#i hit tag character limit and thought hm well i think two are enough to get the gist of it

[poesparakeet-fics]

Read it here or on AO3!

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, Beauregard Lionett & Caleb Widogast, The Mighty Nein & Caleb Widogast Characters: Caleb Widogast, Essek Thelyss, Beauregard Lionett, Jester Lavorre, Caduceus Clay Additional Tags: Shadogast - Freeform, dunamancy, Empire Siblings - Freeform, Prank Wars, Tickling, rib tickling Summary:

What happens to a ticklish wizard when he manages to piss off too many of the people who love him? Allies are made and lessons are learned.

FIC

“Caleb Widogast!” Caleb jumped as he walked into the kitchen of the Xorhaus, unsure of what he could have possibly done to upset anyone this early in the morning. He was even more surprised when he saw who. “Essek?” Caleb stammered, taken aback. The drow was perched on a large kitchen chair with a cup of Caduceus’ tea in his hands and a pinched look on his face. “Schatze, I’m sorry, were we to meet? I hope you weren’t waiting long, I--” “No.” Essek corrected him sharply. “I am here to have tea with Mr. Clay at his request, to discuss the situation in Savalierwood. But he just told me that he healed some pretty distinct injuries for you, yesterday?” Caleb felt a guilty cringe fold his stomach in half. He sighed, looking at Caduceus. “So that just came up, ja?” “Yeah,” Caduceus responded, “thought it might be why you slept in.” “Ja, I had a bit of a fall--” “A fall? From where?” Essek’s gaze was intense. Caleb dropped his eyes to the floor. “Oh just, you know, clumsy--” “Really? You clumsily practiced dunamantic phasing on your own and fell through the floor?” “I think it was three floors, actually…” Caduceus mused quietly. The cringe came to the surface and showed, unbidden on Caleb’s face. “Essek, I--” “I have never limited you. It was the one thing I asked.” “I know, I--” “Caleb.” He froze when Essek cut him off, meeting the elf’s gaze once more. Essek stared him down hard before continuing. “I had… better masters than you had, when I was a young wizard. Infinitely gentler, certainly. But they would have whipped me for practicing phasing magic by myself. Truly. You could have cut yourself in half, dismembered yourself, crushed yourself, suffocated in a wall--” Essek seemed to cut himself off with a wave of his hand. “The point… the point is it would cause me a great heartbreak if irresponsible use of the magic I taught you led to your demise. Please promise me again, and keep it this time.” Caleb ducked his head, feeling like a rightfully scolded school child. “I will, ja. I am sorry.” Essek gave him a look that said he didn't entirely believe him. “I do trust you. I do not trust your curiosity. It’s only a virtue if it doesn’t get you killed.” Caleb laughed softly, nodding as he sat down at the table with them and accepted a teacup from the still-silent Caduceus. He winked at Essek. “I think I could say the same to you, but fair enough. If I do it again, I’ll let you whip me.” Essek smiled back, but the doubt didn’t leave his expression. ... “CALEB!” Beau’s voice thundered from upstairs, and Caduceus almost dropped the knife he was using to prepare vegetables for dinner. He spun around to see the wizard in question with his hands in his component pouch, running as fast as he could through the kitchen and out the back door. Beau’s quick steps followed, but by the time she was in the kitchen they could both hear the familiar woosh of a misty step from outside. She stopped stock-still in the kitchen, hands clenched into fists, looking… different than Caduceus had ever seen her. What was it? “Uh… hey. Did you get some new clothes.?” Beau turned to him silently, eyes burning holes in his head. It was pretty scary, actually. “Oh! Uh… is that what this is about?” Beau’s clothes were bright magenta where they had once been her usual cobalt blue. She was still staring at Caduceus with her fists clenched. Veth and Fjord were creeping wearily into the kitchen behind her. “I think it looks nice--!” Veth offered, only to choke off in a scared squeak when Beau rounded to face her. Beau reached out to yank Fjord’s hat off his head and put it on. “Hey!’ Fjord protested, before clamping one hand over his mouth to hide a smile. “Oh. I see.” As it perched on Beau’s head, the hat instantly turned the same bright magenta of her robes. When she handed it back it returned to its usual color. The whole room was biting lips to keep an amused smile off their face, lest they become the new target for her fury. Beau took a deep breath before bellowing again. “CALEB!” She spoke into the air, her voice loud enough to hear throughout the house. “I KNOW THAT SPELL DOESN’T GO FAR. I KNOW YOU’RE HERE, AND I AM GOING TO FUCKING GET YOU, DO YOU HEAR ME? I AM GOING TO DO DOPE MONK SHIT TO YOUR NERVOUS SYSTEM, TIE YOU UP AND FEED YOU TO A ROOM FULL OF TIEFLINGS. You will FUCKING SUFFER! THINK OF A NEW NAME, CAUSE CALEB WIDOGAST IS A FUCKING DEAD MAN! ” At the end of her tirade Beau took a deep breath and started to walk upstairs again, but not before spinning around and jabbing a finger at everyone in the kitchen. “ANYONE caught harboring the wizard will share his fucking fate!” … "...CALEB WIDOGAST IS A FUCKING DEAD MAN! ” Caleb was sitting cross-legged on the floor of his hiding place in Fjord’s empty bedroom when Beau finished her threats, but by the time she was climbing the stairs again he had disappeared with a crackling pop. When the disorienting suck of the teleport spell faded he was standing on a clay path in a dimly-lit garden next to a trio of small towers made of iridescent grey brick. An arcane weather-vane creaked in the darkness. He started toward the door. “Caleb?” A head of pale curls popped up over the top of a bush of dark purple flowers, a frown of concern on the face beneath. “Essek, hello. Ah… may I spend the night?” Essek walked toward him as he pulled floral gardening gloves off of his hands, eyes narrowed wearily. “Of course, I am always happy to have you...” He reached Caleb and placed a distracted kiss on his cheek. “... did something happen at home?” “Yes.” Caleb answered, only to stutter as Essek’s worry grew, “Oh, ah, nothing bad. Well, nothing very bad. I just need to avoid Beauregard for a bit.” Essek’s worry immediately evaporated to be replaced with amused annoyance. “I see. What did you do this time?” They both started to stroll through the garden toward Essek’s back door. “Oh, just some illusion work. It will go away by morning. She deserves it, after stealing my spellbook while I was sleeping.” “Mhmm.” Essek hummed, linking his arm with Caleb’s. “But wasn’t her stealing your spellbook revenge for…” “The magic spiders, ja, but I had to do that! She--” “--the disappearing ink, yes, I remember. Are you sensing a pattern here, chathtiu?” Caleb sniffed and turned his nose up. “I have no idea what you mean.” Essek’s smile turned indulgent as he pulled Caleb into his home. “I’m sure you don’t. Beauregard does have a way of pushing your buttons, hm?” “She is the expert.” “I should ask her for advice, one of these days.” Caleb only laughed, pulling the smaller man into his arms. “You have your own way of pushing my buttons, don’t you schatz?” Essek smiled back. “You’re right, of course. I do.” ... Caleb stalked through the library of the Xorhause, circling it room by room. While his books were sitting on the desk he’d been working at the night before, their holsters were missing. He shifted the papers on his desk, panic rising in his chest. Where were they? “Caleb?” Jester was standing in the doorway, his holsters dangling from one finger. Caleb let out a sigh of relief. “Jester! Danke! Where were they?” “Sorry, I think Sprinkle must have stolen them.” Caleb shook his head, the tension in his chest easing. “That’s alright. I’m just glad they are found.” He reached out for them, stopping short when another figure entered the room. It was Beau, her clothes now back to their normal deep blue. Their eyes met for a moment, but the monk just breezed past as though she didn’t even notice Caleb was there. It had been a week since the incident with her clothes with no revenge or further threats, and Caleb was starting to wonder if he’d finally won the war. He shrugged his holsters on as the two women sat down on the sofa. He missed Jester’s giggle until it was too late. “Hey Caleb?” Beau asked. “Uh, ja?” Caleb cringed a little, turning around. Beau’s look was positively predatory. “Fuck you.” Caleb was about to respond when the sensation of fingers digging into his ribs flushed all the air out of him in one squeal. He spun around clumsily, hands flapping, but nobody was near him. He craned his neck to look down, his arms helplessly hugging his own ribcage while his knees buckled. That’s when he realized where the sensation was coming from. “Wh-what? No, I-- ah! Please!” His fingers fumbled with the buckle of his holsters to try and escape the traitorous leather trap, but the buckle was trapped under a magical seal of iridescent purple wax with the image of a skeleton key pressed into its surface. “Fuck!” Beaureguard was grinning like a gnoll. “What’s that buddy? Fuck you?” “Aah!” Caleb’s whole body convulsed and hit the carpet as the tickling escalated, even more invisible fingers reaching out from the leather to stroke delicate bones under pale skin and plain cloth. “No no! Please!” “Can I try?” Jester asked, giggling. “Nein!” “Sure, go for it.” “Fuck yooooou Caleb!” Caleb couldn’t answer her with words, he could only wail wordlessly. He writhed on the ground, trying desperately to resist the currently useless instinct to lock his arms at his sides so he could try and pull the holsters off over his head, but it was no use. All he could do was paw uselessly at the leather before Beureguard hissed the trigger word again and all he could see was stars. “Uh… everything alright in here?” Fjord’s voice came from the direction of the door. Caleb couldn’t see him over the sofa. “Fjord!” Caleb screeched. “Plea-hee-se! Evil!” It was all he could get out before his voice cracked and his laughter turned silent, his head thrown back against the carpet. “Huh?” Beau answered in an exaggeratedly casual tone. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Just getting a little payback for my pink phase. Stole his holsters and Essek cursed ‘em.” A wave of betrayal strong enough to overpower his ticklishness gave Caleb just enough breath to shout “WHAT?!” before the laughter overtook him again, tears building in his eyes. “I helped with the ruse!” Jester piped up. “Uh-huh.” Fjord nodded, “can he breathe?” “Hmm? Oh, I guess we can check. Good boy, Caleb.” The sensation stopped all at once, and Caleb rolled flat on his back to gulp in air. “See? He’s fine.” Caleb sat up, hands held out in supplication even as he struggled to catch his breath. “Beau, please, I’m s-” “Fuck you and your apology.” Any strength Caleb had recovered melted away as he squealed and flopped back down on the carpet, limbs curling uselessly against his body. The tickling fingers coming from the inner panels of his holsters might as well have been sucking his very life-force out. Fjord lets out a sigh. “If you’re going to torture him for a prank, you at least have to let him apologise. Good boy?” Caleb didn’t get up this time, too scared to trigger someone’s wrath or sense of mischief. He was still giggling, partially from phantom sensation and partially from the panicky tension of knowing that any of them could trigger the curse at any moment. “I’m sorry! Bitte!” There was a beat of silence before Beau turned to Fjord again. “There, I let him apologise. Can we go back to the torture now?” “Wait!” Caleb squeaked, rising unsteadily to his knees. “Please Beau, we can talk about this--” “Oh, you wanna talk now? Cause when it happened you were happy to teleport away to your fucking boyfriend’s. So… you know,” she finished with a grin, “fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU.” “Nein!” Was all Caleb could manage before his laughter stole his voice away, only to crack and go silent once more a moment later. Tears leaked from his eyes to roll into the fluffy carpet beneath him as he crumpled. “Oh, he’s so cute when he cries, I love it!” Jester clapped her hands while she watched from the sofa. “This is the best curse ever.” Fjord made an agreeable sound. “I wonder if Essek could make something more remote? Then we could tickle him wherever we are. That would be fun.” Caleb couldn’t respond to the idea with anything more than pained wail through his hysterics. The others pretended not to notice. “Yeah, I do worry that he goes without when we’re gone.” Jester cooed. “Pfft. Yeah, I don’t think Essek is letting that happen.” Beau snorted. Caleb started to beat at the floor with one hand, hiccups punctuating his laughter. “Aw, alright. Good boy.” The sensation stopped again, but Caleb couldn’t stop his laughter. “Please, pleaheese, *hic* bitte--” “Focus on catching your breath.” Fjord suggested, “It’ll do you more good than begging will.” Caleb let out an exhausted little sob before obeying, his lungs working overtime to suck in air. He wiped the tears from his eyes and tried to make the hiccups go away with little success. When his breathing finally evened out Fjord gave him a reassuring smile. “See, that’s better.” Fjord soothed. Beau’s grin got wider. “Hey, Caleb?” “No!” “Fffffffffff…” “Mercy!” “...uuuuck you!” “Aaii!” Caleb let out a little yelp at the sound of the words, then… nothing. He’d clenched his eyes shut in anticipation, and when he slowly opened them Beau was glaring at him. “Hey! How come it didn’t work?” Caleb let out a huge sigh of relief. The curse must have expended all of its energy. “Is it done?” Jester questioned. Caleb was wondering the same thing. He tried to examine the buckle of his holsters as subtly as possible. The seal was still there, which meant whatever the curse was, it was not over. He needed to get out of earshot as quickly as he could. “I thought it was supposed to last longer than that. Can you message Essek?” “Sure!” Caleb started to cast for misty step as subtly as he could, hoping he was close enough to his lab to lock himself inside. “Hi Essek, it’s Jester! So, your awesome curse thingy is SO great, but like, but it ran out of tickles? Do you know why?” Whoosh. Caleb hit the stone floor of his lab with an oof, dragging himself to his feet and transmuting the door of the lab into stone for good measure. As he groaned he saw that the room looked quite different compared to how he had left it the night before. The large chalkboard he used for calculations had been moved into the centre of the room. In one corner someone had drawn a symbol-- a skeleton key, like the one on the seal trapping him in his holsters. Next to it someone had written in familiar, looping script: I will not practice phasing unsupervised. X100 Caleb whipped out the enchanted little book he and Essek used to send messages between them, only to find a new one waiting for him. You have 30 minutes. Caleb was glad nobody was there to watch him gape like a fish between the chalkboard and the book. Essek couldn’t be serious. He frowned and grabbed up a quill. You are a traitorous snake! There was only a single silent moment before the page shimmered and revealed another message under Caleb’s. Noted. Now you only have 25 minutes. Caleb took a moment to say every curse word in every language he knew. Then he stood up, snatched the chalk and started writing.

#caleb widogast #essek thelyss #Shadogast #Tickling #Tickle Fic #Critickle Role #beauregard lionett #Empire Siblings #Prank wars #Rib tickling #Ticklish Wizards #hot boi essek #TK fic

[the-angriestpineapple]

Bountiful Harvest (Endeavor x Fem Reader)

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Rating: Explicit

Characters: Todoroki Enji (Endeavor)

Inspiration: My piece for the Citrus Dome Discord server’s Gods AU collaboration. Enji isn’t based on a particular god, but who better to be one than him?  Masterlist is here.

Prompt: Worship has always been a part of your daily routine. Each season you place the fruits of your labor at the altar. Every day you pray. It’s human nature, seeking answers from the Gods.

But you never expected one to answer…

Word Count: ~3k

Worship has always been a part of your daily routine. Each season you place the fruits of your labor at the altar. Every day you pray. It’s human nature, seeking answers from the Gods.

But you never expected one to answer…

The god your family prayed to was one that your father insisted was powerful. He was almighty, he was deadly for the enemies of his followers. You weren’t entirely sure if that was true. Your lives were… peaceful enough. Your crops were good. Your family was healthy. As a family you prayed together very consistently. However only your father made an offering every new moon, when the sun dominated the sky. He was the only one allowed in your family shrine when the offering was made so you never really know what it was, but you assumed that it was part of your crops. Outside of that you would quietly tag along, looking at the stone walls in boredom and waiting for your father’s droning prayers to cease.

Then the leader of the kingdom to the north declared war on your kingdom, and able bodied men were conscripted to the army. Your father had to go, but he made sure to tell you that as the eldest child of the family it fell on you to make the monthly sacrifice. You honestly weren’t sure if the god existed or not but you make sure to tell your father that you will do as he asks if he isn’t back in time.

The new moon rolls around before your father returns. You select some of your best crops – corn, potatoes, greens. A bit of everything you grow. You even throw in two loaves of fresh bread that you’d baked earlier that day. That had to be enough. 

Your father had explained the reason why the sacrifice was made the day of the new moon. It was when the sun was at its most powerful, and your family’s patron god was a solar deity. Your father had waxed poetic about everything that this particular god did but you weren’t exactly listening. It was important to your father though, so you’d do what he asked. You enter the small, windowless building that your father built to the god. Despite the fact that there were no windows the roof was glass, with a circular hole in the center. Torches lined the walls, and you were surprised to see that they were burning. They had always been burning when you came in with your family but you assumed that your father lit them. You take the few steps to the flat, wide table that serves as the altar, taking a few moments to study it. The table was a large stone slab moreso than a table, really. A second large stone sat in the front, carved with what looks like fire, and a single word.

Endeavor.

You say it quietly to yourself, your voice echoing strangely in the small room. It gives you a strange feeling as if you’re being watched. You place the basket on the altar and dip your head respectfully before you head out, closing the door quietly behind you.

Your father doesn’t return before the next new moon. This means that you need to give the next offering. You pack up another basket of your best crops and bake some small cakes this time, bringing the offering out when the sun is highest in the sky. You let yourself into the room again and make your way to the altar. Before you can set your basket down, though, all the torches go out.

You turn and step down off the small dias that the table sits on, looking at them. You’re confused. You shut the door, there should be no air coming through here. And even if there was it hadn’t been that windy today. So what had made the torches go out…?

“Foolish mortal.” A booming voice echoes from behind you and you jump, whirling around. Standing before you is the largest man you’ve ever beheld. He has to be almost seven feet tall, shoulders almost as wide as the altar. Thick, strong arms crossed over a barrel chest. Legs roped with muscle. He’s wearing a deep red tunic that reminds you of fire. Or of blood. His eyes are the brightest blue you’ve ever seen, and his gaze makes you want to run for your life.

“Your sacrifice was paltry, laughable. Offensive. I do not take sacrifices in the form of plants and breads.” He spits the words as if you’d offered him manure instead of your best crops. “I require something with vitality. Blood. Meat.” The large god sneers down at you and you can’t help but recoil a little. That was what your father did every month? How had you not noticed him killing something to bring in here?

Then the god – Endeavor, if the word on the altar was correct – was walking toward you. He was even larger and more intimidating as he stared down at you with a scowl. His arms were now hanging at his sides, and you couldn’t help but notice that each of his hands could easily engulf your entire head. Your eyes are snapped back up to his face as he speaks again. “As I see that you’ve brought another unacceptable offering, I will provide you with two choices. Either you find me something better, or I’m removing my blessing from your family.”

Better. You curse inwardly and bite your lip. What could you offer a god?

“I’m waiting, mortal.” You look up at him while still biting your lip. “I’m… I’m not killing anything. I can’t. Is there something else you’ll accept?” Endeavor raises his brow and crosses his arms over his chest once more.

“I told you what my requirements are. Either give me what I desire or your blessings are revoked.” You go over in your head everything that your father claimed prayer to this god was responsible for. Your safety. Healthy livestock. Your family’s health. You think of your sibling, who hadn’t been feeling well recently. You think of your mother, and how weak she had been after your last sibling had been born. You think about the harsh winters that only a bountiful harvest that summer had enabled you to survive. You’re struck with a cold realization that your family could possibly perish without these boons. And it would be entirely your fault.

The words are out of your mouth without any further thought. “I wish to sacrifice myself.” You stand straighter, jaw clenched in determination and hands balled at your sides. He doesn’t respond right away, just appraises you quietly.

“Hm. It has been some time since a maiden has offered herself as the sacrifice. Very well. I accept.” With a speed you almost can’t follow he snatches your arm and drags you up to the altar. You’ve resigned yourself to this fate, sorrowful that you won’t be able to say goodbye to your family. But they’ll be safe, and that soothes the pain of the fact that a god is about to kill you. You’re all but flung over the altar, hips hitting the edge hard. You close your eyes and prepare for the crushing blow.

What you don’t expect are large hands smoothing over your side and your hips. Your heart pounds and your thoughts run wild as the soft caresses continue, unhurried and purposeful. What was he doing? Why didn’t he just get on with it and kill you? Was he trying to decide the best way to do it? Did he eat his sacrifices? A nervous laugh bubbles in your chest but doesn’t quite make it out as you think of your mother telling a much younger you to not play with your food.

The hands slide back up from your calves, over your hips, up your sides. You’re trembling, the anticipation to your own death is horrible. He gently gathers your hair to one side and grips at the back of your neck. Ah, so he would snap your neck. At least it would be over quickly. But he just squeezes and then drags his fingertips down your clothed spine. You’re a bundle of nerves and near tears, wishing he would just kill you and end this. Then the hands come to rest on your ass, heavy palms kneading the flesh, and he pushes his hips into you. Endeavor’s voice rings in your mind - it has been some time since a maiden has offered herself as the sacrifice – and you realize that he does not intend to kill you. Oh. Oh. He wants… This is much, much more preferable.

You’re no stranger to sex. You were of marrying age, and the boy that you had been interested in had talked you into lying with him before he ran off to wed the girl his parents had set up for him. You’d had no knowledge of their arrangement, and you were crushed. Luckily your parents were understanding of the fact that your heart had been shattered even if they weren’t aware of just how far things had gone with the boy. They didn’t press for you to find a husband. You were a help to your parents, they were not very keen on losing that. You had been with this boy a few times, enough times that you weren’t afraid as the god started to lift your dress.

Your experience was limited, so you almost jumped out of your skin when you felt a long stripe of a tongue licking up your slit. Your knees buckle. His tongue is so hot, and now that his hands are on your bare skin you’re acutely aware of just how much heat is radiating from him. You’ve never been in the presence of a god, let alone this close to one. Did they all feel like this? Or was it just this one in particular? This line of thought is interrupted as he licks another hard stripe up your sex, pulling a shaky moan from you. You’d never had a mouth there before. It was amazing how good it felt.

He didn’t speak as he lavished his tongue over your core. He only gives a rumbling noise of approval as your body responds to his attention and he laps up the slick he’s getting out of you. You’re confused about what is happening since the boy you’d been with previously had only kissed you, and thrust up between your legs a few times. But who are you to question a god? Especially one that is gripping your upper thigh this hard and whose tongue is starting to curl inside you like that.

Your legs are spreading wider to accommodate his bulk without really thinking about it, needing more of whatever he’s doing to you. Your eyes are fluttering closed, breath coming out in pants, risen up on the tips of your toes. You can’t believe how amazing it feels. But then thick fingers are sliding along your slit as well. One of them slips easily inside. You’re surprised at how one finger rivals the boy you’d been with, and how easily it slid in. How wet you were. Except Endeavor’s finger is crooking inside of you and hitting spots that you didn’t know existed. You gasp when he hits a certain spot, your legs shaking. He chuckles at your response and resumes running his tongue along the outside of your sex.

Neither of you speak as he works you over. The only sound in the small temple are the noises he’s drawing from you with his meticulous movements. You’re still pretty quiet, even as he’s making your eyes roll back in your head. You feel like you need to be. The temple is far enough from the house, but your siblings like to play in the field that cuts through between the temple and the house. You didn’t want them to come check on you and find you like this.

You can’t help the yelp when his finger slides out and two slide back in though. It doesn’t hurt, but you weren’t expecting it. You feel so full. It’s a new feeling, and it’s so perfect. His fingers alternate between curling up and pressing into the spot that makes you gasp and scissoring. Your hips are rocking back into his hand. Your own hands grasping at the edge of the altar. His fingers are working you expertly and his tongue is still dragging along your skin and dipping down to suck gently at your clit. It feels like there’s a wire in your belly and it’s being pulled tighter and tighter. It’s divine. You need more.

Just as you think this, he obliges. A third finger slips easily inside of you. This time when he presses up against that spot again you cry out, feeling something in you snap, and clench around the intrusion. He gently flexes his finger over the spot as you ride out whatever this was. You’d never had an orgasm before. Just as the heat in your belly starts to die down he easily slides in a fourth finger. He is not done with you yet. You can’t believe how far you’re stretched with no pain. But Endeavor is sliding out of you, making you whimper from the sudden emptiness. His large hands slide around to your front, one resting on your stomach and one sliding up to grasp your jaw. His hand is so big that some fingers are also pressing into your throat. You feel him lift you from the altar – from the floor entirely – and brings you to rest on him. Your back is pressed to his hard chest, and your slit is resting on his large shaft. Before you can feel any panic over how big he is everywhere, he tilts your head back and catches your lips with his own.

Your mind flatlines. You’re kissing a god. He has you fully off the floor, barely able to brush your toes if you point them. You can’t help the soft moan that is lost in his mouth. His hips start to move, rocking back and forth. Sliding along your slit, collecting your slick on his shaft. You’re starting to lose the need to stay quiet. The way he’s holding you up, the way his tongue tastes like you, it all feels so forbidden. It sends a spike of heat to your core. Before you even realize you’re doing it, your hips are rocking with his own. At least as well as they can when he has you pinned to his chest like this.

You’re losing yourself in his kiss. One of your arms comes up to cup the back of his neck, wanting to pull him closer. Needing more of this heat that he radiates. He growls as your hips slide over his length more desperately, finally tearing his mouth from yours and dropping you to bend you back over the altar. You hear the sound of him spitting on his own cock, then the press of his blunt head lining up with your entrance. He pushes in the first inch, puts his hands on your hips as an anchor, then rocks in and out a few times until he’s seated perfectly inside of you.

“E-Endeavor-” you gasp out once he fills you completely. You’ve never felt so full. He doesn’t move at first. There’s a fleeting thought about how considerate he is to allow you to adjust to his size, but your need for him to move makes you start to push your hips back into him. He lets out another growl and his grip on your hips gets harder. He drags out, then slams back in.

He starts to fuck you in earnest against the altar, and you’re once again scrambling to hold onto the edge. All thoughts of staying quiet are completely gone from your head. You’re moaning loudly with each thrust, especially as he starts grunting with the effort of fucking you senseless. It’s nice to know that you can affect a god like that. Endeavor curses and pulls you back flush against him before pinning you to his chest with one hand again. His free hand grips the back of your thigh and pulls your leg up. He lets go of your midsection and has your other thigh held up as well. Your back is pressed hard against his chest, legs splayed out. You’re not entirely sure how he pulls the move off, but he’s a god so you don’t question it. You can’t even if you want to because he’s drilling to you again in earnest.

You manage to get your hands around the back of Endeavor’s neck to keep yourself from bouncing on his cock too hard and enable you to press your hips back down against him. He turns to tuck his face into your neck, nipping at the skin there. You can feel that wire tightening in your belly again, but it’s all over when he mouths at your earlobe. “Cum again. Cum all over my cock,” he rumbles into your ear. The command sends you over the edge, and you’re clamping down on him hard. He growls as he slams into you once last time, leaving blooming bruises where his fingers dig into your thighs, as he fills you up.

He doesn’t pull out of you at first. He’s breathing hard, and you’re collapsed against his chest and breathing hard as well. After a few moments he carefully lifts you off of him and sits you on his altar before standing back. His tunic is covering him once more, and you’re struggling to focus on him. His sharp blue eyes are staring at you, mouth still turned into a frown. He looks so nonplussed, like he didn’t just fuck you stupid. He looks so mean.

“This sacrifice was acceptable. I expect the same at the next new moon.” Then he was gone.

You stay there for a few moments, unsure if your legs will support your weight. Finally you slide from the altar. There’s a stream behind the temple that you can clean up at. Then you can head back to the house. You’re already looking forward to the next new moon. The only thing you’re concerned about now is how to explain to your father that Endeavor no longer wants his sacrifices.

#enji #todoroki enji #endeavor #my hero academia #endeavor x reader #endeavor imagines #todoroki enji imagines #bnha imagines #bnha collab #citrus dome collab #citrus dome #bnha smut

[rosezemlya]

Hey Rose! I took a deep dive into your ALBW tags and i came across your posts about how you were struggling with the initial problem of how it could fit with RR. What with the two triforces and second hero etc. it got me thinking, and was wondering if having Ravio and or Hilda be.. well dead, would solve the problem? The biggest thing to me is the existence of Lorule at all? In the Dark world??? So what was it when it was the Sacred Realm? Was it more of a “resting place” for the souls of those tied to the triforce?? Unless Lorule was created after the Dark World came to be... hm

In Reconcillations you have Anduriel mention that the first hero died in the Sacred realm, protecting the triforce. I know technically his soul already moved on because there can only be one Link/hero at a time, but boy would it be interesting to think about how a hero who is done being the hero and the triforce abandons him because of dark world corruption and his peaceful afterlife is ripped from him... idk! Just some thoughts I wanted to share!

...did they increase the character limits on asks? Amazing!

To respond to your actual ask, though, instead of just being surprised at the new character length: I mean, you're hitting on why ALBW doesn't so much work with the RR cosmology! Having Hilda/Ravio be dead could be interesting to explore, but it wouldn't resolve the base incompatibility with RR, because, as you point out, there's only one Link. So Ravio couldn't exist as he's presented in-game. I do have plans for the "at least, there used to be only one Link" comment at the end of the Return, but they predate ALBW by, like, at least a decade. I could actually adapt them pretty easy to address ALBW, weirdly enough, but it would mean giving up some other stuff I want to do and I don't think the tradeoff is worth it. Allowing for the fact that it's been a while since I played ALBW and I'm hazy on the details, the only way to make ALBW work in the RR universe, I think, would be to get time travel involved. Where Lorule is a past or future version of Hyrule, making Ravio a past or future Hero of Time and build out the plot from there. If it's past, then dealing with whether Hyrule was born out of Lorule's salvation (because they got the Triforce piece from Hyrule) or destruction (because they didn't) and what that means. If it's future, then dealing with how Hyrule could fall so far from RR Cycle to however far in the future Cycle where Lorule happens and also whether they should do anything to prevent Lorule's rise/fall or accept they can't control it. (Also, whatever interesting threads you could get out of either/both Links/Zeldas being realated.)

If you were breaking off the RR canon, though, and its inconvenient one-Hero rule, Lorule becomes extremely interesting in terms of having a whole slew of implications and possible interpretations and thematic options to choose from. I like the idea of tying it to the afterlife, somehow. And there are interesting implications for a potential cosmology, if you factor in Hyrule, and Lorule, and then places like Termina, and etc. And how they are or aren't linked and what the Triforce is in that kind of context. When we're talking parallel worlds, rather than neighbouring kingdoms, type of deal.

It's probably too late for me to be trying to answer this right now, I'm not sure how much sense I'm making. But it would be interesting is what I'm saying.

#loz rr #loz albw

[the-odd-job]

Up in Flames chapter 4 - Cogs (Ashes Part 2)

Warnings: Major Character Death, Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Soundwave, Skywarp, Rumble, Frenzy, Vortex, Onslaught, Thundercracker, Starscream, Swindle Additional Tags: Dubcon, Mechpreg, Sticky Words: 3144

( Previous )

“Ready?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Sideswipe grinned back at Skywarp. The Seeker was standing respectfully right outside the door to their quarters, not stepping in because he hadn’t been invited.

Wasn’t everyone here just so polite. Though, a part of it might’ve just been self preservation instinct, if Skywarp possessed some of that. The twins had slagged him more times than anyone would care to count, so did he really want to give them a reason to do that again by overstepping his boundaries, or something?

Though that might be giving himself a bit too much credit, Sunstreaker thought. He knew he had a reputation, well earned one, but expecting the likes of Skywarp to take heed of it was just… A little too far out there.

So maybe the damned wing thing just had actual manners.

But he had promised them a tour of the Victory, and apparently they were going to get it. Skywarp nodded to Sideswipe’s agreement, then gestured them along and started down the hall. “This part of the ship has quarters in three decks and several hallways. This is the lowest deck of those. Seekers’ quarters are on the highest deck of the three, and combiner teams have the middle deck.”

“So we’re just kinda the… Overflow?” Sideswipe asked as they walked. Most of the Decepticon forces on Earth were either Seekers or combiners, with just the odd mech that didn’t fall into either category. They expected that the majority of the quarters around theirs were empty.

“Kinda, yeah,” Skywarp shrugged, but continued chipperly right after, “But don’t let it get you down! You’re as important as everyone else!”

Sideswipe laughed. Sunstreaker huffed. “More than, if we fought for Megatron,” he growled. Skywarp’s wings flicked, but he didn’t seem confused so maybe he got the point.

Point being that even Megatron had acknowledged they were some of the best warriors still alive. If they’d fought for Megatron… Pits, maybe they could’ve turned the tide of the war, at least here on Earth. The Autobots and Decepticons had been pretty evenly matched with them on the Autobot side. How would those scales tip now that they didn’t fight for the Autobots?

How would they have tipped if they’d started to fight for the Decepticons?

But that wasn’t happening. He might’ve been carrying the fragging warlord’s offspring, and that may have forced him to desert the side he’d fought for the length of the war so far, but that hardly meant he held any loyalty for the mech, or had any desire to risk his life for him.

Even if it meant they didn’t get to fight.

Who knew, maybe their desire to battle would eventually win over, and they’d fight for Megatron just to get to fight.

But on waiting for that day…

Instead of going up the ramps like they’d half expected, Skywarp instead took the ramp down.

All the way down.

“This is the lowest level of the ship,” the Seeker told them as they came to the bottom of the ramp and were greeted with a hallway even more dimly lit than the rest. The air was musky, heavy with the scent of spilled energon and misery. “The brig is here, as well as Vortex’s, uh… Workspace.”

Torture chamber, in other words. The brothers shared a glance. They’d heard enough about the rotorflier who was a terror just on the battlefield—nevermind in a space where he was in absolute control and you were at his complete mercy.

You needed to be one big time masochist to find that fun.

“Seriously, you don’t want to end up here,” Skywarp said before he turned around and ushered them back up the ramp.

“Just the brig or..? ‘Cause we know brigs pretty well. They’re not so bad,” Sideswipe asked even as they climbed back up.

Skywarp snorted. “You’re lucky if it’s just the brig you get.”

Sunstreaker frowned, but it was Sideswipe who spoke up again, voicing their pulse of disquiet. “Wait, you mean we have to worry about Vortex too? Even though we’re on his side?” That was… A disturbing thought, to say the least.

But Skywarp confirmed it with a nod. “Megatron doesn’t mess around with punishments, is all. And Vortex enjoys it, so…”

…Right. Welcome to the Decepticons where you could get tortured by your own side! Wasn’t that just a cheery thought. What did that spell for them? Known troublemakers?

Sideswipe was hard at work reevaluating his priorities and the worth of making as much of a menace of himself as he’d been among the Autobots. The Autobot punishments were rarely that much of deterrents. They were all softies, and it showed in what they thought were appropriate repercussions.

Decepticons, from the sounds of it… Followed more in the footsteps of the Pits. It made sense. Many of the Decepticons at the start of the war had been Pit fighters. Didn’t it pretty easily follow that the mannerism and culture of the Pits would travel over? Punishments included?

And they knew a thing or two about the kind of punishments the Pit masters had thought appropriate. 

Sideswipe was chewing on his lip thoughtfully, but when they got to the top of the next ramp, there were others who were headed for it.

A certain rotorflier and his team leader.

But they were the ones to step out of Skywarp’s way, rather than the other way around. That was… Surprising. Although, Skywarp was trine to the Second in Command. Did that make him rank higher than even Onslaught?

Pit if he knew, but he got the impression that the Decepticons were pretty serious about pecking order. 

Vortex’s rotors were twitching in a way that looked a lot like amusement. Sunstreaker glared at him, and they twitched harder.

Onslaught, meanwhile, inclined his helm at them. “Allow me to properly welcome you to the Decepticons, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker.”

“Thanks?” Sideswipe hazarded, and was Onslaught amused now too? Slaggit but why did everyone need to be wearing both visors and masks? Just one of those wasn’t enough? Had to hide your expressions entirely? If they hadn’t bothered to control their fields at least, but neither Vortex nor Onslaught was letting a hell of a lot be read.

The Combaticon leader landed his attention squarely on Sunstreaker next, that much he could tell just by where his face was directed. “Defecting was a tactically solid maneuver, let me say. I congratulate you for the smart move.”

Sunstreaker frowned. Tactically solid? Smart move?

Had he had any other options?

“Are you teasing me?” he growled, rounding in on the tank. Skywarp’s wings flicked up and he glanced at Sideswipe, but when Sideswipe didn’t react, Skywarp seemed to relax a bit too.

And yeah, maybe this wasn’t a smart move, antagonizing Onslaught of all mecha. He didn’t have a lot of chances of winning against him in a fair fight.

Maybe if he glitched..?

Something to consider.

But Onslaught didn’t take offense. In fact, his field, this time, actually flared with amusement that he didn’t bother hiding.

Sunstreaker snarled louder. “Stop being a fragging coward and show your face. Let’s see what kind of a slagging smile you’re wearing under that mask.”

“Feisty,” Onslaught commented. “I can see why Lord Megatron likes you.”

“I really don’t give a frag about how much Lord Megatron likes or dislikes me,” Sunstreaker growled back, his servos balling into fists. Just where should he hit to make the biggest point? He couldn’t reach Onslaught’s face, although cracking his visor would have been greatly satisfying. 

“Maybe you should,” the tank rumbled back, never losing that damn amusement. “You’re protected as long as you remain in his good graces, but what of if you don’t? You refuse to fight for him. What good are you short of an entertaining berth toy?”

Crotch. That’s what Sunstreaker chose to hit. Onslaught’s interface cover dented pleasantly under his fist, and although the tank didn't make a sound, he jerked in surprise.

Good enough.

Skywarp made an alarmed sound behind him, but Sunstreaker stared up into Onslaught’s visor without a trace of fear. The red band flashed at him, but Onslaught straightened without returning the gesture. “Hm. Prove me wrong, won’t you, Sunstreaker?”

With that the tank turned to leave. Vortex was chortling, wiggling his digits at them in parting. “Do make sure to come to visit me at some point, twins. We’ll have so much fun,” the rotorflier giggled before following after his team leader.

“Man,” Skywarp breathed once the two were well out of sight. “You have a spine of steel, Sunstreaker? You know he could probably slag you.”

“I’m aware,” Sunstreaker growled. Sideswipe stepped over and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, grinning like a lunatic.

“That’s Sunny for you! More anger than good sense,” his twin giggled like some cracked Vortex copy. Sunstreaker rolled his optics.

“Uh-huh,” was the sound Skywarp made, by all appearances not in disagreement. 

They headed up the ramps next, and Skywarp pointed out the other hallways with living quarters, but didn’t turn to any of them. Instead he led the way down a different hallway. “I think you visited the repair bay already? It’s right over there, and this part of the ship also has labs and storage areas. Most of those are off limits without permission.”

Reasonable enough.

Higher still they went up a different set of ramps. “Here’s the offices,” Skywarp said as they turned a corner and nearly ran into Swindle. Their fellow grounder danced out of the way and a collision was avoided.

Then his brother and the damn swindler were already grinning at each other, bumping fists in greeting. “Sideswipe! My good friend, I was wondering when I’d see you around.”

Sideswipe laughed. “Riiiight. Don’t kid, you’re just sad you don’t have a contact in the ‘Bots anymore.

Swindle shrugged. “True, I feel like I lost a good business partner. Unless you’re still willing to strike some deals?”

“Now why would I?” Sideswipe grinned. “We’re on the same side now, ain’t we? If anything, we should start working together. Talk some humans out of their goods, eh?”

“Isn’t that a thought.”

Sunstreaker facepalmed as the two businessmechs started to talk money. If the Autobots had known Sideswipe regularly struck up deals with Swindle… Well, they had never been the most loyal ‘Bots there were. And it wasn’t as if Sunstreaker hadn’t benefited from that. Both Swindle and Sideswipe were rather proficient at procuring goods for entirely unfair prices. Sunstreaker had gotten quite many things for himself thanks to what the two could accomplish.

And now they wanted to work together.

The humans wouldn’t know what hit them.

“Let’s talk more when you have the time,” Swindle said in parting, and Sideswipe gave him a thumbs up before they set to follow after Skywarp again.

“You did deals with him even when you were Autoscum?” Skywarp asked curiously.

“Ayup!” Sideswipe confirmed, a bit proudly. “And no one ever found out.”

“Cool.” Was the Seeker a little impressed? Well, he had reason to be. Semi-regularly going behind the command’s back without them ever becoming none the wiser to what Sideswipe was up to… Yeah, that took some guile.

“Anyway, you were in the rec room already, it’s right here. Entrance to one of the engine rooms is down that hall. And up here–”

Another ramp up, partway down the hallway, “–Is the comms room. You were here too already, right?”

“We were,” Sideswipe confirmed, but they peeked in anyway. Soundwave was present, not much of a surprise there.

But so were Rumble and Frenzy, and the two looked up and waved at them cheerily. “‘Cons didn’t have enough twins already!” Frenzy cackled at them.

“How’s the Megadick?” Rumble asked, and then both of the nutjobs laughed even harder.

“Pretty good. You’d die from it,” Sunstreaker commented, giving a meaningful look at the cassettes small stature. 

“Sure would!” Frenzy agreed.

“How about you?” Rumble asked, this time clearly addressing Sideswipe, and still grinning like a total loonie. “Gotten a taste of it yet?”

Sideswipe sighed dramatically. “Nope, I’ve been denied. Maybe one day, though!”

The smaller set of twins laughed even harder, and seriously, did they find absolutely everything hilarious?

“Rumble. Frenzy. Return,” Soundwave spoke up, and Sunstreaker could’ve sworn he was beyond exasperated despite the flatness of his field and voice.

“Aw, but boss–!”

“Return.”

The two grumbled but nevertheless did as they were told. Soundwave opened his chest for them and his symbiotes folded into their altmodes and entered. The TIC’s chest compartment closed tightly after, and he went back to work without another word.

Righty.

Skywarp snickered before the led the way further. “Here’s Megatron’s throne room–”

“Seriously?” Sideswipe interrupted their guide at that, glancing at the Seeker incredulously. “He has one? I thought that was just a baseless rumor.”

Skywarp blinked at them, equally confused. “What, the Prime doesn’t have one?”

“Nooooo?” Sideswipe ventured, question marks practically dangling above his helm. “OP and thrones barely fit in the same sentence.”

“But… He’s the Prime,” Skywarp said—argued?

“ Yeah,” because that much was true, he was the Prime, “but like. He’s super big on being on the same level as everyone else,” Sideswipe responded. And wow, wasn’t here just a bit of a difference between the leaders of the factions. Not that they hadn’t known about it already, but… Throne room. An actual, legit throne room on a goddamn ship.

That really just drove the whole point home. Optimus wanted to be on an equal footing with his troops, as little as that worked because everyone still stupidly looked up to him, but Megatron? Didn’t seem to make any effort in that direction.

Rather it gave the impression that Megatron was very willing and even eager to establish himself as the sovereign ruler, and remind everyone that that was what he was.

“That’s weird,” Skywarp noted, and it sounded like he really meant that. Sideswipe shrugged. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, but… Yeah. Optimus had never really been the most traditional Prime. Even the Decepticons had to know that much, but apparently they hadn’t realized just how true it was.

“Anyways,” the Seeker continued, coming to an open doorway. “Here’s the command center.”

Starscream and Thundercracker glanced up as they peered inside. It wasn’t too dissimilar from the Ark’s command center, just… Bleaker.

“Isn’t it the carrier,” Starscream sneered at them. Thundercracked shot his trinemate a disapproving look that the Winglord entirely ignored.

“Isn’t it the screechybird,” Sunstreaker returned, smirking at the way Starscream’s wings hiked up in offense.

Starscream didn’t entirely take the bait, though. “You know he is just going to cast you aside after the sparkling emerges,” he said instead, looking back at his screen like he didn’t care.

But if he didn’t care, he would have shut his mouth. He didn’t, though. “You mean nothing to him.”

“I know,” Sunstreaker said, crossing his arms. “And he means nothing to me. How is that a problem?”

Thundercracker looked a bit surprised, although Sunstreaker couldn’t guess what for. Was it any secret he and Megatron were nothing more than a fling? They enjoyed each other’s frames, and now Megatron had added interest in him because of the new life he was nurturing, but that was it. That was all it had ever been. 

And frankly, he had no interest in turning it into anything more than that. He was here because he had nowhere else to go, and who knew what would happen once he was no longer chained down by the sparklet in his frame, but he didn’t need Megatron in his future. The sparkling did, however.

And it was his sparkling too. He wanted it to have a future, and it would have one with its sire. Probably. Not that he knew what Megatron actually had planned for it.

Chances were it would be better than the alternatives, at least.

“It isn’t, I suppose,” Starscream conceded, still refusing to look at them. Skywarp stood to the side a bit awkwardly. Thundercracker was frowning, as was Sunstreaker.

Sideswipe didn’t look to have a care in the world, as he rarely did.

“Then we’re not in disagreement,” Sunstreaker said, and walked off back the way they’d come. 

“Drop it, Star,” he could hear Thundercracker say over an aggravated whine of thrusters that probably belonged to Starscream. Sideswipe followed him, and after a pause, so did Skywarp.

“Thanks for the tour, ‘Warp,” Sideswipe said once they’d reached the intersection of the particular hallway, giving their guide an easy grin.

“You’re welcome!” Skywarp chirped back, apparently putting the command center incident behind him already.

Sunstreaker had a question, though. “Is there something between Megatron and Starscream?”

“Huh? Oh, no,” Skywarp answered with a shake of his helm. “I mean, they interface sometimes, like’s only natural, but there’s not like, feelings there or anything.”

“So he’s just an asshole for the sake of being an asshole, and not out of jealousy?” Sunstreaker cocked an optical ridge.

“You’re kind of an asshole for the sake of being an asshole too, aren’t you?” Sideswipe snickered at him. Skywarp tried hard not to smile, but Sunstreaker wasn’t about to take offense. That was the truth, wasn’t it?

But when Skywarp answered him, it was with, “I’m not gonna say he’s not jealous, but he just doesn’t like sharing attention, and you have a part of Megatron’s attention now.” The Seeker shrugged, with wings and shoulders both. “It’s not ‘cause he’d have feelings for Megatron or anything like that.”

“With how poorly Megatron and Starscream get along during battles, I’d have thought he’d be pleased to not have all of that attention on him anymore,” Sideswipe said, tilting his helm.

“They don’t get along, but they’ve got this… It’s weird,” Skywarp tried to explain, gesturing with his servos without much clarifying anything. 

“It’s weird, gotcha,” Sideswipe nodded. They absolutely did not get it, but sometimes relationships fell in a weird, unexplainable area. If they got to observe it some, maybe they’d get it eventually. 

Skywarp opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted. “Skywarp!” Starscream’s voice came from the command center. The purple Seeker straightened and glanced that way, before giving them an apologetic smile. “You’ll find your way back, right?”

“Yeah, we will,” Sideswipe smiled back, shooing him off with his servos. “You go see what Screamer has for you.”

Skywarp snickered, but bid them goodbye and jogged back down the hall. The twins stood in place for a while before Sideswipe shrugged and headed back towards the ramps. Might as well hit the rec room, not like they had anything better to do. Besides, wouldn’t it be fun to get to know their so called comrades some more?

Sunstreaker wasn’t so sure about that, but agreed to the plan regardless.

( Next )

#transformers #maccadam #sunstreaker #sideswipe #skywarp #starscream #thundercracker #swindle #soundwave #onslaught #rumble #frenzy #vortex #fic #2020 #up in flames #ashes

[standfortheangels]

Instructions: Always repost with the rules, answer the 11 random questions left for you, and leave 11 more for the people you tag!

Tagged by: @illicreatxm

This got long so I’m going to stick it under a read more ^^

1. If you could write any canon character, which would it be and why?

Hm. I’m not sure. I have roleplayed a couple of canons before, but I find it harder to keep the muse for them. I could probably do Elsa okay, I could jump between her locked in the castle personality and her open, welcoming character post-film, which might help, but the inconsistencies in her Over-powered Powers annoy me, so I think I’d add a few limitations in there.

2. Favourite Disney movie?

Maybe Aladdin because Robin Williams is of course amazing and so perfect in that role~ Ohh but there’s also Atlantis.. And Dumbo! Aw no... Let’s just call this my top three before I get carried away >w>

3. Least favourite MCU character?

I haven't seen the more recent ones, so, I can't take into account characters like Thanos or Dr. Strange or, whoever else they've been bringing in. So out of what I've seen, I'd have to go with Bruce Banner/The Hulk.

It seemed in the earlier films that they didn't give much attention to Banner. They were all over using the Hulk to make bits interesting, but Bruce was boiled down to "quiet smart guy who CaN TuRN inTo THE HULK" so, yeah.

And the hulk himself later did like a 180° change for me. In his stand-alone film I think Hulk says like 3 words, maximum. Then rarely talks in his appearances in the other avengers brand films. Cool. We had "Puny God" and that was a-okay. One short, memorable, funny quote seems perfect.

But then what was all that when Whedon got his hands on it? (I mean don't get me started on that, I am really reigning myself back here but) They start off needing ways to calm Hulk down enough to get him back inside and give control back to Bruce, fair enough. But then like... He winds up not letting go of Bruce's body even though he isn't enraged anyway? And suddenly he's emotional enough and smart enough to take- what was it a plane? And seperate himself off from everyone and look all solemnly at Natasha before he does it or something?

Obviously my memory of it isn't great, honestly I stopped paying attention after Natasha's "I'm a monster- not because I was raised in a heartless environment full of violence and raised to literally kill people, that bit's whatever- but because they took away my fertility and now I can't have babies." speech. And that's the last MCU film I watched. I didn't want anything to do with them after seeing what Joss Whedon did with the characters and the overarching plotline and... Everything. x') So I might have gotten some of the hulk stuff wrong.

(I did watch Deadpool though, that I enjoyed~)

4. If you had to create any new character, what occupation would they have?

Ooo good question.

I think something proactive, where they could seek other characters out, but.. I'd kinda like a bad guy~ Someone who lies so much for their job, they have a dual personality to work with. They can be your smiling friendly neighbour, wishing you well on your holiday, then turn around and grit his teeth because this poses a major problem for his mission, and he can't lose his target, so now he has to follow, but he can't do that as your happy neighbour, no, you know he isn't going on holiday, certainly not today, not on your flight, not to the same ski lodge you're going to. No, he has to make a new cover- maybe say his neice phoned him with a family emergency and he'll be leaving to go be with her a while. Then shed this identity, find out where his target is going, quickly pose as some other tourist who blends into the background and get to the lodge first, all the while planning out some plausible skiing accident he can set up.

Wow that got more detailed than I expected x'D I think I just reinvented hitman, whoops.

5. Favourite sport?

[Image ID: Kiki from Kiki’s Delivery Service, laughing hysterically.]

My biggest concern when I'm on my feet is not falling over so, obviously sports aren't really my deal. x')

I used to swim a lot when I was a kid, I loved that, but, don't do it now.

And I'm not really into watching sports either tbh. Most of it seems over-hyped. Most football teams (real football, it is not soccer. The hint is in actual football, the ball, is hit, with your feet. Picking it up and running with it and then sometimes kicking it does not qualify as football, come on USA. Your thing is closer to Rugby than Football.)

Anyway most teams aren't much better or worse than any other if you actually watch objectively, which makes it look like they both suck because they're too well matched to score goals more than once in a blue moon.

Rugby I don't really understand the appeal of either. Scrums are weird and it wouldn't be entirely bizarre to see a guy walking away from the game with blood down his face and an ear in his hand. You'd almost expect him to stick the ear on ice and be back in a few minutes with his bandages on.

Really the only sports than interest me are the gymnastic types. Ice skating is good for a while but it can start getting dull if you don't have people willing to break the mould a bit. (Which is why I absolutely love the free skate bit. Where they aren't being scored and they just do whatever the hell they want, omg I live for that)

Floor routines are awesome, the pommel horse and rings are usually a little samey for me but the one with those two bars at different heights, that's fun to watch~ there's a little more variety there.

(And I don't wanna hear anyone in the replies saying these aren't sports, every example there including figure skating is a separate event in the Olympics, so. There.)

6. What’s your dream car?

I don’t really have one. At this point in my life I don’t actually have the option to learn to drive so I haven’t really thought about it. My only criteria is, it has to have a nice face. x)

Since I was tiny I have always seen cars as faces. The headlights would be eyes, and usually the number plate would be the mouth, but some cars have other stuff like a grill that might be the mouth instead. So like...

This would be a grumpy car with a pig-like nose and frown.. Actually those look like jowels either side of the mouth part. It looks kind of like a bulldog. X’)

And this would be a happy car. That black part around the number plate it wide and smile-shaped, and the headlights- rounded on top and straighter on the bottom, like the little creases we get when we scrunch up our eyes laughing~

This car looks like someone just said something really stupid to it, and it is not impressed, and lets the silence hang not knowing what to say.

Happy car

Terminator car

Happy car but in a mean way.. Like it’s on its way to cause mayhem or poking fun at someone. You get the general idea -w-

7. A movie that you think should have a sequel?

Hmm... this is a toughie.

8. A movie sequel that you think should be deleted from existence?

I don’t remember which number it was or even the title, but the Shrek sequel where Shrek like, hates having kids so much he makes a deal to change time? And Fiona winds up as like a vicious warrior leader because no-one ever saved her from the tower, and rumplestiltskin is in it? What even was that...

9. Design your dream outfit using this game ?

I wouldn’t say this really is my dream outfit, but from the options on offer~

(also discounting the enormous hair bun >w>;)

10. Favourite fairytale?

I’m not sure if this actually counts as a fairytale, but I love the story of the jolly roger. That classic skull and crossbones flag has a story behind it that a lot of people don’t know.

In a nutshell, a man (i guess a pirate) develops an intense crush on a young woman, who is about to get married. But just before her wedding, she dies. She is buried, but the man doesn’t take death for an answer. He digs her up and has sex with her body. When he’s done, a disembodied voice speaks to him, telling him that he has basically impregnated this corpse, and to come back in nine months.

For some reason, he does. He digs up the woman again. And sat below her pelvis is a small skull and two bones. The disembodied voice tells him to take these bones with him on his ventures, and they will bring him luck.

It’s bizarre, and kinda gross, and.. I dunno if being rewarded for sexually desicrating a corpse is the best moral? x’) But I was amazed when I heard this story, because I’d had no idea there was this whole tale behind the flag~ and I still love that it exists~

11. Create an avatar of your favourite muse using this creator? ?

First, it’s so cruel to ask me to pick my favourite child how dare you >w> haha

I went with Chester though because he’s the one I’m usually most connected to.

I can’t think of anyone I want to tag right now (at least not anyone who hasn’t probably done this already), but I’ll put the new 11 questions for anyone who does feel like doing this~ :) __

1. What’s one thread/plot you really want to do that you haven’t had chance to yet?

2. What is the reason for, or meaning behind, your blog icon?

3. Do you have any pets? Tell us a bit about them!

4. What is one thing you would never want to change about your appearance?

5. There is an ultra secret spy group, and you’ve just uncovered their existence. Now they say that you must either work for them, or they’ll find a permanent way to keep you quiet. What kind of work would you offer to do for them?

6. If you met your muse in real life, how do you think the two of you would get along? (multi-muse blogs, pick one of your muses at random.)

7. You have been given a huge budget to remake one film in your own vision. You can change anything, add anything, choose the cast, you have no limits. What would you do?

8. What is one skill you wish you could automatically master?

9. A genie offers you a deal. An unlimited lifelong supply of one food of your choice... But, you have to sacrifice your ability to chew. Does any food still tempt you?

10. What do you think is the funniest animal?

11. Share one memory you have that makes you happy to think about~

#literally anyone can do this #and you can tag me in it too if you want #even if we've never interacted #I love reading posts like these #x) #ooc #long post #I loved the game questions on this btw! #I've never seen anyone include something like that before #it was fun! #illicreatxm

[lillianfromaccounting]

Finally getting around to this!

Was tagged by @cenobitic-anchorite (thank you!)

Putting this under a read more, because I wrote a lot.

1. What is your favorite movie? My answer to this is always Sleeping Beauty because it was the first movie that I stayed up watching with no adults. Like I must have been around 7 and my older cousin was 12 and we stayed up watching it after all the adults went to sleep. So for me, it signified some sort of independence. (On another note, that same cousin and I also stayed up to watch Pretty Woman before I realized what was going on in that movie.)

I know sometimes it’s a cop out answer, because I really can’t pick a favorite live action movie. There’s too many and I love a lot of them. Also, usually, when I say Sleeping Beauty, based on the other person’s reaction, I can tell if they’ll be compatible and/or get my vibe or not.

2.  If you had to drastically change your hair, how would you cut it and what color would you dye it?  I want rainbow hair, but I can’t have that where I work. I’ve been saying I’ve wanted to dye it red for several months now, but haven’t made the appointment yet (long story, but also mostly me dragging my feet). I’ve ALWAYS wanted a pixie cut, but have always been told that my face shape isn’t good for it (I did it senior year of college and there were people who flat out told me never to get that hair cut again). I’ll do it again, when I feel like I have the energy to maintain it.

3.  Can you drive a manual transmission car? lol, no. I can just barely drive an automatic. (Fact: I got my license at age 23 and didn’t regularly drive until 32.)

4.  What’s your favorite thing to cook or bake? Why? Is there a word limit to this? Cuz we’ll be here a few days. lol Favorite thing to bake is scones because I love scones. I also love to bake pumpkin chocolate chip cookies. And anything with a short pastry, so pies, tarts. I LOVE making sweet danishes. Oh crumb cakes. Oooh it’s season for fresh cranberries. I make a really good cranberry lime crumb cake. Cake, in just about every variation (rounds, sheet, cup, etc.) I like these because they’re delicious (and very few bakeries make them well, and I’m a dessert snob. If I’m eating it, it better be worth the calories. I’m also very particular about my cake to frosting/crumb ratio). Also, fact: I suck at baking regular cookies. I can do it, but they never look right and I’m pretty sure I’m screwing up the ratio of dry to wet ingredients or the butter’s not cold enough or something, but yeah, my cookies always look seriously deformed. (yes, I’ve seen that chart that troubleshoots cookies. No, it hasn’t helped.)

Favorite thing to cook. Hm... go to comfort stuff: penne vodka, but really, I like trying new recipes.

5.  How old were you when you got your ears pierced (if your ears aren’t pierced, do you want to get them pierced? The first time I got my ears pierced, I think I was in 8th grade, so 13-ish. After the initial however long it was that you’re supposed to keep them in, I got lazy so I didn’t keep earrings in all the time (and they hurt my ears), so the holes apparently closed. I got them re-pierced in sophomore or junior year of high school and again, after a little while, they closed again. I was thinking about getting them re-pierced again.

6.  Do you like Thanksgiving? Why or why not? I LOVE Thanksgiving. Yes, the historical aspect can go to hell, but personally, I love Thanksgiving. So growing up, being Chinese, we never celebrated American Thanksgiving. When I was about 13, I got a bread making book from the Scholastic book fair and discovered that we had a working oven (Chinese people don’t cook with ovens. We have a wok and a rice cooker. That’s really all you need.). Anyway, I started baking bread and it was amazing.

Also, our local supermarket would do the holiday promotion of if you spend $X, you can get a free holiday protein, and being a household of 8 (sometimes 10), we hit that spending threshold very, very quickly. So one year, I told my mom that we’re getting a turkey, instead of the ham that she likes. She was skeptical, but I was hell bent on celebrating American Thanksgiving and figuring out what this whole turkey hoopla was about.

I started cooking a Thanksgiving feast for my family (immediate and extended) from the age of 14. I did a sticky rice stuffing in the bird. Mashed sweet potatoes (no marshmallow. it’s sweet enough by itself.) I always made a lasagna (with cheese from DiPalo’s, where I would wait hours on line for our order) or another pasta dish. We did Chinese vegetables. And every year, we would pick new recipes we’d want to try. By ‘we’, I mean me. I would pick new recipes that I’d want to try and my three younger siblings would be obligatory sous chefs. And since bread baking happened in the wee early hours of the morning, we would have it for breakfast. So then I expanded the menu to include breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It became an all day thing and I was (and still am) obsessed.

Oh, it probably also helped to know that I come from a very large extended family and everyone would come through our house during holidays. Usually, it’s because my family hosted the mah jong parties, so we were kinda party central. My biggest Thanksgiving, we had about 50 people cycle through the house that day, so I had to make sure I had food enough for 50 people. Growing up, I’m pretty sure we never had less than 30. (It’s been a shock for me these past several years when we’ve hosted less than 20 people on turkey day.)

Then, my siblings would find recipes that they want to try, and Thanksgiving was this day where we would try food. Not all the recipes worked out, but no one ever got sick or food poisoning (oh man, I have stories from adjacent family members). But yeah. It’s an insane production and I love every minute of it (especially since my mom did the clean up, because bless that woman, she messed up Jiffy corn bread mix when she tried to bake, so she sticks to cleaning).

Anyway, after I got married, I demanded Thanksgiving, which my in-laws didn’t care about because they were getting it catered anyway. But I found out the hard way that they’ve sucked the soul out of my Thanksgiving festivities. One person demanded Stove Top (over fresh sausage dressing?!??!!). Fine. Another prefers roasted turkey (as opposed to smoked or fried). Year after year, they keep telling me to make less food, because they don’t enjoy watching me cook (they think I work too hard, but they also don’t understand that I’m having the time of my life).

At this point, I know that in order to get back to the Thanksgiving that I want to celebrate, it will be after that generation has passed. It’s fine.

I used to start planning my Thanksgiving menu in March, studying recipes and picking and choosing stuff up until like two weeks before hand. Ever since the kids came along, that excitement has also waned. But I’m excited for this year. There will be apple cider mimosas. And I’m roasting a savory pumpkin. And there will be artichokes. Oh and one of my good friends went to Dominique Ansel Kitchen’s pie night this year and had a poached pear chocolate pie that she said was divine. I am attempting to recreate it based on her descriptions of the textures and her pictures. This is what I live for.

(where the fuck is that barney stinson challenge accepted gif when you need it?)

and yes, this year will be my 24th year cooking Thanksgiving dinner.

7.  If you could live in the world of one film, which one would you pick? Oh man. D2: The Mighty Ducks. Ok, I lied. I do have a favorite live action movie. I wish I had a more creative answer to this. Yeah, Harry Potter’s world would be cool. Yeah, I identify with hobbits. Any of the Star Treks would also be good in terms of universes. But I want Adam Banks to teach (13-14 year old) me how to ice skate.

8.  What kind of pet have you never had, but have always wanted? lol one of my bffs and I always wanted a baby panda.

9.  If you won the huge lottery, what would be the first 3 things you’d do?Get a good fucking lawyer, set up a shell foundation so it’s not listed in mine or my husband’s name, prepare to disappear after a couple of years of acting normal. Then, for the more fun three, pay off debt, travel, get a house somewhere the fuck else.

Ceno’s answer was too perfect, so I left it, mainly because I’d pretty much do the same. I’d buy my parents a new house and hire a chauffeur for them. Also @katiekeysburg will get a chauffeur. And I’d throw money at teleportation research. And fund a bunch of gofundmes.

10.  Have you ever gotten a tattoo? What is it? If you haven’t, do you want one? I do not have any but I’ve always wanted one of my Chinese name above my ankle and I’ve always wanted the pi character somewhere (debated various locations). One day, when I get the guts to. (and when it’s seasonally appropriate to get one above my ankle, cuz omg I never knew about the various care required while it heals.)

11.  What’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever done? hahaha um. Probably calling the cops on an online friend who I thought was going to kill himself, but he really wasn’t (but I didn’t know that). (hey kids, don’t put your addresses in your aol profiles--yes I’m ancient.) actually, I’ve done my share to stupid aol/online shit. it will probably come back to haunt me if i ever run for public office or marry a celebrity.

Ok, real stupid thing. I’m a severe klutz, and one time I walked off a raised cement slab (like the kind that statues would sit on) and sprained my ankle. It was probably 3 inches off the ground on the side that I got on it, but it was further off the ground on the other side, so when I got off the slab, I misjudged where to put my foot and I rolled my ankle. Ended up at the ER and they put me in a soft cast. I had to have crutches to get around campus and this one guy who I don’t even know his name, picked me up and carried me up the campus hill (we had a really big hill), and it was against my consent. I did NOT want him to pick me up. It was terrible. Anyway, I rolled my ankle by walking. I have tons of stupid shit. How much time you got?

I was also pretty pretentious when I was younger. (I might still be. I’m not as self aware as I wish to be.) I once asked an Italian friend to try my tomato sauce and asked him what was missing because it didn’t taste right. (I know. I was so gross. You learn from your own grossness though.)

What other stupidity? I fawned over boys. My bff gave me a copy of The Giving Tree in college (I had never read it before) as a metaphor of how much of myself I gave to this toxic dude. I sobbed reading it for the first time.

In hindsight, not getting my license at 17 was a pretty stupid move too. But that also had to do with life circumstances.

OH. Turning down an interview for an internship with my dream company at the time, because I had already accepted an internship position with another company.

Trying to explain to my MBA ethics class how my industry worked only to get it mansplained back to me (pretty stupid of me to have tried in the first place).

Going for my MBA was also a pretty stupid move in the holistic view of my life.

12.  Have you accomplished your New Year’s Resolution for 2018? I honestly don’t remember if I even made resolutions, so I’m going to say hard no.

13.  If you could get any degree from any school, free of charge, what would you pick? Criminal Psychology. Ceno, we can go to school together! (this reminds me I need to catch up on last week’s Criminal Minds) Another option would be anything in the forensics sciences. I would also like to learn massage therapy. And I want to take that artisan bread breaking course at the Institute of Culinary Education.

I forget how many people I’m supposed to tag. @katiekeysburg @daisyjm75 @steverogersnotebook

#personal #long post #tagged #this was fun #if only to explain my love of thanksgiving

[avengerofyourheart]

You are My Heaven Pt 2 [End] (Steve Rogers fic)

Characters: reader, Steve, Sam, Natasha (mentioned), Maria Hill

Summary: Falling for a good man, who happened to be her training partner, was unavoidable. What if you can’t stay away, even after heartbreak? Is it possible to be friends with some one you’ve fallen for? Life rarely unfolds the way we hope it would. (Events take place after CATWS)

Warnings: lil fluff, lotta angst. Heartbreak. I’m sorry.

Word Count: 2.8k

Song Inspiration: Litost by X Ambassadors

Tags are at the bottom

A/N: This one hurt. Once again, I drew from my own personal experiences, so it took a lot out of me to write. I hope you enjoy it? I’m considering an epilogue, so let me know if that is of interest! Please let me know your thoughts! Special thanks to @buckyywiththegoodhair for helping edit. Bless you!  

<<<Part One   Part Two   Epilogue>>>

Masterlist

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The next morning after a maximum of 3 hours sleep, you dabbed on some concealer to hide bags under your eyes and got dressed. Hopefully you could blame your ‘illness’ on not looking your best. Once you arrived, it seemed you didn’t have to worry. Apparently Nat was a little too good at telling the story that you’d been sick. When you walked into work, everyone was shocked that you were “up and around” so soon. It was like you had the plague or something.

Assuring everyone you were fine, the office was back to business as usual. However, partway through your first day back, a mission report update arrived from Steve. Upon seeing the email, your breath quickened with a twist of your still-tender heart. You sought refuge in the bathroom until the pain in your chest subsided and tears dried. 

The rest of your week passed without incident, the only unusual being your lack of visiting the gym. Even without Steve there, too many memories lingered. You kept yourself distracted by catching up on work and spending time with the other Avengers. That weekend, you actually made an effort to go out with friends and socialize. The pain in your chest still lingered, but less sharply than before.

As Monday rolled around, though, there was a different sore of ache within you that couldn’t be placed. Midday approached, and you realized it: you missed being in the gym. So much time spent pushing your body to its limits, finding your strengths and weaknesses and then collapsing in bed that night sore but feeling accomplished. Thinking back all those months ago, you remembered that Steve Rogers was not the reason you started training. He was there from the beginning but you came for your own reasons. You just needed to find those again. Checking in with Maria first, you then grabbed your gym bag you kept in the office and headed out.

Squaring your shoulders to face the punching bag, you felt your gloved hands pound the heavy leather, a satisfying smack reverberating through the gym each time. A bead of sweat trickled down your back and you could feel the soreness in your muscles build after being away the past week. Finding yourself in the zone, it took a few moments before the gym’s raised noise levels registered in your mind. Looking around, you saw the three Avengers had returned from their mission victorious, tired smiles on their dirt and soot covered faces while others congratulated them. Sometimes they preferred to clean up in the locker room rather than traipse their muck-covered boots and otherwise soiled gear into their own rooms.

You saw Steve’s adorable helmet hair almost immediately and his bright blue eyes caught your gaze. Your heart did a strange flop in your chest, as if it had forgotten how to behave. He gave you a smile and raised a hand in greeting, which you returned. You didn’t have a smile for him just then, though, still conflicted in your feelings. Turning back toward the punching bag, you paused a moment before resuming your punches. Next came a light run on the treadmill followed by some stretching and you called it a day.

That evening, your phone chimed as you got ready for bed.

Hey, Y/N! Glad to see you’re recovered. Up for a training session tomorrow?

The flutter in your stomach had returned, heart still uncertain. Thumbs poised over the screen, you finally pecked out a reply.

The question is, are you? I think you’ve earned a day off.

Those three dots appeared as he typed, reply popping up quickly.

Nah, I’m good. Plus I hear you’ve been slacking off. ;)

A small chuckle escaped you at the Captain’s use of an emoji, even surprising yourself. Lowering your phone, you considered it. Steve was still offering to train you, probably because he had no idea you had fallen for him, and just because he really was an amazing guy. You couldn’t fault him for unknowingly breaking your heart. You alone had fallen with no one to catch you, but he wasn’t to blame for that. And when it really came down to it, even after all you had been through…you missed him. Seeing him today even for those few seconds, you felt better than you had for over a week.

Was it possible? Could the cause of your pain also be the unexpected healing of it? Steve still carried that light within him, a warmth that had been lacking since you’d last seen his handsome face. A sunless, grey sky was what your life had become until he glanced your way once again. The question was…could you handle being around him again? Was your heart strong enough? How much worse could it be? You’d rather not have that last question answered, but feeling brave, you typed a quick answer and hit send.

I’ll be there.

__________

What have I done With my heart on the floor I must be out of my mind To come back begging for more

The following afternoon, you took a deep breath before passing through the gym doors. Steve caught your eye and waved you over toward the free weights, smile upon his gorgeous face. If you were going to do this, then he’d have to stop it with the dimples because damn, he was adorable. As you got closer though, you saw a small cut to his right cheekbone, concern furrowing your brow.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Steve, what happened?” you asked, raising a hand to touch him, but then pulling back self-consciously.

His fingers brushed the nearly healed scrape, “This? It was nothing. Ready to get back to work? You were looking good, coming up against the punching bag yesterday. Your form has come a long way.”

Silent a moment, you considered his response. While your concern for his wellbeing was genuine, you needed to realize that you weren’t the person that he would talk about the details of his missions with. You had hoped to be that person once upon a time, the one he talked to about everything, but you now knew it wasn’t meant to be. Seeing him again and knowing that he would never be anything more than a friend to you…it hurt. Not as the initial rejection had, but more like someone was firmly pressing against a bruise. It was a reminder of what you already knew but it would still take time for you to move on. Hopefully.

As Steve had said, you were his friend. Couldn’t you just let him be YOUR friend? Nothing more? Maybe.

Clearing your thoughts, you nodded, setting your bag to the side. You followed him onto the mat and then mirrored his movements as you both began stretching.

______

And how long must I stay Will I lay by your side Just to say that I'm yours Oh, and you'll never be mine

Another two months passed by and life resumed its natural rhythm. Work kept you busy and so did training, which you were enjoying more and more each day. You spent your time in the gym mostly with Steve, but you also tried to train with other Avengers as well. Telling yourself repeatedly that he could not be the center of your universe, you made a point not to say yes every time he was free. Becoming too available and avoiding other aspects of your life once again was just asking for trouble.

Everything changed one day though when Maria asked you to step into her office just as you were heading to training. You entered the gym 20 minutes later, mind on overload. Automatically, you set down your bag and taped up your hands, eyes unfocused as thoughts raced.

“Y/N…” Steve tried to grab your attention, snapping his fingers before your face. “Earth to Y/N…everything okay?”

Mind returning to the present, you met Cap’s brilliant blue eyes. “Hm? Yeah…sorry. I’m okay. I think.”

“You sure? You seem distracted…”

“I, um…I have a job interview in a few days,” you answered, still waiting for the news to sink in for yourself.

“Job interview? You’re leaving us? Where to?” Steve inquired with a furrow in his brow.

“London.”

Shocked, Steve sputtered, “England? You’re leaving the country? Wow. When?”

“I don’t know…I mean, I leave tomorrow for the interview and I’ll be gone only three days, but if I get the offer, then maybe…” you trailed off, still unsure if this was all real.

Maria had asked you to come into her office, informing you that a new position was opening up. She knew you had outgrown your current position and wanted the best for you, so she offered your name. SHIELD had a London branch before the revelation that HYDRA was actually pulling all the strings. It all came crashing down on both sides of the ocean, although less literally in England. No high-tech Helicarriers fell into the Thames that day, only the loss of trust between coworkers and the fleeing of cowardly HYDRA agents before they could be discovered.

London SHIELD had lie dormant since then, but there was a need for reliable eyes and ears overseas, so the higher-ups decided to build it back up. The position you were applying for was basically Maria’s job, but on a smaller scale. It was a great opportunity. You just had to decide if it was right for you, should you get the job.

“That’s um…wow. That’s great,” Steve replied, still looking almost as shocked about the situation as you did. He snapped out of it though, then clapping his hands. “Well. Let’s break a sweat before you enjoy all those fish & chips, huh?”

Letting out a chuckle, you nodded, preparing to stretch.

_________

Those three days in London had been an incredible whirlwind. After the interview, a thorough background screening, and some time spent in the city, you were headed home with a lot to think about.

London was a gorgeous city, old and historic blending seamlessly into sleek and modern across the skyline. Getting around was quite easy, actually, reminding you a lot of New York City. The Tube Subway system was convenient and almost idiot proof once you got the hang of it. It was literally color-coded, for heaven’s sake; each line a certain color on the map and even the trains themselves had colored railings. It was also clean and generally on time, which you could not say the same about New York’s Subway.

The trip to your interview went smoothly, arriving at 30 St Mary Axe with 10 minutes to spare. The building was all curves with gleaming windows, the top tapering into a dome. Most refer to it by its nickname: the Gherkin, for the pickle-like shape it resembled. SHIELD inhabited multiple floors in the office building rather than a large structure of its own. The British were much less ostentatious than their American counterparts.

The interview went swimmingly as the conversation flowed and the responsibilities required were discussed. Your references and experience nearly spoke for themselves. You were offered the position on the spot but were given a few days to let them know.

Walking into the office the next day, slightly jet lagged, you were surprised to find Steve leaving Maria’s office as you entered.

“Y/N, hey! How was London?” he asked you, all smiles

“Hi, Steve. London was…amazing,” you responded with a grin.

“Really? So you got it?”

“I did.”

“Wow, congratulations!” Steve offered with enthusiasm, unexpectedly wrapping you in a hug. You melted into his warm, strong arms as his musk of vanilla and spice overwhelmed you.

He just as quickly released you, leaving you stunned a moment. “Um…thanks, Steve. I haven’t quite decided if I’ll accept, but it’s a great opportunity.”

“Oh. Well, if you do, we’ll sure miss you around here,” he said sincerely, half-smile upon his face.

You nodded, suddenly overwhelmed by the thought of saying goodbye to…everyone. Struck with bravery and caught up in the moment, you called out as he turned to go.

“Steve! Um..”

He turned back toward you, curious.

“Will you go to dinner with me?” you blurted. Surprise dawned on his features so you quickly went on, “I…I mean, we never did go out for Indian food. Seems like now is the time.” A pang of instant regret hit you as he paused in the doorway, wishing to retrieve the words. Feeling embarrassed, you awaited his response while biting your lip nervously.

“Uh…sure. Yeah, that’d be great,” he said with a smile.

Exhaling in relief, you returned his smile. “Okay. Awesome. I’ll send you the details.” And he left with a nod.

____________

The following night, you found yourself sitting across from Steve at your favorite Indian restaurant, the table piled high with all sorts of tasty dishes. He wanted to try a little bit of everything and you had no objection, helping yourself to rice and curry paired with garlic naan, your favorite. Steve even tried the hottest curry on the menu, resulting in coughing and sweating on his part and uncontrollable laugher on yours. He was a good sport though and felt much better after a large amount of ice water.

Conversation flowed easily, him asking about your new position and how you felt about moving overseas. You had made the call a few hours ago to accept. It was all big and scary and new, but it was too good of an opportunity. If you were going to move forward in your career and see the world, this was the best way to do it. Not that you were without reservations, though. A small part of you still wanted to stay for reasons you hadn’t been willing to admit until now.

Other than leaving behind all that was familiar: friends, co-workers, the hustle and bustle of a city you loved, you were also leaving a part of your heart behind. Try as you might to not let yourself have feelings for Steve, once again you found that you had no choice in the matter. There was no use denying it: you were in love with Steve Rogers. Not Captain America, the iconic superhero the rest of the world loved. No, you fell for the funny, sweet man from Brooklyn who helped a friend without a thought and never failed to put a smile on your face.

Once again, you had fallen all on your own and the impact wasn’t going to be easy, but this big change was probably for the best. Time away from him might actually allow you to let go. You did feel like you were losing your best friend, too, which hurt just as much.

At the end of the night, he walked you to your door like the gentleman he is while your mind raced with what to say. Coming to a stop, he turned toward you, hands in his jacket pockets.

“Steve, I um…I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. For being willing to train with me, keeping my spirits up, for pushing me to always be better and just…being my friend. And thank you for coming out to dinner. It meant a lot to me,” you said, hoping you wouldn’t get too emotional. This wasn’t even an official goodbye, just goodnight, but this might be the last time you were alone with Steve. There was a fine line between saying too much and not enough.

Steve grinned at you, those adorable dimples on display. “You are more than welcome, Y/N. You’ve been a great friend and I’ve really enjoyed our time together. I hope you’ll continue your training over there because you have potential. And thank you for dinner. I had a great time. I’ll miss having you around.”

A beat of silence lingered before you leaned in for a hug, burning the memory in your mind of being in his arms, if only for a short moment. You said your goodbyes and stepped inside, leaning against the door as you heard his footsteps fade.

After a week of chaos and tying up every loose end in your life, you found yourself on the plane headed for London. You hadn’t allowed yourself much time to think the past few days but as the plane rose and you caught one last glance of the city from above, you felt your heart ache while a few tears fell. For all that you were leaving behind. For all the new experiences to come. And for Steve.

When this love like a hole Swallowed my soul Dragging me down… And I'll never be whole again

Epilogue >>> 

The Truth Behind “You Are My Heaven” (personal story)

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There it is. I know, I’m sorry!! But trust me, I lived it. Slightly different circumstances, but there was definitely Indian food. If anyone’s curious what the real story is, let me know. I could possibly be persuaded. I’m thinking of doing an epilogue! Thoughts?? Let me know! I love to hear from you lovely people! Also I really have been to London and yes, you should be jealous. I’d go back in a heartbeat. 

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#steve rogers x reader #reader x steve rogers #steve rogers fic #steve rogers imagine #reader x captain america #captain america fic #steve x reader #steve angst #reader x steve #heartbreak #avengers fic #avenger reader insert #Y/N x steve rogers

[fffinnagain]

Expected Snap

I got a ficlet request from @privatelyvex and it turned into a lot more words than expected. The prompt was #141. “I don’t care if your 4 or 40, you don’t hit people.” And out came this story of John confronting Eurus after she attacks Sherlock (again). 

Warning: This dabble touches on domestic violence from the perspective of the aggressor. I’m not trying to make excuses for anyone, nor do I claim any great insight into PTDS or other psychological factors that might realistically explain Eurus or John’s behaviour. I’m just trying to work the consequences of S4 into my understanding of these characters. Hence John being rather darker here than a lot of fandom takes.  

Title: Expected Snap

Characters: John, Mycroft, Eurus, Sherlock (marginally)

Tags: Post S4, POV John, Sherrinford, Dealing with The Lying Detective, John’s dark past, Johnlock Agnostic, sort of happy ending? 

Rating: Teen (or higher? I don’t know how people rate on violence.) 

Word count: 1190

It took two years, but it was going to happen eventually. So said Mycroft:

“He was asking for trouble, stepping into her cell. We have protocols for a reason.”

So said Mrs. Hudson:

“I didn’t want to say so earlier because it’s his choice. But I’d understand if you encouraged him not to go back. He needs to take care of himself first.”

John had also expected Eurus to attack Sherlock at some point in their violin lessons, but that didn’t prepare him for the urgent call from Sherrinford. In two hours, he had arranged for Molly take Rosie overnight, found cover for his surgery shift the next day, and was on a helicopter back to that godforsaken island he had hoped to never see again.

Sherlock looked a mess. Broken nose, black eye, cracked ribs, broken fingers, and an ugly abdominal stab wound that had been made with the remains of his own bow. But he was stable, and asleep. The medical staff of Sherrinford had worked through the worst of it, defaulting to morphine to dull the pain. Hm. So Sherlock mustn’t have been responsive when they’d started, and Mycroft hadn’t thought to keep copies of his medical records here. Withdawal was going to make him an even greater pain in the arse as he healed, but even that pain in the arse was better than what might have been…

Mycroft stepped into the small med room and cleared his throat. John snapped to attention and turned to look at him, but said nothing.

“John. I’m sorry for alarming you with my first call. I’ve just come from meeting with the surgon here, and it seems none of the damage should be permanent. Thankfully. Eurus is being treated for a broken arm, under armed surveillance, of course.”

John turned back to stare at Sherlock and clenched his jaw.

“Any idea what provoked this?”

“Not yet. According to the footage, Eurus seemed to be giving him feedback on finger positions when she jumped him. Considering how much his tuning has improved in the last few weeks, I doubt the trigger was a musical one.”

Sherlock’s heart monitor cointinued to beep steadily. God, but John was tired of looking at him in a hospital bed.

“I want to speak to her.”

“That’s not a good idea, John.”

John skoft. “You think *I* don’t realise how dangerous she is? Put us in a glass divided room, leave guards outside, I don’t care, but I WILL to speak to EURUS.”

****

It was hard for John to resist smiling at the sad state of Sherlock’s little sister, sitting on the floor in the middle of her cell. Her neck showed red scratch marks, and a gash on her forehead that had been stapled closed. Her left arm was already in a plaster cast, and a heavy bandage was wrapped around the toes of her right bare right foot. Was it safe to put splints around her bones and joints? Maybe not, as they appeared to have swaddled her injuries instead.

John had known a lot of violent people. There were a few in his family (surprise surprise) and he could always find one or two rough guys on a rugby team. Or rather they found him and then he made sure they regretted their initial attempt at intimidation by stepping in to play the hero for everyone else. The army was plenty more people who enjoyed the violence they had license to commit. (A limited license, sure, but license all the same.) Some even argued that war and warfare justified the existence of heartless sadistic bastards, although John wasn’t quite convinced. When a confirmed arsehole had gotten shot, or had lost an arm, or had a lung flooding with blood, John changed his gloves and got to work because a life is a life and that’s what doctors do. But after following Sherlock around for years, John wondered if he could do that again, to hold judgement and heal when a bad one could just as easily be left to rot. Maybe it was good that his current medical practice kept him far away from those split second life or death decisions.

When John had first been shown in, Eurus had glanced up and scooted around to turn her back on him. She didn’t feel like playing right now. Well, too bad for her.

“Eurus!”

Silence.

“Pretend all you want, but I know you are listening.”

Silence.

“How DARE you hurt the one person willing to help you. He did NOTHING but CARE.”

Silence. John clenched his fists.

“You petulant, thoughtless, brat. I wish you had some kind of life here so we could hold it back and teach you a lesson.”

At this Eurus finally snorted.

“A lesson, dear doctor. As if a fool like you had anything to teach me. Don’t treat me like a child.”

“I don’t care if you’re 4 or 40, YOU DON’T HIT PEOPLE.”

With a grunt, Eurus rose to her feet and turned. Her eyes glinted.

“Like YOU don’t hit people?”

She hobbled towards the glass.

“I know all about your little blow up, your ‘episode’ at that hospital morgue.”

Standing carefully at the three foot line, her face shifted into the patient concern of her therapist guise. With the faint Austrian accent, she continued: “As your therapist, I was more than disappointed at how you glossed the severity of your attack on our dear Sherlock. You didn’t even mention how you kicked him, how satisfying it was to feel his body absorb all of your force, and how delicately he shrank under the blows.”

John couldn’t stop himself flinching. He remembered. Of course, he remembered. That devastating day had worked itself into his scrolling marquee of nightmares. From his family and military history, John had known to be wary and had tried to keep his temper. He had seen the signs that previous night and pushed Rosie onto one more reluctant carer. He had thought that saving the world from yourself was the same as saving the world from everything else: stay calm, stay focus, and always be ready. But he hadn’t been enough to save Sherlock, not from the anger and pain and grief and infuriating powerlessness that grows in silence.

Eurus face sharped back to her usual scowl. “But you aren’t the bad person here, are you, Doctor? He forgave YOU and your tortured soul, accepted your excuses, absolve your sins. And you? Have you forgiven him for leaving you behind?“

John’s eyes snapped up to met hers again. With a deep breath, he relaxed shoulders, and then gave her a small rueful smile. “Mostly. I’ve mostly forgiven him, but it comes and goes.”

He leaned back on his heels. “We are not the same, Eurus. We never will be. But you’re right. We both know what it feels like to hurt people we love. And we both know something about being abandoned by those we need. If talking about it will help you avoid strangling Sherlock, well, he should be asleep for another hour, so I’m happy to start right now.”

#Eurus Holmes #John Watson #Finnagain writes #unbeta'd #ficlet #canon compliant

[taekwonduh]

Don’t Forget, Pt. 3

Summary: “It is okay if you do not remember me, I can do the remembering. But in a world where I hold absolutely no place in your life, not even as the girl who knew your name before your face, I think it would be a place too cruel to live in.”

Characters: Jungkook, (she/her) Reader, Taehyung

Tags: Angst, romance, food for thought

Memo (Prologue), Pt. 1, Pt. 2

There is a certain lucid quality in the way time ticks while on commute, the idea of leaving behind a neighbourhood so faithfully occupied during the past years of your life for a territory beyond breeds a sense of detachment in your system. Your body remains bound by the ropes of reality, yet your spirit wanders with no desire of  ever returning.

Perhaps it is in your best interest that you cultivate the habit of breaking away every once in a while, though admittedly, the prospect of retreating into the dreams that afflict you so for comfort, be they night or day, is terribly ironic. But you cannot help it. You suppose it is to do with being born a dreamer. Trodding through life with no solid plan, the tiles behind you crumble with the lifting of each foot, and the path ahead is formed in the space where your feet land next, a future made of earthquakes that threaten to pull you under.

Nothing is ever clear to you. Not reality. Not dreams, certainly not the days ahead. And you question why you continue to go through with such uncertainty, why you have not yet called it quits with the world and cross into the other side when the boundaries that separated each half have long blurred and blended together.

You like to think that up until last night’s events, you have lived a life in search of answers to questions you did not know to ask.

His name is Jungkook.

“Y/N… You okay? Who was that guy?”

His name is Jungkook.

“Hey- hey, look at me. What’s wrong? Did he say something to you?”

His name is… his name is-

“Taehyung… I can't… I can’t remember his name.”

You remember barreling back to your bedroom, nearly ripping the drawer off its hinges with the sheer force of desperation. After all that has happened, the deja vu sensations, inexplicable memory loss, and the very bizarre but definite swap in places between you and Taehyung’s incident at the pier, you are hit with the sudden fear that perhaps in the time you spent away, the mysterious book might have disintegrated into nothingness. Another mind trick. Another surefire step towards irreversible insanity. 

But you are immensely relieved to find the item still within the confines you thrust it, grasping the book and locking your door. You finally work up the courage to discover its’ contents. To learn the answers which you always believed you worked tirelessly towards, but in actual fact have been going around in cowardly circles, feigning ignorance and hoping the misaligned pieces of your memories will somehow adjust themselves and find their rightful place. 

The reason why you have put the book off for as long as you have is the underlying rejection of everything you have believed in, everything you live for. The book, expectedly, throws your entire world off its axis. 

There are photos of you. Photos of Taehyung. Of a boy named Jungkook. The pier. Your neighbourhood back home. Alongside these polaroids are penned memorabilia, in a recognizable style of writing belonging to a single person— it is yours.

taehyung died three years ago, on graduation day. you were supposed to meet at the intersection at 8, but he had gone to the pier instead. he died by suicide. he did not leave any note. on this day, you met with an accident trying to look for him.

please do not call mrs. kim anymore. 
- 23.04.16

“Why were you at the pier?”

“I was looking for you.”

“Why would you be looking for me at the pier? We promised to meet by the school gates at eight-thirty sharp. You said if I were even a second late, you would pretend to not know me even if we managed to get into the same class in high school.”

“Taehyung?”

The train doors shut, carriage picking up speed as the now empty station is gradually left behind. There is a boy beside you. There is always a boy beside you.

He looks up from his phone. “Hm?”

The eyes you spend your entire life looking into appear foreign today. The disparity is not in its physical qualities, for the pools of liquid chocolate remain crystal clear, a reflection of the light that pours in from the glass panels adjacent your heads, it is perhaps in what lies beneath it— in what he holds within.

when you finally move on, the first thing i want you to do is pay more attention to taehyung. i feel like this all started because of his incident. if you can, save him, if you can’t, just keep waiting at the school gates. keep waiting until someone calls you and tells you the news of his demise. that is how you will keep your memories.

Even though it might not have been this life in which you lose him, you cannot help but feel as though there is a dormant element of sorrow that he locks up in a place so deep you cannot hope to find unless you sink your own two hands between his ribs and tear up whatever’s inside, destroying all that is good along with all that is bad. That is a resort you never wish to turn to, and you may only take comfort in the fact that you have somehow managed to save him. That he is here with you. 

He is here.

“Do you believe in a parallel world?”

The boy cocks his head, corner of his lips elevating into a lopsided smirk that gives away intrigued amusement, curiosity of why you might suddenly pose such an uncharacteristic question. He first decides to answer it. “I could be convinced.” The shift in his gaze to meet yours sparks electricity upon your skin, and you find that although your bodies are pressed against each other’s sides, though you can feel his heat radiating towards your profile, you are beginning to think that much like the dreams you lose track of each time you awaken, you might, on a day you least expect, lose him too.

“Why do you ask?”

“Imagine that there are little doppelgängers that live on a planet and follow a timeline that is linear and parallel to ours. They live a similar life to us, except sometimes the decisions we make aren’t always one and the same. So that results in certain… branches that lead to outcomes different from the ones that happen here, in our world. Imagine, there is a whole new world created for every choice we make and didn’t make. In those worlds… do you think we are still friends?”

Taehyung shifts in his seat, his shoulder leaving yours in his act of turning his entire upper torso to face you, a position that is no doubt awkward in the limited space of his seat, but sufficient in indicating that there is something he wants to find out.

“Where is all of this coming from?”

“I dunno.”

“Okay, let’s start small then. Is this about last night? I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but it keeps bugging me. You just ran, Y/N.” You suppose Taehyung must have known the somberness he was portraying would push you further into discomfort, and as concerned as he was, he does not want to guilt-trip you into divulging anything you were not ready nor willing to. And so he contorts his features into one of his signature unsightly yet comical frowns, shape of his mouth forming a drooping rectangle, eyes slanted outwards with the pull of muscle, his eyebrows tilted at an angle to match. With that face on, he proceeds to whine in a small, child-like voice, “You ditched pier night.”

And you burst. Uncontained, heartfelt laughter tumbling from the back of your throat out your mouth, shattering the early morning daze that hung over the rest of the train car. A few eyes shift towards you. But you could care less. 

“Stop making that face!” Your palms fly up to cup his cheeks, thumbs pushing and molding the flesh to rid that ghastly expression from his otherwise handsome face. Taehyung, relieved by your joyous reaction, eases back into his usual laidback demeanor, his own hands coming around yours to bring them down. 

“Well?”

“Well…” You answer his prompt pointedly, sighing into your next words, “I’m still figuring things out. But what I can tell you is that ever since that coma… things haven’t been the same. I don’t know what’s different, I just- I just feel.”

“Do you think we should pay another visit to the hospital? Maybe they might’ve missed something—”

“No, it’s not that. Don’t worry, Tae, I’m working things out. And when I actually have the answers to my own questions, I’ll gladly answer yours. Hmm?”

The mystical qualities of a train ride away from home dissipates into a familiar sensation of emptiness the moment a warm hand is wrapped around your wrist, and you are lifted from your seat towards the car doors, merging with a disarray of early morning commuters on their way to offices, schools, workplaces. The crowd is thick like wet cement, your senses held captive to an atmosphere so hot and humid that instantly all bearings are lost, and you rely solely on Taehyung’s lead to get you out. If this is what ensues a commute, it has become apparent that you detest it.

“Thank God we’re not late,” your companion huffs as he straightens the quality of his pristine new uniform, smoothing out wrinkles and dusting off lint. Though you don garments that are entirely alike, only tailored to suit each gender, you have found that from the time a communal code of wear was first introduced to you both at the age of seven, your dearest friend has always managed to find ways to look starkly superior in his clothing in contrast to you.

Maybe it is in his physique, broad shoulders and filled chest to match his tall and still growing height; perhaps it was in the choice of hairstyle, kept simple enough to abide by conventional school dress codes, yet presenting a tasteful styling in the way his bangs fall in a voluminous arc down his forehead, parted just over the the arch of his left eyebrow, a classic boyish look. Today, he sports his new pair of eyeglasses, an accessory he had showed off generously earlier in the morning when he came to pick you up. The look probably would not have been considered anything special if pulled by anyone else, a sight that blends into the surroundings and is easily skimmed over. You suppose that is the leverage over you he possessed by birth. 

In your trek from the train station towards your school, you are joined by many other youths sporting outfits identical to yours, and surprisingly enough, it is quite easy to tell freshmen apart from more senior students. Like yourself, they carry crisp new backpacks, bulky with the weight of brand new textbooks possibly packed inside, style their uniforms strictly in line with the specified guidelines, and in their eyes, they hone the same glint that currently shone in Taehyung’s— excited for a new start, anticipation of the new experiences to come.

Even as the school compounds gradually come into view, marked iconically by a domed roof atop a massive brown-brick structure, you find trouble in drawing out a sentiment to match your peers. To say that it feels as if you have done this before would not be a stretch; the transition from middle to high school in terms of routine does not feel all that drastic. Aside, of course, from the hour-long commute-from-Hell you now have to make. It continues to follow the same monotonous regiment of rise, work, sleep, repeat. What sort of new start could one possibly hope for? You have not the slightest clue. 

Upon your arrival to the parted steel gates, beyond which is an expanse of a yellow dirt field, at the core of which is a lush, green quad where wooden benches and umbrella-like trees are spread for the students’ lounging convenience, you discover a handful of senior-looking students, supposedly part of the welcoming committee, ushering in the students with smiles much too bright for such an early morning.

Amongst them, a particularly sharp boy catches your attention with his refined posture, herculean-shoulders and tightly wound school tie; his aura alone sets him apart from the rest of his comrades, exuding sublime confidence and ultra authority in his greetings to fellow students. Supposedly having been aware of this quality, the intimidation he knew he would surely evoke in students is neutralized by two lovely crescent-mooned eyes, his plush, pink lips curved into a matching smile, displaying prominently that despite the richness of his features, he too, remains a teenager like the rest.

You observe him keenly throughout your passing through the gates, leaving the sidewalk and entering at last the compounds of your new school, and you cannot help but be tinged with disappointment when the celebrity-esque boy misses the chance to offer you one of his well-rehearsed introductory phrases. Instead, you are merely shuttled along with the rest of the crowd around the perimeters of the quad, ascending a short flight of steps to pass through a set of warm, red wood double-doors, propped open by two rubber stoppers to facilitate the heavy stream of students arriving for the school day.

Officially within your new school quarters, you and Taehyung unite with other fresh-faced students towards the completion of the first step at getting yourselves oriented— finding your class registers.

At the end of the broad, linoleum-floored hallway you now stand within, lined on one side with display shelves of trophies, medals and framed certificates, and the other, with various club announcements, colourful nutrition posters, advertisements for upcoming school events, was a large whiteboard clipped with sheets of rolling paper dictating which student was assigned to which class. You and Taehyung would refer to this whiteboard, find your classes, and disperse. Albeit due to the sheer amount of people herded around it, Taehyung suggests that you wait at the outskirts for him to come back with the necessary information. You are much too small to be pushing through a crowd like that. 

“Bad news, Y/N, we’re separated,” Taehyung announces, looking evidently dejected by the conclusion of your once unbreakable nine-year fate as classmates. “You’re in one-four, I’m in five. Good thing is all the first year classrooms are on the same floor. At least that’s what I heard. Let’s get going?”

You nod affirmatively, angling your body towards the stairs. “Yeah.”

Once on the third floor, the lot of students on the way to their assigned classrooms spill into yet another boxy hallway, this one significantly less decorated, walls lined with chunks of metal lockers waiting to be taken up. The rooms are relatively easy to find, from the left of the stairway are classes one to four, and to the right are five to eight. Ultimately, this is where your and Taehyung’s togetherness reaches its momentary end, and the boy parts with you after an affectionate clap on your shoulder, wishing you good luck and a promise to meet for lunch. 

The subsequent absence of his warmth beside your shoulder is larger than you ever thought it would be, and though there is the assurance in knowing Taehyung is only one room away, the fact that you now go solo licks a hot flame of nervousness up the back of your neck, your footsteps grow significantly heavier as you trudge to class.

You are amongst the final few to enter, and like any sizable crowd trapped inside a room, it is no surprise to find that the seats towards the back have all been filled, and you very barely snag a desk at the furthermost column from the door, seating yourself between a girl in front and a boy behind. As the last remaining desks are filled, a man appearing to be in his early-thirties strides into the room, obliterating every decibel of conversation with his preppy entrance, now becoming the center of utmost attention.

He dresses himself rather casually, in a blue knit vest over a white dress shirt, khaki slacks and brown boat shoes. And upon assuming position between the presentation desk and the whiteboard, he lifts his spectacled gaze to size up the class of twenty, nearly thirty-odd students seated in their neat five by five, single-file organisation of desks, all poised and perked. 

“If this is the class environment for the rest of the term, we are going to breeeeze right through it.”

The stiff silence in the room is punctuated at last by the hearty chuckle that the man proceeds to let loose, joined only a second later by the harmonious laughter of the other students. The man, introducing himself as Mr. Nam, then begins to break down the events for the rest of the day— first of all going through administrative matters, sorting out the issue of lockers, handing out class schedules for the semester and recruitment pamphlets for various school clubs and sports teams. He goes on to guide you all verbally on the expected movement throughout the day: after the thirty minute homeroom, the entire school would gather in the main hall for a welcome (and for the returning students, a welcome-back) ceremony that would involve recapping last year’s achievements, laying out the expectations for this year, and the introduction of new faculty members.

Seated amongst your new classmates, some of which you have already broken ice with, you delight in the chance to catch Taehyung in his own plastic chair some rows behind you, already surrounded by a hefty group of male friends. You suppose at this stage the girls are still too shy to make advances, but surely they will come— they always do.

And at last, to conclude the two-hour long ceremony, the dean invites up a student whom he addresses as the student body president, handing over the podium to the sharp-looking student you were all but disinterested in just moments ago. The boy skips up the steps at the side of the stage, bowing slightly to the senior figure before assuming the now vacated position at center-stage. 

“Good morning everyone, this is student body president, Kim Seokjin.” The cheers that erupt following this brief introduction hails mostly from the returning students seated towards the back, according to their years. Firsts being at the very front. Seokjin allows them, and perhaps himself, a moment to revel in the applause, before promptly continuing with his speech, “I’d just like to say a quick welcome to all our new students, our prestigious members of faculty and my own committee extend our warmest regards. We promise you’ll have a splendid freshman year ahead. And to all my returning juniors, friends, classmates and seniors, a great big welcome back to the grind after a wonderful two-month vacation that I am sure was well-spent.

“Now, to get on with business, I am pleased to announce that our highly-anticipated homecoming night will be held two weeks from now, on the 14th July, Friday evening. Details will be posted on the student portal, so as always, visit the site to register your attendance. No one wants to show up to a party uninvited. Following that, we will be kicking start our week-long of sports tryouts and club recruitment for our lovely freshies, there will be a fair held in the quad by your seniors to try and rope you into an extra-curricular you don’t always actually need… but will enjoy nonetheless.

“And just before we close the semester with finals, the school will be having our annual Arts Fiesta month, during which all our arts teams will hold concerts, guerilla performances, exhibitions and more. You may find all the information on the respective extra-curricular notice boards located in the main hallway on the ground floor.”

Like his professional predecessor, Seokjin continues to lay down the events for the rest of the school year, albeit his tone is laced with a code of humor much more appropriate for the audience that it keeps everyone’s focus on him. At the bell, the ceremony is concluded and you, along with the rest of the freshmen, are shuttled into the cafeteria while the seniors return to their classrooms. 

The massive movement traps you amidst a bunch of unfamiliar faces, and it despairs you to know that you can no longer spot Taehyung in the crowd, having lost him to the taller bodies around you. Hoping to meet him outside the hall, you resign to the crawling pace of the crowd, one tiny step at a time until you finally pour out of the entrance like a drain unclogged.

The hallway outside is a clutter of frenzied traffic, some heading one direction towards the cafeteria, the others going another to hang out in the quad, and then there are little cliques blocking up space by the notice boards, the water coolers, chatting and waiting for their friends. You find an empty space against the wall and press your back into it, standing on your tiptoes to screen the crowd for the familiar black-rimmed glasses set against healthy golden skin. 

It turns out that when put in a crowd as big as this, it is near impossible to distinguish Taehyung from literally hundreds of other people following the exact same trend. Since when did so many people start wearing geek specs?

As the last of the herd trickles out, the hallway significantly clearing and decreasing in activity, all having gone on to spend their lunch break with friends, you are stuck in the same spot, no sight of Taehyung whatsoever.

You do, however, come across a rather peculiar scene taking place inside the emptied school hall. With the bulk of students gone and faculty members returned to their classrooms or the lounge, only a handful of council members remain, busying themselves with the stacking up of plastic chairs and pushing them to the back of the hall. Amidst the myriad of floor-scraping screeches, light jokes tossed around to brighten up the otherwise mundane task, you recognize the taller of a pair of figures to be Mr. Nam, and the other to be that of a fellow student. 

The humbly slumped posture of the student gives off an impression of apology, guilt, perhaps, and you can only assume the student must have done something to warrant a light chastise. As your mind wonders what could possibly have been the reason for it, you notice a bright red backpack still slung over the student’s shoulders, a hint that he could possibly only have just arrived, and therefore missed his chance to leave his belongings in the classroom. 

Right at that moment, the conversation appears to be concluded by a friendly thump on the boy’s shoulder, and their bodies turn towards the doors, towards you. 

That is when you see him. 

Chestnut hair. Round, curious eyes. Lightly tanned, troubled skin.

He sees you too. But you are well aware of the fact that the recognition flashing in his eyes in that moment is not at all aligned with yours. You remember each other from a different time. Different memories. There is the thought of how this is even possible at all, yet he is now standing before you, gazes locked, lips pursed. 

“Oh? You look familiar!” You’re certain you must not have looked anything less like a deer caught in headlights, and suddenly you are questioning why you have foolishly left yourself in plain sight, in the direct line of conversation with a teacher who looks particularly eager to be addressing his new student. “Let’s see… Y/N, right? What are you still here for? Not joining your classmates at lunch? The school food is really good, scout’s honour!”

“H- Huh?” The response comes out astray, obviously distracted. You are forced to avert your vision from a set of smoldering charcoal eyes to the kind (yet insensitive) teacher standing before you. “Yes, I plan to. Was just waiting for someone.”

“Is that so?” The man begins to smile, his larger, veiny hands coming upon the younger’s shoulders, the whites of his knuckles evident of a light squeeze being delivering from his fingers to the muscles beneath. For a first meeting, the two seem rather friendly. “Don’t tell me you know Jungkook over here?”

The focal point of your shaky vision once against resumes on the boy, who openly watches you, keenly awaiting your next response. 

“Jungkook…?”

“How do you know my name?”

who… are you? his name is jungkook. he sings at the bar. he says he doesn’t want you to remember him. when you wake up tomorrow, decide what you want to do with this information. 
- 22.04.16

“N- No, no I don’t.”

“Ah, is that so? Well, there’s lots of time to get friendly. He’s the last one to join us in class. Super, super late, but forgiven since we go way back.” Mr. Nam turns to the boy beside him, grin stretching even wider as his tone takes on one of affection, “See, Kooks, a whole lifetime of perks await you if you have me for a teacher in primary school!” The boy amiably joins in laughter, though the poor, ignorant man remains clueless about the massive elephant trapped between you and him. “Anyway, there’s no one left in there other than the student council. You’re better off checking the cafeteria to see if your friend’s already waiting. Go with Jungkook! He’s about to head there anyway.”

Your heart leaps from between your ribs, lodging itself in the back of your throat, and you find yourself stuttering, garbling, nearly choking, as the words struggle to gather on your tongue. “I- I- I was going to… to the washroom first, a- actually. Seeyouaround, Mr. Nam!”

And you spin curtly on your heels, ninety-degrees towards the path of escape, muscles cramping up from the restrain on your legs from bolting out of the conversation.

You are unsure if it is the heat of embarrassment earned from your display of conversational skills, or lack thereof, that burns the skin on your back with hot, white flames, or if it is the mystical properties that inevitably surround a daylight rendezvous with the very embodiment of all things you cannot explain, the equation that you are unable to make sense of that has come to mock you in the flesh.

The muscles in your leg lose strength the moment you round the corner, your entire frame doubling forward, chest heaving, breathing laboured. No matter the volumes of air you take in, the exhaustion does not recede, it instead grows in magnitude, transitioning from mere breathlessness to a frame-splitting ache blooming in the center of your chest, a sadistic twist-and-wring rhythm taking over the once steady beats resonating within ribs.

This is a feeling not at all foreign to you. In fact, it is so familiar that it is akin to a homecoming. The only thing that registers beyond the rapid pumping of blood and the hammering in your chest is the vague echoes of a paragraph that you think your mind will never be fully rid of. Not when the very subject of it has broken the chains binding it to dreams, and is now present within the realms of your reality.

my last request is this: apologize to jungkook. he says that you are someone who has suffered enough, but your pain does not nearly amount to his. you are able to forget, but jungkook remembers- he carries everything with him to the next day and the next. but let’s say you meet him and he does not recognize you- just leave him be. i think he deserves to live without you, because all his memories of you are laced with suffering. i do not want that for him in his next life, and i am sure you do not want that either.

#bangtan bookclub #btswriters #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts angst #jungkook #jaeworks