#kick that essay in the ass and then you can move on with your life!!!

[hard-core-super-star]

caught myself [K.Bishop]

pairing: kate bishop x reader

summary: kate's competitiveness gets in the way of her seeing you for who you truly are.

warnings: technically none?; idiots in love; kate technically does knock R on their ass but no one gets hurt; yelena being an awful wingman; kate's sad puppy dog eyes; me feeling rusty af after writing so many serious essays

wordcount: 1.6k

a/n: me writing something else instead of focusing on the large pile of requests i still haven't gotten to? yeah, it's more likely than you think. i'll try to get into a somewhat normal posting schedule at some point if uni ever stops kicking my butt BUT FOR NOW, enjoy what was supposed to be a valentine's day special. also, don't worry, kissing in the crossfire part two WILL be happening!

* * * * * * *

You’re not sure what’s worse, being the newest member of the Young Avengers or being the member with the most obvious crush possible. It’s like the universe didn’t think you had enough difficulties getting used to life with your new team, it also thought you needed to juggle having the biggest crush on one of your teammates simultaneously.

Because fighting criminals daily isn’t hard enough, right?

You had tried your hardest to keep your massive crush on a certain purple-loving archer a secret but your plan had gone out the window the second Yelena figured out the hidden feelings behind your lingering stares. To say she didn’t understand your fascination with Kate Bishop would be an understatement but at least she tried to help…in her own, weirdly aggressive, way.

Her help mainly included making ridiculous comments at your expense. Comments that went completely over Kate’s head every single time and only led to awkward silences and unanswerable questions.

You thought the Russian was on her way to giving up and letting you handle your love life problems on your own but of course, when has Yelena given up an opportunity to embarrass someone she cares about?

It’s exactly Yelena’s love of embarrassing you that’s forced you into a situation you wouldn’t be able to get out of if you tried: sparring with the purple archer herself.

Training in the same room as Kate is already bad enough, especially considering her habit of wearing gray sweatpants and a tight purple cropped shirt, but having to spar with her? While she looks that good? And she has that stupid smirk on her face because she knows she’s going to win?

Nothing you could do could stop you from looking like a goddamn fool.

And that’s exactly what you look like right now.

It’s not bad enough that you can’t concentrate enough to anticipate her punches, you also don’t even know where to look because all of her is so damn attractive. It’s impressive and annoying all at the same time and it’s unfortunately taking up too much of your brain space right now.

You’re acutely aware of Yelena’s disapproving looks but you’re even more aware of the constant glares Kate throws in between rapid punches. Your brain may not be working well enough for you to spar correctly but if there’s one thing you can do, it’s dodge…which only infuriates the archer.

“Will you quit moving?” She huffs, only barely stopping her lips from forming a frustrated pout.

“What else am I supposed to do? Let you punch me?” You reply.

“That’d be a good start, yeah.”

“Ladies, quit chattering!”

You know Yelena is being annoying on purpose to get on your nerves but that doesn’t stop you from turning to glare at her. Your mouth barely begins to form around the complaints you want to hurl at her when Kate takes her opportunity.

It’s technically cheating, and it’s incredibly advantageous, but she’s not thinking about any of that. All she wants is to win and she doesn’t think twice. She swipes her leg under both of yours, catching you by surprise and instantly sending you crashing down onto the hard ground.

You don’t get a second to react before the back of your head makes contact with the floor. Large black spots fill your vision as Yelena starts throwing out curses at the startled archer. You barely make out the outline of Kate’s worried face before your eyes slip shut and darkness overcomes you.

You don’t know how much time goes by, or how many times Kate gets scolded in increasingly more aggressive Russian, all you know is that when you wake up…you’re not alone.

Your first instinct when your eyes open again is to sit up but a gentle hand pushes you back down before you get too far. “Don’t try to move, you’re gonna get a killer headache. Trust me.”

“Oh, I’m supposed to trust you after you knocked me on my ass?” You huff. It makes you sound more like a kid throwing a tantrum than an angry Avenger but you don’t really care.

“We were sparring, what else was I supposed to do?”

You don't notice the small grin that accompanies her recycled words, too upset and embarrassed about getting your ass handed to you by someone who's too lost in her own world to notice how much you like her.

“What else was I supposed to do?” You mock her. “Did you try not being a jerk?”

“That’s not fair. You’re the one who ignores me all the time but I’m the jerk here?”

Her words don’t catch you as off guard as the look on her face. You’re expecting to see flashes of the arrogant archer most of your teammates claim exists behind the usual warmth Kate so easily radiates. Instead of anger or arrogance, though, you come face to face with the most overdramatic pout you’ve ever seen.

And you suddenly understand why people say there’s a fine line between love and hate. Because it would be easy to think Kate Bishop is the most annoying person in the world if you didn’t also think she’s the most adorable person you’ve ever met…despite the constant ease with which she turns everything into an argument.

“What are you even talking about?”

“You don’t like me! And you don’t even try to hide it!”

All you can do is stare at her and wonder how the world’s greatest archer also happens to be the world’s most oblivious person. “You’re an idiot, Katherine.”

Her eyebrows crinkle in disgust but you’re pretty sure it has more to do with your use of her legal first name than the insult you push her way. “You sound like my mom.”

“You’re not helping your case.”

She opens her mouth to reply in an instant, a half-formed stupid sentence already forming on the tip of her tongue. You’re expecting yet another unnecessary argument to break out. Yet another reason for you to give up on all your attempts to build a bridge of thoughtful actions and sweet words that will lead you to who Kate truly is under the mask she so effortlessly wears around everyone else.

You’ve learned to expect anything from Kate Bishop. Especially the unexpected.

“I know. I’m sorry.” She adds the tiniest smile and most awkward shrug you’ve ever seen to her soft-spoken apology.

“What did you just say?” You ask, wondering if you hit your head hard enough to be imagining this whole interaction.

“You heard me,” she replies but her tone carries more traces of embarrassment than the cockiness you’re used to. “You’re right, I’m an idiot.”

You’re left dumbstruck, waiting for the other shoe to drop. There’s no way the archer can say those words without some sort of snarky comment coming after it. So you wait. Watching her with curious eyes that only fuel the nervousness bubbling underneath her carefree posture.

It’s strange to realize how little you genuinely know about her. Having a crush on her has ironically been the easiest part of everything. Sure, it’s awkward and annoying and ridiculous but believing you understand her is easier than accepting the fact that Kate’s never let you in.

So why would she start now?

“Are you going to say something?” The subtle crack in her voice reveals the truth she’s trying to hide behind her usual smirk.

There are so many things you want to say but you’re still a little lightheaded and the sudden change in her attitude toward you isn’t helping you keep yourself in check. “I like your smile.”

“Oh.”

You could easily dismiss her reaction as indifferent if it weren’t for the pink hue emerging across her cheeks. It’s subtle and warm and…real. Like her. And it suddenly dawns on you that you’ve never seen Kate Bishop flustered before.

Especially not from one of your compliments. It’s different…and you really like it.

“Can I ask you something, Kate?”

She looks away from you for a second, almost as if she’s scared of what you might say. Of the possibilities that lie in your unspoken feelings. “Sure, yeah, go ahead.”

Your mouth begins to form one of the many questions you’ve wanted to ask the archer since you met her but then her eyes find yours again and you get a glimpse into the fear-filled storm inside their depths.

It’s subtle but the armor made from cocky grins and imperfectly timed jokes begins to crack.

Which means there’s no way you’re going to spring such a loaded question on her just yet. As much as you’d love an answer to the one thing that’s been haunting you since you realized your true feelings for her, there’s no way you’d force her when it’s clear it’s been far too long since she’s let herself be vulnerable around someone.

So, you settle for the only thing you need right now: her.

“Can you stay with me?” You do your best to ignore the warmth that spreads along your face as the words slip out of your mouth. “Yelena doesn’t have the best bedside manner.”

A beat of silence goes by before her lips form a genuine smile. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Her eyes nervously flick around the room in search of somewhere to sit. You watch her for a few seconds before putting her out of her anxious misery.

“Kate…” You trail off, doing your best to hold in your laughter as you pat the empty space beside you. “You can sit here, I won’t bite.”

Your words are all it takes for her nervousness to turn back into her usual goofiness. “Really? That’s not what I’ve heard…”

“So you do talk shit about me!”

#kate bishop x reader #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop x y/n #kate bishop x you #kate bishop fic #kate bishop fanfiction #kate bishop #kate bishop fluff #hawkeye #hawkeye fanfic #hailee steinfeld #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #marvel #mcu imagine #mcu fanfiction #wlw #wlw fic #writing

[onedayimgonnasnap]

MC giving the Yandere’s the Side eye

Warning: Crack, Cursing, Yandere

The MC’s gender is up for the reader to decide btw

(I decided to write this before school starts so have fun)

——

Riddle: What the fuck… how dare you not acknowledge his speech, his 30 minute essay that he worked sweat and tears on. He memorized the whole damn thing. For what?

He proceeded to stare at you back while you both had a staring contest. He could do this all day-

-Illuminati music-

As he was staring into your eyes when he started to see his whole past flash before his eyes. How his only friend besides Trey and Chenya was his homework, to his mom not letting him eat a tart-

Wait, is that Bob Ross painting happy trees?!

It felt so overwhelming.

Next thing you know, Riddle let you go back home with tears in his eyes. He transferred out of the NRC.

—————

Leona:

He was mad that you just stared at him. He kept staring at you back with at you until,

MC: “ tf are you looking at you walking second place trophy looking mother fucker-“

The whole dorm had to hold him back while you ran for your dear life home.

———

Azul:

Mc: “Bitches?”

Azul: “What are you talking about-“

Mc: “You kidnapped me because you had no bitches isn’t that correct? Shit with this attitude you have, you don’t even talk to me at school, after school and when you do it’s for business? The only friends you have are the Eels and even then they’re gonna get bored of you what then? You look mad stupid kidnapping me. 🤨”

Azul: *sniffling* …

Mc: “That’s what I thought you 50% off Squidward”

———

Kalim:

Kalim: 😃

Mc: 🤨

Kalim’s face slowly dropped as he felt like he made a mistake.

You got to go home with some gold as an apology.

———

Jamil:

As you both stared at each other he tried to use his unique magic but it didn’t work because you were staring at his forehead.

Mc: “Damn bitch you got a big ass forehead, I remember me and Grimm played Tic tac toe on your forehead once while you were sleeping-“

Jamil: “WAIT WHAT-“

———

Vil: Vil rolled his eyes as you side stared at him.

Mc: “You kidnapping me is some motherless behavior.”

He kicked you out faster than you can say motherless.

Rook had to cheer up Vil watching Soap Opera with him on the couch and some Ice cream while Vil sobs that you broke up with him.

———

Idia:

Idia couldn’t handle the tension. He kept looking away to avoid your gaze. It was like the whole school watching his every move.

He started to cry after 2 minutes of you staring at him in silence.

Idia: “THE EXIT IS ON THE LEFT, PLEASE JUST DONT HURT MY FAMILY-���

———

Malleus:

Malleus stared at you back thinking this was a human thing. It soon began to be a 3 hour staring contest with no blinking.

Malleus soon saw your eyes turning fully black and you were whispering some Satanic shit from ChernaBog or whatever the tf.

You gave Malleus trauma, Sebek hates you, you got to go home.

Malleus still gets nightmares of it crying into Lilia’s shoulder.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland malleus #twisted wonderland riddle #yandere malleus x reader #yandere vil x reader #yandere malleus draconia #yandere leona kingscholar #yandere riddle rosehearts #yandere idia shroud #yandere kalim al asim #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere jamil viper #Yandere crack

[ficklecat]

13!

“was kakashi trying his best? / was he a "good" sensei?”

So I could write an absolute essay about this very specific take but I will do my best to be concise.

Was he trying his best? Yes. Was he a ‘good’ sensei? Eventually.

Long and short of it, we all can agree Kakashi was NOT READY to be a sensei when he left ANBU and was moved to be a Jounin teacher. You can see in the eps how he essentially had anxiety attacks during every test he gave, his fear of failure and of the fate of the squads he’d pass should they not work together were re-traumatising him at every turn. You can also see it in the juxtaposition of Gai’s exam with his students and Kakashi’s - Gai blocks their blows and delivers gentle defensive hits, allows his students to come at him instead of pushing them. He’s smiling and encouraging them and egging them on, and even when they don’t “defeat” him he informs them of the positive attributes he saw in their teamwork and tells them with development they’ll be successful.

But Kakashi is in his head and acting like he’s on a battlefield. He’s focused on the worst outcomes. He’s kicking kids across the training grounds like they’re real assailants - because that’s what he knows. He’s angrily telling them they won’t survive essentially - not because he’s an asshole, but because he KNOWS, and he’s SCARED for them, and more than that, he’s scared HE will be the one who sent them off to die unprepared. Just like he was.

Rumors spread that he’s a hard ass and this and that but you can tell so clearly, he’s not trying to be “bad” at this job. He’s a professional after all. But he’s fresh out of ANBU where he was known as ‘friend killer,’ on the heels of death after death, still not having dealt with any of it, still avoiding joining his friends at dango, etc etc. He’s not well. And Hiruzen says - ‘go teach the next generation not to die.’ Are you kidding? OF COURSE he’s gonna freak out, even if he’s doing the best he can. He even talks with Hiruzen about how he feels like he might not be ready for this, and they have that little chat about how Hiruzen thinks the next squad will be better suited for his skills.

But even with team 7, Kakashi isn’t always in “teacher” mode. He does TEACH them things, of course, but even when he is lecturing them or explaining, it’s as if he’s doing so via tactics and survival understanding, not like Gai for example, who provides encouragement and mentorship. Kakashi is all business - again, this does not make him a bad teacher.

It makes him a good squad leader though. And that’s what Kakashi is. That’s where he thrives. He’s drafted into ANBU by Minato under half-baked protective pretences, sure, but he doesn’t get promoted for them. He gets promoted because he’s good at being a leader to his squad. He’s a strategist. He’s intelligent. He’s highly skilled and he can provide his squad with detailed plans, intel, and objectives with ease. It’s where he thrives, and it’s all he knows. And he’s made it his literal life’s mission not to fail at this because he knows the consequences are death.

So that’s how he functions as a sensei. Is he fantastic at it? Of course not. But he plays to his squad’s strengths where he can, because that’s what a good squad leader does. He goads his students like subordinates on a mission rather than mentee’s - he teases out their motivation with quips and ribbing, he points out flaws plainly and delivers fact without being over-emotional. If they’re on a mission and they might die, he’s going to say “we might die, pay attention” instead of “this is an opportunity to hone your focus” because on a mission, in battle, in WAR, there’s no time for all that.

SO anyway, that’s my take on all this, in an essay I promised I wouldn’t write. Is Kakashi a good sensei? He gets there. Is he the best? No way. But he DID do his best, and he gets better as he grows alongside his squad. He grows as he learns to be less afraid. So I think he does a good job in his own way.

#long post soz #thanks for the ask friend! #axel replies #ask game #naruto asks

[queseraone]

Everyone asks about what we want to see in S6, but I'm curious, what are your wants in general for S6 or beyond? Any particular storylines you'd like to see?

Honestly I'm just beyond grateful that we're getting a season 6! (In terms of renewal, and of course the strikes.)

What I want (also includes things I don't want) under the cut!

Tim and Lucy dance at the wedding!!! (it's a need)

KOJOOOOOOOOOOO

The little things: holding hands, a kiss on the cheek, one coming up and wrapping their arms around the other from behind. Just those soft things that are so easily overlooked, but frankly these little moments often have the biggest impact.

CHENFORD I LOVE YOU! That's the only "big" development I need for them in season 6, mostly because I think it should have happened in season 5.

Oh I lied, other big thing I'd really like to see - Chenford living together. Because let's face it, they already do, so might as well make it official already! (Especially if there's a time jump of any kind. Grown ass adults move faster in relationships than 20-year-olds.)

Aaron lives! (I almost didn't bother including this one since he obviously does, but still)

Development to (if not resolution of) everything that's been brewing regarding Lucy's undercover career. I know everyone has their own (strong) opinions on what they want to happen/where they want this to land, but I just want Lucy to have the career she deserves AND the life that she wants (and I personally don't think she can have both with the current state of things) AND for her and Tim to be in a good place. So ultimately I hope she realizes that UC is not for her - BUT NOT JUST BECAUSE OF TIM, because it goes against her character, because she doesn't want to leave herself, her friends, her life behind... (I could write an essay on this, and... oops apparently I have!)

Related the above, but Lucy to advance in her career. Be that as a detective or some other type of promotion or advancement. Girl has been killing it, she deserves it! (As much as I think having Angela and Nyla AND Lucy as detectives is too many detectives, I would loooove to see that trio kicking ass together!)

More Tim and Angela moments. Aside from Chenford, this is my absolute favourite relationship on the show, I adore their friendship and I'd love to see more of it!

Aaron and Celina to be just friends. Petition for more platonic male-female friendships on TV!! And they just give off BFF energy to me

Genny! Moments with Tim, moments with Lucy, maybe tell us her other kid's name... they made a point of moving her character to Los Angeles, I hope they use her!

No pregnancy for Bailey/Nolan. Congrats to Jenna, but we've had pregnancies every season since season 3 and it's a lot. Plus Nolan wasn't keen a few seasons ago, and he's even older now, and giving the lead character a newborn at home would really fuck with the dynamics. Also petition for more female characters choosing not to have kids, representation matters! (Oops another essay...)

Better integration of the various characters. Lots of people dislike Bailey (I am not one of them), but I personally think the biggest hiccup with her character is that she almost exclusively interacts with Nolan. This cast has incredible chemistry, so I would really like to see them play with that more! What I would give for a ladies night with all these badass women (you know they'll stumble across a crime or something...)

I'm sure there's more, but I've yammered on enough. Aside from these things, I'm just REALLY looking forward to my beloved show coming back. This cast is magical, I love how they manage to keep it light, and I'm excited to see what they have planned for us.

And I'm hoping for some renewed inspiration for fic ideas, too! Oh and that reminds me, my biggest want for season 6? RENEWAL FOR SEASON 7!!!!!!!!

#chenford #the rookie #the rookie season 6 #lucy chen #tim bradford #kojo #aaron thorsen #angela lopez #nyla harper #john nolan #bailey nune #genny bradford #chenford chats

[tallbluelady]

Since you are one of Urianger's biggest fans, I thought you might know: Is anyone in his birth/childhood family ever mentioned?

I ask because a friend and I realized we couldn't remember anything about his family at all, and we know a little about every other major Scion's birth family (even Papalymo, though *that* one is really obscure.) But for Urianger, we only get his childhood friend and her family.

I wondered if we'd missed something in a side quest or something. Thanks!

Lord this turned into an essay... more after the break. TL;DR: The game does not give us any non-Moenbryda or non-Louisoix related people related to Urianger. They don't even confirm that he hung out with the other Scions during their years at the Studium. This leads us to believe that he was a ward of Louisoix of some sort, but there hasn't been any confirmation to that either (that I'm aware of).

There's not a whole lot about Urianger's past in game, honestly. A lot of characterization comes from Binding Coils quests (concern for Alisaie/the start of keeping secrets), Warring Triad (I can sense your bullshit, Unakalihai/wry sense of humor with Y'shtola), 3.4 (Alisaie telling us that she and Urianger were close/Urianger asking for Louisoix's guidance during the WoD fight), and small bits of StB (giving Alisaie her crystal rapier/coming out of the Lochs to help kick Fordola's ass). He gets a LOT of development in Shadowbringers, but nothing about his younger years. And you could put everything we learn about Urianger in Endwalker into two columns: how he is moving on with his life trying to stay true to his heart and how Moenbryda influenced him and continues to influence him.

There is not a lot about this man's youth! Everything in Urianger's past as far as the game gives us is that he spent his childhood with Moenbryda and was Louisoix's pupil. He doesn't have a Tales from series entry yet (big shame) and his entry in Encyclopedia Eorzea is about how he's a disciple of Louisoix and his amber carbuncle. There is a bit of 1.0 lore that Louisoix tells you that Urianger read too many prophecies as a kid and he hyperfixated himself a unique speech pattern. 

We don't even really know if he was friends with Thancred growing up! They're clearly at the very least best friends in adulthood but other than having an overlap in the years they attended the Studium there's not any straight confirmation they hung out.

What fanon I've managed to pick up is that he was adopted by Louisoix in a similar fashion that Louisoix adopted Thancred. I had an IRL friend straight up tell me that was the case but I can't think of or find a source for that. He had to be close to the Leveilleurs as a teen to young adult at least so he could become Alisaie's friend but he could still technically have living parents and be close to his mentor's family. He has his own last name, after all. Though, with it being Augurelt (an augur being a type of soothsayer) you could maybe argue it was something he chose himself. The game has yet to tell us.

Thanks for the ask!

#urianger #urianger arugelt #moenbryda #honestly guys feel free to correct me if i'm wrong or i missed something #but i'm pretty sure the fanon consensus is that he's louisoix's ward but not adopted into the leveilleur family #i have read a singular fanfic that gave him a family in ishgard but that was IT #lack of info is lack of family basically #and idk if i'm one of his BIGGEST fans #he is just my blorbo <3

[beardedmrbean]

Oh hey, sorry let me explain what I meant

I understand the Americanization of saying the main cast of ATLA because the cartoons was a Y7 NICKTOON that hade to be compatible enough to bye syndicated with SpongeBob when needed

Nothing against the og show, just you can pick up the obvious westernization when you get into more Asian fantasy stories

But what I’m talking about is the lack of cultural exchanges despite the access of African kingdoms being for more accessible than before

Also what those things that assassin creed milk the living FUCK out of to explain why we can go to the crusades to Italian renaissance to the North America

And recent to the Viking era to a prequel that take place in 9th century Baghdad?

(Also teasing that India will probably be used in future games)

Oh yeah

TRADE ROUTES, TRADE ROUTES, TRADE ROUTES, ESTABLISHED A WHOLE LOT OF FUCKING TRADES IN YOUR FANTASY WORLD PEOPLE

Sorry, but I remember Dave pointed out the issues of modern fantasy stories is that they are written by metropolitan people who can’t comprehend life outside of their cities

Vs me who you know grew up in various places ie a college town for a bit.

Also under thing, if your ass can barely comprehend modern farmer lives

Your shit out of luck when writing proper world building

It like the issues with Yasuke for ac red, the thing is that story leaks revealed that Yasuke outsider status will be acknowledged

Hopefully it was a team idea not sbi suggestion

But as you know the assassins value free will, so when research and learning that Yasuke was kicked out of Japan by Mitshundie who refer to Yasuke as animal. I can see the devs desires saying the assassins saved him and Yasuke slowly agrees to help unify Japan to ensure the country won’t be at the mercy of Templars

Also I mention before because I did my own research and theorize that assassins Yasuke will die in Southeast Asia given the East African population there

Oh your other friend who the lawyer with the Cookie Monster icon pointed out that in rings of power made Gaderial a burnout millenial…ugh writers I understand you were told to write what you know

But you need to be VERY conscious especially if it a pre industrial setting

Yeah this is an issues, established. Fucking. Trade. Routes.

Make African kingdoms based off the Mali, the Yoruba, the Moors

Say in your fantasy world a group of refugees and immigrants decide to leave their ancestral homeland and move to the European kingdoms, now in reality most would be in trading ports and such

But say a second gen of them already assimilated into the surrounding area wanted to be a knight, of course it would have a lot of discrimination and such. But it make sense for that one character

Sorry, I was thinking about the Latin Americans and how they acknowledge they are mixed. Now yes Anglophones had a lot of separatism….but I think what huge root cause between black Americans and Africans is that my community don’t realize we’re like the Latinos-wait wait most of them have their native roots so nvm.

Because we grew up in an extremely different culture from them. Yes we can now interacted with native Africans due to globalism

But black activists, if the French and British were at each other throats for centuries. What the hell you guys think we are to Africans when we only started to have casual relations in the 60’s?

Sorry for these essay long anons, but I was thinking what wrong with modern fantasy beyond the woke shit…it’s because these fucks had very limited life experience or understanding of pre colonial times

Nothing against the og show, just you can pick up the obvious westernization when you get into more Asian fantasy stories. But what I’m talking about is the lack of cultural exchanges despite the access of African kingdoms being for more accessible than before

It's that money thing again, managed a great story still tho,

and ya have to wonder about the difficulty of gathering up a collection of "folk tales" from various indigenous groups around the globe, Africa being a massive untapped resource for that,

Not sure how many would lend themselves to movies, but anthology type tv series like twilight zone style with no set cast other than Rod Sterling as the announcer that does a new one every week, I could actually see that working

Your shit out of luck when writing proper world building

All this stuff feels pretty spot on

Also I mention before because I did my own research and theorize that assassins Yasuke will die in Southeast Asia given the East African population there

AC people seem to do a very good job, to the point that folks were thinking the one game could be used to help rebuild Notre Dame, that didn't pan out, but they still gave the game away free on Steam so people could visit if they wanted.

Say in your fantasy world a group of refugees and immigrants decide to leave their ancestral homeland and move to the European kingdoms, now in reality most would be in trading ports and such But say a second gen of them already assimilated into the surrounding area wanted to be a knight, of course it would have a lot of discrimination and such. But it make sense for that one character

Look up the Jewish diaspora that formed after the last time they thought it would be a good idea to piss off Rome. Not for integration so much as routes taken and areas settled

Sorry, I was thinking about the Latin Americans and how they acknowledge they are mixed. Now yes Anglophones had a lot of separatism….but I think what huge root cause between black Americans and Africans is that my community don’t realize we’re like the Latinos-wait wait most of them have their native roots so nvm.

Funny you mention them, that thing that nobody ever expects resulted in large numbers of, once again, Jewish diaspora who not only settled in North Africa they also went to Latin America, weird little pockets of Jewish people dotting places in various countries in the Caribbean and South America, couple that are widely disavowed by 99.9% of the Jewish population that knows they exist.

Might be less useful since they've managed to hold on to their Jewishness and not assimilate

-wait wait most of them have their native roots so nvm.

Number of Mexicans I've known that think they're descended from the Mayans I'm not so sure about that, but you're not actually wrong either.

But black activists, if the French and British were at each other throats for centuries. What the hell you guys think we are to Africans when we only started to have casual relations in the 60’s?

yay technology, it really has made some things better, other things worse but eh equivalent exchange as the Alric brothers say (my animu reference for the year)

Sorry for these essay long anons, but I was thinking what wrong with modern fantasy beyond the woke shit…it’s because these fucks had very limited life experience or understanding of pre colonial times

No worries, sorry bout the time it took to get this out got things pulling left and right and I want to be able to get a good answer out to you so we can call it even, lol.

#zoomer huey anon

[nextkaratekid]

I’ve wanted to scream and shout and write this out for a long time since probably last summer at a family road trip when I came into a realization my own hyper-independence as well as homegirl from HSMTMTS, Gina Porter.

In this essay I will - 

YES THIS IS A WHOLE SERIOUS ASS ESSAY Y’ALL

- talk about how in relation to Gina’s hyper-independence and her breaking away from and unlearning that from her own family life, the group of friends she made, and even the boys she loved.

Let’s start by praising out homegirl, Sofia Wylie. Babygirl deserves all the flowers and I’m glad she’s fronting these flicks cause she always been, did, done THAT!

So let’s start at the very beginning, a very good place to start:

- Season 1 of HSMTMTS: 

We first meet Gina whomst is NEW and has had this tendency to see every walking human being as incomparable competition. Striving to be the best and beat the best by any means necessary, something her mom always ailed on her despite not being around to witness. 

Then by the end of the season when we see the growth, potential, and desire for a community especially having confided in Ricky, who in this case - too, was also an outsider - the hope she had almost lost in regards of having to move again but EJ and Ashlyn being there for her and going out their way to give her a home, something she never had before was icing on the cake.

She’s grown from not trusting people for being there for her to allowing herself to have hope and find home in a chosen family that genuinely care for her well being and take her in as their own.

I feel like for me, not that I saw people as competition, but I was surrounded by people who I thought felt like home but saw the world pessimistically through a lens of needing to be better than anyone. 

I knew the power I possess, but I never wanted to project that onto folks. However, sometimes when someone crosses me or does something uncomfortable to me in their own selfish ways or reasonings, it does keep me from wanting to do anything with them. 

But, I feel like with Gina I found people, or more so, they found me in the midst of my flaws and an era were I was lost because I had no solid ground or foundation of circle of friends and family to count on.

- Season 2 of HSMTMTS:

Homegirl starts staying with Ashlyn and learns truly what it’s like to live with another person instead of the whole “said person travels and I stay in the house aside from going out until it’s time to move again”. 

Oof, I felt this challenge cause I may not have move around like her but in my college I did got to travel and move and embrace my nomadic spirit that sharing a space with someone in a dorm room up until I got my own separate dorm my final years was rough because the privacy was not there unless I hung out at places on campus by myself. 

It’s one thing to live in a dorm where you have your own separate rooms and bathrooms, it’s another thing to live in a dorm where all of your beds are in the same room and you all share one bathroom. 

I’m pretty sure Gina must have stayed in the guest room of Ashlyn’s home cause Ashlyn had a similar situation where we don’t see her parents as much or literally at all (cause they ain’t cast them yet tbh) but she has a stable home that she’s lived in for years and has no problem opening doors for anyone to come through and kick in or stay in when necessary. 

Gina finally having a stable and steady ground at this point and allowing herself not to believe that it’s a trap and that it’s safe for her is so beautiful to see.

Let’s also talk about her relationship with Carlos as Co-Choreographer for Beauty & the Beast: she’s never truly shared a living place, and now she was sharing a working space and a professional title. Creative differences can make, or mostly break a production of any kind. Dance being Gina’s talents, obviously because of the extensive competition dance background of Sofia herself, and sharing that with Carlos was a struggle because as she stated it: she doesn’t want to be co-anything. Granted, she’s not used to it, but allowed herself to be open to collaborating instead of expecting everyone to get everything that she throws because she may do it but understands that not everyone else will. 

Truly, I’ve become collaborator in a lot of work especially professional when it comes to my business cause I’ve been a place of stubbornness that prevented me from asking for help. And I had to admit, I don’t have to nor need to figure or do everything myself.

- Season 3 of HSMTMTS (personally, me fave so far):

Chile, yes we see her at the previous deal with her growing feelings for Richard and then suppress for the benefit of others, but then allow her to see herself move on and grow with someone else. Enemies to lovers if you will since she did throw a drink at EJ’s face when he didn’t go through with a devious plan of hers prior, lol.

Truly, this has been my favorite so far because 1) we really got to see Sofia in the forefront carry the show (everyone else did their part as well), and 2) we see the awareness of how Gina knew who her past self was and wanting to grow from that 1.0 version into a more higher self and stable version to which she has a boyfriend, gets to go to camp, is going out for the lead not for sabotaging others or self-sabotaging reasons but merely because she wants to EARN something rather than take it like stealing candy for a baby.

And in the midst of all that, she had to come to her senses by the end of it clearly stating that she needs to know where she stands with others, and when EJ could no longer uphold to that, she had to let him go so she didn’t drag herself down just to be with him when he wasn’t on stable ground himself. Yes, some months later she and Richard finally made amends and kissed, which I gagged for all reasons of cuteness but also because I truly care about her happiness.

The ability to prioritize herself first and her well being because she’s never felt the ground beneath her feet, and she found the family that allowed her and gave her room to do so, and also learn how to trust, collaborate, share, and being honest with others and most importantly herself - I’m rooting for this character and see so much of myself in her.

Us hyper-independent girlies have carried so much in ourselves and the world and people who are barely around us that when we finally got the grounding and good people to support us, we got the balance we needed all along.

#hsmtmts #hsm #hsmedit #sofia wylie #gina porter #ej caswell #ricky bowen #hyper independence

[rhysintherain]

I was wondering if you had any college application essay writing tips. Those personal questions are kicking my ass fr

Well, the first and most important thing to remember about these is: they want to know you can write.

Not great, sweeping essays that will get you an A in a 4th year course or anything; just that you're not going to be in over your head in the program you're applying for. Nobody wins if you go to college and flunk out because you couldn't do the work.

Stick with simple, solid techniques like the five-part essay plan. Make your thesis clear, and organise your argument like you would for any academic essay. The fact that the topic is you isn't as important as how you present the topic.

Second, and a bit trickier to figure out, is the topic. Again, they want to know they're not wasting time on you, but it's really, really hard to think of yourself objectively as a topic for discussion.

Before you start writing, give yourself time to think. That's a very important step here, because you are the source and the research. Talk to friends and family as well, because they probably notice things you don't about yourself.

Then focus on three areas:

Achievements. What have you done that makes you a good candidate for this program? Why do you deserve to attend this institution? Here we're thinking awards, volunteering, jobs, or skills related to what you want to do. This is where you get to brag a little. Tell them why they should take you seriously. Don't feel too bad if these things don't feel like huge accomplishments; you're just starting out, and they know that.

Relationships. Think of the people you are doing this for, and the people who inspire you. Do you look up to a mentor in your field? Have a family member who is your biggest cheerleader? Want to set an example for the people coming after you? Connections are important, because they'll be your support network through your education, and also because they demonstrate your ability to connect with the people around you. Are you a team player? A natural leader? How do you relate to your positive relationships, and how will you build new ones moving forward? It's really difficult to get through school all by yourself, so show your audience that you will be part of the community and build the connections you need for success.

Goals. Where is this program leading you? What will you do with the skills you learn? They want to know you'll do something meaningful with what they teach you, so tell them what you hope to achieve. A bit of idealism isn't a bad idea here. Who do you hope to help with what you learn? How will this program make your life better? Remember that this isn't a set in stone destination, it's a hope for where your education might lead you. Talk about where you'd like to be, and how you plan to get there. Make your audience feel like they can contribute to your success.

Once you have concrete ideas about these areas of your life, you can answer most of the questions they present you with.

Remember that admissions staff want you there: they can't run a school without students. They also want to know who you are and what you're about, so they can tell if you're a good fit for their school. Try to be sincere in your answers: passion and connection show in your writing, whether you want them to or not, and your sincerity won't go unnoticed. We write best about things we care about, so focus on topics you feel passionate about and things you're proud of.

If the questions ask about challenges you've faced, put a positive spin on them. How did you overcome those challenges? What did you learn from the experience? How can this program help you to overcome future challenges? Personally, I don't like to bring up this sort of thing unless I'm asked directly, but that's up to you.

Finally, remember that not every school you apply for will be a good fit for you. Maybe your passion is something they don't have a good program for. Maybe you are really into theory, but they focus more on applied science. Don't be afraid to shop around, and don't be afraid to be flexible if you find what you want doesn't line up with what a school can offer. You'll find where you fit, but sometimes to takes some work to get there.

#writing #academic writing #personal essays #admissions essays #college admissions #writing advice #writing questions #this advice applies for awards essays too #good luck with your applications anon!

[realtalk-princeton]

senior here. i feel that i've haven't accomplished anything i wanted, i'm majoring in something i don't really care about and will probably have an average job and now that i'm graduating and have to start working i feel that i won't ever have time to do the things that i want to do or accomplish anything and that i've wasted my time here. it's sad but true.

Response from Ocean:

I think it's easy to feel like that as a senior, and there's definitely other seniors who feel the same way. I think part of it has to do with the fact that we were told college would be the 'best years of our lives', by our parents and movies, and instead we've spent most of it stressed and depressed. (I know it's not just me.) We also came into Princeton wide-eyed, with a bucket list full of accomplishments to tick off, not realizing that it would be so different than anything we had known before then. We've spent roughly 22 years of our lives following a fairly predictable plan or at least knowing what our next steps would most likely be. Now, we're staring down an abyss of our future, nothing is certain and our choices seem like they have much more far-reaching consequences than they ever have before.

When I was in high school, a teacher told me that the average person changes careers (not jobs, careers) 7 times during their lifetime. And now, the workforce appears to be increasingly embracing career changes and job hopping. Whatever you end up doing after this doesn't have to be forever. You're an adult with free will. You can do whatever the fuck you want at any moment. You can pack a suitcase and move to Lithuania without any plans, if that's what you want to do. Nowadays you don't even need to have the money for a plane ticket to do something like that--just a credit card.

(Okay, so none of that was sound financial advice. But my point is that you shouldn't feel trapped in your future, and sometimes you need to think big to remember that you aren't.)

As for your goals: what's important is not the goal and whether you achieved or didn't achieve it. What matters is what the goal represents. (I knew my literature degree would come in handy in the real world!) So, say you had a goal to win an award. Do you really need X award to live a meaningful life? Of course not! Maybe what you want is recognition of your hard work. Maybe you want admiration from your peers. Or maybe you just want someone to tell you that they're proud of you. None of those things require the award specifically. It's up to you to keep chasing those things in whatever you do next, whether it's by kicking ass at your next job or mastering a new skill or cultivating supportive relationships with loved ones.

I could write an entire essay on this, but I have a thesis to write and I don't know enough about your specific situation to know that my response would resonate. This is a time full of changes, both welcome and unwelcome, and the turmoil can take its toll. In such times, it's vital to look for a sense of stability within yourself by reconnecting with your values, hopes, and dreams. Clutching at random outside markers in order to orient yourself will only leave you feeling more lost and confused.

I'm so proud of you for making it this far and for being brave enough to open up about these feelings to me. You're gonna have a great life, it's just barely started.

[tradingmaps]

The Paris Review Guide to Becoming a Well-Read, Cultured, and Critically Thinking Person

Dear _________,  What kind of soulless freak could fail to answer your call? Your intelligence glows through your professed ignorance (as does the authenticity of “a very specific religious cult”). That sounds like an educationally less-than-ideal but, in other ways, fascinating childhood. My only piece of advice before recommending some titles would be: don’t fall for the inferiority/superiority racket. We’re not on a ladder here. We’re on a web. Right now you’re experiencing a desire to become more aware of and sensitive to its other strands. That feeling you’re having is culture. Whatever feeds that, go with it. And never forget that well-educated people pretend to know on average at least two-thirds more books than they’ve actually read.

A place to start is with Guy Davenport’s nonfiction collections, Every Force Evolves a Form, The Geography of the Imagination, and The Hunter Gracchus (with more pieces in The Death of Picasso). You’ll learn an enormous amount from these essays and sketches, but almost without realizing, because they give off the pleasure of great stories. Read the title essay in The Hunter Gracchus (about Kafka and the way symbols can take on a life of their own), and see if it isn’t as stimulating and creepy as the last good movie you saw.

Come up with a system of note-taking that you can use in your reading. It’s okay if it evolves. You can write in the margins, or keep a reading notebook (my preference) where you transcribe passages you like, with your own observations, and mark down the names of other, unfamiliar writers, books you’ve seen mentioned (Guy D. alone will give you a notebook full of these). Follow those notes to decide your next reading. That’s how you’ll create your own interior library. Now do that for the rest of your life and die knowing you’re still massively ignorant. (I wouldn’t trade it!)

Read My Ántonia, and then read everything else by Willa Cather. Inside her novels you’ll find it impossible to doubt that high enjoyment and extreme depth can go together. The most difficult art.

Read Isak Dinesen’s Seven Gothic Tales. I’m saying that randomly, because it seems right, and to approve the spirit of randomness.

If you get into a writer, go all the way and check out everything he/she has written. This summer I fell into a Defoe hole. Started with the major stuff, the best novels and the good journalism, and then read everything down to the poems and the tedious political pamphlets, since by that point I was equally interested in him as a human being and wanted to have as accurate a map of the inside of his brain as possible. His is one of the minds that helped shape the modern world—we’re literally still telling his stories—so there’s a vital interest. I read Maximilian Novak’s super-solid biography of him, Master of Fictions. That sort of questy reading ends up enriching your experience of each individual book and piece, and it lends a sense of adventure to the whole business, which after all involves a lot of lying down or sitting on your ass.

Borges and Denis Johnson—anything by either. Edith Wharton’s story “The Young Gentlemen.” (Random, random.) Robert Penn Warren’s All the King’s Men, and then his poems if you’re feeling spry. Find on the Web and buy an old paperback copy of the Robert Penn Warren and Albert Erskine–edited anthology Six Centuries of Great Poetry (a book for life). Read the next two things I’m going to read and then see how you like them: Grant’s Memoirs and Karl Ove Knausgaard’s My Struggle. Read Nabokov’s Speak, Memory and Joan Didion’s Slouching Towards Bethlehem.

Books that got me kick-started were the great modernist biographies, especially Hugh Kenner’s The Pound Era and Richard Ellmann’s life of James Joyce. Read those two books and you’ll have a decent-size grid on which to plot the rest of your reading. I’m somehow moved to spurt out, Stephen Greenblatt’s Will in the World. People have been writing about Shakespeare for half a millennium, and the very best of it just happened.

Ignore all of this and read the next cool-looking book you see lying around. It’s not the where-you-start so much as the that-you-don’t-stop. I was reading Phoenix Force novels until I was like thirteen. These days a lot of people I know are into Murakami. I should have said more novels. If it’s by a Russian, read it.

[inkykeiji]

uhm hi,, i wanted to ask how you deal with pressure, stress and lack of inspiration...... i ask because i have to write a history essay and i feel like i spend more time crying than actually writing this... it’s just so hard and the effects suck it looks like shit,, i really appreciate you as a writer and i just you know wanted to ask for help.. i dont know what to do and how to do that and i want to know if you sometimes also feel like this and if you do how you overcome this. i am sorry for this ask and if that makes u uncomfy in any way you dont have to answer it... also happy egg:)

aaah hello sweetpea!! <33 oh no bb okay okay i’m gonna try and help as best i can!! warning: VERY long post beneath the cut!! <33

aaaaaaah bb okay first of all, i’m so sorry you’re feeling this way :( ‘i feel like i spend more time crying than actually writing this’ oh my precious i know this feeling and i have definitely had my fair share of breakdowns over assignments during my time at university!!

it absolutely is so hard to get your work done when you’re feeling so yucky. it turns into a very vicious cycle where you’re upset/anxious because you have no motivation, which in turn makes you upset/anxious with the work, upset/anxious at the fact that you ARE upset/anxious, etc etc etc. it all feeds into each other and makes everything that much more chaotic.

first, let’s calm down, okay?

the first thing i want you to do is take some very big, very deep breaths—even better if you can a very short little video you can follow or try out some of the exercises in articles such as this and this (some of the exercises in those articles overlap but it’ll give you a general idea!!). but if you feel too anxious to even do those, just take some biiiiiig big big deep, breaths for me. if you’re crying, try to calm your sobs through your breathing. this doesn’t have to be for long, i just want you to breathe a little!! just for a minute or two!!

now i want you to remind yourself that it is okay to feel stressed out over this, your feelings are VERY valid and very normal. i also want you to remind yourself that, while your grade may be important to you (mine were very very important and special to me!!) it still does not dictate your worth or your intelligence, and it is not a life or death situation. i’m not sure if this applies to you as well, but i personally have an issue with ‘catastrophizing’ when stuff like this happens to me, so it always helps just to keep these things in mind. if you do bad, it isn’t the end of the world, i absolutely promise you. it may feel like it’s a massive deal right now, but in the grand scheme of your life this is just a lil history paper!! just a tiny little blip in the masterpiece of your life!! it’s okay if you don’t do as well as you hoped; you are trying and that is the most important thing. you are doing your best under these current circumstances, and this will serve as a learning experience either way!! 

now, let’s figure out a strategy to get it done!!

as for how i dealt with this in uni, i liked to (and still do, with big tasks!!) break everything down into easier-to-manage pieces. if you haven’t, make a bare bones outline for your essay; just your paragraphs and general arguments for each; nothing crazy or extensive. if you’ve already done this, do it again; write it out physically on one piece of paper so you can see/’visualize’ the entire thing from a birds eye POV. don’t worry about it being shit, just organize the general structure of your outline at this stage. push through those thoughts that are telling you it isn’t good!!!

for me, i usually break this outline into pieces after i’ve made it. we’ll use the example of an essay since that’s what you’re dealing with right now. having outlines for everything is what works the best for me, so i would take each body paragraph and break it down into my main arguments and evidence supporting them. so for example (and don’t laugh at my hypothetical essay here hehehe):

thesis: dabi and tomura are the best bnha characters because x, y, z.

paragraph one:

✰ ARGUMENT: dabi is the best bnha character

✰ EVIDENCE: x, y, and z

paragraph two:

✰ ARGUMENT: tomura is the best bnha villain

✰ EVIDENCE: x, y, and z

and so on. i don’t know how much time you have left until the essay is due, but if you’re really in crunch mode only spend an hour or so on this. for me, making these little outlines of the entire essay/piece and then of each paragraph itself helped me feel a lot more organized and in control, and it also enabled me to see how much i had left to do. i like to physically write these out, because for whatever reason i find it easier to comprehend if its on a sheet of paper/in a notebook.

the other thing i do is TAKE BREAKS. even if i was pulling an all-nighter to get an essay done, i would still promise myself a 10-15 minute break after completing a paragraph or two. it helped me stay motivated, knowing that i’d get to eat a quick snack, or watch a quick video (or fan edits!!) or listen to a song or two just to relax for a moment before diving back in. try and stay AWAY from social media during these breaks unless you have very good self-discipline. i had to be very strict with myself, though: any time i would start to tear up, or get distracted, or get caught up in my thoughts, i’d sternly tell myself that i can stress about it later/this time right now is dedicated to my essay and essay ONLY, so i must use all of my focus and brainpower on my essay until the next paragraph is done. does that make sense??? it requires a certain level of self-discipline, but you CAN develop this, and the best way to develop it is through practice!!

if you aren’t pulling an all-nighter (finger’s crossed that you aren’t!!) your breaks can be even longer. sometimes, though, we even get in the flow and *in the zone* once we begin writing, and sometimes you don’t even want/need those breaks because your brain is flowing well, and then you can just power through it until you DO need a break. it all heavily depends on your situation!! make these decisions at your own discretion <3 whatever works for you, works for you!

motivation for work you really, really don’t want to do, or work that makes you extremely anxious, can be very hard to find, but i promise you that you are very capable!! dig deep inside of yourself and find the strength to push through it, because you CAN. it IS possible!! you will get this essay done, and then it’ll be over and you can move on with your life!!

there is absolutely no reason to apologize bb don’t even worry about it <33 happy egg my sweet anon!!! i hope this helps you out at least a little <3 these are just the strategies that work for me personally—everyone is different especially when it comes to work flow, but i hope these provide you with at least some guidance <3 either way please know that you are absolutely not alone in this feeling; everyone i know has experienced a similar situation in college/university. school can be so fucking stressful it’s ridiculous. keep in mind that this essay does not in any way define you or your worth, and that you CAN do it <3 i believe in you and i am cheering you on!! HAPPY EGG BABIE!!!!

#AH I TRIED TO ANSWER THIS AS FAST AS I COULD #I HOPE YOU SEE IT #SORRY IT'S SO LONG #BUT I TRULY HOPE IT HELPS #IM SENDING YOU SOOOO MUCH LOVE AND STRENGTH SWEETPEA #YOU'VE GOT THIS I PROMISE YOU <33333 #you can do it!!!!! you will do it!!!! #kick that essay in the ass and then you can move on with your life!!! #it's okay! you're okay! you are going to be okay! #i love u <333 #sweet anon 🥺 #clari gets mail

[nightowlwriting]

summary: steve is acting weird. avoiding you, being snippy and mean, leaving the room when you enter. all you want is your boyfriend back, but all he wants is to pretend you don't exist. when he's almost hurt on a mission, you do what you're made to do.

word count: 11k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used, powered!reader, insecure!reader

warnings: steve is mean to the reader in the beginning, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, canon-level violence, brief ptsd symptoms, slight description of blood, brief mention of racism in the '30s & '40s

brief mentions of: reader's parents being toxic, homelessness, past accidents, ableism in the past & present

note: this one hurt me lmfao. idk why this went the way it did but i'm not mad at it // also i am a queer, trans, disabled american. i have fundamental disagreements with things that marvel/the mcu as it stands for and some of the more nuanced things that you might not notice unless you're looking for it. this will take place in my writing because i cannot separate myself from the lens in which i consume/create content.

title credit: lil nas x

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his. Sure - he’s clever, righteous, courteous… You can’t forget he’s also drop-dead gorgeous because every trashy gossip magazine in a three-state radius of New York doesn’t let you forget. Neither does the sight of him waking up in your bed every morning. (Well, actually, maybe that would remind you if he was still fucking doing that.)

But lately, you’ve had to rely on the fucking tabloids to catch a glimpse of your super-hero boyfriend. The university class you had picked up on a whim at the end of the summer - Life & Times of the ‘30s and ‘40s - avoids any mention of Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos. Not that your classmates do because, Christ on a bike, those magazines manage to catch pictures of you and Steve in moments that you don’t even remember. Plus, you’re an Avenger too. It’s bound to catch some attention when you waltz into a college classroom.

You’re sure if you were an undergrad trying to fill a gen-ed requirement and were sitting next to someone who could kill you without blinking but also dating Captain Rogers you’d be a little distracted too. You try not to blame your classmates too much, but they do make it hard to concentrate with their -really dating Captain America?- and -wonder if I could get an autograph- whispers. None of that matters because you’re learning, really studying, in between missions and missing Steve and believing that maybe the gossip reporters are right.

Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

You grit your teeth and push the thought away. It does you no good right now, while you’re training with Peter. He’s working his way up to bona fide missions and, because you’re the only one on the team who has experience with real-life teenagers outside of saving their lives, it’s up to you to get him to the level that he needs to be. Plus, the mission where he’s going to get his gills wet is just you, Tony, Steve, Nat, and Bucky. You’d much rather be the one to train him because you won’t traumatize him.

Right now, though, you’re just kicking his ass to try and get rid of some of the tension in your body. You feel a little bad about it, but when you started as his mentor you told him point-blank that you’d never go easy on him. That meant if you were having a bad day he either needed to up his game or he’d have a bad day too. It appears he’s taken that to heart as he struggles to dodge the hits you’re throwing his way. He lunges out of the way when you try to land a right hook but practically walks into the leg sweep that sends him crashing to the ground.

“Awe,” Peter groans, letting his guard down. You take the momentary lapse of focus to grab him by the collar of the hoodie he’s wearing and haul him to his feet, jerking one fist back to cold-clock him but he beats you to it. You hear the sound of your nose cracking before you feel it but then the pain rushes you all at once. You’ve had worse but coming from Peter, the move surprises you. You don’t yell out but he does when you push him away from you and call the fight off. Peter practically yelps your name, hands up by his head as he watches you bend at the waist, both hands over where your nose is absolutely gushing blood. “I am so sorry, I just reacted-!”

“It’s fine, Pete,” You shake your head and stand straight again, the blood beginning to leak through your fingers, “Just go get me a towel, okay?” Peter practically trips over his feet to get something for your nose and as you track him on his way into the locker rooms, you see Steve, Bucky, and Nat. The latter are looking your way, eyebrows raised like they’re asking you if you’re okay. Steve hasn’t even broken stride in his conversation so you wave them off with a bloody hand. Peter’s back in a flash, pressing a wet towel into your grasp and snapping you out of your self-pity party. “It was a good hit,” You compliment as you wipe your face off, “I just wasn’t expecting it. Prob’ly wouldn't have landed it if I had.”

He wrings his hands, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s a good thing, Peter, means you’re getting better.” You deadpan, checking to see if your nose has stopped bleeding yet, “I don’t think you actually broke it, but I’ll go down to medical to check later.” You do your best to clean up your hands with the wet towel, but it’s so soaked with your blood that it mostly just smears it around. You grimace and shake your head. “Well, I should go now before our sparring match ends up looking like I murdered you.”

“I’ll go with,” He offers, “I’m the one who broke your nose.” You let Peter walk you down to medical even though you were originally going to refuse. Perhaps petty, but it was the way that Steve didn’t even look your way as you left that made you let the teenager walk you the two floors to where you’d be able to clean yourself up. He hums in the elevator and you know that he wants to ask you something - it’s the way he holds his mouth when he’s prying for information or keeping a secret that tips you off. Finally, just before the elevator opens, you sigh and turn to him.

“What, Peter?” He grins but then it falls when he has to skitter after you down the hall. Maybe that’s why it falls - the question he asks next nearly sends you to your ass.

“Is everything okay with you and Captain Rogers?” He easily catches up to you when you stop in your tracks, ignoring that you’re still bleeding a little bit down your face and you might be dripping blood everywhere from where it’s run down your arms.

“What?” You do your best to look confused like everything is fine, but Peter is perceptive. He may fumble around and be pretty awkward, but those are really just teenager things that he’ll hopefully outgrow. You should have known that when someone caught onto how bad things are on your end, it would be Peter. (You wonder if Nat or Bucky has brought it up with Steve, considering he’s spent more time with them in the past week than he’s seen you in the past month.) “We’re fine.” Your words are stilted as you begin walking to the medical wing much faster than before.

“I just thought I’d ask, well, because I’ve sort of noticed… Something just seems off, you know? Like, you two used to spend a lot of time together, and maybe it’s the recon mission coming up, but I was just thinking that you two really barely look at each other even when you’re in the same -”

“Peter!” You say his name much louder than either of you expected and both of you jump. “Peter,” You say softer, looking at the glass door to the medical wing instead of him, “Just leave it, okay? It’s nothing you have to worry about, kid.” Peter ducks around to open the door, forcing you to look at him. “He’s just focused on his stuff and I’m focused on getting you whipped into shape for this mission. We only have two days.” Once you’re inside and surrounded by the medical crew Tony keeps on staff, he thankfully drops it. You love Peter, you do, but it’s a lot like having a little brother. You can only love them so much before you want to fucking strangle them. Eventually, as the doctor checks to make sure he hasn’t broken your nose, you have to order him away to go study or something. “I’ll join you later,” You promise him as the doctor prods at your tender flesh, “I have an essay due soon.”

That’s another thing that’s been bugging you that Peter surely picked up on. Nearly everybody knew you were taking a course at the local community college, but nobody knew what it was about. You’d wanted to keep it a secret until you told Steve, but the day you had registered he’d flown out for a two-week mission without telling you or saying goodbye. After that, you decided it didn’t really matter if anyone knew what class you were taking, and keeping it a secret sort of spiraled from there. If they wanted to know they could look it up. Maybe it was petty, but you just wanted the class to be over and done with so you could forget that you really only picked it up so you relate to your boyfriend more.

If you can even call Steve your boyfriend anymore. You’re not so sure where you stand and, honestly, you’re really close to giving up on the relationship as a whole but you can’t do that. Before you were dating, you were friends, and Steve… He never gave up on you. Not once. How could you repay him by giving up on your relationship? The one that you thought was The One? Even if it hurts, even if you’re unsure more than sure these days, how could you? Somewhere, though, you know you deserve better. You don’t deserve the sinking, dark feeling that lingers in your gut for most of your days now or the way that you second-guess every move you make - even in the field. It’s dangerous but you can’t do anything to fix it.

You’re too scared. You know that eventually, it will happen, he’ll break up with you, but you’d like to put that day off for as long as possible. To relish in the love he once had for you, how pure and powerful it was. You’re sure that you’ll never experience anything like that again.

Hell, you might never fall in love again.

Those thoughts don’t do anything to help you, though, so you try not to have them. You get clearance from the doctor and get cleaned up as much as you can without taking a full body shower. The idea to go back to your room and take one crosses your mind but you know that Steve’s probably done training, probably heading back for his own shower, and you don’t want to open that can of worms. Instead, you go to the common room and drop into the couch between Peter and Tony. They’re talking about something something science something something, but you pull your stack of books and notebooks out from the shelf underneath the coffee table and continue outlining your essay from where you left off. The assignment was focused on how the end of WW1 changed American life and then how life changed leading up to and during WW2 but that had hit a little too close to home for you, so you’re writing about the racial tension and overall racism of the times. Tony and Peter keep talking over your back and then you hear footsteps heading toward the common room.

You barely look up when they enter - Nat and Bucky - because it’s fine. It’s normal. They’re just two of Steve’s best friends, that’s all, nothing to be jumpy about. You don’t even register that emotional pain that hits when you realize that, yeah, you’re not one of his best friends anymore. You doubt you’re even considered a friend in his book.

You groan and lean back into the couch, bringing your study materials with you. Peter glances over, skimming over your page and a half of shorthand, and gags. “Jesus, can you write like a normal person?”

“Oh, sorry,” You say lazily, not looking up as you continue to scribble in your incomprehensible code, “I do forget that some of us had privacy at home.” You lift your lips just a little bit to let Peter know you’re kidding, looking up at him through your lashes as you slouch next to him. He looks red in the face. “Besides, once you have to start doing mission reports you’ll be begging me to learn my shorthand and use my stenography machine.”

“I keep telling you that I can update that ol’ thing,” Tony draws your attention. For the first time, you realize that Nat and Bucky are on the loveseat looking at you expectantly. Steve is standing in the corner over their shoulder reading a book from the bookshelf in front of him. His back is tense and he looks like he’s not reading, just listening. You force your eyes back to Tony on your right and shake your head.

“No, because then you’d know my shorthand and it makes me too happy to see you spend hours trying to decipher it.” His eyes wander to your essay again, trying to find any patterns that he can use to figure out what the hell you’re writing on anything ever. He’s opening his mouth to make a smart-ass remark that will no doubt lift some of the weight off of your shoulders when another voice speaks up.

“Wow,” Steve doesn’t even look at you even as he says your name sardonically, “Way to be a team player.” Your mind comes to a screeching halt, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s playing at. Even Bucky and Nat look surprised at the cold way he spoke to you, Tony and Peter both gasping from your side. You can’t say anything, throat tight and burning with tears as you stare at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. What do you say to that? How do you respond? You know it wasn’t a joke because he’s not laughing, not smiling, not even looking up from that fucking book in his hands. You can’t tell if you’re more hurt or embarrassed, but either way, you don’t want to stick around for someone to get the nerve to say something.

Instead of replying, you slam your textbooks shut and bundle everything into your arms. You doubt Steve even notices that you’re making such a hasty retreat but if he does, he doesn’t say a fucking thing. You feel like you’re in high school - practically running through an empty hallway with your notebooks and textbooks pressed to your chest, trying not to cry. It’s ridiculous. You’re a trained assassin, you’re an Avenger, you are strong and powerful and yet… And yet. You’ve given so much of your heart and soul to Steve Rogers that he can knock you down eight pegs without even trying. Without even looking at you. You can’t wait to go on this fucking recon mission, where you can put all of your focus on making sure Peter is doing okay and gathering the intel. Where you can stop thinking about how easily Steve Rogers seems to be pushing you to the side.

You spend the next two days writing your essay, ignoring almost everyone, and working on your essay. On the day of the recon mission, you’re running out the door for your eight a.m lecture, printed essay in hand, and reminding Tony that he promised to pick you up on campus after class for the mission.

You’re lucky that you went, too. You hadn’t counted on the professor making everyone stand up and tell the class the subject of their essays - didn’t realize that it would be twenty-five percent of the grade on the paper. You’ll never understand college professors and the weird shit they do, but the class is informative and entertaining. He goes around the room, starting on the opposite side of you, so you’ll be last. Great.

Several students did their papers on the propaganda of the time, one student was brave and did her essay on the ethical dilemma of the super-soldier serum and eugenics, and most of the other students focused on pop culture and how it changed. When your professor looks at you it’s almost like he’s expecting you to have done nothing but fawn over Steve and Bucky, considering you know them personally. He looks surprised when you clear your throat, stand and say: “I focused on the casual and institutional racism that faced non-white Americans at the time.” You almost preen when he looks impressed and then the shame fills you. It’s just… You want Steve to be proud of you. You want him to congratulate you on going back to school, even if it’s just for one class. You want him to be happy and surprised that he was the inspiration for taking the class.

Though, lately, the class has been more for you than for him. You like learning new things, pushing the boundaries of assignments, making people uncomfortable with the truth of the times you’re studying as told to you by two people who lived it. It’s nice. Normal.

Everyone needs a little bit of normal.

But, honestly, normal is fucking boring. By the time your class is over and you’re handing in your essay it’s like ants are crawling over your skin. A combination of nerves from the upcoming mission, a head full of fog from whatever is happening with Steve, and a little bit of fear at the thought of taking Peter into the field has you bolting for the door the moment your essay is taken from you. You’d worn your tac-suit underneath a pair of baggy sweats and a loose hoodie, so you don’t even bother slowing down as you head toward the car that Tony has waiting for you. He’s in the front seat, grinning at you from underneath his aviators and Peter is driving.

You slip into the backseat without thinking or looking at who’s there, tossing your bag in the back and peeling your hoodie off. “God, Tone, we’re goin’ to die before we even get to the mission with Petey driving.” You toss your hoodie back to join your bag and finally see who’s sitting next to you.

Of course, it’s Steve. He’s looking at you - but not really. He’s looking through you, like he can’t stand that you’re both crammed in the backseat of Tony’s electric car. His gaze catches you and holds you in place. Everything around you goes cold and fuzzy, making you miss Peter’s indignant complaining that he has his license so he should be able to drive… And then Steve scoffs and looks out his window, ignoring you. It stings but you have a job to do. You make some witty retort back to Peter, but it falls flat as you struggle out of your sweats. This is what life is, you think. Relationships aren’t meant to be forever - you learned that at a young age.

Until your accident at fifteen, you had watched your parents run out of helium, their relationship expanding and cooling in arguments, in days spent not talking, in trips to your grandparents without the other, in passive-aggressive computer searches for divorce attorneys left open for anyone to see. Then, after you were trapped between those machines - after you spent hour after agonizing hour with electricity pressing between your atoms, being torn apart and rebuilt as a young god - after that day you watched them expand against each other before the neutron core of their relationship collapsed on itself and the resulting supernova sent you to the streets. But then Fury found you. Then Tony, then Nat, then Steve.

Your parents exploded out from each other and the shockwaves ruined your life. At least now, your relationship with Steve is ending silently. There’s no explosion, no collapse, no rapid expansion to take over your cosmos. Your relationship with Steve is simply approaching the event horizon, where it will hang in the air until one of you takes the final step and you both become frozen, two collapsing objects on opposite sides of the universe. Maybe that’s what you already are. You feel so far away from him in the back of Tony’s car - like he’s eons and light-years away from you - and you feel so cold. Frozen, down to the bone. It makes you stiff in your replies to Tony and Peter, slow on the uptake when the car pulls up to the quinjet, nearing stasis and unable to respond when Nat asks if you’re okay.

Finally, you turn to look at her, nodding. “Fine,” You clear your throat, “Been a rough day.” You do your best to smile at her, but your face feels heavy. Your chest feels cold and tight, making you worry about your performance on the upcoming mission. When Peter shakes his head next to you, discreetly telling Nat not to press, you’re focused on Steve and the electricity humming in the most base part of your body.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. You turn away and force yourself to smile, throwing a weak and numb arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Are you ready for this, Pete?” You jostle him back and forth, leading him toward the sitting area behind the cockpit. “Gonna get your ass kicked?”

“Please,” He shoves you off, nervously laughing, “Not with the skills you’ve taught me.” He mimics throwing webs, making hissing noises under his breath, and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You’re payin’ my medical bills when I have to save your ass, Spidey.” You shake your head and strap in next to the wall, Peter taking the seat to your right. Tony, from the aisle across from you, points a thick finger your way.

“You don’t pay medical bills anymore,” He waggles his finger, “So you’ll just have to make him do your homework for a week.”

“Mister Stark!”

“He’ll have to earn shorthand to do your essays,” Nat chimes in from between Bucky and Steve, who are both doing their best to not look at you - or anyone really. “You willing to share that with him?”

You lean back in your seat and jab at Peter with your elbow. “Hell no, so I guess Spider-Boy better do his best.” The arachnid in question grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.

“No pressure, right?” He complains, “Not like I’m already nervous or anything.”

“You’ll do fine, kid,” Bucky pipes up, drawing your eyes back to Steve, “It’s goin’ to be a cakewalk.”

“Don’t jinx it, Barnes,” You warn half-heartedly, tucking in on yourself, “We need this to be easy.” From the look on his face - everyone’s face, really - you know that they heard you loud and clear when you were really saying I need this to be easy.

After an uneasy laugh from Bucky, a claustrophobic silence settles over you all as the jet begins to take off. You’re in for an hour ride and plan to spend it going over battle plans with Peter when harsh whispering catches your ear. It’s Bucky and Steve nearly crushing Nat between them until she gets up and sits across from Peter, rolling her eyes. Still, you try your best to run him through the actions you both had planned - the names, the setups you needed to execute them, everything. If something happens to Peter, you’ll never forgive yourself.

And then, cutting through your soft promptings to Peter and his equally soft replies, Bucky’s voice. “Leave it, Steve. Until after this mission.” Even Tony looks up from his tablet, curiosity piqued. Their faces are both red, set hard and angry at each other and your stomach drops. What the hell is going on that Steve ‘Till The End Of The Line Rogers is fighting with Bucky You And Me, Pal Barnes? You must shift, or lean too far into Steve’s eyesight, because for the first time in what feels like years he is looking directly at you - and seeing you, too. It makes your pulse jump and, almost instinctively, you want to reach out and ground yourself on the rubber of the seat underneath you.

You don’t get the chance, though, because Steve speaks. “No, why should I? This is clearly affecting the team.” He’s still looking - glaring - at you like you’ve done something wrong. “What’s the point of waiting? I’ve been waiting to talk about this.”

“Bo, I don’t think this is the time,” Bucky looks over his shoulder at you, then, and you know what’s coming. You know that it’s time, that Steve is about to break up with you in front of your teammates. Your friends. Your family. You steel yourself for the anguish you’re about to feel and then jerk your chin out, hardening your resolve.

“Buck, it’s fine. If Steve wants to address something, he can.”

Natasha says your name, a low warning over the hum of the quinjet. “I think he should wait.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to wait!” Steve unbuckles himself and stands, “I have tried waiting, and look at where that has gotten me.” He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out a breath. You unbuckle and stand, too, unsure of where this is going. “You need to,” He holds one hand out, pointing at you while his voice shakes. You notice his hand is shaking, too, but fractionally. If you didn’t know Steve as well as you do you may have never noticed it. “You need to get it together.”

“I need to get it together?” You question, eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling with how fast they shoot up. You’re not totally sure you’ve heard him right because what do you have to get together? The broken shards of your relationship? The information and research for your final paper? The awful way you’ve let yourself be treated for what seems like forever?

“You heard me,” Steve says, at the same time Bucky leans his head back and groans deep in his chest. “What? Someone had to say it.”

“We should wait for this,” Nat speaks up again, but lifelessly. She knows now that you and Steve are both on the warpath, neither of you are going to stop. (That’s also why the two of you work together as a couple so well. Very rarely are you both so worked up about something that you can’t back down, so the other is always there to meet you halfway and get you back to earth.)

“No, no, no,” You say, near hysterically, “No, he wants to do this now? Before a mission? Instead of the fuckin’ weeks we had to hash whatever crawled up his ass and died out? Be my guest. He’s already dragged everyone into this by treating me like a pariah.” You’re not sneering, but your teeth are gritted so tightly together you can hear them scraping and feel a tension headache beginning to bloom in your temples. Bucky looks… Almost incredulous at your statement. Like putting the blame on Steve is a dick move or something.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Steve is curling his lip, glaring at you. There’s something behind his eyes, but he’s buried it so deep that you can’t reach it and figure out what it is. “I’m the bad guy, right. Right, right, right.” He scoffs, shakes his head, and then he’s running his fingers through his hair like he really can’t believe what you’re saying to him.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” You throw your hands out to the side and let them slap back down on your thighs. “You ignore me, you make me feel like shit, you talk down to me like I’m some insignificant foot soldier. How else am I supposed to take that, Steve?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ask me what’s wrong? Maybe ask me why I’m acting like this, instead of ignoring all of your problems like a child?” He mirrors your moments, but the sound his hands make when they hit the outside of his suit is more powerful than yours. Fueled by anger, you think. Anger and whatever the hell was in the serum Erskine pumped into Steve.

“Ask you?” You repeat, near-hysterical, “Ask you? Oh yeah, let me get right on that. Hey, Mister Rogers? Mister Captain America? Mister Ignores-His-Partner-For-God-Knows-Why? Hey, just why are you doin’ that?” You’re surprised that you’ve said something so snotty, but you don’t back down. (Steve looks surprised, too, and Bucky has stood up next to his friend like he’s about to start berating you as well. At least he looks more cautious about it, like he’s not totally sure that this fight should be happening.)

The more surprising part of your fight is how fast it’s shut down. Tony and Nat stand at the same time and exchange a glance like they’ve surprised each other. “That’s enough,” Tony starts.

Nat cuts him off. “I don’t care if you fight this one out instead of talking, but if you do it before this recon mission you two are going to blow it. Do you understand me?” She looks dangerous, the sharp edge of a knife spiraling through the air. You force yourself to look away from her, from Tony, from Bucky, from Steve. She’s right. You know she’s right - especially on this mission. Peter is there, going to be in real danger even though there’s not supposed to be one Hydra agent in a four-mile radius. You have to clear your mind and focus on protecting him.

Steve seems to think the same thing because he stands down. When you watch him collapse in on himself, Bucky’s arms around his shoulders, into the little quinjet seats your everything aches. Heart, lungs, eyes - everything. Even though you don’t know what’s going on, what could have possibly happened to make your relationship sink this quickly and out of the blue, you still love him. He’s still The One for you. You still want to be the one to comfort him and make him feel whole when he’s struggling.

But you can’t. You can’t and it kills you.

The heat of battle makes a lot of things fade into the background. Important things like why the fuck are there Hydra agents here? and Steve is going to break up with you when you get back on the jet and Tony swore on the fucking limited edition AC/DC vintage tour poster he has in his office that this would be an easy in/easy out information mission. None of that matters, though, because you’re in deep shit. There are seventeen of them, all primed to the teeth with weapons made to take your team down permanently.

You’re practically glued to Peter, calling out commands and plans for him to initiate. It’s when all of your plans fall through that you take a hit from a heavy fist on purpose, hitting the ground hard. “Plan F, Spidey, Plan F!” You cover the instruction with a groan and then you’re back on your feet, working your way toward him.

“Plan F?” Tony says, somewhere above you in his suit. Your comms crackle ominously as another heat-seeking grenade is launched, interfering with the radio waves your tech relies on. You don’t worry about it, because you know Tony is on it. He’s your eyes in the sky.

Peter is the one who answers his question, watching your close hand-to-hand tilt out of your favor briefly. “Plan Fuck It, Mister Stark.” He grunts as he webs up a Hydra agent, jerking him away from where he was about to slip a knife up and under Natasha’s kevlar. You finally drop the guy in front of you, ignoring Steve’s disappointed Language! and toss one of your knives toward Nat for her to use. Tony is still laughing in your ear, wheezing as he drops down and snags the rifle from one of the snipers and then takes back off.

What your little protégé failed to mention about Plan F is that it’s not just chaos, but controlled chaos. You let loose, letting a soft current cover every inch of your skin as Peter switches to his conductive webbing and takes special care to not web any of his allies. Except for you - if you’re in the way and he catches you in a web it doesn’t matter because you’re you, alive with electricity that drops the men that get caught in the web, too. You rip out of the webs and turn the current off when one of your teammates gets too close.

More Hydra agents are pouring out of the woods, topping out their numbers around twenty-five. That’s twenty-five too many in your opinion, especially when you can see Peter getting tired, his anxiety spiking, his moves having more and more hesitation behind them. You need to get this over with quickly, but you don’t have the options to do that. Steve, Bucky, and Nat are really the heavy-hitters - you, Pete, and Tony are the only ones without serums despite all of your individual abilities. Desperately you reach out for a web that’s still connected to Peter’s arms, pulling him out of the way of a baton that’s about to come down on the back of his neck.

The baton the agent is wielding glints in the coming dusk, freezing you as Peter scrambles past you with a quick apology. You’ve seen that before - seen it, felt it, know it like the back of your hand. There’s no way that you could ever forget that weapon. The man stumbles when his hit doesn’t connect but then rights himself and searches for a new target.

A long, black baton that splits into two prongs at the end is heavy in his hand. Electricity crackles between the bulbs at the end, flashing in the setting sun and your memories. The man only has one, but if it was hooked up to a machine, spinning. If there were four, five, six. If you were pinned between them, screaming in the pain as they rewrote your DNA… You’ve only felt it once, but you’ll never forget it.

And now, you’ll taste it again. On purpose this time. The man holding the stun baton is going for Steve’s back - his strong back, the one that protects people, the one that holds the weight of the world, the one that lays in your bed, the one you see whipping out of rooms as you’re entering just so that he doesn’t have to look at you - and you can’t let that happen. It only takes ten amps to kill a regular human, but you know those things are cranked up to twenty minimum. You don’t want to see how many amps of current it will take to stop Steve’s heart. You’re between the baton and Steve before you can think about what you’re doing or what comes next, the hard bulbs settling unyielding into your side and cranking out maximum power for maximum damage as soon as the current is connected and able to flow from one bulb to the other.

The pain hits you and your throat catches on it. It burns through your body, setting everything on fire - your chest hurts as your heart protests the electrons and then your powers kick in, sweeping them into your very atoms and cells. You’re a live wire now, ears humming and body thrumming with power you’ve only dreamed of. It hurts, and it burns, and you feel tears rising in your eyes because you’re back there - back begging for death or for life or for God and god at the same time - but then it’s over. The man sees that you’re not seizing up, not dropping dead in front of him, and he takes three steps back.

It’s not far enough.

You’ve only felt like this once before - right after you were unhooked from the machine that changed your life and brought you to your new family. You remember how you looked when you were put in front of a mirror with all of the pent up electricity circling your body - how your eyes were filled to the brim and dripping with bright and blue electricity, the way it was jumping across your body, how you didn’t need to breathe because your body was fully saturated with pure, unadulterated power. You wonder if you look like that now and assume you do because you can see the bright blue reflecting in the terrified eyes of the Hydra agent.

Your suit, unlike everyone else’s, is not grounded. It’s metal, metal, metal. You’re made to conduct, born for it, and the earth beneath you comes alive with bright white as you release all of the energy, the power, surges down and out. You’re practiced. You can reach out and feel the synapses and neurons of every human being in the clearing, know exactly where your teammates are standing, and know exactly how to target everything but them and the pitiful amount of electricity their brains carry. You grin, something truly feral and unhinged, and you can see the fear in the Hydra agent. Then, you let go.

You know that everyone is going to be pissed. (Maybe not everyone.) You’re not built for this, not made to take down nearly twenty fucking people at once. As you let go, you feel what they feel. The seizing muscles, the stopping of their hearts, the inside of their bodies crisping against their bones. At that moment, that delicious moment, you see the universe.

You become God. You become everything - your mother and your father and God and god and anyone else who’s watching your life from the ether. You become the judge, jury, and executioner of souls that you don’t know from Adam. You become lightning, and thunder, and exposed nerves of the cosmos at the same time. The world bends to your will and you relish in it, taking that power in your fist and wielding it to protect the man you’ll love for the rest of your life and the family that you’ve made. You will stop at nothing to end this, even if it means turning yourself inside out to do it.

You damn near do turn yourself inside out too, but that doesn’t matter, does it? The blood spilling from your ears, nose, and eyes feels like heaven. It’s hot, and thick, and it’s proof of the power that your body holds. You’re a temple and a sanctuary, a war-room and a bunker, a field of flowers and a sun-dry desert. It does not matter if Steve doesn’t love you at that moment, because you are love and hate wrapped into one package. You are everything and nothing, spread thin at the beginning and the end of time.

And then none of that is true. You are just… You. Standing in a clearing, surrounded by twenty-something dead Hydra agents and your terrified, terrified family. It hurts to breathe and you can taste blood in your mouth, but that’s an afterthought. Steve is still standing behind you, but he is alive. That is what matters.

This is what love is, you think.

Pain and pleasure.

Even if he leaves you, you will always love him.

Pain and pleasure.

You’re weak at the knees when he finally turns to see you - and you’re a sight. Struggling to stand, fingertips blackened with soot but not burnt, blood pouring from your nose, ears, eyes… You look like death, but you feel like life. Someone says something behind you - Peter, maybe? Or maybe Tony, in your comms? - but you don’t hear it. Everything tunnels out, your weak knees finally collapsing as you keel backward.

Steve bears down upon you almost immediately. You’re halfway to unconsciousness when he wraps you up in his arms, keeping you from falling in with the pile of bodies around you. He’s saying your name, harsh and soft and then in a voice like he’s ordering you to wake up. You loll about as he drops you down onto a patch of clear grass, hands searching your body for wounds. When he skims over your side, where the baton has burnt through your suit and your flesh, you surge back toward being able to have cohesive thoughts. The pain brings you back, hands wrapping around Steve’s arm and calling out his name. “Steve! Fuck, that hurts!”

“Honey,” He breathes, “Fuck, we have to get you back to the jet.” His jaw ticks, hair dirty and loose from its normal style. “Why’d you do that?” Steve doesn’t wait for an answer from you, ordering Peter to web something up to carry you over your protests.

“I’m fine,” You argue, only slurring slightly, “I feel fine.” But you’re going to let Nat and Bucky load you up on the webbed stretcher anyway because it’s the first time Steve has cared for you in a long time. You want to relish in this moment, the way that he didn't say your name but called you honey.

Well, and because Natasha slides a thumb across her neck over Steve’s shoulder in a silent threat.

You groan when Bucky accidentally grabs your calf where there is an absolutely awful stab wound, but you wave off his apology. “How could you have known?” To be honest, you hadn’t even known it was there until his Vibranium hand was slipping against it and sending shockwaves of pain through you. Peter is next to you the whole time that you’re being carried back to the jet - Tony staying back to begin scanning the bodies of the Hydra agents for the information you need and any other information they may be carrying. The poor kid is nearly at a breakdown, so you reach out to him and shake his arm when his fingers twine with yours. “Chill out, kid, I don’t know how you got it into your head that this is your fault, but it sure isn’t.” He sniffles, but hands back with Steve as Bucky and Nat get you situated in the small medical room of the jet. They transfer you and then make to leave, only Bucky hesitating near the door.

“Stevie’s goin’ to be here soon and… I don’t know what made you do what you did but you have’t explain it to him. He’s bendin’ over backwards to figure it out, and we don’t have’a clue. Came out’a nowhere.” He looks at you for another moment before shaking his head and stepping out of the room. Your head is spinning, partially from what Bucky just said and partially from the pain and stimulus of electricity. You wait there, then, because this is it. This is the event horizon. You wait there, eyes closed, until you hear footsteps approach the med room, and then the door slowly opens. Steve says your name, holding all the finality and weight of an atomic bomb. You don’t open your eyes until he swings a chair next to the stretcher and lays a hand on your calf.

“You don’t have to do this,” You finally say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. “I know that you don’t want to.” Steve only scoffs and begins to wash the stab wound using a packet of soap and a water bottle. You say his name twice before he looks at you, something between hate and hurt curdling into a glaze over his eyes that stops you in your tracks.

“Just let me do this. It is the least that you can do.” His words are painful and stilted, like it’s taking force to push them past his teeth. You lay back down and close your eyes, content to just feel the pain of Steve beginning to stitch you up and then dress the wound before you feel the pain of Steve leaving you like you knew he always would. (Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his.)

When he’s done he sits back and puts his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He heaves a heavy sigh and then shakes it off, “I’ll dress your burn, and then we’ll talk.” And normally, yes, you would agree but this is too important. You want to get it over with so you can lick your wounds metaphorically and dress them literally - and then you want to go home, you want to pack your bags, and you want to disappear and remake your life somewhere else.

Some far-off place where everyone you know won’t take one look at your face and know that you’re still painfully, deeply in love with Steve Rogers, end of your semester be damned. Family you’ve made be damned. You can’t sit around and be in love with him like a neon sign on a dark highway while it’s painfully clear that he hasn’t had a sign on his highway in a long time.

So instead of agreeing, you swing your legs over the stretcher and swallow your flinch when the burn pulls tight. Steve opens his mouth to argue but you give him a tight-lipped shake of your head and his jaw snaps shut. “No,” You say, voice not giving in to the emotion swirling in your chest. “I have let this go on long enough.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Steve fucking scoffs again and looks away from you. “One day was long enough.” He says, cutting straight to your core. Okay, ouch. You take a deep breath and shake your head to try and bite back the tears that are inevitably rising in your eyes. If one day was long enough for him to realize he doesn’t want to be with you, why did he let it go on for nearly a full year? Why did he spend so long leading you on, pulling you by a thread before garroting your heart with it? What was the point?

“If you want to leave me, just say that,” You reply harshly, standing and wobbling away from him. He just watches you go, watches the way you struggle past the lead weights your muscles have become, the way you’re starting to feel the stab wound on your leg, the way the skin on your burn is beginning to blister and only just now losing its heat. He just watches you, where the Steve that loved you once upon a time might have helped. You turn your back on him, hands on your hips so that you can hide the way that you’re crying and your hands are shaking.

“If I want to leave you? If?” He says. You hear the scrape of his chair as he stands, “I think after what you’ve done, it’s not an if, sweetheart.” The way he says it tastes like iron. Steve never calls you sweetheart like he never calls you by your name. It’s always honey, lover, dovie. You don’t turn to face him because you’re struggling to keep yourself above water. “I spent so long thinkin’, wonderin’, askin’ myself - God damnit, will you look at me?” You turn slowly, not because you’ve never heard Steve speak like that but because his voice is desperate and raw. When you turn, you’re not sure what to expect. Maybe him, standing in front of you, broad-shouldered and disappointed like in those PSA’s he had to film once. Maybe he’d be angry, hands clenched at his sides and eyes narrowed like he gets in meetings when he doesn’t agree with something but he’s out-voted. But you never expect to see him crying, lip wobbling, folded in on himself like a young boy instead of the strong, invincible man you’ve come to love.

He looks so different.

It hits you, then, that you’re not looking at Steve Rogers. Not really. He's not Steve Rogers, not Captain America, not even Captain Rogers. You see him as he was - before America spat it’s untruths all over him and injected him with a serum that changed who he was, is, will be. He’s not the able-bodied man that you know, not strong and unreachable, not the heartthrob that overshadows the team during press events. He’s not America’s Darling, not really. Not where it counts.

You’re looking at Stevie Rogers. Stevie Rogers who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to die before he made it out of toddlerhood or soon thereafter. Stevie Rogers who the doctors said wasn’t supposed to survive. Stevie Rogers who grew up sickly, rattling painful breaths and never playing ball with the neighborhood boys. Who couldn’t walk until middle school when he got his braces off. Who never had a partner because Bucky, strong and handsome and tall Bucky, was always deemed the better option. Who believed in his country so much that he tried to sneak into the second world war, subjected himself to a painful medical procedure so that he could change his very DNA to be what the world wanted him to be.

Captain Steve Rogers. Captain America. Strong, blond, patriotic, resilient.

You’re sure that if men don’t want to go to therapy now, in the modern age, they certainly didn’t want to go in the ‘40s. So where did that leave Steve, your Steve, standing in front of you and looking small, and broken, and sad, and alone? Did they expect him to take his new, taller, working body and run with it? Did they not think about how he would lose a part of himself in the process? How did they expect him to go from disabled to abled without some disconnect?

You think about the You That You Were Before and the You That You Are Now, and how you lost a part of yourself when the accident gave you your powers and how you’d lose yourself if someone figured out a way to take them away. You Before formed your identity around being normal - living in a shitty home with shitty parents, sure, but normal - and You Now form your identity around your powers, your team, your job, your love. If you lost those things, what did you have left? Who would you be?

When Steve lost his identity and became everything that America wanted everyone to think that America was, what did he have left? Sure, he could tell himself that he represents America - strong and patriotic and just - but it must have conflicted with everything he knew about himself before that. You know that disabled people now know that American society is unjust, unfit for them with abled people not willing to make room to allow them to thrive. You can only imagine what it was really like for Steve in the ‘20s and ‘30s and ‘40s. What he had to do just to survive. (Medical experimentation, you remind yourself. Did they know it wouldn’t kill him? Did they know his body wouldn’t rip itself apart with the new sinewy muscle they were packing on? Did they care? Or was he just a body they saw as broken? A project to fix? To turn him into something more like them and call it patriotism?)

You shake your head at him, still filled with despair, and try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Stevie,” You start, pet name easily replacing what you had been calling him because it’s not fair to shoe-horn him into a body that doesn’t feel like his own. You wonder if he still expects the bone-grinding pain that he used to tell you would happen when it rains. He raises a hand, a strong and family hand, shaking his head.

“I just need to know why I wasn’t enough for you,” Steve looks sad, slouching in on himself like he’s expecting to get his ass handed to him in another alleyway and hope Bucky is there to save him. “I need to know why you wouldn’t just break up with me if you wanted to see other people so badly.” You suck in a shocked breath because, okay, that’s not what you were expecting. Between that and the paradigm shift you’ve had on how Steve must view his identity, body, and self, you’re stunned. Steve continues like he doesn’t even register that you look shocked and pale and now you’re crying because he thinks you’re cheating on him? “And I get it. I get it. You have no idea how much I understand. If I were you, I wouldn’t want me either, okay?”

You cut him off there because what the actual God damn fuck is he talking about? “No, Stevie, I’m not cheating on you.” You shake your head again and this, your statement, lights a fire in him. He still looks like Stevie rather than Steve, but there’s anger there. You imagine that’s what it might have looked like moments before he got himself in trouble back before he was serumed. “I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges, jaw ticking and chin jerking up, “Oh, yeah? You can’t lie to me. I know, okay? The act is up, it’s over, I know, okay? You can stop pretending.”

“Steve, I do not fucking know what you’re talking about but I”m not cheating on you!” You raise your voice, not really angry but more out of necessity. You need to get it out of his head that he is anything less than everything you want - that you could possibly love anyone more than you love him.

“I wanted to clarify something for you,” Steve says like he’s reading an old script from when he was just a beefy, red/white/blue stage prop for the American military, “I am excited to meet with you, but there are some rules. Do not talk about Captain Steve Rogers. I don’t want to hear about him,” As he continues to recite something that has clearly hurt him, you go lax. You know exactly what’s happened - your fists unclench, your jaw drops a little bit, and it feels like someone has gutted you, “I think it is wise to keep work and pleasure separate, and it’s a rule I will enforce heavily. I look forward to seeing you again.” He’s sneering at the end, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

“Steve,” You try again, but he cuts you off.

“Am I just work for you?” His voice is shaking more than you thought possible, and so are his hands. You’ve never seen Steve so off-kilter, so thrown, and it breaks your heart that yes, technically, you’re the cause of this. Before this, before this horrible misunderstanding, your relationship with Steve was the paragon of trust so neither of you cared if the other read emails or texts. You remember the email - the email from your fucking college professor - because it had made you so angry that he’d referred to your relationship with Steve as something as simple and base as just pleasure - like you could even put words to the galaxy of a relationship you had with Steve - that you’d gone to the gym to work off some of that irritation. You hadn’t wanted to take it out on anyone accidentally. When you came back from the gym, Steve was gone on that two-week mission that he’d left on without saying goodbye.

Oh, God. You feel sick to your stomach as the paradigm of the way that Steve’s been treating you shifts violently to the left. You have to physically hold yourself up and try to speak past the lump in your throat. Steve looks… Brokenly smug. Like he knows he’s right, but he’d rather gnaw his own legs off than be right.

“No,” You croak, “No, Steve, you’ve got it all wrong.” You want to reach for him, but it feels like the room is closing in on you. You’re second-guessing everything now - especially what you’ve just said. How many people said the exact same thing to him pre-serum because they said something meant for Bucky to him? How many times did he hear that when he was getting a new diagnosis, hoping for the best? How many times had his own mother said it to him when he told her something someone had said, fresh-faced and not yet used to the way that abled people sometimes treated disabled people? You think you might be sick. “That email was from my professor, Steve. I’m not cheating on you, I’d never.” He laughs darkly and sits back down in his chair, head in his hands again. You try to gather the strength to move toward him when you see his shoulders shaking, a telltale sign that he’s crying.

“A professor,” He says with a watery laugh, “Right.”

Finally, you realize that he needs you, needs to know you love him, that you’d do anything for him. You can iron out the kinks later - figure out why he didn’t want to come to talk to you past the original hurt, why he treated you so coldly, why he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do this to him - but now, you need to show him that you’re here. That you choose him. That you’ll always choose him.

You make your way to him and set a shaking hand on his shoulder. For a brief second you think he’s going to shake you off but then Steve’s hand shoots up and latches onto where your hand is resting, dipping his head to press against your arm. “Stevie, please,” You say, unsure of what you’re asking him to do, “I picked up a class, just one, and it’s… I picked it up for you, it’s about the ‘30s and ‘40s and…” He looks up at you and he looks so broken - face ruddy and wet with tears, lip wobbling, chest heaving as he tries to not sob. His brows are knit and he looks confused, “I just wanted to be able to understand you better. You had to leave so much of yourself at the door when you joined the Avengers, had to leave so much of yourself in the ice… In Erskine’s lab… Stevie, I just wanted you to be able to be you when you’re with me. I wanted to know the you that you were before you became Captain America.” Your voice is shaking, knees knocking together, and honestly? You feel like you might blackout.

“What?” He rasps, “What?”

“He sent that email because too many kids signed up for his class thinking that they’d be able to look at pictures of you and Buck for a semester. Emailed me directly because he knows we’re…” You choke on your words, shaking your head because you’re not even sure there’s a we anymore, “Because he knows I’m on the team. Didn’t want me walking in and making his class about just a few years in the ‘30s and ‘40s rather than the culture of the time.” You don’t know how else to explain it to him, but Steve isn’t saying anything - practically isn’t moving or breathing- so you continue to try and explain what’s really happening as best as you can, “And - and that email made me so angry because he singled me out, didn’t email anyone else about it, and I left to try and work some of that out; I didn’t want to take it out on you, or let it spoil - let it spoil… But when I came back from the gym, you were gone. You were gone for two weeks and I didn’t know why.” You’re crying harder now and pretty sure that within the next sixty seconds you’re going to collapse if you don’t sit down.

Steve shakes his head, still looking like he doesn’t understand. “What?” He says for a third time, “A class? A college class?”

“I just wanted to feel closer to you,” You confess, “Just wanted to understand a fraction of your life without making you do the heavy liftin’ and teachin’ me. Shouldn’t have’t do that,” You’re sobbing, barely biting out your words as you realize that something you’ve done to strengthen your relationship with Steve has destroyed it, “Shouldn’t have to explain a whole different time just to feel loved, Stevie. Should be able to be with someone who understands without you havin’ to explain.” You’re not sure you can say Peggy’s name out loud, and you hope he understands what you’re saying without making you actually say it, “Should’a been able to have love with someone who knew, and I know I’m nothin’ compared to what you should’a had, but I want to be. I want to be in the same ballpark instead’a watchin’ from the stands.” You wipe your face with your free hand and look away from Steve when he stands in front of you. You don’t want to see the look on his face - what he’s thinking about what you’ve said.

He says your name and you glance at him, but his expression stops him in your tracks. Where Steve looked broken and hurt and fuming with anger to hide the anguish, now he looks stricken. You shake your head, “No, no. I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty-”

“You think that I care about whether or not you can understand the ‘40s?” He cuts you off, hands moving to curl around your biceps, “You think that I care whether or not you can relate to a time in history when you weren’t even thought of?”

“Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, but you shouldn’t have to not care, Steve,” You argue, shaking your head, “That’s what I’m trying to say. You should be with someone who understands without explanation. I just wanted to give that to you - didn’t know that this would happen.”

“I should be with someone who loves me,” He argues back, “If you love me, that’s all that matters. My past be damned.”

“But your past is you!” You try to pull away from Steve, but he anchors you there. You’re dizzy from being so close to him after this long, but also because of how many different twists this situation has taken. You can barely keep up with how bad your communication with Steve has become - barely keep up with how you need to fix it, or how to fix it. “Your past is you,” You repeat when you realize that Steve isn’t going to let you go. “And you shouldn’t have to give that up so that someone will love you.”

“But you love me,” He says desperately, ducking his head so that he’s nearly nose to nose with you, “You love me, right?”

“More than anything,” You say, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of being so close to Steve, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, or anyone else. I’ll even stop goin’ to class if you want me to - Steve, I just can’t do this anymore. Can’t do this thing where you don’t talk to me about what’s botherin’ you.” You’re choking up, barely whispering, but you know he hears you. YOu can feel his warm breath on your face, “Nearly fuckin’ killed me.”

“I thought it was goin’ to be easier,” He breathes, nose bumping yours, “When you eventually decided to leave me for him. Thought I was savin’ myself some trouble.” You can practically taste his tears as they fall again, “Buck and Nat tried to tell me that you weren’t - that you wouldn’t - but I just couldn’t believe them.”

When you open your eyes, his are closed. This close to him you can see the soft freckles that are blooming over his eyelids, his soft eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. You can feel him breathing, feel him nearly pressed against you in a way that feels hauntingly nostalgic and terrifyingly fleeting; like you’ll be able to feel his warmth for years to come, but he’s about to disappear. “That’s okay,” You finally whisper, “It’s okay that you didn’t believe them. That you thought what you thought. It’s okay.” He shakes his head against yours, opening his mouth to protest, but you refuse to let him feel guilty about feeling this way - you have plenty of time to sit him down and talk to him candidly about the way he acted because of these feelings, anyway. “If I would have been in your place I’m not sure I would have believed them.”

“I treated you so badly…” He shifts and wraps his arms around you. It’s almost immediate - you relax into his arms and wind yours around his waist, keeping him pulled against you as he presses his face into your neck and you press your cheek against his chest. “So awfully.”

“We’ll talk about that, okay? But later. Right now you just need to know that I love you, Steve. I love you more than I can tell you - more than I can express.” You want to kiss him, but you can’t. Can’t kiss him, you need to wait for him to kiss you, for him to close that gap and show you that he still loves you like you love him. “We’ll have to have a talk, a long and hard conversation about this, Stevie, but for now… For now, I’m just content to be with you, okay? MIssed you so much.”

He sighs, nose pressing against yours again. “Missed you too, dovie. Missed you more than I can even say,” His voice breaks as his lips brush yours. Your relationship is not without its flaws and problems - Steve’s actions when he thought you were cheating on him are proof of that and, well, the fact that you didn’t realize what was happening, why it was happening, or a large part of your boyfriend’s psychological makeup having an impact on your relationship while it went unknown by you… There is a lot of work for the two of you to do, a lot of work to do, a lot of communication to be done… But you’d do it all for Steve, over and over again.

When he presses forward and presses his lips gently to yours, you know that he’ll do it all for you, over and over again, too.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel imagine #mcu imagine

[toiletwipes]

and i'd give up forever to touch you

chapter six. normalcy.

Summary: Will does a job moment, speaks to his family and ponders the meaning of life, before arriving alone in his thoughts. Then, you do your thing and read his mind.

ao3 link. ~2.2k. masterlist.

---

unlocking the door to his office, he kicks it closed behind him and presses the power button on his computer.

despite it being almost an hour since he saw the three of you, he can’t help but miss the way you all filled the space, rosie being a little bit entitled but oh so confident in every move she makes, jared, though hardly knowing him, acted as though he had golden retriever genes in his blood, and you. you made the space comfortable, warm, and accommodating. not to mention the way you almost never hesitated to call out rosie for being less than nice towards him.

she could have a bit of a bite, he knows this, and he never really expected rosie to just accept him in their hangouts even though you did so easily.

moving on from his thoughts about earlier today, he logs in and loses himself in the meaningless tasks he had.

from data sheets to writing up emails to drafting papers, and then when his workload was finished a few hours in, he begrudgingly started on his homework. the amount of essays he had was uncalled for, the worksheets assigned were as if they were scanned from a copy of a copy of a copy.

bullshit as it was, he still had to turn them in.

his phone turns on, startling him as it starts ringing out one of his dad’s favorite shows’ theme song. he groans, leaning back in his stiff chair, he reaches over without much aim and picks the phone up. debating whether or not he should just throw his phone out of the window, he answers, turning it on speaker and putting it back on the table, he mumbles out a half-assed greeting.

“well hello there to you too, son,” his father is too cheerful in his opinion, it being seven in the evening and he still has a mountain of work to do. “are you still at the office? thought they close the building after six.”

“it’s a different office job.” he explains, rather dulled, and reads over the same line for the fifth time since they started this phone call, and immediately decides he can not handle talking to phil and reading through the painful amount of philosophy at the same time.

“oh! well good for you, you always said you hated the place,” except for the money, he thinks as he twirls a pencil between his fingers. “hey, quick question,” and here it comes, he rolls his eyes.

“when are you available?” rubbing his eyes enough to see stars, he has to ask why he would need to know such a thing. “i’ll be honest with you, mate, it’s tommy. he misses you and wants to spend some time with you, but is doing that thing where he won’t admit it.” okay, that’s reasonable. it’s been almost eight months since he’s seen them, after staying in town during the summer because of his lease.

“as much as i miss him too, it’s not that easy.” he bites on his lip, chewing on it as he thinks about his little brother and their old antics he’d followed him blindly. it’s not that he didn’t want to, there’s so much to do.

“sure it is, you’re either free soon or free later, just tell me a date and i’ll even drive him up there myself.”

a very tempting deal. where he doesn’t have to drive the three hours to his hometown to visit and appease his baby brother, but then he has college, work, not to mention his new friends-

and your project.

“listen, i’m- i’m going to be busy, i’m working with a friend on some music, a small gig-”

he hears a gasp and immediately regrets everything, including answering this call and being born.

“you didn’t tell me you have friends now! and music? start from the beginning.”

“phil- please, i’ve got work-”

“and you’ve refused to answer my texts and phone calls for the past two weeks, so start talking.”

he leans down to bang his forehead onto the wood, but then groans as he lifts his head back up and into the phone. “listen, i’ve been trying to make sense of it too, but see, they just sort’ve- asked me to be part of,” he really doesn’t want to say it's more like a band of only two known names so far, but what else can he say? “they’ve asked me to be part of their band and i figured that since i’ve been stuck in this loop, i might as well do something to get out of it.”

“yes but how did you two meet? and when did this happen?”

phil with his pestering, bothersome father antics, has not changed one bit since he’s seen him.

“we’re in a class together, phil, and barely a week, now can i get back to my work?” will begs his father to leave him alone but then he hears a door slam in the background and he groans, if somebody knows he’s on the phone with will they will not let him go so soon.

“absolutely not, hey tommy, techno, come say hi to wilbur!” both of his brothers? really?

“will!” though, hearing his brother shout for him and then the automatic scramble no doubt for phil’s phone, “will, where have you been, big man? it’s been so boring without you and techno is starting to guess where i place the boobytraps at so that is mildly inconvenient.”

tommy’s rambles’ matches so similarly to yours, that he briefly wonders if that’s why it’s comforting.

“that was you?” he hears techno screech on the other side and then a large bout of yelling makes him hold the phone away from him as he tries to rub out the exhaustion out of his eyes.

“okay, will, you gotta help me out here, this brat has been nothing but a pain in my ass-”

“-don’t swear, bitch, phil just said no swearing-!” 

-techno, tommy! what did i just say about swearing?!”

the overlap in yelling made him want to throw himself out of the window more so than the phone.

bringing it to his face, he mutters out, “as much as i’ve missed our talks i suddenly have to talk to my landlady, so i will-”

“not so fast, will, i know you don’t have classes on the weekends and that you don’t work on sundays, so how about i drop tommy off at your place on a saturday night so that way you two can catch up? how does that sound, hm? good, alright, see you next week, love ya son, bye!”

then his father hangs up. the beat that follows, including silence, is almost deafening. placing his phone down on the desk, he admits it could've been worse. and as much as he would deny it in front of anybody, he could admit to himself at least, he missed their endless bickering and presence more than he remembered. (though he would definitely have to figure out something with tommy.)

now, all there is to do is finish some homework before he heads home.

~~~

laying on his bed with his guitar on his stomach, he didn’t think he’d be back in this spot. even before he posted his songs online, he remembered nights in his bed, strumming for ideas.

ideas for his music, for his life. what to make of himself when all he wanted to do is lose himself in the music in his earbuds, what was going to happen after he finishes his education and what job he was going to need to make ends meet. assuming he leaves home at all.

these thoughts often plagued his nights, leaving little sleep for him and the biggest eye bags to carry.

and it was most comforting when he was in a spot like this, consumed and lost to the strings and the way it would sway him to an almost-sleep. caught in a daze, caught in the music, the possibility of finding the perfect tune, the one song that would get him out of his head and out of this stupor.

he never found it of course, but the action never stopped comforting him.

strumming up and down, he hums and thinks about you and rosie. you’ve been nothing but a kind force, to him at the least, making him comfortable whenever he’s around to the best of your abilities, and how rosie’s somehow made it less awkward with him being a total stranger, save for what you’ve told her about him. which he knows nothing about.

you could’ve told her that he smells weird or that he chews the eraser off his pencils, or something just absolutely bizarre, but knowing you, you wouldn’t possibly do that (would you?) when you’ve asked him to do this- this cover with you.

him specifically.

and he keeps that close to his chest, holding to his ribs and lungs to where he can breathe it in and never forget. you’re possibly the first one who’s approached him with kind intentions, the first to keep being kind.

and though it’s been less than a week with less than daily interactions, he doesn’t mind how close he feels to you already. being close to you means being close to rosie.

she’s so much more than what he thought.

though, he doesn’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing just yet, he tells himself this is just how she is off the screen. and when he inevitably asks her out, she’ll smile and tell him yes, wondering how long it was going to take him.

thinking about the two of you brought up the memories of the panties and the cameras. the previously mentioned are sitting in the bottom drawer of his dresser, and the cameras are still installed.

having just as many chances as him actually meeting up with you, taking it down was just not an option at the moment.

speaking of the cameras, he slowly sits up as he sets the guitar aside. prying the computer and starting the program up, he wonders what it would mean for the three of you after the cover is finished and polished and never to be listened to other than the first time. wonders if you will keep being friends with him, and the thought of you dropping him after getting what you want leaves him tasting bitterness on his tongue, leaves him spiralling in his bedroom.

swallowing both the dryness in his mouth and the tears down his throat, he stares at the footage he finds. you sitting against the wall on your bed with papers spread out in front of you, some song playing in the background.

listening to the music and the papers shuffling, he calms down enough as you mutter about renting out the auditorium and if that's a thing, he lets himself believe in a you that won’t leave him in the deep pit of loneliness and obsession.

thinking about you and hearing you talk might put him at ease but he doesn’t know if he should, checking the time and seeing it has passed a significant amount since he crawled on top of his sheets.

doubt shackles him to silently watching you as you move papers and writing on them with pen or a pencil, he couldn’t tell. then you lean back and sigh, crossing your arms over your chest as you nudge your foot to pick something up, a little bit weird but who’s he to judge you, opening it and pressing several times on the screen.

and then you’re calling him.

your name on the screen.

his breath catches in his throat, had you read his mind? had you known he was feeling this way? surely not. surely it’s a matter of coincidences, accidents that led to this very moment.

you had no way of knowing that he needed you, needed your calming voice and the way you knew he was uncomfortable. picking it up, he ignores his fast-beating heart and incredibly dry mouth as he answers, holding it close to his ear as he waits for you to speak.

“oh! that was fast- oh well anyways, are you doing anything right now, will?” he blinks to himself as he looks around, his guitar next to his computer, the tv turned off after being cursed at.

“not particularly?”

“do you have, what normal people would call, an irregular sleeping schedule?” you want to do something, he can see the way you’re wiggling in your spot on your bed, as if you couldn’t be held down for long.

“yes? why are you asking me this?” he watches as you scoop the papers and lay them on your desk, shuffling some shoes onto your feet as you throw a hoodie and a beanie on your head, both of those belonging to him.

“would you want to join me for a late night drive around town?” you ask but it turns to rambling on how you couldn’t sit when there’s just so many things that need to happen and it just can’t happen right now, turning to look outside your window, pulling the long sleeves over your fingers again and sitting on the edge as you finally come to a stop, speaking wise.

and when it seems as if you made eye-contact with the camera, your eyes skip over it as you wait for his response.

breathing in deeply, he turns his eyes from the computer, shutting it off as he swings his legs off the bed. “why not?”

“good, see you in ten, send your address.” then you hung up and he’s stuck with his thoughts again.

...

taglist: @fxnxtical @ghostburlovebot @ollie-overscore @marinaloveswomen @roygbivvie @beehive-syst3m @boiled-onionrings @mayempress

#c: simpbur #simpbur x reader #simpbur x y/n #simpbur x you #mcyt au #au: band #au: college #and i'd give up forever to touch you fic

[ningningsplushie]

The Cute Barista

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Word Count: 2,263

Genre: Cafe au, semi-comfort fic

Summary:  Your favourite barista has moved away and in her place is the ever charming Park Jimin. Can he comfort you just the same?

Warnings: Cringey pick up line (rip but it fit well with the story), stressed and upset reader

After a long day, a trip to the cafe was exactly what she needed. Classes were kicking her ass, what with essays, assignments, and presentations piling up on the daily, not to mention her trying to keep up with work and her own personal life. A calming sit-down, with a nice book, along with her favourite barista, Hwa Young, would surely cheer her up.

Opening the door to the cafe, the smell of brownies and buttercream frosting immediately wafts up her nose. The overall atmosphere of the place, with its pastel pinks walls and baby blue trimming, its bubbly aura due to the dainty display of desserts, large windows, and sweet jazz music instantly calms Y/N after a hectic day.

Walking up to the cash register, she realizes that Hwa Young isn’t at her usual station, neither is she wiping down the tables or serving customers.

She spots a blond boy standing in place of her favourite barista and decides to ask for her whereabouts. “Excuse me, I was wondering where Hwa Young was?”

The boy looks up from the till and gives her a warming grin, cheeks almost covering his eyes. My, he’s really handsome. Handsome, however, was an understatement. His face had an innocent, boyish charm to it, with large, honest eyes, plump lips with a subtle cupid’s bow, and a soft jaw.

“I suppose you’re in the dark about her.” Hearing this, Y/N grows worried and the boy sees this. “Oh don’t worry,” he scrambles, panicking for frightening her, “she just moved to Japan for university. She left just last week.”

She left? Crestfallen, Y/N looks to the ground. Damn, I was really looking forward to seeing her. “Really? It’s just…she has a really comforting aura and it was something I needed right now. I suppose I won’t be getting that ever again, if not ever again.”

Y/N realizes her mistake of oversharing and clasps a hand over her mouth with wide eyes. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. The last thing you need right now is for a stranger telling you her problem.”

The new barista chuckles, “It’s alright, my sister was a big help to a lot of people so I understand.”

“Yeah, she- wait. Sister? She was your sister?” Y/N squeaks out.

“Is, not was. She’s still here with us, just far away. But yeah, after she left I decided to take her place here to help our mom run the cafe.”

“That’s sweet of you…” finding no reason to stay any longer she decides to leave, picking up her wallet from the counter. “Anyways, I’ve got to go, but uhhh, thank you for telling me about your sister. Have a nice day-” she reads the boy’s name tag. “Jimin. I’ll be going now.”

Just as she’s about to turn, Y/N feels a grip on her wrist, disabling her from leaving. Jimin looks at his hold on Y/N and quickly lets go.

“Listen, I know you’re not exactly in the best of moods right now and I know I’m not my sister but please, stay and give yourself a rest.”

She considers his comment for a moment before turning back to him and offering a tight-lipped smile.

“Alright. I’ll have a medium honey latte, please,” she says, offering Jimin money for her order.

Taking the money from her, he gives a mock salute, chest puffing out. “Coming right up, Miss.”

Y/N can’t help but giggle at his gesture, hands going up to cover her smile.

“Yeahhhh! That’s what we like to hear. My goodness, if I knew your smile was this bright, I never would have bothered to change the light bulbs in the chandeliers.” Jimin puts his arms out as if protecting himself from a bright flash and at this, Y/N laughs some more. Giving the barista some more material, he pretends to swoon, resting the back of his on his forehead. “Wow, wow, wow. I might as well just shut off our radio too. Your laugh sounds much nicer.”

Y/N blushes, earning a “cute,” from Jimin but then composes herself. “Call me Y/N, please.”

Nodding, he begins tinkering with the espresso machine. “Y/N, I might not be as comforting as my sister but I’m certainly more charming and cuter than her, aren’t I?” throwing a wink to the girl.

Y/N rolls her eyes and replies, “You guys share half of the same DNA.”

“That’s true but my DNA gave me the upper hand in looks.” Y/N couldn’t deny that. She couldn’t stop staring at his lips, how they formed when he smiles, or the position they were in whenever he pouted whilst concentrating.

“Alright, one medium honey latte for Y/N,” he whoops, placing the porcelain cup before her.

“Thank you so much.” Taking a sip from her drink, she closes her eyes in pure bliss, the warmth of the latte spreading throughout her body.

“How is it? Is it too sweet? I think I might have put too much sweetener in it so-”

“It’s perfect,” Y/N sighs, opening her eyes once more.

He gives a proud smile and pats his head. “Good, I’m glad. I’ll leave you alone now, let you decompress for a while.”

“Thank you for everything… for being so patient and kind. I appreciate it,” Y/N says, gazing out the window.

“A little kindness never anybody. I just hope I made your day somewhat better.”

“You definitely did.”

And with that, Jimin leaves the girl alone, moving on to his own barista duties of washing the dishes, clearing tables, and taking the orders of a few people who wanted a kick of caffeine. It was close to the evening which meant that the cafe was nearly empty, something Y/N found most agreeable as it allowed her to enjoy the soft music playing through the speakers while enjoying her recent read. For about thirty minutes or so, Y/N was enjoying her novel whilst sipping occasionally on her latte, and at that moment, she was finally at peace. Here, she was able to temporarily forget about school, work, and her general stresses in life. All that mattered was her tranquility, the porcelain cup sitting ahead of her, and the cast of characters splayed out in her book. Y/N realizes that her brow had loosened, curing her blistering headache ever since she stepped foot into the shop, especially since she talked to Jimin.

Leaving all her worries aside, Y/N gazes out the window and ponders. Everything is so beautiful right now, what with the snow gently falling and families walking hand in hand, she thought. It’s a shame I can’t fully enjoy life with all my stress plaguing my thoughts. I should just enjoy it while it lasts.

It didn’t last long, that is, only because Jimin came over with a fresh piece of what appeared to be strawberry shortcake. He places the plate in front of Y/N and leaves with a simple, “Bon appetit.”

“Hey wait! I didn’t order this.” she rushes to her feet to return the cake.

Jimin comes back, pushing Y/N by her shoulders so she’d sit back down. “I know you didn’t. But you can’t drink something on an empty stomach,” he urges, nudging the cake towards her and turning back around once again.

With her mouth shaped into an O’, she reaches for her wallet to pay for the dessert but before she can do so, Jimin, with his back towards Y/N, protests, “don’t even think of paying for the cake. It’s on the house.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly eat this without paying. Besides, won’t you get in trouble?”

“You can, and you will,” he affirms, now facing Y/N, slinging the rag over his shoulder, adding with, “plus, what’s the worst my mom can do? Not feed me Jjajangmyeon for two weeks? I can survive.”

Warily, Y/N begins to stab the fork into the cake before venturing with a meek, “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive,” he declares, giving her a warm smile that makes her want to eat the cake all the more, wanting to see his smile once more. “Also, I uhhhh,” Jimin stammers, “I wanted to give it to you cuz uhhh…it m-matches your sweater vest,” he declares, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment from his statement.

Confused, Y/N looks down at herself. As per usual, she was in a rush to attend her first lecture of the day and just threw on the first thing her eyes met, which was a pink, strawberry printed sweater vest over a white button-up. Wait. He just gave me a slice of cake because it matched my vest. How much cuter can this guy get? With a blush creeping up her face, she shoved a piece of the cake in her mouth, and in an instant, her tense shoulders dropped, like a weight lifted off of them. The sweetness and acidity of the strawberries coated her tongue but was soon covered by the velvety taste of the buttercream frosting.

“Wow Jimin, this is…absolutely delicious.”

He hums, “I’m glad you think so. I’ll be sure to tell my mom.”

“Yeah, you def- wait. Your mom?” Y/N interjects, mouth full of cake.

Jimin takes a napkin from the dispenser and wipes the frosting from the corner of her mouth and asks, “Did you really think I was the one who made the cake? You overestimate me, my dear friend,” he leans in closer to Y/N, lips frighteningly close to her ear and whispers, “I appreciate the sentiment though.” He pulls back and winks at her, hair falling over his eyes. “I just thought it befitting to feed you something as sweet as yourself.”

Shocked at his boldness, Y/N goes back to eating her cake, not quite sure how to respond to him, especially since she was turning redder and redder by the second and it feels like her tongue had been swallowed.

“Cute,” Jimin chuckles, going back to washing the dishes.

By the time Y/N finished eating, the sun had set and it was closing time, leaving only Jimin and Y/N to be the only two in the shop. She looked at the time and her eyes nearly bulged out of her head. “Oh god, I’ve got to get going. I’ve got to wake up early tomorrow.”

Y/N scrambles to gather her items in her bag, her book, her phone, her wallet and is about to zoom out the door before she hears Jimin calling her name.

“Y/N hold up! You forgot something.” Bewildered, lets go of her hold on the door handle, and looks to the boy.

“Come here,” he beckons for Y/N to come closer.

Walking closer to the counter, Y/N has her hand reached out for him to place whatever it is she left behind. Jimin, placing something unbelievably small in her palm, smiles bright, cheeks overcoming his eyes. She looks down and sees a single Hershey’s chocolate kiss. Y/N looks back to Jimin for an explanation and what he says next throws her off completely.

“Hershey factories make millions of kisses a day, but I’m asking for only one…perhaps after our first date?”

Y/N is silent for a few beats as she registers his cheesy pickup line. Jimin, panicking, quickly regrets his words and goes to take back the kiss but is stopped when Y/N doubles over, shoulders shaking.

Concerned, the barista walks around the counter and puts his arms around Y/N, scared that he triggered what he thought were waterworks. “Y/N…I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you!” But then he hears laughter, belly-aching laughter, one that Jimin wants to hear all the time.

For a good minute, Y/N is hunched over, cackling while Jimin lets out small giggles but then ceases her laughter, wiping her tears away, and looks towards Jimin. “Wow, thank you for making me laugh like that. I haven’t done that for so long.”

Jimin frowns, “I’m happy I made you laugh but are you laughing at me or with me?”

“With you, I’d never laugh at you, especially since you made me feel so much better today,” Y/N replies.

“Oh thank God,” he lets out a deep sigh of relief. “So about that date…would you like to go out with me? I know it’s weird since we just met today but I heard a lot about you from Hwa Young and-and I always wanted to see what you were like. Our paths crossed and I didn’t want to give this moment up.”

Y/N considered how much of an impact he had on her in just one day and thought what it would be like being with him every day. She knew she’d feel tremendously better. As of now, she’s felt more comfortable than she had for a long while. Being around him reminded her of all the beautiful things she’s failed to notice and allowed her to feel like herself once more. If being around him felt like this, she never wanted it to end. His presence comforted Y/N and made her feel right at home. She definitely wasn’t going to turn him down.

“I’d love nothing more than to go out with you. But you better not break that promise of a kiss.”

Brushing a small strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear, he replies with, “Oh, I promise.”

#bangtan sonyeondan #bts #bts x reader #bts scenario #bts fluff #bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts au #bts drabble #jimin bts #bts jimin #jimin au #jimin scenario #jimin imagine #jimin fanfic #jimin fanfiction #jimin drabble #jimin fluff #jimin x reader #park jimin #bts oneshot #jimin oneshot

[talatomaz]

lockdown | jj x fem!teen!reader

a/n: i can’t believe that a year ago today, the last ever episode of criminal minds aired. i miss jj so much 🤧

this is sort of in line with my own experiences (to a certain extent). and there’s not as much jj x d!r as i’d intended but I hope you still like it.

(feedback/positive comments are appreciated)

requested by @ouat2017 : “could you do a jj x daughter where the daughter’s school is on lockdown and jj is worried or something like that?”

warnings: gun violence. blood

word count: 2.6k

masterlist | request list | request rules

r is jj’s 18 year old adopted daughter and suddenly finds herself on lockdown after someone brings a gun into her school

i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated

“Look, you’re the one that needs to be tutored so can you please focus?”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest in annoyance.

You were currently in the tutoring centre trying to help a self-absorbed jock pass English so he could remain on the school’s football team.

Looking around you, you saw a handful of students giving both you and Cameron - the man-child you were tutoring - disparaging looks.

“You’re not supposed to be yelling at me. You’re meant to be telling me the answers.”

The aforementioned narcissist leaned against his chair, smirking at you in a way that made you fight to hide a shudder.

You could have easily wiped the grin off his face by mentioning who your mother was and who she worked for but instead, you decided to just continue ignoring his advances and carry on teaching him.

“That’s not how this works, Cameron. Now either you listen to me or you fail and get kicked off the team. And quite frankly, I’d rather the latter happen.”

You watched as his brows furrowed in confusion. Sighing, you answered, “latter means the second thing of two things mentioned in a sentence. Now, for the love of God, just finish writing your paragraph on Heller's satire of capitalism in Catch-22.”

You let out a breath of relief when he finally relented and started to scribble on his sheet of paper. You glanced over at one of your friends, who was also tutoring for extra credit, and smiled when she rolled her eyes at Cameron’s actions.

Leaning against the large desk that stood at the front of the room, you relished in the long-awaited silence aside from hushed whispers that came from other students asking for help.

Taking out your phone, you glanced at the screen to see that it was only midday and soon the lunch bell would be ringing.

You smiled softly at your lock screen.

It was a photo of you and JJ, your adoptive mother.

It was taken a few weeks prior at your 18th birthday party. You’d been living with JJ for almost 5 years now; her having fostered you before later adopting you when you were 14.

You still didn’t know what she saw in you on that day you’d first met her - you’d lost your family in a home invasion, barely surviving yourself - but whatever it was, you were grateful because you’d gotten a second chance at life.

Several minutes passed and you’d only broken from your train of thought when you heard someone clearing their throat beside you.

Looking over your shoulder, you saw your friend, the one who’d rolled her eyes earlier at Cameron, standing beside you.

“I see you finally got him to do his work.” She whispered, loud enough for your ears only.

“Barely. He still has an essay to write and hasn’t even finished a paragraph yet.”

“I would have smacked his sorry ass by now.”

You laughed before clamping your hand over your mouth, her comment having caught you off guard.

“Ally!” You whisper-shouted, playfully hitting her arm.

She looked at you with a raised eyebrow causing you to smirk, “Trust me, I’ve thought about it but-”

Before you could finish your sentence, a large bang rang out, shattering the silence the room had once held.

With wide eyes, your head whipped to the door where the gunshot had presumably come from and you listened as the hallways were filled with panicked screams.

Running to the door, ignoring the gasps and shouts from the other students behind you, you turned the lock on the door, pulled down the blinds, switched off the lights and jammed a chair under the handle.

Looking up, you saw everyone had the same look of panic in their eyes; a few were crying, including Ally, and others were pale with shock, Cameron was one of them.

“Guys, we’re gonna be okay but we have to be quiet.” You whispered harshly, constantly looking over your shoulder at the door, listening for any indication of the shooter coming your way.

Everyone stared at you, as if you were the leader of a camp and they were small children awaiting for further instruction.

You supposed it wasn’t far off.

By taking charge, you were the one who’d been unwillingly given the role of protector.

“First things first,” you walked over to the group of 10 students, “I need you all to make sure your phones are on silent. We can’t risk being caught.”

You watched as everyone followed your instructions.

“I know you all want to call your parents but that’s going to attract attention to us so for right now, we need to be quiet.”

Your heart was beating out of your chest and as you spoke, one thought repeated in your head. JJ.

Taking out your phone, you scrolled to find your mother’s name in your contacts. You watched as your thumb hovered over her name.

Just breathe, y/n. Breathe.

Tapping your mother’s name, you brought the phone to your ear.

“I thought you said we couldn’t call anyone.”

Your eyes locked onto Cameron’s, his face pale and his eyes filled with terror and a hint of anger.

“My Mum works for the FBI.” You whispered as the phone rang out.

Any other time and you probably would have laughed at the way his face grew paler, if that was even possible. But, in a situation this tense, it was going to be difficult to find any levity.

Your Mum picked up on the second ring and you let out a shaky breath when you heard her voice.

“Hi baby. A bit early for your lunch, isn’t it?”

You closed your eyes at her soft tone, as if you were trying to engrave the way she spoke into your mind lest you would never hear it again.

From your lack of response, the blonde sensed there was something up, “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

A single tear dropped down your cheek as you struggled to maintain a steady tone. Catching a glimpse of Ally staring at you, you steeled yourself and spoke.

“Mum, you need to come quick. Someone’s brought a gun into school.”

“Oh my-AARON.”

You winced when you heard her shout for her boss, listening as you could hear her run up stairs. You held your breath as she filled Hotch in on what was happening before telling Garcia to hack into your school’s security system.

“Are you okay? Stupid question. But are you hurt?”

“Mum,” you interrupted her rambling, “I’m fine. I’m in the tutoring centre with 10 other people. I don’t know how many people are injured. It just all happened so fast.”

“It’s okay, baby. You’re gonna be okay.”

Though you could hear the clear panic in her voice, her words did bring some form of reassurance to you.

“Penelope’s hacking into the system so hopefully she can have eyes soon.”

As she spoke, you could hear the clacking of keys in the background of the call; presumably Garcia doing exactly what JJ said.

“Mum?” You questioned when you heard Garcia swear.

Instead of JJ answering, the usually peppy tech analyst replied, her voice shaky and wet, as if she was crying.

“Y/N, thank God you’re okay.”

“What’s wrong, Garcia?”

“Someone’s disabled the cameras remotely. I can only get them back online if someone reprograms them from the inside.”

Grasping what she was explaining, you nodded, “I’ll fix them.”

“What? No!”

Your mother had taken the phone off of Garcia.

“You are not leaving that room, y/n. We’ll find another way in.”

“Mum, someone needs to fix the system from inside the school. I need to do it.”

Ignoring your mother’s worried shouts, you continued to speak, “Mum, I have to. I love you.”

You disconnected the phone and switched it off, preventing her from being able to call you back.

“Y/N, you are not leaving this room.”

You’d only just realised that everyone had been watching you intently during that entire interaction.

“Yes, I am.”

Moving away from the huddle, you rose to your feet and replied to your friend.

Cameron rose to his feet and towered over you as he challenged you, “No, you are not. You’re going to put us in danger.”

“Do you know how to hack into our school’s security system and then reconnect the transformer and enter the Mastercode?”

His face contorted to a look of confusion making you reply,

“Exactly.”

Turning to leave, you felt a large hand enclose around your arm.

“I said, you’re not leaving.”

Your eyes flickered from Cameron’s hand up to his face that dared you to take another step.

“Remove your hand from my arm before I remove your hand from your body. You may letter in football but I’ve been trained by some of the best FBI agents there are and unless you want to end up in a sleeper hold, I suggest you shut up and do what I say for once.”

His harsh grip almost immediately lessened as his hand returned to his side.

“Good. Now, have any of you been shot? No? I didn’t think so. Well, I have and whoever did get shot is probably bleeding out in the hallway. I can’t not do anything.”

No one dared to respond and instead, shook their head ‘no’ at your asking if anyone else would try to stop you.

Content that you weren’t going to deal with any more unnecessary distractions, you made your way to the door and gently removed the chair that was beneath the handle.

“Ally, you’re in charge. Lock the door when I leave. By my count, the FBI will be here soon. And Cameron, you do anything stupid and I’ll shoot you myself.”

Unlocking the door, you stepped out into the empty hallway and hastily made your way to where the main security hub was located.

Just a couple of hours ago, all you had wished for was silence but now that your wish had been granted, all you wanted was to hear the playful shouts and conversations between your friends and fellow students.

The silence that currently fell on your school was unnerving and unbearable. And with each step you took, you flinched at the sound your shoes made against the marble floor. Each noise practically acting as a beacon for the shooter to come find you.

You let out a sigh of relief when you found the Hub and you quickly worked to reconnect the security system. Typing on the laptop that rested atop one of the servers, you couldn’t help the smile that formed when all the cameras re-engaged.

Tapping on one of the keys, you navigated through the various cameras, looking for any indication of the shooter or of any injured people. You stopped when you caught a glimpse of someone.

Squinting at the screen, you saw, what appeared to be a freshman - since you didn’t recognise him as being a part of your year - laying on the ground, a hand clutching his stomach as blood coated his clothing.

Immediately knowing where he was, you cautiously made your way to the east hallway before running when you noticed him laying on the ground, his blood coating the once-white marble floor.

Falling to your knees, you pressed your hands against his wound, trying to stop the steady flow. He groaned out in pain, tears staining his face.

“H-Help me.” He choked out.

“What’s your name?”

“Jackson. But everyone c-calls me J-Jack.”

“Jack, you’re going to be okay. I just need you stay with me, okay? I’m-”

“Y/N.”

You failed to hide the surprise from your face making the younger teen smile despite his predicament.

“You’re t-tutoring Cameron. Everyone knows who you are. Y-You’re the one who doesn’t take any of his shit. I think h-he likes you.”

“Well, tough shit for him. I may be bi but he’s definitely not my type.”

Jack’s laugh quickly turned into another groan of pain.

Unzipping your jacket with one hand, you used the other to keep pressure on his wound. After removing the jacket, you harshly pressed it against his torso and watched as it barely absorbed the blood.

“I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”

“No, you’re not. I won’t let you.” You said, tears filling in your eyes as memories rushed back of when you tried to save your brother after he’d been shot.

“You’re going to be okay. I just need you to-”

You stilled when you heard footsteps come up behind you.

“Well, what do we have here?”

You didn’t recognise the voice and couldn’t bring yourself to turn around to face the person who’d caused all this pain.

You opened your mouth before closing it again, unsure of what to say.

Closing your eyes, you readied yourself for your inevitable death when a shot rang out and a body slumped to the ground beside you.

Jumping at the action, you turned around and almost collapsed in relief at what you saw. Your Mum and her team stood behind you with several SWAT members flanking them.

The tears that had once filled your eyes now spilled shamelessly down your cheeks.

Without saying a word, JJ holstered her gun and ran to your side, hugging you as best she could since your hands were still pressed against Jack’s wound.

Paramedics soon followed and after that it was all a blur. It was as if you were floating outside of your body. Logically, you knew it was the effects of an adrenaline crash but you felt so disconnected from your body.

You barely took note as your mother gently lifted you to your feet, allowing you to be briefly looked over by the paramedics. Nor as your mother escorted you to one of the school bathrooms where she rinsed the blood off your hands.

You didn’t even say a word until you’d arrived back at the BAU where a worried Penelope wrapped you in a tight hug which you returned.

“I’m gonna take her up to my old office, Hotch.”

The Unit Chief simply nodded as he and the rest of the team watched as JJ led you to the abandoned office that was still filled with random case files.

Closing the door, she sat you down on her sofa and stared at you, not touching you in fear that even a simple caress would cause you to shatter.

You exhaled a long breath before finally speaking, “I’m sorry.”

Her brows narrowed, “Sorry? Sweetheart, why?”

You looked at your hands that had been coated in blood less than an hour before and then up at your mother; her blue eyes filled with nothing but concern, love and confusion.

“You told me not to leave and I did. I’m sorry.”

And with that, you started to cry heart-wrenching sobs that made your shoulders shake.

JJ gathered you in her arms, gently rocking you as her long blonde hair draped over you.

“It’s okay, y/n. I got you, baby. You’re safe now.”

Her arms wrapped tightly around you as she laid soft kisses on your head, her hand stroking your back.

That only served to make you burrow into her even more, seeking comfort in her motherly embrace.

You muttered your apologies as she continued to reassure you that you were okay.

JJ was afraid that if she stopped, you wouldn’t be here, safe in her arms.

Still rocking you in her arms, she whispered in your ear,

“I got you, baby. You’re safe now.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau x reader #jj x reader #jennifer jareau imagine #elle greenaway #elle greenaway x reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #derek morgan #derek morgan x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #david rossi #david rossi x reader #jemily #aj cook #cm #cm x reader #criminal minds imagine #c: jennifer jareau #c: jj x d!r #s: mine #c: lockdown

[silversatoru]

birthdays don’t have to suck

fushiguro megumi x f!reader (elli)

synopsis: you get really sick on your birthday, but megumi makes sure that you still have a good day :))

t/w: fluff, reader is sick, vomiting, medicine (tylenol lol), some details pertain specifically to elli

wc: 2.2k

a/n: a small birthday present for the love of my life @megumifushi who never sleeps enough and is always sick,, i love u and i hope ur days not too bad <3

you stared into your dimly lit laptop, red eyes squinting at the black text that sped across the screen as your fingers scrambled against the keys. you weren’t even sure that what you were writing was comprehensible at this point, but your essay that was due tomorrow morning wasn’t gonna write itself. at this point it just needed to get done, concerns of quality were thrown out the window hours ago.

aside from the burning and stinging in your eyes, your entire body ached, and you were ridden with chills and goosebumps. seemed like a fever was coming on, but you didn’t have the time or capacity to care about that right now. you’d pop a few tylenol and crawl into bed in a couple hours, and everything would be better tomorrow.

what time was it anyway? it couldn’t possibly be that late yet, right? 

you glanced to the corner of the screen, eyes falling on a bright 3:56am that made your heart sink and your eyes widen. you had a terrible habit of losing track of time and staying up into ungodly hours of the night — a habit that your wonderful boyfriend was trying so terribly hard to break. 

you glanced to your left and took in his sleeping form, his lips parted ever so slightly as he took small breaths of air. he’d be disappointed and upset with you if he knew how horrid your sleep schedule had been lately, and he’d probably blame your chills and headaches on your lack of sleep as well — which in all fairness was probably pretty accurate. 

“i’ll just finish this up real quick and then i promise i’ll sleep, ‘kay gumi?” you spoke softly, running your fingers through his soft, spiky hair. 

he was undisturbable, his mind off somewhere in a dreamland that was quite the distance from your small bedroom. and that was probably for the better, because him nagging at you to go to sleep would be too distracting for you to get your work done. 

your hands moved rapidly against the keyboard for about another hour, words spilling onto the screen until you finally hit the page requirement for your paper. it was probably terrible, most likely had a few words spelled wrong, and honestly you were pretty certain you’d repeated yourself several times, but fuck it — submit. you were typically an excellent student, so one bad paper wouldn’t kill you, and you were too tired and achy to care right now. 

you got up and placed your laptop onto your desk, plugging it in and letting a heavy sigh fall from your lips as you made your way back over to the bed. the soft blankets were therapeutically warm on your chilly skin as you crawled in against megumi’s back, effectively turning him into the little spoon and pressing your nose to the back of his neck. thankfully, sleep found you shortly after, your eyes fluttering shut as you drifted off into a much needed slumber. 

babe 

wake up 

babe

you woke up to small finger pokes to your cheek from megumi, his face laced with concern as your vision finally focused on his features. he bent over and pressed his lips to your forehead, pausing there for a fraction of a second and then standing back up. 

“i think you have a fever. i noticed when i woke up and you felt like a fucking space heater,” he frowned, confirming your initial suspicions from last night, “i’ll go get some medicine”.

you groggily nodded your head, shivers coursing through your body and dotting your extremities with goosebumps. your condition had definitely deteriorated overnight, your eyes stinging and a horrible nausea creeping up your throat. 

by the time he returned with the medicine you had yourself propped up against the pillows, thick blankets pulled up to your chin in an attempt to minimize the icy feeling in your body. he handed two small tylenol tablets to you with a disappointed look on his face — a look that said: i’m gonna kick your ass for not getting enough sleep again. 

“i’ll let everyone know you’re not feeling well enough to go out tonight,” he hummed as he handed you a glass of water, your brain filling with thick fog as you tried to decipher why he would need to let anyone know you were sick. 

the look of pure confusion signaled to him that you had no idea what he was talking about, megumi shaking his head before he spoke up again, “it’s your birthday, dumbass, we were supposed to get food and stuff with yuuji, inumaki, and nobara and maki”. 

birthday 

oh 

forgetting about that was another habit you continued to succumb to every year.

“mm, shit,” you sighed after drinking back the pills, “i forgot”. 

“figured you would,” megumi clicked his tongue, “but i didn’t, because i’m a good boyfriend. can you drag yourself out to the kitchen? you should eat”.

“don’t think so,” you mumbled, attempting to disappear back under the blankets before he could coerce you to follow him outside of the bedroom. 

but megumi is impossibly even more stubborn than you are, wrapping his arms under your body and lifting you to his chest, “guess i’ll just have to carry you then”. 

“fine,” you let out a long groan — was it a bit dramatic? maybe. but in your defense you felt like you’d been hit with a train.

he peppered your face with kisses as he carried you out of the bedroom, lovingly setting you down on one of the high bar stools around your kitchen table. he instructed you to stay in the chair, abruptly returning to the bedroom to bring out a couple blankets to wrap around your shoulders. you were grateful for the extra heat, you body still shaking and shivering as the medications worked to cure your fever. 

megumi was a man of few words, preferring to display his love for you through acts of service than grand confessions, and this was very eminent when he wordlessly grabbed a couple pots and began cooking for you. you let your face fall onto your arms, resting your chin as you watched him silently shuffle between the stove and the pantry. the silence was comfortable, and you weren't going to complain about watching your muscular boyfriend walk around the kitchen in nothing but a pair of loose, plaid pajama pants. 

a few minutes later he was placing a steaming bowl of soup and a couple slices of baked bread in front of you, a savory scent flooding your nostrils. 

“red lentil,” he spoke as he handed you a spoon, “it’s your favorite, so you better eat it”. 

“yes, sir,” you gave him a small smile, dipping the cool metal into the hot liquid and scooping a spoonful into your mouth. 

“all of it”

“yes, megumi, i will try”

to no surprise, the soup went down pretty fucking horribly, your head hanging low over the toilet while megumi held your hair out of the way. your throat was practically raw by the time you were done heaving and vomiting up the meal, your eyes brimming with hot tears. 

megumi tied your hair up in a neat bun so he could step away, filling up a glass with water and carefully helping you to take small sips and rinse out your mouth. he was tedious with the clean up, washing your face and helping you brush your teeth — ensuring that you felt the best you could given the situation. he then scooped you back into his arms, carrying you back to bed and profusely apologizing for making you eat the soup — but he was just trying to make you feel better, he really was doing his best.

you were ready to add today to your long list of terrible birthdays, chalking it up as another failed attempt, but megumi was not about to let that happen. he knew you had a rough history with birthdays, but now that he was here? you’d have a bad birthday over his dead body. 

he scoured the back of your fridge for ginger ale, gatorade, jello, and whatever else he could find to make you the perfect sick-person platter. and he made sure he was logged into every streaming service that the two of you collectively owned, preparing netflix, hulu, and crunchy roll so that he could easily access every single one of your favorite shows and movies. and so you spent the majority of your day tucked safely against megumi’s chest, forcing down small sips of ginger ale and watching an assortment of tv. 

your phone rang at some point — a facetime call from all of your friends who had gotten together so they could all wish you a collective happy birthday. megumi stuck a singular candle into a cup of blue-raspberry jello and ignited it with a small flame; and then they all sang the most terrible rendition of “happy birthday” that you’d ever heard, yuuji’s voice a little louder and little more out-of-tune than everyone else's.

you mustered enough energy to blow out the flame, everyone cheering while megumi shoveled a scoop of the blue jelly into your mouth. you swallowed it with a smile, praying it stayed down while everyone sent you off with an assortment of “feel better!”, “we love you!”, and “wish you were here!”

your night got pretty quiet after that, you and megumi climbing back under the covers to watch a few more episodes of your new favorite anime. it wasn’t until well into the night that he finally asked you if he could give you the presents he’d gotten for you. reluctantly, you said yes. you hated receiving gifts (it was just one of the many reasons you hated your birthday) but you knew that megumi wasn’t going to take no for answer. 

he was obviously nervous, palms sweaty as he handed you a couple neatly wrapped packages in plain, solid colored paper. they were very megumi, perfect folds with not a single crease, the paper simple yet elegant and adorned with a singular bow on top. 

you hesitantly peeled the paper off the smaller of the two, revealing a tiny box that contained a classic looking silver locket. you felt your heart pinch in your chest as you clicked the locket open and revealed two small pictures of each of the two of you. you weren’t particularly sentimental, but on top of your lack of sleep and not feeling very well, the simple gift caused few tears to well up in your eyes. but he was quick to wipe them away, insisting that you had to open the second gift first, and that birthdays weren’t meant for crying. 

you followed his instructions, ripping open the second package and revealing a larger box that contained a series of envelopes. each one was decorated with tiny doodles of you and megumi, his demon dogs, hearts, etc. they were sickeningly cute, and you immediately reached for the first one before megumi reached out and stopped you. 

“they’re not for now; they’re for when i’m gone, you know, on missions and stuff,” he could barely even maintain eye contact, his eyes dipping low as yours filled back up with tears. 

despite your lack of energy and the fever that was starting to return, you showered him in hugs and kisses after that, thanking him over and over for the most perfect gifts, and for making your day as wonderful as it could have been. 

all things aside, you were coming around to the idea that birthday’s don’t have to suck. 

bonus: the first letter: 

to y/n:

i know im not great at telling you what i have to say through words, actually, i’m kind of really bad at it. but i thought writing these might be a nice way to try and get better? i’m not sure. anyway, i guess i’ll start by saying that you mean a lot to me, and i probably miss you a lot right now (even though ill be too afraid to reach out and say it). not sure how long i’ll be gone for at the time but it’s probably a few days at least. gonna work hard so i can hurry back to see you. 

i hope you’re sleeping enough, but i know you’re not. you never do, especially when i’m not there to yell at you. i hope you’re eating enough too. but you’re probably also not doing that. you’re like taking care of a stubborn child, you know that? but this is supposed to be a love letter so i’ll try to refrain from scolding you too much. but do try to take care of yourself. ill see you soon. 

megumi

#jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi fluff #megumi x reader #fushiguro x reader #fushiguro fluff #silvers mutuals <3 #megumifushi