#which does result in the very funny side effect that that would mean getting top surgery would nerf you. anyways

[infizero]

oh i should probably clarify also with that art that. in my hc afab inkfish's "boobs" are actually just extra ink sacs lol. so no nipples or anything. which is why. there aren't any in that drawing. just so we're all on the same page here

[mylifewasamazinguntiliwasborn]

So why do I think Dual Destinies is a dogshit game @elzux?

It all boils down to one very simple thing - almost nothing about the game feels like Ace Attorney.

I think the first important thing to note here is that by the time Dual Destinies came out, Ace Attorney had been my special interest for over 5 years. I was extremely familiar with the original trilogy, as well as Apollo Justice and both Investigations games. At that point I didn't dislike any of the games I had played, Apollo Justice was my least favourite but I still loved the game a lot.

Now to the meat. Why doesn't Dual Destinies feel like Ace Attorney? Let's break it down.

The dialogue - lacks the usual humour and snark. The game can't keep me focused on the dialogue. In a game where reading the dialogue is required to play the game. The dialogue is so, so boring and often nonsensical that I found myself skipping huge blocks of text, just because I either couldn't or didn't want to read what was going on. It's a massive drop in quality in a series that is known for its top tier dialogue, which usually effectively furthers both the plot and the characters. Here we instead have dialogue that feels like someone who only knew Phoenix Wright through early 2010s Youtube memes had written it. My favourite example is from DD-1 where Phoenix's inner dialogue reads (Noooo, come back my beautiful contradiction!). First glance, it's okay. Maybe even funny. Second glance, hold up. Phoenix would never think that. He might have used this as a punchline after 4-6 text boxes of lamenting, not just as a single one sentence reaction to one Objection by Payne, of all people.

The characters - closely tied to the dialogue. The returning characters don't act like themselves. The new characters are paper thin and without agency. The side characters are so boring I still barely remember anyone's names. Phoenix is stupid. Why is he stupid? Phoenix is goofy, yeah. He's a silly little guy. Sometimes he's slow, although his literal character arc of the first 3 games is becoming The Best Attorney Ever. He can't be stupid 10+ years into his career. Especially remembering that he JUST tried to reinvent the entire court system in his country (more on this later). That's simply not something an idiot or an incapable lawyer fucking does. Apollo isn't Apollo. He's given three new backstories here and in result, Apollo Justice ceased to exist. He was kind even if a little sarcastic, he was unsure about himself, and he was so willing to learn. And here? Here he's just a mean prick and a know-it-all. Yeah okay he's traumatised yadda yadda then why is he like that in DD-2 as well? You know, BEFORE his bEsT fRiEnD died? Also what fucking best friend? How about you talk about his mother instead? Why turn his cute speech patterns into some traumatic goddamn mess? Literally no one asked for that. Athena is an awful character for the first half of the game, then gets some meat, and is then devolved back to 0 by giving all her agency to Simon Blackquill. Amazing. THIS is the game series praised for its strong female characters? Give me a break. I don't know anything about Athena except that she's a polyglot and has PTSD. That's not a character, that's a plot device. Simon Blackquill is kinda okay but he's also the first major overstepping a line Ace Attorney does. His character is too ridiculous. Why is a death row convict a prosecutor. Even within the AA universe it just doesn't make sense. He's just too much. Bobby Fulbright/Phantom is the 3rd worst character of the entire series. Where is Klavier Gavin. And let's talk about character designs while we're here! They're awful! Not only are the 3D models ass, but Pearl Fey's aged up design is fucking horrendous! Also this is the first game that really feels like it was made for cosplayers. The characters don't feel like characters anymore. This is an anime convention in a courtroom, now.

The plot - again closely tied to the dialogue as dialogue is the main device used to move the plot along in Ace Attorney. It fucking sucks. The cases don't make sense. It's a trend started by AJ, but DD takes it a step or a hundred further. Every case is so deeply uninteresting that even after having now freshly played the first 2 cases, I couldn't really summarise their plots for you. Where's the motivation, or the motive for that matter? Who cares? Who are these people? The only interesting case is the last one, and it's only interesting because of the last half of it. That's where the game peaks, I'll admit it's even good for a moment there. Then it's of course brought down by the whole Phantom thing (refer to section "The characters"). It's so one-dimensional, something Ace Attorney has barely ever been before. It's like Berry Big Circus: The Game. I'm miserable writing this thinking about how I still have four more cases of this to go. But most importantly: WHY give Apollo all these fucking backstories? And WHY erase everything Phoenix did in AJ? Where's the jury? Why was it buried? What happened? What? Where's Klavier Gavin?

The game mechanics - this is huge. First off, let me go back to the beginning where I said by the time DD came out, I had already made Ace Attorney my entire personality. I knew those games through and through. There's this very specific Ace Attorney logic that one either has/learns along the way or doesn't. Like when you're cross examining and you can Just Tell what to press, or what to present, even if you're not entirely sure why. The games are intuitive, so to speak. Well, not DD! DD remains the only game in the series beside PLvsAA where I have to look up stuff in a guide or save scam to save my ass. DD diverts from the AA logic so much that playing it doesn't feel like Ace Attorney. I can excuse PLvsAA, it was a PL game to begin with so I can understand why sometimes the writing would be lacking, but the 5th installment of the main series!? No way. Also, the mood matrix is easy and stupid and comparable to how Pokémon for the past 10 years has tried to one up itself with each generation when there was no need. Mega evolution was great, why would we need all that other shit. Magatama was great, we don't need Perceive or Moods or Seances. Fuck you. Sorry I'm getting really riled up now. And finally, of course, the elephant in the room. Why. Why can you not examine each location? What? What the fuck? That's where the best dialogue happens. That's where you build the characters you fucking morons. In the background. That's why we have the entire stepladder thing. You can't just take that out. The moment I realised they had done this I lost all hope for the game and haven't seen it since. But Unski, there must be something you like about Dual Destinies, right? It can't all be that bad, right? Right?

Correct. Here's an exhaustive list of all the things I liked about Dual Destinies. -The OST was only the 3rd worst in the series. This isn't entirely on the composer though, it's also that while I like the orchestral arrangements well enough, they just don't quite hit the intensity I fell Ace Attorney deserves. Yes this includes DGS. -Speaking of OST, probably the best Truth theme of the series, and also some of the best Reminiscences are here. -Aura Blackquill is a solid good character with an interesting backstory and her own agenda. She is easily my favourite character in this game, and A tier in the over all series as well. -Phenomenal, haunting artwork. If you've played the game, you probably know which one I'm talking about. -Sometimes the cutscenes weren't entirely awful. -They brought back the black Psyche-Locks. If only they could have done that on someone more meaningful.

[awkward-gay-bro]

Just A Prank

“Hey guys, I’ve got something pretty funny in store for you today! Andrew aka LAHFW is staying the week at my place while his gets fumigated. We all know how much he loves pranks and magic...and I found a website dedicated to both!” Stuart walked over to his cupboard and pulled out a bottle. “The website is called ‘Presto’ and they guarantee to deliver. I ordered this bottle of ‘Presto: Hair-B-Gone’ and swapped it out for Andrew’s body wash. This should be great!”

“What the hell?!” The sounds of running water in the bathroom came to a halting stop. “Dude what the hell?!” Andrew swung the bathroom door open, glaring at Stuart. He no loner had any hair below his eyes, his body now smoother than the day he was born.”

Still looking at the camera, Stuart chuckled, “Don’t worry, man! It’s just a prank.”

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

“Alright guys, Stuart got me pretty bad in that last video. But I found his little website and made an order of mine. He swapped my body wash, so I swapped his!” Andrew lifted two bottles into view, one was the bottle of liquid that had removed all his hair. “This is what he used, so I figured I’d have to do him one better. This bottle is called ‘Double Bubble Bath’ it’s supposed to have some pretty cheeky side effects.”

The shower turned off and the bathroom door slammed loudly. The sounds of dresser doors repeatedly opening and slamming closed came from Stuart’s room and Andrew burst out laughing. “Having some troubles in there bud?”

“I think you know I am!” Stuart yelled back. “I can’t find anything that fits!’

Ten minutes passed, with just the sounds of Stuart grunting in pain as Andrew laughed hysterically. Then suddenly, the door to Stuart’s room opened. 

“Very funny.” Stuart was standing there in a pair of gym shortest that looked three sizes too small. “These shorts were the only thing I could fit in.” 

“I don’t think the camera can see why, why don’t you give us a little twirl?” Stuart followed suit, slowly doing a 360. His rear end had tripled in size, looking comically big on his otherwise fit frame. The fabric was pulled so tight across his cheeks you could tell he couldn’t find any underwear that still fit.

“I’m going to have to get a whole new wardrobe until this wears off. You know this means war.”

“It’s just a prank, right?”

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

“So Andrew took these pranks to a whole new lever, so I really had to step up my game. Lucky for me, I found the perfect thing on ‘Presto’ to knock him down a peg.” As Stuart backed away from the camera, his massive new rear end knocked over the chair behind him. “Oh, sorry guys, this thing still hasn’t gone down.” He leaned down to pick up the chair, unintentionally showing off his bouncing cheeks in the tightest pair of khakis he could fit into. The pants split straight down the middle, showing his underwear to the camera as the video cut away. 

The video cut back, and Stuart was now wearing a tight pair of running leggings. “We’re about to go for a run and I slipped something special from ‘Presto’ into his shoes. They’re called ‘Any Flats Soles.’ The description online said they’ll make any pair of shoes into the perfect flats, guaranteed to help you look shorter in any outfit.” Turning his face away from the camera, Stuart yelled, “You almost ready for our run?”

“Yeah, I just can’t find my running shoes. Have you seen them?” Andrew said from off camera. 

“They’re in the hall by the backdoor!” Stuart grabbed the camera and took it with him as he walked to the hall to watch his prank unfurl. He got there just in time to see Andrew tying his laces. 

“Why do you have the camera, what did you do?” But Andrew’s question was quickly answered as he dropped inch by inch, step by step. By the time he’d walked over to Stuart he was now craning his head to make eye contact with the man he’d previously had to look down at. 

“Oh gosh, you’re not even eye level with my shoulders now!” Stuart stuck out his hand and tousled Andrew’s hair. “We better get going! With those short legs this run is going to be way longer.”

Andrew lifted his shirt up, which was hanging to his knees, “I don’t think I’m going to make it very far unless I change.”

“Sucks when you have to buy new clothes,” Stuart turned to his side, showing off his gargantuan mounds in the tight leggings, “You’re probably going to have to check out the children’s section little guy. Don’t worry, it’s just a prank.”

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

“So you guys know Stuart and I are in a little bit of a prank war right now, and I definitely got the short end of the stick thanks to his latest video. He’s been calling me little ever since, so I have a little surprise of my own for him.” Andrew lifted up a tank top that looked massive next to his shrunken frame. “This is Stuart’s muscle tank he usually wears to work out. I swapped it out with a very special tank-top I got from ‘Presto.’ Shout out to ‘Presto,’ guys. They caught wind of our feud and actually sent this one free of charge!”

Andrew climbed down off of the stepping stool he’d placed in front of the camera. With his whole body in frame it was clearly visible he was wearing women’s work out sweats, the only ones that would fit right on his new proportions. “You might be noticing the wardrobe, Stuart offered to pick me up some clothes. I’m gonna go grab Stuart, hopefully we don’t miss the show.” Walking away from the camera it became visible the word “Sexy” written in glittery gold was stretched across Andrew’s perky little bubble.

“I’m heading out to my work-out, what do you need to show me,” Stuart said as they walked back into the view of the camera. 

“This should only take a second. Oh, the tag is still on your tank, let me get that for you!”

Andrew reached up and pulled the tag off Stuart’s top. “What I’ve had this tank for yea-” The second the tag left his tank Stuart’s body deflated like a balloon letting the air out. Every muscle on his body shrunk down until he was supply smooth all over. The only thing part of his body that didn’t shrink was the ghetto booty that jutted out from his now stick thin body. 

“What did you put on my tank-top?”

“That’s not your muscle tank, I swapped it out for a ‘Presto Muscle-less Tank’.”

“Dude. I just got new clothes.”

“It’s just a prank.”

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

“Okay, after our latest pranks both Andrew and I needed new clothes.  So I went out on another wardrobe run. That gave me the perfect opportunity for my next prank. He’s getting dressed now, so...let’s go see the results!”

Andrew walked out of his room, wearing a pair of women’s jeggings. “Real funny man, did you throw out all my underwear? This was the only thing I could find.” He rolled down his waistband just enough to show off the top off a metallic pink thong. “I’d rather wear my baggy old boxers then this.”

“Well I had to be sure you’d put them on, things feeling roomier?”

“What does that mean? Oh no, what are these supposed to do?” Andrew fled down the hall to examine himself off screen. 

“That was a pack of shrinky-dink thongs! You can probably guess at what those do.” Stuart laughed hysterically as Andrew shouted from off screen. 

“That’s way too far!”

“It’s just a prank!”

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

“Well, for some reason youtube demonetized both of us, so here we are on onlyfans. Get your mind out of the gutter, though! We are still all about the pranks. But this new prank I’ve got is definitely going to be worth the subscription.” Andrew pulled up what looked a normal bottle of baby powder. Before he could explain what it was, Stuart snuck up from behind him. 

“What are you doing?” Andrew yelled out. But Stuart wrestled him to the grown. Even without his muscles, he still outweighed Andrew at his diminutive new size. Stuart pinned Andrew to the ground and pulled out the ‘Muscle-less Tank’. Stuart maneuvered so he was sitting against Andrew’s chest shoving the tank over the smaller man’s head.  Andrew struggled to no avail. As soon as Stuart pulled both of his hands through the armholes the tank did its thing. Andrew’s muscles faded away almost instantly, but Stuart wasn’t done. He pulled out the bottle of ‘Double Bubble Bath’ and poured it onto the quickly thinning man. 

As soon as Stuart stood up, Andrew jumped to his feet and ran to his room. His ever expanding ass swaying as he ran. When he emerged from his room he dived straight for Stuart’s feet, shoving the ‘Any Flats Soles’ into his shoes. Even if though he could just get the tip of the soles in, they worked their magic. Stuart quickly started to shrink down until him and Andrew were on even footing. When they were looking eye to eye, Andrew tried to yank down Stuart’s slacks, but they were caught on his massive posterior. Andrew quickly changed gears and shoved the ‘Shrinky-Dink Thong’ into the pouch of Stuart’s underwear. With how strained his slacks were, the new adjustments to Stuart’s manhood were on full display, even though his clothes were now baggy everywhere else.

Stuart’s body hair started to fall out every below his eyebrows. “When did you?”

“I filled the pouch of the thong!”

Stuart tackled Andrew to the ground as Andrew’s phone started to ring. The phone fell out of his pocket as the two fell to the ground, sliding across the floor the momentum swiped to answer. 

“Hey Andrew, it’s Danny! I’m excited for our video today, I’m about five minutes away. Are you there? I can’t hear you. Sorry I must have bad service. Either way, see ya soon dude.”

As they were rolling around on the ground Andrew remembered the most recent prank he was going to pull. He jumped up to grab the powder and the label ‘Gay-by Powder’ became visible to the camera. Before he could get it opened Stuart tackled him to the ground and wrestled the bottle out of his hands. They continued rolling around on the ground, each wrestling the bottle out of the other’s hand before either could get it open. 

Danny knocked on the front door but no one answered. He’d known Andrew long enough though to feel comfortable letting himself in. But what he saw inside wasn’t the Anderw he knew. Instead, he saw two slim yet thicc men rolling around on the floor, fighting over something he couldn’t make out. When the two guys flipped positions, and he could see their faces, he was taken aback that it was Andrew and Stuart wrestling on the ground. 

“What the hell happened to you two?” 

Stuart was startled by the sudden shock of being caught in this compromising position, and Andrew took full advantage, grabbing the bottle. He couldn’t get the bottle to open with his dainty new hands, so he put his whole body into it. The force of it finally opening shot the powder all over the room, coating all three men. 

As the powder cleared, the two little twinks writhing on the ground had climbed to their feet. Danny was no longer looking down on the men with shock, but with lust. The twinks first locked eyes with each other before turning their cute faces up to the young jock standing between them. Danny took charge of the situation and ripped the slacks pants off both the other men. He pulled the little twinks into his arm as his pats began to tent. 

“I don’t know what this is,” Danny grabbed each of the twinks by their jiggling cheeks, “but I think I’m going to have a handful with the two of you.” He leaned down and planted a kiss on Stuart’s rosy lips, as he slipped a finger into Andrew’s crevice. Pulling his face away, he whispered, “Not that I’m complaining, but what’s going on?”

“It’s just a prank,” Andrew said between moans. “Good thing we’re on only fans.” Andrew sat the empty container on the desk by the camera, and the label came clearly into focus. “Warning: Do not mix Presto Products. Mixing products may permanently extend the effects.”

[astro-rain]

delicate; b.barnes

chapter eleven - “there’s a reason behind everything”

delicate masterlist

word count: 2k

synopsis: bucky and y/n endure an event of stressful affliction, followed by something... entrancing.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

It had been a few days. There hadn't been any more headaches or vomiting. He was glad that Y/N faced no more impediments after that. However, he can't say the same for himself.

The thrashing was violent, his limbs wrenching, muscles tensing. The sheet beneath him was damp from cold sweat. He hadn't had a nightmare this bad in a while.

Ghastly memories assaulted him, ripping him from reality and forcing him back into agony, torture, and trauma. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, but he wasn't sure if that was in the nightmare or real life. The lines of reality and dreamscape faded. He couldn't tell if he was awake, and panic metastasized throughout his body.

His arms were strapped down - yes, two of them. He couldn't tell if the other was metal or not; the only thing he could register was that he had zero control. He was exposed and helpless and right back where he was before. He had never gotten out. Hydra still had their chains around his neck, choking the humanity out of him, and violating his autonomy to make a monster out of a man.

He felt like a caged animal. All there existed was terror; he needed to get out and he didn't care if he had to cut off a body part to do it. He jerked his body and pulled his arms as hard as he could. He thrashed and thrashed, desperately trying to somehow find a way out of this hell. He tried to scream but his lungs were frozen, cracked and collapsed from the ice that they defiled him with.

Every nerve in his body was ignited, screeching to try to escape. The only coherent thought in his head was "get out." Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get—

The top of his head suddenly burned, pain radiating out in beats, like a heart rate. It was then when he realized he was awake. It was then when he realized he had flung himself up, causing his head to collide with the wooden slats of the top bunk. It was also at this point when he heard her voice.

"Bucky!" her voice shook intensely, worry bubbling from the back of her throat. "Oh my god."

Faintly, the fear in her voice registered somewhere in the back of Bucky's brain, but this had no effect on his entirely overstimulated nervous system. His reaction was visceral; he flinched hard, jolting away from Y/N and falling off the side of the bed. The floor was cold; he could feel it in his hand and knees as he knelt on all fours (all threes?) trying to catch his breath.

Y/N hurried around the bed and immediately dropped to the floor in front of him. Her hands were quivering in front of her, completely unsure of how he would react to being touched.

His eyes were glued to the floor beneath him, but in his peripheral he could see Y/N's legs. Suddenly, she knelt on her hands, trying to be as non-threatening as she could.

"Buck," she whispered. "It was a nightmare. It was just a nightmare. You're here, and you're just fine."

"Fuck," he whispered. His body was on fire; he wished it'd just calm down.

"Your hand's on the floor. What does the floor feel like?" she asked, in an attempt to detour his attention.

"Cold," he strained.

"Cold, yeah," she said. "Do you know why?"

He shook his head.

"It's because it's made of stone. Stone has a high thermal conductivity, which means it allows heat to flow through it quickly. The heat from your skin goes right into it and flows through really fast."

He pivoted his wrist slightly, smoothing the skin on his hand over the stone, feeling the cold, and thinking about what Y/N said.

She smiled slightly. "There's a reason behind everything, you know. An explanation."

"Even for this?" he asked, referencing the panic.

"Especially for this. What are you feeling right now?"

"Can't breathe."

"Yep. Okay, that's normal, too. That's your nervous system. It's really riled up right now because you're stressed. See, your body has a natural response to stress called the fight or flight response. It's supposed to be used in the wild to run from a predator or something, and you can imagine how engaging and intense that would be on your body," her voice was calm and steady. "The only thing is, your body is going through those same functions and feelings when you're not out running from a lion or something, trying to fight for your life. Instead, you're here. You're sitting on the floor and you're here with me. You're not in any immediate danger. We're fine."

He nodded, still looking down, still trying to compose himself. He couldn't look her in the eyes once he realized his face was wet from tears. He was acutely embarrassed. Be that as it may, she was helping. What she said made sense. It helped to understand just what his body was doing rather than simply trying to survive through it.

Suddenly, directly where his eyes were cast, a drop of crimson appeared on the floor; it dripped down from him. It was then when he registered the sharp ache in his nose and the warm, wet feeling around it. Blood.

"Bucky, there's- blood, are you okay?" The calm in her voice was muffled by worry.

"Y-Yeah, I'm... I'm fine. It's just my nose..."

"What can I do?"

"Can you just... keep talking?"

"Yes," she breathed, the calm returning with infinite softness. "So, there are a few divisions of the nervous system. First, you have the central nervous system and the peripheral nervous system. Then, from the peripheral, you have the somatic and autonomic systems. And then from autonomic, you have the sympathetic and parasympathetic systems. Those are what you're feelin' right now. Your sympathetic is what gets you ramped up - you know, increases in heart rate, breathing, sweating. And then your parasympathetic is what calms you down, so slowing your heart rate and breathing and so on. Your sympathetic activated the fight or flight response, and your parasympathetic is trying to rein you back in... I hope that makes sense."

"It does."

"You know the hormone that gets released during all this?"

"Adrenaline's the only one I can think of."

"There you go!" she smiled. "It comes from the adrenal glands."

"Can I get those removed, then?"

"Unfortunately not. Do you still have your tonsils?"

"Nah, got those taken out forever ago."

"Appendix?"

"I think I still have that one?"

She laughed. "Well that's good. The appendix is sorta kinda part of the lymphatic system."

"The what?"

"Er- immune system I mean."

"Never knew that," he commented.

"There's a reason behind everything, you know," she quoted herself endearingly.

"An explanation," he said, completing the sentiment and finally looking up.

Upon seeing his face, Y/N  tried to hide her shock and concern, but he noticed. The apprehension was clear. He didn't want to be pitied; he wished he would've just suffered through this alone in a hole or something.

"There you are," she whispered.

Her voice was so gentle that his chest almost cramped, and then his entire body softened. Never mind. He'd much rather stay.

"Here I am."

She reached forward, ever so delicately, and smoothed the pads of her thumbs along his cheeks, effectively wiping away the tears. Effectively removing the physical aftermath of his pain.

She gave a strained smile. Why did he feel bad?

"Stay here," she instructed before getting up.

He'd do nothing but comply.

She came back with a damp white cloth, returning to her kneeling position in front of him.

"Here," she breathed, putting the cloth up to his nose.

He reached up to grab it, but her hand pulled away.

"I got it," she reassured.

He wasn't about to allow her to clean up his mess. This was pathetic enough as it was; he was pathetic enough as he was. She didn't need to tend to him out of obligation.

He insisted. "No, it's okay. I can do it."

"Bucky, let me help. Please."

"You don't have to. Seriously, it's fine."

"I know I don't have to - I want to. I want to help. Please just let me help."

He found he wasn't very good at saying no to her. He nodded silently, closed his eyes, and leaned his head forward. She got to work, gently dabbing the cloth to his blood stained skin, blotting the red, erasing the damage.

"You know," she said, a slight inflection in her voice as a result of her concentration. "I think you accidentally hit yourself in your sleep. I think that's why you're bleeding. 'Cause your head hit the top bunk, not your face."

"I'm really that talented, huh?"

She snickered. "Very. I don't know if I could manage such a feat."

"No, if you had nightmares, you'd probably just know exactly what each one meant and adjust your subconscious so you weren't afraid anymore."

She leaned back, an amused but shocked expression on her face, eyebrows raised, head tilted. Then she laughed.

"Look at you. Came for my neck with that one."

"I was just joking-"

"I know," she chuckled, leaning back in to continue her diligent work, "don't worry. I thought it was funny... even though it was wrong."

"Wrong?"

"Bucky, I wish I had that much control. I know the brain, but I can't work with mine that well. I'm only good at working with other people's."

He smirked. "Nah, I still think you could."

"Well, you have too much faith in me."

He couldn't think of a response to that. He had become decently distracted by the warmth radiating from her. She was so close. He thought back to what she said about heat conductivity, and briefly wondered how fast her warmth might transfer to him. What would happen if he just... opened his eyes-

Big mistake. He nearly drowned in the color, the depth all consuming. He hadn't noticed her movements stopped. She held the cloth at her chest, waiting. There were mere inches between them.

"Hi," she whispered, the ends of her mouth turning up ever so slightly.

He didn't think his body had ever been so still. He returned the smile all the same.

"Hi."

"What are you thinkin'?"

He could see every detail on her face. It made him equal amounts nervous and giddy. He never really thought about the number of eyelashes an average person had, but he became suddenly interested in counting each one of hers.

"I don't... I don't know..."

"You don't know? Well, it looks like there's at least a couple of hefty thoughts swirlin' around in there."

He did have a thought. Well, more of a question. What would happen if he glanced at her lips? What would happen if he just leaned in?

"Yeah... yeah, there may be a few."

When she didn't respond, her eyes bore into him, and dear lord, he felt bare. Eye contact is a dangerous, dangerous thing. But lovely. Oh, so lovely. And then that thing started to happen again: when time got lazy and the world felt slow. The room was without a sound. The only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat and maybe some of hers, too. It's as if they were in a trance.

Then, that thought returned. What would happen if he just leaned in?  Rationally, he knew he shouldn't try to find the answer to that question. Nonetheless, curiosity beckoned him. Had the space between them become smaller? He couldn't tell. Not even an inch of their skin was touching the other, but every sensation and perception was so overwhelming, he thought his brain might fizzle out.

She was just so, so close. He was frozen, and never wanted to move again. She was so close, until suddenly she wasn't. Until suddenly, the trance stopped, time caught up, and the world began to move once more. Until suddenly, Y/N's serene smile disappeared, and she leaned back, awkwardly clearing her throat.

"Does your nose hurt? I can see if I can come up with a makeshift icepack or something."

"Uh, no. No, it's fine. I don't even feel it..."

He wondered which feeling he was denying.

delicate taglist: @bakugouswh0r3 @thefridgeismybestie

[stxphxn-strange]

(no) rest for the innocent

summary: Tony wasn’t even on trial, but the jury found him guilty and he couldn’t disagree.

a/n: idk last night i was thinking about tony dealing w survivor’s guilt after endgame (and IW) so i threw this together, tw for mention of death and implied thoughts of suicide

“Good evening, Doctor.” FRIDAY’s warm, pleasant voice always reminded Stephen of home and cinnamon scented candles. “How was your trip?” 

“Too long for a meeting that could’ve been handled over email. Or through carrier pigeon, as Tony would say,” Stephen replied as his cloak sailed off down the hall. 

He washed his hands carefully, drying them on an Iron Man dish towel that Peter had given them as a joke wedding gift before putting the kettle on. 

As the water was boiling, he noticed a covered plate on the kitchen counter. There was an obnoxiously orange piece of paper in front of it, which made Stephen smile. Tony always left him little notes on purposefully electrifying paper, that way they were easy to find. 

The sorcerer’s smile only widened as he read the note. 

Steph— 

I wasn’t sure when you’d be back, but I decided to make you dinner anyway. But not because I’m missing you and wanted to surprise you, I just accidentally cooked too much. You know how that happens sometimes and you just end up with an ungodly amount of chicken parm? Life’s funny like that. 

Anyway, I’m in the lab. I had some good ideas earlier and I wanted to start them while I still felt productive. Welcome home sweetheart, and if you go to bed before I do (because you probably will, you responsible asshole you), sweet dreams and goodnight. 

Love, Tones

PS— Orange you glad you met me? … don’t answer that, I just couldn’t help it and had to write that down. 

Stephen rolled his eyes fondly. “Fri, will you tell Tony that even though he’s not funny, I’m very glad I met him?” 

FRIDAY was quiet for a few moments before responding. “Boss says, quote, ‘fuck you Gandalf, I’m hilarious,’ unquote.” 

Stephen smiled, heating up his meal before sitting down to eat. He flipped through a magazine while he ate, FRIDAY turning on some soft jazz music as background noise until Stephen cleaned up and left the kitchen. After a refreshing shower, the sorcerer found himself in his most comfortable pjs and slippers as he walked through the house. Stephen wasn’t sure if he was going to bed yet, but he wanted to see Tony (and maybe he wanted a kiss or two or even three). 

The music in the lab automatically lowered when Stephen shut the door behind him, and Tony looked up with an expression that could only be described as tired. 

Actually, he looked exhausted. Weary. Barely holding himself together. Stephen wasn’t a thesaurus, but very concerned about his husband. 

Tony was trying to smile, but he seemed too exhausted to do that and just gave up, not saying anything as Stephen sat beside him. 

“Hi.” Stephen leaned over and softly kissed his husband’s temple. “Thanks for cooking for me, you didn’t have to.” 

Tony shrugged. “I had a lot of energy earlier, and I accidentally cooked way too much. Maybe it was intentional, you know I’d take any excuse to go out of my way for you.” 

His words said one thing, but his tone betrayed him. His voice was brittle, hard, and almost staticky. Stephen thought he sounded like a rusted hinge that was trying not to cry out for repairs… or maybe that analogy only made sense given where they were. 

Stephen kissed him again as Tony sat back at his desk, closing his well-used sketchbook. “You alright?” 

“Yeah. Tired I guess.” Tony sounded as unconvinced as Stephen felt. 

“Come to bed with me,” Stephen offered. “I’ll bore you to sleep by telling you about the meeting.” 

Tony laughed hollowly. “That bad?” 

“I don’t know how to describe it, but it was a waste of time. Even Wong was bored, and he watches the Antiques Roadshow remake for fun,” Stephen replied. He yawned and leaned against Tony’s side. 

“I see what you’re doing,” Tony murmured, trying to be lighthearted. He was just feeling some kind of way right now, he felt serious and was so endeared by his husband that it hurt. 

“What am I doing?” Stephen asked, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder. 

“Being cute and sweet so I’ll go to bed and let you be the big spoon,” Tony accused. “And maybe I just really fucking need a hug, but… it’s working.” 

Stephen shifted and pulled Tony into his arms, holding the mechanic close as he went lax. 

“My Boss Is Singing Closing Time Protocol please, Fri,” Tony mumbled. 

“Goodnight Boss, goodnight Doctor,” the AI replied, beginning to run the lab’s standard closing protocol. 

“Portal?” Stephen asked. Tony was getting better with going through portals, but some days were harder than others. Stephen didn’t know what tonight would be like and opted to ask, selfishly wanting to make sure Tony got some rest as soon as possible. 

He was so out of it by that point that Stephen wasn’t sure if Tony registered the question, but he nodded slowly and trusted Stephen to lead him through it and into their bed. 

Despite “resembling a sloth clinging to a tree bough,” (Tony’s words) Stephen was intuitive and knew when not to hug Tony. Even when he was asleep, if Tony woke up thrashing or fighting against something in a dream, Stephen let him go. 

Tonight was a bit different. Stephen wasn’t brought to the edge of reality by Tony thrashing in their bed or accidentally tangling himself in their sheets, so he assumed everything was fine. That was until the sorcerer hugged his husband closer, still mostly asleep and just following his instinct, and Tony outright begged Stephen to let go of him. He wasn’t quite awake, but Stephen backed off immediately and heard Tony trip over his own feet as he left the room. The sorcerer fell asleep again after that, trying to stop the sound of Tony’s broken plea from cementing itself in his memory. When Tony climbed back into bed some time later, Stephen was stirring a little bit more. Tony hid his face in Stephen’s collarbone and said nothing, his breathing still slightly erratic. 

“Sorry if I woke you up,” he mumbled. 

“Don’ be,” Stephen replied, his voice unsure whether or not to wake up. 

“Will you hold me again?” Tony asked pleadingly, his voice almost imperceptible. 

Stephen wordlessly obliged, kissing the top of his head. “Whatever’s bothering you… you can talk to me about it. When you’re ready. And you don’t have to, but I’m here for you.” 

Tony nodded. “It feels like too much right now. What I’m thinking about, I mean. I need time to process, I guess.” 

“Okay,” Stephen said simply. “But I’m here for you whenever.”

“I know. I love you,” Tony replied. 

Stephen began to trace soothing patterns on Tony’s back. “Love you Tones.” 

++++

Tony didn’t seem any more rested the next day, but his confident Tony Stark™ pose seemed natural. He’d easily be able to fool people who didn’t know him as well as his family did. So it was a “fake it until you make it” kind of day, and Tony’s energy was on a strict schedule. There was only so much he could take today, and if his teammates wanted to call him selfish then that was their choice. 

It would just go in one ear and out the other, especially this late in the day and after brutal team training. Tony was close to skipping the meeting, but a cutting remark in the hallway made him change his mind. Why did they always act like it was breaking news when Tony needed to step back from something anyway? He was just as human as anyone else, and the world was happy to throw responsibilities on his unenhanced, steady shoulders just because he was a natural caretaker. 

The arguments about Tony’s quiet, withdrawn demeanor started two minutes into the meeting. Stephen was ready to defend his husband as soon as they got to the conference room, Tony collapsing into a chair and leaning his head against the cool metal of the table. 

He didn’t want to talk today, and Stephen didn’t want him to. 

“It’s not nap time, Stark.” There was a small hint of fondness in Natasha’s cold, clipped voice. 

Tony was already regretting his decision to show up, wishing he hadn’t told Stephen again and again that he was fine. He wasn’t, and they both knew it. Everyone knew it, but Tony knew better than to advocate for himself in front of his… colleagues. 

“I don’t even remember what we’re meeting about,” Tony muttered, looking up enough to address whoever was talking to him. 

Rhodey took a seat beside Tony, encouragingly patting his back. “You good?” 

“I’m fine, Honeybear,” Tony replied. He was sitting between his two favorite people, and that helped him feel a little more grounded. “I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

Someone scoffed. “I don’t think anyone’s slept right in months. And don’t say you haven’t slept in years, Stark. We don’t need a story about how everything you’ve ever done has led to years of sleepless nights. We know already. Put it in a book or something and make the team more money so I can have better arrows.” 

Stephen was two seconds away from dropping the archer into the Dark Dimension, or flipping a table. He wasn’t sure how to handle the man yet, still taken aback by the rudeness and stupidity of his comment. “Barton, what the fuck—” 

“Steph, don’t bother with him,” Tony said. He stood up, forcing his tiredness into a corner and giving his coworkers a confident glare. “Pardon me for giving it my all and being a bit tired as a result. Now I’m going to get an ice pack for my shoulder and maybe a cup of coffee. Does anyone want anything?” 

“I’ll take a—”

“Get it yourself, you know where the kitchen is.” 

For dramatic effect (and moral support), the cloak landed on Tony’s shoulders and billowed out as he left the room. He returned with the aforementioned ice and coffee, and a mug of tea for Stephen. 

“You didn’t have to do that sweetheart, but thank you,” Stephen said appreciatively. 

“That’s why I wanted to,” Tony replied. He relaxed a little into his chair, starting to believe he could get through the meeting. 

Then, like clockwork, Clint opened his mouth to complain. 

“Why did you bring him tea and nothing for the rest of us?” He whined. 

“Doesn’t Tony do enough for you?” Stephen asked, innocently taking a sip of his tea. It was his afternoon green tea, made exactly the way he liked it. 

Tony was always so sweet and attentive with his loved ones, it warmed Stephen’s heart. The sorcerer stifled a laugh as Rhodey poured half of Tony’s coffee into his own empty mug. 

“Thank you,” the colonel said impishly. “Consider the roommate tax paid for this month.” 

Tony tried to smile at the old inside joke, but Stephen noticed that it fell flat. 

“Are we done with the interruptions? We need to talk about what’s out there. We don’t know if Thanos is the exception or the rule, and—”

Tony stopped listening. Clint’s snootiness was doing his head in, but the idea of another threat, another thing, another colossus he’d have to conquer and survive if his luck had anything to say about it… that was the breaking point. 

Tony didn’t have a good relationship with luck. He didn’t really believe in it, but apparently it believed in him. Because Tony was lucky. It was true that he was lucky in meeting his husband, his friends, and his family, but this was a different kind of luck. Tony was intelligent and skilled, shrewd and savvy, and there was virtually nothing he couldn’t do or solve, except for one thing. 

He was constantly lucky, constantly cheating death. 

And he didn’t realize that he was hyperventilating, didn’t recall dropping his head into his hands. He didn’t recall that he’d just walked out in the middle of the meeting after a minute, didn’t realize that he was home when he opened his eyes. 

Tony was home, in his spot on the couch in Stephen’s library. Stephen was sitting beside him, quietly watching a documentary or something like that. Tony was laying down, his head in Stephen’s lap with the cloak draped over him like a blanket. The crimson fabric continued to cling to him as he sat up, further proving Tony’s point that Levi liked him best, but he wasn’t in the mood to banter now. He just appreciated the support and the warmth of his sorcerer and their shared, sentient blanket.

With some hesitancy, Tony leaned over and rested his head on Stephen’s shoulder. They locked eyes for a minute, Tony’s gaze deliriously bright and vacant. 

Stephen didn’t know what to say or do to make the man trembling in his arms feel better, but started by hugging him closer and softly stroking up and down his spine. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispered, lowering his head and hiding against Stephen’s chest. 

“No apologies,” Stephen reminded him. “I don’t want or need them, and you don’t have to explain yourself.” 

“I have to give a good reason,” Tony said, his voice beginning to shake. “Everything I do needs a reason.” 

“Why? Says who?” Stephen asked. He was more thinking aloud, half expecting Tony to leave the question unanswered. 

For a while, he did. He just sat, furiously trying to blink back tears and gather his thoughts as Stephen held him protectively. 

“Sometimes I think about… things,” Tony began vaguely. “And people. And places. I guess I just like nouns.” 

At this point, he didn’t even know if he was trying to deflect or just tell a joke, but his attempt at humor fell flat. He tried to force a laugh, but halfway through it turned into a painful sob. He cried harder with each breath, ignoring the ache in his chest. Tony barely listened when Stephen encouraged him to breathe, but eventually he gave into his exhaustion and listened to his lungs. 

His stupid lungs, which apparently were just as stubborn as his brain. 

“I can’t keep doing this,” Tony whispered. “I shouldn’t have survived Afghanistan, New York, Sokovia, Siberia, or Titan. I can’t keep cheating death, Stephen. I don’t want to. I don’t want to be lucky and survive when the damage I’ve caused, the damage I claim full responsibility for, has taken so many lives. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt or killed for me.” 

Stephen pressed a soft kiss to his hair, feeling Tony’s guit and fatigue as if it was his own. 

“I don’t want to do this,” Tony repeated. “I’m probably just spiraling or being needlessly selfish, but  I… I don’t know.” 

“You’re taking on too much responsibility where you don’t need to,” Stephen said. “I know that’s easy for me to just say from the outside, but you aren’t the only Avenger. It’s about time the team, if you can even call them that, takes accountability for their actions and stops bulldozing you with their problems. You aren’t selfish, Tones. You’re tired and overworked, and you deserve a break. You deserve to breathe, to just exist without feeling like you have to look over your shoulder or justify your every step.” 

“I don’t think I know how to even do that anymore,” Tony replied. “And I don’t deserve it.” 

“You do,” Stephen argued. “And rest assured I’ll keep telling you that. And I’ll keep telling you how much I love you, because I really do.” 

Tony smiled sadly, trying to press himself closer to Stephen if that was even possible. “I love you too.” 

He was starting to settle down, soothed by a flurry of soft kisses in his hair and the gentle brushes up and down his spine, when FRIDAY quietly spoke up. She almost sounded remorseful. 

“Mister Parker is requesting one or both of you in the lab, whenever it’s convenient,” she began. “And he’s asked me to assure you that it’s nothing major.” 

Tony sighed, sitting up again. “I’ll investigate.” 

Stephen shook his head. “No, let me. I’ll tell Peter that you’re resting, and he’ll understand.” 

“I don’t want him to think I don’t care,” Tony whispered. 

“He would never think that. You know how he gets about making sure you take care of yourself, and Peter knows with certainty that you care about him. Our son is much more mature than the Avengers,” Stephen replied. 

“I still feel bad,” Tony said. 

“I know. I can promise him Thai food if that’ll make you feel better?” Stephen suggested, half jokingly. 

“It actually would,” Tony admitted. “FRIDAY, will you schedule a Thai food delivery for 6:30pm please?” 

“Scheduled,” she replied simpy. She still sounded apologetic for disturbing them right as Tony was falling asleep, but maybe Stephen imagined that. 

The sorcerer stood up gracefully, covering Tony with another blanket as the cloak wrapped a bit tighter around him. “Look after yourself and relax, or get some sleep. No one’s expecting anything from you right now Tones, alright? I love you.” 

Tony nodded, a little smile on his face as Stephen kissed him again. “Love you.” 

He really wanted to sleep. He actually put effort into falling asleep, which was something he never thought he’d do, and of course sleep didn’t come easily. Sleep never came easily, but the memories did. It was all too easy for Tony to get caught in a thought stream, whether he was planning a surprise, inventing, or remembering unpleasantries. Today he was overwhelmed by guilt, readily convincing himself that he was a selfish failure like Howard Stark and his teammates liked to say. It was too easy to get lost in their ire and wanting to please everyone, and Tony had given up so much of his agency just to try and make other people happy. 

It was exhausting, and he didn’t even feel like he’d succeeded at that. 

The mechanic started tearing up again as he continued to think in a circular pattern, faintly aware of the Cloak trying to comfort him. It was a sweet, welcome gesture, and Tony let it happen and let himself cry. He was still laying there in tears when Stephen came back in half an hour later.

“Pete says he hopes you feel better,” Stephen said, returning to his spot and pulling Tony close. “And I told him to just go ahead and eat whenever he’s hungry, or when the food gets here.” 

Tony just nodded, feeling relieved and supported in Stephen’s arms again. He nodded again, as if trying to shake the unending self-deprecating thoughts from his head, before saying anything. “Sounds good.”

tags: @salty-ironstrange-shipper @stark-strange-love2 @chocopiggy @katninjagirl97 @kitkatfat15 @taruyison @funkylittlebidiot

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #497

Top Ten PC Games No One Talks About Anymore

Blimey, Quake is rather good, isn’t it? Have you heard about it? I really hope so, because it’s only twenty-five years old. I mean, Jesus. What’s up with that? Quake is meant to be the future. It’s full of true-3D polygonal texture-mapping and real-time dynamic light-sourcing. Fancy it being a quarter of a century old. That’s ridiculous. “Old” is for things like, I dunno, Space Invaders or The Godfather or I Wanna Hold Your Hand. Stuff that our parents heard about before we were born. It’s not – it’s absolutely not – used to describe something that people bought 3D accelerator cards for. It’s not used to describe a game that popularised online gaming.

But old it is, getting silver anniversary cards and everything. No longer the angry, hungry young tiger, devouring its ancestors and growling at upstart rivals like Duke Nukem 3D – sure, you’ve got non-linear levels, interactive scenery, and toilet humour, but we’ve got grenades that bounce with real physics – Quake is now an aged beast of the forest, resplendent, battle-scarred, weary with gravitas. Quake is the game that shaped the now, but it does not represent the future anymore. In fact, arguably its greatest rival – Unreal – is the game with the lasting, living legacy, its progeny building the next generation of gaming with one of the most popular and impressive engines around, the framework underpinning everything from Gears to Jedi to Fortnite. Quake blew us all away, but arguably it ceded the conflict, secure in its status as one of the most important and influential games of all time. Quake II got plaudits for actually having a proper story and an engrossing single-player campaign (and coloured lighting!), and its immediate descendants such as Half-Life changed the nature of what FPS games could do, but in a funny way it feels like Quake has long since retired. A sleeping titan. It got old.

So it’s great that they rereleased it on modern systems! The version of Quake released last month is basically the game I remember, but tarted up a little around the edges, with texture filtering and dynamic shadows and other stuff that I couldn’t manage on my Pentium 75 back in the day. It plays great – it’s slick as anything, and you go tearing round the levels like a Ferrari with a nail gun, blasting dudes and ducking back around a corner before you get hit with a pineapple in the face. It’s the first game I’ve played in a long, long time that evokes the feel of classic PC first-person shooters of that era – which, y’know, kinda makes sense as it is a first-person shooter of that era. But that style of fast-paced run-and-gun, circle-strafing gameplay has gone out of fashion now, with FPS games usually favouring slow, methodical, tactical combat, or larger-scale open-world warfare usually involving vehicles. Whether it’s a straight-up no-frills blaster like Quake, or a game that takes you on more of a linear, narrative journey, like Quake II, or even just a multiplayer-focused arena shooter, like Quake III Arena, it does feel like a dying artform, like a style of gameplay that could do with a resurgence (and, to be fair, there are games on the horizon that look like they’re harking back to the era, so that’s cool).

But it’s not just first-person shooters like Quake that I feel have slipped from gaming’s shared consciousness. Maybe it’s my age (it’s definitely my age) but there seems to be quite a lot of games that were a big deal twenty or so years ago that are utterly forgotten now, whereas some – Doom, Duke Nukem, Command & Conquer, Age of Empires – are often namechecked or rebooted (even before the full-on 2016 reboot, Doom must have been one of the most re-released games of the last thirty years). But there are lots of others where sometimes I feel like I’m the only one that remembers it. And that’s where this list comes in: inspired by the excellent re-release of the Quake franchise, here are some other great PC games of that general era that I feel still need shouting about, even if I’m the only one doing the shouting. Maybe they don’t all need a full-on remaster or whatever, but it’d still be nice if they got a bit of modern gaming love.

No One Lives Forever (2000): coming at a time when most FPS games were still Doom-style blasters with little in the way of real plot, NOLF was different: stylish and funny, genuinely well-written (as in the dialogue), with interesting objective-based missions and a cool female protagonist. It skirted similar ground to Bond and the then-white-hot Austin Powers franchise. Two games were made and then, as far as I’m aware, it evaporated into a mess of tangled rights, hence no sequels or remakes. A shame, because it was great.

MDK (1997): the next game from the people who made the multimedia phenomenon that was Earthworm Jim, MDK was a really cool slice of sci-fi style, all sleek level design and intriguing features. It had a supremely bonkers plot which bled through into a game with a sense of humour, but mostly it was the run-and-gun gameplay and innovative use of a scoped weapon – possibly (don’t quote me on this) the first sniper rifle in a videogame. An even wackier sequel followed, but despite its cult status, that was it.

Star Trek: The Next Generation – Klingon Honor Guard (1998): it’s probably fair to say that Star Trek has not had as many great videogames as Star Wars, perhaps because Trek’s historically straightlaced earnestness just didn’t translate as well as bashing someone up the chops with a laser sword. Honor Guard shook things up by casting you as a Klingon, showering levels with pink blood and going Full Worf. It was the first game to licence the Unreal engine, and had a cool level where you walked along the outside of a ship like in First Contact. Also: shout out to the Voyager game, Elite Force (2000), which was another really good FPS set in the world of Trek, with intriguing gameplay wrinkles as you fought the Borg. It also let you wander round the titular starship between levels. Trek deserves more quality action games like these.

Earth 2150 (2000): the nineties on PC really saw RTS games come down to those who liked Command & Conquer or those who liked Warcraft, but as the decade drew to a close other titles chased the wargame crown (including Total Annihilation, which would have made this list, except I feel like the Supreme Commander franchise is a sequel in all but name). 2150 was notable for its Starcraft-like mix of three factions with contrasting play styles, and its use of 3D graphics and the ability to design and build weapons of war that could lay waste to armies and bases with spectacular results. I think the genre has ossified into something more hardcore, and this was probably an inflex point where idiots like me could still get a handle on things.

Midtown Madness (1999): Microsoft has a history of building up great racing franchises and then abandoning them, but their “Madness” line of games in the late nineties/early noughties was terrific and much-missed. Back when tooling round actual 3D cities was still new and exciting, this was a no-holds-barred arcade racer, with some gorgeous shiny chrome effects on the cars, and very nippy handling. It was great fun smashing up VW Beetles and the like. It was surpassed, I guess, by Project Gotham on the Xbox, and sadly the whole franchise was then forgotten, despite the ascendent Forza franchise mostly shunning city driving.

Commandos: Behind Enemy Lines (1998): part tactical war game, part puzzler, Commandos was famous for its gorgeously intricate graphics and its difficulty – I mean, it was way too hard for me. But its beautiful top-down design and its slow, methodical gameplay was compelling, as you evaded Nazis and solved missions with a team of unique units with special skills. Sequels followed, and western spin-off Desperados, but there’s not been a true follow-up for quite some time, despite promises; and few games have echoed its style or look.

The Pandora Directive (1996): okay, so really this is just a placeholder for an entire subgenre of game that appears to have been forgotten: interactive movies. I know, there are flirtations with this from time to time; and many of these games featured obtuse puzzles and relatively little gameplay strung between FMV scenes. Pandora was great though; a first-person 3D game with loads of old-school adventure aspects, as well as FMV, it was a noir-tinged detective story but set in the future. The Tex Murphy series (of which this was the fourth instalment) has had sequels – the most recent one was sadly cancelled only this year – but many other games of a similar ilk, such as Phantasmagoria and even Wing Commander – have fallen by the wayside. With in-engine graphics now allowing the fluidity and expression of cinematic renders of old, shooting movie inserts doesn’t seem like it’s worthwhile; but I still always loved a point-and-click game that featured digitised actors milling about. Toonstruck, anyone?

Marathon (1994): before Halo there was… Marathon! Back when I used to lug my Pentium round my mate’s house so we could play different games on different machines side-by-side, he’d bang on about this Mac-first series of games, like Doom but better, with an intricate plot and complex levels. And y’know what? He was actually onto something. There’s a style and an earnestness to the Marathon franchise, along with many concepts that would be refined in Halo years later. With Bungie now seemingly committed to Destiny, and Halo in Microsoft’s hands, I’m not sure what could possibly become of this, their forgotten FPS forebear, especially as it shares so much DNA with its offspring.  

Outlaws (1997): LucasArts are famous for two things, really: their Star Wars games and their adventures. But they made loads of other stuff too – including this intriguing Western shoot-em-up. Back when Western games were rarer than Western movies (which were rare at the time), this quirky and difficult cowboy-em-up saw you rounding up outlaws in typical oater locations such as saloons, trains, and mines. It had great music and a really intriguing set of weapons, including (don’t quote me on this) the first sniper rifle in a game. Sadly Outlaws’ success could be described as “cult” and it never got a proper sequel. and, weirdly, despite the success of Red Dead Redemption, we’ve never had a bit Western-themed FPS again. Which is really odd.

Soldier of Fortune (2000): I pondered whether to include this one, as if I’m honest I’m not sure I want this licence brought back. But I can’t deny the game was a huge deal and has seemingly been forgotten. A relatively gritty and realistic combat game with a huge variety of excellent real-world weaponry, its big hook was its incredibly detailed damage modelling, that could see you blowing limbs off enemies, or splitting open heads, or disembowelling them. Whilst its OTT violence made headlines, the granularity of its systems meant you could be more tactical, shooting weapons out of hands. But really its biggest controversy should be its association with a big old gun magazine.

There are many, many other games that nearly made the list - I almost had a Top Ten of just FPS games, for instance. Little Big Adventure was here, till a sequel was announced the other day. Hexen and Heretic I think still have a place in FPS history. Toonstruck, although without a sequel, was only really a cult hit at the time, and I feel the people who’d love it already know about it. I do tend to overthink these things, y’know.

So maybe not all of these could make a comeback, but all the same I don’t think they should be forgotten, and it does make we wonder what games will fall by the wayside twenty or more years from now. That game about the big green space marine dude in a mask – what was that called again…?

[seven-oomen]

Daddy’s little soldier trope | The parallel between Dean Winchester and Chris Argent

One of the tropes that became increasingly popular with the shows Supernatural and Teen Wolf is known in fandom as Daddy’s little soldier. This is a trope that usually features a son, who has been emotionally and/or physically abused and/or groomed by a father figure in order to carry out their legacy. However misguided that legacy may be.

The two most well known fictional characters for this trope, as far as I’m aware, are Dean Winchester (Supernatural, air date in 2005) and Chris Argent (Teen Wolf, air date in 2011) and this little piece of meta I will be drawing the parallels between these character and how they’ve grown over the years.

Let’s start with the Supernatural side. For the people that don’t know him, this is Dean Winchester.

When we first meet Dean it’s in the Pilot episode of Supernatural where he is portrayed as a confident, suave, and sassy hunter who drops by on his little brother’s doorstep because their father has gone missing and he needs his help. However, as the season progresses it becomes increasingly clear that Dean is far more complicated than what he appears to be.

Beneath all the confidence and sass lies a young man who’s increasingly taken out of his comfort zone while trying to keep his crumbling family together. Dean is shown as compassionate, insecure, and completely under the influence of his father’s will. Carrying out John Winchester’s wishes and commands even if that doesn’t benefit him and even endangers him. 

There’s also evidence throughout the show of emotional neglect, manipulation, and one could even go as far as to say Dean was brain washed into being Daddy’s little soldier. Following John Winchester’s every command as that who Dean was trained to be from a young age.

The show even draws the comparison that on occasions that Dean didn’t follow John’s command, he passively endangers his little brother and angers his father. (The episode where Sam is almost killed by a Shtriga after Dean leaves the motel room to go to the lobby/arcade.) When Dean returns to the motel room and learns that Sammy was attacked and almost had the life drained out of him, John yells at him and blames him for the attack. Even though Dean, was most likely (judging by the actor), around 8-12 years old.

This was one of the forming incidents for Dean to obey his father’s wishes, no matter the consequences. Because his father convinced him if he didn’t, people, and especially Sam, would get hurt.

Throughout the next few seasons we then see Dean within this role as Daddy’s little soldier, carrying out hunts for his father and uncovering more and more truths about who his father was along the way.  While also trying to keep his family from falling apart and keeping his younger brother as safe as he can. 

Dean is shown as a character that doesn’t seem to care about his own safety and who will sacrifice himself for his father or brother, without any questions asked. By all accounts, he sees himself as the expendable soldier he was raised to be.

It is only after their father has died by the means of a demon deal in Season 2,  and after learning of God and Angels and their heavenly war, that Dean finally starts to question everything he’s been taught. Although he doesn’t fully break away from his programming until later seasons where he truly tries to live life as he’s always wanted. Even though he eventually does return to hunting and the hunters life, he’s far more nuanced in his view regarding the supernatural due to everything he’s learned.

-

Now let’s have a look at Chris Argent, who first appeared in the pilot episode of Teen Wolf; Wolf Moon.

Chris Argent is a human hunter who was born into the Argent family of hunters. When we first meet him he’s depicted as a ruthless hunter who follows the hunter code: “We hunt those, who hunt us.” to the letter. He is shown as a smart, strong, and deadly hunter, who’s intimidation tactics leave a lot to be desired. (I honestly didn’t think one could threateningly wash a car or pick up a dessert, and that remains to be debated, but it was very funny to watch.) 

His devotion to the code is practically drilled into him from a young age by his father (and presumably mother), even if his father himself didn’t really stick to the code and used it more as a guideline.

Chris was raised as a soldier by his father, a fact that he makes abundantly clear on multiple occasions by stating; Our men are raised as soldiers, our women are raised as leaders. As far as Chris is concerned in the early seasons, that is all he is. A soldier raised for war.

Chris in the beginning obeys his father’s every command even if that may endanger him and doesn’t question it. As is evidenced when his father sends him off on an arms deal at the age of 18, without telling Chris that he’s dealing with the Japanese Maffia. This eventually leads to a situation where Chris ends up killing an Oni demon and barely escaping with his life.

After the incident Chris continues hunting and working for his father and eventually marries and has a daughter. Although he chooses not to raise his daughter in the life he was raised in. Effectively breaking the cycle of abuse. (At first, his daughter does end up hunting later in life, an event which eventually causes her death. Although Chris is generally not abusive but protective in the way that he trains Allison.)

His daughter Allison, and his father and sister’s disregard for the hunter’s code when it inconveniences them, is eventually what makes him see reason. And he adopts his daughter's code: “We protect those who cannot protect themselves.” as a result.

There are several instances in the first three seasons where we see the illusion of Chris’s little soldier image breaking. The first is when his wife is bitten and turned, and Chris begs his father to make an exception to the code. His father reminds him that they can’t, but Chris keeps protesting.

It is his wife, who has to step in and remind Chris that he is a soldier and he has to fall back in line. (So to speak.)

The other instances where his resolve and image break are when he finally learns the truth about his sister and father and what crimes they committed according to the hunter’s code. It is this disillusionment and the positive influence of his daughter and her friends that allows him to break free of the daddy’s little soldier ideal.

-

The parallels between these two characters are very clear. Both of them have been raised in a hunters life from a young age, receiving weapons training, learning supernatural lore, being emotionally groomed and manipulated by their fathers, while trying to protect a younger sibling.

Both of these characters also lost most of their family, be it by blood or found family, due to the lifestyle they were raised in. Chris’s wife and daughter are killed by Supernatural creatures, his sister turned into one by another. His sister then in turn kills their father by mauling him to death. Dean’s daughter (who was groomed by her Amazon mother to kill her father), surrogate father, parents, and other extended family like Charlie and Kevin, are also killed by the Supernatural.

Both of them also rose above who they were trained to be for a time, only to return to hunting in the later seasons.

The biggest difference between these two characters, is that one rose above his programming and re-found love and family, even going as far as to protect the supernatural from human threats (Chris), and the other eventually died a tragic death on a hunt started by his father 15 years earlier in the series finale (Dean).

-

I think for many of us the Daddy’s little soldier trope is very appealing. Mostly because it deals with children of neglect or abuse backgrounds breaking free from the influences of their parents and, usually, coming out on top.

Tagging a few people who might find it interesting below the cut.

@mostly-vo1d​ @veronicasummersfelton​ @msmischief101​ @gum-believable​ @fandoms-fiend​

[agent-cupcake]

Imagine having a child with a guy named Jimmy. Cursed.

OTHERWISE you all pretty much echoed what I was thinking, bless you.

cw pregnancy / forced pregnancy

(As ever, this is all in the context of dark personalities. I hesitate to say yandere, although that’s kind of become synonymous with dark personality AU’s and an obvious argument can be made that a darker take on the characters could lead into a yandere scenario) 

Ferdinand von Aegir

~While I don’t think he’d go out of his way to have a baby, he definitely wouldn’t take any steps to avoid it, either. That is, he wouldn’t really stray into breeding kink territory or anything of that kind but he’s not gonna pull out either. 

~But, yeah, if you were to get pregnant, Ferdinand wouldn’t be displeased by any means. He’d legitimately think it was the best way to “fix” things and out of a misguided attempt to ignore any negative aspects of the relationship and cling to the idealism of a happy marriage. 

~Just a side note, but I def see him with a body worship kink and I can only begin to imagine how that would intensify with his weakness for the softness and so-called beauty of motherhood. Whatever that’s supposed to mean.   

~Honestly, I don’t see him overtly leveraging  as a manipulation tactic. No, he’s good enough that his genuine feelings could do the job for him. Like, it’s not just you anymore. You’re responsible for another life so don’t you think you just trust him and let him take care of you? Oh, sure, he’d humor you (on account of the hormones) and say that he understands why you’re upset, but please just calm down. Everything will be all right, he’ll take care of you. 

~I think that Ferdinand would want a family even without the whole dark personality aspect. The way he’d see it is that children are a natural result of a union and love. He’d absolutely cherish your children if for no other reason than the fact that they’d be half you, although you can’t tell me that he wouldn’t have a horrible weakness for kids.  

~You’d be barely showing and he’d be picking out baby names and getting opinions on how to decorate the nursery and occasionally freaking out due to anticipation and nerves. He’d be really, disastrously, over-the-top protective, too. I just assume white magic would greatly lessen the infant and mother mortality rate but that doesn’t entirely remove the risk of complications so he’d be cloyingly careful about everything you ate, keeping tabs on any possible oddity going on with you. And, you know, I think he would enjoy emotionally taking care of you. Like if you were scared or sad or anything, I think he’d enjoy comforting you in a way that’s definitely not healthy. He’d enjoy being needed, I suppose.

~Yeah, so overall I view any sort of darker personality take on Ferdinand to be him, but with his sweet and noble and protective traits dialed up to an eleven without any sort of self awareness to make him pause and consider that maybe you don’t feel the same so having a child like this, as an intentional act of manipulation to make you stay or not, would be within the realm of possibilities.

Sylvain Jose Gautier (Bastard Man)

~Sylvain is pretty easy to imagine with a dark personality. I mean, assuming you have no pity in your heart and are willing to write him in a way that he never was able to get over his myriad issues, self hatred, severe distrust of people’s true intentions, and familial trauma.

~Assuming all that, and entertaining the idea that he could never find a good balance of repression and escapism, I think Sylvain would create an unhealthy emotional bond to a single person he believed to be exempt from his overall dismal regard for people and do this fun little thing where he’d chaotically flip flop between extreme emotions of distrust, blame, and anger and adoration, need, and a desperation to be seen as he was and still loved. 

~But it’d be a brutal cycle because he’s not the delusional type. Sometimes he could be, both with the good and the bad, but those would be kind of episodic. There’d be bad days where he’d be utterly convinced that you were just like the rest and he’d pick little fights and generally just be pretty pissy. But then sometimes he’d be blinded by love and so caught up in it that even if you told him no, he’d take it with a cheeky wink because of course you loved him and everything was so good. But, mostly, it’d just be a lot of dysfunction and Sylvain trying to lure you into a nice, good relationship with him by being mostly normal and decently charming and even, occasionally, being vulnerable (and tricking you into being vulnerable with him). 

~Anyway, back to the point. With all that context, why not bring a baby into the mix, right?    

~How many times does Sylvain bring up crest babies. Please, someone do a hard count and get back to me because damn son. So, may I just say, if anyone of these three were to have a breeding kink it’d be him. Is that controversial? Just think about it. Every girl ever wants him mystical crest cum, right? So, mentally, the whole thing would have a lot of weight and significance. Also Sylvain just strikes me as the type who’d be self aware enough of his dark and unhealthy needs that staking as intimate of a claim as that would be erotic. Unlike the other two, the act of forcing an irreversible and tangible change in your body and mind would be interesting. Not that he’d tell you any of that, or even dwell on it himself. 

~I’m torn between Sylvain saying it was an accident and him using the argument that since the two of you were in love, it was only natural that you’d start a family together. How could you not want to have his children? Better yet, how was he supposed to know that you wanted to wait. 

~But if you continued to be unreasonable, he’d go on the defensive. Like, what are you going to do? Leave him? For what? To raise his baby on your own? Or, worse, abandon your child? If you thought he’d voiced unfairly negative opinions about women before, the way he’d talk about a mother who abandoned her child and such a good, happy life with a loving husband would be infinitely worse. After all, he wanted to make a change in your relationship and be happy together. He wanted to be a good, loving father. He wanted a family with you. After everything, what kind of person would you be to throw that all away?

~So that’s... a lot. 

~But Sylvain’s the type to be awful in the moment then regret it after the heat dies down. Knowing he’d hurt you would genuinely tear him up inside. All of that adoration and desperation to keep you with him because he’d feel like he needed you to be happy would kick in and he’d break down under the guilt and tell you how much he loved you, how happy it made him to think that the two of you could have a family, that he knew you would be a great mother, that he knew he’d messed up but he would make it up to you, that you really could be a happy family. 

~Just saying, I can see him taking a perverse sort of pleasure in the physical effects of pregnancy. Also, he’d definitely be a lot softer with you. Guilty conscience, anyone?

Dimitri (Dimi) (Jimmy)

~You, dear anon, said it better than I could have myself. I agree SO HARD that Dimitri would be terrified of being a parent, but at the same time I think, if it were to happen, he’d be utterly enamored with the idea. There’s a lot more that I think about how he’d regard fatherhood, but that’s the gist. 

~Funny thing is, darker Dimitri is just like... More needy... unbearably protective... Paranoid... less stable... bad at managing his emotions when it comes to you... But, like, the same general emotions about fatherhood would apply because that’s already pretty complex. Only, this time, with an obvious emphasis on how it would effect you and your relationship. 

~I was going to say that I can’t see Dimitri purposefully impregnating you, but that’s not entirely true. In a fit where he’s feeling especially raw and paranoid, I think he would do it very purposefully and even almost-kinda-sorta relish in the idea. 

~I view his obsessive feelings to be like an itch he can’t quite scratch because he knows better than anybody how easy it would be to lose you and doesn’t know how to manage both his own instability with the unpredictable world because at any moment it could all spiral apart. 

~So, this in mind, he could believe that having a baby would make things different. More than just vows or words or rings or anything, it would be a concrete and absolute tie between the two of you. He would have an unquestionable claim over you that would go beyond the scope of just your relationship, you’d be carrying the royal heir which would give Dimitri even further valid excuses to be suffocatingly overprotective.

~It would be... So messy... On the one hand, I think the concept of fatherhood, of being given another chance, of being needed that much more by both you and the child, would really appeal to him. It could even sand off some of the rougher edges of his darker traits, now that he had this assured security in keeping you with him. Sure, the itch wouldn’t be scratched entirely, but it would be easier to ignore, there would be a solid way to reassure himself that you were his.   

~But Dimitri’s got this awful middle ground of self awareness. Anything that would come off delusion would be a result of his endless attempts at rationalizing his unhealthy feelings and trying to make sense of it all without having to actually confront the issues. But that wouldn’t mean he wouldn’t know, on some level, that what he was doing wasn’t healthy and how bad it was for you. The guilt would be intense, which would be apart of the reason he needed to keep you so close all the time because then he could pretend that you needed him just as badly, that everything was all right because he could take care of you better than anyone else. 

~Dimitri’s self aware guilt would allow a part of himself to understand that he should let you go. He could even, on the bad days, convince himself that maybe, one day, he would allow you to leave him because he loved you, because what he was doing was wrong. As long as you were near him, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself, he would always hurt you. 

~But using pregnancy to force you to stay with him would, perhaps even in an intentional subconscious way, cut off that last-ditch contingency to ease his own guilt and pain of what he was doing by keeping you with him. Now that you were going to be having his child, the royal heir, would mean that you could never leave. He’d know it. You would probably know it, too. 

~After that point, Dimitri would double down with proving his affection, proving that he was capable of taking care of you and his child and that you could be a family and everything would be okay. 

[a-wonderingmind]

peggysous week, day 7

So while looking for tropes for day 1, I stumbled across something called the Soulmate Goose of Enforcement, which I thought was hilarious. So I present to you...

Untitled Goose Fic

“You’re taking the car in soon, aren’t you? Just thinking about timings,”

Peggy looked up from her tea. “In a bit, I think,” She tilted her head as a request, and he acquiesced, crutching over and wrapping his arms around her from the back and planting a kiss on her cheek.

“I should probably go soon; do chief things and work on the stack in my inbox,” he said. “You can continue at a leisurely pace; that should make enough of a difference,”

She sighed and leaned into him. “I do wish we could eat together more often.”

“Me too,” he replied, “but I think it’s better while we still work out ‘us’,”

“You’re not wrong there, either. Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though,”

“I’ll grant you that,” he conceded. “Hopefully soon. Anyway, I’d better be going - see you in an hour!”

“Bye, darling!”

“Morning, Chief Sousa,”

“Morning, Agent Carter,”

Rose sighed. She was getting tired of those two, still seemingly dancing around each other. Peggy had stayed, ostensibly as extra manpower until the west coast office had been built back up, and Jack was better. Rose had really thought that something happened, the day Peggy should have gone back to New York; but then Jack had got hurt and it was all hands on deck and they acted just like they always had. No coming in the same clothes as the night before, and definitely not together. There were even moments of awkwardness, like there had been before. She couldn’t fathom it. If the mess that was the Isodyne case couldn’t get them together, something very dramatic would have to happen…

“We should have - ”

“Well, what do you suggest I could have done otherwise?”

“It’s not that. Peg, I just think we could have - ”

“Daniel…”

“ - would have been more effective - Peggy?”

“Why is there a goose in the SSR?”

“I don’t know.”

Just then, the goose turned, and honked, loudly.

Peggy blinked, and before she could collect herself, the goose had charged them, flapping and honking loudly, and they stumbled back into the conveniently placed broom cupboard.

(Sousa could have sworn up and down this cupboard hadn’t been on the building plans; but they were stuck in it anyway. If you’d looked into the eyes of the goose, however, you would have seen a self-satisfied glint, if such a thing is possible.)

Fifteen minutes later, they were still in the cupboard, having discovered that the goose had somehow locked the door, and no human help was forthcoming, either. Curiously, every time they stopped talking, the goose would start squalling again - until they resumed conversation, and then it would fall quiet. Daniel was the first to realise the pattern.

“Uh, Peg? I think I know what’s going on here. It’s, uh... it’s the Goose.”

Peggy turned to look at him as if he had gone mad. “The what, Daniel?”

“The Goose. One of the guys in my unit told us about it; his aunt and uncle had an encounter. I always thought it was a pile of crap - because the legend goes that someone calls on the Goose, and he would come and help them if their cause was worthy and proper,” he chuckled, but trailed off when he realised just what the appearance of the Goose meant for them, a funny mix of elation, relief and fear at the gravity of it.

Peggy looked sideways at his suddenly stunned expression. “Well, how does it choose who to terrorise?”

He blushed a deep shade of red. “Um. Well, according to Grant, it was called upon to harass… soulmates… who weren’t together yet,” he stumbled, rushing past the word soulmates, as if he could obscure the enormity of what he was saying.

Unfortunately for him (or perhaps, dear reader, fortunately after all) Peggy noticed the sudden change in demeanour and caught the reason for it, as well. She, equally, went quiet for a moment; contemplating this new piece of information brought to light.

Outside, the Goose resumed honking.

“Alright, alright!” Peggy laughed. She turned to Daniel, who was desperately trying to avoid eye contact.

Somehow, even the Goose knew that something big was coming, and it quietened.

She took his hands in hers to try and get his attention, which startled him, but worked, and he looked up at her with an expression that she had seen only in moments of extreme vulnerability. (The van, she remembered.)

“I know we’ve been trying not to put pressure on this, on us,” she started, his eyes darting from hers to their hands and back up to hers again, “but Daniel, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought I could spend the rest of my life with you.”

His head snapped up; his look of surprise could only be described as endearing.

All in a rush, he breathed out, “I love you, Peggy,”

Her returning smile could have lit up a hundred watt bulb. “I love you too.”

He reached over and kissed her, entwining their fingers in one hand and resting the other on her hip, enjoying how her other hand automatically came up to cradle his cheek. The kiss came to its natural conclusion, Peggy pulling away with a last few pecks and rested her forehead on his.

“Well, at least we know we’ve done a good job,” she said quietly.

Daniel looked at her questioningly.

“If someone called on the Goose, then clearly they think we’re not together.”

He chuckled. “We are spies, Peg,”

“But that does leave us with a slight problem...”

“How do we convince the Goose to let us out?” he finished.

She looked pensive for a moment, then a grin spread across her face. “How do you feel about some very demonstrative kissing?”

He smirked. “Not at all opposed,”

“Excellent.” She stepped back, letting her hand, still in his, lead them towards the door until she was backed against the wood. Catching on, he continued to advance, watching her eyes darken as he set the crutch aside and pressed himself against her. He whispered an ‘alright?’ and her returning glare communicated something in the realm of ‘yes, Daniel, this is definitely alright, please continue’; so he did, grinning cheekily and pressing a quick kiss on the tip of her nose before diving in to capture her lips in a passionate and heated kiss, feeling her respond immediately, arms coming up to wrap around his neck, squirming beneath him, making sure to knock against the door. He held onto her waist, partly for stability, but also he could feel the need rising in him to just be as close to her as possible.

When he started trailing kisses down the side of her neck, she tried (but not too hard, of course) to suppress a moan; she felt him hesitate just briefly when she had made the sound, and took the opportunity to grab the back of his head and bring him nose to nose with her again.

“You better be thinking of continuing that when we get home this evening,” she whispered.

He looked at her smugly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. If you would like to resume what you were doing,” she said primly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned, and returned to her collarbone, sucking on the one bit near her neck that always got a reaction out of her. She moaned again.

Rose, who had heard the original sound of Peggy backing up into the wall and come over to investigate, was now beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable.

“Uh, Peg?” Rose called, “are you guys alright?”

On the other side of the door, Daniel looked up, startled at the voice from the outside. Peggy caught his eye, and the moment was broken; they both descended into barely suppressed laughter.

Through gritted teeth, Peggy shouted “If you can believe it, we were chased in here by a goose - Daniel, stop -” she hissed, trying and failing to hold back the laughter. (He had, up to this point, been nosing at her neck, pressing light kisses in the crook, trying to get a reaction out of her. It had worked.)

Rose coughed uncomfortably. “The goose seems to have gone, you can come out now.”

“The door is locked, Rose, we can’t get out,” Daniel piped up.

“Oh. Right. One sec.” she said, going to unlock the door.

Now, what Rose didn’t know, of course, is that Daniel still didn’t have his crutch, and was still leaning on Peggy in order to stay upright. So when she opened the door, Peggy lost her balance, stumbling back and toppling over from unexpectedly having all of Daniel’s weight on her, which resulted in them both falling flat on their backs in the middle of the hallway.

Rose blinked.

“Well hey there. Is there perhaps something going on here?”

Peggy coughed awkwardly, and Daniel had turned beet red.

“Let’s keep this,” Peggy motioned generally, “between us, perhaps?”

Rose nodded understandingly.

“And,” (You had to witness it to believe it, but Peggy was almost bashful as she said it) “if you’re asking about Daniel and I…”

Daniel looked up at her, eyes giving her permission, and she allowed herself a smile, stroking the top of his head. “...then yes.”

Further down the corridor from round the corner, the Goose looked on.

And, perhaps, if one believed in those sorts of things, you might have seen the Goose and Rose exchange a satisfied glance.

[ordinaryschmuck]

What I Thought About The Falcon and the Winter Soldier

Salutations to you, random people on the internet who most likely won't read this. I am an Ordinary Schmuck. I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons!

Gonna be honest, I didn't think The Falcon and the Winter Soldier needed to be a full-length TV series. I mean, if Spider-Man can discover that he didn't have to replace Iron Man in a two-hour and nine-minute long movie, then the Falcon can learn he can't replace Steve Rogers in the same amount of time, right? I was excited, don't get me wrong, but I didn't know how they can fit a plot for a movie into a six-hour-long series. Unlike WandaVision, which needed to be a TV show to get those TV homages right for each episode, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier didn’t sound like something that would honestly work better as a film. But, once it started airing, and my excitement increased each week, I can positively say that it would not have worked as successfully if it wasn't a TV series.

Unfortunately, I'll have to get into spoilers to explain why, but trust me when I say that if you haven't checked it out yet, you definitely should. Because I'm about to dive in (or fly in) as I explain why The Falcon and the Winter Soldier is easily in the top tier MCU projects.

WHAT I LIKE

Sam Wilson: If WandaVision was about developing Wanda, then The Falcon and the Winter Soldier is about developing Sam. He might share the spotlight with Bucky, but this is so clearly Sam's story. It's his journey of becoming the new Captain America that gets more of a focus, and it is one of the best aspects of the series. And as I said, it's similar to Spider-Man's journey in Spider-Man: Far From Home. Sure, this time, it's more about stepping up to the mantle, but both Sam and Peter have to learn how to be their own hero rather than replace the one left behind. In Sam's case, it's more than just being the new Captain America, but also being the black Captain America. I'll talk more about the implications of that later, but for now, all I'll say is that it was so engaging seeing Sam accept his role. Plus, even though Sam tries to carry Steve's title, that doesn't mean he's Steve Rogers 2.0. He has his own ardor and personality as Captain America, on top of still representing the aspects of what that title entails. Partial credit for that goes to Anthony Mackie, who does a phenomenal job of portraying a man who's inspirational and charming in all forms of hell. I'd salute him as much as I'd want to have a beer with him...except not really because I refuse to touch a single drop of alcohol. But Sam Wilson would make me consider it! Because he's that good of a character.

Bucky Barnes: Much like Vision in WandaVision, Bucky takes the sidelines as Sam acts as the main face of the series. Unlike Vision, however, Bucky's story seems more like its own thing rather than something that's connected with his co-star. In a way, it's better, but it also seems worse. Because without having it be locked with Sam's story, Bucky's is still compelling as it develops him further in his own way. His journey may not be as engaging as Sam's, but it's still entertaining enough to watch his own narrative get continued in small spurts. Although, the fact that Bucky's story has little to do with Sam's does have the unfortunate side-effect that he doesn't need to be there. His inclusion is very much welcomed, but I feel like Bucky dealing with his own guilt and trauma as the Winter Soldier could be something that can fill up its own series rather than half of one. That being said, Bucky absolutely needs to be in this show. The emotional turmoil that Sabastian Stan portrays so well hits hard, and his dry humor works for some comedic highlights. Bucky's half of the story might be unnecessary for plot reasons, but it is unquestionably necessary for enjoyment.

There’s a lot of talking: This seems like a misstep, especially since most superhero shows are bogged down by characters talking to pad out the run time. Although, the dialogue in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier is more like the dialogue in the series Daredevil. There are more words than action, but nearly every line is so incredibly engaging that I do not care. Sam and his sister talking to a banker about getting a loan might not sound as entertaining as Sam being in an air chase against terrorists, but I surprisingly held onto every word being said due to how well-acted it was. Plus, these discussions help make these characters more human on top of making the world feel believable. I understand the argument of show don't tell, but to me, as long as the dialogue is written well enough and said convincingly, I can learn to live with it.

The Flag Smashers: The concept of the Flag Smashers intrigues me. The idea that a group of people believes things were actually better when half the world got turned to dust is a perfect concept for the MCU to explore. In fact, this is the third story in a row that dives deep into the consequences of what happened post-Infinity War and Endgame, and I'm all for it! The universe is forever changed by this one big event, and it's not going to be irrelevant anytime soon. For the Flag Smashers, they offer the most striking glimpse of how the world is forever changed. Now, I'll admit, after seeing doom and gloom in Avengers: Endgame, it would be better to see the benefits of the Blip that characters claim to have existed rather than told about them. But seeing how there were dozens of fans who made the audacious claim that Thanos was right, I don't consider it too far of a stretch to believe that the Flag Smashers could exist. Especially since the arguments that characters present do seem persuasive enough. It's only the actions that the group makes that derail any sense of the discussion. But in a good way...for the most part. But I’ll get into that later too.

The Reveal of the new “Captain America”: This was the dirtiest, sickening punch in the gut that the first episode could have ended on...and I love it!

John Walker: I often find the best antagonists are the ones I'm willing to psychologically analyze. That's John Walker in a nutshell. He is an arrogant ass who deserved to get slapped around when taking things too far. Yet, I always find myself coming back to those scenes where he seems conflicted about becoming the new Captain America. I get a sense that he genuinely wants to do the right thing and those moments when he asks if he is all but confirms it. John's problem is the constant support he's given by his friends. I'd argue that building his ego is the very reason why he gets frustrated so quickly by people denying him, as he often reacts like a toddler who throws a tantrum when a parent makes the "mistake" of saying “no.” This is why it's satisfying seeing people more powerful than John kick the s**t out of him because it results in his ego going through a well-needed deflation. Still, the constant frustrations he has for not being respected as the new Captain America makes his further descent into insanity all the more appealing to watch. Because him taking the super-soldier serum proves Dr. Erskine's theory is true: "Good becomes great. Bad becomes worse."

...And this is why the writers dropped the ball when trying to make John Walker redeemable. It's exceptional if that was the intention. After all, I did say there were glimpses of a man who wanted to become great, not worse. However, given what John does in later episodes, we're going to need more than glimpses to believe his switch from bad to good. Especially since his decision to set his anger aside to suddenly help people is a little too unbelievable for my tastes given how fast it happens. It's not an awful decision. It's just one that needed a bit more polish. I still find John Walker an incredible character regardless, but I don't blame people for being a tad more hesitant given how poorly paced his redemption arc came across as.

Readapting “Star-Spangled Man”: I adore this for two reasons.

Reason #1: It's a solid callback to Captain America: The First Avenger, which I will always stand by as my favorite Captain America movie.

Reason #2: It proves how much John Walker doesn't understand what it means to be Captain America. When Steve did this song and dance routine in his movie, he hated it. Better yet, Steve despised it. Because he wasn't helping anybody. He was just being a dancing monkey to appeal to civilians, and you see how much he regrets doing it with each show. For John, he relishes the whole thing, because of course, he would! John loves having his ego appealed to, and this routine is doing nothing but inflates it. It's a solid case of visual storytelling to prove to the audience just how disconnected John is from being Captain America. Steve or Sam wouldn't have done this, because being a hero is more than respect and adoration. It's about actually doing the right thing. A lesson that John desperately needs to learn.

Sam’s and Bucky’s bromance: You remember how I said that Bucky's dry sense of humor can be a comedic highlight? Well, that's only second rate to the times he and Sam bicker like an old married couple. Whether it's because of the writing, directing, or Makie’s and Stan's natural chemistry, seeing Sam and Bucky interact with each other is always a blast to see. And on top of being funny, there are these well-handled moments of drama shared between both characters that make their relationship convincing. It's why you can't have this series without Bucky, despite it so clearly being Sam's story that gets the more focus. Because without either character, we would miss out on some entertaining interactions that I wouldn't trade for anything else for this series.

Isaiah Bradely: Well, this character was a pleasant surprise. Although, "pleasant" might not be the right word because every scene with Isaiah is absolutely gut-wrenching in all the right ways. Carl Lumbly gives a phenomenal performance for a character that has been beaten down, with very little hope he has for any change that matters for his race. Plus, his backstory may not be as unbelievable as you might think. Between 1932-1972, America performed what is known as the Tuskegee Experiment. Scientists tested the effects of syphilis by injecting it into African Americans, telling them that they were receiving free health care when they didn't. So the idea that scientists tested super-soldier serums on African Americans, not knowing the dangerous effects, is not that far of a stretch. Neither is the knowledge that a black man was disrespected despite fighting hard for his country. If you researched African American history, you'll find that this type of horse s**t happens way more times than it should. It is heartbreaking, and Isaiah Bradley represents all of it. Thus making the little Isaiah exhibit in the Captain America museum all the more tear jerking just because of how sweet it is to see him get some semblance of a win. This level of discussion of what it means to be an African American is something I never expected with The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, but I greatly appreciate it nonetheless. What's even better is that these discussions don't end with Isaiah.

The discussions of racism: Again, this was something I didn't expect, but grateful for it nonetheless. I mean, I should have expected it given that one of the co-stars is black, but given how the story was about Sam being the new Captain America, I didn't think discussion of racism and racial injustice would come into play. Turns out that I was naive to think those things are separate. The burden of being a black Captain America is something that not many white people, including myself, consider a big deal. But looking at America's past and how others react to any African American in power, you realize that, yes, it is a big deal. Isaiah, and several real-life POCs in history, prove that America doesn't respond well to a person of color being better than the average white man. So it is easily reasonable to believe that there would be issues with a black man becoming a symbol of what America should be. Hell, I'm willing to bet that there were issues when this happened in the comics way back when. Not because of some bulls**t about how it doesn't fit with the character or story, but solely because they can't handle a black Captain America. And if you don't believe something like this wouldn't happen to someone like Sam Wilson, look back to that scene with the police who didn't know he was the Falcon. This crap happens every day, and it's The Falcon and the Winter Soldier that shines a light on it. Despite being something I didn't expect, the talks of racism are very much appreciated. And I'm as pale white as an introverted vampire. I can't even begin to comprehend how the African American community must feel about all of this.

Zemo: Who the f**k expected this guy to be one of the best things in the series?!

Seriously, from Captain America: Civil War, I wasn't too into Zemo as a character. I loved the idea that this powerless guy tore apart the world's greatest superheroes through intelligence and coercion. But his needlessly complicated plan and stale personality weren't enough to win me over. So when he returned, I expected to dread every minute of it. Little did I know that Zemo's comeback would skyrocket him into top-tier MCU villain territory!

Zemo is a character that, despite "helping" our heroes, still works on his own agenda. He might put them on the right path and occasionally assist in a fight, but only because he still won't stop at anything to make sure fewer super powered individuals are in the world. Because that's the thing about Zemo: His motivation was fine and understandable to a point, but his personality was flawed in Civil War. Here, I finally see how Zemo can work. Despite having no power, he uses his mind to look for any angle to control the situation, gaining an advantage even if it is for a short time. For instance, while he can't harm Sam or Bucky without risking his own life or jeopardizing his temporary freedom, he can still annoy the hell out of them. Like when he forced Sam into a situation where he had to drink literal snake juice. It's actually a ton of fun to watch, and I'm honestly glad that Zemo gets to live to see tomorrow. It means that he might make another return, and I can't wait to see what's in store for him in the future. Which is something I didn't think I'd say five years ago.

The Dora Milaje: It was actually pretty cool seeing these characters make an appearance, notably when they slapped around John Walker like it was nothing. Although, a part of me wonders that if Chadwick Boseman hadn't died last year, we would get to see T'Challa himself make an appearance. This lines up with the character, as I can see him dropping everything to hunt down the man who killed his father. Which would be just as awesome, if not slightly more so, to see. Still, we work with what life gives us. And what it gave are awesome cameos that make the MCU feel more inclusive about its characters rather than limiting them to their specific sections in the universe.

Walker killing the Flag Smasher: There is something so wrong with seeing that shield stained with blood. 'Cause here's the thing: Captain American can kill. He's a soldier. It's expected for a soldier to take lives for the sake of justice. What John Walker did isn't justice. It was vengeance. Vengeance that is fueled by anger rather than the need to do the right thing. Because when Captain America leads an army to kill the man who whipped out half the universe, that's fighting for a just cause. But when “Captain America” kills a man, the wrong man, for killing his best friend, that is an act of selfishness that no one would see your side on. And it was the final nail in the coffin that proves how John Walker does not deserve that shield.

Sam and Bucky vs. John: This might just be the best fight in the entire series. Not only is it so satisfying to see John Walker get everything that he deserves, but the whole thing was pretty intense to watch. After seeing what John can do with that shield, it makes moments when Sam and Bucky barely dodge his attacks with it all the more blood-rushing to see. Plus, Civil War's motif playing the background is another solid callback that fits well narratively since this is technically two superheroes fighting another superhero. It's an incredible scene that was worth the wait of four hour-long episodes to see.

Setting up Joaquín Torres as the new Falcon: I don't know if Marvel will follow through with this or even if they should. That being said, if they do, I'm all for it. Joaquín already seems like a pretty fun character, and his interactions with Sam show there's enough chemistry there to give Captain America a new wingman. I probably won't lose sleep if he doesn't become the new Falcon, but I'll still be excited regardless.

Madame Hydra: I know that she has an actual name, but I refuse to remember it due to how long and convoluted it is.

Anywho, we get a small glimpse of who Madame Hydra is as a character, but already I'm intrigued. She seems to have a fun personality, added by Julia Louis-Dreyfus' dry energy. Whether this is set up for the next big bad or just introducing a fun character, I'm interested. Madame Hydra was already a blast in the short amount of time she was in the show, and I can't wait to see what future installments have in store for her.

“Louisiana Hero”: Or as I like to call it, "Sam's Hero Theme." Because while this is the track that plays for the intro, it still shows up when Sam is training as the new Captain America. Not only is it insanely catchy, but I love that you hear a hint of the theme of Captain America: The First Avenger, yet "Louisiana Hero" is still very much its own thing. And that's another reason why I consider it Sam's motif because it fits precisely with the character. Sam is a person who has a hint of the good man that Steve was but still does his own thing when wearing the stars and stripes. Not a copy, but still heavily influenced by the original. So kudos to Henry Jackman for creating a musical piece that fits so well with a character far better than any other themes or motifs prevalent in the MCU. Because, let's be honest, there aren't that many.

Sam’s new suit: ...I mean, it looks cool. Kinda corny at times, sure, but points for comic accuracy.

Sam Carrying Karli: I mean, look at it.

This looks like something that should be painted and hung up on a wall due to how beautiful it looks.

Sam’s Speech: Two meaningful things are going on with this speech.

First, it proves once and for all that Sam Wilson is Captain America. He doesn't just fight for his country. He also believes the government that runs it should take accountability for any missteps before dealing with something worse than a person who took the term "rebellious teenager" into an extreme.

Second, it is so satisfying seeing Captain America tell government officials off about unjust treatment. Even if it does diddly-squat about anything in the real world, it's still a big moment that's effective because of the bulls**t that happens every day. It's far from an actual win, but it still feels good (I hope). And that still counts for something, right?

“We’ll need a U.S. Agent”: Credit to Louis-Dreyfus for saying a stupid cornball of a name and making it sound...not that.

WHAT I DISLIKE

Still running that Marvel Studios logo in every episode: It's still a nitpick, but its still annoying. It's alright if you want to use the full fanfare for the first episode, but at least shorten it for the rest of the season. Please? For the love of all that is holy?

The CGI: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier has some pretty...not great CGI. It's not as awful as the CG in the DC shows on the CW, but it is way too easy to tell what looks real and what doesn't. Failing to make CGI convincing has been a problem in the MCU for a while, as most of the time, characters barely look like they really exist in the scene. To me, I compare it to when Red vs. Blue switches between actual animation and Machinima. The CG models stick out like a sore thumb to the in-game models, but at least it looks cool. Because while I don't believe that I'm seeing an actual man with bird wings flying through a canyon while chasing helicopters...it still looks cool. Still, not many people would be as forgiving as I am to this type of thing, so it's onto the dislikes it goes.

The direction of the action: Now I want to clarify that I have no problems with the action itself. Some fight scenes are pretty cool while also added with some exciting set-pieces that kept me engaged the whole way through. It's just the direction of the action that I have issues with. The camera is always shaky with so many cuts that it's hard to follow half the time. It's an understandable technique to hide the stunt double's faces or to make it look like it really is the actual actor who's doing the fighting. The issue is that once you know a show like Daredevil exists, with its plethora of well-directed action, the cracks in the armor become much more noticeable for a series like The Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

Karli Morgenthau: Karli...frustrates me. Because on the one hand, Erin Kellyman does an impeccable job at portraying the heartbreak, frustrations, and determination that Karli has when fighting for her cause. On the other hand, Karli's cause is so layered with hypocrisy that it's hard to understand her position. She wants to prove how the world was better during the Blip, saying that everyone was happier then. So why do things like blow people up and kill “Captain America?” I get the latter. The guy's a d**k. But to prove to people how better things were, is death and destruction really the best choice to get that point across? I get the mentality of how people respond better to a harmful fist rather than a tranquil hand, but really, has that mentality ever worked out either? 

However, you could argue that her hypocrisy is fueled by the super-soldier serum, with the "good becomes great and bad becomes worse" theory that John all but confirms. Although, unlike John, we never got to see Karli pre-serum, so we don't know how much it really had affected her. With John, it's easy as many scenes indicate how close he was to snapping and murdering someone who disrespects him. We don't get that for Karli and are left to assume she was already crazy about thinking how intense violence can show the world how great things were during the Blip.

Then again, that could be the plan. Show how a person with the best intentions is ultimately wrong, given the lengths they go through to accomplish them. It worked for Thanos, so it should work here. And it would have...if not for Sam saying that Karli has a point. Because for the main hero to say that the villain is correct, you have to show them doing more good than bad. I understand the mentality Karli, and the Flag Smashers, have. But by doing nothing but committing crimes and violence, any point they have is discredited. Take note of the fact that nobody but nutcases on the internet says that Thanos has a point. Because he doesn't. He's a maniacal supervillain who does something so intense that nobody should be on his side. It's similar with Karli, but because we're apparently supposed to agree with her, she doesn't work as well.

...DO YOU SEE WHY SHE'S FRUSTRATING?! Because while I can see how she can be an incredible character, there are so many holes in how she works that I fail to appreciate any of it. And seeing how she's the main antagonist, a character who takes up a good chunk of the screen time, it's not a good thing that she tends to flounder more times than she should. I want to like Karli, but given everything that's wrong with her, I just can't.

Rewriting Sharon as the Power Broker: This is an intriguing idea met with a mixed execution. You see, I like the idea of a character who was once an ally becoming a villain, yet the heroes have no clue about it whatsoever. It creates solid dramatic irony, but only if done well. With Sharon, it's not really done well. It genuinely feels like her character was changed radically to give her this personality. A fun personality, I'll add, but one that comes across as really jarring when looking back at her previous appearance. Don't get me wrong, a character's current personality feeling so radically different from their previous one can work a treat, but only when we see them go through point A to point B. We're told about the s**t that went down with Sharon, but unlike understanding the mentality of the Flag Smashers, her personality change would have been more effective if we saw it. So while I like the idea of Sharon becoming another big bad in the future, I would have liked it more if we saw her decline into possible villainy.

------------

By using my usual scoring system for MCU shows and movies, I'd give this season of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier a solid 8/10. There are problems. Quite a lot of problems. Hell, even the stuff I like comes with a fair share of issues. It's just a matter of asking yourself, "Do I like some parts more than I dislike them?" For me, I find myself enjoying much more than I didn't. It's not perfect by any means, but while it definitely falters at times, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier is a series that soars to great heights. You might not be in love with it, but you’ll have a helluva good time regardless.

Now if you don't excuse me, it's time I swap from one superhero series to another as I share my more in-depth thoughts on--

[ddaenggtan]

black irises in the sunshine | kth

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

pairing | taehyung x reader

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

word count | 14k | cross posted to ao3

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

Fuck, that was too hard .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until it feels like it did when he was singing. 

How did he know my title?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You refuse to let someone talk to him that way. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too long since you fought a god like yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sighs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I believe you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The ones about me, you mean.”

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

Maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Someone says your name and you swing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you can love. 

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

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

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

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

Until the night when it’s not. 

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

You would take it back if you could. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t-” 

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

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

Something inside of you breaks and you find yourself shaking. 

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

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

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

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

It’s never enough. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

Frustrated, you pull back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He cares.

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

Not with Taehyung. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit, Tae, don’t stop-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’ll learn. 

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

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

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

The giant swings. 

[slytherin-team]

Some thoughts about similarities between Snape and Petunia and how Lily reacts to both of them -

 In Snape’s memories, when Lily and Petunia are on platform 9 ¾ together, it starts out with Lily apologizing to Petunia and insisting that she’ll get Dumbledore to let her go to Hogwarts too. Although Lily clearly feels bad for her older sister (and presumably would feel more comfortable leaving home with her by her side) and is trying to placate her in some way, Petunia’s pride gets in the way. She responds (this is straight outta the book):

 “I don’t – want – to – go!” Petunia had spat as she dragged her hand back out of her sister’s grasp. “You think I want to go to some stupid castle and learn to be a – a…” Her pale eyes roved over the platform, over the cats mewling in their owners’ arms, over the owls, fluttering and hooting at each other in cages, some already in their long black robes, loading trunks onto the scarlet steam engine or else greeting one another with glad cries after a summer apart. “ – you think I want to be a – a freak?” 

Petunia, feeling like she needs to protect and preserve her ego, ends up saying something deeply hurtful to her sister.

In Snape’s worst memory, when he’s being bullied - sexually assaulted really - by James Potter,  Lily steps in and tells James to leave him alone. Severus, like Petunia, doesn’t find Lily helpful in this situation but instead feels that her interference is a blow to his ego as well. Of course, this is when he utters, “I don’t need help from a filthy mudblood like her!” 

So, Petunia hurts Lily by trying to turn her witch nature into a bad thing, something that makes her “freaky,” while Severus hurts Lily by trying to turn her muggle heritage into a bad thing, something that makes her “impure” and dirty.

Of course, Petunia, being Lily’s sister, has magical heritage because it has been explained that muggleborns are usually the result of a squib ancestor who integrated into the muggle world, and Petunia, for the rest of her life, can never seem to fully sever ties with anything magic related - it always comes back to her because even with her lack of powers, it’s part of who she is actually. 

Likewise, Snape’s father is a muggle, just as Voldemort’s father was, and although being a “half-blood” is a step up the totem pole from being full-on muggleborn, the pure bloods at the top will still look down on you. We never learn why Snape remained in his childhood home at Spinner’s End, but it seems that like Petunia, he could never fully sever ties with his muggle heritage. So the way they both go about hurting Lily is ironic.

Now let’s talk about how Lily reacts in almost the same way to both of them,

First, this is how she responds to Petunia insisting that she really doesn’t want to go to Hogwarts and calling her a freak (straight outta the book again):

Lily glanced toward her parents, who were looking around the platform with an air of wholehearted enjoyment, drinking in the scene. Then she looked back at her sister, and her voice was low and fierce.

"You didn't think it was such a freak's school when you wrote to the headmaster and begged him to take you."

Lily gets vindictive when being insulted and I certainly don’t blame her. She’s kind and goodhearted but she’s no doormat. Good for her.

After Severus declines Lily’s help and calls her a mudblood, this is how she responds:

Lily blinked. “Fine,” she said, obviously hurt. “I won’t bother in the future. And I’d wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus.”

Again, she has a spiteful retort for someone declining her help and insulting her, and naturally I don’t blame her.  However, if she detested Jame’s behavior so much, as she claimed, then it is disappointing to see her using his disparaging nickname for Severus and commenting on his pants (which means underpants here).

There’s also something about her suppressing a smirk or laughter when Severus is initially thrown into the air by James I think, like she does find it funny but also knows it’s wrong.

We know Severus calling Lily a mudblood was the final straw and what ended their friendship. It seems Petunia calling Lily a freak, and deciding from that moment on to resent the magical world, had the same effect. Of course, being her sister, she still remains in her life in some way but there’s no intimacy in their relationship as teens or adults it seems, just familial obligation.

Personally, I get a kick out of how much Petunia and Severus hate each other for shallow reasons (class, muggle status, wizard status, etc) and yet are almost exactly alike.  They always let their pride get in the way and they both end up as very bitter adults who treat Harry terribly and yet do give him the protection he needs. In short, this is why I ship them together. I basically just wanna jump into the book and be like “sorry but you guys are the same and you just need to accept that, and then start a really fiery star-crossed lovers romance with each other.” *shrugs* Maybe that’s just me.... >.<

I can never fully form an opinion on Lily since we get so little of her but I think the scorn she receives from her sister for being a witch, complicated by her muggle parents thinking it’s like the coolest thing ever, and then entering the wizarding world and realizing some people see her as a “mudblood” and coming of age in the time of Voldemort, must have had quite an impact on her sense of self and her understanding of her place in the world. She’s presented as so perfect but underneath it all, she’s dealing with a lot of complex issues and she’s shown to really bite back at people, for good reasons, but still, she seems to derive satisfaction from that.

These three characters and their dynamics overshadow everything else in hp for me, which is funny because in a series about magic these family and friendship dynamics couldn’t be more mundane, but I’m really drawn to the layers they add to the characters, the story, and the bigger universe of the series.

Not to mention, I like the marauders era, which of course includes Lily, Severus and Petunia as kids/teens, and all the characters from that era (or at least how I imagine a lot of them) way more than Harry’s era and the characters of his era. There’s something very appealing about the nostalgia and tragedy of the marauders era as well, and the former is super relatable, especially as I get older.

[fanfic-corner]

Sabriel

I genuinely have no idea where this ship came from, but it is pretty cute, and I was curious to read a couple fics of them. Besides, I’m currently on season 13 and we deserve more Gabriel content in this time of stress. All of these also have Destiel in them, but which one the fic is focused on varies. I hope you enjoy them!

Rewriting the Book by MonPetitTresor on AO3. (37,224 words).

Tags: Dimension Travel, Alternate Universe, Gabriel in the Bunker, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Sam Remembers Hell, PTSD, Post-Gadreel, Mark of Cain, Hurt Sam, Scared Sam, Emotionally Repressed, Sam Has Panic Attacks, The Cage.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: When Sam gets a little too close to stopping Metatron’s plans, the angel decides to use some of his extra juice to get Sam out of his way by sending him to a completely different reality. He never could’ve predicted what Sam might find there – or what he might bring back home with him.

Notes: The trauma in this was written so well, and it is part of what made this amazing. It was really respectful, realistic, and clearly well researched. And, as a bonus, an excellent plot!

In All Your Borrowed Finery by vanishingact on AO3. (67,950 words).

Tags: Winged Dean Winchester, Winged Sam Winchester, Winged Castiel, Winged Gabriel, Spells & Enchantments, Hunters & Hunting, Case Fic, Harpies, Canon-Typical Violence, Major Character Injury, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Fluff and Humor and Smut and Angst, Wingfic, Fan art. 

My Rating: 5 stars. 

Description: Dean finds an interesting symbol in Kevin's angel tablet notes and, against Sam's counselling, uses it in the heat of battle with a pair of angelic assassins. Side effects include pain, disorientation, and uncontrollable new appendages for the Winchesters. A disgruntled Castiel and a delighted Gabriel show up to help. Hunting (and life) gets interesting when wings are involved.

Notes: Okay this was literally adorable and you can not convince me otherwise. Every time I read a fic with everyone’s favourite archangel, I miss him just a bit more.

Black Swans by omphalos and Wolfling on AO3. (66,455 words).

Tags: Post-Apocalypse, Road Trip, Blasphemy.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: A post-apocalyptic road trip with a still recovering archangel wasn't how Sam had envisioned the aftermath of their big plan, but it sure beat a lot of the alternatives.

Notes: This was absolutely brilliant, so well written, and the plot was phenomenal! The misunderstanding was painful, and the original characters were great.

omni gladio ancipiti by lifevolutionary on AO3. (10,892 words).

Tags: Wingfic, Telepathy, Psychic Bond.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: The archangel Gabriel had never chosen a Bearer for his sword. Until now.

Notes: This was so freaking sweet, and I love the idea of Sam just casually having a flaming sword.

Dies Irae, or Something by AlchemyAlice on AO3. (51,223 words).

Tags: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Blasphemy, Alternate Universe - Canon, Biblical References.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: It starts with headaches, and it ends in a clusterfuck. So, business as usual, Apocalypse-wise.

Notes: I know it says Good Omens as well, but it is just a brief mention of Aziraphale and Crowley, so you don’t need to know anything about it! And this fic was written beautifully. Is it bad that I miss the apocalypse days?

That One Time Sam Winchester Googled Something Weird and It Had Pretty Awesome Results by quitepossiblyjanuary on AO3. (2,587 words).

Tags: Romantic Fluff, First Kiss, Stars, Humor, Courtship, Short & Sweet.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: In which Sam Googles something and his curiosity doesn't kill the cat. Or him. Or anyone. It's a pretty awesome feeling.

Notes: This was so adorable! Gabe was so sweet, and his mind reading skills made me laugh.

Bing Crosby’s Pennies From Heaven by twentysomething on AO3. (9,613 words).

Tags: Castiel, Dean Winchester, Gabriel, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer, Death.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Sam always asks inappropriate, poorly-timed questions, so what comes out of his mouth doesn't exactly surprise himself. "Where were you?"

Notes: This was brilliant - the little gifts that Gabe left for Sam were adorable, and I burst out laughing at the image of trying to get Bobby’s wheelchair on top of a toilet.

‘Star Wars is Overrated’ by leftdragonpainter on AO3. (38,186 words).

Tags: Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Pining, Drinking, Writer Castiel, Mechanic Dean, Neighbours, Swearing, Winchester Logic, Big Brother Gabriel, Clueless Dean, College Student Sam, Awkward Dates, Pie, Dean Cooks, Slow Burn, Injured Sam, Fixing Cars, Emotional Constipation, Angst, Confessions, Smut, Love Confessions, Temporary Amnesia, Star Trek References, Star Wars References, Angst with a Happy Ending.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description:  When Dean Winchester turned sixteen he was disappointed by the words that appeared on his chest. He never expected that it would take so much to find his soulmate. He never expected to not remember meeting them…

Notes: Every time I thought I knew what was going to happen, it either went in the complete opposite direction or something totally different happened, and I loved it.

Start Quoting Shakespeare and We’re Done by pyrebi on AO3. (15,579 words).

Tags: Romantic Comedy, Misunderstanding, Banter, Libraries, Food, Ridiculousness, Alternate Universe - Library, Alternate Universe - Human.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: In which Dean has the hots for a librarian named Cas, Cas may or may not have the hots for a mechanic named Dean, and Gabriel joins Sam in the peanut gallery in the hopes that he might just get to do a horizontal tango of his own.

Notes: Damn, the misunderstandings in this were so unbelievably painful. Overall, though, it was very funny and quite cute. Also, I love the idea of Gabe owning a sweet store.

Bring it On Home by lilyleia78 on AO3. (34,482 words).

Tags: Romance, Alternate Universe, Drama, Bonding, Angelic Soulbond, Angels, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: When John sells his sons to Heaven in exchange for the Colt, Dean and Sam find themselves separated from each other and in the care of two very different angels. Dean and Cas work together to find out why Heaven wants Sam and how they can reunite the brothers - all the while growing closer every day. Meanwhile Sam should hate Gabriel and his endless string of conquests, but Gabriel's twisted sense of humor and attractive smile inspire something much more complicated.

Notes: First of all, I would like to say that John absolutely does not deserve any redemption or forgiveness in this fic, but okay. The idea - especially the Sabriel side - was a little creepy, but it was executed fairly well.

Our Mornings by entanglednow on AO3. (2,155 words).

Tags: Morning After.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: That would be the sound of his brother having sex with an angel three rooms away.

Notes: This was fairly cute, but a bit short for my tastes.

And, for all the Sabriel fans who don’t ship Destiel:

Highway of Love (Or: How Sam Winchester Learned to Stop Worrying and Relax Already) by Jassy on AO3. (24,536 words).

Tags: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, The Trickster.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: AU. Sam noticed a few things weren't quite right after they killed the Trickster. After going back to check things out, his life will never be the same.

Notes: This was probably the first Sabriel fic I ever read, and honestly I just didn’t understand it. I mean, not complaining, because I’ve read Mystrade fics before and we all know they don’t even share a scene, but I was still confused. Then, I read a really nicely done thing on Instagram explaining it, and I kind of got it. So I read this, and I really enjoyed it, and now I ship Sabriel. 

So, they may be this fandom’s crack ship, but I hope you enjoyed this edition of Destiel + other ships. I’m thinking that I might do a Saileen one in the future, because she may have only been in one episode I have watched but oh boy she was an icon, and it’s good for my heart to ship things that actually happen (I think. No one tell me otherwise. I will cry).

[aros001]

Going in blind: Watching season 4 for the first time. Random thoughts.

I never said anything about it before but I love Shadow Weaver's DCAU Batman eyes. They're so expressive.

Episode 1: Okay...I wasn't expecting Catra to do that. I mean, it makes sense. If she has leverage over Hordak then she's basically in charge of the Horde and that's what she's wanted (or at least believes she wants) since episode 1. It's an aspect that made her a good antagonist, that she's not blind to the evil of the Horde, she just doesn't care as long as she herself is secure. Which naturally begs the question, when the rebellion and the princesses are crushed, when the Horde is on top, when Adora is dead, when Catra finally has everything she's ever wanted...will she actually finally be happy? Somehow, I have my doubts.

I definitely feel for Glimmer in this. When you go through as big a loss as she did you need to be able to feel and vent if you're ever going to get through it. It doesn't have to be right away but everyone doing everything in their power to avoid the topic entirely can make you feel like you're going crazy. It'a especially bad for her since it unintentionally makes it feel like everyone is acting like it doesn't matter that Angela is gone when it clearly means everything to Glimmer.

Episode 2: I actually had a potted cactus plant once. Accidentally forgot about it and left it outside for an entire winter. Once the snow was gone the cactus looked like it had melted.

I kind of want to see what an interaction between Double Trouble and Clayface from the Harley Quinn animated series would look like. I'm guess Catra was just testing how good Double Trouble was as a doppelganger because it doesn't seem like she did anything while Adora was being distracted, though I suppose that could be a reveal in a later episode.

Not much to say except that I love how buff Huntara is while still clearly being a woman. Like, women can have a variety of different body types, as this series and Steven Universe show, and Huntara's build isn't just, like, Bow's body with lipstick and ponytail and the animators calling it a day. No, she looks like a freakin' jacked adult woman.

Episode 3: I didn't figure out the Flutterina = Double Trouble twist until a minute before it was revealed, so good job there. Before that I was wondering if Flutterina was some fan's original character where they won some contest where their OC got to be in the show for an episode. She was giving off some weird self-insert vibes. That twist made it all work though. It's honestly not a bad plan. Shapeshifters haven't really been a thing in the series before now so there's no reason to suspect it. Even if they did they'd probably be expecting it by way of magic or technology, while Double Trouble's seems to be a natural ability.

I like that even though Bow is definitely the goofier one of the trio he is still consistently shown as competent. That's never in question. He was very heroic and reassuring to the villagers this episode. I get why those kids idolize him so much.

Catra's having guilt over what she did with the portal and to Entrapta and her response is basically to just double-down. She doesn't know any other way to be. Not going to lie, I am kind of hoping we get another moment in the show where Adora just completely overwhelms Catra with the sheer power of She-Ra. I'm not saying like brutalize her or anything but just something where Catra is made to realize just how powerful Adora is and that she could just destroy Catra if she had a mind to do so.

Episode 4: Well, I was saying I wanted Adora to do it but I guess I don't mind Glimmer being the one to get some good shots in on Catra. Like I predicted, Shadow Weaver's moving in to become her teacher like she was with her father. Honestly I like that that was more Adora's problem than Glimmer using her as bait, which she seemed to get over pretty quick. Yeah, it was kind of a heartless thing to do but it was an understandable tactic and she clearly outright told Adora that she did it and why afterwards, which at least means she's still being honest.

It occurs to me that Glimmer and Catra may be the ones running parallel right now. Both are basically leading their respective sides of the war. They both have lost someone very important to them. And both are trusting someone they probably shouldn't. Both even have outfits that've been updated in the intro. The difference is Glimmer's just trying to deal with a bad situation while Catra's is entirely self-inflicted.

Minor thing but I like Glimmer's new outfit this season. I'm sure this is the intention but it makes her look older and more mature. A little more muscular in some shots too.

Episode 5: Heart of Etheria project. No idea what that is but assumedly whoever's a part of it doesn't like Light Hope and Mara being friends. Sounds like it's very much interested in She-Ra being just a warrior, and perhaps a tool, for the greater good. It does make me wonder though how much Light Hope remember from when she was rebooting. Even if she deleted the Mara memory she could potentially still have the memory of her and Adora watching the Mara memory, as well as Adora asking to be her friend.

Episode 6: Yep. Scorpia; definitely favorite supporting character. There is something kind of funny about her whole "Scorpions are loyal" line when you remember the story about the Frog and the Scorpion, where it stings the frog despite it meaning death for itself as well simply because that is its nature. But finally we're having someone go save Entrapta, and I can only assume at some point Scorpia's going to access the power of the Black Garnet.

The parallels between Catra and Hordak are definitely at their max here with that speech of hers to him. She's basically trying to convince herself that she doesn't need anyone, the timing of which is appropriate since she just drove away Scorpia and now truly doesn't have anyone. Not that I blame Scorpia, obviously. Like Adora before her, however good you believe someone can be and that you can help them, at some point you just have to cut the toxic people out of your life. You have the right to be happy too.

And man, Bow is just the best. He saw something was wrong between Adora and Glimmer and defused the situation like (snap) that, pushing them to talk like any sane person would.

Episode 7: I'm sure it is just because I've seen way too many TV shows and movies (both animated and live action) that don't do it but it is just such a relief to have a show where the characters just TALK and LISTEN to each other. It doesn't solve all their issues but they're at least not being stupid and freakin' petty. It helps the drama feel a lot less forced and contrived.

Episode 8: A little bit of amusement in Bow thinking at first that Glimmer and Adora didn't even notice he was gone despite them coming to his rescue very shortly afterwards, given Catra is only now realizing Scorpia has left and assumedly she did so a while ago. Bow and Sea Hawk hadn't been gone for that long so it's not unreasonable Glimmer and Adora wouldn't be worried about their absence (Bow was literally talking about "me time" when they last saw him), while Catra is only noticing Scorpia's absence now and it was because she wanted something. Like Scorpia said, she's a bad friend.

Kind of ironic given that a lot of Catra's issues are the direct result of Shadow Weaver giving her very little love growing up but it does seem this tough love is probably what'll get through to Catra the best. She might finally stop making bad decisions and lashing out if she's forced to live with the consequences of them, like Adora told her last season.

Glimmer gets a bit of slack from me since she suffered through a huge loss, that being her mother, and then was immediately thrown into being queen right after. It'd be hard for anyone to be 100% on their game and well-adjusted in a situation like that, and I buy that she was on some level resentful of Adora for coming back instead of her mother, even if unintentionally so. What definitely helps is that Glimmer very clearly and immediately regretted what she said to Adora. Like Catra she's lashing out but unlike Catra Glimmer recognizes some of the damage she's doing and knows, at least in this case, that she went too far.

Episode 9: Now that I can see the design in color I definitely prefer Mara's She-Ra with pants to Adora's She-Ra with shorts. Honestly, while the differences are pretty minor, I do think Mara's She-Ra design is overall a lot better than Adora's. Sharper shoulder guards. Bigger cape (especially the cape, I love capes). I don't know, there's just a lot that clicks with it and I wouldn't mind Adora getting a similar outfit later.

Madam Razz definitely had a Yoda feel this episode. I was very much expecting her to start wacking Mara with a stick over the sugar like Yoda did with R2. Though while that was Yoda acting crazy, for Razz it's because she experiences time out of order, and I don't think I've ever seen that concept taken to this extent, or at least done this way before. There are characters like River Song from Doctor Who, Professor Paradox from Ben 10, or even the Reverse-Flash who interact with other characters in time out of order but those characters are still on a linear path from their own perspective, even when travelling through time. Razz is just bouncing around her own timeline, seemingly not even any real reason or cause to it like Subaru from Re:Zero. Clearly she's not just remembering things oddly because her talk about things of the present are heard by people in the past and have an effect. I wonder if maybe the reason why is because Razz was at ground zero of Mara's actions and this is a side-effect of pulling Etheria away from the rest of the universe.

Bringing more Star Wars into this, it basically sounds like the Heart of Etheria project has turned Etheria into a magic Starkiller Base; storing power that'll be unleashed to destroy whole planets. And jeez, I think this was the first time I really felt creeped out by Light Hope when she was talking to Mara.

I'm looking forward to seeing what it means that the First Ones only made the sword and that Etheria made She-Ra. If that's the case, why is only the sword able to bring out the She-Ra form? Is it like MCU Thor's hammer and the weapon was just meant to help him control the power he already had? Or is what we think is She-Ra not actually She-Ra and that form that Adora and Mara take is just a stand-in for the real thing?

Episode 10: It didn't even occur to me until now but Double Trouble's capture is another blow to Catra's circle of "friends" too. They were at least able to make her laugh. One less person for her to talk to and just...really just distract her from her thoughts.

It's a good dilemma this episode presents about what to do with the Heart of Etheria. The safest and probably best option is to just dismantle it, like Adora and Bow want, since it could easily lead to the destruction of the entire planet if it goes off. Not the mention there's so little they know about it and what it was intended for and the one person who can potentially tell them, Light Hope, they were warned not to trust. But it's not hard to understand where Glimmer is coming from in wanting to use that power to fight the Horde. They're already losing the war and now she knows Hordak Prime and his FAR more powerful forces are on the way. Tapping into the Heart is a huge risk but she's not seeing any other paths for the rebels to win. It's a really good dilemma, with good arguments presented from both sides, and I buy this widening the schism between Adora and Glimmer.

Episode 11: I have mixed feelings on King Micah still being alive. On the one hand there's a lot of good potential interactions we can now have with him, primarily between Glimmer and Shadow Weaver, and he is a fun character. But on the other I can't help but wonder if this kind of lessens the impact of what Angela gave up to overcome the false reality. Part of what made it so emotional was that she had to accept the person she loved was dead and not coming back...except now we see that he wasn't dead and now he is coming back. Yeah, their family lost out on years together and that does still carry some emotional weight but I was already also half-expecting Angela to come back later in the series because she's stuck between dimensions, meaning there's a chance she could still be alive. If both Glimmer's parents come back then that really feels like it takes a lot of weight out of her story. But I guess we'll see what happens.

Also, why did the Horde exile him to Beast Island? Why not just kill him?!

Episode 12: So the Horde exiles Micah to Beast Island instead of killing him. The First Ones protect their secrets by sending their bad tech to Beast Island. Does no one know how to just destroy things in this world?

Ohhh, I am so looking forward to next episode. While it's debatable whether Glimmer should be going through with her plan she is at least being smart with how she's going about it. Double Trouble was being paid by Catra to work for the Horde, not out of any sense of loyalty. Glimmer has the resources of Bright Moon at her disposal so it's reasonable she could pay them more to switch sides. Double Trouble was very good at sabotaging even a group as tight-nit as the heroes, so Hordak and Catra are probably easy pickings with all their issues.

Episode 13: ....WELL THAT AIN'T GOOD!

I'll admit, I had a little bit of an unintended laugh. After all we've heard about Horde Prime, like this shadowy all-powerful monster, I wasn't expecting the fabulous flowing dreadlocks and smoothness. Credit where it's due, man has charisma and charm, which goes a long way in helping your big evil world conqueror not be a very flat character, because it's doubtful he's going to have the same kind of sympathetic motivation as Hordak or complexity as Catra to keep him elevated.

LOVE, LOVE, LOVE Double Trouble kicking at Catra while she's down. Adora and Scorpia were honest but they never wanted to hurt Catra. Not so much with Double Trouble and they just shove reality into her face. Everyone leaves Catra because of Catra. She's the common factor. It's her fault and no one else's. Again, I don't know for certain if Adora and Catra get together at the end (Catra would have a LOT to make amends for regardless) but Double Trouble was definitely implying Catra had feelings for her with the way they put Catra's hand on "Adora's" cheek while talking about how she left her.

I like that we see Glimmer's plan actually working at first. The princesses get a massive power boost and decimate the Horde forces. But the minute it starts going wrong she immediately admits Adora was right and she tries to stop the energy flow. I imagine having her there with Catra was intentional by the writers. Despite some parallels, Glimmer can actually accept her failures and work to try and fix things. Unlike Catra, she didn't blame Adora for things going wrong.

So the sword allows the First Ones to control She-Ra and the energy she'd be absorbing from the planet. Assumedly that means there are at least some parts to She-Ra that have nothing to do with the First Ones and thus maybe Adora can still use some of those powers without the sword.

Season 4 verdict: Yeah, the show keeps getting better, though I will admit last season's finale had me more emotional, but that's a bit of an unfair comparison given everything that happened in that finale vs. this one. This is definitely the series hitting its darkest hour, where it feels like EVERYONE lost. Not just the rebels but the Horde as well. The sword and Light Hope are gone and She-Ra (for now) along with them. Glimmer and Catra are basically prisoners. Hordak's probably going to have his personality stripped away. The Fright Zone is in ruins. The only one who's gained anything is Prime.

Really looking forward to what the final season has in store, especially since there seems to be the implication that Catra just saved Glimmer's life.

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/PrincessesOfPower/comments/o1j5gk/going_in_blind_watching_season_4_for_the_first/

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Why Reggie Mantle and Alexandra Cabot should date

Now I know the comics usually like to pair Reggie with Veronica or Cheryl (yes with Cheryl. It's a rather adorably funny story called Love is Nasty and I actually really like them together most of the time as sort of an evil power couple because they bring out the worst in each other but I digress).

But now, I suggest Reggie and Alexandra now because they have so much in common.

1. They both feel second best

Reggie's main thing is because he wants to the top dog, school president, lead in plays, get the girls and of course, scheme to make the Archies, the Reggies. When the comics try to show Reggie's sympathetic side, they show how he hates that the town loves Archie's nice guy attitude so he plays up his bad boy prankster side. Why join them, when you can prank them. Meanwhile, Alexandra loves to be the star of every occasion and schemes to make Josie and the Pussycats be Alexandra's Cool Cat Band with her as the lead singer of course (despite being gone deaf). Not to mention scheme to steal Alan M. from Josie just so she can be number one. Also very very subtly implied that she does it because she's lonely. But that's very rare. Like Reggie, she prefers to hype up her rich beauty vibe to show why she's better than Josie.

2. They both love the expensive, flashy things in life Reggie's known for his awesome, speed racing cars, nice threads and flashing concert tickets and the like he can get with his money. Though sometimes he's cheap, he will use them to beat other men to get the girl. And Alexandra Cabot is just the same, only richer with mad inventions and castles and in one story, their own kingdom Cabotopia. So together, they would have such lavish dates in Reggie's Mercedes and dining on gold plates.

3. They will respect the other's nasty streak

Like I said before, the two can get into pretty nasty tricks to get what they wanted. As a result they've been cast as the town villain. While they mostly embrace the role, they're also lonely. So it would be nice for them to have someone who wouldn't judge them automatically for such bad actions. Hell, they'd probably add suggestions.

4. The egoism These two are the most self obsessed, egotistical people in the Archieuniverse. Mirrors are one their best friends. Imagine them goading each other with "The most gorgeou boyfriend in all Riverdale," "You're right, you should be the star of the Pussycats." Ugh, they wouldn't fit their heads through the door. Or more likely, they start fighting over whose richer? More beautiful? More mirror time etc.

5. Power couple Do I really need to explain this one?

More ship ideas underneath including CherylxAlexander and JasonxVeronica.

Alexander Cabot III and Cheryl Blossom: Cheryl wants to be a star. Alexander wants to manage a star. Ya see what I'm getting at here?

I mean Alexander's infamous for all the stunts he tries to get the Pussycats roped into like million dollars stadium tours across the world with high rise podiums, special effects and back up dancers that eventually the Pussycats quit because they prefer to be lowkey rockstars. Or when he tries to make them wear dresses made up of CD discs to boost sales.

Or when Archie and Valerie got married, trying to hire a reality show to boost popularity. He’s all about the flash and publicity and of course, money. He can be scheming and lowdown in his pursuit of fame, really representative of the sleazy Hollywood manager.

And Cheryl.. the MTV house  renting, temporary Sugar Girls member, burlesque dressing, reality tv show hanger on, she will do anything to get the attention on her. Even making the Cherry Blossom Festival to the Cheryl Blossom Festival. The girl's outrageous and can be as lowdown sneaky as anyone whether it comes to attracting boys or screwing with Betty and Veronica.Cheryl would have no problem fulfilling Alexander's ideas, in fact she'd encourage it. Together, I have no doubt they'd get their wish for fame and fortune.

Jason Blossom and Veronica Lodge: Even though Veronica is usually paired with Reggie or Alexander, she's rarely been paired with the the third bad boy of Riverdale. But why not once more for old times sake?

I can imagine the drama already that at first with Archie and Betty paired off with Valerie and Trey so Veronica pairs up with Alexander Cabot.

But this may not be the last affair as many might think, not only because Veronica has some amount of class and won't go for all of Alex's crazy schemes even if they will get publicity. Veronica has shown to be snobby and actually reject Alex (for laughs of course) by saying he was poorer than the Lodges. See here.

But much more likely, Cheryl, looking for a challenge, steals Alexander away from Veronica and Veronica in revenge, decides to date Cheryl's brother. Of course, this all starts as revenge and a prank which Jason plays along with because it drives his sister crazy. But slowly they become the mask as they fall in love.

In the comics, Jason has a mega crush on Betty who doesn't reciprocate because of the Archie factor and because Jason can be as mean and nasty as Reggie. Though for Betty, Jason seems willing to change into a teddy bear if he could be with her.

What I'm basically getting at is that Jason has a soft side for the girl he loves so when he falls for Veronica he falls hard, and I think Ron would appreciate this sweetness only shown to her. Plus the devotion compared to Archie's wishy washiness. Not to mention, Ron would like a man who easily fulfills his whims and has the money to match hers. Also he has Betty trunks, I bet she’d want Jason to have a whole outfit with her face on it.

Also just imagine the drama! Cheryl and Veronica as sisters in law! Alexandra and Cheryl teaming up as BFFs again!  The money, the fame, it would be ridiculously fun.

[arti-pops]

  It had been one month since school had started. Aki hadn't made many friends. Well, she only made one, actually, and that would be Yuyuko, but she could never be sure, that's her first friend after all. Is there a guide on how to be sure you really are friends with someone and they know it? Doesn’t matter, what matters is that Aki doesn’t feel the urge to fight her, like, ever. 

  They have dorms, and everyone has, sadly, a roommate. Aki’s poor, unfortunate soul had to end up with one of the most boring people she has ever met. The only reason she hasn’t forgotten uhh- Zuruko is because they have to see each other every day, since, you know, roommates. Although our dear bomb girl has forgotten a few times, but come on! That’s literally the girls quirk!

  Well, with that much time already studying at Taiyuu, they were bound to have a test. And that is the reason she found herself with a bunch of other kids standing before Wolfsboon waiting for instructions. He looked quite angry, it was funny.

  After getting everyone’s attention, he starts to explain. “Today’s exercise is as cooperative as it is competitive. Your goal will be to either capture or incapacitate the lumin that your opposing team will be attempting to escort.”

  As he gestures to the wooded area behind him, everyone looks, with different amounts of interests. “This will be your starting point. Your challenge will be to locate the escort team on one of the two potential paths through the woods, and either capture or subdue the lumin they will be escorting. I am certain you can already see one of them.”

  Some students stared at the path, too high for their likings and too narrow to walk besides someone, no matter how close you are. “I hope none of you are afraid of heights.” Wolfsboon says, voice clearly showing how concerned he is. And that would be not even a little bit.

  It was quite high, Aki wasn’t too fond of that, but it’s nothing she couldn’t just put aside. She’d be damned if that was a fear of hers, but it isn’t, and she does not feel bad for whoever is scared of that. Sucks to suck.

  “The other path is somewhere within. If you injure your classmates unnecessarily, you will come to regret it…” Shit, that’s a plan already being crossed out, how boring. “...when you are disqualified and fail the exercise.” His expression made it very clear there would be more than just that.

  Then, the teacher pulled out a list with every student’s names, some had a number next to them and some didn’t. Apparently the ones who didn’t were from the other team, and the people who had the same number were partners. Someone with the same number as Busujima Aki… aha! Rogers Salem. Who the fuck was that?

  Her doubts were cleared when someone who she knew as Bug came to her so they could talk. That was her real name? Wow, no wonder they go by a nickname.  “Hey! You’re my partner, right? Busujima Aki?”

  “Yep! That’s me, the one and only, fucker!” The girl in question said with all the confidence she had. Wow, that’s a lot.

  “All right, we need to plan how we’re going to do this.” They said. “We don’t know who we’re up against, so we can't know which path they’ll pick based on the people. Think we should split up?”

  Aki was not planning on thinking this exercise, but her partner was, so she had to go along. “Sure, but when one of us finds them how would we warn the other, huh?” 

  “Well, your quirk makes bombs right? And they’re not destructive? Maybe you could throw one on my path if they were on yours and I could send some insects? You’ll know by the sudden increase in amount.” He suggested.

  “That could work, but what if my bomb ends up too forward or behind you? It might not fucking reach you.” Aki left the part where her bombs were random out, that could be solved by making other bombs.

  “You throw multiple and I’ll send some insects while on my way to warn you I saw them?” They suggested.

  It was their turn, guess they were the second pair. “Sounds good, I’m taking the other path!” She ran without waiting for a response. 

--------------------

  Okay. She was at the top, it was as narrow as it looked, and she had to walk forward. Yep, she could do this. Aki took her steps, she walked like she would on land on a normal day. If she went too fast, she’d really be risking falling. Though maybe speeding up would be a good idea? Ugh! Why is she overthinking? Usually there’s no thinking at all!

  There were no signs of people yet, or an increase in insects, Aki wonders if that’s good or bad. It’s bad, definitely, she wants to get this over as quickly as possible but they just don’t show up! Of course, it was a smart option going slow so they don’t get caught, but surely they’ll meet up anyway, so maybe they could speed it up.

  Looking over at the sky, Aki thinks of the possibility that one of her enemies has wings or some form of flying quirk. There are some kids like that in this school, right? Although her thoughts are interrupted when she catches something brown quickly going from a tree to a bush. That’s… the Aguilero one, right?

  Aki  pretends she doesn’t see them and makes a bomb to throw at the other path. She is quite known for her aggressive and sometimes destructive nature, they wouldn’t suspect anything if she randomly threw a mini bomb, right? She looks down at it. Purple. Bug has to see the sticky goo, she’s not making another one right now. Looking at the other path, she sees the silhouette of her partner, huh, spotting each other isn’t as hard as they thought. The purple bomb is thrown at the other path - hopefully- right in front of the silhouette, her throw proves to have been a success when she sees the little blur that is her partner stop, turn around and run to the start of their path, on their one to the one their enemies are at. 

  Aki looks to her front again, intensely looking at the bushes. Okay, maybe there’s a chance that’ll give her away, but she does need to win this. Still walking, she notices a feather amongst the leaves. Aha! Bird kid! Another bomb is made. Red, flowers, it’s thrown to the side where they can’t see ground just as Bug’s insects get to Aki as a warning that her partner caught the signal. Another bomb is made, blues, cotton candy. Maybe that can trap them? She throws the bomb at the bush where the feather is located and hears a startled yelp. He wasn’t paying attention? Idiot.

  “Oh. Oh god that will take a while to clean.” As she gets closer she sees Aguilero trying to move, it’s mildly effective in separating a bit some parts of the cotton candy, but while they’re at it they seems to get some form of vine undone form around their chest and she hears another voice calling for a Lumin, as she looks towards it’s direction, she sees someone with black skin, horns and pink, blue and yellow fire coming out of them. Nerve- Nerva Rekka, yeah. C’mon, it’s been one month they’re here, shouldn’t she know? But to be fair she couldn’t name a single person from her old school.

  Luckily, behind the horned figure, there was a shadow approaching with what seemed to be a bunch of insects. Aguilero was almost getting up when Aki noticed and pinned them to the ground. “Do NOT try to steal this victory away from me. No matter how hard you try, we’ll win.” And just as she said that, the kids grew a brain and hit his head with hers. She threw her whole upper body back in pain - “Fuck.” - As she got up and took a few steps back, almost falling off the path, if it wasn’t for Bug, who was finally there, and who caught her.

  The Lumin was right beside Nerva, who looked ready to pick up the plant pup and sprint past them, while Aguliro was slowly standing up in the bush they were caught in. Aki made another bomb. Purple… perfect. As Rekka was about to move, a purple bomb was thrown at their feet, causing some sort of sticky goo to seal them in place. With that, Aguilero, already up, took the dog and started hopping with the added wings to help, though in that stated, he definitely couldn’t fly. Holding the Lumin seemed like quite the hardship in those conditions, and it was proven to be when the bird student dropped the animal, that fell onto the path a little ahead of Aki. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Nerva occupied trying to shake insects off that Bug was trying to make crawl over them. 

  As Aguilero turned back to grab the pup again, Aki ran forward and pushed it aside, causing the poor plant animal to fall off the narrow, high path. The villain team could win by either capturing the dog or injuring it to the point where it would be considered dead so… that means… they won! They won by injuring it to death!

   Aki’s first test, it could’ve been better, but she wasn’t going to complain about the results.