#so glad i made him a character ref because i did not fucking remember anything about how to draw mecha

[atissi]

i’ll be real i did kinda forget how to draw him but im back in business now

[ddaenggtan]

black irises in the sunshine | kth

anger is everything. other gods tease you for the short fuse, but it comes with the territory. people have called you stupid, have called you dumb, oafish, useless, incompetent, insolent, rude, arrogant. all of it. insults and mockery flung at you, but even your skin isn’t thick enough to deal with constant abuse. it’s the exact reason you keep going to the underground, knuckles bloody and bruised, fighting anyone that dared enter the cage. it’s the reason you go to the clubs, surround yourself with mortals and their writhing bodies. it’s there that you see him the first time, voice husky as it rolls through the room. it’s there you find someone who treats you differently than the rest. you just never expected him to be one of the muses. | monsters and gods pt 3 (masterlist)

pairing | taehyung x reader

genre/warnings | greek god au, calliope!taehyung, ares!reader, theres a lot of violence and it does get descriptive so be aware of that, none of the main characters other than ares get hurt and its not uncalled for or anything in a narrative sense, so just be aware of that; there are mentions of other idols, but if you can guess them you get a cookie because they are Vague; suuuuper bisexual Ares, Ares Can Step On Me, like I am SO gay for her it isn’t funny; explicit smut ft: cunnilingus, taeHUNG bc hes got MASSIVE SCHLONG,  some body worship kind of and then just....regular worship? like? idk how to explain that? lots of praise and lots or orgasms

word count | 14k | cross posted to ao3

a/n | HOOOOOOO this has been sitting in my google docs for literal months waiting for an ending and i decided to try to get it out for tae's birthday bUT that didn't work because i have a Job and shit so YEET I GUESS HAPPY FUCKIN NEW YEAR??? LIKE??? YEEEEEEEEEEEEE this fic is very near to me because Ares is my sweet sad angry babie and i love her, and i love tae and i love suho and i love the muses and i just........lOVE this fic like i think this is currently my favorite of the mag series so!! i hope yall also enjoy it!!!! yall are welcome to send me messages about this even tho I'm terrible at replying to them in a timely manner!! thanks to everyone who helped me with this, and everyone who has expressed interest in it, and everyone who has ever read anything of mine, because you're genuinely the best people ever, and this is literally a gift to y'all because you deserve it. 

Fuck, that was too hard .

The guy across from you goes flying, hitting the chain link wall of the cage harder than you intended. Every nerve ending in your body is on fire, and even holding back, you've got a better buzz than even the best nectar can give. Your blood sings as the guy gets back up, and you almost wish you could remember his name, because he's put up a hell of a fight. For a mortal, anyway. 

He charges at you again, and time slows as your vision tunnels. You can see the feint as he decides on it, how he hesitates in bringing his left up. You wait, watching him get closer and closer. You start to dart to your left, letting him think he's got you, before you side-step and dart to your right instead. His punch goes wide as you steady your balance and move. The top of your foot connects with his ribcage and the resulting crack of bone is lost amid the cheers and yells of the audience. 

Your opponent steps back and you're proud of the way he doesn't show the pain. He doesn't wince, doesn't move to touch the spot you hit, just tightens his stance and clenches his jaw. It's only you that notices the hitch in his breath, the way he flinches with every inhale. Your eyes narrow at that, zeroing in on the rib. You'd meant to just crack it, had been holding back most of your strength to keep from hurting him too seriously, but as he steps forward, you can see the way he grits his teeth against the pain. 

The fight leaves you immediately, like a bucket of cold water straight to the chest, and you drop your hands. 

"Yield." He just stares at you, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Yield to me, and then go to the doctor."

"I'm not gonna yield," He says. He spits a mouthful of blood out onto the floor. "I'm not weak."

"Seriously, dude," You insist. "You're not gonna win this, and I don't want to hurt you more." 

His scoff has you seeing red. "As if a princess like you could hurt me."

Your fist connects with his face before either of you registers that you've moved. There's a voice in the back of your head reminding you that he's just mortal, he can't take the same kind of beating you can, but it's lost in the haze of fury. The next thing you know, the ref is dragging you away and slamming you into the cage wall. Your opponent is being dragged out - you still don't know his name - and he looks beaten senseless. Victory rolls through you accompanied by a sick satisfaction at the way his blood looks decorating the canvas beneath your feet. 

It lasts for less than an hour. It's always like this; the thrill of the fight, the burn of success, it's gone faster than you can blink. It's what drives you to keep fighting, to keep going to match after match, just to seek out the under-the-table stuff afterwards. It's never enough, not anymore. Back in the old days, they'd let you fight anything. Bears, bulls, lions, giants, anything they could get a noose around long enough to point it at a colosseum. That was a long time ago, though, before all the rights movements happened. You won't lie: you miss fighting beasts like that. The sheer power and strength they have, the survival instinct that makes them such fierce competitors, it's so much better than the rules and regulations of the mortal world now. Fights have gotten dull, rehearsed, more like a performance or a show than an actual fight. People make more money losing than they do winning and it's made the world boring. 

You flex your hand as you open the door to your favorite bar. Something caught it at some point in the last fight, a cheekbone or a tooth, and it stings a little. Doesn't hurt, not exactly, not for a goddess, but it did enough that you feel it at all, which means it couldn't have been anything but torture for the guy on the other end. The bartender waves at you and gets your usual ready as you sit, and you idly wonder if Busted Rib Guy will be okay. It looked painful, for a human, and you'd tried to hold back, but…

Well, you weren't really responsible for what happened to condescending little fucks, were you?

You sip the bourbon, enjoying the burn as it goes down. The lights are dim, tonight. You're glad. You don't want to deal with people looking at you, men coming over to talk to you, trying to advise you on how to properly bandage your knuckles or how to avoid the bruise on your cheek next time. If you had wanted to avoid it, you would have. You'd intended it to hurt worse, honestly, but that first guy'd had a weaker right hook than you expected. 

You look around, wondering if anyone here would provide a decent distraction for the night. There's a pretty brunette in the corner with carefully crafted braids, and as your eyes travel, you imagine what's hiding beneath the silk and leather. You're pulled from the thought by the sound of music, and you curse under your breath. You forgot that it's an open mic night and you'd meant to go to the bar across town instead. Irritation colors your vision; every open mic night is awful, full of lofty poets talking about their trauma and wannabe Taylor Swifts thinking they're on the same level as Sappho. Ah, now that was a girl with a set of pipes. You miss her, wonder what she would say to the butchering of whatever song you're about to hear.

The voice that comes isn't what you expect. It's smooth and deep. The world turns to velvet around you as the voice wanders from one speaker to another, creating a mesmerizing multi-dimensional effect despite the way the singer doesn't ever leave the stage. You turn, knuckles white around your bourbon glass; he's utterly magnetic, every eye in the room trained on him as he purrs into the vintage mic. Long fingers are wrapped around the scuffed metal, decorated with jewels that glitter in the dim light of the bar. You can smell the lingering cigarette smoke from the guy beside you and the Jäger from the girl two stools down and for once, you don't even care. He's captivating, voice travelling between speakers in the bar and coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. 

Your eyes don't leave him, and you wonder if you can memorize the way the blond waves fall against his forehead if you stare long enough. 

The red seeps away from you, slinking back into the corners of your mind, settling once more into a low thrum under your skin. It fades into the background of this man's voice, the charisma that rolls off him in waves as he pulls the mic in close just to push it to the side with a teasing smirk. It settles something in your chest that hasn't been calm since the fight in Athens so long ago. 

The music fades out sooner than you'd like, and he gives a slight bow before wandering into the crowd. You do your best to follow him, but the gold of his hair disappears almost immediately, lost in the throng of people around the stage waiting to speak to him. You turn back around, downing the next bit of bourbon that Suho pours you. 

"I know," He says with a grin. You cock a brow at him, not having said anything he could agree with. "He's good. That's what you were thinking, right? He's why we're so packed on open mics. Got the audio and lighting guy whipped, so he's got all these special effects, too. Drives people crazy.”

"He's alright," You mutter. You toss a few bills down on the bartop and step back. Suho gives you a courteous nod as you leave. The bouncer gives you a dirty look when he spots the lit cigarette between your lips, but he knows better than to try to tell you otherwise. You've taught him better. 

You lean back against the brick wall of the alley and take a drag. The warm smoke fills your lungs and you close your eyes. It's a different kind of burn than you're used to, a distraction from the crawling sensation that drives you to fight. It's calmer, more controlled. Feels like the smoke from Hestia's fires. Feels like home. 

"Never expected to see you here," A voice calls out. It's deep and startling in the darkness, but you don't jump. You just open your eyes, exhale, and look to where it came from. 

The singer stands before you in the same undone white button up and black tee he performed in. He doesn't have a cig, doesn't seem to have much of any reason to be outside. He moves almost lazily, as if he doesn't even need to, just wants to, and when his gaze flicks up to meet yours, your vision fills just for a breath with every opponent you've ever faced lying at your feet. 

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" The words slip from your tongue before you can stop them. It's not his fault, the voice in your head says, he didn't mean it that way, but still, your blood is thrumming now that he's here and you want to know what he's talking about. Want to know why he thinks you wouldn't be here when there's attractive people and good bourbon and you've never seen this man before in your life. Want to know why he already seems to think you aren't civilized enough to be at a bar, why he spoke but all you heard was Zeus' voice in your memories.

"Exactly what I said. Should I be clearer?"

"Yeah, probably," you spit. Yet another person that assumes you're stupid, that you don't understand basic languages, as if you haven't been speaking them since the ancient times. As if you couldn't speak circles around him if you wanted. "Unless you want your teeth on the fucking ground."

"Good to know the stories are true." He tsks and you're filled with a strange sense of disappointment and fury, both at him and yourself. Your vision turns red at the edges and the cigarette between your fingers is crushed in your grip. He pays no mind to it, just saunters past with a lazy, swaying gait that draws your eyes to his hips and then down the long leather-clad legs. "See you around, Ares."

"That's not my fucking name," You yell after him. He doesn't respond when you shout your actual name, the one you chose, on your own, as a middle finger to the Olympians. "Get it right next time, dickwad."

He turns the corner of the alley and the streetlight catches his face just enough for you to see the smirk he wears. For once in your life, you're torn; you want to smash his face in, yes, because how dare this random guy speak to you like that when you could kill him with one finger to the right pressure point. You also find your skin's hotter than usual, stretched too thin over your bones, and you want him to run his hands over you until it feels right again.

Until it feels like it did when he was singing. 

How did he know my title?

The thought comes unbidden, days later, with the desperate hit of a palm against your shoulder. You've got the woman in a headlock, patiently waiting for her to pass out completely so the fight can be called, and your mind is wandering. 

How did the singer know who you are? You hadn't thought anything of it at the time, distracted by fury and frustration, but with time comes a special kind of clarity. You've never seen him before, not that you know anyway, yet he didn't hesitate to call you Ares. The only ones who know of your kind are your kind, but you haven't seen any of your siblings among mortals in a long time. You thought you knew the other gods and goddesses, but maybe not. It has been a while since you stepped foot in the golden city.

The woman in your grip goes slack and you release her. You're still lost in thought as the ref calls the match and leads you out of the makeshift ring. The cheers of the audience are background noise at this point, akin to static or the buzz of electricity, and you pay them no mind as you head to collect your winnings. You didn't even get any kind of buzz from success this time, too immersed in the way the singer walked and talked and looked. The image of his smirk is burned into your retinas. 

"Yeah, you didn't hear? He just got out of the hospital. They had to keep him overnight because they thought he might puncture a lung. I heard that if it had been a little worse, they would've had to wire his jaw shut." You stop, fingers brushing over the stack of bills you don't even remember being handed. You look up, making eye contact with the guy whispering nearby. Your suspicions are confirmed when his friend smacks his arm and juts his chin in your direction before they both disappear into the crowd. 

You shove your way outside, frustration creeping through you and coloring your vision. You manage to keep it contained long enough for you to make it to the alley behind the warehouse, but it explodes from you in a rush of thrown dumpsters and sheet metal. 

Fuck , you never meant to hurt him like that. You told him, you fucking told him to yield, it isn't your fault he didn't listen. It's not your fault that he went and insulted you, acted like he was better than you just by virtue of being a dude, as if you weren't worshipped in the old days for the power you had and the blessings you could give. You'd held back, through all of it, you'd told him to yield, and he insulted you. It wasn't your fault. 

You slide to the ground, running a shaking hand through your hair. It isn't your fault , you repeat. You close your eyes and take deep breaths, the way Hestia taught you, willing the fury to dissipate. It's like a fire in your veins, burning and bubbling your skin until you can't resist anymore. You take another breath. It isn't your fault. You tried. You offered an out. It isn't your fault. Fuck, what was his name? 

With a growl that quickly morphs into a scream, you kick the dumpster once more before stalking off into the darkness. You need a fucking drink and you're gonna find a distraction in someone else if it's the last thing you do. 

The club is packed when you get there; you're not usually a fan of clubs like this, too full of people who are too friendly, but they're perfect for nights like tonight. You don't even need to wait in line, just slip the bouncer a 50 as you pass, and the bartenders are quick to spot you. You're pretty notorious in the city for over-paying, which means you're knocking back bourbon before you have a chance to ask for it. There are people everywhere, pressed up against both sides of you while the bass thrums in your throat, and it takes you longer than you're proud of to realize why. 

There's a band playing, apparently. They're not bad; the vocalist isn't anything like the singer from Suho's, but it doesn't make you want to tear your ears off, so you consider it a success. 

You're dancing before you remember deciding to. Everything's a blur when you get the itch in your bones, the need to make someone bleed. To feel something that isn't rage or condescension. People are even closer here on the dance floor, suffocating in their proximity, but there's a woman grinding her ass into you, and it sparks the dying fire in your gut. The beat of the music drowns your own heart, and it's all flashing lights and heat and a body pressed against yours that is all too willing.

She follows when you go back to the bar for another drink, and giggles when you lick salt from her wrist before downing tequila. Her hands are wrapped in the leather of your jacket as she kisses you, your own resting lightly on her hips. She laughs against your lips and says something you don't hear before ordering another drink. Something makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You take the brief reprieve to look around the club, searching for whatever it is that has you on alert. You find him on the upper level of the club, leaned over the balcony with a drink in hand. You can't make out his expression, exactly; it's too far away and too guarded. But you'd know him anywhere now. The singer knocks back whatever's in his glass, eyes never leaving yours. You don't know why he's here, if he comes here often or if the Fates are having a laugh at your expense, but you do know you want to make the most of it.

The girl is back, pressing a heated kiss to your lips and drawing your attention from him. You return it, nipping at her lips and getting a small gasp in return. You smirk and bite your way down her neck. She's breathy in your ear, hitched moans lost in the beat of the music, but you barely hear her as you suck bruises into the skin of her neck. He's still watching you. His drink is gone and he's gripping the bannister of the balcony, rings glinting in the light. You wonder if the cool metal could soothe the burn in your bones. You want to know if he can bring that calmness from before back, if he can soothe the frenzy in your mind with his hands the way he can with his voice. Just imagining it has you soaking through to your jeans.

The girl makes a particularly loud noise in your ear and you're brought out of your thoughts. As if he can sense it, the singer straightens. He gives you one last look before disappearing back into the crowd, and you wonder if you're imagining the disdain in it. You draw back from the girl's neck, about to tell her to find her friends when she slides her hands in your hair and tugs.

The burn in your blood is back, now, and you hope this girl is prepared for what awaits her.

"You're here early," Suho says when he spots you in the nearly empty bar the next night. He's not wrong, either; you skipped the fights tonight completely. There was no buzz last time, no relief, and you have no reason to believe there would be tonight. Not with the way the singer captivates your thoughts. 

Besides, you have enough money leftover from the previous few to last a couple days.

"What, did you decide not to kick someone's ass before getting wasted?" Suho doesn't wither at the look you give him, just pours you a couple fingers of bourbon and slides the glass over. "Or did they just stop letting you in completely?"

"I might change my mind if you don't shut up," You tell him. There's no real heat behind it. You've known Suho for years now, been coming to his bar for so long it almost feels like home. You're almost friends at this point. 

It helps that he knows when to bite his tongue so he doesn't get his teeth knocked out.

"Seriously though, I don't think I've ever seen you here this early. Especially not on mic nights." You're very careful in your lack of a reaction to his words. You'd seen the workers setting up for it when you came in, and even if you hadn't, you know when mic night is. You've spent enough time avoiding it.

"Does he sing every time?" You ask in lieu of an explanation. You don't look away from the amber liquid in your glass, letting the silence hang as the bartender does his best to follow your thought process. 

"Taehyung? Most weeks, yeah. It's been a nice change from the usual drunken karaoke. He goes around to some of the other places in town, too. Apparently he just likes to sing." 

"Taehyung," You repeat. The name rolls from your tongue a bit awkwardly. It's more than you expected, somehow, but you can't place exactly how . Just...more. "Is he always that good?"

"Oh, yeah. We have regulars now for mic night because of him. He's got a whole fan club and everything."

"Hm." You drain the rest of your bourbon and Suho refills it. He leaves you in peace then, serving some others that appear at the bar. 

The place fills faster than you can blink. That's what it feels like, anyway. It's like one moment there's you and a handful of other people scattered around, and now you're being jostled between some dude a million feet tall that definitely doesn't look old enough to be here and a girl with her tits up to her throat and surrounded by a cloud of perfume so thick that it starts a migraine behind your eyes almost instantly. She flirts with Suho a little, likely trying to score free drinks, and you roll your eyes. She pouts at him when he gives her the total, batting eyelashes that go on for miles, and for once, you wish Suho would just give in and comp the drinks. 

"I'll pay for them," You say. She was definitely saying something, maybe you should have been paying attention to it, but fuck , this migraine is only getting worse the longer she stands there. "I'll pay for your drinks."

"Oh, thanks," She says. Her smile is hesitant, and quickly turns apologetic as she takes in the boots and the ripped jeans and the leather jacket. "Um, I'm not...I don't, uh…"

"Do I look like I want to fuck you, sweetie?" She looks a little affronted and a laugh escapes you. You lean closer, letting your breath ghost over her cheek as you speak in her ear to be heard better. "If I wanted to fuck you senseless, you'd know it. And I can guarantee you it would be a hell of a lot better than the watered down rat piss this guy's giving you." 

When you lean back, her face is flushed and she's stammering. You smirk and hand her the drinks she'd ordered. 

"Too bad you’re not, you don’t, huh?" You tell her. The patronizing tone isn't lost on her, nor is your mockery of her earlier words, and she shuts her mouth with an audible click before strutting off. Suho glares at you as he pours more bourbon.

"Can you please try not to run off my patrons?" He mutters. "Some of us actually need money to live."

"Some of us would like decently timed refills and to not choke on perfume," You quip. "And better bourbon, for that matter." He hisses something about what he's giving you being top quality but you tune him out, throwing one leg over the stool Perfume Girl vacated. You'd like to keep just a little bit of personal space. 

Across the bar, you catch a brief glimpse of the girl from the night before and you wince. Her neck is thoroughly bruised, and you catch a peek of bruises and scratches on her back as she shrugs her jacket on. You didn’t mean to be so rough with her, even if she had been into it; you’re usually pretty good about remembering that the mortals are just that - mortal - and as such have to be handled delicately. They’re so fragile, it feels like they could break with a strong wind. Guilt settles in your gut and turns the bourbon in your glass to cough syrup. You’ve half a mind to just leave before she sees you, are about to turn and do exactly that, but the speakers screech to life and the deafening feedback from the mic keeps you glued to your seat. 

The crowd quiets even as the excitement ramps up, all talk silencing but for the occasional hushed whispers here and there. The first few notes of the song echo through the speakers, and a spotlight appears on him. 

He looks different this time, his hair dyed a vibrant blue that matches the glinting jewels in his ears and on his hands. He's an absolute vision and you wonder how Aphrodite has allowed him to live so long when he's so beautiful. His voice hangs in the air and calms you, the same settling in your chest as last time, the same freedom from the burn in your veins. It's addictive. 

The song doesn't last nearly as long as you want it to but the stillness inside you lingers long after he's done caressing the microphone. You place a few bills down for Suho and light up a cigarette as you head outside, ignoring the dirty looks from other patrons as you do. You're on a mission, the thrum of bloodlust returning with every second that passes, and you can't even be sure if he's still around or if he's wandered off already. 

You stand in the alley for what feels like hours, turning at every sound and smoking cig after cig just so you have something to do. You've almost decided to say fuck it when footsteps sound from the back of the bar, coming closer to you. 

His blue hair is visible even from the other end of the small alley, a giveaway similar to the light at the end of your cigarette and the smoke you blow into the air. There's no way he hasn't seen you, you think, you're making no effort to hide or be sneaky, and yet he's continuing forward as if he doesn't see you at all, eyes focused on a phone in his hand. You wait until he's just a few steps away before speaking.

"How do you know my title?" You ask him. He stops as if he'd always meant to and doesn't even bother to glance up at you or respond. The edges of your vision turn scarlet at the blatant disregard and you're speaking before you can even process the words. "I asked you a fucking question, pretty boy, you're gonna answer me. Unless you want that precious mouth bloodied up."

"And you wonder how I know who you are," He drawls, still not bothering to spare a glance at you. A scowl grows over your face at his sarcastic tone. "If you're going to hit me just get it over with. Otherwise, I have places to be."

He stands, waiting and expectant, but you don't move. He's humming, quiet and to himself like he doesn't even realize he's doing it, and the red seeps away from your mind until you're left clear-headed once more. You sigh, long and heavy, and crush your cigarette into your denim-covered thigh to put it out. It tickles. 

"I'm not going to hit you," You tell him eventually. "I just wanna know how you know me. And how you do it."

He cocks a brow at that, finally looking up from the phone in his hand to level dark eyes on yours. "Do what? Sing?"

"No." You swallow around the sudden lump in your throat. The words are harder to find than you thought they'd be, lost in the depths of his gaze, in the clarity you're so unaccustomed to, in the way you feel like you can breathe for the first time in days. "I don't care how you sing, that's not important, it's the...fuck, you know what, never mind, it doesn't fucking matter." You push off the wall and step past him to head towards where the streetlight gleams off the bar windows. 

"Tell me." The command has you stopping in your tracks, and you're again flooded with just wanting to know how. How he clears the haze, how he stops you, how he makes you feel real. You turn, hands stuffed into the back pockets of your jeans. "How I do what?"

It takes you several long breaths before you can answer, and you aren't even sure he can hear you over the sounds of people leaving the bar, and you find yourself disappearing into the crowd without waiting for a response. Your own words are reverberating in your skull, getting louder with each step you take, and you wish you could just turn it off . 

"How you make me feel like a person again."

You avoid the bar for a few weeks, going hours away from your usual area to an unfamiliar hole in the wall just to make sure you don’t see him. You’re more deadly than usual in your fights, victories coming quicker, injuries piling up along with the guilt, but you can’t bring yourself to return. It’s unnerving, the way everything goes quiet around him, the way you can think, but the worst is the way you can feel. Everything’s calm and steady and blue, and it only makes it easier for the regret and the guilt and the anxiety to curl around your throat and squeeze until you can’t breathe, to clog in your throat while the laughter of your siblings echoes in your ears, and you...can’t. You can’t do that, you can’t let it win, you can’t let them win, they can’t know that you’re everything they think you are and worse. 

You can’t let yourself drown in that, and yet you find yourself back at Suho’s, lost among the crowd while Taehyung’s voice surrounds you. The ache in your bones fades away, chased by the thrum of the fight that still lingers despite the hours that have passed since you felt your opponent’s femur break under your palm and their screams echoed in your ears. Everything is calm again, and the guilt nearly drowns you.

He hasn’t even finished singing before you’re outside, chest heaving as you gasp against the weight on your chest. You broke someone’s femur , and did you even really need to? The fight itself is a blur even now, snapshots playing through your mind like a montage. The way they’d darted at you first, how their foot felt connecting with the backs of your knees, the determination in their eyes when you went down, the jolt of shock as your hands wrapped around their leg, the dull throb of a barrage of hits against your waist as you pulled them down as well and bloodied their face, the blood-curdling scream as you snapped the bone like a pretzel stick.

Your breath comes faster in your lungs, forced out by the growing guilt that lodges there in its place. Images swirl in your mind, chased by a never-ending stream of thought and regret that you should be used to by now. Fuck, you didn’t need to, and you still did it; you lost control, you fucking hurt them, and for what? A couple hundred? Was it even worth it? Who knew when they’d be back into shape to fight, what if they needed the money? They weren’t even half-bad. They got you down, at least, shouldn’t you have gone easy on them? You don’t even remember their face, can’t remember what the announcer said their name was, words drowned out by the buzz under your skin.

Metal crumples under your grip and you spare a half-second to mourn Suho’s dumpster before you slam your knuckles against it. It tingles, not even real pain, and you don’t hesitate to repeat it. By the time the metal is disfigured completely, a distorted mess of paint and steel and garbage, you still aren’t in pain, but there’s a sheen of gold across your knuckles and you feel less like you’re drowning and more like you’re suffocating. The usual. You can handle that. You think. 

You don’t even realize that you’ve slid down to the ground beside the dumpster until the back door of the bar opens and footsteps echo through the alley. You wish you knew how long you’ve been here, how long you’ve sat among empty bottles and stale beer and broken glass, but you can’t be sure. The brief reprieve brought by Taehyung’s voice is long gone, chased away by the guilt and rage that still sits heavy in your chest. You hope you’re not noticeable here, that whoever’s left will just pass by and leave you to piece yourself back together on your own. 

Voices tell you that it isn’t likely, the deep baritone of one too familiar to ignore. The other is new, but you’re familiar with the tone, the inflection, the intent behind it. You've heard it before, in crowded clubs as a guy pushes too close to some girl who can barely stand, in a coffeeshop when a random customer can't take a fucking hint, at the local campus when some professor insists that there could be maybe one thing her student could do to pass. It makes everything in you curdle, the bourbon from earlier threatening to work its way back up; it screams predator , and you absolutely refuse to let anyone fucking talk to someone like that, like they have some right to whatever it is they want. 

You refuse to let someone talk to him that way. 

"Seriously, Kratos, didn't I tell you to leave me alone? Did Aphrodite not teach you your lesson last time you harassed someone?" Taehyung's voice brings a calm that's an unsettling match to the anger washing over you. You're used to the red at the corners of your vision, the tint to everything you see, but you aren ' t used to the way it all turns purple and focused and clear . 

There's no haze this time, there's no abrupt shift of you moving before you know you've done it. You can feel the glass crunching under your boots with every step you take, can feel the way the air has a chill that creeps down into your lungs with every breath, can almost taste the apprehension that's rolling off of Taehyung despite his relaxed stance. The only thing that gives him away is the tense set of his jaw and the mix of relief and fear when his eyes land on you. 

"I'm pretty sure he said no, Kratos." The god turns at your voice and you watch the realization wash over him as he realizes what - who - you are. 

"Been a while since anyone's seen you, Ares." He scoffs a little, not moving from where he has Taehyung caged against the wall of the bar, one hand pressed firmly into the brick. He's entirely too close, and you have no doubt that the stench of him permeates the very oxygen around them. 

"Been busy. Doesn't change the fact that the man said no. Take the loss, walk away." Kratos' eyes narrow at your words and he steps away, but only to move closer to you. 

"Why do you care so much? You've never been one to care about any of us before." Kratos inches closer and the hyper-focus that Taehyung's voice causes starts to melt away with every twitch of your fingers. You've never liked Kratos, all brute strength with no respect for the challenge, no appreciation of the fight, too focused on sheer power and exhilaration. He is the worst of the worst of the worst of your kind, of all the war-focused gods. Every bit of yourself you hate is every piece that Kratos loves about himself. 

"I care that you don't seem to be able to understand when someone doesn't want to be around you, you absolute piece of filth. Taehyung had a point though, I really thought the whole thing with Aphrodite would've taught you how to back off. Or should I pull the video out, I think I still have it saved for when I need a good laugh." Malice and fury twitch across the other god's face and you absolute revel in it. You can feel his anger prickling across you, like needles in your very pores, and you ache for it. It's been so long since you last had a good fight, a real challenge where you didn't need to hold back at all. 

Too long since you fought a god like yourself.

"You're testing my patience, cousin," Kratos spits. It's a little generous to call the two of you cousins - you're several times removed, at best, and potentially closer than that with your family's warped history - but you let him have it. It might make him feel better. "I'm having a conversation, that's all. And if said conversation means that we end up back at my place, then, well, can anyone really blame me for what might happen to this pretty little m-"

Your fist connects with his jaw immediately and the red floods you for the few seconds it takes to register Taehyung calling your name. The calm struggles for a second, warring with the rage, but it wins out eventually. The singer's talking, but you can't make out any actual words. You're too focused on Kratos, the way he's righting and readying himself for a brawl. There's a fire in his eyes that matches the one in yours and everything in you feels alive for the first time in too long. 

This fight is different than your usual ones. There's no blur, no warped sense of time that usually comes with the adrenaline. You're focused and controlled in a way you haven't had to be for centuries, careful and precise and deliberate with every swing and every kick. The red seeps back in slowly and every time you think you're about to lose it, you hear Taehyung, still pressed against the wall of the bar. 

Kratos lunges at you for what has to be the tenth time, clearly trying his best to knock you to the ground - he succeeded, once; you let yourself get distracted, too caught up in thoughts, but it didn't last long - and you sidestep him just in time for him to ram into the ruined dumpster instead. He looks pissed when he turns back around and something in you sings at the sight. He makes for you again and you dodge again, only to be dragged back towards him by the grip he has on your jacket. Fuck, should've taken that off , whatever, he's too close.

Pain explodes in your side and you're fairly sure he's busted part of your rib, but you just slide your arms out of the sleeves and twist to plant your knee straight into his gut and then slam your heel down onto his much-less-safe toes, and then back up to knee him in the groin. It's nowhere near enough to take him out, but his nose is oozing golden ichor and he groans with every shift of his weight, and you've got him pinned against the wall with your forearm pressing hard into his windpipe. 

"Now, you're gonna listen to me you steaming pile of dog shit," You hiss. "When someone tells you no, it's not a fucking negotiation. It means you fucking leave and find someone with loose enough morals or enough internalized self-hatred that they're willing to subject themselves to your absolutely pitiful fucking excuse of an existence for the thirty-two seconds it'll take for you to get off." 

Kratos doesn't respond, just sneers and spits blood at you. It's a miracle you don't actually try to rip his head from his body, because the thought crosses your mind for a second too long. Instead, you just press harder against his windpipe and enjoy the choked gasp that it draws. 

"You don't stalk people either, the way you did with 'Dite. Don't you know it's better to let them come to you sometimes?" You tsk, ignoring the way he claws uselessly at your arm. Gods may not need to breathe, that's a fact, but they feel pain, and there is no way this isn't absolutely excruciating for him when even you can feel the small bones in his neck cracking and breaking. "And if I hear even a whisper of you pulling shit like this again, then I'm gonna find you, you pigshit. And when I do, I won't hold back even the slightest, and do you know what comes after that?" 

His eyes are full of fear now, and only grow wide with terror as you lean in close enough that he can feel your lips against his ear as you whisper. 

"You are going to wish that you could die." 

When you do release him, he disappears instantly, with a cloud of acrid grey-green smoke curling around your ichor-spattered boots. He's only been gone a second when you slump, the adrenaline fading as quick as Kratos had left. Your side is throbbing now, your knuckles are bruised and broken and gold, there's a pain in your leg that you aren't sure what's causing, your head is screaming even through the high of the fight, your face stings in the crisp-cool air. Every breath makes the pain worse so you stop breathing. The brick wall of the bar is rough against your palms, but it's the only thing around that can keep you upright, so you'll take it. 

"Well," a voice drawls from your left. You'd jump if you had anything left in you, but every ounce of energy is gone, spent teaching Kratos what Aretha Franklin meant when she sang about respect - and really, there was another fantastic singer, you really should visit her sometime soon - so instead your head lolls to the side. You aren't sure what it is that jolts through you when your eyes land on Taehyung, fingers curled carefully around the collar of-

Your jacket. That's your leather jacket. You barely remembers shrugging out of it, but you're glad it's not on the ground, trampled and covered in the gold spatters that decorate the rest of your body. 

"Well?" You echo, wincing at the pain it causes. You've definitely got a busted lip, that's for sure from the way it feels different and swollen, and you're pretty sure there's a head wound, too, because you don't remember there being a golden halo around Taehyung before the fight. 

"Well," He repeats, slinging the jacket - your jacket - over a shoulder. "You should get that looked at." He starts walking, making his way to the entrance of the alleyway. He gets halfway there before he stops and turns and cocks a brow. "Are you coming, or do I get to keep this?" Your jacket waves a little, as if he's wiggling it, and it makes you feel like a stray dog being lured off with treats. 

You're never going to tell anyone that it works.

Taehyung's place is as nondescript as the car he parks outside. It's a plain apartment building on the outside - looks like maybe it was a hotel back in the 1930s, based on the outdated carpeting in the lobby and the grate on the elevator he steps into. Even the hallway is plain and unassuming as he leads you to the end and uses an old, tarnished brass key on an older, more tarnished brass knob. You aren't sure what you expected, you can't even begin to guess what Taehyung is like outside of the dirty alley or the stage where he sings, can't fathom what kind of decor he could possibly have. 

What you step into isn't anything you could have guessed. It looks like he has the entire rest of the floor to himself based on what you can see, but there's also a spiral staircase tucked into a corner, bookshelves built in under each step that are filled to the brim, and a fireman's pole in another corner, so there's at least one more level above this, but something tells you both the staircase and the pole continue past that. There's artwork everywhere, pieces you recognize and pieces you don't, several van Goghs and a couple from Matisse and you think in the corner you spot an actual fucking da Vinci sketch that's supposed to be somewhere in Europe. There's a gramophone beside a top-of-the-line sound system, an entire wall that's just a record collection, books upon books, framed bits of poetry - including an actual hand-written rupi kaur, a signed Maya Angelou print, and a signed cover of ain't i a woman by bell hooks that you would die to know how Taehyung got his hands on. It's a museum's wet dream and yet it retains a lived in atmosphere. There are mugs left on tables, blankets strewn about as if someone just got up from a nap, an easel propped up by a far window with what looks like an impressionist painting of the cityscape, books tossed down half-read with receipts and coupons and candy wrappers and everything but a bookmark tucked between the pages. 

It feels like a home and it makes your heart flutter in your chest at the same time that something in your stomach shrivels up into itself. 

Taehyung walks like he’s meant to be followed, so follow you do. You spy another man - older, you think, but it’s hard to tell, really - sprawled across a couch, blanket splayed across his lap as he watches some kind of dance show on a flatscreen hung above a warm and roaring fireplace, a couple of girls in what looks to be the kitchen, one sitting on the counter while the other stands between her legs and pretends not to notice the former stealing strawberries from her bowl as she taps at her tablet, and there are footsteps creaking above you, hidden behind walls even as Taehyung leads you up the staircase. They all look up when you pass, but only the man gives you a second glance; his eyes are a weight on your back that doesn’t leave until you’re upstairs and following Taehyung into a large, rather nice bathroom. 

It’s vintage as well, but it’s spacious and well-kept, like the rest of the place. Taehyung pats the marble counter by the sink and you bite your tongue against the urge to tell him you aren’t a dog. You don’t move though, instead watching him as he lays your jacket across a brass bar on the wall and then digs around in a cabinet for a minute or two. When he straightens up, he’s got a somewhat dusty off-white box in his hands, and he frowns. 

“Up,” He says. “I need to look at your ankle.” 

You don’t move, but you can tell he doesn’t miss the twitch of your nose at the thought of being commanded like an animal. Like someone who can’t understand. Like-

He sighs. 

“Please, will you sit on the counter, so I can look at your ankle?” You huff, but you do as he says. 

He doesn’t speak as he works, completely silent except for the odd command - “Roll it for me...alright, now flex that...deep breath...stop fidgeting or I’ll only make it worse…” - and the occasional hum under his breath. It seems to be second nature, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and it endears you more than you’d like. His touch is gentle but firm as he lightly squeezes your ankle and wraps it, lifts your pant leg to rub some kind of cream into a somewhat worrisome golden bruise forming on your calf, darts under your shirt to quickly and painlessly set your ribs before wrapping those as well. He doesn’t say anything at all until he’s almost finished with the cuts on your hands, golden ichor long gone and wounds already on their way to healing thanks to some sort of mist he spritzes on them. 

It only stings once, as he’s spraying something over some kind of cut on your thigh where Kratos ripped through the denim there without you noticing. You can’t stop the hiss as the pain hits, though you regret it when he glances up at you. 

“Sorry,” He mumbles under his breath as he dabs lightly at it with his long fingers. 

“It’s fine,” You tell him. “I’m used to it.” Your voice is rough, always, but softer than usual. You don’t know why. You can’t decide if you like it.

The entire time he works, you wait. For him to tell you it wasn’t necessary, that he can fight his own battles, that he’s not surprised a brute like yourself got into a fight, that you’re no more than what the rumours say you are. You’ve got a million different curses and insults ready to spit back at him when he finally speaks.

“Thank you,” is what comes. It shocks the words out of your mouth, and you actually look up from where you’ve been watching him methodically wipe gold away from a scrape on your forearm. His gaze is concentrated on the injury and his lips are pursed and you wish you could figure him out. 

He must take your silence for the confusion it is, because he continues. 

“I mean it,” He says. “I’m usually not someone that lets other people fight for me, but we both know that I couldn’t have taken Kratos. He’s too strong, and he was counting on that. Until you showed up.” You don’t respond. “Is there a reason you left before my set was done? Or why you were sitting in an alley beside what is possibly the most gnarled dumpster I’ve ever seen?”

You don’t answer him, instead focusing on the way his hands feel as they tilt your chin so he can look at the cuts and bruises and scrapes that decorate your face. You focus your gaze just past his shoulder, content to memorize the pattern of his gaudy vintage bathroom wallpaper, and he doesn't press for more. The distracted humming picks up again every time he stops talking, and eases the storm of guilt shame rage pain hurt grief loneliness in your chest. 

"I fight," you eventually say. Your voice is too loud in the quiet of the bathroom, shatters the silence like a sledgehammer, and you hate the way it trembles. Still, Taehyung doesn't look away from where he's carefully wiping gold from your skin, just cocks a brow, and it's as if a dam breaks in your throat. "Like, real fights. Actual competition, with rules and shit, and...sometimes the bad ones, because they tend to fight differently, it's a different kind of fight, y'know, and it's never really fair, because I'm...I'm me, but I hold back, just for fun, y'know, and it's, uh. It's alright usually, I go in, do my thing, I win, I go drink, and it all gets, I dunno, easier, maybe, for a while, like I can think right, but, um.”

You hesitate for a split second and force yourself to focus on the way the alcohol-soaked cotton tickles the cut on your head. 

“Sometimes it's not...sometimes I can't control it as well, the anger, and I kind of just lose it on people, and a while ago this guy, he almost needed his jaw wired shut, but he was kind of a prick anyway, I guess, so whatever, but, uh, today, I...there was this girl and she was doing really well, actually, y'know, managed to get me down to the mat, which is rare and pretty impressive, and I'm pretty proud of her for it now, but then, I just. I just kinda lost it, like, I just kept swinging, I couldn't stop, and then I just...I broke her leg, for no real reason, just because I wanted her to hurt, and I don't...I'm not sure why I even did it, because I'd already won, right, like what was the point of doing any more, it wasn't even helping at that point, y'know, it's not like the buzz kept up any longer because I broke this kid's leg, and I love the fights, they help clear my head for a second, but I never wanted to actually-"

You words stop short, like there are too many of them to say in too short a time, and it's then you realize Taehyung's hands are in his lap and he's looking at you fully. His expression isn't neutral anymore, it's not the carefully crafted mask of a performer, it's real and open and genuine and all you see there is pain . For you. Pain and understanding and compassion you never expected to find anywhere but the deepest corners of your soul. Looking at him looking at you like that makes you feel like you can breathe again.

"You never wanted to hurt anyone." His voice is rough, like maybe there's emotion clogging his throat as well, and you aren't sure what that does to you, but something in you jumps at the thought.

Tears mar your vision as you nod and you curse under your breath before wiping them away. He catches your quivering hand in his and just holds it for a second. His eyes don't leave yours and there are a thousand things you expect him to say but what he says is: 

"I believe you."

And that...it's more than you can take, and you break, right there on his bathroom counter, sobbing into his chest while he just rubs your back and hums and you remember the face of every person you've ever hurt and the look in their eyes as you left some of them for dead. 

You wake up the next morning curled up on the most comfortable chaise lounge in human history, sitting up and shoving the blanket off of you in a rush before you remember where you are, why you're there. A glance around tells you that you aren't alone; there's two guys bent over a table that you think might also be a tablet, conversing quietly and pointing every so often at whatever they're looking at, a girl balanced along the edge of the staircase holding a lyre - which, wow, you haven't seen a lyre in that good condition in a while - and strumming lightly along it before she frowns and shakes her head and restarts whatever melody she's playing, and the same guy sprawled over the couch with a blanket strewn haphazardly over him while he watches a different dance video on the flatscreen. He's the closest and you don't really want to talk to any of these people but you think you might have to because you aren't really sure how Taehyung got you here last night but you know it was quite a drive. You'd just mist over to the bar if you really wanted to, but your ribs hurt like a bitch still thanks to that fucker Kratos. Anything as intense as misting is out of the question for the time being.

The man on the chaise spares you a glance that feels longer than it should, full of a judgement you have no doubt you deserve and yet somehow fires your anger anyway. 

He rolls his eyes before you even say anything and waves a hand towards the kitchen. You snap your mouth closed and shoot him an irritated look, but you storm in that direction anyway. Healing is exhausting, and you want nothing more than some meat to tear into and a cold beer. 

When you get into the kitchen, however, Taehyung is standing there already, as if he’s been expecting you any minute. There’s a plate in front of him, full of food you barely recognize, and he slides it towards you. 

“Eat,” He says. You grit your teeth, unmoving, and he sighs again. “Please sit, and eat. You need the strength to heal properly.” 

You resist for a split second, but there’s a softness to him now. Something you can’t exactly put your finger on, but that you know is different , somehow, and it changes things. It makes you want to listen, to do as he asks, because he is asking . He’s not telling, he’s treating you like an animal. 

It’s a request, not a demand, and that makes all the difference. 

Taehyung is quiet while you eat. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t watch to make sure you’re doing it, but you have no doubt he’s keeping an eye on you. It’s quiet, but not unbearably so; the air is broken by the sounds of the lyre and the television, as well as the soft chattering of the men at the table. It makes it comfortable, makes it soft in a way you’re unaccustomed to being, like the way people talk about lazy Sunday mornings or that voice they get when they see a cute animal.

It feels like home should be, instead of what yours is. 

“So why’s Pretty Boy giving me the death glare?” You eventually ask past a mouthful of food. Taehyung barely looks up, just glancing past you to the guy laying on the couch. You can feel his eyes boring into your spine, but it’s nothing new. 

“Taemin’s just protective,” Taehyung says softly. “Especially considering the stories.”

“The ones about me, you mean.”

A myriad of emotions passes through his eyes when he nods, and you wish you could more easily decipher them. Maybe in time, you will. 

Maybe.

“Those, yes,” He says softly. “But he’ll learn.” He doesn’t say it, but nonetheless, you hear the words as clear as day. Just like I did.  

Someone hums behind you and you glance over to see a woman - the strawberry thief - making her way into the kitchen. She gives Taehyung a look you don’t care enough to figure out, and they have an entire conversation in the span of five minutes. Something about it irks you, and it only gets worse when they start moving around each other, Taehyung handing her things without her asking. 

It’s ridiculous, and you know it, but the air gets heavy in your lungs and your head starts to swim and suddenly you’re suffocating. It’s too much, there’s too much here, and you can’t take it anymore. 

The force with which you shove away the counter would have slammed it into the wall were it not already attached. There are slight cracks in the granite tops, though, and there’s just enough clarity as Taehyung calls your name for you to feel guilty about it. It’s not enough to stop you though; you have to get out, you need to get out, before you do something worse, and the cracks in the granite are proof of that. 

You’re out the door in an instant, your form coalescing painfully back into solid matter as you reach the hallway. Your ribs ache, screaming with the effort of trying to mist away from this place, this home , and you lean against the wall in the hope that it will help steady you. 

The door opens behind you, the creak of the old hinges deafening in the silence of the hall. There’s a commotion behind it, voices overlapping each other and reverberating in your skull until they’re a twisted mockery of your siblings. 

You stumble down the hall, one hand clutching your ribs to keep them as still as possible despite your movement. It’s not lost on you that there are footsteps following you, but you can’t focus on them now. You’re not moving fast, and you need to be, you should be running , but you can’t. Your vision is already clouding slightly at the edges, the sudden spike of adrenaline waning now that you’re out of the apartment. 

Someone says your name and you swing. 

It’s instinct, the way your fist flies through the air; you can’t control it, not this, not when the red is all you can see even as it seeps away and turns lilac. It doesn’t matter anyway. You don’t make contact with anything but the wall, plaster crumbling around your fist and onto the carpeted floor. 

“That was rude,” Taehyung says softly. He doesn’t sound mad, though he should, considering you almost decked him straight in the nose. “I’ll take you back.”

He drapes your jacket over your arm and walks away, toward emergency stairs tucked into the corner instead of the elevator, and you follow. He hums as he goes, and he lets you lead the way down the stairs, keeping pace with your quick steps until both of you step out a side door into an alleyway. 

Out of habit, more than anything, you light a cigarette and put it between your lips. You don’t miss the disgusted scrunch of Taehyung’s nose, but you do ignore it. The smoke is familiar in lungs, comforting, and he doesn’t understand it, won’t ever understand it, but he doesn’t have to. 

“Sorry, Tae,” You say after a few minutes of silence. Taehyung shrugs one shoulder and moves to lean beside you against the stone of the building. 

“Are you okay now?” You nod, taking a deep breath, remembering how Hestia had taught you, so long ago, how her hand felt against your chest, the warmth and love it held. “Then you’re forgiven. And you can call me Calliope, if you want.”

You’re both quiet after that. He doesn’t make fun of you, he doesn’t judge you, he just silently drives you back to Suho’s bar, which is when you remember that he doesn’t know where you live. You’re fine with it; you don’t want to see him in your run down hovel. It’s not much, especially compared to his own apartment, but that makes sense, too. 

What could ever live up to the home of a Muse? Not even a muse, really. The Muse. The Head of the Nine Muses, the one called on most often by those in need, the one that everyone knew, the one that Hephaestus just put statues of in the gardens of Olympus, according to the rumors that Apollo sent you. 

The calm that he brings lasts until you get back to your apartment, nearly ten full minutes after you disappear into the alley beside Suho’s bar. It’s the longest the calm has ever lasted, and the view of the city tinted lavender is one you think you love. 

If you can love. 

Things get clearer, somehow. The weight on your shoulders lessens, makes you feel less like Atlas and more like you, how you were all those years ago in the now-ancient days when things made sense. When people fought for honor and glory and justice more than they fought for oil and death and greed. 

It could be because open mic nights are frequent around the city, and you’re able to figure out his schedule pretty well. You don’t go every night that he sings, just when it gets to be too much, when the scarlet haze starts to bleed into your irises like a flag in front of a bull. It helps, for a while, lets you settle long enough to pull the pieces of you back into a shape that vaguely resembles yourself. 

It could be because the fights happen every night, and Taehyung is no stranger to where to look to find them. He watches every one that he can, when he isn’t singing, and his presence anchors you. Focuses you, so that you can pull your punches just enough, so that there’s less hurting and more fighting. It doesn’t work every time, you still lose yourself in the rage and do more damage than you ever mean to, but it helps enough. And when it doesn’t, he’s there, to slide a hand across your shoulders in that exact same way that Hestia used to, that Apollo might if you let him close enough to know you’re alive, that Artemis would , were she anywhere but where she is. 

It’s a strange feeling. You’re not used to companionship, you don’t know how to have friends. You still say the wrong things and do the wrong things and he still speaks to you like he expects to be listened to, but you both are learning. You apologize more often, and he corrects himself quicker. It’s a slow, fragile thing, this friendship, but it’s there. 

Until the night when it’s not. 

You aren’t sure how it happens. It’s been weeks since you last saw Taehyung; he mentioned some project he was working on, something or another that would have most of his attention along with that of several of the other Muses. You had brushed it off when he said it, some snide remark about how you don’t need him there to win. 

You would take it back if you could. 

Because you were right, of course, you don’t need him there to win; you can do that on your own. And your control has gotten better, stronger, over the last few months, but complacency is what always leads to disaster. 

The guy deserved it, is what you tell yourself as you’re pulled out of the ring. He was a piece of shit anyway, you remind yourself as you call Apollo with shaking hands. He didn’t deserve your mercy, you tell the golden gold after you’ve begged him to help save the man’s life. Artemis would have done the same, you insist to him, long after he’s hung up the phone and left to follow the ambulance to the hospital. 

You don’t go to Suho’s. You can’t bear it, not when he might be there, not when he would read it on your face in a heartbeat. You don’t want to watch the disappointment crumble into something more familiar, something worse, you can’t watch him look at you with the knowledge that your siblings are right, that they’ve always been right, that you’re nothing better than a crazed animal. 

The club is packed full when you get there. The bartender starts to pour you a drink and you just take the bottle, leaving a too-thick wad of bills in return. The bourbon tickles as it goes down but it warms your stomach and distracts you from the haze in your mind, the repetitive beat of they were right they were right they were right they were-

“Whoops, sorry,” someone says, a second before they knock into your shoulder. You’ve been around long enough to know a fake fall, and you scowl as you glance towards them. 

He’s cute. Taller than you, with skin that would hide the marks you so love to create, and hair that looks like it would be soft in your hands. His clothes fit well, and they look like they were chosen for comfort over style despite the way he walks like a model in them, which you always find attractive. 

The smile that slips onto your face is familiar, as is the way you bring your hand up to rest on his hip in an effort to steady him. 

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” You tell him, not being subtle in the way you eye him. He looks soft; you love them soft. “You headed to get a drink?”

“I might be,” He says teasingly, a coy grin forming on his lips. 

“I’ve got something better, if you’re interested.”

His eyes roam along your body, his breath drawing somewhat quicker when he notices the scrapes on your knuckles. “I might be.”

It takes five minutes to get him to a corner quiet enough to talk. Less than three to get your lips on his. One and a half to start sucking a mark into his neck that makes him moan so pretty you can’t help but want to hear it again. 

One of your hands is up his shirt, playing with the pebbled buds and the metal pierced through them, while the other teasingly massages the skin of his hip when he’s torn away from you roughly. 

“What the fuck?” Your voice growls as you look up. The guy is standing there, looking for all the world like he’s ready to run, but he isn’t watching you. 

No, his eyes are on a familiar sight; Taehyung, his hair now a pretty lavender that makes you think of a home you don’t have, even as he doesn’t look at you. 

“Taken,” He growls, releasing the collar of the guy you had every intent to make cry with pleasure. The guy scurries off before you can stop him, though, and you don’t bother to hide your disdain. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” You demand, already lighting a cigarette as you head outside. Taehyung follows, pulling it from between your lips and crushing it in his hands before you have the chance to get your lighter out.

“Me? You looked like you were about to eat him .” He follows you all the way to the street outside and down the sidewalk, pulling each cigarette out of your hands before you can light it. He waits until you’re a decent distance from the crowd outside the club before he stops you, one hand lightly encircling your wrist. 

Your boots scuff against the ground as you stop, not turning to look at him. You’re too afraid to, too worried he’ll see it all on your face and just know that you’ve fucked up, maybe beyond repair. 

“Apollo called me,” is what he says instead. “Said I might want to find you tonight.”

You should’ve known. That little fuck, of course he would rat you out. 

“I didn’t-” 

The words choke in your throat. You want to say you don’t need him. You don’t need him to come running like you’re some scared little girl who can’t control her strength, you don’t need him to piece you back together because you aren’t broken, you don’t need him because you don’t need anyone, you never have. 

“I know you didn’t,” Taehyung says quietly. “I know he deserved it, I know what he did, and I know you didn’t mean to.”

Something inside of you breaks and you find yourself shaking. 

“He hurt her , Tae, I heard it, I heard her telling her friend about it on the phone, I saw her crying, I saw her clothes, okay, he-”

“I know,” Taehyung says, pulling you into a loose hug. “I know you did, it’s okay. He’s going to be okay. He’s not gonna escape his punishment from that, you didn’t send anyone to Hades today. It’s okay.”

The cloud struggles, for what feels like hours. Guilt settles like lead in your stomach, and you wish you weren’t so used to the feeling. The rage returns every time you remember what that girl looked like, what she sounded like on the phone, how you felt when you realized it was your competitor who had done that to her. 

There’s no honor in that. There’s no justice, no glory, in beating an opponent who was never aware they were in the ring, and it makes your blood boil all over again. Taehyung’s voice soothes you, slightly, makes the edges of your vision turn indigo, but it isn’t enough. 

It’s never enough. 

“I have to go,” You say, pulling yourself away from him. “I need- I have to find-”

“A distraction,” He finishes for you, too aware that you can’t find the words you need. “Some mortal that you can bruise and break and bang until you feel less like a monster?”

That’s exactly what you want to do, what you had been about to do with that guy at the club, and it’s only Taehyung’s voice calling your name in that soft, sweet way of his that makes you wonder if that’s not a good plan. 

“I’ll be a distraction, if you need one.” You whip your head around, staring at him, but he doesn’t flinch. “I’m sturdier than the mortals, I can take more. Let me be your distraction.”

“I…” You hesitate. You don’t know why. You shouldn’t even be entertaining this idea, it’s not a good one, but then...when have any of your ideas been good? “I can’t fuck in a house with eight other people.”

“You have an apartment,” He says easily. “Let’s go there.”

It’s a bad idea. You don’t do that, you don’t fuck people at your apartment, you don’t have people in your apartment, it’s your space. It’s a bad idea, it can only end in disaster. 

“Okay.”

Taehyung’s lips are soft against yours, yielding and pliant just the way you’re used to. His hands are big and warm against your ass, even through your jeans, and the feeling gives you the courage to slide your own under the ridiculously patterned button-down he’s wearing. 

He lets you lead the way through the door, kicking it closed behind you with slightly too much force. Your apartment is small, a studio with a bed tucked in the corner for the rare times that you need it. 

You push Taehyung onto it and slide yourself onto his lap, already grinding down onto the hard length you can feel there. He's not quite as enthusiastic, but his fingers are like steel against you, pulling you down with every rut of your hips. 

This, you can do. This, you're familiar with. 

You push on his shoulders, doing your best to get him on his back so you can have better access to the clasp of his jeans, but he resists. You try again, firmer, using a harsh suck against his skin as a distraction, but he still doesn't go. 

Frustrated, you pull back. 

"Not like this," He says. His voice clears some of the fog, and you frown. 

"Do you want to be on top, then? Because I don't mind, I just need it," You tell him. He sighs a little, but he flips the two of you over so he's kneeling between your open legs and your back is cushioned against the mattress. 

"How long has it been since you spent the night with someone who knows who you are?" He asks, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he sits back on his knees. 

You shift, uncomfortable. "A while. Why does that matter? Just fuck me."

"No," Taehyung says, voice gentle but firm. You cock a brow at him and move to get out from under him, but he stills you with a hand on your thigh. 

"You are a goddess," He tells you, trailing his hands down so he can undo the laces on your steel-toe boots and slide them off. "You have held Victory in your palms and set her free." 

His palms burn through the denim on your thighs, but you welcome it as he slides your jacket over your shoulders to the bed beneath. 

"You are the winner of wars. You are the one who grants battlefield wishes. You are the dead's escort to Hades." He leans down, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek and then down your throat. 

He pulls back as he gets to your collarbone, eyes blown wide with unfamiliar desire, and it makes your breath catch in your throat.

"You," Taehyung tells you, with desire in his eyes and belief in his voice, "Deserve to be treated like the goddess that you are, with the respect you have earned, and the care you deserve." 

As often as you fuck people, it's been a very long time since anyone wanted to fuck you for any reason beyond your appearance and the personality you show them. But this? This look in the muse's eyes as his hands settle on your knees as he waits? 

Taehyung wants to fuck you because you're you. Not despite it, not because he doesn't know . He has seen you at your worst and yet he keeps coming back, keeps showing up as you fall apart. Each time he stays, hands you a basket so you can pick the pieces of yourself up off the ground, holds the tape so you can mash it back together, and is ready to help steady you when you start to crumble again. 

He's here for you , to treat you in a way no one has ever treated you before. He's your friend.

He cares.

You nod, however tentatively, and his lips are on yours in an instant. They're firmer now, less pliable and more controlling, but you don't mind. Not this time. 

Not with Taehyung. 

His hands don't hesitate as he strips you both of your clothes, but you can feel it each time he checks to make sure you're okay. The way that he watches your expression, the tense of your muscles under him, the cadence of your gasps for air between kisses, he reads all of it as clear as if it's a book in front of him. He slows down before you can stop him, his lips drawing back from the kisses he draws across your thighs, and he speeds up as your thoughts start to drift, swiping his tongue and two fingers through your folds to tease and bring your attention back to him. 

His fingers bury themselves in your heat, crooking slightly to brush against that soft part of you that makes the world spin, and it's all too intense. His lips are hardly even touching your skin, just pressing gentle kisses against the skin of your thigh, a gentle complement to the way he glides his fingers in and out of you, slow and steady and delicious, but it's absolutely intoxicating. 

He's talkative, too; he gives you constant praise. He tells you how well you take his fingers, how good you look with his fingers inside you, how absolutely fantastic you taste on his tongue, how he'd live between your thighs if he could. 

It's too much, and you can't be sure why, not when your orgasm is approaching quicker than it ever has, not when your walls clench around him and you soak your sheets, not when he's cleaning your cum off his fingers with his tongue.

"Good," He purrs. "Now you're all warmed up." 

His mouth hits your heat without hesitation or warning, before the aftershocks are even finished, and your hips buck upwards. His arms slide underneath your thighs only to grip them and bring them back down. You can't move much in his grip except to grind your pussy against his mouth, which he seems to enjoy, if the muffled grunts that escape him are any indication.

He doesn't stop until his tongue is buried inside you with one finger drawing lazy circles on your clit and you're cumming again, hands gripping the soft strands of his hair so tight that you would be afraid of pulling it out if you could focus on anything besides the feel of him against you.

He lets you ride the aftershock, this time. Waits until your pants die down slightly, until you're back in your mind. 

"Good?" He asks you. His voice is deeper, rumbles instead of slides, but it breaks through the post-orgasm haze long enough for you to nod. “More?”

“More,” you agree, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and pulling him into a heated kiss. You haven’t been this clear-headed in a while. Every sensation is clear and crisp, every sound heightened, everything is simultaneously more while also being exactly what it’s always supposed to have been. 

Taehyung’s cock is everything you could have expected from a muse; thick, long, beautiful, and it fills you in a way that’s indescribable as he slides inside. He groans at the feeling, deep and throaty and beautiful, and begins his thrusts nearly immediately. 

It’s as slow as he was with his fingers; steady and forceful, but unhurried. As if he wants to take his time. As if he wants to savor it. Savor you . 

“Do you have any idea how amazing you are?” He mutters, almost as an afterthought. “What you look like right now, what you look like when you’re fighting, when you’ve won and you’re triumphant? It’s fucking addictive, seeing that confidence in you.”

“Shit, Tae, don’t stop-”

“It’s so fucking intoxicating,” He groans, pace quickening. Your arms wrap around him more fully, nails like claws down his back as you arch your back to get him deeper. “You get this look in your eyes, like you can do anything you fucking want to, and it’s so fucking brilliant, because you can , you can do anything and everything you ever fucking want to do, and no one can stop you.”

A whine you’ll never admit to escapes your throat, and Taehyung drives his cock further into you. 

“Let go, my sweet,” Taehyung purrs in your ear. “Let yourself relax, just this once. For me.”

His hand touches your clit and it’s so much, too much , you’re feeling everything so intensely that it takes a solid minute to realize you’re coming down from an orgasm. Taehyung has stilled inside you, unmoving but groaning as you flutter around him, and you push weakly at his shoulder. 

He slides himself out of you, looking entirely too proud of wet spot underneath you and glistening against his lower stomach. You wobble your way up to rest your elbows underneath you, and it’s like he can sense your words before they come. 

“No,” He says simply. “I don’t you to get me off with your mouth.”

“A hand then? I don’t want you to leave unsatisfied.” 

A frown pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he leans down just enough that your lips are almost touching, a not-there kiss that you can only wish for. 

“In what world is fucking you to the point of Elysium unsatisfying?”

The crowd around you is deafening; some of them are cheering for you, but the majority are rooting for your downfall. Such is the life of a challenging the champion, you suppose. 

You don’t know how Taehyung found this place; maybe Artemis had heard rumors, or maybe he searched for it himself. You can’t bring yourself to care, not when you’ve got someone worth fighting on the other side of the arena. 

The sand crunches beneath your feet. It’s hot, hotter than it should be since you’re still wearing your signature jeans and boots - without the jacket this time. You learned from that mistake. 

Your vision tints pink as you size up your opponent; he’s massive, not one to be easily defeated, and you relish the challenge. It’s been so long since you’ve fought a giant. Excitement thrums under your veins as he turns to you. He scoffs. 

If you had a little less control, you might be flying across the arena already. He clearly has no idea who’s standing across from him. Probably thinks you’re some demigod, come to challenge him for the fleece he isn’t supposed to have. 

He’ll learn. 

Something moves in the distance. It should blend in, considering how dark it is, but instead it draws your eye, and you don’t even question why. You would recognize him anywhere, have recognized him everywhere, and his presence calms you. Makes you remember a few nights ago, falling into bed in a hotel in Rome because the burn was to much and you needed him to help you release it. 

“Try not to be too quick, princess,” The giant across from you huffs. You cock a brow and send a look to your muse, who just rolls his eyes, despite the smile playing across his face. 

Violet rings your vision as you ready your stance. The announcer yells something that’s lost over the noise of the crowd. Taehyung leans forward, elbows on his knees, excitement and pride in his eyes. 

The giant swings. 

[nodesiretogrowup]

LET’S GET READY TO RE-CAAAAAAAAP

“I have numerous science-based questions” I mean, same. It also sets up that Huey is gonna be out of his element this episode

SCROOGE HAS NO TIME FOR SCIENCE

“I AM THAT CHAMPION.” A bit full of yourself there. I couldn’t hear this line without saying “I’M. THAT. HERO.” Oh VeggieTales, you’ll always be with me

THEY ALL LOOK SO ADORABLE!!

I like that Louie does a finger gun when Scrooge gets to him

Like I said earlier, I DO NOT care Scrooge already putting pressure on these kids

Poor Dewey seems like he’s the unfavorite, which is probably how Donald felt as well

Huey makes a good point and I do NOT like how dismissive Scrooge is of the twins

That being said...they totally killed someone in battle

SOMEDAY WE’LL FIND IT, THE RAINBOW CONNECTION!

Why didn’t Launchpad crash? I know he can land w/o crashing but it’s usually when he lands in water. THIS FEELS IMPORTANT SOMEHOW though it probably isn’t

“THEY FOUND A WAY TO MAKE RAINBOWS BETTER!” God, I love Webby

“This is the best day.” WEBBY, YOU ARE REACHING CRITICAL LEVELS OF ADORABLE

Birds with beards look odd

“Yeah, sure. Of course.” Poor Huey, magic and mythology aren’t his strong point

I love that it says Odin’s Closet over the shirts. It’s the little details

“Guess Louie knows what Louie’s doing today.” And then he disappears into the shirts. I can appreciate someone who knows what they’re about

I want ALL the shirts from this episode!

“WHOA, IT’S WRESTLING!” He looks so dang happy, it’s ADORABLE

“THIS IS AWESOME!” Chanting is fun

“So these guys just copied professional wrestling?” Huey, you’re form of logic is not welcome here

Does that mean Scrooge told someone about his battles and inspired them to create pro wrestling? I’m gonna go with that

“And they will love me for it!” Dewey, sweetie, that’s only how it works half the time

I loved all the man-snake stuff. Made me giggle

Man snake be THICC. HOT DAMN

I love the little pig ref. HE’S SO CUTE

Jormungandr knows how to pump up a crowd

So, like, is everyone in the audience technically DEAD?! That makes this episode slightly darker. I dig it

 I wonder if Jormungandr sees Earth’s destruction as a good thing for Earth. Like if he genuinely thinks they’d be better off in Valhalla. Or if he’s just a bastard who wants to watch the world burn

Scrooge is a bit too into playing the heel

The way Scrooge moves and the faces he makes as the Millionaire Miser remind me of Glomgold

“I watch a lot of wrestling while I fly.” “Wait, while?” This exchange always cracks me up

“Uncle Scrooge is the greatest hero of all time.” “Huh, I guess not everyone thinks so.” I feel like this is foreshadowing later events

RIP Announcer Puffin

“DIBS ON ANNOUNCING!” A dude just got KO’d bro! Have a bit of respect

And the return of the dynamic sports announcer duo. Glad Huey got his badge

I NEED MORE WRESTLING ANNOUNCER LP

Strongbeard is DOPE

“How did you know that?” “Just calling it like I see it. WRESTLING!” The real reason Launchpad knows is because he’s actually Thor but doesn’t remember. I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL

FEAR THE BEARD

“What matters is I’m doing the right thing.” I don’t know, you really seem to enjoy being a heel

This whole match is great

Dewey, there ARE NO RULES IN WRESTLING. Plus you aren’t the ref, so you can’t make that call

I have very inappropriate jokes go through my head when only one arm absorbs the beard energy

“I am so confused.” CONSTANT MOOD

DID SCROOGE NARUTO RUN AT STRONGBEARD?!

I like that Scrooge dives onto him the same way he dives into his bin

LP is so excited he pushes Huey out of the way for NO REASON

HOLY FUCK THAT DUDE THREW A CHAIR AT A CHILD!

All the bone cracking in this episode made me uncomfortable, as in my bones hurt during it

“He is such a good guy.” I’d say he’s a fair guy, not necessarily a good guy

“Which two of you will fight for me?” Webby has been waiting for this moment her WHOLE LIFE

Louie, always taking time to make that money

Who gave him a shirt cannon?!

I love that the dude comes up wearing the shirt

Dewey just slaps Scrooge in the face

Champ POPular! Too cute! I love his hair and outfit. Though I don’t think Champ POPular’s “too popular to hate.” If anything he might annoy people due to his popularity

I thought he was gonna pull out yo-yos as his “finishing touch” and I was sad when it was lollipops even though that makes more sense. BRING BACK THE YO-YOS!

“Do all the fighting and make sure he doesn’t die.” That is a valid concern

WE WILL WE WILL ROCK YOU! I’D KNOW IT ANYWHERE

Huey taking notes is adorable

“Just in time for the tag-team round.” “Wait, they’re playing tag now?! MAN!” I love how Danny says MAN

How does Huey not know what a tag-team is? It’s a pretty common term

I love Launchpad’s reading face

Dewey has red, blue, and green lollipops. Cute

“HE’S THROWING LOLLIPOPS BECAUSE HE THINKS WE’RE SUCKERS!” That took me off guard and I laughed so hard

“I’ve known you my whole life, I kinda knew how this would play out.” Louie is genre savvy. Perhaps too savvy. He’s gonna figure out he’s in a tv show

“More like Champ POP..ulation zero because he has no friends...in Friendtown.” I fail to see how that was any worse than LP’s “more like Champ UN-POPular.”

“WE HATE YOU NOW!” Tough crowd

Huey’s face after that. I just want to pinch his lil cheeks

WEBBY DON’T NEED NO WRESTLER NAME

It TOTALLY went over my head that they censored Hela with Hecka (at least they used her better than the MCU did. WE COULD HAVE HAD SO MUCH BETTER)

I would let her pin me to the mat and crush my skull in

“Oh, COME ON, THIS is what you like?! A creepy goth and her pet dog!” SHUT UP, DEWEY, THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT I WANT! I’m surprised Webby didn’t slap him for the “creepy goth” comment seeing as Lena is goth and misunderstood

“HECKA YEAH! HECKA YEAH!” SHE’S SO COOL AND SEXY AND SHE HAS A DOG

Poor Huey, he’s doing his best. Hope he takes a shower later because he got pretty sweaty

HECKA COULD STEP ON ME AND I’D SAY THANK YOU

Why did Huey have all those corn puns?

“YOU’RE THE WORST! YOU’RE THE WORST!” It’s just not Huey’s day

“You don’t have to try to make it sound great, it already is.” Did this remind anyone else of Dewey’s “don’t overthink it” advice to Launchpad from Double-O Duck? He’s doing his best to help Huey

I WANT HECKA TO DESTROY ME

“EMBRACE THE BOOZE BOOS.”

Poor Dewey

WEBBY IS A BEAST! SHE WAS BORN FOR THIS!

“EMBRACE YOUR INNER HEEL!” Cuz being a heel is fun!

DUDE, WEBBY TOOK DOWN THE GODDESS OF DEATH WITH NOTHING BUT HER LEGS AND THIGHS! WE STAN!

I like that Fenny has knee pads on

“AW, YOU’RE SO DANGEROUS AND CUTE! I JUST WANT TO PET YOUR LITTLE BELLY!” WEBBY IS ME

“A classic ‘who’s a good boy?’ gambit!” AND I’D FALL FOR IT TOO! SUCH A GOOD BOI

“Wait, am I the Launchpad here?” Bitch, you WISH

“YOU CAN’T GIVE CANDY TO A DOG!” This is why you don’t have a pet, Dewey

“WHOA, back from THE DEAD for the QUEEN of the DEAD!”

Kind of a dick move, Louie

AIR GUITAR!

Jormungandr looks like a Masters of the Universe knock-off toy

WHO’S A GOOD BOI? YOU ARE!

“With a toxic personality” I think you’re projecting a bit, Jormungandr 

How does Huey not know what a battle royale is? That is a very common term! Hell, there is a well known book and movie with that title!

“I’m just a humble, noble snake man of the people.” Why does the term snake man make me laugh so much?  

WOY REFERENCE FTW

Dewey needs a hug! And some therapy would probably be a good idea

Scrooge’s speech started on a good note then went downhill FAST

“And lastly, I’ll use the dust of your bones as sweetener in my tea.” DAMN

“TOO FAR!” I DON’T THINK IT’S FAR ENOUGH! TELL HIM HOW YOU WILL BATHE IN HIS BLOOD

FUCK YEAH BEAKLEY!

SHE GAVE HIM THE CHAIR! I think this CONFIRMS Beakley as a wrestling fan

“I know we’re supposed to take over for Scrooge one day, but do you ever wonder if maybe we’re not cut out for it?” YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE TO WONDER THOSE THINGS AT ALL! 

Louie’s like WE DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS SHIT!

“Be LP” My new mantra

Aw, Louie sees Dewey as a hero. Like how LP saw Drake as a hero. I think @drakepad is onto something, this scene and the fight scene seem WAAAAY too much like Drake’s intro to be just a coincidence

I keep saying this, but Louie should consider a career in motivational speaking. He knows what people need to hear

“Let’s do this!” “I don’t know.” “Let’s Dewey this?” “I’m in.”

“I’LL SHED YOUR SKIN FOR YOU!” If he hadn’t of had an old man back moment that would have been a BRUTAL CUT

OMG WAS LAUNCHPAD WEARING THAT THE WHOLE TIME? You see his clothes fly off when he jumps in the ring

“Whoa. In a COMPLETELY UNEXPECTED TWIST, the announcer was Captain Crash THIS WHOLE TIME!” LP does underground wrestling matches in his spare time, TELL ME I’M WRONG

“YOUR CATCHPHRASES ARE FORCED!” I agree, Dewey could have done WAY BETTER

I like Louie just GLARING at the dude who insulted Dewey’s catchphrase

LP looks so proud of Huey

“I don’t care at all, why should I?” Methinks the snake man doth protest too much

I like how Jormungandr’s pupils are thinner during the climax. It shows off his true nature

Dewey should have been the one to do a spin attack, ya know, cuz he’s Sonic? I’ll go now

“The Pop never Stops.” That was better

WHERE ARE ALL THESE CHAIRS COMING FROM?!

I LEGIT thought Strongbeard was gonna throw Dewey his axe and I was like Dewey wouldn’t be able to lift that

SUPER SAIYAN DEWEY! Also was that a TIGER SNARL?

I like the ice pack on Launchpad’s head. Just because he can take a lot of damage doesn’t mean that LP is immune to pain

I like that the crowd CHANGED THEIR BANNERS! Nice

LOUIE AND WEBBY LOOKED SO CUTE!

LP tearing up

“A true people’s hero” I feel like that phrase will come back in relation to other characters (cough DW cough)

Scrooge is such a little shit, it’s kind of adorable

THAT END SHOT! THAT SONG!

This was a SUPER FUN EPISODE! I couldn’t really tell where they were going and I LOVED EVERY SECOND OF IT! I wish we had gotten Huey in some wrestling gear but maybe next time. I like the message that doing the right thing isn’t always popular but I kind of feel like Dewey getting the crowd on his side muddled the message somewhat. Poor Dewey needs therapy or something so he doesn’t feel like he needs CONSTANT approval. Again, he’s 11 YEARS OLD and shouldn’t be put into such a serious position. LP was VIP this episode. I’m bummed we’re on hiatus again, but WHAT an episode to end on!

[karasunocurry]

Atsukashiyama Ibun Paris report

So I’m home and I feel like I’m in a post-convention depression more that I’ve felt after recent cons xD I was kind of sad that I wasn’t at Japan Expo Paris, I didn’t actually know beforehand they’d be there ^^; and I couldn’t take days off or afford to go either way, but I’d been looking forward to the musical for an entire week (including losing sleep over it, oops). I went to Paris on Friday and met up with Edo and did some shopping for items we needed (or didn’t need but I have a backscratcher that acts as extendable Ishikirimaru prop now xD). Later met up with Mai & Katy and then had a late but well-deserved dinner at a Japanese restaurant.

Saturday I attended the fanmeet near the Louvre. It was warm and we tried to stay in the shade of the trees. Some people came in cosplay (brave! but not smart xD) and it was fun to see all the itabags gathering. I didn’t talk to that many people but it was great meeting @sohmariku and talking about Japan and subbing. There was a lot of things going on in terms of ‘what we can do for the boys’, like signing a flag, writing short messages for Kitazono Ryo and even recording video messages (which I fucked up- and once I make a mistake I’m done for xD). Took a break early in the evening because I was tired and started getting a really bad headache, but met up with a group of people for dinner, and then went to bed. For some reason, woke up way too early every day but *shrug* it must be a jiji thing.

Sunday- performance day

Aaand then it was Sunday. I’d also decided to write letters on a whim but I only ended up writing two (for Sakiyama & Ryuji) and a get well soon card for Ryo.  I went to the venue around 10, to meet up with Edo and Katy again and check how everything would be organized. It appeared that goods would only be sold 45 minutes before the show. Uhm. I didn’t think too much of it at that point, but luckily Edo was very much set on getting in early for merch, so I was also pretty much in front of the line of one of the entrances.  Good thing too, because the goods stand was too small and too slow to allow many people to actually get their stuff. I managed to buy bromides, the pamphlet and a penlight - decided against the DVD bc I can get it cheaper online - and after I went to the toilet, they already announced that not many more people would be able to buy goods. I went in and took my seat and was later joined by Senta, who’d never watched the musical before so it was fun to afterwards hear what she thought of it and explain some more about the connection between the swords and their former masters. I wasn’t very much at the front but had a good view on the entire stage. At first the full cast and the producer (and writer?) took the stage to explain the Kitazono Ryo’s medical condition - he’d been diagnosed with retinal detachment and was advised not to act on stage, but he could do his lines and vocals. They then called him on stage, and you could tell by his posture and face that this was a very difficult thing to do. Ryo cried through his words and could hardly speak, it was so very sad to see him like this, apologizing for not being able to be on stage. He got a big round of applause and took a spot behind the audience from where he’d act out his lines. [spoilers ahead]

The musical started off differently, with Mikazuki doing a dance - immediately making the link to Tsuwamonodomo stronger - while the ‘human’ story played out behind him. They also added that smithing song between Mikazuki and Kogitsunemaru. There were some obvious changes to the musical, but mostly subltle changes in conversations and little things added here and there. The overall flow of the story remains the same, of course, but the musical has evolved through time and you can tell that there’s improvement in all aspects (although it was always great haha). The presence of Kogi on stage was not a big problem for the course of the story, since his interaction is mostly limited to speaking to others, aside from the song he shared with Mikazuki and ofc in the group scenes, there is an empty spot, but even so his character was there. It was still sad to see everyone looking at that empty spot, but I’m just glad that at least he was allowed to and able to perform by speaking.

I love the scenes with Benkei and Iwatooshi - let’s be honest, Iwatooshi is the new guy at the citadel in this piece and he’s so fucking strong, bless him. Just like his former master, he’s a good man with a strong sense of duty and good intuition. And his doubt and resolve are played out very well. Araki Kentaro is also great as Yoshitsune, in every performance he’s been able to express the duality between human Yoshitsune and possessed Yoshitsune very well. 

I also think everyone grew in their respective characters and the singing was also better than before. Everyone’s performance was outstanding. Mikazuki’s elegance, Iwatooshi’s strength, Ishikirimaru’s protectiveness, Kashuu’s vigor, Imanotsurugi’s enery and Kogi’s empathy, it was all there. I just love how these characters influence each other. At the end, the fighting got more intense than it was before, adding some dramatic despair that I don’t think I felt before during that scene, and I don’t think anyone would ever complain about Daichi’s bare back :) The Idol Live part was all new!! Surprisingly, I wasn’t expecting that and as people later pointed out, it was nowhere hinted at either - no idol outfit bromides for us yet, but I’d love to get those!.I love the new outfits, they were very nicely coordinated, the original character colours were used very well, and the jackets with connecting lines look so fabulous <3  The songs were also very good! Very upbeat and catchy and boi the dance moves!! I was really impressed and as Ishikirimaru fan I’ve been eyeing Sakiyama most of the time - hard to ignore his tight pants and smooth moves xD I have a vague feeling they also gave him more center stage time? His popularity has climbed since the first Atsukashiyama run so I guess they might take that into consideration? It made me happy to see that they looked like they were having a lot of fun, despite everything, that they were giving their all in a foreign country, and by the amount of pen lights and different colours, everyone had fans and I hope they felt our love~

They also kept up with the misogi tradition where someone has to say a line in repsonse to a given situation. Mikazuki got picked and instead of giving us a line, he had to flash his back, this kinky mofo. Mario ma boy you  know what you’re about don’t you. <3 At the end they all presented themselves in French (v cute baww), aaand it ended with otokomichi as usual but that entire song/act is just A+++, it’s such a motivating song. Everyone looked happy. They got a lot of applause, a standing ovation WELL DESERVED and in the end, all pen lights turned yellow to wave at Ryo as he left his spot. I hope he got some strenth and courage from it, and felt less burdened. I went out... Edo and Katy went to the evening performance too. I was thinking of just hanging around or maybe going to the hotel but - France had just won the world cup and Paris had exploded into a chaotic soccer mess that I wanted no part of - so I bought a rank 2 ticket and went in again. (yolo is a thing, this might well be the only time to ever see a toumyu live) Things about seeing it twice:  - Ryozono had regained his composure. I think that the successful afternoon performance and the fan’s reactions had made him feel at least less worried. He apologized this time with a strong and confident voice. Bless him. - There was a scene where Ishi wanted to draw Kashuu’s portrait (ref to Mihotose), but he forgot his pen xD He glossed it over real smooth. GJ Sakiyama <3 - It was misogi time for Ishikirimaru!! I may have screamed. I wish I’d remembered exactly what he said but it was about hugging, I think my brain just melted hence the bad memory. ^^;;;

- For the idol performance we took different seats at the side to see the actors from closer by.<3  - Sadly there were a lot of empty seats for the evening performance. It would’ve been hard to get home when the musical was over so I understand but I also think they should have done a better job at promoting the entire event. It’s alway been hard to get information, most of it  had been translated by fans from the official Japanese site. People came from all over Europe and more people would come if you’d done proper promotion beforehand. Uhm... I think that’s it. It was great. I had an amazing time with the people I was with and talked to and I wish I’d been there today as well to talk about it even more but HMU ok.

Can I just say I’m into hell even deeper now? That I fucking love Tsubasa? But also Daichi? But also Mario? Actually EVERYONE??? I’m really really really happy I decided to go, best decision, kill me now (but I’m already dead), I haven’t been able to think of anything else and I’m definitely not ready to go to work tomorrow. I hope this does still open doors to more (tourabu) musicals and/or stage plays to come to Europe. It’s very niche but it’s still a growing fandom. I’m more motivated again to do some subbing to spread the love for the stages/musicals that I like and hope people will join us in this hell and start supporting the boys and their work.

<3

more random stuff on twitter

[jake-guentzel-59]

Shoot your Shot Part 1 - Auston Matthews

Now this is my first imagine and don’t be mad if you actually like it because it doesn’t have a lot of Auston in it all. I want this to be a series if people actually like it  maybe like 4 or 5 parts? I feel like you need to get the main character first so most of this is about her. I’m working on part 2 and if this part has a good response I’ll post part 2 sometime tomorrow. Sorry again for the lack of Auston. Words: 1810 Warnings: Some cursing, mentions of some penguins players ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Finally being able to go a NHL game and watch your two favourite teams play is like a dream come true. The Penguins have always been your number one team but moving to Toronto has made you fall in love with the Maple Leafs. Auston Matthews may also have something to do with your new-found love for them. Moving to Toronto has been one of the best things that has ever happened to my family. My mom and dad got a pretty nasty divorce a couple of months ago. They never got along and were always fighting when they were together. He caught my mom cheating with his best friend. It broke his heart, I don’t think I've ever seen him so sad before. He ended up moving to Toronto after getting the job of Head of Peds Surgery at The Hospital for Sick Children and taking my 4-year-old sister Madeline with him. I stayed with my mom in Quebec to finish the last month of senior year with all my friends but the day after graduation, I hopped on a plane straight to Toronto. Me and my mom never got along, we would always be fighting and yelling at each other, so I couldn’t wait to get to Toronto. I had a great summer here, maybe even the best summer I've ever had. I met a lot of great people. A couple of days ago my dad saved the life of 6-year-old boy. He suffered from a brain injury. It was a very difficult surgery; about 5 hours long. They kept losing him and didn't think he was going to make it. But he was a fighter and pulled through. His father was so grateful that my dad was able to pull it off. Him and his son came to Toronto to see the Leafs game but they couldn’t go due to his sons' surgery so he offered, scratch that, he MADE my dad take the tickets for everything he did. My dad never really followed hockey, only watched games when I was watching them, so he gave me the tickets and I took a friend with me. She was a huge Leafs fan so she was ecstatic when I told her I was taking her.

 It was game day and I couldn’t be more excited. I thought about wearing my Geno jersey to support the Pens but I decided that wasn’t a good idea going to a Leafs home game. I decided on just wearing a blue shirt seeing as I didn’t own a Toronto jersey. I had a tough time trying to find something seeing as me and group of friends were going out afterwards to celebrate my 19th birthday. I wouldn't have time to go home and change after the game, so I was trying to find something that wasn’t too flashy to wear to the game but nothing to boring to wear to a club. Finally finding an appropriate outfit, I started doing my hair and makeup.   "Logan, can you come downstairs for a minute?" My dad yelled. "Yeah, I'll be down in just a second!" I replied, finishing up my makeup. Making my way down the stairs, I'm greeted at the bottom by my dad, Madeline and my best friend Kenzie. Dad holding a cake with lit candles, Madeline had some balloons and Kenzie was holding Madeline. All of them wearing birthday hats. "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Logan, Happy birthday to you!" They all sang.   "Thank you guys so much!" I exclaimed, after blowing out the candles. "LOG, I made you a gift!" Madeline yelled excitedly squirming out of Kenzies arms. She went running into the living room and came running back out with a poorly wrapped gift that you could tell she did herself. After she handed it to me I opened it up to reveal a framed picture she painted of me and her. It had macaroni, feathers, pom-poms and way too much glitter.   "Thank you so much Mads, I'm gonna hang it on my wall so I can see it every day." I told her giving her a big hug. Madeline, or Mads as I call her, is only person I'm closer to than my dad. When she was born she had a heart defect and doctors didn’t think that she would survive. I knew the moment I first held her that I would do anything in the world just to protect her. "I'm glad you love it so much" She said. "I love it almost so much as I love you" I told her kissing her cheek. "Alright, time for my present" Dad said handing me a gift bag. I opened it up it find an Austin Matthews jersey. "I know you wanted to wear your Dino jer-"He started "Dad, its Geno" I corrected him laughing "Whatever or whoever it is, I know you wanted to wear his jersey but I also knew you secretly wanted to this guys jersey more, so I got Kenzie to help me out because I have no idea who any of this people are" He stated. "Thank you guys so much" I said giving them both hugs, "It's my second favourite present" I told them winking at Mads. "Well you never got my gift yet, just wait till we get the club after the game. I'm gonna get you fuc-… fudge, yeah I'm gonna get you fudge!" Kenzie corrected herself after my dad gave her a look because Mads was in the room. My dad was used to giving Kenzie this look. My best friend is very talkative, outgoing, and tends to say more curses than a grown man. My dad wasn't too sure of her the first time he met her but Mads just loved her. I met her my second day in Toronto at a small café. She works there as a barista and when I ordered my coffee, she wouldn’t shut up about how much she loved my make-up and that I had to do hers later that night because she had a 'hot date'. She wouldn't take no for an answer, so I needed up doing her make-up for her date. We talked and got to know each other very well. Later that night at about 1 or 2 in the morning, I got a text from her saying that because of my make-up skills, I helped her get the love her life and also the best sex of her life. They have been dating for about 3 months and they're hands down the cutest couple I've ever seen. Kenzie would have my back for anything. She's helped me through my parents' divorce and to get over my summer fling. I would be lost without her. "Well it's 7:30 now so you guys should be heading out now if you want to make it on time" Dad told us pushing us out the door. Kenzie decided on driving to the game, leaving the jeep there after the game and getting an Uber to the club. She wasn’t too worried about leaving the jeep there because it was her brothers and she didn’t care what happened to it. Her and her brother were nowhere as close as me and Mads. Also, according to her both of us needed to get very fucked up tonight because I didn't live in Toronto for her 19th so we had to make up for lost time. "I'm so excited for this game. Maybe you'll even catch a certain Mr. Matthews eye with your new jersey if the seats are close enough." She said wiggling her eyebrows "Where are we sitting anyways?" "Yes, I'm going to make him fall in love with me while I'm screaming at refs at all of their stupid calls but I believe were glass seats near the Toronto bench but I'm not sure, I don't know my way around the ACC that good yet" I stated. The rest of the 20-minute drive was just us screaming singing, very badly may I add, to our favourite songs. We finally made it to our seats just in time for warm up to start. Our seats were glass seats right next to the Leafs bench. Kenzie insisted that I had to sit in the seat closest to the bench because there's no way my future husband wasn't sitting on that bench. Ever since me and my summer fling broke things off, she has been trying to set me up with just about any guy that looked my way. She says I'm too pretty to just waste life away by myself but I'm perfectly fine without a boy. I don't think I need a guy so I'm not really out looking but I happen to stumble upon a good one I wouldn’t say no. "Oh my god there's Geno and Jake and Crosby, this is the best day ever!" I exclaimed to Kenzie "I think you might be at the wrong home game, like how are not excited over Marner, Matthews or Nylander. My god Logan you're wearing a Matthews jersey at least pay some attention to the Leafs." She said to me laughing. "Yeah yeah whatever, I guess you are right though. Matthews looks pretty damn good in person" I told her laughing as well, "These seats are amazing, I'm gonna have to go to the hospital and thank the guy who gave them to my dad. You know what, there's still 15 minutes left of warm up I'm gonna go get something for him and his son. I'll be back in a few minutes" I walked out to the concession stand area. They were selling everything Toronto out there. I picked them out some small things like a Toronto teddy bear, foam finger, and a bunch of other knick knacks. Remembering how the dad was saying he was going to buy his son a jersey at the game to surprise him, I even picked up a small jersey for the little boy. Making it back to my seat with 5 minutes left of warm up. "Good your back, now I really think you should shoot your shot with Matthews and if that doesn’t work try Nylander. Now I know Matthews has a reputation of sleeping around a lot but I think you could tame hi-" Kenzie started before she was interrupted by a puck hitting the glass. "Jesus Christ!" I screamed while jumping. I was too busy listening to Kenzies’ 'plan' that it scared me more than it should have. "Who did that?' I asked as we both searched the ice to find the source. "I believe it was your future husband" She said as she pointed towards the ice. I followed her finger to Marner laughing and Matthews waving at us. "I guess he's shooting his shot first" I said waving back to him.  

[ask-readyplayergaymers]

((Mod post!! Gonna answer some questions for me that have been sitting around for a while, sorry the response is so late ;w;

Everything’s under the cut to save space 0w0 ))

Anonymous said: Okay but totally loving the concept of Michael as Gil and Jeremy as Oz??? Like, freaking Alice is Christine (even tho its totally a personality clash apart from the childish aspect but shhhh) and just yes

YEAH MAN...any type of PH crossover is good hhh but GOSH imagine Michael like. After growing up and spending ten years looking for Jeremy like Gil did ahh my heart aches!! And Jeremy coming back pouting like “You’re taller than me now that’s totally not fair, M” Christine would make a really cute Alice I think, just seeing her dress up like Alice and having her kick ass as the B-Rabbit?! Hell yeah!

zekromztk2 said: Out of all of the Pandora Hearts characters, who is your favorite? Mine is... probably either Alice or Oz

HELL I LOVE GILBERT I’D DIE FOR THAT MAN LEGIT;; I love Oz and Break a lot too and! RUFUS BARMA AS WELL I ADORE HIM

Anonymous said: did I hear Harry Potter?

Ye man talk to me about the Marauder days any time I love talking about Sirius, James and Remus getting into shenanigans at Hogwarts hoo boy

Anonymous said: (Hey mod, so basically Jake and Rich are just gonna be background characters with kind of their own stories?)

Yes! Jeremy and Michael are the main focus here, but Jake and Rich sort of have their own thing going on in the background as more minor characters to the overall blog! I want to make a more developed backstory for the treasure hunter girls and Christine as well, so we’ll see how that goes~

Anonymous said: Thank you so much for introducing the novel this AU is based on to me!! Now that I've finished reading, I understand a lot more about this AU and now I want to ask... Would you consider Mr. Heere/Reyes as Morrow?

You’re very welcome, it’s a great novel so! I’m glad more people are reading it after having run into this blog, I must spread the pureness that is Aech to all of humanity //shakes fists And yes! Mr. Reyes is Morrow, I can imagine him sort of contributing to the hunt with lots of theater related things, which Christine specializes in! Book!Squip is Halliday, and there’s actually a little more about that and his relationship with Jeremy that I want to get into later.

Anonymous said: ((I had literally never heard of ready player one but I lov this blog so much I actually went out and bought it. Consider me murdled dead))

Yeah man like;; I didn’t read the novel until this past summer and after that I just got so into it and BMC at the same time so? I combined the two and here we are! Aaah I’m so glad!! Like I’ve said before I love it when people come tell me they went out to buy the novel and read it because of me, it makes me so happy :’) Hjrhjd please don’t die lol

emibeani said: ((I just finished reading Ready Player One, and thank you so much for this blog.))

I’m glad to hear it!! And you’re very welcome, I honestly didn’t expect so many people to get into but I’m super appreciative of all the interest you guys have shown so far so?? Thank you!!

Anonymous said: THIS IS NOT A ASK, BUT, OMG, THIS AU IS FUCKING PERFECT.

Glad you like it, ty! ;D

aslyn-is-artsy said: Your art is absolutely amazing

Hrhrhgfh I’m blushing thank you wow;;

aslyn-is-artsy said: Thank you so much for showing me this amazing book. I now aspire to become the real version of Art3mis. Just with short blonde hair instead. ;)

No problem!! It’s such a fantastic read and I was honestly blown away by it, so yeah...! Haha yeah I love Arty! She’s such a badass character and she doesn’t put up with any of Wade’s shit, which is great, she’s so empowered and I adore her

theitalianscribe said :I don't remember if this was answered, but is Michael trans male in this au?

Nope! I mean if you want to headcanon him that way that’s fine, I won’t stop you! I’m not going to endorse that since I myself don’t see him being that way, but you all are entitled to your own opinions so! And even if he were trans that wouldn’t be the main point of the blog anyway, I’m focusing more on their actual relationship, not their sexuality or gender or anything like that ^^

Anonymous said:i checked the book Ready Player One out from the library just because of this blog! are there any other books you recommend? (i havent finished the book but i like it so far i think!)

Oh nice!! I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! Ahhh hmm well if you like supernatural teen stories, there’s a series called Darkest Powers by Kelley Armstrong about this girl named Chloe who finds out she’s a necromancer after being sent to a “troubled teens” home, and she meets these boys named Simon and Derek who also have special abilities and then all sorts of crazy things happen! I first read it back in high school and I still love it a lot, so yeah it’s a trilogy and all of the characters are really great so! (I looooove Simon like. So much.) Check it out if you have the time, it’s a good read!

kitikat101 said: Random potential song parodies: I Love the OASIS (I Love Play Rehearsal), Find That Egg (Be More Chill, pts. 1 and 2), Two-Player Game (but with Joust), Oases In My Head (Voices In My Head)

Kit can I say how much I adore these song titles they fit so well I’m really tempted to make parodies for all of them, absolutely brilliant

geeklychic1012 said: So are we allowed to send in fanfics based on this blog? (Cuz I submitted one but my wifi is shit and I think Tumblr might have eaten it haha)

YES!! Please do I’d highly enjoy reading stuff from you guys! And yes I saw and it breaks my heart like. Why. I’ll post it soon for everyone else to see too! They must all suffer as I have hfhdjhgjg

Anonymous said: Who would be I-r0k in this au? Or would I-r0k still be his normal jerk self?

I’m actually...not sure :0 There aren’t enough characters in BMC to properly cross over with all the rest of the RPO characters so;; I might have to go through the BMC novel and find some obscure background character to sneak in as I-r0k lol, because I would like to have all of the RPO characters replaced by BMC counterparts, if that makes sense!

theitalianscribe said: Does someone else take Halliday's place in this au? Also, do the gunters have a shared obsession with pop culture from a certain time period? What time period?

Yeah, I mentioned that up above! But Book!Squip takes over the role of Halliday, and musical Squip is Sorrento, of course~ Honestly I’d say like, probably the early 2000s, since that was when I was growing up and I can actually make references back to that time lol? I mean I love the 80s as well, just as it is in the book, but I feel as if I don’t know enough about that time period to actually. Make proper references and constantly. (I mean I could ask my parents who lived during that time too but;; haha.) Most of the stuff on here are me self-projecting, like with video games, books, and anime, that’s all me lol

Anonymous said: " “You don’t need to sell me on anything, Wade,” she said. “You’re my best friend. My favorite person.” With what appeared to be some effort, she looked me in the eye. “I’ve really missed you, you know that?”My heart felt like it was on fire. I took a moment to work up my courage; then I reached out and took her hand." aka perfect au is perfect how does it fit S O well

!!! yEAH MY DUDE I LOVED THAT PART and just imagining Michael saying that to Jeremy I wanted to cry;; I don’t even know but the INSTANT Aech was introduced I was like “Ohhh man. I’m getting major BMC vibes here” and bam, a week later this blog was born lol

Anonymous said:Would you be okay with cosplay of your character designs? I can't do one anytime soon, but they look really cool (and jerm's hair honestly looks fun to do)

YES!! OH MY GOD I’d probably die of sheer happiness if you guys cosplayed these dorks! If you want I could draw a character ref sheet so you actually get a proper look at their outfits! But yes I’d highly enjoy that;; like the cosplay doesn’t even have to be accurate I’d still love it anyway, and doing things like acting out some of the asks here (I’ve seen it be done before and it’s so cute!) would be totally okay too! But yeah as always TAG ME or submit it here so I can see it aaaa I’d love love LOVE that! ^^

Anonymous said: SPECIAL BOY SPECIAL BOY SPECIAL BOY SPECIAL BOY SPECIAL B

YEEEEEAAAAA IT’S ABOUT TIME I MADE AN OUTFIT FOR RICH RIGHT I LOVE HIM SM

maysurprisedyou said: Hi! This isn't quite an ask, but!! I started reading Ready Player One because of this blog and it's really interesting so far so thank you!! All of your posts seem to make my day ahah <3

Oooh I’m happy you’re liking it so far, I’m glad my blog inspired you to read it! And aaAAAA that’s so sweet I’m?? Hhhhfh thank you! :’)

[princeyandanxiety]

Yo it's NOT cinnanon ( they're cool tho if you're reading this cinnanon I like your style) Do all 97 get to know u questions pls. This meme loving pizza nacho needs to know all the answers - memeloving pizza-nacho

Well, memelord, you get all the answers for this dumb thing. You know, I WAS going to write and finish off a poor anon’s prompt which has been waiting in my inbox for like four days but nope I’m doing this.

@andy-the-anon @prinxiety-logality-sanders-sides @anxietyandlogic @mira-jadeamethyst

1. What’s your middle name?

It starts with an A and that’s all ur getting

2. What are you listening to right now?

Summer’s Coming Early by Hi I’m Case

3. What was the last thing you ate?

Instant noodles lmao I had lunch like an hour ago

4. Who was the last person you talked to on the phone?

My mum to tell her that I’m not dead. That was on Thursday.

5. Do you drink?

Nope

6. Do you smoke?

Ahahahhaha I’m asthmatic heeeeell no

7. What is the first thing you noticed in someone?

When I first met one of my past crushes, I first noticed her eyes. They were super blue and pretty 

8. What is your hair color?

Strawberry blonde

9. What is your eye color?

That is a hotly debated topic among my irl friends, but we’re pretty sure it’s grey.

10. Do you wear contacts/glasses?

Glasses so my brain doesn’t die trying to correct my astigmatism lmao

11. Dogs or cats?

12. What’s your favorite animal?

I guess I like quokkas?

13. What’s your favorite television show?

That I actually watch on television? Doctor Who. That I watch online? Miraculous Ladybug.

14. What’s your favorite movie?

Brave or Moana. Or Tangled. I like my Disney Princesses.

15. What’s your favorite band/singer?

All Time Low is my fav if I had to choose

16. How old are you?

Currently 17, but I will be 18 in a few months.

17. Do you have a crush on anyone?

Nope annnnnd im starting to wonder if i ever will?

18. What’s your sexual orientation?

Bisexual. I think.

19. What’s your favorite color?

*looks around room* purple, apparently. Although i prefer wearing black or red

20. What was your most embarrassing moment?

That I can remember (and this is just that I can remember) is when I asked someone why they were down in my city for an event when they lived in Sydney. They were not the person I thought that they were, and I only realised it once we parted ways.

21. Do you ever wish you were someone else?

Yes? I usually wish to be more like my more extroverted friends.

22. What were you like when you were a kid?

I was a know it all and a nosy brat (not much has changed, then.) I also would not stop singing.

23. What would your dream house be like?

Big enough for a minimum of four people.

24. What last made you laugh?

Something that @prinxiety-logicality-sanders-sides said

25. What is your favorite word?

Adore

26. What is your least favorite word?

Régulièrement. I can’t pronounce all the damn accents fast enough for normal speech and my French teacher calls me out on it EVERY TIME I USE THE WORD.

27. What turns you on?

You know that song “every girl’s crazy about a sharp dressed man”? Yeah that. But it applies to everyone

28. What turns you off?

treating/thinking that someone doesn’t deserve the same basic human decency just because they’re different

29. What is your star sign?

Leo. Which explains my constant need for attention and validation.

30. What are your favorite books?

ANYTHING WRITTEN BY JACKIE FRENCH

31. Do you have any siblings?

An older sister. We have a love-hate relationship.

32. Do you like to dance?

Do i evER. I use to take ballet and GOD do i miss it.

33. What is your definition of cheating?

As best as I can word it, being romantically/sexually intimate with someone else without one’s partner’s consent.

34. Have you ever cheated on someone?

I haven’t even dated someone, man.

35. Do you regret anything?

I call it the Incident of Year Seven. But the more I hear about what the other person in the incident has done since then, the more glad I am that the incident ended up happening

36. Do you have any phobias?

Leeches, the nasty little shits.

37. Ever broken any bones?

Scaphoid, left wrist.

38. Ever come close to death?

Lmao no.

39. What is your religion, if any?

Catholic Christian. I was raised as one and I’m still practising, even though there’s some things that I strongly disagree with.

40. Have you ever been to a psychiatrist/therapist?

I went to the school therapist once but that was because I’d just had a massively humiliating fight with someone.

41. Are looks important in a relationship?

Not really.

42. Are you more like your mom or your dad?

Academically, I’m more like dad, but I think I’m more socially and politically like mum.

43. What is your favorite season?

Winter. Cold but I get to rug up and wear baggy shit without overheating.

44. Do you have any tattoos?

No

45. Do you have any piercings?

Only in my ears

46. How many boyfriends/girlfriends have you had?

One. In kindergarten. Almost had one in year 9 but I’m glad it never happened because we are actually very different people.

47. Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?

Absolutely. So many crushes.

48. Who is your celebrity crush?

Natasha Negovanlis

49. Are you a virgin?

Yes

50. Do you get jealous easily?

Hahahahahahahahahaha yes.

51. What is your favorite type of food?

Fruits

52. Do you ever want to get married?

Yes! The only problem is finding someone who I’d want to spend my life with and reciprocates those feelings lmao

53. Who was your first kiss with?

A guy named Alexander. It was preschool.

54. Have you ever been cheated on?

We’ve covered that I’m desperately single.

55. What is your idea of the perfect date?

Well into the relationship, go out and have a picnic/have a generally nice day and then come back home and cuddle while watching a movie/listening to music

56. Are you an introvert or an extrovert?

Introvert, absolutely.

57. Do you believe in aliens or life on other planets?

Yes.

58. What talent do you wish you’d been born with?

The talent to know how to help people.

59. What is your saddest memory?

Uuuuh in terms of sad for me, it was finding out that i was probably never going to see my cousins again when they moved to god knows where. 

60. Do you believe in love at first sight?

Nah. I think that true love needs time to develop.

61. Do you believe in soul mates?

Yes, but I also believe that you have many and they’re not really romantic.

62. Have you ever dyed your hair?

I want to so badlyyyyyyy. The moment I come back from Europe in December im dying it!

63. Has someone ever spread a nasty rumor about you?

Lmao I was and am boring who would want to spread a rumour about me?

64. Would you go against your moral code for money?

Depends how desperate I am for the money, and how against my moral code it is. If I’m struggling to make ends meet and it’s not like horrifically against my code I’d probably consider it.

65. What are three things most people don’t know about you?

1. I have a ref and a vent blog

2. I purposely tanked my grades for Year 8 IT because I hated my teacher

3. One of my proudest moments is making my yr 10 teacher scared of a local lookout after writing a ghost story about it.

66. Who are you jealous of?

Anyone who can easily keep their friends without putting massive distances between them.

67. Do you sleep with a stuffed toy?

Yes. I stole my teddy bear from my mum when I was a bitty Bella

68. How long was your longest relationship?

…………………….

69. Is the glass half empty or half full?

Half full

70. What is the sexiest thing someone could ever do for/to you?

I dont know man, probably pin me to the wall and make out with me (i missed this question when i first posted this hhhhhhhhhhhhh)

71. Who is your most loyal friend?

Toss up between C, A, D or Ellie. C, A, and Ellie because they’ve put up with a LOT of my shit haha, and D bc he’s my longest friend that I still talk to

72. Are you in a relationship?

NO

73. If you have a boyfriend/girlfriend, what is your favorite thing about him/her?

AHHHHH

74. Are you a bad person?

I like to believe that I’m a good person. I try to be.

75. Are you a lover or a fighter?

I’m more of a lover mostly because I can’t fight lmao.

76. What did you do on your last birthday?

I had a sleepover with my group! We ate a lot of lollies and had not-so deep and meaningful convos

77. What is your favorite quote and why?

“You have a brain the size of a peanut and a social clue the size of a grain of sand” - My best friend, about some ‘friends’ giving her shit abt being Christian. It’s so scathing and done. 

78. If your best friend died, what would you do?

Cry. A lot. Because holy crap I love them a lot and they’ve done so much for me and helped me be so much more confident in myself. … i’m gonna go tell them that.

79. If you had to go back in time and change one thing, what would it be?

NOT BURNING THE LIBRARY OF ALEXANDRIA. I AM *SO FUCKING MAD* ABOUT THAT

80. If you only had 24 hours to live, what would you do?

Spend it with all of the people I love.

81. What is the strangest dream you’ve ever had?

I woke up crying because I had a dream that I’d missed a maths class.

82. Are you happier single or in a relationship?

Idk man

83. Who were you in a past life?

Idk. Someone who wasn’t happy with the life they got and always wished to be more than they ended up being.

84. What is your happiest childhood memory?

An end-of-primary-school sleepover I had with my three closest friends at the time.

85. Have you ever experienced unrequited love?

HOO BOY HAVE I EVER. Yes.

86. Have you ever had an imaginary friend?

Noooot really?

87. If you were the president, what would you do?

Take all spending away from military and give it to education.

88. What is your ideal career?

Chemist with a translator gig on the side and flies planes on weekends.

89. What is your political affiliation?

Uuuuh to the left i believe? Like socialist? I support a lot of Bernie Sanders’ policies

90. Are you conservative or liberal?

According to my mother, liberal

91. Is the male or female body closest to perfection?

Niether. People are gross.

92. Do you like kissing in public?

Pass.

93. If you could change one thing in the world, what would you change?

The distribution of wealth.

94. Where would you like to live?

Probably somewhere in France or Europe.

95. Where would you go on your dream vacation?

Somewhere fairly cold and remote.

96. Describe yourself in one word.

Difficult.

97. Describe yourself in one sentence.

Mumbling mathematical sometimes guilty for no reason mess who simultaneously wants to have all the friends and be left alone.

HOO BOY I’M DONE AND I HATE YOU ALL