the affirmation he needed. In mere minutes, he was working you up to the edge of your pleasure, fingers hot and skilled and exactly right inside you. He trailed soft bites and hot kisses all over your neck and shoulders, looking supremely satisfied with himself every time you caught sight of his face. His thumb worked tiny, maddening circles over your clit, just like he knew drove you fucking insane, and he had you writhing and squirming underneath him embarrassingly fast.

Soon, he was hitching your leg over a broad shoulder, sinking into you right where you wanted him.

“That’s right, princess. You’re mine. Gonna fuck you so good you’ll never forget it,” he promised, already working up to a brutal pace that left you short of breath.

Your vision swam as he ground into you. He leaned down to catch a nipple in his mouth, sucking softly, in sharp contrast to the wicked thrust of his hips.

“Look at you,” Katsuki said around your breast, scarlet gaze burning into yours. “Spread out and trembling. Look so fucking good for me, only for me.”

“Katsuki--ah!” you barely managed the syllables of his name.

“So fucking hot when you think you’re in control. So fucking mouthy--” his fingers brushed over your mouth “--I’m gonna fuck you so stupid you can’t even string together a sentence anymore.”

You rather thought he’d already achieved that, considering you could barely manage anything other than single syllable words now--nothing but there and more and please and oh!

Katsuki gave a particularly hard thrust, snarling your name--and your climax hit you like a truck.

You cried out, writhing, and his hands came up to hold you down against the mattress, still fucking into you hard like he meant to fuck the sense right out of you. He fucked you straight through your orgasm, and only when you were gasping from the aftershocks, shivering and near tears, did he follow you, flooding your insides with warm heat.

“That shut you right up, didn’t it, princess?” he said smugly as he rolled off of you, leaving another love bite over your shoulder on his way.

You groaned. It had been fucked up but kind of romantic that he’d attempted to murder a guy for you, but he was really killing the mood now.

“Is there anything that would shut you right up?” you replied, still catching your breath.

Unexpectedly, a smirk twisted your boyfriend’s mouth, and his hand trailed carefully down your thigh.

“There is, princess. Too bad it sounds like you can still string together a sentence,” he said, watching you intently.

You stared at him, wondering where he was going with this.

Until he moved, shifting backwards until his chin met your thigh, still watching you intently with those scarlet eyes.

“I can think of something that would fix both of those problems,” he said, his voice rough even as his hands came up to gently pry your thighs apart. “Now you have thirty seconds to call out of work tomorrow before I finish punishing you for that little show earlier.”

Your breath caught in your lungs again. You didn’t waste precious time defying him.

This time, you obeyed.

Deleted scene: What did Deku say to Bakugou that got him tackled over a buffet table at the Hero’s Gala?

[twiceasfrustrating]

so i saw your tags on the post about lesson 69 *spoilers* and i have to agree, it feels like everything we went through with the characters it was for nothing? i mean, i understand Lucifer and Satan deserve a better “reconciliation” a proper talk and that but still, them having that horrible fight and MC not even questioning where is Satan sucks, all of them feel distant and tbh in my opinion the new characters have nothing to do with it! they had so little screen time to have a “bond” or any sort of relationship with MC, now it feels like un unnecessary drama, and ugh don’t make me talk about the Simeon thing

sorry for the rant but i feel like you get me ahshsh anyways what else you thought about the lesson?

Spoilers and rambling below:

It feels so gross. We spent so many seasons getting to know our already bloated cast of 11 guys + Luke (originally the seven brothers + sides). It already felt like no one was getting all the time they deserved, but I at least felt like growth was happening. Mammon basically took Luke as another brother, Satan and Lucifer went through 3 separate reconciliations, Beel secretly feels like a burden to his entire family, Belphie is legitimately traumatized by his time in the attic (as we learn from the boogeyman), Diavolo's childlike personality seems to derive from the fact that he was basically alone a lot as a child so he is finally dealing with that stage of development now even though he has to also be a ruler, Solomon is shady (affectionate), Simeon has LOST HIS POWERS.... and we are focused on the three new characters I wasn't really looking forward to in the first place.

Like... S4 forgot all about the characters we love. They forgot Beel's survivor's guilt and how that might play into seeing Raphael again, forgot Mammon is a person and not a punching bag (S3 was already getting on my nerves with the amount of pact abuse against him), they made Diavolo mindlessly chaotic again, they REFUSE to address Simeon and just keep teasing him rather than addressing him. Why are they acting like Raphael wasn't on the side that literally got their sister killed or that he used to literally chase Asmo around with spears????

They are so focused on trying to build up their new characters into ones people will simp for that they forgot to focus on the ones we already know. They've been reduced to tropes rather than remembering the other things that help make them up. The sides had to wait an entire year before they given any focus aside from being a supporting cast. These three? Focus on them immediately, I guess! I don't even like any of them outside of my Mephisto x Satan ship (and I actively hate Thirteen which... makes my little pansexual heart cry, but it is what it is).

MC has always been sort of more... passive to the story but it feels like it is getting worse. Before, it was just us playing along with the insanity and not questioning weird moments (for some reason I can't comfort Simeon after the boogeyman), but... MC used to be able to at least play at being defiant. They could say "no" to things, even if they were then forced into it. Now? MC just keeps agreeing. I don't want to abuse Mammon. I want to ask Simeon what's the matter.

And the field day level activities? How does this prove we're worthy to join the student council? I don't understand any of it.

And, of course, the events are as never ending as usual. I have actually joined the movement of cancelling my VIP after seeing this was ANOTHER Celestial Blessing. I cannot, in good faith, keep financially supporting a game that seems to be screwing the f2p player base IN ADDITION TO not caring about their base content.

I still love that characters I got, still am in the fandom, but I need Obey Me to do better. We waited so so so long for season 4... and for what? They aren't giving us the characters that we were literally ready to join the family of at the end of S3. These aren't the same people that followed us to the Human Realm in order to be with us. They are treating them all poorly, in fact. For a wait that long, I expected things to take off running and keep running.

I probably have other thoughts, but I am just saying what comes to mind at the moment. I just... ugg

EDIT: I forgot to mention how I think they are panicking because Twisted Wonderland is out now and the fanbases seem to overlap a lot. They are losing their players' intrest to the new shiny game and they are worried. They've been releasing lessons early since twst was launched.

Do better OM. We can love both, but you have to put in the effort.

[xthe-writing-vampirex]

I can't get the idea out of my head of a purely chaotic tiny Toph and an exasperated giant Zuko. I think they'd make an interesting pair. Can I request a story where Tiny!Toph is being a little shit and Zuko loses his cool (hah! Get it cool, cuz he's a firebender) and scares her something aweful and then he has to earn her trust back.

I got an idea for this one first so I decided to get on it. I did write this at like 12am though so you've been warned. Anyway I hope you like it. Let me know if there's anything I should change💕

ATLA: Tiny! Toph x Giant! Zuko

Word Count: 587

Fandom: ATLA

Warnings: None

Pairings: Zuko x Toph

————————

Toph had been small for a few months now. Spirit world visit gone wrong. Since she was so small now, different members of the gaang took watches over her to make sure she wasn't harmed. Now it was Zuko's turn. It took a while for everyone to trust him with a task like this. After all Toph was vulnerable, not that she couldn't fight for herself but everyone still worried something might happen. For Toph this was her own personal "life changing field trip" with the hot head of the group.

As the small girl ran further and further ahead of the firebender he couldn't help but worry. She's just so small. Yeah she's still a strong earth bender but that doesn't mean she can take a lot on before it hurts her. She had been running away and playfully hiding from him pretty much all day. In a crumbling air temple that wasn't exactly a safe thing to do. If she wasn't paying attention and ran the wrong way she could definitely fall off. Zuko was getting more and more annoyed at his small companion, hearing her giggles of excitement and snide comments directed at him. She did have a way of getting under one's skin. Sadly for her Zuko had had enough and was tired of playing games.

He spotted her climbing on a nearby flat surface, around chest level on him. Without thinking, he slammed his fist down in front of her, barely missing her in the process. "That's enough!" He yells, a bit of fire coming from his balled up fist. Toph falls on her butt, clouded eyes wide in fear. After all, to her the loud thud was basically a form of yelling in itself and the verbal yelling on top of that overwhelmed the small earth bender. Toph begins to tremble all over, trying to think of a way to run. She couldn't exactly think things through so she simply ran away, tears falling and covering her cheeks as she did.

At first Zuko doesn't register that what he's done might cause an issue. He's too lost in his own anger and irritation to see Toph's reaction. What he does see however is her getting up and running away. He doesn't understand what he's done and begins to go after her, his footsteps pounding on the stone ground of the temple. "Toph! Toph wait! I'm sorry!" He calls after her. This entire scene very much reminds him of when Toph came to his camp not too long ago to try to give him a chance. His heart hurts at the thought, he didn't think when he did that either.

As Toph runs she doesn't pay much attention to where she's going, running herself to a dead end. As Zuko comes around the corner she backs up against the nearby wall, continuing to tremble. "Toph? Are you okay?" She hears him say as he moves closer. She pushes herself farther into the wall, causing him to stop and examine the scene before him. "Toph…….it's okay…...I'm really sorry. I didn't mean for things to go that far. Please let me make it up to you." He says. Toph snaps out of her fear for a moment, though she stays close to the wall.

"You're gonna have to do a lot to apologize for this hot head." She replies jokingly, her sarcastic flare back in her. Zuko simply nods his head and smiles. She wasn't going to let him live this down. 

————————

[recreancyrpg]

WELCOME TO RECREANCY, BEE!

You have been accepted for the role of GWENOG JONES!

Diplomacy had never been Gwen’s strongsuit. She was more of a wildfire than a peaceful hearth to study beside. She was able to blow off steam by means of Quidditch. But after the Death Eater attack, that outlet has been stolen from her. So fighting back against the people who stole flight from her… it drives her. But it also puts the blinders up, it makes her sole focused at times. She needs to be reminded every once in a while that life is to be lived, not charged through with one sole focus.

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME & PRONOUNS: Bee (She/Her)

AGE: 24

TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I am on the dash at some point almost every day at some point because writing owns my entire soul and I am trash for rp and plotting. So I guess very active? Very active.

ANYTHING ELSE: BRING ON THE ANGST. Also I’ve been rping for I think somewhere in the realm of 8 or 9 years on tumblr? I’ve lost count. Most of those have been in RPGs, and here is a link to one character that I still write on and off even though the group has since closed just as like… proof of RPGing. Idk. Also I’m a Hufflepuff if I were in a Hogwarts house. 

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Gwenog Jones

AGE: 20

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cis Female, She/Her pronouns, Disaster Bisexual. 

BLOOD STATUS: Half-Blood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Ravenclaw

ANY CHANGES: N/A

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Gwen is good at tracking down answers. She always has been like that. When she couldn’t get the answer from a person, she would turn to a book. When she couldn’t get the answer from a book, well then someone had better start talking otherwise they would be ENDLESSLY badgered until she got her answers. As a result, one of her greatest strengths is her tenacity. She is driven by that determination in all things — hence the reason Professor Slughorn had thought she would have been better placed in Slytherin. And while, yes, Gwen had ambitions to see Quidditch change, to see women flying and playing and leading teams, she is driven more by the knowledge of the game to be the best. To know everything about something means you can fully understand it. Thus making you the best in the field.

As she’s gotten older, she’s gotten wise enough to know that not all answers lie in books. Some answers lie in the doing of a task. Quidditch practices were used as a learning tool — what to do in xyz situation. She could spend hours meticulously picking apart a scenario in her head days after having actually experienced it with the sole purpose of figuring out what made it work. 

Gwenog’s greatest weakness might actually be her temper. It got her a detention or two when she was still in Hogwarts, and lost Ravenclaw a few points. But diplomacy had never been Gwen’s strongsuit. She was more of a wildfire than a peaceful hearth to study beside. She was able to blow off steam by means of Quidditch. But after the Death Eater attack, that outlet has been stolen from her. So fighting back against the people who stole flight from her… it drives her. But it also puts the blinders up, it makes her sole focused at times. She needs to be reminded every once in a while that life is to be lived, not charged through with one soul focus. 

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

 Gwen had been very close with her father, Lewis, when she was little. He was the magical one in the family, and he told her stories of Hogwarts. He told her about flying — he even took her flying when she was only two. But when he passed away, it felt like he took magic with him. She would go on to learn about him through her mother and through the things he left behind. Eventually, she would learn about Quidditch from a box of his old things and find his beaters bat, and she would go to Hogwarts determined to follow in his footsteps.

Gwen ended up being raised by her mother, Efa. A strong woman, an incredibly well educated woman, a professor of physics, of science. She instilled that gift of learning in Gwenog, the need to research and understand the world around her. As such, Gwenog went to muggle school and primarily existed in the muggle world. As such, when she got to Hogwarts, she felt very at home with students who came from the muggle world. Her magical family was a bit of a mystery to her — not that Gwenog really minded. She had her mum, and that was enough. Her mother’s world of science was something that Gwenog used on a regular basis with flying and quidditch — if she could understand the physics of flying, then she would know how to use it to her advantage. She’s still close with her mother, though she has tried to put some distance between the two of them for her mother’s safety. 

OCCUPATION:

She got a job at Quality Quidditch Supplies on Diagon Alley — it drives her insane to be sitting that close to quidditch gear and not be able to play. But it pays… Hopefully, she’ll find a team that will let her coach, even given her age. 

LIVING SITUATION:

In some little apartment on Diagon Alley — teeny tiny, but affordable. She might have a roommate? But obviously, this would take some sort of plotting. 

ORDER OF THE PHOENIX:

Gwenog doesn’t necessarily have a specialty — once upon a time, she might have been able to fly things and people anywhere they needed. But now… Her specialty is dueling now. She’s good in a fight. But she’s probably feeling like she has to prove herself capable of being useful (which is, frankly, infuriating). Gwenog believes in the cause the Order is fighting for, but thinks they’re missing something. If they’ve been working as they have for so long and they’re still fighting the damn war, then clearly they’re doing something wrong. Yes, the Death Eaters are powerful, but so are they. If the Death Eaters are playing chess, then the Order has been playing checkers with a blindfold on this whole time. They need to start learning how to beat the bastards at their own game..

RELATIONSHIPS:

Gwenog has never been one to sit on what they think for politeness’ sake. She never hesitated when she was in Hogwarts, and she’d even cracked a few people with bludgers when her words were seemingly not enough. But if one has a friend in Gwenog Jones, then one has a friend who would literally take a bludger to the face for you. Those on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team knew that she treated her friends like her family. She wouldn’t hesitate to call them out when they were wrong, but she would also do whatever it took to help them when they needed it. But trust is something to be earned for Gwen. 

I will say that Gwenog has probably gotten a lot gruffer and closed off since the Quidditch Attack. So when she looks at people like Wila who seems to look at people as pawns within a chess match that she can win, when she sees people who do stupid things like James, she can’t always stop her opinions from coming out of her mouth. And friendships, as such, get to be complicated. 

I think Gwenog thinks James would have been better off had he simply thought with his Quidditch Brain rather than dumping his whole self and optimism into the Order. It was a stupid move. Sure, he’d been a good captain, but a good captain knows when to delegate, when to trust their players. I think she thinks that James lived in a world where he and his friends could be heroes, where they would win, and bad things wouldn’t happen to them. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the world they lived in. And now, Potter is starting to learn that lesson

Gwen respects Wila, her playing of the Chess match… but as much as she respects Wila, Gwenog cannot help but see a bad thing waiting to happen. She sees a bit of herself in Wila — Gwenog before the fall. When she was flying free, when she forgot that bad things happened to people sometimes, and sometimes there was no amount of planning or evading that could stop it. That sort of boldness could get someone killed. As such, any friendship that might have existed there has grown rather tense

And then, there’s Felicity. A Slytherin — pardon her — another Slytherin in the Order. Gwenog doesn’t know what to make of her. She’s clever, she’ll give her that. And one hell of a dueler. And she’s also a muggleborn — though why the hell someone would lie about their blood status was beyond Gwen. She isn’t sure she can trust Felicity yet, but whether or not Gwenog likes it, Felicity is now a part of the team. And Gwen looks after her team.

Outside of the connections listed, I feel like Gwenog would still be close to fellow Quidditch players, especially fellow Ravenclaws she had played with once upon a time. 

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: 

I love a good ship just as much as the next person, but I usually just go with the chemistry. I think Gwenog encountering romance would be an interesting thing, given how she’s changed since the Quidditch Attack. She has fortress walls up, and to see someone pull those walls down? *chefs kiss* immaculate. 

INTERPERSONAL STRUGGLES:

I feel like Gwen definitely has problems with the people-ing thing. It’s a bit of a pain when you want to tell someone ‘hey, what you’re doing is dumb and is going to get you killed’ and they just get defensive about it. Yes! Sure. They’re at war. The ‘going to get you killed’ part comes with the territory. But Gwenog is in such a position that she is young, and while she isn’t as experienced as others, what she has experienced has shaped her so totally that she cannot easily change the lenses through which she views the world. Until the fact is proven to be untrue, she will hold to it. 

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

I am not going to lie, my sister has not stopped talking about this group and how much she loves it. And one of the last groups I was in was just… ripe with drama but not the good kind. As such, I was a little hesitant to put an application in, but the more she talked about it the more I wanted to apply. And then I saw Gwenog… and oops, I’m here. I loved her a lot.

PLOT DROP IDEAS (OPTIONAL): My brain is absolute soup right now because I am BINGE WRITING this thing, bUT give me a few days and I am sure something will pop into my brain.

ANYTHING ELSE?: HEADCANONS AND A PINTEREST BOARD!

This might be silly, but I think Gwenog used her dad’s beater’s bat for Quidditch the entire time she played. Even for the Harpy’s. When she got hit with that curse, the bat got destroyed in the fallout. She still has the pieces though.

Gwenog has the most ridiculously large Maine Coon in the world, and she’s named him Slinky as he tends to act like one every time she picks him up. He will yowl until she gives him treats or holds him like the big baby he is.

If Gwen was in a relationship at all given the busy nature of Quidditch, I think that that relationship might have come to an abrupt end after the attack on the Quidditch game. She still cares about the person in question, but she was in too much pain, and she refused to be seen as anyone’s burden while she was still figuring out who she was without her life’s passion. If that relationship ever starts over again is really out of Gwenog’s hands- and frankly, with being involved in the Order, that’s just one more thing for her to worry about.

Gwenog isn’t sure what curse hit her during the attack. It all happened too fast. Whatever it was, it sent her flying off of her broom, already in pain, and toppling down, down, down... The mediwixes that saved her said she was lucky to be alive. She still has scars from where the curse hit her, as well as the marks from the fall that damn near broke her body. It was worse than any bludger that had ever hit her. Magic and potions could put things back together, but not perfectly. Not for that much damage.The worst of the damage was, ironically, not on her wand hand, but to the other side of her body. Her left arm still gets stiff from time to time, and she walks with a bit of a limp that she’s tried (and failed) to smooth out. 

PINTEREST BOARD 

Thank you for taking the time to read this! :)

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed, Episode 23, second part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Nature Abhors a (Power) Vacuum

Jin Guangshan, Nie Mingjue, and Lan Xichen have gathered to decide what to do about the remaining Wen people and also what to do about the Yin metal. They have not invited Jiang Cheng to this discussion, or blowhard Clan Leader Yao, despite those clans having been hit particularly hard by the Wens in the course of the war. 

The three of them have a conversation about what to do with the Wen captives, showing their different attitudes towards killing.

Jin Guangshan: Killing is awesome, particularly in project management. It's just so efficient. Nie Mingjue: Killing is necessary, and a little bit fun, too. Lan Xichen: Killing is necessary, sadly, but we can randomly spare some women or old people, as a token sign that we’re not monsters. Kind of like when you have a fancy dinner and include a tofu dish for the vegetarians. Nie Mingjue: Nobody likes tofu, Xichen.

Jin Guangshan says he's looking for the Yin Iron and that they can't let any Wens or "ambitious people" get a hold of it. By ambitious people he means Wei Wuxian, not himself and his murder kid. Lan Xichen realizes this right away but doesn't, you know, do anything to contradict him.  Jin Guangshan says he's asked "A-Yao" to look into it. Which is smart, because A-Yao is already in cahoots with Xue Yang, who actually has the piece of Yin Iron they're looking for.

Getting Jiggy With It

Then Jin Guangshan introduces Meng Yao, now renamed Jin Guangyao, in a weird twist on generation names. He has given him the name of a sibling or cousin of his own generation (starting with Guang), rather than a name of the next generation (starting with Zi). JGS says that JGY just recently learned about about being related to him, although we know perfectly well that's not true. 

And they both talk like he appreciates JGY's efficiency and helpfulness, but that's not why JGS has him at his side. He has taken him in because he is a steel-eyed murder bot, not in spite of it. 

(OP does not believe that Jin Guangyao could have been a good person if only his dad had let him hold Jin Ling that one time, as some have argued. Dude killed his own child because there was a chance he might be disabled in a way that could lead to gossip. Dude is a stone cold killer.)

(more after the cut)

In the language of CDrama costume (which is not, precisely, the language of actual historical clothing), Jin Guangyao has chosen to dress as a minister instead of as a chevalier. This is partly an artifact of his mother's ideas about a gentleman. It also suggests that he’s content with the sort of career that's available to a bastard of a noble house--not inheriting the noble title, but having enough favor to rise in power. 

It may also be a ruse to make him seem like he's not a strong cultivator and not a strong fighter, when in fact he is both, at least by the time he’s throwing death chords at Jiang Cheng, much later in the show. 

Mingjue makes all kinds of grumpy faces and snarky remarks to let everyone know that he fucking hates Jin Guangyao.  Xichen agrees to his “nice refugee camp with only a little death” plan, with no qualifications.

Now we get to see Jin Guangyao's manipulation of Lan Xichen. Lan Xichen says that Nie Mingjue wants a plan that’s more killy, because he believes in punishing evil. JGY deliberately misunderstands this, pretending that Lan Xichen said he, JGY, is evil, kind of forcing LXC to reassure him and take his side in an argument that isn’t actually happening. 

They have a little handholding while bowing, and then after Lan Xichen leaves, Jin Guangyao puts on his evil face and has all the prisoners killed behind the big closed door.  

This is done in such a violent fashion that the blood apparently flows up several stairs to the door, and over the tall raised threshold, before flowing downward toward the camera. Some evil is so extreme that even traditional Chinese doorway architecture can’t stop it.

Run To the Rock

Then we go outside to where Wei Wuxian is standing on a rocky outcropping, thinking it would be a good strategic spot to choose if he's ever in a battle where he wants to commit suicide right quick.

Lan Wangji comes to join him and admire the view, not knowing yet that this view, or one a whole lot like it, is going to be seared into his memory for most of his life.

Lan Wangji is becoming more and more committed to Wei Wuxian, more and more inexorably joined to him, but he still doesn't agree with him. So they each have this comfort in each others' presence at the same time as being massively in conflict.

Wei Wuxian asks him what he thinks of all the politicking and murdering. Who is good and who is evil? LWJ doesn't answer because WWX is leaking black smoke, so he grabs him and tells him to concentrate.  Lan Wangji is, incidentally, wearing Princess-Leia quantities of lip gloss.

Lan Wangji asks if Wei Wuxian would like to learn a new tune, "Absterge" according to Netflix. The fuck? [op looks it up in the dictionary]. "To cleanse, especially by wiping." Also known as aftercare. Netflix. Honey. This word is MIDDLE FRENCH. Will you knock it the fuck off?

So anyway, instead of answering his question about who is good and who is evil, LWJ asks if he wants to learn a song called "Cleansing." Wei Wuxian says “hey babe, are you fucking kidding me?” 

His actual words are "you doubt me too?" meaning "you think I also took the missing 4th chunk of Yin iron to make my ugly tiger amulet, rather than obviously having used that giant sword I pulled out of the turtle?"  

Lan Wangji mentally replays Wen Ruohan's questions in his head--the questions he barked at Wei Wuxian right before choking him unconscious--which Lan Wangji also feels entitled to know the answers to. Fuck you, Lan Wangji. He answers WWX with "when did you forge your amulet?" Which is his way of saying "yes, I doubt you."

Wei Wuxian kindly refrains from saying "while we were on a break, bitch" and instead tells him the exact truth--I found a yin iron sword in the turtle--but says it in his patented "make it sound like a lie" way. 

LWJ keeps grilling him, eventually coming out and saying dude, you knew the sword was Yin iron, why did you need to use it?

This is the crucial question--why WWX broke his first promise, to Lan Yi, which was to try to get rid of the Yin Iron. He won’t tell anyone the answer, which is that he needs to use it because he can't cultivate normally, because he lost his golden core. He made a lot of promises before that happened, and he probably expected to keep them. But without his core, everything changed; without his core, he’s a different person, so it’s maybe not fair to expect him to honor his previous promises. 

I’m reminded of my grandfather, who was the oldest son of an old southern US family, with lots of expectations as the firstborn. He went off to WWI as a soldier, expecting to die. He didn’t die, and so from that point on, he regarded his life as a gift. He felt could do whatever he wanted with it, and let go of expectations from before the war. He moved to Paris and took up with a glamorous divorcee 7 years older than him (my Grandma, eventually). 

The actual point of that story, other than OP having cool grandparents, is that when you think you’re going to die, and then you don’t die, your ideas about what you owe to people can change quite a bit. Wei Wuxian expected to die in the Burial Mounds; he expected to die at Nightless City; he expects it, over and over, and each time he doesn’t die, he gets further and further from being what everyone else wants him to be. And--a lot like soldiers returning from a war-- NOBODY in his life knows how to talk to him about it. 

Wei Wuxian tells Lan Wangji to back off, Lan Wangji says why aren't you letting me help you, and they are once again on the edge of the same fight they keep having. Lan Wangji does some impassioned arm holding while Wei Wuxian says he's not like Wen Ruohan. 

Romantic Duet #1

The argument is interrupted by screams and killing, so they go to check it out, and find the Jins hunting down some prisoners for sport. They arrive in time to save two people. Yay?

Jin ZIxun acts like a jerk, as always. The new element is that per Jin Guangshan, anyone concerned with Yin Iron shouldn't be alive.  He says that the Lan and Nie clans agreed, and challenges Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji stops him from responding, grabbing his wrist.

The Jins leave and Wei Wuxian refers back to their earlier conversation, saying there will be more resentful spirits now and that "Rest" is the music to play, not "Cleansing."

He gives Lan Wangji a long look and then pointedly removes Lan Wangji’s hand from his wrist, by holding his hand, which is some next-level mixed signaling. Lan Wangji totally deserves it at this point, though. He keeps pushing and pushing WWX about his cultivation method, but he refuses to discuss the underlying morality of it, or the morality of the killing going on right in front of them. 

WWX walks off, leaving LWJ to stew in his own juices surrounded by a bunch of fresh corpses. 

Lan Wangji fails his saving throw against the guilt trip, and sits his ass down to play Rest, just like Wei Ying told him to. So switchy!  Wei Wuxian, out of sight but not out of earshot, hears him and accompanies him on Chenqing.

This scene is slightly ridiculous and a whole lot sublime. Ridiculous because it's their first time playing music together, so it's a super slow, romantic, extended scene, but they're surrounded by corpses. And not the helpful, friendly, third-wheel-on-a-date type of corpses.

It's sublime because the occasion of their first beautiful, literally magical duet is an argument. And they are joining together to play beautiful romantic music - as a service for the dead. And they are doing it while they are on literally opposite sides of a literal killing field. And Lan Wangji is sitting literally in the middle of a wide open road; the sort of road that they will both reject, metaphorically, later in the show. There is so much about their conflict and their journey that is encapsulated in this one musical moment.

Lan Wangji, by playing the song Wei Wuxian said was needed, is telling WWX that he took his words to heart, that he is listening, even though they're at odds.

WWX, by stopping and playing with him, is acknowledging this. And by settling the dead souls together, they are both reinforcing their dedication to doing what's right even as they both struggle with knowing what that is.

When Other Friendships Have Been Forgot, Ours Will Still Be Hot

Now we have the sworn brothers thing. I understand, plot wise, why this has to happen, but why would Nie Mingjue ever agree to this? Lan Xichen's puppy eyes are just that persuasive?

If they ever crack your spine, drop a line If they ever cut your throat, write a note If you’re ever in a mill and get sawed in half, I won’t laugh (HA HA HA HA)

Tedious Party Time

Now there's a cultivation party, which is about as excruciating to watch as it would be to attend.

Everyone is lining up to praise Jin Guangshan. To be fair, he did provide shelter for most of the smaller clans while the war was going on. So being grateful is appropriate, but Clan Leader Yao practically breaks his own neck kissing Jin ass. Yao says JGY’s contribution was the greatest of the war, adding, "fuck Wei Wuxian; everything is his fault."

The Jiangs show up wearing mourning belts that show off their itty bitty waists, and Jin Guangshan makes shifty eyes like a cartoon landlord when he sees them arrive.

JGS praises Jiang Cheng, and asks when his fancy clan-leader ceremony is going to happen. Jiang Cheng says he's still in mourning so it's not appropriate. JGS is like “Oh...yeah," as if he totally forgot about all the Yunmeng slaughter, and talks up his friendship with Jiang Fengmian. He acts comforting while WWX manages not to barf.

Then the Lan clan shows up and there is nice encouraging chit chat between LXC and JC...

...and just, SO MUCH mournful staring between Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian.

Then the Nies arrive.  Jin Guangshan tells Nie Mingjue he's late, and that everyone's waiting for him. That might be true in the script but it’s clearly bullshit on the screen, where the Lans and the Jiangs are still milling around looking for the coat room.

Nie Mingjue--who, let's remember, JUST swore to be brothers with Jin Guangyao--looks at him like he's something that fell off a garbage truck.  Lan Xichen jumps in to maximize the discomfort by pointing out that Jin Guangyao should address Nie Mingjue as Big Daddy Da-ge from now on.

Then the Jins offer Nie Mingjue the giant fire throne because...he's the leader of the Sunshot campaign, I guess? Of course it's all a manipulation tactic, designed to make him say he won't sit there, so that JGS can elevate himself to head cultivator, or something? And sit in front of the throne but not on it? Cultivator succession seems kinda arbitrary. 

I swear to god, it wasn't until I was clipping this episode that I realized Wen Ruohan had two thrones and they're in different rooms from each other.

Finally everyone goes to sit down, but because there hasn't been enough fucking awkwardness, JGY stops WWX to ask him what's on his mind. WWX asks him why he's not carrying his sword, which made me laugh and laugh. Wei Wuxian must have been just waiting for a chance to ask someone else that question for a change. 

Jin Guangyao says he threw it away, because it was just a random sword, but he really means he had it made into a sneaky murder belt, that he will be using again in 13 to 16 years. They both fake-laugh and trade Mean Girls insults pretend to like each other. 

Everyone wanders around toasting each other. Lan Wangji goes to find Wei Wuxian, after first making sure that his hair looks good.  

Wei Wuxian is lying around on the steps, sprawling and drinking wine, and not, incidentally, looking for Lan Wangji. He continues to not seek him out and Lan Wangji continues to chase after him.

Wei Wuxian says "how about playing Cleansing?" but Lan Wangji says he's learning a new score. It looks like it's going to be another argument, but then Wei Wuxian smiles and kind of praises Lan Wangji for being stubborn. 

Awkward Marriage Proposal

Just then everyone inside starts cheering for Jin Guangshan to give a speech. Jin Guangshan is making a move to marry Jiang Yanli to his son, which is a big time power grab, given that the Jiang Clan is 1. vulnerable and depleted 2. has control of the Yin tiger amulet.

We get a very rare glimpse into Jiang Cheng’s inner mind, where he thinks that saying yes isn’t a great idea, but isn’t sure what to do. This marriage would make his sister happy, but could destroy the Jiang Clan's independence.

Fortunately, Wei Wuxian joins the party just in time to fuck up Jin Guanshan’s plans. Will this teach Jin Guangshan not to invite Wei Wuxian to parties? It will not.  

Soundtrack: Friendship, by Cole Porter (from “Anything Goes”)

Bonus: