#then I’ll be a real American hero

[i-blame-my-mother]

Training to become an astronaut so I can be the first man to piss on the moon.

[sp0o0kylights]

Whole thing on A03

It didn't matter how much Steve explained. Not one member of the Party was going to get it. 

Tommy and Carol would, but then, they were no longer on speaking terms. A fact that hurt even if it was for the best--particularly in times like these, because they got it. 

They understood how he had been ensnared with the very same wealth people mocked him for. What it meant when his parents demanded Steve drop everything and go on vacation, his own plans be damned. 

They knew, because their families had done much the same, and so the lives they led also were tethered to leashes made of their parents' design. 

Dustin, whose mother bent over backwards to try and better her kid’s life, didn’t even have a frame of reference for this kind of thing, let alone sympathy. 

"Do they not understand you have a job?" Dustin asked incredulously, and Steve didn't have the emotional bandwidth to explain that his parents didn't consider working at Family Video to be a real job. 

As far as they were concerned, Steve could quit if he had to, and then go find another job when they were done using him to play the nice, All-American family. 

Likely for business purposes.

"They aren't the type to care." Steve said instead. 

It was easier than getting into it.

(Easier than explaining the BMW wasn't in his name, but his parents. 

How his money went into a bank account they had access to. 

That practically everything he owned was actually owned by Richard and Stella Harrington, and both were quick to remind him of that fact the second they felt Steve was acting out of line. 

And boy, had he been acting out of line. 

 Getting into fights. 

Turning their punishment of working a job they picked specifically for the humiliating outfit, into the far worse public embarrassment of being involved in a mall fire--an embarrassment because Steve had "lost" the keys to the BMW, had "put himself in danger" playing hero instead of letting the perfectly capable firefighters do it, then “paraded around” with bruises all over his face, racking up medical bills. 

Truly a sin for someone who hadn’t made it into college.) 

So no, this vacation they demanded Steve drop everything for  was not anything close to a reward, or even something they were doing to spend time together. There was a reason they needed Steve, and as far as they were concerned, Steve was at their beck and call until he shaped up and got his life back on track. 

His own plans be damned. 

"That's not fair though!" Dustin burst out and Steve sighed in relief, because here at least, he knew what to do to distract his younger friend.

 “We planned our trip months ago!” Dustin continued, looking two seconds away from giving in and stomping his foot. 

The kid might have been smarter than Steve--smarter than most people really--by a hell of a lot, but he was still fourteen. 

Smarts, Steve knew, didn't exactly equate to emotional intelligence, and it definitely didn't stop rampaging hormones.

Ice cream on the other hand, was a great aid in both areas. 

"You better be making this up to us." Dustin threatened thirty minutes later, spoon wedged deep into a sundae. “We can’t do, like, half the stuff we were going to do without you!” 

“I'm sure you guys didn’t need me to play ghost runners or whatever.” Steve said, but was quick to back down when Dustin nearly threw his spoon at him. 

Rather than antagonizing him more, Steve dutifully raised his hand to put over his heart. "I swear on your mom that I’ll make it up to you.”  

Dustin rolled his eyes, but otherwise, finally, let the whole thing go. 

Stupidly, Steve thought this meant the worst was over.

He was wrong. 

xXx 

Mike hadn’t cared. 

El and Will hadn’t really either, though both expressed some sadness that Steve wouldn’t be participating in the camping trip that the Party as a whole had been looking forward to for the past few months. 

Erica had simply snapped at him, making him promise much the same as Dustin had that he would be making it up to her sometime in the future. Likewise, she had been bought off by ice cream (even if she insisted it didn’t count because Steve owed her ice cream anyways.) 

Max was the surprising emotional standout. 

"You can't tell them no?" She demanded, arms crossed over her chest. 

Lucas was hovering awkwardly at her shoulder, shooting "what can you do?" vibes as hard as he could at Steve as his (currently on-again) girlfriend outright dressed the elder boy down; her shoulders creeping up higher and higher until she seemed to realize she was visually giving away her upset and forcibly relaxed them. 

Unlike Dustin and Erica, her tirade was very out of character and Steve was growing more concerned by the second that something was wrong the more she spat at him. 

“I mean for fucks sake, didn’t you tell them you had plans!?” She finished, eyes narrowed in rage. 

Which was rich coming from someone whose stepdad had Billy Hargrove running all over town before he’d run off after the guy’s death, but then, Steve knew better than to bring all that up.

(The image of Max, unresponsive in the hospital with casts on almost every limb, was still too fresh. 

Even now he didn’t like to push her, even if the Party as a whole did their best to take notice when one of them was isolating themselves again. 

Max, though she was down to one crutch, was still inclined to use it as a weapon and very much enjoyed practicing her swings on people’s ankles.) 

“I did indeed. They don’t care and they’re not giving me a choice, but for what it’s worth I am sorry.” Steve tried to keep his voice even and out of angry-shrieking range, and vaguely prayed it was working. “I swear, I will make it up to you guys, even if we have to go on a second camping trip.” 

This was clearly not the correct thing to say.

Though judging by the murderous rage being aimed his way, Steve was pretty sure nothing short of “You know what you’re right, let me go tell my parents to fuck off!” would make Max happy. 

“So you’re seriously just going to drop everything, all our plans, your job, us,” She took a very threatening step forward and despite her being a full foot shorter than him, Steve had to fight not to take a responding step back. “So you can go play rich boy in the Bahamas?” 

“We’re not going to the Bahamas--” Steve tried, but was interrupted with a loud “ugh!” of disapproval. 

“Whatever makes you happy, Steven.” Max spat, and then turned on her heel, storming off towards the rest of the Party (who had taken one look at Max’s face and fled into the arcade so she and Steve could “talk.”) “I��m sorry us peasants weren’t good enough to hang around!”  

“Sorry man.” Lucas apologized quietly, on his way to run after Max. 

Steve just scrubbed a hand through his hair and sighed. 

xXx 

“The kids are mad at you.” Nancy announced, appearing across the Family Video counter like a phantom. 

Steve swore, nearly dropping his stack of VHS’s, while Robin (who had clearly seen Nancy approach) cackled at his fumble. 

“Yeah, I did get that memo.” Steve said, after he stabilized his stack, safely moving them from his arms to the counter. 

Nancy peered around them, her face giving away nothing. “It is kind of shitty to cancel at the last minute like that. We were relying on you to drive.”

An old fury shook itself awake in Steve’s chest, taking an interest in the conversation the second Steve realized what Nancy was here to do. 

He took a deep, shuddering breath, and pressed it down, back into the box he’d slammed it in all those years ago. 

“I’d leave the keys to Robin here, but unfortunately, someone failed their drivers test.” Steve said instead, jamming his finger over his shoulder and blatantly attempting to pass the buck. 

Robin, who absolutely knew that was what he was doing, faked a gasp and kicked at his ankles. 

“That crotchety asshole failed me on purpose!” She protested, spinning to face Nancy. “He made like, three misogynistic comments before we even got in the car!” 

“Pointing out that he knew the car wasn’t yours wasn’t misogynistic, he was just surprised to see me letting you use the Beemer.” Steve shot back, rolling his eyes. “I don’t exactly let a lot of people drive it.” 

Unspoken was that Steve’s BMW was one of the town’s more unique cars, and thus easily identifiable by the locals at large. 

“How is that better!?” Robin returned, but Nancy cleared her throat before they could successfully get the Steve-and-Robin show on the road. 

“The point is that we--but really, the kids, were counting on you.” Nancy said, dipping into her patented “I’m upset with you” tone. 

A year ago it would have cut Steve to the bone, even if he didn’t show it. 

Now he just stared tiredly at her back. 

“I’m sorry, Nance, but it is what it is.” He said simply, hoping the apology (even if he knew it wasn’t so much a real apology as it was something he said to keep the rage from breaking out and wrecking havoc via his mouth) would soften his ex. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Given the abrupt narrowing of her eyes, it very much did not help his case. 

“For someone who was so vocal about trying to change I have to say this is pretty disappointing.” Nancy said simply, but with just enough of a tone that Steve had to close his eyes for a second. 

Feel the way that old anger, the one that had powered King Steve, hit the bars of its cage.

Robin stilled immediately next to him, her head ping-ponging between Steve and Nancy both as she too, clocked that Nancy was pissed, and here to chew Steve out about it. 

“Um.” She said, voice going high in discomfort. 

Steve grit his teeth. “I don’t exactly get a say in these things, Nancy. You know that.” 

He had to work to keep his voice even, fighting against the ice that wanted to sharpen his own tone. 

It was just---Nancy did know. 

Steve had told her all those years ago, in the safety of her arms, about his parents' expectations. Their predetermined path, the way they dictated large swathes of his life. 

How they’d allowed him to pick which sports he played, but required that he play a sport no matter the time of year. 

That the pool they had installed wasn’t for him, he just got to use it as much as he did in part because he’d joined the swim team, and the kind of mental mind games he and his parents played about things like that. 

Apparently either Nancy had forgotten, or simply hadn’t taken it in to begin with because she wasn’t backing down. 

(Not that Steve had ever seen Nancy Wheeler back down.) 

“I know you have trouble juggling your parents' plans with your own.” Nancy said, and her tone was absolutely icy now. “I certainly remember waiting for a date that never happened.” 

Steve sucked in a breath through his teeth, knowing immediately what Nancy was referring to. 

“I told you they came home unexpectedly.” He said, arms now crossed against his chest, nails digging into his arms as a way to help himself stay grounded. “They wouldn’t let me use the phone until the next day and I apologized.”

“And I recall having a lovely conversation with your mother where she said otherwise.” Nancy said, her words punctuated by another high pitched “Uhhhh.” from Robin. 

“Funny how you believe my mom over me.” Steve said and whoops, yup, he definitely sounded mad now. 

So much for all the effort he’d put in to staying calm. 

“Because I look at actions, Steve. Patterns. The same ones you kept repeating.” Nancy was clearly about to escalate, and Robin, bless her, had had enough. 

“He-eeey.” She said, wedging herself in between Steve and the counter Nancy was starting to lean over. “I totally get it, you’re both upset, but this maybe isn’t the venue to fight about it? There are customers in the store and--sorry Nancy--but I do kinda need Steve for work, so…” 

She trailed off, glancing nervously between the two of them. 

Nancy took a breath, blasting it out of her mouth like an academically inclined dragon. “You’re right. I’m sorry Robin.”

She then turned on her heel, making her way to the doors. She paused before them, and Steve prepared himself because he knew whatever she was going to say next, it was going to hurt. 

“I wouldn’t care if it was just me, Steve, but the kids don’t deserve you pulling this shit. Not after all they’ve been through.” With that, Nancy pushed through the door, head held high as she stormed to her car. 

As was typical for Nancy’s aim, she scored a direct hit. 

Steve, somehow, resisted throwing things. 

“Can you believe her!?” He said, the second the doors were closed and Nancy safely out of eyeshot. “Coming in here like that!?” 

He ran his hand through his hair, once, twice. 

A third time for good measure. 

“Yeah, that was seriously public for her.” Robin agreed, sliding up next to him. “Like really public.” 

Steve shrugged, because well. Not really. 

Not anymore. 

But Robin didn’t know that, just like Robin wasn’t entirely familiar with the depths Steve’s parents went to save face. They hadn’t exactly had time to really dig into it all, given how fast the Vecna situation had hit after Starcourt and the sheer PTSD both incidents had caused. 

Most nights they spent together was spent trying to avoid reliving nightmares, not discussing ones they were currently still living in. 

A fact that Steve was more than happy to bring her up to speed on, but to do so involved a lot of backstory, and backstory involved Nancy, and God, he was fucking pissed at Nancy. 

Soon it was an hour into his rant and he hadn’t actually gotten around to the sheer level of shit his parents would pull, too busy with Nancy and old echoes of ‘bullshit.’ 

 He only stopped when Robin put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him ever so slightly. 

“Dingus. You know I love you, and I know you’ve changed, but you do gotta admit, canceling at the last minute is kinda shitty and I get why they’re upset.” 

It was like the carpet had been pulled right out from under Steve, yanked so quickly he’d have to pinwheel to keep his feet. 

“What?” He said, eyes round in sheer surprise. 

“I just mean like, I get your parents are dicks but,” Robin’s face screwed up, looking like she’d sucked a lemon. It was her “I’m going to say something you don’t like face” and it hit Steve like a punch to the gut. 

“Our shift’s almost over and no offense, you’ve started to repeat yourself about Nance, and I get it! I do, memory shit is hard!” Robin’s hands moved as she talked, her bracelets jingling as if punctuating her point. 

“But I also think admitting you double booked yourself on accident and just taking responsibility for it would help smooth things over. Middle ground, you know?” Robin waggled her hands in a gesture that, for the first time in a long time, Steve didn’t understand. 

He found himself suddenly struggling to breathe. 

“Are you--are you saying you think I didn’t tell them I had a trip already planned?” 

Steve wasn’t sure how he managed to get it out. Wasn’t sure how he was doing anything, given the heat that was shooting through him, a hot mix of confusion and betrayal as Robin fidgeted to his left. 

“No! Okay well,” The lemon face got worse for a second. “I’m just saying you did kinda forget to pick me up that one time, and you do kinda blame your parents when stuff like that happens.” She bit a nail, peering at him out of the corner of her eyes.  

“I don’t--” Steve said, completely knocked adrift. “I…”

Robin didn’t believe him.

His Robin. 

Who wasn’t--wasn’t exactly siding with Nancy, but wasn’t saying she was wrong either, or that she understood that this shit was out of his control, and in fact, was kind of implying that Nancy was right more so than Steve was and---and--

There was a ringing in Steve’s ears he wasn’t sure actually existed. 

“I’m sure a lot of it is your brain injury. The doctors said your short term memory can take a while to fully come back and I totally get why you don’t wanna say that, I just, I think it would be better if--Steve?” Robin jumped back as Steve finally found his footing, swiping his jacket and punching out before she could catch how badly his hands were shaking. 

“I’m leaving.” Steve told her, his own words a million miles away, entirely uncaring if Keith fired him. 

Keith was likely going to fire him anyway, given Steve was about to ask for a week-long vacation not even four months after the whole Vecna ordeal. 

“Wait, Steve, hey--Dingus! I wasn’t done, I mean, I had more to say I, dammit Steve--!” Robin called after him frantically as Steve bolted for the door. 

Steve ignored her, aiming for the Beemer and swinging himself numbly into the driver's seat when he got it open. 

Put the car in park and avoided Robin’s face entirely as he backed it out, punching the gas far harder than he needed to. 

The Beemer roared in response, nose rising as it shot forward. 

Robin was his best friend. His fucking--platonic soulmate, as she kept calling him. The very idea that she agreed with Nancy in general was a blow but in this?

Against his parents? 

Nausea rolled angrily in Steve’s stomach, matching the sudden wetness that coated his eyes. 

Angry and needing an outlet, Steve stomped hard on the gas, taking the next corner far too sharp and making the beemer fishtail, tires squealing . 

He didn’t know where he was going.

He figured he’d find out when he got there. 

xXx 

Given what Steve knew about the universe at large, (nevermind Hawkins) it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to hang around the Quarry at night.

But then, summer was in full swing. Kids were home from college and itching to find a place to party without parental overhead. 

Deep to the left side of the water, around a few bends and tucked oh so neatly out of sight, was a place where one could do just that. 

Party.

This stretch had long been claimed by the college kids of Hawkins, and guarded zealously for it. 

With the sheer number of drunk people whooping and hollering around the bonfires below the ridge where everyone parked their cars, Steve figured he was safe enough. 

Even if he was up with said cars, sitting alone. 

Not like it mattered. If a demodog or demogorgan or demo-fucking-dragon decided to come along, Steve had half a mind to just let it have him. 

It felt easier than trying to fix the current mess his life was in. 

So he sat up here, blowing through the alcohol he’d purchased from the one gas station that never carded, drinking his problems away. 

(That also wasn’t the best course of action but with his parents home to spring the whole “vacation” ordeal on him, it wasn’t like Steve had a choice.) 

He hadn’t grabbed a lot--had been so damn upset and struggling to hide it that he’d picked up a four pack of wine coolers instead of the intended beer he’d wanted. It was all he had though, and so he chugged the last bottle with a wince and wished he was a hell of a lot drunker than he felt.

Then promptly caught sight of the person walking towards him, and wondered vaguely if he was drunker than he felt. 

Of all the people to come and offer him a can of beer, Steve would have never expected Tommy Hagan. 

He eyed it and his old friend both, before slowly reaching out and taking the can. 

“Heard you and your parents are doing CoHo this year.” Tommy said casually, leaning up against the front of the Beemer like it was old times. 

“Yup.” Steve replied, drawing the word out. 

“Angie Tideman’s parents are going, they’re bringing her ith .” Tommy said it casually, and had the good graces not to grin when Steve audibly groaned.

“Oh god.”

Tommy sucked on a lip, nodding absently. “Yeah.” 

Then; “It gets worse.” 

Steve, who now knew what this conversation was about, instantly began tearing into the beer can. “How can it get worse? You know what Angie’s like.”

Angie, whose full name was Angelina, lived a few towns over. Born to wealthy parents who doted on their beloved only child, Angie had more in common with your average shark than she did her fellow humans. 

A comparison that, frankly, was unkind to sharks.

She was without a doubt the most selfish person Steve had ever had the misfortune of encountering, and the mere idea of being trapped in a room with her made his skin crawl. 

Their parents were business buddies though, and god forbid he ever insult a business buddies kid, 

“She goes to Purdue, you know, with me and Carol.” Tommy said, instead of answering directly. “We cross paths a lot, party wise.” 

Steve stayed silent. 

Knew how Tommy talked, how his stories meandered. Especially the juicy ones. 

“She’s been talking a lot recently. Given you don’t look all that informed, I’m gonna assume the one person she hasn’t talked to is you.” 

Steve gripped the can of beer, a sudden, sick fear blooming in his gut. 

“Tommy.” He said mildly, not loud enough to really interrupt, but with enough force to let his former friend know to get to the point, now. 

“Got all super fancy right before we left for summer break. Hair done, whole new wardrobe, nails, you know.” Tommy waggled his fingers playfully, but dropped them when Steve just stared. “Went full whore on us. I swear she was making out with any guy who even looked at her--” 

“Tommy.” He repeated, this time a hell of a lot firmer. 

Done pushing, Tommy let go of the proverbial bombshell. “Apparently you’re planning on proposing to her this summer. She’s gonna return next year as an engaged woman, with you in tow, because apparently, you got into Purdue. Congrats by the way.” 

Tommy clapped him on the shoulder, right as Steve’s mouth went dry. 

For the second time that day, he found himself fighting the burning heat of embarrassment and fury as it rolled through him. 

“I’m proposing.” Steve said, as if saying it out loud would scare the very idea away. “To Angie.” 

“Yeah we kinda figured you didn’t know.” Tommy said with a snide little grin. To the average outsider it was mocking, but Steve knew better.

Tommy was uncomfortable, because Tommy had understood what Steve’s parents had done. 

“What I’d like to know is just how much Angie’s parents paid to get you into Purdue. That’s gotta be a minimum fifty thousand dollar donation at least.” Tommy removed his hand, to instead lean his shoulder against Steve’s. Like this was the old times, before they’d fought. “ I didn’t think they had that kind of money to throw around.”  

A past conversation with his father struck Steve, running through the front of his mind like a bad horror movie. 

“They sold the estate.” Steve said vacantly, the implications not quite hitting. “The one they’ve been trying to get rid of forever, over in Cape Cod.” 

“Oh shit.” Tommy said, blinking as he too, recalled what was likely his father telling him the very same news. 

“They sold the place on Cape Cod, and they used part of the funds to fucking buy me like a toy.” And yeah, saying it out loud, it definitely sounded bad. “I didn’t think Angie even liked me.”

“Does Angie like anyone?” Tommy asked, incredulously, but nudged Steve’s shoulder again when his joke didn’t net him the laugh he wanted.. “I mean, you had to know your old man had plans to straighten you out. He keeps getting mad at my dad, because the ass won't stop making jokes that I’m going to take over the company instead of you.” 

“And this is it. Attaching me to Angie.” Steve said vacantly. “Because they know if I get married…” 

He’d put his wife first. His family, first. 

The one he’d wanted, dreamed of, since he first realized he didn’t have one. 

He’d been playing checkers the entire time, too busy fighting fucking monsters and Russians to realize his parents had upgraded to chess. 

In a dizzying array of mental connect-the-dots, Steve replayed the last years worth of conversations. All the odd little things they’d said. All the dumb things Steve had just ignored. 

 They’d warned him. 

Had told him he better shape up, or they’d be forced to do something drastic. 

That his parents hadn’t wasted all this time, effort, money on him, for him to throw away his life like he was. 

“You better start acting right and figuring out how to get your life back on track, because you won’t like what happens if I have to fix it for you. You get a month Steven, and after that? Well. Just remember you forced my hand, Steven.” 

They knew. They knew him, and what made him tick.

“I think the real question is what Angie’s parents see in you.” Tommy teased, but then they both knew the answer to that puzzle. 

For all that Steve’s mom complained about her husband, the guy was a shrewd and calculating businessman. Those weekends, then weekdays, then more and more time away hadn’t just been so he could go screw his secretary. 

Richard Harrington had fast tracked his business to the point where it was now getting attention. The business journal, ‘Top 50 Companies to Watch’ kind. 

Even if Steve fucked up entirely, he was set to inherit a fortune and a business that would continue adding to it, for some time to come. 

Provided he did what his parents wanted.

Such as marrying Angie. 

Thing was, if his parents did what they always did, and held their wealth (his car, his home, his life and all the little things in it) against him like a gun to his head, if Angie got that ring around her finger? 

 Steve would bow to their whims. 

 Because they could fluster him into proposing so he didn’t embarrass Angie, and her parents and anyone else who’d undoubtedly be watching. They’d make a spectacle of it. 

Because once he did propose, they wouldn’t let him back out, burying him under guilt trips and veiled threats until he was marched down the aisle in a groomsman suite and told to stand. 

Because against all common sense, Steve wanted a family who loved him so desperately he’d chase it like a dog if he was presented with the opportunity and told to make it work. 

It didn’t matter that Angie was selfish. 

Steve would try anyway. 

His parents were maneuvering him as easily as they had back when he was a kid, using love as a tool to get him to do what they wanted and even seeing the nose hanging from the rafters, they knew just the right words to get him to place it around his neck. 

“Thought you’d wanna know.” Tommy finished, pushing himself off Steve’s car. “Before your parents sprung it on you.” 

“Sonofabitch.” Steve hissed angrily, a million thoughts racing through his head, the heat of being caught in a trap blasting down his spine. 

“Yeah.” Tommy added, rather unhelpfully. “But hey, given that you’re about to go on vacation to propose, why don’t we consider this,” here Tommy swept his hand, gesturing to the party below, “your proposal party?” 

It was a downright horrible idea.

But then, Steve didn’t exactly have a better one. 

Not  when the world itself seemed against him, grinding its heel into his back and laughing about it. 

He knew the drill. If he went down there, arm in arm with Tommy, then it wouldn’t matter that half those kids were from a few towns over, driven in by new college buddies.  

They’d see him as a reason to get wild, absolutely uncaring that they didn’t know who the hell he was. 

Steve needed that.

People who weren’t mad at him, buying into the easy lies his parents wove, or who didn't understand the games played against him. 

“Fuck it.” He announced, standing up from the hood of his car as Tommy’s grin morphed into something he used to see in the days of old, back when they were sneaking drinks from their parents' alcohol cabinets. “This way at least I get a party.”

Not like his parents were going to let him have an engagement party. Or a bachelor party, or likely let his ass back into Hawkins. 

No matter how long the engagement. 

Tommy cheered, raising his arms to the sky and Steve grinned wildly with him. 

He’d figure out how to get out of all this later--but for now, he wanted just a few damn hours where he didn’t have to think. 

Not about his parents, or Angie, or possible attempts to force him into marriage, like this was the yee olden days and Steve was a Victorian maiden who needed to be brought to heel. 

Likewise he didn’t want to think about the Party, or Russian torture, or how Nancy could be so damn smart in some things and downright stupid in others. 

He absolutely didn't want to think about Robin. 

“Hey boys and girls, look who I drug up!” Tommy yelled as they approached and soon, word had spread.

This was Steve’s proposal party, and he was here to get absolutely smashed (while encouraging everyone else to do the exact same, in his honor.) 

Which would be how Eddie found him a few hours later.

Still at the quarry, crossfaded off his ass, a forty in one hand and a lawn dart in the other. 

“Are you kidding me, Steve?” Eddie grit out, desperately trying to wrestle the lawn dart out of his hand. “You’re fucking partying with Tommy Hagan!?” 

Steve blinked at him a few times, finally catching on that Eddie was in fact, actually there. 

“When did you show up?” He asked, though given the wince on Eddie’s face and just how hard it had been to move his lips, Steve correctly assumed he’d slurred the shit out of the question. 

Somehow, Eddie understood him anyway. 

“Robin called me a while ago, gave me a list of places you might be. Almost skipped this one until I stepped out of my van to take a piss and heard the party.” Eddie explained, and somehow while doing so, he’d successfully gotten a hold of the dart. 

He was now working on removing the 40 ounce. 

Steve frowned, using his newly freed hand to grip it closer to his chest. 

“Harrington.” Eddie warned, and oh, wow, they were back to last names huh?

Well why not, it wasn't like his night could get worse. 

“This is mine, Munson.” Steve fired back, putting as much vitriol into Eddie’s last name as he could.

This did not detour the metalhead. 

“Come on man, give me the bottle.” Eddie said firmly. 

Steve shook his head stubbornly, enjoying the way his hair whipped at his face. “No.”

Another man stumbled over, a guy Steve absolutely did not know. He frowned, looking between Eddie and Steve. 

For two seconds, Steve thought they might have trouble, and given the way Eddie was tensing, he clearly thought so too. 

Instead, New Guy just kind of rocked on his heels. “Hey, shove off it, buddy. It’s this guy's bachelor party, let the man drink!” 

Eddie’s face did something complicated then, pulling the sort of expressive looks only he could manage.

It was both adorable and hilarious, and if Steve hadn’t just been reminded of the very reason he was drinking, he’d have told Eddie so. 

“Yeah!” He said instead, raising his hand in the air, toasting his bottle of forty against the other guy’s red solo cup. “It’s my proposalengagmentbachelor party!” 

Given the second, adorable-slash-hilarious look on Eddie’s face, Steve assumed those words hadn’t come out right either. 

“Okay.” Eddie said hands on his hips in a stance Steve was pretty sure Eddie had gotten from him. “Here’s what's going to happen. You’re going to put the bottle away. Then you’re going to give me your car keys, and then the two of us are going to my house to sleep whatever is happening here, off.” 

At least, that's what Steve thought he heard. It was a pretty un-Eddie like speech, and Steve maybe, might have been the one to say it, because he maybe, might have been mocking what Eddie had actually said.

Maybe.

It was hard to know, given that Steve’s thoughts were a thick soup on a bit of a time delay, and he was having a hard time figuring up from down, let alone what Eddie had been actually saying. 

Speaking of; 

 “When did I get into your car?” Steve asked, blinking as the van’s passenger seat appeared before him.

“Just now.” Eddie said, helping him in.

“Huh.” Said Steve, and then he maybe passed out a bit, because once again, he found himself awake and alert at a place that wasn’t where he’d just been. 

“Come on.” Eddie said gently, one of Steve’s arms over his shoulder as Steve leaned heavily into him, guiding the jock up the stairs and into the small house he and Wayne now called a home. 

The guy might have muttered a few things about bachelor parties along the way, but Steve was too focused on walking straight to really take notice. 

Part Two

[imagines4thefandoms]

In Love with the Tats

(This has been in my drafts for a long time)

Warning: Lots of smut

summary: Henry comes home still wearing fake tattoos from his latest movie.

Henry Cavill is a kind and loving man. He is the real-life Superman. And he’s British so he’s automatically very polite and nice to everyone. He looks like an actual bear with all those muscles but he’s really just a giant teddy bear who requires cuddles to function. He usually plays good guys in the movies cause it's who he is. 

Which is why the world lost its mind when Mission Impossible: Fallout came out. Henry “king of nerds” Cavill was a bad guy. Seeing him betray, hurt, and kill was out of pocket and extremely hot. And you were not expecting it. When you started dating you told him not to give you any spoilers from his movies. You wanted to get the whole experience when you saw it at the premiere. Sometimes it backfired like in Dawn of Justice when Superman died, and you were caught off guard but he brought you tissues cause he knew you needed them. And when you got married that promise was in your vows. Maybe cause you told him you would divorce him if he spoiled anything for you. 

So when you watched your husband who can’t hurt a fly try and destroy the world and kill millions, you got turned on. Seeing a darker side of him was very attractive. And every girl can tell you how villains are a lot more attractive than heroes. So when you got home from the premiere you jumped his bones. And for the next 24 hours, you two rarely left the bed for longer than 5 minutes. The phrase fucking like rabbits could have legally changed to fucking like Cavill’s. 

After that when he would look over scripts his agent sent him, you would help him and pick out the role you liked (spoiler if he played the bad guy you liked it). He auditioned for the roles you liked cause he could never say no to you and you would never steer him wrong. And he got the role. You did your civic duty to the world and Henry Cavill was going to be a bad guy again on the silver screen. 

And now while he’s filming you spend all day with your favorite Cavill, Kal. You had gotten a text from your husband saying filming was running late and he wouldn’t be home in time for dinner which didn’t bother you at all. You made a simple pasta dinner and left it on the table cause you didn’t want to eat without him. Usually, when he runs late he gets home around 10 or 11 instead of 6 and you had a big lunch with friends so you didn’t mind waiting. While you waited for him to come home you and Kal sat on the couch watching The Office (American edition). It was the episode with Asian Jim so you were dying laughing over Dwight's reaction. Suddenly the front door opened and you felt a kiss on the top of your head, cause you were too busy to look over at who walked in the house. Though you knew it was Henry. 

“I could have been a robber,” he lightly scorned seeing as the front door was unlocked.

“Well then the robber could finish the episode with me and then take our things,” you teased still not looking at him. 

“You are a pain, love,” he said taking off his jacket and locking the front door. 

Kal, your nice warm cuddle buddy, jumped off the couch and ran to Henry excited that he was home. You turned to scorn your husband for causing your furnace to leave when you took in his appearance. 

“What is that,” you asked him noticing how he was covered in tattoos. Like COVERED. His neck, both arms and his knuckles had ink. 

“I didn’t want to keep the makeup artist there any longer and I told them to leave them til tomorrow,” he explained rubbing behind Kal’s ear. 

When he was met with silence he looked over at you and noticed you were staring. He immediately thought you were turned off. 

“I’ll try to get us to wrap earlier tomorrow so they have time to take it off,” he says grabbing Kal’s leash to take him on a walk. 

“You don’t have to,” you said staring at the tattoo on his neck and biting your lip. 

It suddenly clicked in his mind that you were very much turned on. He smirked at your reaction and bent over to whisper in your ear. 

“I'm going to walk Kal and when I get back I'll show you the rest of them.”

“There’s more,” you gasped finally bringing yourself to look him in the eye. 

He simply replied with a nod and walked back out of the house to walk the dog. Henry might have been gone for only 10 minutes but seeing how you were suddenly very hot and bothered it felt like hours. You were too antsy to move from your spot on the couch and could not for the life of you pay attention to the antics of Jim and Dwight. When Henry finally came back, he sent Kal to lie down in his bed in the living room and threw you over his shoulders to bring you to the bedroom. 

“You are not helping my situation,” you cried out as he threw you on the bed. 

“I'm not in a helping mood,” he replied taking off his shirt. 

His chest was covered in tattoos and scars. There was no bare centimeter of skin. You got on your knees and slowly ran your hand over the art. When you reached his navel he turned around and showed you the back. There was a cross with a rose intertwined with it and blood dripping from the stem. You turned him back around and placed one hand over the skill on his chest and your other hand covered the flames on his neck and brought him down to you for a very firm kiss. His hands went to your waist and he laid you down hovering over you. As soon as you got your legs out from under you they went around his waist to bring him closer to you. The kiss got very heated and sloppy. His lips left yours and traveled to your neck. Your hands alternated between gripping his hair and scratching his back. 

He pulled himself from you and removed the shirt you were wearing leaving your chest bare. He kissed your nose then your lips then your neck and kept traveling til he was right above your shorts. You whined as he slowly took off your shorts and peppered your hips with kisses. When he finally took your shorts off he kissed the inside of your ankle and slowly went up til his nose brushed against your very wet cunt. 

“Hen, please,” you cried as he just kept kissing your inner thigh and letting his mouth hover so close but so far from when you needed him. 

“Where do you need me,” he asked bringing his face back up to yours and staring into your eyes. “Here,” he asked placing a kiss on your neck. You shook your head no. “here,” he asked kissing between your breasts. 

“No,” you cried wiggling beneath him. 

His hands gripped your hips causing your movements to cease and his lips brushed over your right nipple. “Here?” You again shook your head no. and he did the same to your left nipple. He asked the same question and got the same answer. He continued to kiss down your body, your stomach, hips, knee, and ankle but still wouldn’t touch you where you needed him. 

“If you don’t hurry up or I’m going to do it myself,” you cried out. 

“No, you’re not. You are mine, your kisses are mine. Your tears are mine. Your whimpers, moans, and pleas are mine. And for damn sure your orgasms are mine. No one, no toy, not even these beautiful fingers can bring you the pleasure I can,” he said kissing the tip of all ten of your fingers. “They can’t fill you or stretch you the way I can. You will forever be unsatisfied, empty, and cold without my fingers, mouth, and cock to fill you and keep you warm.”

His mouth finally hovered over where you needed him. He could see and smell how turned on you were but still hesitated to do anything about it. “Say it. Say no one can fuck you like I can. Tell me you are mine,” he said staring at you. 

You wiggled and cried and gasped at the feeling of his hot breath on your cunt. You tried to close your leg to get a little morsel of relief but his hands gripped your thighs and forced them open. 

“Say it,” he said again this time deliberately blowing directly on your clit. 

“Fuck. I’m yours only yours. No one can ever fuck me as good as you do,” you cried trying to close your legs again but not moving them an inch. “Please Hen I can’t take it.”

“Good girl. I’ve got you just relax,” he said before attaching his mouth to your aching cunt and eating you out like a starved man. 

His tongue traveled from your clit to your vagina and back again. He started sucking on your clit but his eyes never left your face. He watched as your eyes closed and face contorted with pleasure. Your hands gripped his hair and you were either trying to pull him away or pushing him in more you didn’t know but a groan left his throat causing you to fall over the edge and cum in his mouth. 

He lapped up the juices and sat back and just admired the mess between your legs. He used his fingers to spread you open so he could get a closer look. He spits in your very exposed cunt and then goes back to eating you like you were a whole meal at a 5-star restaurant. You cried and screamed his name when his teeth gently grazed over your clit. Before you could even come down from your first orgasm the second one hit like a ton of bricks. Your hips lifted off the bed and you screamed his name but he still wasn’t done. When your legs stopped shaking he finally removed his mouth and bruised your lips with a kiss. You let out a moan when you tasted yourself on his lips. 

You opened your eyes and noticed his were filled with a lustful/predatory look. He gently pressed kisses on your nose and lips causing you to laugh. His hand traveled from your neck to your left breast then down til his fingers stopped between your legs. 

“I'm not done with you princess, that was just my mouth. We still have my fingers,” he said pressing two into you without warning causing you to gasp. “And my cock,” he said placing a small kiss on your neck. 

“Fuck Hen,” you cried turning your head away from him. 

“On no princess, I said those are mine. You are going to look in my eyes as you come undone on just my fingers,” he said turning your head towards him.

You couldn’t say a word so you just nodded as your response. He thrust his finger in and out of you so slowly that it was almost painful. “Faster please,” you whined running your hands through his hair and bringing his lips against you. 

“Too impatient, you that much of a whore you can’t wait to drench my finger,” he asked picking up his speed. 

“Oh yes,” you said both at the new pace and his words.

“Yes, what,” he asked pulling his fingers out of you and bringing them to his lips. “Fuck you taste exquisite.”

You whined at the now empty feeling seeing as you were so close to cumming again. “Yes, I'm your whore please.”

Satisfied with your answer he plunged his fingers into your agains and was fucking you with such a brutal pace that tears fell from your eyes. “That’s my good girl. You're doing so well for me. You're taking my fingers so well, should we add another,” he asked rubbing your clit with his fingers. 

“Yes, Daddy please.”

He inserted another finger and stretched you out. Henry stroked your face when he saw you wince in pain. 

“It's okay baby, Your pussy was made for me. I can feel you gripping my fingers. Do you wanna cum,” he asked kissing your ear. 

“Please,” you whined. 

“Let go, Daddy’s got you,” he whispered. “Be my good girl and cum for me.”

The knot in your stomach broke and a wave of ecstasy filled every atom of your body. His finger still fucked you through through your intense orgasm. When you came down he once again removed his fingers. He brought them to your lips and gave them a little tap. 

“Clean my fingers, taste how sweet you taste,” he said looking at you. 

You sucked your cum off his fingers like there was no tomorrow while your eyes never left his. Once you were done he removed his fingers from your mouth and got off the bed to remove his jeans. Out of instinct, you got on your knees in front of him. He unbuckled his pants and pulled both his jeans and boxers down. You were about to take him in your mouth when you noticed more tattoos on his hips and all over his legs. 

Your fingers traced the dragon that covered his entire right leg. From his ankle to his hip. On his left thigh was a wolf’s head with trees around it like it was a forest. Henry let out a growl seeing as were were quite literally leaving him hanging. 

“It's not fun is it,” you retorted letting him think your were punished him for leaving you high and dry earlier. 

“Either you take my cock in your mouth now or I shove it down your throat and fuck you so hard you can’t speak,” he threatened gripping your throat and forcing you to look up. 

You pressed your legs at the thought of him fucking your mouth with such force. He noticed you squirm and he laughed. “You want that, don’t you. You want to wake up tomorrow with a sore throat and remember how I used you for the slut you are.”

You nodded your head and his hands gripped your head and he just stared into your eyes. “Then open up,” he said before he shoved his dick down your throat causing you to gag. Once the shock was over you tried to suck the soul out of him. 

“Fuck,” he moaned as your nails dug into his thighs.

He kept fucking your mouth and made sure that every inch was in. He brought your face to the base of his cock then pulled out completely to give you a breath. His thump traced your lips and pushed the drool from your chin back into your mouth. “My beautiful wife.” Your mouth fell open waiting for him to shove his cock back down your throat. Henry let out a laugh before giving you what you wanted. The pace he was going was brutal but beautiful at the same time. 

You watched as his face scrunched in pleasure at the feeling of your mouth. The sound of his balls slapping your chin filled your ears making your legs squeeze together. Henry’s hands cradled your face as he forced his cock as far down your throat as he could reach and he just held you there. When your tongue ran over the vein on the underside of him he quickly pulled himself out. 

“If I’m going to cum anywhere,” he said pulling you to him, “it’s going to be in this pussy.”

Henry’s hand stroked you clit one more time before he gently pushed you down on the bed. You tried to scoot up to the pillows but, Henry grabbed your ankles and dragged you back down til your ass was almost off the bed. He brushed your hair out of your face and places a kiss on your nose before plunging deep into your aching cunt. 

“Fuck,” you yelled dragging your nails down his back. 

Henry pounded into you at an alarming pace causing you to slowly move up the bed. “I'm gonna,�� you yelled before his lips attacked yours. The orgasm ripped through your body. Your legs were shaking uncontrollably and your bones felt like mush. But Henry didn’t stop. His pace was speeding up like he was chasing his own pleasure. 

“I can’t,” you cried moving your head side to side. 

“Yes, you can baby. Just one more,” he said kissing your shoulder. “I'm almost there, you’re doing such a good job.”

Your head is still shaking from the overstimulation. His hands went from your waist to your painfully throbbing clit. “Please,” you cried when he roughly pinched it. He ignored your cries and just focused on your clit. You tried moving away but his other hand moved to your throat. “I know baby. But I know you have one more. Please I need you,” he pleaded as his strokes slowed down. You slowly nodded your head and he forcefully kissed you again. He removed his hand from your throat and went back to your thigh. Henry gave you a little squeeze before moving your legs over his shoulders. 

At this angle, you could swear you felt more of him. He slammed into you over and over again. “Cum with me baby,” he said bending you practically if half so he could kiss you. His movements stopped and his head fell to your shoulder as he came. “Fuck,” he yelled once he emptied his entire load. He stayed in you for a minute to catch his breath. 

“I love you,” he said whipping the sweat off your brow. 

You winced when he slowly removed himself. “I love you too,” you said when he walked into the bathroom to get a washcloth. When he ran the warm cloth over your abused cunt you flenched in pain. “Fuck, did I hurt you,” he asked kissing your knee. You shook your head and pulled him up to you. “Just very sore. Can you just hold me,” you asked.

He rolled off you and laid on his back with his arm extended waiting for you to move at your own pace. While your head rested on his chest, he rubbed small circles on your lower back. 

“So you want me to keep these tomorrow too,” he asked mumbling into your hair. You let out a laugh and slapped his stomach. “God no, I can’t survive another night like this tomorrow,” you said moving to look up at him. “But definitely next week,” you said with a smile.

[muldermuse]

An Unlikely Hero (ex boyfriend!Billy Butcher x reader)

this is going to be a multi part series!!! i love exboyfriend!butcher and he is on my mind constantly. if u would like to read more about him here’s some more posts! if you wanna talk about him pls send me your thoughts ❤️ dividers by @saradika ❤️

part one: the first date

OR

the first time you meet Billy Butcher

You swore to yourself that this was the last Tinder date you’d subject yourself to. Last week, you matched and met with Jack who had a Homelander sleeve tattoo and cried to you about how hard it was to be a ‘true American’ nowadays.  The week before that, it was Shay who seemed sweet but kept trying to ply you with drinks and invite you back to his place (he bragged that his ‘folks were out of town’, which would be impressive if you were a hell of a lot younger than you actually are). This week’s date is named Harry and he’s just not right for you. You thought it over texts but as soon as you sat down with him tonight; it was confirmed. It’s not even like you have a great previous relationship as a point for comparison, all romantic love has been fleeting and, with how things are going currently, you imagine it always will be.

It's a few hours later and Harry’s suddenly a lot drunker than you. You’ve moved from the overpriced restaurant to your favourite bar. The drinks are questionable in that they’re both incredibly cheap and very strong. You grab two stools at the bar which is overwise empty, apart from one man nursing a whiskey. You’re sure Harry’s drunker than you because he’s currently sobbing into his craft beer about how he hasn’t felt a connection with anyone since his ex-girlfriend, who left him 3 months ago for a co-worker.

“Like, you’re nice y’know. You seem like a nice girl” you try not to recoil at the phrase “but my ex? She was great. There’s no one else who’s ev-hic-ever been like her and there never will be”. The guy sat next to you at the bar mutters a “fuckin’ ell” under his breath as he gestures towards the bartender for another neat whiskey. His accent is completely out of place in this local dive bar; he sounds European. No trace of an american accent so you consider that he could be a tourist who’s wandered into a bar looking for a cold drink and some respite.

You try not to smirk at the utterance and tune back into what Harry’s saying, “I think we’ve both just gone through the motions tonight, don’t you agree? I can tell you’re not really into me and to be honest, I’m not into you”. You kind of admire his candor because he’s right, you’re not into him in the slightest but the next thing out of his mouth quickly dispels any misplaced respect you held for him. “I’ve been real lonely since she left though…maybe you could come back to my place-hic-she’s uh…some of her stuff is still there but there’s not a lot of it in the bedroom”. He’s that plastered that what he assumed would be a casual hand slide up your thigh becomes a full push, hurtling you into the whiskey sipping man next to you. You fall into his chest, it’s strong and kind of feels like slamming into a wall. 

“Right, tha’s fuckin’ it” the potential tourist speaks and it’s only when he stands up that you realise how broad he is. He’s tall with thick black hair and the beard to match. His outfit is seemingly prepared for a spectrum of weathers with a Hawaiian shirt clashing with a thick overcoat. He’s older than you, definitely older but absolutely attractive. More attractive than anyone you’d seen on Tinder or, probably, ever in your life. “You alright there darlin’?” his dark eyes bore into yours as you nod and cough out a meek ‘yes’. You silently curse yourself, the first thing you say to this strong man makes you sound like a small frightened mouse.

“’M jus’ gonna get rid of your little pal there and then I’ll buy ya a drink- alright?” his hand rubs your bare arm and sends a flurry of goosebumps across your skin. The whole interaction feels more charged than anything you’ve had before with another human, you wonder if he’s feeling it too and pray that he is.

“Oh nice one man, I’ll have uh…another craft” Harry gestures towards the tap, completely oblivious to the situation in front of him

“All you’re fuckin’ gettin’ cunt is a helpin’ hand out that fuckin’ door. Now, I’ll ask ya politely one last fuckin’ time…fuck off” he elongates the 3 letter word. A comically confused look spreads across Harry’s face. “’M on a fucking date here man and she’s coming back to mine, aren’t you?”

“No” you quickly deadpan, shaking your head at the still unnamed man.

“There’s your answer then cunt, off ya fuck” 

“Butcher- no fuckin’ blood on my bar this time man” the bartender shouts whilst idly checking his phone. Butcher? Is that the guy’s name? 

Harry stands up, pushing out his chest which, if anything, only exaggerates how small he is in comparison. “I’ve bought her meal, paid for her drink and I’m go-hic-gonna take her back to my place and fuck her”. He finishes his sentence in Butcher’s face. Whilst you see a flicker of fear cross Harry’s expression; Butcher’s look borders on hysterical. 

“Alright then big fella, I’ll tell ya what’s gonna happen” he slams his hand down on Harry’s shoulder, his eyes now boring into his. “You’re gonna fuck off back to your shitty little home, grab some lube, cry and wank to ya heart’s content about your ex who is probably ridin’ some big fat fuckin’ dick right now-yeah?” Butcher nods as if Harry’s going to agree with him.

Your date goes to interrupt but Butcher presses a finger to his quaking lips before he can start, “what’s not gonna happen, my sad little mate, is that you’re going to fuck her. She’s hadta listen to your fuckin’ whinin’ about your ex all night whilst you’ve fuckin’ insulted this gorgeous woman. So, get out before I throw ya through the fuckin’ window”. Harry’s lost for words, he doesn’t make eye contact with you as you stand silently behind Butcher. You see tears brimming in his eyes as he smacks $20 on the bar top. 

“Fuckin’ old asshole” Harry spits as he shoves past the pair of you.

Butcher smirks at the remark, watching the door swing shut behind Harry before turning to you. “Right darlin’, whatcha havin’?” 

It’s the best date you’ve ever been on and it’s not even a real date. You finally got his full name. Billy Butcher. Your heart races just to say it. He’s from London but has been in the States for a while. He asks all about you and you surprisingly find you’ve got a lot in common. He’s funny, charming and really fucking exciting- you have to admit. By the third drink, the chat goes from conversational to more flirty. 

“The bartender said ‘this time’, do you do this a lot? Love saving a damsel in distress? Are you a hero, Billy Butcher?” you smirk at him and he returns it back to you. There’s lust in his eyes and you see him take your appearance in for what feels like the upteenth time since you sat down.

As he goes to speak, the bell rings for last orders and he takes your hand to help you off the bar stool. You down the remnants of your drink together and he puts his arm around you and escorts you out of the bar.

You don’t want it to end, he lights a cigarette and you thank any higher deity for the extra thinking seconds it gives you. He speaks before you get chance, “Will ya let me walk you home darlin’? Swear on my mum’s life I won’t try any funny business”. He holds his hand out like he’s making a scouts honour. Honestly, you do anything to spend a bit more time with him so you smile, link your arm with his and pull him down the quiet streets.

The air makes you feel drunker than you are. If you were sober, there is no way you’d be giggling like a school girl at everything this man is saying, yet here you are. Your arms are linked and you’re resting your head on his shoulders as you tell him about your horrific dating history. Everytime he laughs and accuses you of exaggerating you say, “Billy Butcher, I would never ever lie to you”. You say it because his name feels so fun sliding off your tongue. You barely see anyone on your walk home and the sound of your shared laughter fills the empty streets.

As you turn down your street, you wish you lived miles away so you could keep walking together for hours. Your stomach drops at the thought that you’ll never see him again. Which, you completely realise, is fucking stupid. This stranger threatened your date to leave but he also made you feel safe and laugh harder than you have in months. You pull his stride to a stop outside your house. It feels like some awful hallmark romcom or trashy romance novel.

You thank him for escorting you home and he turns down a nightcap in your house as “it’s not gentlemanly on the first date”. He shoots you a wicked grin again as he says, “my mum would be spinnin’ in her grave darlin’”.

You try not to let the heartbreak from that sentence show on your expression. “You’re a gentleman, Billy Butcher?”

“The best one around darlin’. I’ll prove it tomorrow when I take ya out for lunch”

A brief flare of anger hits you, “yeah, I hear that all the fucking time. The lunch never happens, I don’t see you again but then we bump into each other at the store and you apologise and say you’ll be in touch which, of course, you never will be”. You regret it as soon as you stop speaking.

Before you can apologise, he grabs a sharpie out of his coat pocket, takes your hand and scribbles down his number. “There, alright? You call me at any time gorgeous and I swear, I’ll fuckin’ answer and come runnin’”

His kiss to your cheek is soft yet restrained. “You’ll forget about me Billy Butcher, I know it”.

“S’not fuckin’ possible, darlin’”. He says goodnight and walks down your street. A plume of cigarette smoke trailing after him.

He keeps his word.

40 minutes later, and after one final glass of wine, you call him.

He answers on the first ring and says your name. He tells you where to meet tomorrow and what time to get there.

You hope he can always keep his promises.

[songsofhome]

The world makes no sense to me at the minute, I think it’s completely off its rocker if I’m honest, or maybe that’s just me. So I’m retreating into my fictional world for a bit while I make sense of things again. In my fictional world Liam gets to live life as a DJ, a philanthropist, a singer, a dancer, a football player, an American football player, a hockey player, a basketball player, a surgeon, a firefighter, a fighter pilot, an airline pilot, an alpha, a vampire, a teacher, a porn star, a bartender, a writer, a lawyer, a dentist, an FBI agent, a police officer, a mafia (can you be a member of the mafia?) person, a super hero, sometimes even a villain, a coach, a high school student, a uni student, a friend and a foe, the list is endless but as I try to get my bearings in this batshit crazy real world and try to restore my faith in humanity and get back the energy to keep fighting for all that’s good in this world, I’ll retreat to my fictional world where I will always find Liam and his puppy dog brown eyes. I want to thank all fic writers for creating and shaping my fictional world. It’s a world I like retreating to at times when I need comfort or my real world goes a little wonky.

[gonetoforks]

Introducing; Yuichi Usagi-Cuddles!

There’s a slight typo in his basic character bio, (first, grey image) other than “yuich,” his family in America lives in the part of the hidden city under Jersey. He lives in Jersey. He’s a Jersian. So in terms of leosagi, it’s gonna be an enemies-to-lovers comedy-of-errors muahahahaha!!

More (a LOT more) info about him as his own guy under the cutoff :D ⬇️

Basically; He’s a silly guy! I feel like his kinda buffoonish, embarrassing personality in canon is simultaneously PERFECT for Rise’s writing style & grievously underrated in fanon depictions. So he’s this clownish type of character, haha.

Okay, time to go hyperfixation mode.

Adhd & his stubborn attitude;

He has ADHD! Executive function issues makes it hard for him to start tasks & manage himself, so he relies on his teams (the Mad Dogs when he’s training & the Rise equivalent to his canon friend group on his own time) to not only instruct him, but also hold him accountable & keep him on task. He’s body-doubling without even realizing it.

Although, he resents the things he does to accommodate his disability. He doesn’t notice that doing the things he does genuinely helps or why so he thinks he’s using them as a crutch because of incompetence. Every time he gets stubborn and ignores the things he needs to do, he crashes and burns. When he was new in town with no teacher & no friends who liked martial arts, he became a huge sad sack until the kraang invasion.

His character arc is about being able to rely on other people & accommodations. That relying on a bit more help than other people doesn’t make you incompetent, choosing to seek out the support you need so you can do your best is the true mature thing to do. I was inspired by canon Yuichi’s struggles with paying attention and Rise’s themes of cooperation. (& also my own experience with adhd and learning with executive function issues & junk)

Relationships w/ the turtles;

The Mad Dogs agree to let him like, intern with them? So he can see what it’s like to be a vigilante, they offer him advice and they occasionally go on low to mid-tier missions with his help. They take him on cause they think more heroes and allies out there, the less work they have to do haha. Also, one of the writers mentioned a season 3 would have them adjusting to being ~official heroes,~ I think this would be them trying to be “real.”

He’s closest friends with Mikey out of the whole group! (Adhd solidarity) Then it goes Donnie -> Raph -> and finally Leo (for now muahaha)

I tried to give Leosagi an interesting dynamic with constructing his character like this; They have similar insecurities from drawing self-worth from technical capabilities that they can develop past together, but Leo is clever and calculating about it vs Yuichi being rash and impulsive. So like smart x stupid but they’re the same actually.

His Family in Jersey;

He speaks english fluently because he’s visited his American family frequently his whole life, they’re very close. He has an accent though since he mainly speaks Japanese.

I haven’t fleshed out this concept enough, but I think members of his jersey/Cuddles half of the family would be spoofs of characters from the original yojimbo comics, implied to be reincarnations? Except Miyamoto ofc. (i’ll explain later..)

Reusing the ninja orphans plotline from the original show, his family utilizes their cute appearances to run an orphanage too. They wonder why this Chizu lady is constantly showing up with unhoused children, but they’re just grateful they’re safe now.

Everyone in his family HATES Mrs. Cuddles, they all think she’s in prison and are happy about it. She might’ve given him that scratch on his face.

Additional;

He is gay.

Thank you for your time.

[honeylations]

- Angry Pupu -

KIM CHAEWON x FEM!READER

Prompt: Chaewon is known for her anger issues, always yelling at the smallest things whereas you’re her calm and collected girlfriend, always so soft spoken and doing everything with a cute smile. Your members wonder how you two ended up dating despite the obvious opposite personalities.

Warnings/Notes: cute pupu, angry pupu, reader is adorable tooooo, soft and fluffy, a mix of comedy

———

“YAH WHO ATE MY MINT CHOCO ICE CREAM!”

———

“YAH WHO USED MY HAIR STRAIGHTENER? WAS IT YOU HUH YUNJIN? WHY THE FUCK DO YOU NEED A STRAIGHTENER WHEN YOU’RE NOT EVEN STRAIGHT YOURSELF!”

———

“WHERE THE HELL ARE MY TAMPONS?!”

———

“WHO WENT INTO MY ROOM AND TOOK MY FAVOURITE PEN?!”

———

The members lost count at the amount of times their leader had screamed today and you seemed to be the only person unbothered by it. Sakura had just finished taking pills for the headache she received from hearing the short girl’s anger.

“I swear this is her new record. How is her throat not hurting?” Sakura whined, rubbing her temple and flopping down on the couch next to you.

“How are you even dating her, Y/n?” Yunjin groans as she joins you two with a bowl of popcorn in her hand.

“Y/n is like the off switch for Chaewon’s tantrums” Kazuha appeared shortly after with a whisper, tensing when she heard Chaewon’s little feet stomp downstairs.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY ZUHA?!”

The youngest Japanese girl ran to you as a shield, angering the leader even more. “BACK OFF MY GIRLFRIEND, NAKAMURA!”

Kazuha squeaked and ran to Yunjin instead, not daring to say another word. Eunchae comes in with a bowl of strawberries and feeds you one before going upstairs to finish her Lilo and Stitch marathon. You hummed at the delicious taste of the fruit and turned to your girlfriend who got jealous of the hand feeding gesture between you and the maknae.

“We should buy more strawberries, love. They taste amazing” You spoke with a smile, Chaewon’s anger disappearing almost immediately.

She cupped your face and pecked your lips. “You’re so fricking cute. ISNT SHE GIRLS? SAY IT TO HER!”

The 3 girls sitting on the couch flinched and started complimenting you chaotically, voices going over each other, not wanting an ass beating from their short tempered leader.

“TOO MUCH COMPLIMENTS! BACK OFF!”

“Love, calm down please” You said, caressing her arm and Chaewon obeyed, sitting in your lap.

“Ok, babe”

“Whipped” Yunjin commented, earning a couch cushion to the face. “OW! God Y/n, I want you to answer my question for real this time. How the hell are you dating this monster?”

“She’s not a monster. She’s my hero~” You cooed, hugging your short girlfriend tighter.

“I’ll be needing a hero if I get screamed at one more time” Kazuha muttered, seeing Chaewon glare at her.

“Chaewon? A hero? You’re saying this girl who’s scared of a mouse toy is your hero?” Sakura scoffed as the leader flipped her off.

“You’re just jealous” Chaewon hisses.

“And you’re a comedian.”

You held your girlfriend back down on your lap before she drop kicked the eldest member.

“Chae saved me from so many people before we debuted. Her yelling may be annoying to you girls but it always reminded me of why I love her! She’s so tough~ Without her anger, she wouldn’t have saved me from the bullies back in high school. She does the same now with anyone who shares hate comments about me. I’m too shy to stand up for myself like that” You explained, your heart swelling at the memories.

“Yeahhhh. Y/n was this cute little chubby nerd in high school” Chaewon grinned, pinching your cheeks again.

“Woah wait what, okay, this was something we haven’t been told before” Yunjin said, adjusting her sitting position and looking at you, Chaewon growling.

“Oh please, pull your head out of your tiny ass Kim, I’m not gonna take your girl. I just wanna know more about this cute little chubby nerd you were just talking about” The American added.

Chaewon got off your lap and sat next to you instead, pushing Sakura further into Kazuha who was already getting squished. The younger Japanese member gave up and sat on the ground instead, snatching Yunjin’s popcorn bowl.

“Yeah it’s true. I wasn’t that good looking in high school” You shyly smiled.

“Hey don’t say that. Nobody starts off as a hottie, like, me in high school with the dark ass eyebrows that didn’t match my hair colour? Goddamn” Yunjin joked, making you all laugh. (A/N: I’m not actually talking about Yunjin like that guyssss! The whole dark eyebrow thing is something I added based on my experience in high school💀💀)

“I’m being honest, I swear! I was super chubby, wore these thick purple glasses and always got bullied for reading books all the time. See?” You pulled out a photo of you in high school and all the girls (besides Chaewon) gasped.

In the photo was 14 year old Y/n with a bob cut and thick fringe, using one hand to hold a thick novel to her chest while the other put up a peace sign. Your purple glasses were indeed huge and you smiled widely, presenting the braces you had at the time.

“Oh and here’s Chae” You zoomed out of the photo and 14 year old Chaewon was exposed. She looked the same, only difference was the long hair in the photo. Sakura squinted her eyes and noticed how Chaewon’s hand was around your waist in the picture.

“Awwww! Chae did you have a crush on Y/n at this time?” The eldest asked as you closed your phone and returned it to your pocket.

“Yeah I did. Couldn’t tell if she liked me back though”

You blushed and slapped your girlfriend’s arm. “I did! I told you before, I just thought you were too good for a nerd like me”

“Nerdy y/n is cute, don’t get me wrong, but you’re absolutely stunning right now. Hellooooo? Your body? Your abs? Your facial structure? It’s so hard to believe that was you in the picture” Kazuha complimented.

“I just finally took the initiative in eating healthier and working out” You shrugged, letting Chaewon play with your fingers.

“Was Chaewon this loud back in highschool too?” Yunjin asked with a blunt tone.

“YAH IM GONNA KILL YOU, HUH YUNJIN!” The shortest member screamed and jumped onto the tallest member, shoving the couch pillow into her face.

You rolled your eyes with a smile and looked at Sakura. “You grab her legs, I’ll grab her arms”

“Absolutely not, she kicked my face last time we did that. Get Kazuha”

The said member stood up. “Sorry I don’t speak nor understand Korean very well so imma just go” Kazuha quickly says and runs upstairs to join Eunchae.

“Stop pretending you loser!” You screamed out to Kazuha in Japanese, knowing damn well this wasn’t the first time she’s done that. (A/N: Fun fact for everyone, Kazuha sometimes pretends that she doesn’t understand what the members are saying to her in Korean😭)

You sighed and stood up, patting down your pants. “Come on, babe, let’s go to bed”

“WHY DO YOU ALWAYS PISS ME OFF WITH EVERYTHING YOU SAY!” Chaewon continued to scream while violating Yunjin with the pillow.

“Y/N HELP PLEASE!”

This was gonna be a long night.

[misdeliria]

what's up, babe? k. bakugo This is something I wrote for class, and I'll be changing the names ofc

“What’s up, Dynamight?” 

Marion flashed her toothy, condescending smile at him from where she hovered five feet off the ground. 

Katsuki, too busy catching his breath, flipped her off. 

The young woman laughs, holding her stomach and falling back as a massive robot destroys a block of windows. 

“You need some help, tough guy?” Marion jeers, still beaming with her smug expression. 

“I have it handled,” he says gruffly with his haggard posture and torn uniform. The damn thing threw him through a building. 

“Yeah. It sure looks like it.” Marion flies over to him, and when she does, she twists and moves like she’s gliding through water. “Don’t worry about it. Leave the job to a real hero.” She flies off with a wink, leaving Katsuki shaking with rage. 

Who the fuck does she think she is? Talking to me like that? I’ll put her in her fucking place.

Japan’s favorite American, Marion Beaumont, was touring the country as a friendly gesture from the States—uncaring if they stepped on a few toes to allow it. 

He watched Marion soar through the sky, swing her leg around, and land a devastating blow to the robot’s side. The colossus tipped over, losing its balance and shaking the Earth as it impacted the ground.

Katsuki ground his teeth as cheers erupted from the onlooking civilians. 

It was without question that Japan’s populace would fall in love with Marion. Jet black hair and fair skin with an exceptional quirk: Invincibility. It was without question. 

Marion’s quirk gifted her with flight, super strength, and—

“Watch out, Grandiosa!” Someone screamed from the streets. 

The robot attacked Marion with mechanics shooting out from its torso, but she didn’t flinch. Red beams of power flashed from her glimmering blue eyes, breaking each mechanic like twigs. 

“No need to fear everyone!” Marion announced, waving down at the onlookers. 

“Grandiosa will save us!” A relieved man shouts, further irritating Katsuki. 

Marion laughs, eyes closed and careless, not noticing the robot’s hand winding back to swing. 

It wasn’t until a woman screamed, too late, that Marion finally turned to see the impending hit. Just as he practiced, it only took a second for Katsuki to launch himself two blocks up to where the invincible hero braced for the attack. 

“No!” Marion shrieks as Katsuki shoves her out of the way. The heavy assault sends Katsuki through an adjacent building, but witnessing it is enough to piss Marion off. 

Putting Katsuki off for after, she cocks her arm back and throws her fist into the robot’s chest, punching a hole through its armor. As the robot twitches, malfunctioning, Marion shoots beams from her eyes at the arm’s connection to the body. Despite the arm extending nearly as long as four cars, she rips it clean from the robot before tossing it to the side. 

Her last stop is at the head, where its glowing eyes seem to look past her. Ripping its head off and holding it up for the growing crowd offers Marion relief until she sees Katsuki staggering out of the building wreckage. 

“You alright, tough guy?” She asks with a short laugh. 

“Fuck off,” Katsuki growls, stretching his arm and scratching the rubble out of his hair. 

“That was quite a hit you took for me,” Marion continues, floating after him as he walks off. “I take back what I said before. That was such a beautiful act of heroism.”

Her words are dripping with sarcasm, and the enchanted eyes she’s giving Katsuki make his stomach roll. 

“I don’t care what you think,” he snaps back. Marion giggles behind her hand. 

“If not for me, that robot would have thrown you through buildings until sunset,” Marion says with such certainty that Katsuki’s almost convinced. 

“I would’ve worked something out.” Why does he keep responding to her? Just ignore her and walk away. 

“I don’t think so,” Marion coos. She flies in his path, and suddenly, Katsuki is face to face with the American. “At least thank me for stepping in.”

“Thank you?” Katsuki roars, eyes bulging out of his head. 

Marion smiles like she has the cream. “You’re welcome, Dynamight!”

“NO! No,” he quickly retracts. “Why should I thank you? You should be thanking me for saving your stupid ass.”

Marion holds Katsuki’s gaze momentarily, keeping that permanent smile across her lips. “Thank you, Katsuki.”

His name spilled from her lips so rashly that heat flooded his ears. He’s stunned.

“Don’t call me that when we’re in uniform,” is his only retort. His weakest comeback, in his opinion. Katsuki will regret it late at night as he’s getting ready for sleep. 

“So, you’re saying I can call you that when we’re out of uniform,” Marion takes away, drifting closer. “Then, we should find time to see each other outside work soon.”

[acefictionwriting]

Scout’s Med Bay Stay (TF2 Bang)

-Hi! This is my contribution to the TF2 Big Bang Event! Scout wakes up after being injured to find some new strange people he’s going to get to know.

Made with Artists

@ermg33 - here is their Art Post

@sicc-nasti - here is their Art Post

As the man awoke, he had no idea what was happening. He had no idea where he was, no idea what was going on, or why he was here. It started coming back to him, but before he could put everything together, the pain shot up his legs.

Ow. Right, the enemy grenades. Shit, I hate enemy Demolition bombers. What did you get yourself into, Jeremy? 

Jeremy opened his eyes and looked around, discovering he was in a med bay. The Scouting mission must have gone wrong, really wrong, since the other scout wasn’t there. He didn’t recognize anyone in the room.

“Ah! You are awake! I was hoping to harvest your organs, but at least the replacements worked!”

“What?” 

The Scout looked at the man, and he nearly pissed himself. 

Oh no, not the medic guy again. 

“Uh, I don’t—” Jeremy tried to make an excuse for the man not to get too close, but before he could, the Medic was pulling him up from the bed to sit him up. 

“You stay here Späher, I will get you the new medicine. You will make a great first test!!”

Jeremy didn’t have time to stop the man, nor did he really want to. He also didn’t ask why the American medic was German. 

His legs were still killing him, and despite the dread he felt thinking about everything that could have happened to him, he ripped off the sheets anyway out of impulsive curiosity. They looked perfectly fine, besides the fact they had been cut off and reattached and left a giant scar. That’s probably OK. He moved his foot to find out if they still worked and jumped up in pain. 

“He is brutal, but he always succeeds. Your legs work alright, Erreur?” 

Scout looked to his right, and a man he hadn’t noticed before was there. The man had a bandage covering most of his face and was standing in the shadows enough that the rest wasn’t showing. It sounded like he smoked enough to kill him twice a day. 

“Jesus, man, didn’t see ya there. Yeah, they work. If they didn’t, I dunno what I’d do. I’m a runner. I do the Scout work, finding out where the Germans are gonna be and making sure there’s no trouble. And if there was trouble, well, I took care of it.”

“You aren’t supposed to do that on scouting missions.”

“Well, I did. And that’s gonna make me a hero or something when it works out. Then I’ll go home to my girl, and she won’t be able to resist me!” 

“WE WILL GO HOME TO OUR WOMEN WHEN WE WIN THIS BLASTED WAR. KEEP AT IT SOLDIER. WE’LL KEEP THOSE GERMANS AT BAY AND—” 

Scout turned his head to see a man in full restraints on a bed, wearing an oversized helmet over his eyes. The Medic seemed to know this man and definitely didn't like him.

“Nein… not again. You are not a soldier. How do you get in here…” 

“I AM AN AMERICAN SOLDIER THROUGH AND THROUGH—” 

“You have a head injury, du verdammter Idiot.” 

Scout turned his head away from the half-shouting match, half-desperate argument. The bandaged man in the shadows had disappeared, which Jeremy thought was fucking weird. 

With nothing else to do, he pulled out his locket with a blurry picture of Pauline F. Pauling. 

She’ll like me for sure now that I’ve got manly scars and stuff. I’ll come home her hero, and we’ll get to kiss and— 

“MMMFF MMMH MMM.” 

“GAH— WHY ARE YOU ALL SO QUIET UNTIL I’M TRYING TO FOCUS?” 

Scout turned to the bed on his left, seeing the not-a-soldier and the medic fight in the background, and someone entirely wrapped in bandages in the bed close to his. 

“Jesus, what happened to you?” 

“Mmmhff mmmhb mffhh mmmmffhhhh mmm MMMFF mmmh.” 

“Ja, we don’t know who that is. Don’t even know what side they’re on. I’ve just been using them for my experimental injections. Beyond that?” The medic shrugged and resumed his argument with the American. 

“I gotta get out of here. We gotta get out of here; you gotta be real messed up from that.” 

The burned patient muttered a muffled something that sounded like a verbal shrug. They then pointed to the locket. 

“My girl? Yeah, she’s a real beaut, huh?” 

“Is that ‘your girl’ mon étrange collègue enfantin?” 

“OK, we’re getting you a bell.”

The French man sighed and stepped away from the shadow of the door. He stuck to the shadows and the wall, but stood next to the scout. Despite not knowing the man, Jeremy felt like a stray cat had sat next to him while not getting close to anyone else. It would be some sort of honor if the stench of cigarettes wasn’t so overpowering. 

“Écoute, mon ami, you have been injured. Is there anyone you would like to inform? This girl? Perhaps your mother?”

“Well, I gotta tell Ma about this. I bet Pauling would love to hear about me and my cool battle wounds now.”

“Right… I’m sure. I will get the communications officer.”

Even Scout could see the man just wanted to leave the conversation.

Why’d he look so uncomfortable? 

There was silence then, or as much of a silence as there could be in the overcrowded room. Scout never liked not being part of a conversation in a group of people. He felt left out. His brothers always seemed closer to each other than to him, so he was pushed out of conversations often, even when they did not mean to exclude him. Scout looked around the room. He supposed the same thing had kept happening in the army. He had had brief conversations with everyone in the medical area, but they all ended suddenly. He preferred the chaos of everyone popping up suddenly to the emptiness of everyone ignoring him. Jeremy looked over to the burn victim to his left, but they had fallen asleep, it seemed, as they made a cartoonish mimimimimi sound from under the seemingly infinite bandages. The silence was uncomfortable, but not uncomfortable enough for Jeremy to wake up someone with severe injuries.

“Ah. You’re no help.” 

The Scout briefly considered talking to himself, but remembered when he was caught and teased by his brothers for that. Ma had said they meant well, but even so, Jeremy never wanted to seem crazy. At least not in a nonviolent way. Instead of talking to himself, he decided to do what he usually did when he was nervous or unsure. He counted all the ways he was the coolest person alive who would totally live the most incredible life anyone ever had. He was on reason number seven (he had miscounted severely. It was the 16th reason) when the door opened again. 

“Hey, face guy! You’re back! Is this that letter guy? Make my injury sound really bad so it looks better when I go home. Hey, wait, there's two guys.”

The first man was tall and had an eyepatch. Scout thought that was awesome. He had a bottle of… what smelled like 100% alcohol in his hand and was leaning against the doorway, half asleep, half on high alert. Scout thought it best not to disturb this man until he became more aware of his surroundings. Instead, the scout turned his attention to the other man, with papers in his hands.

The second man was short and had other features that Scout immediately ignored in favor of the robotic arm the man had. 

“WOAH, ARE YOU A ROBOT?”

The man laughed warmly, as if he’d heard it before from others. 

“Well, I’m technically a cyborg,” said the man, with a warm smile, “and I’m also the correspondence officer until we find another guy who isn’t dead to do it. I’m Dell, but they call me Engineer most of the time.”

“Can I ask, like, a bajillion questions about the—” 

“No, you may not! But my friend here is gonna ask you a few questions before we get this letter written. Tavish, I think you’d better do the talking.” 

Scout had thought Dell was friendly, and he generally seemed to be, but there was a tone to the man’s voice that said another question about his arm would make him far less friendly. So Jeremy decided to do the most difficult thing he’d ever done, and be quiet as the Engineer stepped aside to make room for the hulking man with the eyepatch. 

“My name is Tavish. I’m a demolitions expert addicted to alcohol and explosives—” 

“Wrong speech, buddy,” said the Engineer encouragingly, as though this had happened many times before. 

“Aye, right. Ahem.” 

Tavish took out a piece of paper from his back pocket that was surprisingly pristine. He took a stick of dynamite out from the other, put it back, and looked around for something else. The French guy handed him a small gun as though knowing what he was looking for. 

“Right, thanks.” The demolitions expert shot the ceiling twice to gather everyone’s attention. He handed the gun back and took reading glasses out of another pocket. 

“You are all hereby requested for a special secret mission. The people hiring you will not reveal their names or the mission’s purpose, but we assure you that it is of utmost importance. You will be relocated to a strategic and secret area that may turn the tide in this war. Each of you has been selected due to the special skills you possess, as well as a general lack of morality. Also, we will pay you. We know some of you are here to be paid. We implore you to consider this opportunity and join our team.”

“Hey, where did your British accent come from there, weren’t you Irish or Scottish or somethin’? Also, yeah, I’m gonna do that. Can I tell my Ma?” 

“Aye. Any other questions?”

“Ja, will there be room for my experiments there? Also, mein vögel, can they come? I can go with du all if I’m not taken from my work.”

“Aye, your experiments are why you're here, and experimenting with test subjects is encouraged.” 

“Oh, then Ja!” 

Each person asked questions, but since Scout had already accepted, the Engineer gave him one of the papers to sign and started writing Jeremy’s letter on another paper that was not a contract. Jeremy let everyone else fade into the background as he told his mom and his girl all about his injuries and how much he missed them in the letters. He took a while to sign his name, struggling with the letters, but Dell was quite understanding. Jeremy decided that he enjoyed the Engineer’s company. 

The only thing that seemed off was the Spy. He did not seem excited about the contract, but he did sign the papers. 

Each of the men, now called The Teufort Mercenaries, were helped out to the vehicle, except for the burned one, who was driven in a personal ambulance since they couldn’t move. 

Scout wondered how they signed the paperwork. He wondered how his Ma would take it, with him being gone even longer than planned, but how much longer would it be? A week? Probably a week. Ma would be alright, he explained everything in his letter. She had his brothers to take care of her. He smiled, excited to drive off to a new, exciting, and important life. 

The Spy, Demo, and Engineer stayed behind longer than the others. 

“These letters, they will not be sent, non?” 

“No, unfortunately, we have to burn ‘em. Gonna tell everyone these guys died in battle.”

“What about ze medic?” 

“Oh, we don’t know where he came from. He just started saving lives by making abominations to god, and we let him.”

“What ze fuck is wrong with you all?” 

“Ask the higher-ups.” 

Meanwhile, Tavish was getting paid by a woman who addressed herself as P. He assumed that was because of her purple attire. 

“So you’ll take them all to the desert location, right?”

“Aye.” 

“And you won’t ask questions?”

“Aye. Not my job.”

“You’ll be perfect. Here’s the hundred. Go take them to Teufort.” 

The woman then started calling her boss and walking away, and Tavish walked away as well. He thought he had heard, “They’re out of our hair now,” but he did not question it because it was his job now not to ask questions.

They all rejoined the group in the van, everyone having been ignorant of their absence. The lively chatter continued as everyone awaited their trip to a new life. A life that was not the heroic one they had expected, but simply a way to rid the world of these strange people. 

[crazylittlejester]

Tbh I think you’re cooking with the voice headcanons. I’ve never heard Warriors or Legend’s voice described like that but like…yes, you’re correct

(also how would you describe the rest of the chain members’ voices? Now I’m kinda curious…)

THANK YOU, BECAUSE I FELT CRAZY TYPING THAT POST OUT. Here’s how the rest of the chain sounds in my head (im insane):

Time: Matthew Mercer specifically as Resident Evil 6 Leon Kennedy, but if his accent shifted somewhere between Welsh and the southern American accent, and usually ended up sounding like that transatlantic accent. The more time he spends away from the ranch and Malon the less the occasional really American sounding word slips in

Warriors: Joe Keery if he was British and had the same inflections and overall whiny dramatic way of speaking that Astarion from bg3 does. Like the same tone and pitch as Joe Keery (specifically as Steve from Stranger Things), but with Astarion’s sass, one liners, and overall cuntiness. (His real accent is NOT British to me, but he copies the ‘Castle Town Accent’ so usually, that is what he sounds like)

Twilight: Jeremy Jordan, but with a thick southern American accent. I mean near incomprehensible when he starts talking fast

Sky: Jordan Fisher, make him British, but make that British very weird in a way that makes it sound more like his native language is something far more ancient that came BEFORE British English

Hyrule: Ryan Potter, specifically as Hiro from Big Hero 6, but with a vaguely French sounding accent, almost as if that’s his native language but he hasn’t spoken it in a VERY long time and he can sound British for the most part but occasionally he says One Word and everyone stares at him like “???”

Legend: Chris Colfer from Glee but if he had the same raspiness to his voice that Edward Elric from Fullmetal Alchemist does, and also if he were British (it’s a fake accent that Legend puts on, his real accent is a thick Irish one, but most of the time he speaks in a British accent)

Wild: Wild is weird because I have yet to come across a single person in any media I’ve consumed whose voice I’ve heard that’s made me go “That’s Wild.” So, to be even more insane, I’ll just describe what he sounds like. His voice isn’t necessarily very high, but it’s dropped as low as it’s going to and it’s very androgynous sounding. That being said, it’s hard to make out the actual tone and pitch of his voice some times because it sounds incredibly raspy and he can absolutely lose his voice if he talks for too long or screams too loud. If he takes proper care of it which he doesn’t always do it CAN sound more full and not as crackly, but there’s now always this element to it where it SOUNDS damaged. That doesn’t stop him from yapping, or singing, or screaming. It just makes Twilight roll his eyes at him while he makes him tea

Four: Zeno Robinson specifically as Hunter from The Owl House, but if Hunter was fighting to keep back a thick Boston accent every single day of his life. You piss Four off and that accent comes off as he starts angrily rambling at the others for improper sword care and they just sit there and stare at him blankly because they can barely understand a word he’s saying, he’s talking so fast. He sounds vaguely midwestern American when he’s trying to hide his accent

Wind: I’m not even close to original for this one and every time I see people talk about voice headcanons for the chain everyone says this for Wind, but Walker Scobell, though for me, SPECIFICALLY Kraft Mac and Cheese era Walker Scobell. And Wind’s accent is ALL over the place, he tends to pick up whatever the people around him sound like. Growing up his native language was the hyrule equivalent to Spanish, and then he was surrounded by a ton of Scottish people for a VERY long time so his ‘English’ (whatever language they speak in hyrule) became very Scottish sounding, but the more time he spends with the chain, the more he slowly starts to sound like a blend of all of them. So sometimes he’ll be talking and one word of his sentence will sound EXACTLY like the very unique way in which Time says something, or one word will sound like Sky. And his Scottish sounding (because it’s never been entirely Scottish) accent is slowly losing its strength as it starts to LITERALLY just become a blend of what the chain in general sounds like

And to an extent, the overall group accent does change a bit as they spend time together. Their individual accents, even if a lot of them are British, are all different because of the eras they’re from, but as they spend so much time together the accents start to blend a little and they sound more like each other. Of course if they were consciously thinking about how they sound while they speak they’d be able to talk exactly how they did before, and when they go back to their own eras the only one who’s going to sound noticeably different is probably Wind because his neurodivergent brain just copies whatever is around him and he’ll need time to adjust, but yeah

Those are my voice headcanons!! This is what they sound like in my brain when I’m writing/reading. I’m weird and this is insane, I’m aware aldkmdkd

[zepskies]

Why We Love the Boys

As promised, here is my review of Supes Ain’t Always Heroes. I actually used to write book reviews in my high school journalism days, so here we go!  

What this book is: A masterful deep dive. A study on character psychology, the source of the comic and show’s inspiration, and the narrative themes illustrated in The Boys that parallel American culture and our real lives.

It includes interviews from one of the comic’s creators, Darick Robertson, The Krip himself (Eric Kripke), and actors Jim Beaver (Robert Singer), Aya Cash (Stormfront), Chace Crawford (The Deep), Jessie T. Usher (A-Train), Nathan Mitchell (Black Noir), and of course, Jensen Ackles (Soldier Boy).

It also includes a small but significant ode to the creativity of fans and fandom (with a mention of fanfic writers)!

I’ll admit, I felt seen. 😊

Who wrote it: Psychologists Lynn S. Zubernis and Matthew Snyder. Zubernis is a self-proclaimed fangirl of not only this show, but Supernatural and Eric Kripke in general. (That aspect definitely comes through in her writing.)

She is also editor of Family Don’t End with Blood: Cast and Fans on How Supernatural Changes Lives and There’ll Be Peace When you Are Done: Actors and Fans Celebrate the Legacy of Supernatural. Both of which I now want to read.

Several other authors also contributed to this book, as their expertise and backgrounds lend to the subjects they’re covering, such as racism, sexism, the entertainment industry, the comic’s inception, and more.

Who wants to read this book: Anyone who enjoys learning about what makes characters tick. What drives their choices, their sense of morality and justice, and their trauma and strife that lead them to do heinous things. This book will help you better understand your favorite characters (and how to write about them).

Perhaps most importantly, this book is for anyone who wants to read it put into words, why many of us love The Boys, as well as Supernatural.

In a way, the latter is more escapism entertainment than The Boys. Because in this show, there isn’t much, if any escape.

Despite this being a “superhero show,” as we all know, it’s so much more than that. It’s a mirror held directly into our own faces: about why we enjoy heroes and antiheroes, and excuse the “bad behavior” of the ones we like.

About mental health, grief and loss, nature and nurture, coping mechanisms and the importance of choice in dealing with trauma; of racism, sexism, misogyny, weaponized social media, politics, corporate greed, and the power (and cruelty) of good marketing.

This book explores the true villain of the story (and it ain’t Homelander).

I’m going to get into my favorite aspects of this book—as well as an amazing chapter on Soldier Boy’s character study (and why we love him, perhaps too much).

Though in my opinion, it was missing one small, but key thing…

The Mirror of The Boys on Screen

This world is a gritty, bloody, and at times all-too realistic take on how superheroes would be if they lived in our world.

They are the worst of celebrities, professional athletes, and politicians all rolled into one. They are the shiny products of a company and are marketed as such. And they often buy into their own hype.

Some of my favorite quotes on this topic:

“The Boys often reflects darkness in our real world that is uncomfortable to watch. While we go through the tedium of our daily lives, trying to get by and using television or comics as an escape, it can feel difficult and overwhelming to confront the very real and insidious sources of authoritarianism, nationalism, and corporatism that are not just part of a story. “This show holds up a mirror and forces us to catch a glimpse of things we need to question, and asks us why we so easily believe the talking points of systems with marketing departments and press flacks behind them that carefully massage every word in order to get us to feel enamored with their product or policy.” (p. 227-228)

“The Boys works to reveal the nonaltruistic, sociopathic nature of contemporary US corporate culture. In a sense, The Boys uses the behavior of its characters to diagnose not an individual, but a culture.” (255)

In studying narrative I’ve learned that the best fiction and art serve to reflect the human experience. In this case, it’s something The Boys does expertly, even though it’s packaged in extreme, shocking, and often uncomfortable ways. But also in brutal, hilarious satire that’s fun to watch.

It “exposes real-world abuses, revealing many” of our own frustrations in American culture and in life in general (267).

Major Themes & Questions Explored

Several Boys themes are explored from a psychological, cultural, and narrative point of view, as I mentioned earlier. These are some of my favorite segments:

Toxic Masculinity & Narcissism

A whopper in The Boys, and the main theme of season 3. This book defines clearly what both of these words actually mean from a psychological point of view.

It also takes the bad taste out of your mouth that you might get from just hearing the words “toxic masculinity,” as it’s a phrase that can be carelessly thrown around to describe men and character traits that aren’t truly toxic.

How being emotionally available to your loved ones and not repressive of your feelings doesn’t make you weak, or less of a man. And how “being strong” doesn’t mean being physically violent and domineering. (AKA: the Big Swinging Dick™️ in the room.)

Narcissism is explored in a very interesting way. The book gives a diagram of different aspects of narcissists and how each character (Soldier Boy, Homelander, Butcher, and the Deep) falls into them.

Soldier Boy, for example, is classified as a “Classic Narcissist,” while Homelander a “Malignant Narcissist.” <- This will play into SB’s character study, and the main difference between SB and Homelander.

Butcher, however, displays narcissistic tendencies but is not, in fact, a narcissist. (More of an antisocial sociopath. Yay for him.)

Misogyny & Sexism

The classic superhero world of comics dates back to the 1930s and ‘40s. It has been, and in many respects still is a (White) male-dominated industry, where in narrative, female superheroes typically work under a male leading the team, as in Justice League, Teen Titans, and the Avengers.

As much as I love DC and Marvel comics, female characters have also been drawn wildly sexual for male readers and the male gaze, and non-supe characters have been written primarily as love interests and damsels for the hero to save. (Think Lois Lane, Lana Lang, and Mary Jane.)

Modern adaptions have given female characters more agency, but their foundations were rooted in underlying sexism and the mythic hero—an Odysseus-type with certain characteristics of male strength and heroism. And that goes all the way back to classic literature, like The Odyssey, Beowulf, and the Epic of Gilgamesh.

In The Boys, the female supes go through the same issues as their comic counterparts. And they are treated how women are treated in the real world—marketable as sexual objects. (Starlight’s forced costume change is a prime example.)

Author Danielle Turchiano argues in the book that the women in power at Vought (Madelyn Stillwell, later Ashley) are given only so much power as men like Stan Edgar and Homelander give to them.

Stillwell, Ashley, and even Stormfront “drink the Kool Aid” of the misogynistic infrastructure of Vought, but they’re not truly “powerful” in and of themselves. (112)

And I would add that the only female characters that have or find true agency are Grace Mallory, Annie January/Starlight, and Maggie Shaw/Queen Maeve. Even Victoria Neuman is trying to work the political schematic and Vought by operating “within the system” Vought has created.

Mental Health, Trauma & Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

This is a huge section, and rightly so. It kind of spans throughout the book, really, because all of these characters have traumas that inform who they are as adults making the (often grotesque) choices they make.

For many of these characters, it stems from their upbringing and fraught relationships with their parents, whether explicitly or implicitly explored in the show.

Butcher: Is an antisocial sociopath with narcissistic tendencies. Arrogant, emotionally manipulative, violent, and obsessive. He was also physically and emotionally abused by his father, led to use drinking and violence as a means to cope and express himself. His rage is so deep under his skin—he loathes himself for it (and his father), but struggles immensely to escape it.

Homelander: A malignant narcissist, the height of arrogance, and emotionally manipulative. He lacks empathy for others' pain, and in fact enjoys inflicting it. Yet he was a sensitive, gentle child who only wanted connection and love. Vogelbaum raised him like a lab rat and fostered him in a cold, detached cell. He was raised to be entitled and to believe he was an all-powerful god, the lord of his own kingdom within his mind, excused from the responsibility of his actions.

Soldier Boy: Also a narcissist; violent, arrogant, misogynistic, and often indifferent to the damage he causes, emotional or physical. Yet he was also emotionally abused by his father, who set high and exacting standards for what it meant to be a man. It drives Ben to try and prove his worth to his father, though he’s never able to. It fosters the lack of self-worth he feels as he seeks validation through fame and what he believes power to be.

These three characters have many similarities, but also notable differences that set them apart from one another. And both Butcher and Soldier Boy use substances like drugs and alcohol to cope with their traumas—ones that their forced stoicism and sense of manhood won’t allow them to easily express.

“We see Soldier Boy use substances almost continuously in season three to deal with his PTSD from the childhood emotional abuse he received from his father, the betrayal and assault from his team, and the torture he endured from the Russian scientists.

“In the short term, the use of drugs and alcohol to avoid thoughts and feelings about traumatic experiences can be felt as helpful, but in the long term, it hinders one’s ability to process emotions and can cause a deeper depression from the guilt and shame of both avoidance and substance abuse.” (27)

Heroes, Antiheroes & Villains

This book explores two key questions that the show encourages you to think about:

Who the hell is the hero of this story?

And who is the villain?

The surface-level answer is that Homelander and other supes like him are the villains, and Butcher and his band of bros are the heroes (or antiheroes). But they commit just as questionable, sketchy, and downright murderous acts as the supes they’re trying to take down.

“Butcher is not really a good guy. He’s manipulative and self-centered. His reasons for wanting to take down Homelander are utterly personal. That it serves the greater good is almost a coincidence.” (9)

And if Butcher is not a hero, but a vengeful vigilante, then why do we root for him so much?

Well, we see his incredible flaws. But I sympathize with his struggle in losing his wife and the life he could've continued to have with her. I root for the underdog going against the hydra head of Vought and the psychopathic Homelander.

And I see in Butcher, as I also do with Homelander and Soldier Boy, their traumas and their internal conflicts, their deep-rooted self-loathing, and a desire, deep, deep down…to be loved.

(And to foster connection with others, even if they’re unable to sustain them.)

On the flipside, we have antagonists in this show who do truly heinous things. What makes them compelling and even sympathetic, yet again, are their painful upbringings that have shaped them to be who they are. The supes of this show are byproducts of being treated like products.

Like the saying goes: Villains aren’t born, they’re made.

That’s why the real villain of this story is Vought International. It’s an allegory, and an indictment of the ruthless corporate greed that pervades American culture—and much of the world.

It’s why Stan Edgar is sometimes scarier to me than even Homelander (and was the true villain of my story, Break Me Down), if far more insidious.

Speaking of BMD, let’s get to it, shall we?

Here’s a (lot) bit about the Soldier Boy section of the book.

Soldier Boy: Why We Can’t Hate Him

I had to laugh out loud at the title of Soldier Boy’s chapter:

Loving the Villain: The Confusing Case of Soldier Boy

I’m not gonna lie. I felt called out. 😂

It is a confusing dichotomy. Soldier Boy is an absolute asshole. Misogynistic, narcissistic, arrogant, callous, violent…

But also deeply traumatized, a man-out-of-time, emotionally abused, byproduct of the historically and culturally different time he was raised in, a man who just doesn’t get it…

And also charming, adorably grumpy, and undoubtedly attractive.

It’s hard to indict “Ben” as an unredeemable villain in the same way I do Homelander, the psychologist-labelled Malignant Narcissist.

Therein lies the main difference between Soldier Boy and Homelander: Soldier Boy doesn’t take joy in harming others the way Homelander does. But he still harms people, whether he means to or not.

Zubernis confirms many of my own conclusions and ideas about Soldier Boy, and why I still rooted for him to be better, and didn’t want him to die at the end of season 3.

As Zubernis rightly exclaimed during her own watch of the finale: “Noooo, don’t kill the Danger Grandpa Baby Murder Kitten!” (175)

Because Jensen did what he does best in his roles: He made us feel Ben’s pain.

“What’s funny is, in regard to Jensen playing Soldier Boy, you know he’s fucking fantastic, he’s just so good at bringing the audience, and it’s almost like—what I laugh about is, he was probably a little too good at his job!” Kripke said. (180)

And he continues, “In part it’s because of the fandom. So many people took his side in the finale, they’re like, Were’s on his side, fuck everyone! And you’re like, but he’s the bad guy and he’s trying to kill a ten-year-old.”

Were there fans who held this viewpoint? I’m sure. There are some radicals who don’t give a fuck and will side with their favorite character, come whatever. But while I can’t speak for others, that’s not how I interpreted that moment in the season 3 finale.

Yes, I think Soldier Boy was (wrongfully) willing to fight Ryan. Do I think he would’ve killed him? I’m not sure. I think he would’ve done what he had to do to get Ryan out of his way in his fight with Homelander. Maybe he would’ve been more violent than he intended, in the callous collateral damage he’d shown throughout the season, or maybe he would’ve gone that far, if provoked.

It’s a tough call, as I think this character can go one way or the other in terms of his “villain” nature. We just haven’t seen enough of him in the series yet for me to make that conclusion on the canon-version of Soldier Boy. (In fanfic, I’ve explored my own interpretation.)

But overall, I think The Krip once again underestimated the power of Jensen’s acting.

…And the ardent nature of his mostly female fanbase. 😂

Why We Love Soldier Boy

The author cites multiple reasons for why we love Ben more than we probably should:

It’s Jensen Ackles. Fair enough. His talent speaks for itself.

Soldier Boy’s backstory: He was emotionally abused by his father and as a result, he has a complex regarding his self-worth, “something to prove,” and a secret need for attention, validation, and praise.

He has trauma and PTSD: He is displaced from what is familiar to him and confused when the boys find him, and that is the least of it. He’s been tortured for 40 years. Can you even conceive of that?

He’s charming: in a sexy grandpa, adorably grumpy, lovable asshole kind of way.

We’re drawn to danger: dangerous “edgy” types are fun, especially when you’re physically attracted to the character.

He has his moments of vulnerability: Jensen’s ability to play the nuance in the character is the ultimate draw. I felt his pain, could see his torture, and his resulting PTSD. He longs for a family, even if his ability to bring up those children is questionable at best. 😅

But I think the one aspect the author doesn’t consider is the character’s capacity for change.

Soldier Boy’s Potential

Again, I don’t think you can write off Soldier Boy’s potential for positive character development the same way you can Homelander, or even Butcher.

For one thing, we just haven’t spent enough time with the character. A lot of his collateral damage after he escapes imprisonment has been accidental, or PTSD-induced. Though we can’t discount how he murdered M.M.’s grandfather via collateral damage (and was callous about it).

I think this is what drew me to write about Soldier Boy. “For all his arrogance, his chauvinism, his massive ego and general bastardry, there’s still humanity in Ben.”

In the book, Nathan Mitchell also says something amazing about his own character (Black Noir) that resonated with me about Soldier Boy as well:

"One of the ingredients of a compelling character is contradiction. How does one aspect of our personality contradict with one another? [...] Who is he underneath? How might his true nature contrast with the demands of his job?"

Or coded for Soldier Boy/Ben: The pressures he puts on himself to be the type of man he thought his father wanted him to be.

Again, his sexist, misogynistic ideals are shaped by the time he was raised in, by being a product of Vought, and of his father’s emotionally abusive upbringing. Does this excuse or justify all of his behavior? Of course not.

But I think those 40 years in captivity changed him from the careless alpha dog we saw in 1984 Nicaragua…

He admits to Crimson Countess, with tears in his eyes, that he’d loved her. That he waited for her and his team—arguably the only social system he has in his life—to save him. He’s gutted to realize that not only did she and the rest of the team never love him, they hated him. They traded him for nothing. Just to get him out of their lives.

For all he claims to be afraid of nothing, tough as shit, he is afraid when he goes to face Mindstorm. He knows what the supe is capable of, and he visibly takes a shaky breath and tries to steel himself.

For a moment, he drops the “Soldier Boy” persona that he wears like a fine tailored suit. And he tells Butcher that the backstory Vought created for him was a lie; he grew up a rich kid who got sent to boarding school, but flunked out, because "he was a fuck up." And his father couldn’t be bothered to discipline him, implying he didn’t care enough about his own son to even lay a hand on him.

He is reluctant to kill Homelander when he finds out he’s Ben’s son (sort of). He even claims that he would’ve been willing to share the spotlight “with his own son.” — Something I doubt even Homelander would do.

Ben even seems to be fighting tears when he levies the same vitriol at Homelander that his own father did at him:

Homelander: “Weak? I’m you.”

Soldier Boy: “I know. You’re a fucking disappointment.”

Let me be clear. I don’t think it’s up to someone to change him (like a love interest). I don’t subscribe to that thinking, that a woman can “change” a man.

For example: In season 2, Butcher tells Becca, “Who was I before you? Nothing.”

And yet, she tells him that he put her on an unrealistic and unsustainable pedestal, in which she felt like she wasn’t allowed to fully be herself, unable to keep him from flying off the handle in rage. That kind of relationship (where one is dependent on the other to “keep them in check”) doesn’t work as a lasting, satisfying redemption arc, and it doesn’t work in real life either.

I do think, however, that a person is capable of change if they’re broken down enough (pun intended), and if they themselves have a desire to change. Someone they encounter can inspire them to be better, like Butcher with Hughie. That person can help support the other.

At the end of the day, however, it’s Ben that has to want to change.

If he wants love and connection, he’ll have to somehow want it, and try (and sometimes fail) to get it, thereby giving him agency and a redemptive character arc.

Now, obviously, it’s up to The Krip where Ben goes from here. He seems to have a more indicting vision of the character than I do (at least, so far). But we’ll see! The fan demand to bring back the character has already had Kripke confirming that Soldier Boy will be back.

Maybe it will encourage him to give the character a more satisfying ending than Dean Winchester got in Supernatural. Though granted, that one wasn’t his doing, apparently he was in favor of the ending the writers came up with.

Comparing Dean & Ben

In his interview segment, Jensen talks about what, if any, are the comparisons between Dean Winchester and Soldier Boy. AKA: Wanting a father’s approval, and an undercurrent of “John Wayne”-esque masculinity in John Winchester that Dean sought to emulate.

Jensen also talks about where he drew from to not only embody the character of Soldier Boy, but bring nuance to him—and show the peeks of vulnerability under the bravado and stoicism.

“He’s so fragile and his ego is fragile. Just like Homelander. These bigger-than-life powerful heroes really have a glass jaw… “And everyone walks on eggshells around him [Soldier Boy], and they tell him that they love him, and it’s the same with Homelander. Then when all of a sudden he faces his old team and Crimson Countess says we never loved you, we hated you—that’s a gut punch for him. Because even though on some level he may have known that, he never thought he would hear it. “And he probably propped himself up around trying to believe otherwise, because how can you walk around knowing everyone you’ve ever cared about hates you? It’s too painful.” (191)

It really is. And I inherently felt this about Soldier Boy/Ben when I watched season 3 for the first time. That’s exactly what I got from his performance and thought, there’s more to this guy than the toxic masculinity he represents.

This guy just wants to be loved, like everyone else. He wants to feel important, and even after his father’s dead, “show him” that Ben is the man his father wanted him to be. And so, he bought into the illusion Vought painstakingly crafted for him.

Whether he can come back from that remains to be seen. But I choose to be optimistic until evidence points to the contrary. 😅 (We’ll see in season 4!)

So that’s my personal take on Soldier Boy and this awesome book. 💚 Thank you again @kaleldobrev for recommending it to me! I hope you all enjoyed my long-winded review and want to check this out.

And if you do read it, I hope to read your thoughts as well!

Tagging people who said they wanted to read my review on this book: @venus-haze @jessjad @kristophalis @sl33pylilbunny

[musclesandhammering]

Unpopular Phase 4 & 5 Opinions

Quantumania is the worst Phase 4/5 movie. And it wasn’t even because “kang got beat by ants.” (I liked kang in this movie). It’s just that the Spy Kids aesthetic & bad acting & overall weird vibes just weren’t for me.

Love and Thunder is no worse than Ragnarok. I would argue that it’s better in a lot of ways, actually. I really liked it.

Taika Waititi ruined thor with bad humour all the way back in Ragnarok tbh, but y’all weren’t complaining about it then 😒.

BuckySarah is better than sambucky every day of the week.

The Marvels was a good ass movie & they’re one of my favorite teams in the mcu. I’ll never forgive cbm sites & online dudebros for killing the hype from the moment the film was announced.

I adore America Chavez & Kamala Kahn and I want to see them in everything. They must be protected at all costs.

Multiverse of Madness had shitty characterisation & basically just copy-pasted the ‘grief made me go off the deep end & hurt people, then I realised and stopped myself’ storyline from Wandavision… but Wanda was extremely selfish & apathetic to other people’s suffering from the time she was introduced in the mcu. MoM didn’t make her like that.

Wanda should’ve been looking for Vision (her actual real life boyfriend whom she spent years with irl) in MoM instead of the kids that weren’t even real that she spent like a week using as characters in her sitcom.

Making everyone forget Peter Parker wasn’t profound or poetic in any way- it was just frustrating and needlessly cruel.

I’m begging marvel to understand that heroes don’t have to be in constant suffering to be heroic & villains don’t have to sacrifice themselves to achieve redemption. Let characters heal and atone, you absolute weirdos.

What If…? is the most boring show ever. I’d rather watch Secret Invasion or She-Hulk.

Season 2 of Loki is, in a cinematic & artistic sense, the best marvel project period.

Loki season 1 was meh- more of a fun au than anything because his characterisation kinda sucked. Season 2 fixed it, though, and made it way easier for me to incorporate this version of Loki back into the larger mcu.

Having Steve stay in the past with Peggy was stupid af.

I don’t hate Peggy (or Captain Carter), though. I actually think she’s pretty cool.

I don’t really love Steve. He’s arrogant & they never really let him have flaws & something about him being a perfect metaphor for the American military industrial complex (and marvel painting that as a good thing) doesn’t sit right with me.

The Illuminati got done dirty and the only reason they went down so fast was because Wanda had all that plot armor.

I thought the retcon of having Wanda be “destined” to become the Scarlet Witch since birth was an annoying cop-out. Her powers originating from being experimented on with an infinity stone was way more interesting.

Loki & Wanda have almost the exact same powers.

Nebula deserved a bigger rule in killing Thanos & everything else moving forward.

I love Kathryn Newton but her acting as Cassie Lang was the worst acting I’ve ever seen in the mcu, like it was outrageously bad.

I’m glad Sam is the new Captain America and not Bucky.

The fact that Bucky probably isn’t gonna be one of Thee lead characters in the upcoming avengers movies feels sick and twisted.

Secret Invasion was actually passable until the G’iah scene at the end. That ruined it. And Nick Fury deserved way better for his solo series.

Kang is so much more interesting than Doctor Doom. I really hope they just recast him.

Carol Danvers does NOT deserve the hate she gets.

I actually disliked Carol until The Marvels. That movie made me a stan.

The way people treat Monica as Wanda’s little inferior pet creation or smth & then brag about it is uhh very sus.

I don’t like sylvie (bc she’s an amalgamation of 3 different comic characters- which killed any hopes of them appearing individually in the mcu, the creators used her existence to butcher Loki’s genderfluid rep, & she was written poorly) & I HATE sylki (bc it’s weird & unnecessary).

Marvel isn’t dead. I actually love where they’re taking things. But that’s just me.

[pascalcampion]

L’Autoroute du Soleil, by Baru.

This graphic novel was published in 1995.

At the time, I hadn’t yet read a graphic novel like this.

Black and white, it was long too. Over 400 pages. It felt real.

I had known of Baru’s work for a while by then. He had done a book or a series, I can’t remember called “Quequette Blues” I think it was published in a magazine like A suivre or Pilote. I wasn’t interested in it. I was probably too young then to connect to stories that felt SO MUCH like real life.

But when L’Autoroute du Soleil came out, it felt like I knew the characters in the book.

Not only that, but it felt like this was a story that could’ve really happened.

Put back in the context of the time, most of the stories in graphic novel form I was exposed to were either super hero comics or stuff like Tintin and Asterix( I mean, not JUST that but mostly that). The OTHER type of comic form I would see in stores was adult only stuff.

So when I found L’autoroute du Soleil, it was a shock. It felt like a movie on paper.

Everything about it worked. The graphic nature of the characters, They were not pretty. Not all of them. Some were down right ugly, just like in real life.

People coming in and out of the story. Having an impact then disappearing, like a person you meet on the train and is gone at the next stop. I grew up in the south of France and when the main characters stop for a while in the South, I thought I could hear the cicadas and feel the heat of long summer days

The staging, editing, the rhythm of the story felt like it was shot with a camera. The story itself was a very urbane, believable story with (almost) believable human reactions. There was just enough “extra” to make you want to read more. The night shots felt moody and real and the sequences where the characters relax on the beach feel breezy, sunny and fun. I wasn’t used to author who were so comfortable in light sequences as well as moody, tense moments. 

It was the beginning of an era where I could see graphic novels as a full art. Not for kids, not for bizarre stories that no one would read or care for, but for very mature, skillfully crafted movies on paper. This book didn’t have color and I didn’t even notice. It was that engrossing.

I re read the book a few weeks ago and I am STILL completely involved in the story.

I feel these stories are more common today.

I find similar real life feelings in some mangas. There are some American Graphic Novel artist that have been going down that road as well and I love it.

Baru has done other amazing books since then.

He did one about a boxer a little later that I find absolutely amazing as well.

I believe he is still active and whenever I get a chance to find some of his work, I’ll read it.

#Baru #L’autoroute du Soleil

[rallamajoop]

Moreau's secret romantic movie fixation

Most of what you’ll find online searching for cut content from RE8 really isn’t ‘cut content’ so much as ‘rejected ideas that never made it past the concept stage.’ Early plans like having Ada Wong swanning around the village in a plague mask or that Miranda would be a foreign researcher probably never got near the finished game. You can find tons of rejected early concepts like this in the extra concept art that comes with the RE7 DLC pack (or online, for all those who’d rather not shell out that much extra money for a few extra gallery files).

But there is at least one detail from that early concept art that I’m confident did make it almost all the way into the finished game, and it’s that little tidbit about Moreau’s love of sappy romantic movies.

The biggest single piece of evidence I can cite you for this is that you can still find an unused asset for a film poster that was meant to appear in Moreau’s room.

This was to be a collectable treasure item, like Dimitrescu’s lipstick and wine glass. There’s even a description for it ("Poster for an old movie Moreau liked. It's too damaged to read.") which feels pretty significant. There are plenty of other unused treasure item assets in that same folder (I’ll probably get to posting about them later), but the film poster is the only one I could find a description for – complete with translations into all the many different languages supported by the game. I’m guessing that means this one got really close to the final cut.

But the best part? If you look closely at that poster, you might just be able to make out the title. And if you google that title, it turns out this little game asset is based on a real poster for a real movie.

(Yes, that tagline really does read, "When Tragedy Struck, Love Came to the Rescue.")

I haven’t seen Ice Castles myself, but if the Wikipedia summary is to be believed, it’s a 1978 American romantic drama about a young figure skater who loses (most of) her sight in a tragic accident. With the help of her boyfriend, she eventually comes to accept that, because she can still see just well enough to make out the bounds of the rink, she can still work past her disability to realise her dreams. I don’t need to spell out why a film like Ice Castles might particularly appeal to someone like Moreau, do I? Poor guy.

The poster isn’t the only reason I’m convinced secret-romantic-Moreau made it almost to production. Let’s go back to that concept picture again, where Moreau is eating cheese while watching old romantic movies on his TV screen.

Well, the movie may not have made it in, but TV did. So did the cheese.

More importantly, consider the scene where Ethan sneaks up behind Moreau to find the Rose flask unattended. Moreau himself is looking away, apparently focused on his TV screen, though it shows only static. And then he vomits dramatically, and utters the words “Oh Mother Miranda, if it’s for you, I’d do anything.”

I mean, it’s obvious what was meant to be going on here, right? Moreau’s watching a film as Ethan walks in, and sighing at some torridly romantic scene. There’s probably just been some hero or heroine earnestly utter some similar dialog like, “Oh [insert name here], I’d do anything for you!” All the pieces are there except the film itself!

(Do we need to take a moment here to acknowledge the, er, Oedipal implications of Moreau comparing his devotion to Miranda to a presumably-romantic scene? Because... well, it can be easy to overstate that sort of thing, but I don't think it's a stretch to suggest Moreau really would do anything for Mother Miranda.)

So why didn’t the movie make the cut? Why are we left with Moreau watching only static from his poster-less room?

I can only speculate, but a few possible answers come to mind. Maybe the team worried that making Moreau a closet romantic would render their revolting fish-man a little too sympathetic, or a little too comical. Maybe they had trouble finding a film clip that worked for that scene without leaving Ethan awkwardly watching a movie over Moreau’s shoulder for longer than really worked. Maybe test audiences were so distracted by the film going on the background that they missed what was going on in the foreground with the Rose jar. Maybe there were licensing issues around including that Ice Castles poster, or whatever film footage they wanted to show (which I feel obligated to point out may have been some other film altogether). These kinds of snags get in the way of productions all the time. C’est la vie.

The scene still works without the movie playing. But it’s hard to miss what was supposed to be going on.

Still, while I’m talking Moreau, and Moreau’s TV, have a little bonus speculation about Moreau’s relationship with the guy who presumably installed that TV for him: Heisenberg.

It seems to be pretty popular out there in RE8-fanon land to cast Heisenberg as actually-very-fond of Donna, or the Dimitrescu daughters, etc etc – and that irks me a bit, because I’ve yet to see any take on it that feels in-character for anyone involved. Even putting aside Donna’s own issues and the whole Dimitrescu connection, Heisenberg’s seething contempt for the rest of his ‘family’ is not exactly ambiguous. But even with all that said, there are few intriguing hints that good ol’ Karl might just have the teeniest little soft spot for his ‘moronic freak’ of a brother, Moreau.

The big one is that tidbit from Moreau’s diary that I already touched on in my post on the four lords, where Heisenberg apparently comforts him about his place in the family:

Mother Miranda gave me a Rose jar. No one likes me which is why I thought they would leave me out again. But Heisenberg said that was why we each get a Rose. The ceremony cannot happen without us all there.

Now, you can debate how ‘comforting’ this would have come out in practice. Knowing Heisenberg, whatever he said may have been more of a sneering dig at Moreau's intelligence than real reassurance – but even so, just reminding Moreau that he's an essential part of the plan pretty could qualify as an uncharacteristically kind gesture (and perhaps only more so if Heisenberg knew even then that it was a comforting lie).

When I say Heisenberg ‘presumably’ installed Moreau’s TV, I do mean presumably. At the end of the day, there’s a TV screen in Moreau’s quarters that Heisenberg can hijack to spy on or talk to Ethan for the same reason there’s one in some back room behind a stronghold full of lycans: the plot requires it to be there, and it’s easier to use the same asset twice. But it’s no fun sticking to rigidly Doylist analysis, so what could be the story behind it? Have some possibilities:

Moreau got hold of the TV himself, but Heisenberg snuck in at some point and modified it so he can use it to spy on his ‘brother’, without Moreau’s knowledge.

Heisenberg installed or repaired the TV for Moreau under the guise of letting him watch films on it, but secretly also uses it as a monitoring device.

Moreau is fully aware the TV can be used for remote communication and chats to Heisenberg through it regularly. Given that his film obsession didn’t make it into the finished game, maybe that’s all he thinks it does. Maybe he was even just talking to Heisenberg before Ethan walks in.

Though that first option is a workable interpretation, you could also question what Heisenberg imagined he’d ever see Moreau doing that was worth spying on. Our other obvious options are that Moreau thinks Heisenberg installed that TV for the primary purpose of enabling his 900th rewatch of The Shape of Water (oh come on, you know he loves that film), or that it’s so they can talk without leaving home. Heisenberg’s still a creep for rigging it to spy on him, but there’s another surprisingly thoughtful gesture buried in there somewhere.  

There’s one last barely-qualifying little detail that intrigues me, and that’s that both Moreau and Heisenberg seem to have similar ideas about Miranda’s plans for Ethan. Heisenberg states outright that he believes Miranda is testing Ethan, to see if he’s worthy of joining her family. And Moreau bemoans that ‘It’s not fair, I should be with her, not you!’

Neither Dimitrescu or Angie echo any similar ideas, and nor does anything Miranda actually says to Ethan suggest Heisenberg has the right idea (like so much in this mad fairy tale, the vibes are much stronger than the internal consistency). But if Moreau has the same idea as Heisenberg, despite being so generally clueless about the Rose jars and Miranda’s intent, it’s natural to suppose it’s Heisenberg he got it from. So we’ve got another possible hint that Heisenberg’s closer to Moreau than his other siblings.  

To be clear, none of this means Heisenberg has ever been nice to Moreau. He dismisses Moreau as a moronic freak, and seems unbothered by Moreau’s death. Moreau’s diary makes clear that no-one in the family is nice to him, or generally ‘includes him’ in things (though it’s hard to imagine they much include each other either). Even hinting to Moreau about Miranda’s plans could well have been a means to goad him into conflict with Ethan. I doubt Heisenberg would have had much interest in sitting down to watch Moreau’s favourite movies with him either.

But it’s not hard to imagine Heisenberg basically viewing Moreau something of an annoying, stupid, snot-nosed little brother – pitiable, but not too pathetic to inspire the odd gem of real sympathy or uncharacteristic kindness. Heisenberg’s obviously spent years telling himself that only the strong survive, that those ignorant villagers deserve their lot, that he can’t afford weakness, but it’s tempting to think that maybe giving Moreau that TV wasn’t a completely cynical gesture. After all, doesn’t every Frankenstein-wannabe need an Igor?

To finish, have some more extracted assets of Moreau-related pics from Miranda's laboratory. I just love the style and detail that went into these.

[ishomieokay]

And We Made You Pairs (Ch. 2)

──── a homelander x muslim oc story.

✰ summary - Homelander’s mission in Syria puts him in direct conflict with Noura, an activist working to protect her country from foreign interference. Although their initial encounters are fraught with tension, over time they develop a begrudging respect for one another. Homelander is drawn to Noura’s fearlessness and conviction, while she catches glimpses of humanity in him. ao3.

When Noura’s town faces annihilation, Homelander must make a choice. Will he remain the military’s loyal wardog, or will he do something good for once in his life?

✰ warnings - blood and gore, violence, minor character death, war crimes, breaches of the Geneva Convention, mental health issues, intrusive thoughts, stalking, obsessive behaviour.

✰ taglist - @discowizard88, @possiblyafangirl, @sacha1slytherin, @infinetlyforgotten, @redroserabbit, @1800imgay Let me know if you want to be tagged!

The room was buzzing with tension. Reporters, photographers, and cameramen had flooded the venue in downtown Damascus. The ceiling fans rotated slowly, barely stirring the warm, packed air as people jostled to see. Bright lights from a dozen cameras flashed on the podium where General Mark Thompson stood, flanked by a proud red, white, and blue symbol of American might. Although his presence in the country was known, seeing Homelander in the capital was a rarity. Enough to warrant quite a high amount of media attention, and that without considering the upcoming events. 

All eyes were riveted on him, expressions ranging from curious awe to simmering resentment. Dressed in his pristine suit, he looked out of place there, too polished and proud for the worn-down walls and bustling heat. He scanned the room sporting an easy smile, his stance straight-backed, head held high. 

“Today marks a critical step forward for stability in the region,” General Thompson announced, his voice carrying over the murmuring crowd. “We’re pleased to be here to support diplomatic efforts between our two countries, and to strengthen our commitment to protecting our allies in Syria.” His words rang out mechanically, delivered with practiced conviction. Devoid of any real feeling.

“And we are especially grateful for the continued service of America’s greatest hero, Homelander! A personal friend, and a big source of inspiration for the troops.” Thompson extended a hand towards Homelander, then, his eyes sharp and attentive as he waited for a response.

Homelander stepped forward, his cape swishing behind him with a practiced flair. A subtle smile tugged at his mouth as he looked down on the crowd, his gaze lingering on the members of the press. Phones out, notebooks poised and pens at the ready. They were looking at him like in the good old days–hungry, enthralled. Finally, after almost two years in service, the Stormfront scandal was beginning to die down. 

“Now, now, guys. I know some folks out there are worried about the safety of our diplomats. Let me assure you, we’ve got some great security over here. My boys from the Falcon Unit are on the mission! Isn’t that right, Robbie?” he beamed, randomly pointing at one of his squadmates. The man only smiled, awkwardly waving at the crowd. “Oh, don’t mind him. He’s just shy. He knows what I’m talking about. Anyway, everything’s gonna be a-okay, you hear me? And if anything does happen, you can bet I’ll be there to save the day!”

Homelander’s voice was light and smooth, his tone just teasing enough to suggest that such concerns were unnecessary, even amusing. Cameras clicked furiously, capturing his practiced smile, the proud tilt of his head. His eyes glinted in the harsh lights, and he basked in the attention, in the energy of the room. He was in the eye of the storm, devoured by the ravenous beast of the international press, and he felt right at home.

Someone was watching him different eyes, though. 

At the back of the room, Noura clutched her phone, heart hammering in her chest. She wore a cream colored hijab that framed her face, allowing her to blend into the crowd, a silent observer amid a sea of clamoring voices. Her eyes were fixed on Homelander, her fingers trembling as she hovered over the record button.

She could still see him, painted in moonlight—his face splattered with specks of blood, his eyes empty of any remorse as he made his way through the empty streets of Nineveh. The image burned in her mind’s eye, inescapable. The screams, the destruction, the ruins where countless lives lay buried—he had brought all of it. Her nails dug into her palms as she stared at him now, regal and proud, standing under the harsh ceiling lights in the guise of a benevolent savior.

When General Thompson’s voice dropped to signal the end of the briefing, she felt a surge of adrenaline run through her. Noura took a step forward, heart pounding, ignoring the uneasy glances from those around her as she raised her voice, determined not to be swallowed up by the crowd’s inclement noise.

“You call yourself a hero,” she shouted, her voice clear and cutting through the room, “but all you’ve brought us is death and ruin!”

The room went silent as a ripple of shock spread through the attendants. Heads turned to stare at her, a plain looking woman standing at the back of the room. Although she felt the weight of their stares, Noura held her ground, her chin lifting as she took another step forward.

Homelander’s smile faltered, his eyes narrowing as they found hers across that vast sea of anonymous faces. For a brief moment, he appeared surprised. He quickly masked it with a smooth, almost bening expression, though. He tilted his head, looking at her like one might at a wayward child.

“Sorry, what was that?” 

She clenched her teeth, feeling her anger rise as she fought to keep her voice steady. “You act like you’re here to protect us, but your protection has only brought us grief. How many innocents did you slaughter in Nineveh, Homelander? How many lives have been lost ever since you so magnanimously took us under your wing?”

The crowd held its breath. She could see his smile tighten, something dangerous flickering across his eyes. “Ma’am,” he began in that maddeningly smooth tone, “War isn’t always pretty. I know, I know. It’s not easy to accept.” His brow furrowed, and under a certain light, he almost appeared contrite. “But sometimes, sacrifices have to be made to… ensure peace.”

“Sacrifices?” she repeated, her voice unusually blank. She took a slow breath, steadying herself, the phone recording in her hand long forgotten. “What gives you the right to decide who lives and who dies? You level towns, you massacre innocents, and then you have the gall to play hero for the press?” Her voice rose as she continued, words cold and resolute. “You’re not our savior—you’re a murderer!”

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Homelander’s smile wavered, the cracks in his facade showing for just a second before he plastered it back in place. She saw it in his eyes, though—a glimpse of something darker, colder. A pale reflection of the monster she had seen before, the night her home was burnt to ashes. 

“You know,” he said, a hint of frustration slipping into his voice, “people like you, who spread rumors and make accusations, who love to point fingers and criticize but never contribute—you’re the ones who make this job harder than it needs to be.” He held his head higher, his gaze lingering on her with barely concealed disdain. “I’m here to protect lives. To make sure that peace actually has a chance. Maybe you should stop wasting your time playing influencer with that little flip-phone of yours and start looking at the bigger picture.”

His words fell on her with a weight that felt suffocating. He really felt no remorse. In his mind, everything he had done was right and justifiable. Noura held his gaze, refusing to shrink back. She remembered the faces of her neighbors, her friends, who had been buried under the rubble of their homes. The blood and the wounded. The tears shed and the collapsed mosque. Far from deterring her, the indifference in his voice only strengthened her resolve.

“Tell us, then,” she shot back, her voice rising to fill the room, “tell us how many lives you took in the name of this ‘protection’ of yours.” Her voice broke faintly as she spoke, “Tell us how many children you left to die that night.”

Gasps and whispers rose around her, but Noura had eyes for one person only. Homelander’s expression faltered again, just for an instant. He looked around, gauging the reaction of the crowd with something akin to nervousness. Then, his face twisted into something colder, almost irritated. His displeasure only deepened when several reporters turned their cameras toward her, the lenses hungry for every moment, every biting retort.

He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, two security officers flanked her, seizing her by the arms. “Ma’am, you need to leave,” one of them said, their voices hushed but firm.

She struggled in their grip, but she kept her eyes locked on Homelander’s, refusing to be intimidated. “The world deserves to know!” she shouted, her voice echoing in the silent room. “They deserve to know what you’ve done!”

Homelander’s smile was gone, replaced with a hard, unreadable look. He held her gaze as the guards started to pull her back, his blue eyes flat, icy. A primal instinct made her insides twist with fear, but Noura clenched her jaw, unwilling to back down. 

As the guards dragged her towards the exit, she raised her voice one last time, her words ringing out over the heads of the international press, clear and defiant. “We will not be silenced!”

The woman was forced out of the room, but the energy she left behind lingered, thick and unyielding. Homelander remained standing on the stage, his gaze fixed on the doorway where she had been moments before. Suddenly, the conference buzzed back to life, reporters whispering, writing notes, exchanging glances. The cameras turned back toward Homelander, capturing his stony expression, the hardened set of his jaw. As he met the cameras’ gaze once more, his smile returned, but there was something forced about it now, something brittle. His mask had cracked, if only for a moment.

He left earlier than expected, dodging General Thompson’s attempts to invite him for a celebratory drink with the boys. He felt out of sorts. Unbalanced. The city blurred past the tinted window as he sat, silent, in the back of a military vehicle. He’d been advised not to fly while in the capital, not to draw too much attention. Homelander wasn’t sure what irritated him the most—that after all this time they would dare to try and control him again, or the fact that a part of him still felt compelled to obey.  

Damascus swelled with movement outside—a flood of pedestrians navigating narrow sidewalks, shopkeepers shouting their wares, the occasional glint of sunlight bouncing off the rusted fender of an old truck. Yet, in the calm hum of the car, it felt to Homelander as if he were worlds away from the ordinary bustle, separated by more than just glass.

He’d felt it in the press conference, a tremor of something he couldn’t quite place—a feeling of… what? Unease? It was ridiculous, and yet there it was, simmering beneath his well-worn armor of arrogance and pride. The memory of her voice, fearless and wrathful, cut through his thoughts. It was enough to silence the entire room. “You’re not our savior—you’re a murderer!” The words scratched at the inside of his skull, insistently, maddeningly.

And then there it was again, taunting him—not the woman, but his own reflection, his own voice.

“She’s got guts, I’ll give her that.” His face twisted in the window, his smirk sharp and cruel, eyebrows raised in mocking amusement. “It’s not every day someone talks to you like that. You’re not really going to let it go, are you?” 

Homelander’s jaw tightened. He pressed his fist against his thigh, nails digging into his palm. “She’s just another activist,” he muttered, barely moving his lips. His voice was flat, determined. “A nobody trying to make a name for herself.” 

“Riiiight.” His reflection smiled knowingly, crossing his arms as he leaned against the glass. “You think that’s all she is? Then why can’t you stop thinking about her, huh?” His voice dipped, turning soft and honey-sweet. “It’s unsettling, isn’t it? When people aren’t afraid of you.”

Homelander’s gaze drifted back to the street as if that alone could shut out the jeering specter next to him. He watched a small group of schoolchildren cross the road, their laughter reaching faintly through the vehicle’s insulated silence. He clenched his fist tighter, forcing himself to focus on the gentle thrum of the car, the smooth roll of the wheels beneath him. He was getting nauseous.

Homelander closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to no avail to block out the voice. “Shut up,” he muttered, a faint whisper. A plea to himself, always left unheard.

His reflection grinned wider, gaze gleaming with cold amusement. “Oh, you think you can ignore me?” He tilted his head, studying Homelander with curiosity. “You’re rattled, Johnny boy. Admit it. She got under that unbreakable skin of yours. Her, and her stupid little speech.”

“No, she didn’t,” he hissed, though the words tasted hollow even as he spoke them. The other grinned back at him, clever and always vicious, an embodiment of every doubt he tried to bury, every crack in his perfect facade.

The dim glow of the phone cast shadows across Homelander’s face as he lay in the quiet of his hotel room. The place was spotless—a luxury suite with every amenity a man of his stature could desire, but he barely noticed it. His gaze remained fixed on the screen, on the figure confronting him in a grainy video from earlier that day. The woman’s voice crackled through his earbuds, fierce and unyielding: “You call yourself a hero, but all you’ve brought us is death and ruin!”

He replayed the moment, watching the way her expression had transformed from stern composure to raw anger, her gaze steady as she crossed the distance between them. She hadn’t flinched, hadn’t hesitated. Homelander had to give it to her—the little dune coon had bigger balls than most of the military men he’d dealt with during his service. Although he wanted to be amused by it, his jaw tightened as he clicked on the replay button again. 

In the years following the Stormfront scandal, he had developed a somewhat thicker skin. The public’s vicious reaction had made him numb to most accusations, especially after the whiplash provoked by what he endearingly referred to as the Apology Tour. Still, there was something different in the woman’s words, in the contempt in her voice. Her defiance felt too… personal. 

“What gives you the right to decide who lives and who dies?” she’d said, her voice piercing through the tense silence of the room. “You level towns, you massacre innocents, and then you have the gall to play hero for the press?”

He felt the words in his bones, an unpleasant churning sensation that tugged at him like the bite of a thorn he couldn’t quite dislodge. It made no sense, of course. This woman was nothing. Less than nothing. He had no reason to worry about what she thought of him. And yet when he found a link to her Instagram profile as he scrolled down the comments, he found himself opening it. 

Noura Al-Sayed.

That was her name. 

A video flickered to life, revealing the woman walking through rubble-strewn streets, narrating the aftermath of a military operation. Her words were steady, powerful, painting a picture of horror and loss. Homelander’s face twitched as he watched her carefully pick her way through what had once been a school, her voice never wavering, her eyes dark and steady. Dead children. A smart choice—the media always fell for that.

“Un-fucking-believable,” he muttered to himself, trying to summon the disgust he normally felt toward rebels, protesters, or anyone who dared defy him. Instead, he felt curious. Surprised. She wasn’t like the mud people who usually stared up at him, wide-eyed and trembling, begging for mercy, desperate for a scrap of his attention. 

She wanted nothing from him. She just wanted him gone. 

His thumb hovered over her profile picture. A simple, candid photo where she wasn’t looking at the camera but off to the side, caught in some quiet moment of contemplation. He knew he should scroll past, should stop staring, but his fingers didn’t move. He felt himself searching her expression, drawn to the way her brows knitted together, the intensity in her bright hazel eyes.

She’s a threat, he told himself, clicking through to another video she’d posted earlier that day. In it, she spoke passionately at a rally, her aggressive rhetoric bordering on recklessness. Dependency theory, unlawful occupation, cultural colonialism. Very complicated words, for someone whose first language wasn’t English. 

Just another troublemaker, Homelander thought derisively. The words felt hollow, though. Al-Sayed was different from other high-brow bleeding hearts he’d come across. Her outrage wasn’t calculated or forced. It was raw, fueled by pain and anger in a way that even he, in some dark corner of himself, could recognize. She was fighting for something she believed in, something that felt real to her.

“Are we really doing this?” A voice sneered in his mind, breaking through the quiet. “She’s just some woman. Some insolent, loud-mouthed, puritan old hag. And yet here you are, obsessing over her like a fool. What is it that you’re scared of?”

Homelander forced himself to tear his gaze away from the screen, scowling at the reflection in the dark window across from him. Scared? No, that was ridiculous. She didn’t scare him. She was just a phony little activist, a civilian caught up in a conflict far beyond her comprehension. His hands itched to click back, though, to watch her videos once more.

“Just some woman…” he said aloud, looking for reassurance in the sound of his own voice. It came out softer than he intended, though, laced with a trace of doubt.

The courtyard was cloaked in shadows, the thick, warm air hanging heavy as murmurs passed between the dozen or so people gathered there. Noura scanned the faces surrounding her, illuminated by the faint light from a single, weak bulb hanging from a cord above. She felt the weight of their expectations, and, deeper still, the tremor of fear she was still learning to ignore. It was not an ordinary meeting. Each person present understood that they were taking great risks.

Noura took a breath, quieting her racing heart. “Our goal is to expose the truth,” she began, her voice low but unwavering. “What happened in Nineveh, and what’s still happening in towns like ours, needs to be seen by the world. No one else is going to tell our story, so it’s up to us.”

Across from her, Rami Haddad nodded, his camera already recording. He kept his voice just above a whisper. “They’ll try to twist everything you say. They’ll call you terrorists, fanatics, but you can’t let it affect you.” His eyes looked tired, shadowed by sleepless nights. He had worked harder than any of them to make these meetings happen. For years, he had been documenting the dark side of the war, sidestepping danger and authorities. At last, his work was bearing fruit. 

“Be strong,” Noura continued. “If we let them break us, then everything we’ve lost means nothing.” 

Rami reached into his bag and pulled out a stack of pamphlets they’d hastily printed. “Help us get these out. We need to show people what’s happening here. Spread the word through every channel we have.”

Noura took a pamphlet from the stack and passed it to a man beside her. One by one, she handed them out. “Get these to the neighborhoods, the universities, the shops. Anywhere people gather.” Her voice grew steadier as she continued, “We’re not just victims, and we’re not invisible. We won’t let them silence us.”

Later, as the gathering dismantled, a hand tugged at her sleeve. Noura turned to see Fatima, her face pale under her hijab, brows knitted in worry.

“Noura,” Fatima murmured, so the others wouldn’t hear. “This is dangerous. You’re drawing too much attention to yourself. It’s only a matter of time before…” Her voice trailed off, but her eyes spoke the rest. She was scared, and it took every ounce of her courage to stay here despite that fear.

Noura softened. “I know what I’m doing, Fatima.” Her words came out more confident than she felt. She reached out, giving Fatima’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “But we can’t turn back now. If we don’t speak, who will?”

Fatima’s expression remained troubled, but she nodded, gripping Noura’s hand tightly before letting go.

As she was preparing to leave, Rami caught her attention, his face etched with both worry and curiosity. “I found something you should see.”

He lifted his phone. Noura leaned in, her heart skipping as she saw herself on the screen, her voice rising in defiance at the press conference, the words still clear in her mind. “You call yourself a hero, but all you’ve brought us is death and ruin!”

In the footage, she could see Homelander’s face, the flicker of anger barely concealed behind his forced smile. She hadn’t noticed it in the moment. Now it was impossible to miss, though. Rami swiped through the trending posts, her face filling feeds across Twitter, Instagram, TikTok.

“You know what this means,” he murmured, glancing up at her. There was, surprisingly, no reproach in his gaze. “We wanted to be careful, to stay in the shadows as much as possible. But that’s over now. Everyone’s seen you, and you’re trending. They’ll know who you are.”

Noura took a step back. The flicker of doubt she’d pushed aside in the past began to burn a little brighter. She knew what she was doing—or at least, she’d thought she did. But now, staring at her own face on the screen, watching the way people shared and reacted to her words, she felt the enormity of it all.

“This is what we wanted,” she whispered to herself, hoping her own words would steady her. It had been an impulsive decision, careless, but she couldn’t change it now. Noura met Rami’s gaze and managed a shaky smile. “I’m not backing down.”

Homelander hovered above the flickering streetlights, nearly invisible against the midnight sky as he watched the protest unfold below. The Presidential Palace loomed nearby, a stark white against darkness. The following day, it would host a meeting between the Syrian government and a high-level US delegation. 

The reason for his arrival to Damascus was pragmatic, on paper—the American attendants needed someone to guard them, to make them feel safe in a savage, war-torn region. Homelander knew better, though. He was there to pose for the cameras, make the military look powerful and in-control. Still, he found himself breaking protocol, as he so often did these days. 

He was done with being relegated to be a phony little ken doll by bureaucrats and fools. This was not like back in the US, back with Vought. Homelander had a purpose here.

The crowd gathered just outside the gates was sparse, but big enough to warrant a quick sweep of the premises. Below, Al-Sayed stood at the heart of the crowd, microphone in hand, leading her followers in chants against foreign occupation. Her words rang clear and sharp, echoing off the surrounding buildings. Despite the limited numbers, every phrase seemed to vibrate with a sense of raw urgency.

Homelander narrowed his eyes, watching the way her face lit up with passion everytime a new agitator joined the protest. He was there to monitor them, to make sure things didn’t get out of hand. That was his duty, whether his superiors wanted to acknowledge it or not. At a time like this, the Homelander was not meant to be a spectator. He was here on official matters, America’s finest weapon, always ready to strike fear into the heart of the enemy. 

Still, he found himself hovering there longer than he meant to, gaze always fixed on Al-Sayed. She was a small woman in her mid to late thirties. Her light-colored clothing made her stand out in the crowd—a pink veil with a white tunic-like garment. There was something electric about her presence. Despite her unassuming size, she stood with a steady, defiant strength. Her words seemed to lodge themselves into the hearts of the people, to awaken something dormant within them.  

He hated it, he realized, the way she made him feel as though he were the one who lacked strength. Inside her burned a fire that he couldn’t fathom, a passion that came from something deeper than duty, image or fame.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he muttered to himself. No matter how hard he tried, the sting of her words wouldn’t disappear—her accusation, her challenge delivered before a room full of cameras. Her voice had been just as steady then, each sentence carefully aimed. He’d been through worse confrontations, faced greater enemies. Why would such an innocuous creature leave a mark on him? 

“What’s got you so rattled, old sport?” The voice slid into his mind again, sharp and vicious.

Homelander clenched his jaw, forcing down the instinct to snap at the specter of himself. Now more than ever he felt unwilling to indulge it. 

“She’s nothing. Just another rabble-rouser,” he muttered. “A whiny nobody in need of attention.”

“Who are we talking about, again?” the voice taunted, the jab clear in his hollow sneer. “Come on, John. If she’s so insignificant, why do you keep watching her? You could be anywhere else. Anywhere in the world. Why are you here, hovering in the shadows like a ghost? Are you hoping she’ll look up and notice you?”

Homelander felt a flicker of rage at that. It was not about the woman. He was here to protect, to serve, to impose order.

Yet, as he continued to watch the protest, he felt something tighten in his chest. There was a fierce sincerity in her, a connection with the people around her that he envied. She didn’t need a million dollar PR team. She didn’t need flashy powers or a designer suit. Her words alone, her raw courage, seemed enough to seduce the crowd, to hold them in place.

He hovered there, torn between disgust and fascination. The weight of his gaze pressed down on her, but she didn’t look up, didn’t flinch. She remained focused, her voice rising with every chant, every phrase meant to drive home her point.

A stone clattered against the pavement below, jolting Homelander from his thoughts. One of Al-Sayed’s supporters had turned, aiming a rock toward an American patrol stationed a few yards away. The rock struck the ground just shy of the soldiers, who immediately tensed, their hands reaching for their rifles.

Homelander’s scowl deepened. This was exactly what he expected from a gathering like this—violence, mindless vandalism. Al-Sayed didn’t move. Didn’t raise her hand to stop her supporter or even acknowledge the act. Her focus remained on the people, her words flowing, uninterrupted.

The protest was turning, and it could escalate if he let it. She was their voice, their spark. A strange longing twisted uncomfortably within him. 

He stayed until the mob dispersed. 

It was a quiet night, the silence broken only by the occasional clamor of distant voices or the low hum of passing cars. Up on the rooftop across from her apartment, Homelander lingered in the darkness, feeling like an intruder yet rooted to the spot, unable to look away. In the dim light of her window, he could make out the figure of Al-Sayed leaning against the windowsill. Her shoulders slumped slightly, exhaustion etched into her posture. Her hijab was still in place, though her hands toyed with its edges absently, as if itching to take it off. Homelander stared, unblinking.

He didn’t quite understand why he was there, watching her from the shadows of a rooftop—a place meant not for heroes but for apparitions and slimy cowards. There was so much to do, preparations to be made, and yet here he was, glued to a moment he had no business intruding on. He told himself he was simply checking up on her, making sure she wasn’t stirring up any more trouble after today’s events, but the excuse felt flimsy even to him. He stayed where he was, hovering in secret just beyond her world.

He watched as she stood by the window, eyes closed, breathing deeply. She seemed tired. Not as strong as before. The way she looked in that dim light, poised yet burdened, was oddly haunting. Her fingers ran over her neck again, and this time, she slowly began to unwind her hijab, letting it slip from her hair in a careful motion. Homelander caught his breath. 

It was only a quick flash. Dark hair spilling over her shoulders, fingers combing through the strands as if savoring the feeling of being unencumbered. Something about it disturbed him, made him feel that he was peering into something forbidden, not meant for his eyes to see. He looked away. 

“Let’s not pretend. You’re not here because you’re on some noble mission,” the voice said, dripping with a mixture of contempt and delight. “ You know you could crush her, right? All it would take is a flick of your wrist, and she’d be gone. Real easy, Johnny. Deal with the threat, snuff out that little fire she’s got burning.”

The thought made something rebel inside him. He glanced back at Al-Sayed. She’d opened the window, and her hijab was back on. Her gaze drifted out over the street below, a small crease of worry in her brow. Her face, framed by shadows, seemed softened, even vulnerable. Had she noticed him? Sometimes people did, even if they couldn’t see him. An instinctive response.

It was back, that longing from before. She looked human, he realized. Painfully human, like someone who still believed the world could be good if she fought for it. Homelander felt a pang of envy—for that fire, for that faith she seemed to carry so easily, as if it were some vulgar tricket and not a precious stone. 

There was a ringing in his head, someone screaming. “Shut up,” he muttered, covering his face, a sharp whisper in the silence.

The voice only chuckled, curling into his thoughts like a poisonous snake. “So, what’s the real reason you’re here, then?” It asked, teasing, pushing. “If you don’t want to destroy her, why keep watching her like this? You wanna fuck her, is that it? Or maybe you’re afraid of her? Malala’s different, I’ll give her that. Smart enough to take one look at you and see what you really are—a hollow shell.”

Homelander’s fists clenched as he tried to shake off the creeping unease the words stirred in him. It was just his own mind, playing tricks on him, nothing more. Al-Sayed was a pest, a nuisance—an ordinary woman with an overinflated sense of justice. 

“She knows nothing about me,” he muttered, gaze narrowing as he studied her from afar. “Nothing.”

“Oh, she knows enough,” the other scoffed, derision dripping from his tone. “Enough to see past your celebrity smile and your cute little act. To her, you’re just a fake, a monster masquerading. And you know what? It scares you, because you know she’s right.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Homelander said, harsher than he meant to.

Across the street, the light in Al-Sayed’s apartment flickered off. Her silhouette remained by the window for a moment, a slender shape against the darkness, before she slipped out of view completely. The night seemed to press in around him now, swallowing up the space where she’d been. 

It was a wasteland, now. The remains of the village crumbled around Homelander as he strode through smoke and dust. Shadows flickered in his periphery, bodies scattered among the rubble, some still breathing, others not. He barely looked at them. His objective was clear, simple—eliminate the insurgent stronghold, neutralize the threat. 

That’s what General Thompson had said in his crisp, military tone—the kind that always grated on him because it was not a request, not a suggestion, but an order. Usually, it was easy to tune out the details, to simply tear through the mission and let instinct take over. That’s how he usually approached it. No real thought involved.

He stepped over a fallen beam, his boots crunching through the debris. A sudden movement caught his eye. A rebel crawled from beneath a shattered wall, his face smeared with dust and blood. His arm was twisted at an unnatural angle. Homelander closed the distance in seconds, his hand clamping around the man’s neck, lifting him with ease.

“What’s the matter, champ?” He asked, his voice smooth and deadly sweet. “They left you here to die, didn’t they? So much for brotherhood.”

The rebel’s eyes narrowed, hatred burning in his gaze. When he spoke, his voice was thick with scorn, but the meaning of the words escaped Homelander. The man spat at him, saliva mixed with blood landing on his cheek. Homelander’s jaw tightened, and without a second thought, he backhanded the man, sending him crashing against the wall. 

The rebel’s jaw hung at a grotesque angle, broken, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth, but his eyes remained defiant, unyielding. “Hurts,” he choked out, his words slurred and mangled. Across his face a deranged smile unfolded. “All you are. Just pain, destruction. Anti shaytan.”

The words stung in a way Homelander hadn’t expected, cutting through the thick layer of rage and landing somewhere deeper. He gritted his teeth. How presumptuous. Why would he care what this insignificant speck of a man thought? He was the Homelander, the strongest being on the planet. The world looked up to him as a symbol of hope, of power.

Then why did these words echo, sinking into him, refusing to be shaken off, even as he walked out of the stronghold bathed in blood and entrails, screams of death still fresh in his mind?

He turned, his gaze sweeping over the smoldering remains of the village. His work here was almost done; the rebels were either dead or fleeing, their hideout reduced to little more than a smoking ruin. It should have been satisfying, should have left him feeling triumphant, the same rush he always felt after a successful mission.

Tonight felt different, though.

In the distance, he saw a lone figure hunched over, one of the last survivors. He approached. The tension simmering inside him threatened to boil over. Each step felt like a march toward something he couldn’t name, a confrontation he wasn’t ready for.

The figure looked—a young woman, eyes wide with fear, her face streaked with ash. She backed away, crawling over the rubble, her gaze never leaving his. Homelander paused, his fists clenched, every muscle in his body taut with frustration. This was what he was here for, wasn’t it? To instill fear, to make them understand the price of defiance.

He stared in silence, unwilling to acknowledge this unknown weakness that seemed to grip him. The woman closed her eyes. She was ready for the end. Without another word, Homelander turned away, leaving the girl behind. Even if she were to tell her story, no one would believe her. 

When he returned to the base, Thompson was waiting for him.

“Well done,” he said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Another stronghold taken out. Effective as always, Homelander.”

Homelander nodded, barely registering the words. Usually, he would feel pride, he would revel in the praise, but it was as if a fog had settled over him, dulling every sensation, every thought. Thompson was just noise, barely breaking through the haze.

“There was a… delay, Sir,” Homelander muttered, his voice flat.

Thompson’s eyes narrowed slightly, his expression flickering with curiosity. “Is that so? I wasn’t aware that a few rebels could slow you down. You’re practically unstoppable.” Even though he knew it was meant as flattery, there was a smugness in his tone that Homelander didn’t like.

He forced a smile, but it felt like a thin mask, one that could shatter at any moment. “The locals, they… Well, we got caught up in a little resistance. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Oh, that. You know how it is, it won’t be an issue.” Thompson nodded, seeming satisfied. He patted Homelander on the shoulder again, his gaze filled with an admiration that felt more like ownership. “You did well tonight. Another mission completed, another victory for our side.”

Homelander nodded again. For the first time, Thompson’s praise felt like ash in his mouth, hollow and meaningless. There was no satisfaction in it, no sense of accomplishment. Just an aching void that seemed to stretch wider with every word of approval.

As he walked away from Thompson, his mind drifted back to the village, to the broken bodies left behind, to the rebel’s words echoing in his mind. Anti shaytan. After two years in Syria, Homelander understood little to no Arabic, and that was fine. He had no interest in learning that strange, savage language. He’d picked up on a few words, though, almost against his will. Enough to understand what the rebel had meant to say. 

You’re a demon.

Something inside him had shifted. Homelander was dimly aware of it. A crack had formed in the carefully constructed facade he had built for himself. And somewhere, in the back of his mind, he heard that mocking voice, a sneer cutting through the silence.

“Is that what bothers you?” It whispered, dripping with disdain. “That they don’t love you? That all this power, all this strength, means nothing if they don’t believe you’re a hero?”

Homelander clenched his fists, fighting against the anger that simmered within him. He didn’t need these taunts, didn’t need the doubt that seemed to gnaw at his very core. He was the Homelander, the strongest man on Earth, a symbol of power and strength. He didn’t need their approval.

Thompson was pleased with him. He had done what was expected of him, had completed his mission efficiently, and that was enough. It had to be. 

[justgottafinishthischapter]

The Subcategories of Fantasy

As an author who loves Fantasy, I wanted to help my fellow writers understand all of the different elements that fantasy can fall under, ranging from the well-known to the specific. I figured that doing so could help other writers like myself understand exactly what sort of story they’re writing, and how these stories differ from one another. I’ll also be giving examples of these types of stories, as well as my own thoughts on the different genres at the end.

What is Fantasy?

Fantasy in its simplest term, is any form of media that diverges from the mundane reality of our ordinary everyday world in one facet or another. A story does not need to have magic, or dragons, or princesses to be called a fantasy story. While those are common motifs, in truth, all it takes to be considered fantasy is to not adhere to the real world in one form or another. Good Omens is a fantasy story, despite having no dragons or princesses anywhere. A Song of Ice and Fire has dragons and princesses, but magic is scarce and seldom ever seen. The Song of the Sea has a lot of magic, but a lot fewer dragons.

MEDIEVAL FANTASY

 The story takes place in a fantastical world of the author’s design with a medieval or renaissance inspired setting, world view, and/or political structure. Renaissance Fantasy doesn’t really tend to exist on its own, so any setting with Renaissance aspects tends to just get lumped in with Medieval Fantasy. I don’t even really need to explain this one to you. It’s the most common subgenre of fantasy. A medieval fantasy does not have to be set in the real medieval period of Earth’s history, but rather, a medieval fantasy is any story set in a fantastical world that makes use of a medieval-based society as its setting.

HISTORICAL FANTASY 

This is a story in which fantastical elements are included in real world historical settings. This is any historical setting where there’s a King of England but also a dragon or trolls to deal with. There’s almost this sort of unspoken rule that any story set in Ancient Greece will inevitably be Historical Fantasy. Arthurian Fantasy, Mythology Fantasy, and Fable Fantasy could all be considered subcategories of Historical Fantasy, since most instances of these genres would be classified as Historical Fantasy, though there are exceptions. As an example, Once Upon a Time and the Fables comics series are both Fable Fantasies, but are not Historical Fantasy. Likewise, Rick Riordian’s Percy Jackson-verse is clearly Mythology Fantasy, but is not Historical Fantasy. Classic examples of Historical Fantasy would include tales like Beowulf, The Journey to the West, and Robin Hood. It’s worth mentioning that technically, a story is not Historical Fantasy if it’s set in the era it was written in. However, the Illiad was set in Mycenaean Greece, Robin Hood’s rivalry with Prince John was a later addition to the folklore, and most Arthurian mythos was penned long after the supposed real world figure might have lived and died. But, any story set in a contemporary modernity, such as Percy Jackson, will eventually become Historical Fiction as time moves forward, though it clearly was not written to be that way.

MYTHOLOGY FANTASY

Angels, Demons, Gods, the Underworld, mythological heroes, this is a supercategory that encompasses everything from The Chronicles of Narnia to Supernatural, as well as Good Omens, American Gods, Sandman, Rise of the Guardians, Percy Jackson, Paradise Lost, Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel, Smite: Battleground of the Gods, Teen Titans, Dante’s Inferno, and Lore Olympus. Some people get squeemish about lumping Judeo-Christian ideologies in with Mythology (even though it is a mythology) such that the Christian sub-category sometimes gets called Religious Fantasy or Bible Fantasy. But regardless, this is the category for any sort of fantastical work in which supernatural forces are at work. Some divide this section differently. For instance, some will say that since faeries are part of Irish mythology that faeries count as part of mythology fantasy, while others will argue that this is more for the religious aspect of fantasy, with things like vampires and faeries relegated to a subcategory of more generic fantasy creatures.

ARTHURIAN FANTASY

The story revolves around Arthurian mythos. Whether it’s set in the real world of Britain, a fantasy counterpart to Britain, or in some author-created setting, King Arthur is still King Arthur. Sometimes, though very rarely, Arthurian stories have little to no magic, fusing this subgenre with Historical Fiction and not Historical Fantasy. While Arthurian mythos has evolved over the years, the big players are practically household names. Most people are unfamiliar with Sir Galehaut and Sir Dinadin, but almost everyone recognizes Arthur, Guinevere, Lancelot, Merlin, and all the other big players in Arthurian folklore. However, Arthurian myth effectively spans the entire breadth of the Medieval Period, first being mentioned in the Annaels Cambriae which places Arthur in 6th Century Britain, and his stories continued to be written until Le Mort d’Arthur in 1485. Keep in mind, the Medieval Period is from 476 - 1500, and Arthurian mythos spans about 800-900 of those 1,024 years. Due to his story spanning so much time, many elements of Arthur’s story have been forgotten or quietly put aside over time. Try to tell someone that Arthur put every newborn born in the month of may on a boat and sank it to prevent the prophecy of Mordred from coming true, and you’ll probably get a bunch of horrified looks from people who swear up and down that the Good King Arthur would never do anything so cruel. Even other elements shifted around. Ask who mordred’s parents are, and you could argue Arthur, Morgan le Fey, Morgause, Anna, King Lot, and more. Depending on how deep down the rabbit hole you’re willing to go, you can read stories of King Arthur fighting his nephew Oberon for control of Fairyland. Arthurian mythos, like mythology fantasy, tends to get the curbside drive-by approach. People repeat the elements they’ve heard a million times, while never dusting off any of the lesser known elements that would give the story a breath of fresh air.

FABLE FANTASY

Technically, all Arthurian Fantasy falls under this umbrella. Fable Fantasy is the genre term for fantasy based on fables, folk tales, and folkloric figures. Robin Hood, Reynard the Fox, Fairy Tales, Mother Goose, Baba Yaga, if it has persisted through generations of storytelling, and has had a lasting impact on the cultures that know the story, it can be considered a Fable Fantasy. Any story that pulls from these elements can likewise be considered Fable Fantasy because they are pulling from these fabled origins. So, a retelling of Beauty and the Beast is a Fable Fantasy... unless the storytelling has twisted the story so much that it’s no longer in the Fantasy genre. For more variations of this genre, well-known pop culture characters, much like Robin Hood and Fairytale characters, can be considered Fable Fantasy. So, Frankenstein’s Monster, Dracula, Santa Claus, the Grim Reaper, Peter Pan, the Phantom of the Opera, the Wizard of Oz, and other commonly retold folk characters can be thought of as more contemporary Fable fantasies. As such, both Wicked and The Phantom of the Opera can be considered Fable Fantasy musicals, as well as the more obvious Into the Woods. Once Upon a Time and the Fable comic series are both modern Fable Fantasy stories. Not all Fable Fantasy narratives are retellings of classic folktales. Peter Rabbit, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Peter Pan, and The Wizard of Oz have all become widely considered folkloric staples, despite being written in the 19th and 20th centuries. Over the Garden Wall, a Cartoon Network miniseries from 2014, is considered to be a modern fairy tale, despite not being an adaptation of any other story, but instead using the tropes and ideas common to traditional old-school fairy tales. When they enter the public domain, I suspect that Dr. Seuss’ characters will likewise be effectively Fable Fantasy, well-known characters that see use and reuse over and over again in other media. Shrek and Disenchantment take a satirical approach to Fable Fantasy, poking fun of Disney and other fairytale narratives and tropes. 

HISTORICAL ROMANTICISM

This setting often goes hand-in-hand with Arthurian Fantasy and Fairy Tales. This is any story that romanticizes and glorifies life in a historical setting. Popular variants include Medieval Romanticism, stories which romanticize medieval settings, Victorian Romanticism or Edwardian Romanticism, for stories that romanticize the time period between 1837-1913, and Period Romanticism, which is more of a blanket term that glorifies the eras popular with Period movies, namely, the 19th century, but sometimes earlier as well. Full of handsome princes, fair damsels, large palace-like castles, and knightly codes of honor, historically inaccurrate period gowns, debutante balls, and steamy Jane Austen-style love affairs, this story paints the past with the most optimistic and flattering image possible. Everything is flowery, poetic, and awe-inspiring. This is the type of setting Sansa Stark thought she was in at the start of A Game of Thrones before G.R.R Martin pulled the rug out from under her and revealed Westeros to be a Cynical Low Fantasy. By the very virtue of the company’s child-friendly marketing, Most Disney movies, and by extension, most movies set in the past aimed at children can likewise be categorized as Historical Romanticism, as they brush the darker side of history under the rug. The Princess Bride, Bridgerton, Don Bluth’s Anastasia, and most versions of Robin Hood and Arthurian mythos fall into this category. For contrast, Downton Abbey is not Edwardian Romanticism even though it tries to make life in the 1910s look glamorous, it’s also not afraid to blatantly point out the economic and socio-political issues that were going in in the world at the time. Downton Abbey does not sugar coat the darker side of history, and can therefore not be considered Historical Romanticism.

HISTORICAL CYNICISM

The exact opposite, Historical Cynicism is the name I give to settings that use the trope “The Dung Ages”. Like Historical Romanticism, the most popular variant of this category is Medieval Cynicism. These settings seek to make life in historical time periods look as miserable and depressing as possible. They are designed to make life seem bleak, undesirable, and disgusting. Monty Python and the Holy Grail and Disenchantment take a comedic approach to this, while A Song of Ice and Fire gives a more Epic Fantasy take. Sweeney Todd makes life in Victorian London look positively putrid, and that’s without the cannibalism subplot. The Witcher games seem to merge Medieval Cynicism with Dark Fantasy and Horror Fantasy. This subgenre hinges on Dark Fantasy, but the two are distinct from one another. Expect plenty of plagues, muted color pallets, a cruel aristocracy that enjoys crushing the lower classes under its heel, and mud or dung on everything.

HIGH FANTASY

 Magic and fantastical elements are abound in this setting. Expect wizards, dragons, fantastical races, and more. Very frequently overlaps with Epic Fantasy, though they are different. The Lord of the Rings is classic High Fantasy. Most Dungeons & Dragons settings are also High Fantasy, as is The Legend of Zelda. Avatar: the Last Airbender is a High Fantasy Wuxia show, though Legend of Korra veers more toward Historical Fantasy, Steampunk, and Magitech Fantasy with its 1920s Shanghai meets New York City hub location of Republic City. The Elder Scrolls is also a High Fantasy, with plenty of elven races, the Beast Races, and star signs that actually impact those born under them. Each province has its own sort of vibe or subgenre, with High Rock being more Medieval Romanticism while Skyrim is more Dark Fantasy or Medieval Cynicism, but as a whole, Tamriel falls under the High Fantasy umbrella.

LOW FANTASY 

A medieval setting where magic and fantastical elements are rare, if not nonexistent. A Song of Ice and Fire is an excellent example. Magic is real and does exist, but it only rarely comes into play. Magic is extremely scarce, and most people one might meet are humans. Even the sight of someone casting the simplest spell is so rare in Westeros that it’s practically unheard of, and the few supernatural elements that do exist in the setting live far out into the wilderness, rarely being seen by people. It’s quite rare to find completely fictional fantasy settings with no magic whatsoever, but they do exist.

EPIC FANTASY 

This is any fantasy story on an epic scale. I’m talking well over 50+ named characters. A Song of Ice and Fire, The Wheel of Time, Lord of the Rings, all of these are Epic Fantasy. Yes, these stories usually end up with long book series and a lot of words behind them, but I am defining a genre, not a reading level. Epic Fantasy is about scope, not page length. Common sights in Epic Fantasy are grand battles, multiple POVs, world-spanning events, extremely high stakes, very powerful players in the narrative, and The Final Battle Between Good and Evil.

QUEST FANTASY

Any fantasy work which is primarily driven by The Epic Quest. Often overlaps with Chosen One narratives. Lord of the Rings, Eragon, The Legend of Zelda, Avatar: the Last Airbender, and the Percy Jackson books are all examples of Quest Fantasy. The bulk of the narrative is centered on The Journey and the trouble the heroes run into along the way, or are otherwise all about The Adventure, not the destination. Our band of heroes have a goal given to them and the story is focused on following the heroes on their journey. However, this is not strictly a Chosen One category. The Legend of Korra is a Chosen One Fantasy, but is not a Quest Fantasy because Korra’s main objective changes every season. Percy Jackson toes the line due to the Oracle’s prophecies, but I wouldn’t call him a Chosen One because his birth wasn’t written in the stars or anything. He just happens to be a child of Poseidon and at the center of the story. If you switched him out for Nico di Angelo or Jason Grace, the story is still functional. In Lord of the Rings, Aragorn is the True King, but Frodo is the protagonist, so I wouldn’t call Lord of the Rings a Chosen One Fantasy either. This can also tip into other genres. Monty Python and the Holy Grail is a Quest Fantasy. The entire premise of the movie is Arthur and his knights questing for the Holy Grail. Likewise, The Princess Bride is all about Wesley’s quest to rescue Princess Buttercup from Prince Humperdink. Treasure Planet is a steampunk quest fantasy telling the story of Jim’s search for Flint’s treasure, where the journey there is the bulk of the story. Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas is a quest fantasy with elements of Historical Fantasy and Mythology Fantasy all about Sinbad’s perilous voyage to the edge of the world to save his friend’s life.

DARK FANTASY

It’s like normal Fantasy, but bleaker and darker. The Witcher and Skyrim are good examples of Dark Fantasy, where monsters roam the wilderness, and people live in fear of the unknown beyond the safety of their villages. The general tone is more cynical, desolate, or hopeless. Some Dark Fantasy is more about just being gloomy or creepy. The movies Labyrinth and Dark Crystal are two good examples of a Dark Fantasy that’s less bleak as they are weird, yet still dark. The Black Cauldron is a perfect example of a Dark Fantasy with a dreary and macabre aesthetic paired with a genuinely horrifying necromancer villain. Pan’s Labyrinth is another good example of a Dark Fantasy. Over the Garden Wall and A Tale so Dark and Grimm are both Dark Fantasy stories as well as Fable Fantasies, reveling in the darker aspects of Grimm fairy tales.

HORROR FANTASY

It’s like Dark Fantasy, but scarier. Expect there to be horrifying monsters unlike any seen on earth. Your protagonist is probably either hunting or being hunted by something horrible. Either a monster is trying to kill them, the world is trying to kill them, the gods or demons are trying to kill them, or magic is trying to kill them. Again, The Witcher is a great example of Horror Fantasy. Geralt is a hunter of monsters, and often fights things like Werewolves, ghouls, wraiths, and lesheys. Red Riding Hood (2011) is a great example of a vaguely medieval Horror Fantasy. Depending on where you stop the line at what’s horror, what’s fantasy, and what’s Horror Fantasy, you could justify just about anything as Horror Fantasy. From The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim with its undead Draugr and vampire clans, to Resident Evil VII with its vampires, or even certain Scooby-Doo! media (though Scooby-Doo! is certainly on the mild end of horror.)

PARANORMAL FANTASY

Unlike Dark Fantasy or Horror Fantasy, Paranormal Fantasy takes horror elements and spins them to be more romantic. This is where you’d slot in romantic or atmospheric ghost stories. Tales of witches and vampires in a macabre setting where they’re not the villains. The Addams Family fits the Paranormal Fantasy, as does Sweeney Todd, Sleepy Hollow, The Phantom of the Opera, Hotel Transylvania, most Scooby-Doo! media, Beetlejuice, the Halloweentown movies, The Nightmare Before Christmas, or Hocus Pocus. Basically, if it could be a child-friendly Halloween story, or was made by Tim Burton, it’s probably Gothic Fantasy. I guess you could also call this Monster Fantasy, Gothic Fantasy, or Spooky Fantasy.

CONTMPORARY FANTASY

The setting is medieval with castles and princesses, but there’ll also be modern conveniences or nods to pop culture in the land and setting. Dave the Barbarian is a good example of this. The royal family are all barbarians (which basically just means vague warriors that wear fur loincloths), but then they also have malls, and Dave made a megaphone out of a squirrel, some string, and a megaphone. Shrek does this too, especially in Far Far Away with nods to Starbucks and Burger King, among other modern franchises. Disenchantment also uses this as a basis for comedy. Typically, Contemporary Fantasy only uses modern conveniences in a medieval setting as more or less sight gags, punchlines, or to poke fun of corporations and consumerism. These are also the fantasy stories most likely to reexamine tropes and shine a critical light on the genre, whether by showing the farm-boy turned king being royally inept, the mental issues caused by locking the princess in a tower for years of her life, or how quickly princesses married the first man that came along without so much as a conversation beforehand.

URBAN FANTASY

The wizard has a smartphone, the prince has a Grindr, and the city watch patrol the streets on motorcycles. A standard fantasy world has come to the modern age, with skyscrapers, internet, cars, and cellphones. The familiar world gives the audience a firmer foot to ground themselves in this sort of story, compared to something set in the past, but it has its own hurdles. Namely, a modern world still needs a rich history. You also need a story that can’t be solved with a gun and an internet connection. Urban Fantasy is a very broad genre, from Hidden World Fantasy like Percy Jackson or Harry Potter, to Merged World Fantasy like RWBY. There’s also some head scratchers like the Warriors Cats books. It’s definitely Urban Fantasy. A cat society living in the forest is a fantasy, and the story is set in our modern contemporary world. But labeling the series beyond Urban Fantasy is where it gets tricky. Isekai borders on Urban Fantasy, as the magical overlaps with the modern world. The Magic Treehouse and the Arthur Spiderwick Chronicles are two great examples of Urban Fantasy in children’s literature. Goosebumps is Urban Horror Fantasy.

ISEKAI FANTASY

These are stories in which an ordinary human (or group of humans) are transported to another world in order to learn a lesson, grow, and come back home wiser, stronger, and ready to face the problems they ran away from. The Wizard of Oz, Peter Pan and Wendy, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, as well as movies like Stardust, Coraline, and Spirited Away, or TV shows like Over the Garden Wall, The Owl House, and Amphibia are all prime examples of this type of story. The Chronicles of Narnia is an excellent example because as the series goes on, the older Pevensee children stop needing to go back to Narnia. By Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Peter and Susan have learned all they need to from the other world, and don’t go back, leaving only Edmund and Lucy to go with their cousin instead. Because their arcs are over, they have no reason to return.

ROMANCE FANTASY

It’s a romance novel with supernatural elements. Usually, it’s a human falling in love with something inhuman, which we often call Paranormal Romance. However, this can also include stories of a fairy falling in love with a dwarf, so there’s a wider net here. This isn’t just a story with a romantic subplot, this is your Romeo and Juliet type love stories. Your Beauty and the Beast retellings. The romance is the main plot, and the supernatural elements simply make the romance more exciting or the problems of the couple more entangled in cultural baggage. Obviously, Twilight is a popular example, as is The Cruel Prince, The Captive Prince, and Of Beast and Beauty by Stacey Jay.

MAGITECH FANTASY

This is when a fantasy setting has magic-powered  technology. The guardians and Divine Beasts from Breath of the Wild are a fantastic example of Magitech in a medieval fantasy setting, as are the steam-powered automatons of the Dwemmer in The Elder Scrolls. The Legend of Korra sort of fits here. The world of Avatar has advanced to include airplanes, cars, and radios, none of which are powered directly by bending, but benders do work in power plants, performing lightning bending to generate electricity. It’s certainly a middle ground between steampunk and magitech fantasy. However, the world doesn’t have to necessarily include technology, any setting where magic is a power source for anything can work. Jak and Daxter: The Precursor Legacy is a great example of Magitech Fantasy. Eco is a natural magical resource that give magical powers and effects. So, having doors that open when exposed to the electrical energy of blue eco makes sense. And while it’s never stated, Jak II has many automatic doors in Haven City that may very well run on an electric power grid fueled by blue eco veins. But eco largely gets dropped in the sequel games in favor of guns, though the guns themselves may actually be powered by eco as well. So it’s hard to say. RWBY surprisingly fits into Magitech Fantasy. Like Eco, Dust is a magical natural resource that can be used to create magical effects. The world is full of airships, shape-changing weapons, bullets and other weapons being infused with dust to give them magical effects, and Penny, a definitely real girl.

GASLAMP FANTASY

This is what happens when Steampunk has just enough fantasy elements to land in the Fantasy section. Gaslamp Fantasy is any fantasy story set in the era of gaslamps, while still incorporating fantastical elements. Dracula, Springheel Jack, Mary Poppins, Peter Pan, Sherlock Holmes vs Dracula, basically, as long as it’s set in a Victorian setting and has supernatural elements, it counts as Gaslamp Fantasy. However, it’s definitely one of the less popular subgeneres, and I couldn’t really name any others.

WUXIA

A fantasy setting that focuses more on East Asian history, folklore, and mythology to craft its setting. Wuxia is a broad term, including everything from Spirited Away to Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and Dragonball. However, often times in fantasy, European-inspired regions are complicated and diverse, while Asian-inspired regions are homogenizing, if not orientalist. We can differentiate Irish, Scottish, and Welsh folklore from English, but somehow, not treating all Asian cultures like they’re the same is too taxing for some writers. So, if you’re going to tackle writing Wuxia Fantasy, do your homework, try to make the cultures thorough and intricate, and don’t profess yourself an expert on another person’s culture if you’re not Asian yourself.