#and that's the rub for the universe as one of its most powerful and essential beings is both necessary and unwilling to accept this

[lightdancer1]

In working on my next set of updates to my Sandman stories:

One reason that I like to play with the idea of either humanizing or depowering Death is that it's already an established element of canon. She does this once a century and dies at the end of it and is fully human and powerless. She has, in her own words, done it for a very long time and has very good odds that more than one of her experiences with dying would be as meaningless and painful as the process of dying is presented in canon.

Any of the other Endless would take very poorly to the idea of being depowered, and of having to make sense of a sense of self that has been very largely lost. Death, OTOH, not only finds it an easy adjustment but going by A Winter's Tale (which the deleted scene in the show indicates is with only one slight but fundamental change still the mindset of the show version) has one problem in the exact opposite sense of her kin.

Yes, she *can* go back to being an Endless in a job she's hated in and which takes a great emotional toll. Why would she want to? And unlike the rest of the Endless, she has far more of a sense of self outside her job and her cosmic role in the order of things. The dilemma as such hinges around identity, but in the exact opposite sense of a Dream of the Endless or Desire or whichever other of the Endless loses their title and role tale. Not a quest to regain a lost position and all that goes with it, but the simple desire in the end to evade her own harsh fate and abandon something full time versus the Reaper Man pattern where absolute power tends to corrupt absolutely and what power is more absolute for a would-be successor than that over life and death?

I give Death a kind of Pinocchio syndrome/awareness of the Uncanny Valley, where the greatest temptation is to go from being 'almost' mortal to being truly so. Where to all the other Endless, it would be the narrative of a creation of a sense of self where there is none, and in this a side quest to regaining who and what they see themselves as and rightfully so.

[politesper-rip]

alright, it's time that i revisited the tempo loss bishop exchange... part 1.

for those of you unaware, while not written by tanigawa, it is a short story published in sneaker bunko and can be presumed to be canon-adjacent, if not directly canon. why's this story so special though? what new and exciting thing does this haruhi story add to the table? — it's from koizumi's pov. and therefore i am contractually obligated to look through it and analyze everything. below the cut i'm going to be giving my commentary on everything i deem interesting about the story as i read it again for the first time in over a year.

immediately koizumi starts off by mentioning galileo, which is hilarious because i got a lecture on him today. essentially, itsuki believes that there is no such thing as a single point of view. but also believes that he knows a subjective viewpoint is a vague and unreliable thing. space is compromised of layers upon layers and making inferences based on one person's opinion "is highly comparable with the church in medieval times which punished galileo, and is a horribly irrational thing to do." a very koizumi stance, and expanding upon it he says the next most koizumi thing he could possibly say "of course, i understand that that irrationality is good news to the world." — he believes that suzumiya haruhi's surrealistic ideas keep the world balanced, even if by a thin thread, despite aliens, time travelers, and espers running around. which is an interesting take for him, deeming that she also serves as a threat to maintaining said balance. it's a thin line, but it's true koizumi wants to keep the status quo. he doesn't want to shake up what's already there, haruhi included. he believes suzumiya is like the sun at the center of the universe, but also claim one person also joins her. this story basically confirms my idea that koizumi doesn't call kyon by his nickname. he either refers to him by his actual name (which we never see) or via second/third person pronouns (you/he), typically second person since the entire series is from his pov, meaning that usually people speak directly towards him.

koizumi says that despite him claiming to have no powers at all, he actually refuses to confirm this for us readers. which fascinates me because he is the one who confirmed that for us/him in melancholy. he says that "a subjective view has its roots in a person's outlook on the world" — then says that "it is impossible for two person's perceptions to rub together without exerting a force comparable to that of completely destroying a star." this could suggest that in the main series he doesn't have any powers because he says so. he believes himself powerless, so he is. being the first person narrator of the haruhi series, as well as the whole monologue about the anthropic principle in melancholy, makes me wonder if there's something more to this. perhaps some meta element of the series we have been blind to? without him narrating the story we would never witness the events of the world of suzumiya haruhi, and thus the events "wouldn't happen" because there would be no proof or record of them. i know "chosen" is a verb used to describe him used by asahina, koizumi, and nagato — and while the fandom does tend to take it in a romantic sense, i can't help but think that the romantic feelings between him and suzumiya are actually completely separate from this. it's possible that suzumiya chose him to be her observer. that he is her awareness, in a sense. while suzumiya must remain unaware of all the strangeness happening around her and is not supposed to ever become aware of it, he must always be aware and must always get involved in some fashion. she creates, he witnesses.

i'm not entirely sure what he means by this, but it feels semi important so i'm just gonna capture and frame it in this post. no one is surprised to hear that koizumi rambled a fuck ton before even starting the story he wanted to tell. so, let's get into the story. early winter, end of first year, he witnessed something rare in the clubroom. he was playing shogi with asahina. koizumi feels a severe sense of abnormality in the scene — it seems that he is letting her win. even i, with my little to no knowledge on shogi, can tell that based on the dialogue here. koizumi is so hyper aware of kyon's reaction to his presence it hurts. "as i approached, his countenance instantly acquired a negative vector. in a curt voice, he then spat out a greeting that had been mass-produced in a machine-run factory." — very vivid description. thanks koizumi. of course he instantly goes to insult koizumi's board game skills, to add to it, saying that if he only played against him "it would be even more unbalanced than a typical high school student and kindergartner sitting on opposite ends of a see-saw." he also says that asahina is an opponent that would actually make him feel some tension.

the "if he says so, then it must be true" line is really spicy if we consider my theory before. that he is the most objective viewpoint into this world as well as the most subjective. it would also add to koizumi's lines about him having an absurdly meaningful existence that didn't have meaning — and how he was estranged from objectivity and subjectivity. really, this story is giving me more insight into him than koizumi lmao. so, let's get to something that goes give insight into my boy.

i'm so obsessed with the way he thinks. how he deems him frightening because he is so outwardly forward with the way he seems to feel. the idea of someone being easy to read making koizumi believe they are potentially more of a threat is a fascinating one. "you openly display your feelings, so people don't think to dig beyond the surface to figure out how you're actually feeling. therefore, who is to say what you display is authentic?" is how he's thinking, i believe. which makes even more sense why he believes asahina is suspect. she is so open and easy to read that it loops back around into reading as a barrier hiding something deeper. it also fascinates me that koizumi thinks he is doing this purposefully. that he is making himself seem less significant — fading back into his observing/narrating role and putting all his focus into the others. it's an interesting view of him that koizumi has. not one i fully agree with, given i've seen like 11 books of his narration, but still interesting. koizumi notices the abnormality in the room is due to the shogi board. this is something that seemingly only he has noticed — at the very least he and asahina haven't. nagato is busy so she isn't commenting.

bro he is so mean to my son why you gotta do him like this?? anyway, it's okay because koizumi fires back with his own sick burn (internally):

he really does get him, huh? i find this charming in a way. he's making fun of him directly, which you don't really see at all in the main series. oh internal koizumi monologue my beloved. back to the board game, though, koizumi comments on his losses. and i think this is also interesting:

it feels almost like the universe has cursed koizumi to be bad at games. it doesn't sound like he's trying to lose at all. monopoly is more of a luck based game than skill. it seems that no matter what he does he can't win against him, i wonder if it's beacause he is writing the series. although that gets a little meta. it seems more like when it comes to the supernatural trio he is always the one who has the advantage. he has the special privileges. he gets to go back in time and choose who goes with, he gets to be the one person who can fix disappearance, he gets to hear everything from all of them, he is the person capable of getting haruhi to listen to him. and, of course, he gets to beat koizumi at every game. it's only when interacting with suzumiya that his "advantage", if you can call it that, is lost. he is late, he must pay for lunch, etc. perhaps there is a hierarchy of "universe bending to your whims" going on. suzumiya at the top with him right under her. and then everyone else. let's not forget he was also friends with sasaki in middle school, who also held the "god-like" title for a while before it was transferred to suzumiya. koizumi really is his fucking punching bag honestly. like... oh my god this next bit is so fucking funny to me:

my man is fucking cursed. cursed to lose to him no matter what. it's so funny. anyway, asahina asks koizumi for advice and he simply calls the board interesting — that it's in an intelligible state for him and that he isn't sure what the best course of action is. he tells him to shut up "i could sense a sharp gaze, like a shrill alarm with a multiplex of determination, piercing through my chest. good grief." suzumiya comes in and has a frighteningly accurate analysis of the situation on the board, taking interest of their game. this eventually turns into them playing pair shogi after he, and i quote from koizumi: "expertly manipulated the direction of suzumiya-san's thoughts".

koizumi and his shipper psychoanalysis back at it again. there isn't much i have to say here, it's just amusing to me that this is how he reads them. he so desperately wants them to get together. i don't doubt that his readings are decently accurate, but i also think that it's his subjective pov. as in, it is 100% colored by his biases. he even says as much:

i think he should've taken a video. that would've been funny. the description of their flirting brings me so much joy. i wish we got to see it, but unfortunately he was blackout drunk and also unwilling to divulge the info. and now i put a nice little end to things because jfc this post is long and i need to do work. i'll analyze their shogi match next time.

[yellowfingcr]

👤+ "Tell me about the Witness, love." Darkness seems to surround them on all sides, pressing ever inwards even as shadows seep into the cracks of the Last City and perhaps into the Traveler itself. What else can an arisen do before the onset of night but rage against it, as once they did when that golden age came crashing down around their ears? Brom's thankful he won't be doing it alone any more, armed and armored for war but only truly prepared when by her side. "I would not have this battle be our last. Not when there is a world with you waiting for us afterwards."

ask miss heysel for opinions / accepting!

Heysel’s gaze! It becomes softer than soft at that last sentence, the smile on her lips the most tender it has ever been, and without even realizing it her fingers reach out to entwine with his. But she hopes he doesn’t catch the little flicker in her eye, a sudden thing like the retreating tail of an escaping fish. Does he know? That worry has been gnawing at her tongue in the night, itching scurrying worry for what awaits for them but especially him ahead, in those times that seem so final, so close? That she’d started as a manner to exorcise her fear to ask secretly here and there to her friends and his what might be a fitting material for a titan splendid to wear around his finger? Because Traveler’s light she will. If they both survive this she will do it and ask him something she’s been meaning truthfully to ask him for so long but see that’s the illusion of immortality- that everything around you will continue forever with you, that there will somehow always be time…

“I don’t think I can offer you much more than what you already know.” Her thumb, rubbing over his armored knuckles. “This is about chaos. The Witness, from my understanding, is the answer of a species that immemorial ages ago had bloomed under the Traveler- maybe the first to do so, even- but that one day in the endless paracausal potential of the Light to plant seeds of existence in any place it desired saw not just the promise that there will always be something even in nothing but fatal disruption. If you permit life where it wasn’t supposed to be, are you endorsing a reality of complexity… or condemning this new life to suffering because it was never supposed to exist in the first place? Ever heard of the Flower Game? Oh, you know, let’s leave that for later. It's already convoluted as it is.”

“So! They expanded their research, discovered the Veil- no, ask not, I don’t know either, yes I’m a bad Cryptarchy discipula- and through it made contact with the Darkness and the uniforming promise of it. Glimpsed a perfect final shape obtained by imposing order unto the disorder of the universe, a suffering-less shape of self affirming certainty, created by carving away all that cannot enforce its right to live. And so if the Traveler is a gardener, the Witness became the winnower. Amnesia and infinite chance versus the attempt at making something that can endure eternal in a cruel universe. A singular entity, versus an entire population occupying one body, as it how that ancient species became the Witness. So this is about chaos and the terror of chaos. Perhaps about kindness, from different lenses. And I guess we’re here now! At the big meeting! With the- damn thing very much not stopped and harming what I'll remind has been essentially our god for ages.”

Her chuckle contains no attempt at hiding the nervousness.

“I… am afraid? I mean. I don’t know. One thing is to throw ourselves over and over against agents of the Darkness. But this. The magnitude of what’s at stake. The sheer power of our enemy.” She swallows. Then shakes her head, hard. No. If he has faith in this afterwards then so she will.

"We will make it. And I'll be by your side, always."

[rezennia]

Utilizing Lavender Essential Oil to Bridle the Mending Power and Its Restorative Advantages

Hardly any essential oils are also respected in the field of fragrant healing as lavender. It has been utilized in normal treatment strategies for a long time in view of its numerous therapeutic advantages and beautiful blossom fragrance. In this piece, we will research the numerous helpful purposes of lavender essential oil, including its significant ability to lessen pressure and improve general prosperity as well as its unwinding and alleviating impacts on the psyche.

Quieting the Psyche: One of the most notable advantages is its ability to unwind and settle the brain, which makes it an esteemed friend chasing internal serenity. Lavender oil fume is an incredible instrument for pressure the board and mental clearness since it has been exhibited to bring down tension levels and advance serenity when breathed in. It is a gentle yet powerful method for quieting the fretful brain and take harmony back to the spirit, whether it is utilized straightforwardly to beat focuses, diffused in the air, or added to a steaming shower.

Quieting the Body: IT enjoys a few actual benefits that help mending and prosperity all around the body, notwithstanding its mental impacts. Due to its calming characteristics, it's a popular treatment for minor injuries, consumes, and bug chomps. Lavender oil upholds the skin's normal mending process and can offer prompt help from tingling, redness, and torment when applied topically subsequent to being weakened with a transporter oil. Moreover, the pain-relieving characteristics of lavender oil make it a valuable treatment for migraines, feminine spasms, and muscle strain; it gives protected, all-regular help without the utilization of unforgiving synthetic substances or physician recommended drugs.

Diminishing Pressure and Empowering Rest: In the high-speed universe of today, stress is an all-too-normal condition that can genuinely hurt our physical and emotional wellness. Luckily, there is a comprehensive and all-regular method for decreasing pressure and empower unwinding. Studies have demonstrated that taking in the fragrance of lavender oil could bring down cortisol levels — a chemical connected to pressure — in the body, bringing about sensations of harmony and calm. A quieting rest climate that energizes profound and relaxing rest can be made by diffusing lavender oil in the room or applying a couple of drops on a pad or rest cover. This will empower individuals to awaken feeling recharged and renewed.

Improving Profound Equilibrium: It is amazingly powerful at advancing general close to home prosperity and upgrading profound equilibrium, notwithstanding its numerous physical and psychological wellness benefits. Its sensitive yet powerful aroma can raise individuals' feelings, reduce despairing and sadness, and cultivate good faith and trust. Lavender oil offers a characteristic and extensive way to deal with profound mending and taking care of oneself, whether it is utilized in fragrant healing diffusers, rub oils, or individual consideration items. This enables individuals to confront life's impediments with elegance and versatility.

All in all, It is a beam of trust and mending in the field of regular health in light of its significant ability to decrease pressure and encourage profound balance, as well as its quieting and relieving consequences for the brain. Lavender oil gives the body, psyche, and soul with a delicate yet intense method for supporting them on their way to greatest wellbeing and power, whether applied topically, odoriferously, or ingested (under the management of a prepared aromatherapist and with alert). Consequently, embrace the ever-enduring solace of lavender essential oil the following time you wind up needing shelter and comfort, and let its recuperating pith to overwhelm you in a sweeping of serenity and harmony.

https://www.rezennia.sg/product/lavender-french-alpine-best-seller

[newgencleaning]

How Cleaning Services Can Help You?

One of the most essential yet often-overlooked forms of maintenance is cleaning. The difference between success and failure can frequently be attributed to how well an organization presents itself to its customers and partners. Every Reisdential Cleaning Services have its own specialties, but there are some universals that all of them share.

Cleaning windows

It goes without saying that you must keep the windows clean with the help of House Cleaning Service Calgary. Because it might be risky or difficult to clean windows, many home and business owners prefer to hire professional cleaners instead. There are a few standard procedures for washing windows. The first step in cleaning windows is rubbing and scrubbing to loosen the built-up dirt, grease, and other impurities in the air. The squeegee cleaning process comes next. The idea is to dry the glass thoroughly so that any remaining dirt or water may be wiped away. At last, the sills and edges are cleaned and dried.

Cleaning of Carpets

When carpets are clean, they feel great and emit a pleasant aroma. A filthy carpet is one of the most repulsive sights ever. The carpet has become discolored due to filth, dust, and pet dander that has accumulated over time. Carpets are typically cleaned in two stages by professional Calgary Home Cleaning Services. A special solution of Calgary House Cleaning Services is sprayed on, which helps to dislodge dirt as soon as it hits the fibers. The last process involves restoring the carpet's natural pH balance, rinsing the carpet, and then extracting the debris and cleaning solution.

Cleaning of air ducts

Unclean air duct can create various problems, even though it does not directly affect the aesthetics of the home or workplace. There are a lot of impurities that can build up over time inside of an air duct. Since a dirty duct can hinder air circulation, cleaning it can improve the efficiency of the HVAR system as well as the air quality inside the room or building. Residential Cleaning Services Calgary often involve the use of high-powered vacuums to remove dust and other particles from the ducts.

Cleaning of upholstery

Clean furniture is another component of a wonderful looking room. Cleaning upholstered furniture is like cleaning carpets or Post-Construction Cleaning. To remove deeply buried dirt, a professional cleaner would apply a chemical solution to the cloth, then rinse it well to remove both the filth and the detergent.

Cleaning of Hardwood Floors

Cleaning a tile floor through Professional Cleaning Services is easy, but many people have a lot of trouble with cleaning their hardwood floors. The standard method of washing that kind of floor is straightforward, but the results fall far short of expectations. Because of this, many people that want to improve the aesthetics of their home or workplace employ the services of professional cleaners. The three-step technique of Professional Cleaning is essential for a thorough clean. A vacuum is used to remove larger debris from the floor, and then a specialist cleaning solution is used to remove dirt and grime from the floor's minute cracks and groves. At long last, a neutralizing agent is being put to the floor to eliminate any trace of dirt and ensure the cleanliness of the surface for a longer period.

[takamichibeautyroom]

Tips for Shiny and Healthy Hair

We chatted with Takamichi, the proprietor of Takamichi Hair and one of New York's top beauty supply stores, for expert advice on achieving shiny hair.

Takamichi, who also designs luxurious bathroom amenities for Nine Orchard hotel, shared his salon secrets for shiny hair.

Cleansing: Begin with a double shampoo using a coin-sized amount each time. According to Takamichi, the biggest mistake we make is using too much shampoo. The first wash removes excess dirt and grime, while the second provides a deep cleaning. Rub the shampoo in your hand and run it through your hair. There will not be too many suds in the first wash. The second shampoo allows you to focus more on the roots and create a real lather. Washing your hair every two or three days is optimal for most hair types. If you wash your hair daily, use less shampoo or just wet your hair and use conditioner. Use a gentle, plant-based shampoo that will not dry out your hair.

Takamichi ICHI.1 Shampoo formulated with Camellia Oil, Essential Fatty Acids, and Plant Squalene is a true balancing shampoo for all hair types and safe for colored and chemically treated hair.

Conditioning: Achieving shiny hair comes down to when and where you apply the conditioner and being in tune with your hair. Those with fine hair may not need to use it at all, while others may only want to apply it to the ends or all over for particularly dry or coarse hair. If you have really thick hair, don't be afraid to use a lot of conditioner. Here's the best salon tip to try at home: after shampooing, wring out your hair well with a towel (not just between your hands) to remove excess water. This will allow the conditioner to penetrate more deeply, and its effect will be immediately increased tenfold. Rinse with cold water for extra shine. Use a conditioner with camellia oil to help protect and strengthen your hair and scalp.

Takamichi ICHI.1 conditioner formulated with sage and camellia oil protects and strengthens hair and scalp. Because sage has anti-inflammatory, purifying, and calming properties, it’s especially well-suited for sensitive and irritated scalps.

Drying: It is better to dry your hair with a hair dryer than to let it air dry. This is because hair swells when exposed to humidity and is 17 times more sensitive than when it is dry. Begin by drying your hair with a microfiber towel, then use a hair dryer on a low setting.

A great product is Aquis Rapid Hair Towel, a hair-drying tool engineered to strengthen hair while it dries. Functional design covers every routine from air-drying to plopping to full towel coverage—without the damage, frizz, or bulky towel you're used to. 

And never, under any circumstances, go to bed with wet hair!

Our vision for Takamichi Beauty Room looks to the centuries-old legacy of cabinets of curiosity to create a new retail conception, inspired by the past and for the present.  

Early cabinets of curiosity of the 15th and 16th centuries sought to “distill the universe” by combining naturalia, art, and scientific novelties from all over the world within the confines of a chamber. The ostensibly humanist motivation (power moves aside) in curating these aesthetic feasts of knowledge was to cultivate one’s private intellectual life; exhibiting superficially unrelated material on an aesthetic rather than rational basis with the aim of hosting curiosity & wonder in the beholder.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: I enjoyed reading your posts about Napoleon’s death and it’s quite timely given its the 200th anniversary of his death this year in May. I was wondering, because you know a lot about military history (your served right? That’s cool to fly combat helicopters) and you live in France but aren’t French, what your take was on Napoleon and how do the French view him? Do they hail him as a hero or do they like others see him like a Hitler or a Stalin? Do you see him as a hero or a villain of history?

5 May 1821 was a memorable date because Napoleon, one of the most iconic figures in world history, died while in bitter exile on a remote island in the South Atlantic Ocean. Napoleon Bonaparte, as you know rose from obscure soldier to a kind of new Caesar, and yet he remains a uniquely controversial figure to this day especially in France. You raise interesting questions about Napoleon and his legacy. If I may reframe your questions in another way. Should we think of him as a flawed but essentially heroic visionary who changed Europe for the better? Or was he simply a military dictator, whose cult of personality and lust for power set a template for the likes of Hitler? 

However one chooses to answer this question can we just - to get this out of the way - simply and definitively say that Napoleon was not Hitler. Not even close. No offence intended to you but this is just dumb ahistorical thinking and it’s a lazy lie. This comparison was made by some in the horrid aftermath of the Second World War but only held little currency for only a short time thereafter. Obviously that view didn’t exist before Hitler in the 19th Century and these days I don’t know any serious historian who takes that comparison seriously.

I confess I don’t have a definitive answer if he was a hero or a villain one way or the other because Napoleon has really left a very complicated legacy. It really depends on where you’re coming from.

As a staunch Brit I do take pride in Britain’s victorious war against Napoleonic France - and in a good natured way rubbing it in the noses of French friends at every opportunity I get because it’s in our cultural DNA and it’s bloody good fun (why else would we make Waterloo train station the London terminus of the Eurostar international rail service from its opening in 1994? Or why hang a huge gilded portrait of the Duke of Wellington as the first thing that greets any visitor to the residence of the British ambassador at the British Embassy?). On a personal level I take special pride in knowing my family ancestors did their bit on the battlefield to fight against Napoleon during those tumultuous times. However, as an ex-combat veteran who studied Napoleonic warfare with fan girl enthusiasm, I have huge respect for Napoleon as a brilliant military commander. And to makes things more weird, as a Francophile resident of who loves living and working in France (and my partner is French) I have a grudging but growing regard for Napoleon’s political and cultural legacy, especially when I consider the current dross of political mediocrity on both the political left and the right. So for me it’s a complicated issue how I feel about Napoleon, the man, the soldier, and the political leader.

If it’s not so straightforward for me to answer the for/against Napoleon question then it It’s especially true for the French, who even after 200 years, still have fiercely divided opinions about Napoleon and his legacy - but intriguingly, not always in clear cut ways.

I only have to think about my French neighbours in my apartment building to see how divisive Napoleon the man and his legacy is. Over the past year or so of the Covid lockdown we’ve all gotten to know each other better and we help each other. Over the Covid year we’ve gathered in the inner courtyard for a buffet and just lifted each other spirits up.

One of my neighbours, a crusty old ex-general in the army who has an enviable collection of military history books that I steal, liberate, borrow, often discuss military figures in history like Napoleon over our regular games of chess and a glass of wine. He is from very old aristocracy of the ancien regime and whose family suffered at the hands of ‘madame guillotine’ during the French Revolution. They lost everything. He has mixed emotions about Napoleon himself as an old fashioned monarchist. As a military man he naturally admires the man and the military genius but he despises the secularisation that the French Revolution ushered in as well as the rise of the haute bourgeois as middle managers and bureaucrats by the displacement of the aristocracy.

Another retired widowed neighbour I am close to, and with whom I cook with often and discuss art, is an active arts patron and ex-art gallery owner from a very wealthy family that came from the new Napoleonic aristocracy - ie the aristocracy of the Napoleonic era that Napoleon put in place - but she is dismissive of such titles and baubles. She’s a staunch Republican but is happy to concede she is grateful for Napoleon in bringing order out of chaos. She recognises her own ambivalence when she says she dislikes him for reintroducing slavery in the French colonies but also praises him for firmly supporting Paris’s famed Comédie-Française of which she was a past patron.

Another French neighbour, a senior civil servant in the Elysée, is quite dismissive of Napoleon as a war monger but is grudgingly grateful for civil institutions and schools that Napoleon established and which remain in place today.

My other neighbours - whether they be French families or foreign expats like myself - have similarly divisive and complicated attitudes towards Napoleon.

In 2010 an opinion poll in France asked who was the most important man in French history. Napoleon came second, behind General Charles de Gaulle, who led France from exile during the German occupation in World War II and served as a postwar president.

The split in French opinion is closely mirrored in political circles. The divide is generally down political party lines. On the left, there's the 'black legend' of Bonaparte as an ogre. On the right, there is the 'golden legend' of a strong leader who created durable institutions.

Jacques-Olivier Boudon, a history professor at Paris-Sorbonne University and president of the Napoléon Institute, once explained at a talk I attended that French public opinion has always remained deeply divided over Napoleon, with, on the one hand, those who admire the great man, the conqueror, the military leader and, on the other, those who see him as a bloodthirsty tyrant, the gravedigger of the revolution. Politicians in France, Boudon observed, rarely refer to Napoleon for fear of being accused of authoritarian temptations, or not being good Republicans.

On the left-wing of French politics, former prime minister Lionel Jospin penned a controversial best selling book entitled “the Napoleonic Evil” in which he accused the emperor of “perverting the ideas of the Revolution” and imposing “a form of extreme domination”, “despotism” and “a police state” on the French people. He wrote Napoleon was "an obvious failure" - bad for France and the rest of Europe. When he was booted out into final exile, France was isolated, beaten, occupied, dominated, hated and smaller than before. What's more, Napoleon smothered the forces of emancipation awakened by the French and American revolutions and enabled the survival and restoration of monarchies. Some of the legacies with which Napoleon is credited, including the Civil Code, the comprehensive legal system replacing a hodgepodge of feudal laws, were proposed during the revolution, Jospin argued, though he acknowledges that Napoleon actually delivered them, but up to a point, "He guaranteed some principles of the revolution and, at the same time, changed its course, finished it and betrayed it," For instance, Napoleon reintroduced slavery in French colonies, revived a system that allowed the rich to dodge conscription in the military and did nothing to advance gender equality.

At the other end of the spectrum have been former right-wing prime minister Dominique de Villepin, an aristocrat who was once fancied as a future President, a passionate collector of Napoleonic memorabilia, and author of several works on the subject. As a Napoleonic enthusiast he tells a different story. Napoleon was a saviour of France. If there had been no Napoleon, the Republic would not have survived. Advocates like de Villepin point to Napoleon’s undoubted achievements: the Civil Code, the Council of State, the Bank of France, the National Audit office, a centralised and coherent administrative system, lycées, universities, centres of advanced learning known as école normale, chambers of commerce, the metric system, and an honours system based on merit (which France has to this day). He restored the Catholic faith as the state faith but allowed for the freedom of religion for other faiths including Protestantism and Judaism. These were ambitions unachieved during the chaos of the revolution. As it is, these Napoleonic institutions continue to function and underpin French society. Indeed, many were copied in countries conquered by Napoleon, such as Italy, Germany and Poland, and laid the foundations for the modern state.

Back in 2014, French politicians and institutions in particular were nervous in marking the 200th anniversary of Napoleon's exile. My neighbours and other French friends remember that the commemorations centred around the Chateau de Fontainebleau, the traditional home of the kings of France and was the scene where Napoleon said farewell to the Old Guard in the "White Horse Courtyard" (la cour du Cheval Blanc) at the Palace of Fontainebleau. (The courtyard has since been renamed the "Courtyard of Goodbyes".) By all accounts the occasion was very moving. The 1814 Treaty of Fontainebleau stripped Napoleon of his powers (but not his title as Emperor of the French) and sent him into exile on Elba. The cost of the Fontainebleau "farewell" and scores of related events over those three weekends was shouldered not by the central government in Paris but by the local château, a historic monument and UNESCO World Heritage site, and the town of Fontainebleau.

While the 200th anniversary of the French Revolution that toppled the monarchy and delivered thousands to death by guillotine was officially celebrated in 1989, Napoleonic anniversaries are neither officially marked nor celebrated. For example, over a decade ago, the president and prime minister - at the time, Jacques Chirac and Dominque de Villepin - boycotted a ceremony marking the 200th anniversary of the battle of Austerlitz, Napoleon's greatest military victory. Both men were known admirers of Napoleon and yet political calculation and optics (as media spin doctors say) stopped them from fully honouring Napoleon’s crowning military glory.

Optics is everything. The division of opinion in France is perhaps best reflected in the fact that, in a city not shy of naming squares and streets after historical figures, there is not a single “Boulevard Napoleon” or “Place Napoleon” in Paris. On the streets of Paris, there are just two statues of Napoleon. One stands beneath the clock tower at Les Invalides (a military hospital), the other atop a column in the Place Vendôme. Napoleon's red marble tomb, in a crypt under the Invalides dome, is magnificent, perhaps because his remains were interred there during France's Second Empire, when his nephew, Napoleon III, was on the throne.

There are no squares, nor places, nor boulevards named for Napoleon but as far as I know there is one narrow street, the rue Bonaparte, running from the Luxembourg Gardens to the River Seine in the old Latin Quarter. And, that, too, is thanks to Napoleon III. For many, and I include myself, it’s a poor return by the city to the man who commissioned some of its most famous monuments, including the Arc de Triomphe and the Pont des Arts over the River Seine.

It's almost as if Napoleon Bonaparte is not part of the national story.

How Napoleon fits into that national story is something historians, French and non-French, have been grappling with ever since Napoleon died. The plain fact is Napoleon divides historians, what precisely he represents is deeply ambiguous and his political character is the subject of heated controversy. It’s hard for historians to sift through archival documents to make informed judgements and still struggle to separate the man from the myth.

One proof of this myth is in his immortality. After Hitler’s death, there was mostly an embarrassed silence; after Stalin’s, little but denunciation. But when Napoleon died on St Helena in 1821, much of Europe and the Americas could not help thinking of itself as a post-Napoleonic generation. His presence haunts the pages of Stendhal and Alfred de Vigny. In a striking and prescient phrase, Chateaubriand prophesied the “despotism of his memory”, a despotism of the fantastical that in many ways made Romanticism possible and that continues to this day.

The raw material for the future Napoleon myth was provided by one of his St Helena confidants, the Comte de las Cases, whose account of conversations with the great man came out shortly after his death and ran in repeated editions throughout the century. De las Cases somehow metamorphosed the erstwhile dictator into a herald of liberty, the emperor into a slayer of dynasties rather than the founder of his own. To the “great man” school of history Napoleon was grist to their mill, and his meteoric rise redefined the meaning of heroism in the modern world.

The Marxists, for all their dislike of great men, grappled endlessly with the meaning of the 18th Brumaire; indeed one of France’s most eminent Marxist historians, George Lefebvre, wrote what arguably remains the finest of all biographies of him.

It was on this already vast Napoleon literature, a rich terrain for the scholar of ideas, that the great Dutch historian Pieter Geyl was lecturing in 1940 when he was arrested and sent to Buchenwald. There he composed what became one of the classics of historiography, a seminal book entitled Napoleon: For and Against, which charted how generations of intellectuals had happily served up one Napoleon after another. Like those poor souls who crowded the lunatic asylums of mid-19th century France convinced that they were Napoleon, generations of historians and novelists simply could not get him out of their head.

The debate runs on today no less intensely than in the past. Post-Second World War Marxists would argue that he was not, in fact, revolutionary at all. Eric Hobsbawm, a notable British Marxist historian, argued that ‘Most-perhaps all- of his ideas were anticipated by the Revolution’ and that Napoleon’s sole legacy was to twist the ideals of the French Revolution, and make them ‘more conservative, hierarchical and authoritarian’.

This contrasts deeply with the view William Doyle holds of Napoleon. Doyle described Bonaparte as ‘the Revolution incarnate’ and saw Bonaparte’s humbling of Europe’s other powers, the ‘Ancien Regimes’, as a necessary precondition for the birth of the modern world. Whatever one thinks of Napoleon’s character, his sharp intellect is difficult to deny. Even Paul Schroeder, one of Napoleon’s most scathing critics, who condemned his conduct of foreign policy as a ‘criminal enterprise’ never denied Napoleon’s intellect. Schroder concluded that Bonaparte ‘had an extraordinary capacity for planning, decision making, memory, work, mastery of detail and leadership’.  The question of whether Napoleon used his genius for the betterment or the detriment of the world, is the heart of the debate which surrounds him.

France's foremost Napoleonic scholar, Jean Tulard, put forward the thesis that Bonaparte was the architect of modern France. "And I would say also pâtissier [a cake and pastry maker] because of the administrative millefeuille that we inherited." Oddly enough, in North America the multilayered mille-feuille cake is called ‘a napoleon.’ Tulard’s works are essential reading of how French historians have come to tackle the question of Napoleon’s legacy. He takes the view that if Napoleon had not crushed a Royalist rebellion and seized power in 1799, the French monarchy and feudalism would have returned, Tulard has written. "Like Cincinnatus in ancient Rome, Napoleon wanted a dictatorship of public salvation. He gets all the power, and, when the project is finished, he returns to his plough." In the event, the old order was never restored in France. When Louis XVIII became emperor in 1814, he served as a constitutional monarch.

In England, until recently the views on Napoleon have traditionally less charitable and more cynical. Professor Christopher Clark, the notable Cambridge University European historian, has written. "Napoleon was not a French patriot - he was first a Corsican and later an imperial figure, a journey in which he bypassed any deep affiliation with the French nation," Clark believed Napoleon’s relationship with the French Revolution is deeply ambivalent.

Did he stabilise the revolutionary state or shut it down mercilessly? Clark believes Napoleon seems to have done both. Napoleon rejected democracy, he suffocated the representative dimension of politics, and he created a culture of courtly display. A month before crowning himself emperor, Napoleon sought approval for establishing an empire from the French in a plebiscite; 3,572,329 voted in favour, 2,567 against. If that landslide resembles an election in North Korea, well, this was no secret ballot. Each ‘yes’ or ‘no’ was recorded, along with the name and address of the voter. Evidently, an overwhelming majority knew which side their baguette was buttered on.

His extravagant coronation in Notre Dame in December 1804 cost 8.5 million francs (€6.5 million or $8.5 million in today's money). He made his brothers, sisters and stepchildren kings, queens, princes and princesses and created a Napoleonic aristocracy numbering 3,500. By any measure, it was a bizarre progression for someone often described as ‘a child of the Revolution.’ By crowning himself emperor, the genuine European kings who surrounded him were not convinced. Always a warrior first, he tried to represent himself as a Caesar, and he wears a Roman toga on the bas-reliefs in his tomb. His coronation crown, a laurel wreath made of gold, sent the same message. His icon, the eagle, was also borrowed from Rome. But Caesar's legitimacy depended on military victories. Ultimately, Napoleon suffered too many defeats.

These days Napoleon the man and his times remain very much in fashion and we are living through something of a new golden age of Napoleonic literature. Those historians who over the past decade or so have had fun denouncing him as the first totalitarian dictator seem to have it all wrong: no angel, to be sure, he ended up doing far more at far less cost than any modern despot. In his widely praised 2014 biography, Napoleon the Great, Andrew Roberts writes: “The ideas that underpin our modern world - meritocracy, equality before the law, property rights, religious toleration, modern secular education, sound finances, and so on - were championed, consolidated, codified and geographically extended by Napoleon. To them he added a rational and efficient local administration, an end to rural banditry, the encouragement of science and the arts, the abolition of feudalism and the greatest codification of laws since the fall of the Roman empire.”

Roberts partly bases his historical judgement on newly released historical documents about Napoleon that were only available in the past decade and has proved to be a boon for all Napoleonic scholars. Newly released 33,000 letters Napoleon wrote that still survive are now used extensively to illustrate the astonishing capacity that Napoleon had for compartmentalising his mind - he laid down the rules for a girls’ boarding school on the eve of the battle of Borodino, for example, and the regulations for Paris’s Comédie-Française while camped in the Kremlin. They also show Napoleon’s extraordinary capacity for micromanaging his empire: he would write to the prefect of Genoa telling him not to allow his mistress into his box at the theatre, and to a corporal of the 13th Line regiment warning him not to drink so much.

For me to have my own perspective on Napoleon is tough. The problem is that nothing with Napoleon is simple, and almost every aspect of his personality is a maddening paradox. He was a military genius who led disastrous campaigns. He was a liberal progressive who reinstated slavery in the French colonies. And take the French Revolution, which came just before Napoleon’s rise to power, his relationship with the French Revolution is deeply ambivalent. Did he stabilise it or shut it down? I agree with those British and French historians who now believe Napoleon seems to have done both.

On the one hand, Napoleon did bring order to a nation that had been drenched in blood in the years after the Revolution. The French people had endured the crackdown known as the 'Reign of Terror', which saw so many marched to the guillotine, as well as political instability, corruption, riots and general violence. Napoleon’s iron will managed to calm the chaos. But he also rubbished some of the core principles of the Revolution. A nation which had boldly brought down the monarchy had to watch as Napoleon crowned himself Emperor, with more power and pageantry than Louis XVI ever had. He also installed his relatives as royals across Europe, creating a new aristocracy. In the words of French politician and author Lionel Jospin, 'He guaranteed some principles of the Revolution and at the same time, changed its course, finished it and betrayed it.'

He also had a feared henchman in the form of Joseph Fouché, who ran a secret police network which instilled dread in the population. Napoleon’s spies were everywhere, stifling political opposition. Dozens of newspapers were suppressed or shut down. Books had to be submitted for approval to the Commission of Revision, which sounds like something straight out of George Orwell. Some would argue Hitler and Stalin followed this playbook perfectly. But here come the contradictions. Napoleon also championed education for all, founding a network of schools. He championed the rights of the Jews. In the territories conquered by Napoleon, laws which kept Jews cooped up in ghettos were abolished. 'I will never accept any proposals that will obligate the Jewish people to leave France,' he once said, 'because to me the Jews are the same as any other citizen in our country.'

He also, crucially, developed the Napoleonic Code, a set of laws which replaced the messy, outdated feudal laws that had been used before. The Napoleonic Code clearly laid out civil laws and due processes, establishing a society based on merit and hard work, rather than privilege. It was rolled out far beyond France, and indisputably helped to modernise Europe. While it certainly had its flaws – women were ignored by its reforms, and were essentially regarded as the property of men – the Napoleonic Code is often brandished as the key evidence for Napoleon’s progressive credentials. In the words of historian Andrew Roberts, author of Napoleon the Great, 'the ideas that underpin our modern world… were championed by Napoleon'.

What about Napoleon’s battlefield exploits? If anything earns comparisons with Hitler, it’s Bonaparte’s apparent appetite for conquest. His forces tore down republics across Europe, and plundered works of art, much like the Nazis would later do. A rampant imperialist, Napoleon gleefully grabbed some of the greatest masterpieces of the Renaissance, and allegedly boasted, 'the whole of Rome is in Paris.'

Napoleon has long enjoyed a stellar reputation as a field commander – his capacities as a military strategist, his ability to read a battle, the painstaking detail with which he made sure that he cold muster a larger force than his adversary or took maximum advantage of the lie of the land – these are stuff of the military legend that has built up around him. It is not without its critics, of course, especially among those who have worked intensively on the later imperial campaigns, in the Peninsula, in Russia, or in the final days of the Empire at Waterloo.

Doubts about his judgment, and allegations of rashness, have been raised in the context of some of his victories, too, most notably, perhaps, at Marengo. But overall his reputation remains largely intact, and his military campaigns have been taught in the curricula of military academies from Saint-Cyr to Sandhurst, alongside such great tacticians as Alexander the Great and Hannibal.

Historians may query his own immodest opinion that his presence on the battlefield was worth an extra forty thousand men to his cause, but it is clear that when he was not present (as he was not for most of the campaign in Spain) the French were wont to struggle. Napoleon understood the value of speed and surprise, but also of structures and loyalties. He reformed the army by introducing the corps system, and he understood military aspirations, rewarding his men with medals and honours; all of which helped ensure that he commanded exceptional levels of personal loyalty from his troops.

Yet, I do find it hard to side with the more staunch defenders of Napoleon who say his reputation as a war monger is to some extent due to British propaganda at the time. They will point out that the Napoleonic Wars, far from being Napoleon’s fault, were just a continuation of previous conflicts that arose thanks to the French Revolution. Napoleon, according to this analysis, inherited a messy situation, and his only real crime was to be very good at defeating enemies on the battlefield. I think that is really pushing things too far. I mean deciding to invade Spain and then Russia were his decisions to invade and conquer.

He was, by any measure, a genius of war. Even his nemesis the Duke of Wellington, when asked who the greatest general of his time was, replied: 'In this age, in past ages, in any age, Napoleon.'

I will qualify all this and agree that Napoleon’s Russian campaign has been rightly held up as a fatal folly which killed so many of his men, but this blunder – epic as it was – should not be compared to Hitler’s wars of evil aggression. Most historians will agree that comparing the two men is horribly flattering to Hitler - a man fuelled by visceral, genocidal hate - and demeaning to Napoleon, who was a product of Enlightenment thinking and left a legacy that in many ways improved Europe.

Napoleon was, of course, no libertarian, and no pluralist. He would tolerate no opposition to his rule, and though it was politicians and civilians who imposed his reforms, the army was never far behind. But comparisons with twentieth-century dictators are well wide of the mark. While he insisted on obedience from those he administered, his ideology was based not on division or hatred, but on administrative efficiency and submission to the law. And the state he believed in remained stubbornly secular.

In Catholic southern Europe, of course, that was not an approach with which it was easy to acquiesce; and disorder, insurgency and partisan attacks can all be counted among the results. But these were principles on which the Emperor would not and could not give ground. If he had beliefs they were not religious or spiritual beliefs, but the secular creed of a man who never forgot that he owed both his military career and his meteoric political rise to the French Revolution, and who never quite abandoned, amidst the monarchical symbolism and the court pomp of the Empire, the republican dreams of his youth. When he claimed, somewhat ambiguously, after the coup of 18 Brumaire that `the Revolution was over’, he almost certainly meant that the principles of 1789 had at last been consummated, and that the continuous cycle of violence of the 1790s could therefore come to an end.

When the Empire was declared in 1804, the wording, again, might seem curious, the French being informed that the `Republic would henceforth be ruled by an Emperor’. Napoleon might be a dictator, but a part at least of him remained a son of the Enlightenment.

The arguments over Napoleon’s status will continue - and that in itself is a testament to the power of one of the most complex figures ever to straddle the world’s stage.

Will the fascination with Napoleon continue for another 200 years?

In France, at least, enthusiasm looks set to diminish. Napoleon and his exploits are scarcely mentioned in French schools anymore. Stéphane Guégan, curator of the Musée d'Orsay in Paris, which, among other First Empire artworks, houses a plaster model of Napoleon dressed as a Roman emperor astride a horse, has described France's fascination with him as ‘a national illness.’ He believes that the people who met him were fascinated by his charm. And today, even the most hostile to Napoleon also face this charm. So there is a difficulty to apprehend the duality of this character. As he wrote, “He was born from the revolution, he extended and finished it, and after 1804 he turns into a despot, a dictator.”

In France, Guégan aptly observes, there is a kind of nostalgia, not for dictatorship but for strong leaders. "Our age is suffering a lack of imagination and political utopia,"

Here I think Guégan is onto something. Napoleon’s stock has always risen or fallen according to the vicissitudes of world events and fortunes of France itself.

In the past, history was the study of great men and women. Today the focus of teaching is on trends, issues and movements. France in 1800 is no longer about Louis XVI and Napoleon Bonaparte. It's about the industrial revolution. Man does not make history. History makes men. Or does it? The study of history makes a mug out of those with such simple ideological driven conceits.

For two hundred years on, the French still cannot agree on whether Napoleon was a hero or a villain as he has swung like a pendulum according to the gravitational pull of historical events and forces.

The question I keep asking of myself and also to French friends with whom I discuss such things is what kind of Napoleon does our generation need?

Thanks for your question.

[aiiwa]

PRETTY IN PINK — IWAIZUMI HAJIME.

✗ REQUEST: may i request a lil text fic of yn having the most juiciest 🍑 and taking pics in her lingerie to send to her female friends so they can help pic out which one is the prettiest but she accidently sends them to her best friend and crush iwa and how that would go?????

— iwaizumi hajime.

⤷ genre: college au - fluff (?) / crack (?)

⤷ warnings: suggestive / mature themes, cursing, and a photo thirst trap photo (?), also iwa talking about masturbating over your photo

⤷ word count: 2.8k

— a/n: for my big booty anon i would sell my soul for 🍑💖

this is set in the same universe as freshman year, so feel free to give it a read if you’d like!!

life after meeting your boys had changed your daily routine in the best way. not a minute went by that wasn’t filled with the familiar craziness you had grown on.

free time was spent humouring mattsun by shifting the couches in their apartment around and engaging in a wrestling match, originally stemming from a fight the two of you had over the last slice of cake a month ago; the current score was an even tie of 14-14 though you had plans to take the lead. when it came to makki, he was more than happy to indulge on your self-care days; he’d even take part in your skincare routine, let you paint his nails, and liked it when you made smoothies to sip on while the two of you waited for your clay masks to dry. every other week was dedicated to retouching his roots with pink hair dye.

other days, you were set up on your bed; under the soft covers, stash of snacks next to you, while your laptop rested on your lap. and at exactly three a.m. you would receive an incoming call from, oikawa. since it would be three p.m. in argentina, he’d take to sitting out on his balcony, basking in the sun and interrogating you on the relationship, or lack thereof, you had with his dear iwa-chan.

speaking of sweet, gorgeous iwa - in your biased and majorly crushing opinion, hanging out with him was your favourite. though you’d never be heard saying that around anyone. just last week he’d all but solidified your love for him even more, when the two of you were up late, binge watching a new sci-fi show that caught iwa’s attention, and he got up to make you some coffee when you started to feel sleepy.

“here we go, coffee with two sugars for the pretty lady.” the warmth you felt run over your body settled before you grabbed at the steaming cup. taking a sip you realised you’d never told iwa how many sugars you preferred, and after asking him, you watched his faint blush bloom under the harsh light of the t.v. screen. “heh, i don’t know...just noticed it, i guess.”

but as much as you loved the guys, there were just some things you couldn’t do with them. things that required a strictly girls-only day out.

“what do you mean we’re not allowed to come? i wanna go to the mall too!” mattsun whines, tugging at the sleeve of your cropped, button-up sweater, while you were bent over tying your laces.

“it’s a girl’s day out, emphasis on girl.” smacking his hand away, you straighten up; sending him the look your mother gives you when you’re being difficult. “so unless your little pee-pee grew into a powerful vagina, you’ll be staying home.”

“but makki’s practically a girl too!” the couch cushion that flew into his face was true to its aim, the swift whack shutting mattsun up.

“fuck off, little dick.” makki grumbled, lanky figure draped over the couch; sans aforementioned couch cushion that was covering his face before. mattsun tried to throw the pillow back at the pink-haired boy, but it was caught with ease. “we agreed to never bring that up again.”

“yeah well, y/n’s talking about some girl-time shit, like we didn’t take her to a strip club, filled with male strippers.” mattsun sasses back, crossing his arms with a smirk. “like makki didn’t get a lap dance from that guy-”

from the corner of your eye, the bulky figure entering the room catches your attention instantly. you could never get tired of eyeing up the way his shirt stretched around his fit body, how his sleeves cut a bit into his arms and knowing he could rip them up with a flex of his biceps. watching him walk up to you, the tightening of his navy blue gym shorts around his shaped thighs, had you mesmerised; dragging your gaze across the outline of his bulge, you swore it twitched just before he stopped near you.

“ready to go, y/n?” he offered a small smile, twirling his keys around his finger. at the sound of his voice, the other two boys halted their bickering over the strip club incident.

“oi iwa, no fair, are you going with y/n?!” mattsun interrogates, thick brows arched in question.

“i’m dropping her off.”

“oh.” makki chimes in. “out of everyone i thought you would be the one with the most complaints, iwa. just the other day when the two of you were together, i wanted to ask y/n for help with my project but you-”

“yeah, yeah that was the other day.” iwa cuts him off, and you couldn’t help but furrow your brows, wanting to know what makki was going to say. oh well, you’ll just get it out of him after. “c’mon y/n, you’ll be late meeting the girls.”

iwa was on his way to the front door when makki asked you what was so different about this trip to the mall that you didn’t want any of the boys to come along.

“i’m going to buy new lingerie, and i need their opinions.” you shrugged, grabbing your hand bag so you could follow iwa out.

busy with shoving your phone into your purse, and checking you had all of your essentials, you failed to notice the scheming look shared between mattsun and makki. or how iwa stood frozen by the door, hand tightly gripping the handle, until you bumped into his warm back.

“lingerie...hm, i wonder for who?”

at makki’s words you felt heat rise up in your face, as you rubbed at your nose.

“y/n~! you could’ve just asked me to come along! i would love to give my opinion!”

you’d never seen keys flying so fast through the air, finding their mark on mattsun’s forehead.

after spending twenty minutes pressing an ice pack to the growing bump on mattsun’s forehead, and listening to him trying to explain to an irritated iwa that he was just playing around; you’d finally left the apartment, and was nearing the bustling shopping district. iwa had been quiet, though not awkward, with only the mellow songs of his playlist, named after you, playing during the short drive. he flicked his indicator on, spotting the two girls waving at you from the sidewalk, and pulled over to the side.

“thanks for the ride, iwa.” you mumbled distractedly, admiring the veins in his tanned arm as he shifted the gear into park.

“anything for my pretty lady.” iwa lifts the corner of his mouth up into a sweet grin, olive green eyes flitting over you next to him. he doesn’t even realise he’d called you his pretty lady, and you press a hand to your heated cheek; ignoring your friends cooing and pointing at the two of you. “do you need some money? are you gonna be warm?” he leans closer to you, putting his arm behind your seat as he searches through his gym back in the back. the intoxicating smell of his cinnamon cologne invades your senses. “i’ll give you my jacket, just let me find it.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at his antics, grabbing his bicep to stop him, giving it a firm, very self-indulgent squeeze. “iwa.” you called out to him. he turned to look at you, wide eyed and so fucking adorable. “you’re acting like my mom.” 

his handsome features relaxed as he released an airy laugh. “well i love your mom, so i’m fine with that.” he pulled his arm from behind you, jacket in his grip, though not in a way to make you let go of his arm.

“i still can’t believe she messages you to make sure i’m eating right.” you groaned, still squeezing his arm playfully. “and stop trying to give me money, it’s like you want to be my sugar daddy or something.”

iwa’s arm tenses under your touch as he processes your words. “alright, time for you to go.” you manage to catch the bright blush dusting his cheeks; your hand reaching out to pinch them yet all you feel is the material of his jacket as he shoves it into your arms. “get out, your friends are waiting for you.”

you pout at his dismissal; but with the way he was so flustered, scratching the back of his neck and hiding his pretty eyes, you decide to let him off easy 

“‘kay, fine~” you drawled in a sing-song voice.

making a show of collecting your things together, you dramatically tugged your seat belt loose; reaching for the door but halting in your actions when the weight of his large hand, dropped on top of your head. allowing him to angle your head to face him, he gifted you with a soft smile that had you ready to melt into the passenger seat. 

“be safe, alright?” your eyes blinked with each gentle pat on your head - once, twice, thrice - most likely ruffling your hair you’d spent a good amount of time on. “now go, text me and i’ll pick you up later.”

puffing your cheeks, you nodded as he squeezed your scalp affectionately. unlocking the door, you stepped outside into the cool air, wrapping iwa’s big jacket over your shoulders as goosebumps rose underneath the thin material of your sweater. bumping the door closed with your hip, you bent at the waist and stuck your head through the open window 

“bye, iwa.” your lips pressed together in a shy smile.

he mirrored your smile. “see you later, pretty lady.”

walking away, tugging the collar of his jacket closer, you could feel his eyes following after you. only half-listening as the girls teased you, hooking their arms through yours to walk through the entrance of the mall; you glanced back once more to see iwa stick a hand out and wave, before driving off once you disappeared from his view.

steam whirled up and around iwa, as a contented sigh escaped his parted lips. stood underneath the spray of warm water, he felt the tension begin to evaporate from his taut muscles 

iwa’s gym sessions, as of late, had been rather extreme. well, it had been this way for a couple of months now, ever since he had met you. he had to overwork his body, send it into overdrive and power through the fatigue - it was the only way to release some of his pent up frustration. the frustration that came with crushing on you, and not acting on it.

you were so fucking gorgeous to him, and you were so damn sweet. every part of his being was steadily entangling itself around your presence, and he had no idea how to stop it. not that he would even want to try. when you were nearby, his ears would begin to twitch at the sound of your voice, searching for you; and when you touched him, wrapping your delicate fingers around his arm to steady yourself, or poking your fingers at his back absentmindedly while teasing his roommates, he could feel his skin tingle all over. but it was when you would look up at him, sparkles in your beautiful eyes, that iwa knew he was a goner.

you had him wrapped around your pretty little finger, and he just wanted to make you his. have you in his arms…and bury himself so deep inside you-

“fuck.”

he shut off the shower with a bit more force than necessary. this was exactly the reason why he’d been visiting the gym more, working out for longer, because his mind was plagued with thoughts of you under him.

especially after seeing you in your cute outfit today. he feared that you’d catch his eyes lingering too long on the exposed skin of your tummy, or trying to memorise the curve of your lush thighs in those jeans. hell, he could barely say anything to you on the drive to the mall, tongue running dry with you so close to him.

with a huff, he carefully stepped out of the shower; wrapping his fully white towel around his hips, and moving into his room. kicking the door closed behind him, he made his way towards his side table just in time for his phone to go off.

grabbing the device and waiting a second for the facial recognition to process; he was surprised to see it was an instagram notification from you. expecting another food porn post, he was dead wrong; with absolutely nothing that could’ve prepared him for what greeted his eyes.

“holy,” he collapsed onto his bed, holding his phone to his face. “fuck.”

you...you-

“fuck!” he growled out.

you’d sent him a photo in your new lingerie, albeit it was most likely by accident, but there you were modelling your new all-pink set. the one he had 'chosen’.

with your arms raised above your head, brushing your hair over your shoulders, the stretched out pose accentuated the curve of your breasts, almost spilling out from the strapped confines of your bra. could he even call it that? it was all studded belt straps and buckles, that matched the thick choker-collar around your lithe neck, and it was not helping his current situation. grazing his eyes lower, a thin belt was clipped around your waist, before a sliver of skin lead downwards to the skinny, almost sheer, material of your panties. it was high waisted, dipping behind your wide hips and the teasing curve of your ass. and then your thighs, fuck how he wanted his face to be squeezed between them. thigh-high stockings dug into your plush thighs, squished out from the way you were sitting on your rug.

leaning back onto his bed, iwa was tempted to check if his heart was still beating, if he was even breathing at this point. but he did check, and he was alive; and the blood circulating his body was currently flowing straight to his groin.

the sight of you, so fucking pretty in pink, was burned into his mind forever.

under his palms the prickling sensation spread across his fingers, itching to relieve himself. one hand trailed across the panes of his abdomen, while the other grabbed at his phone; though it almost went flying out of his hand when it started vibrating and your contact photo flashed on his screen.

“shit.” he cursed, clearing his throat and trying to even out his breathing. he accepted the call after a moment. “hello?”

“iwa?!” at the sound of your voice he could feel his dick twitch, and he clenched his teeth together; annoyed at himself. he needed to get a grip. “oh my god, iwa, i am so sorry!”

‘no, i’m sorry that i want to fuck you so bad right now.’ is what he wants to say. “it’s...fine, y/n.” is what he manages to get out.

he hears you chuckle a bit awkwardly on the other end of the line. “shit, i’m so embarrassed right now.” you confess. “i meant to send that to the girls…”

“you don’t have to be embarrassed.” if anyone was to embarrassed it was him. he’d spent months pining after you, and now here he was lying on his bed aching to touch himself to you, towel fisted in his free hand. “you’re beautiful, y/n.” at least that managed to come out right.

“thank you, iwa...i only realised what happened when i was about to send another showing the back!” you laughing at your antics fell deaf on his ears, when the thought of your ass seized control of his mind.

how often had he admired the shape of you the past few months. daydreaming of the way you’d feel in his big hands, silky skin dug into by his long fingers, cheeks jutting out between them. he wanted to hold your ass in the palms of his hands, squeeze and tease you...his hips buck up, grinding against the cotton of the towel and a loud groan escapes his mouth.

“oh- iwa? are you okay?” you asked him, so innocently. he couldn’t take it anymore.

“i’m good...i just- something’s come up,” he hissed out, glancing down at the red tip of his cock peeping up at him. “i’ll call you later.”

“oh, of course! sorry again iwa, hehe, i’ll delete the photo. talk soon!”

his eyes shut at the sound of your giggle, free hand already rubbing himself. “bye.”

ending the call and moving the phone away from his face, he stared at the photo again, thumb hovering over the ‘save’ option, before pressing yes. he’d keep it locked away just for him, a treasured piece of you in his gallery. starting to stroke himself to your perfect body, he waited for the notification that you had deleted the photo from the conversation.

but it never came, though he did, and the photo remained buried under new food posts sent from you.

yet it wasn’t til a few weeks after that iwa began to think that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as much of an accident as you made it out to be.

© 2020 AIIWA. please do not copy, modify or repost my work.

[nicklloydnow]

“A scientific theory must be testable. To be considered true, that truth must be demonstrated, objectively and replicably, in the physical world. Literary theories are not testable. If they were, they would be scientific theories.

To gain academic traction, a literary theory need only appeal to other literary theorists. The post-structuralists, motivated perhaps by the time-honored French desire to “epater la bourgeoisie”—to shock or scandalize the respectable middle class—enjoyed flexing their intellects, pulling assorted rugs out from under their audience, and quite possibly, putting us on. Many American professors, however, took this intellectual flexing for E = mc2 gospel.

Post-structuralism might have faded out of fashion as literary theories tend to do. Instead, post-structuralist thought leaked from universities into the rest of Western culture, which had been drifting toward nihilism for some time.

Communication between people is essentially impossible, post-structuralist theory declared. The slipperiness of language and the uniqueness of individual experience doom us never to understand one another.

(…)

In any case, there is no absolute meaning, literary or philosophical. Standards, including ideas of good and bad, are relative and changeable, not dictated by an infallible God, but laid down by the powerful to exploit the weak.

A culture in which such ideas are weighed and debated among high-level thinkers may be admirably brave, creative, and open. A culture, though, in which such ideas are generally accepted as true—that culture is in trouble: concrete, physical-world trouble, and psychological trouble, too.

Strict reliance on the intellect to make sense of the world leads ineluctably to despair, rubbing our noses in the inescapability of pain and death. As Woody Allen quips in his book Without Feathers, “Whoever shall not fall by the sword or by famine shall fall by pestilence, so why bother shaving?”

(…)

In the West, where religion was already losing its grip, nihilistic thinkers have succeeded, to a degree that might have surprised even them, in undermining the foundations of civilization itself, calling its most fundamental values and tenets into question. The founding mythologies of nations, cherished stories of heroism and or goodness past or present, the ideals that once made life understandable and rewarding, were “interrogated,” judged to be naïve and or perfidious, then pulverized and dumped on the landfill of history.

Existentialism arose, originally, from the collapse of certainties. Thrown into a meaningless world of suffering and death, hapless humans nonetheless have choice, and therefore, freedom, Existentialism proclaimed. We can choose our own morality, choose our own values and meaning, and choose how we will live. Not believing in God, we may still choose to behave as if He, or something worth believing in, exists.

Alas, as Dostoevsky's Grand Inquisitor eloquently states, such freedom is terrifying, and far too difficult for most of humankind. We search for experts to tell us how to live. We may seize upon exhausted traditions of the past, or leap to questionable new ideologies—Proud Boys, The People’s Republic of Whatever. And behind all of this, ready to leap out at any instant and overwhelm us, is depression, anxiety, and despair.

Our culture is suffering through a plague of mental illness. How could it be otherwise? To be psychologically healthy in a world that ends, for each of us, in pain and dissolution, people need something to hope for and believe in. We need the things untestable academic theories have helped to take from us—heroes to look up to, stories that inspire and teach, clear paths toward virtue and self-worth, and a sense that not only evil, but goodness is real. We need to feel the earth solid under our feet.”

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Don’t Feed The Flames - Bucky Barnes x (f)reader, Natasha x platonic (f) reader

Summary: Bucky has made you angry after a tough mission with the crew, why you ask? Apparently he thinks it’s totally fine to run inside a burning building to help you complete the mission in question. 

Warning: bit of angst, mostly a good time with the team, Bucky fluff shoved in ur welcome

-reader has fire powers btw, I don’t wanna confuse anyone lol

Masterlist

The mission was difficult to say the least, successful in its own right, but tough for everyone involved. All the Avengers were needed for this clusterfuck of a mission, minus Bruce and Thor who are elsewhere in the universe, lucky them.

All the team needed to do was infiltrated one of the last highly armed Hydra bases left in existence, get rid of the artillery and boom, slither right on in. Objective? Snatch valuable intel as to where the other bases are hiding, and surprise surprise, you and Wanda had to take care of some very pissed off experimentees who were unfortunately brainwashed beyond the point of helping them recover.

Ending the night in everyone quickly evacuating the premise with the essentials while you stayed back to blow up the base to nothing more then bricks and ash. Although during this, Bucky stayed back to shoot some freelancers who tried to take you the fuck out, with what would you know it; flame throwers.

Apparently Hydra is greatly lacking in weapons and functioning brain cells, among other things. Granted, you understood Bucky’s concern for your well-being when he ran into the fire. But oh dear lord were you not happy with him one goddamn bit.

Luckily Sam was able to pluck him out before anything fell on your idiot boyfriend while you were producing mass destruction in the giant airplane storage area. In the aftermath, you came out unharmed but covered in smudge marks and burnt off cloves yet again.

Bucky? Well he came away with a pissed off girlfriend and his life to say the least. And let’s just say the long four hour ride back was a tad bit awkward, even if you were too damn exhausted to show your irritation with Bucky. The team sure as hell knew he wasn’t going to be spared of your wrath when the jet landed.

It took approximately ten seconds for your man to shuffle out of your line of sight, using Steve as a shield to hide behind while they walked out. You had been distracted when Natasha asked for something picked up, then suddenly your mind was on Bucky. A moment later you stomped out of the Quinjet in pursuit of the one and only James Buchanan Barnes as he awaited your fury.

“James!” You growl fiercely, “You are the most fucking reckless person I’ve ever fucking met and I’m literally friends with Tony!” You snap while the rest of your teammates go about their business, trying to listen yet smartly staying out of everything.

“I know.” Mutters Bucky like a kicked puppy suffering his mother’s wrath, blue eyes looking at you with regret clearly visible on his handsome face.

“You know! You know!? Then why the fuck would you just run into the flames like that!” You shout while throwing your arms into the air in frustration, “You’re not fire proof Bucky!”

“Y/N...”

“Do you have a goddamn death wish!?” You interrupt, giving him a dumbfounded look as he glances from Steve to the floor then back to you again, trying to find something or someone with enough pity to help him. 

He finds none, “Well....no.” Your brows raise yet again at his short and annoyingly blunt answers to make up for his stupidly daring boldness. 

“Then why-ugh, whatever never mind.” You dismiss with a wave of your hand before quickly turning on your heels to walk for the metal doors into the main part of the facility, while the others keep their distance from your heated state.

“Wait Y/N, come back I’m sorry!” Exclaims Bucky desperately while you continue to ignore your reckless man, “You’re right I shouldn’t have....ugh...come on babe....shit...” Mutters Bucky as he watches you leave him in such a heated state.

“Dude just let her cool off, oh uh well....no pun intended.” Jokes Sam with a shrug as Bucky watches you stomp away in frustration, your body almost sizzling with actual flame.

“I didn’t mean to....well...ugh, shit I guess I kind of did.” Admits Bucky with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as you slam the door shut with a loud thud, “Sometimes I forget fire can’t hurt her. I should have just let her handle the burning building herself instead of going inside when she uh, told me not to.”

Steve walks out of the Quinjet with a bag in hand to greet the two, “Y/N seemed a bit...”

“Pissed off.” Adds Sam with a light chuckle as Bucky frowns at the giant glass window.

“Yeah.” Mutters Steve awkwardly as he side eyes Bucky, “Well ugh, see you guys at dinner, I think Wanda and Vision are getting takeout from somewhere.”

“See ya Steve.”

“Bye.”

Sam and Bucky watch as Steve heads for the metal doors, soon he’s gone and the two are the only Avengers left in the giant parking garage of sorts.

“She’s going to hate me for the rest of the day I know it.” Sadly mutters Bucky, already missing your beautiful face no matter what state your in.

“I wouldn’t say it’s hate.”

“She’s going to be very disappointed in me then.”

“Yeah probably.”

Bucky gives him an offended look, “You’re supposed to say something uplifting or positive.”

“Man don’t look at me for relationship advice. This is Y/N we’re talking about, just give her a couple hours she’ll simmer down.” Inquirers Sam with a friendly pat on the back before he starts walking away for the door, as casually and unbothered as ever.

Bucky keeps silent for a moment while his mind swims with what to do next, suddenly he looks up at his retreating friend, “Hey Sam!” Shouts Bucky just as Sam opens up the door, causing him to stop and give his friend a quizzical look.

“What?!”

“Fuck you!”

Sam immediately snorts, “You brought this upon yourself brother!” And with that he shuts the door leaving Bucky alone and full of regret for putting himself in danger today when you specifically told him you could handle yourself.

Why is caring for someone so hard, wonders Bucky.

——

After taking a greatly needed shower and putting on a fresh new pair of comfortable clothing for the evening, you slipped past your friends rooms and away from where Bucky may be hiding.

Until at last you made it to Natasha’s door without being caught by anyone in the hallway and stopped for a needless conversation. Soon enough you slip into Nat’s room and saunter around for a bit as you wait for her to end her shower.

“Oh shit!” Gasps Natasha as soon as she opens the door and notices you poking around her stuff, “Jesus Y/N how’d you get in here!?”

“I opened the door.”

“I thought I locked it?”

“You did.”

Natasha gives you a puzzled look as you wander over to her nightstand, nonchalantly minding your business while picking up her current novel as she watches you curiously, “So uh, how’s it going?” She asks cautiously, well aware of your irritation with Bucky earlier that day.

Flipping through the pages you answer her honestly, “I’m fine now.”

Natasha nods before turning around to search through her drawers for an outfit, “I figured that much, considering if you were still pissed you’d be throwing fireballs into the cement wall downstairs.” She quips with her usual smirk as you gently close the book and set it back in its rightful place.

“That is.....true.” You agree with a shrug, “I’m just sending a message at this point.”

“Oh really?” Laughs Natasha while slipping on a shirt, “Poor Bucky then.”

“Yeah well he was being an idiot tough guy so....it’s what I’m doing.” You add with a lopsided smug grin, “Serves him right for being reckless with no regard for his physical safety. I love him but at what cost?”

“Someone needs to tell Steve that.” Mutters Natasha as she pulls on some sweatpants.

You chuckle, “What? That someone needs to tell Steve they love him? Not a bad idea.”

“That too.” Points Natasha, “I seriously don’t know how he’s not dead yet.”

Your brows furrow in thought for a moment, “He’s built like a stone sentinel with a will greater then many, he fears nothing.” You deadpan, face stoic and serious.

“Just about.” Laughs Natasha as you begin to cackle right along with her, in the middle of your laughing fit does the door suddenly burst open to reveal...

“Hello ladies.” Chirps Tony with an award winning smile, usual old T-shirt on and hair a bit of a mess though somehow managing to keep his Stark charm.

“I really need to get an automatic lock on that thing.” Mutters Nat to no one in particular.

“What’s up Stark.” You add with an acknowledging tilt of your head, “You here to bother us or tell us something interesting?”

“Everything I say is interesting my dear sparky.” Quips Tony with a brow wiggle.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Right, anyways. Foods here.” Chides Tony as he sets a hand on his hip, “Unless you’re both too cool for movie night. More for us then, I’ll have Vision drop off our half eaten tacos.”

“We have tacos?” You ask with an intrigued raise of your brow, just wanting to confirm and make sure he’s not bluffing, you fucking love taco night.

“Yep.”

“How long have they been here?”

“Wanda and Vis just arrived so you’re the first two I found.” Oh, fuck yeah!

Turning your head to a smirking Natasha you smile back before bolting for the door, “Move Stark!” You snap before shoving him to the side and cackling as you and Natasha book it down the hall with Tony trying to keep up in the background. What can you say, Natasha always makes it a competition and its taco night. Sometimes you gotta play dirty.

Soon you and your assassin best friend who you tripped up before reaching the door finally skid into the Avengers giant lounging area. The room is relatively empty with the exception of Wanda and Vision who are seated at the large metal table near the kitchen where all the various paper bags of tacos are seated. And ripe for the taking.

Smelling absolutely delicious all tucked snug in their wrapping and filled with the most divine ingredients, you could just about die of happiness. With a beaming smile upon your face and the surprised expressions from your two friends you belt out loudly, “Tacos FUCK YEAH!” Before racing for the bags and getting tripped by Natasha.

Whipping your head up to watch her snatch a bag you growl half angrily, “You bitch.” While she happily smiles back down at you, taco in hand.

“What are you doing on the floor? Foods here.” She jokes as you quickly walk over to the counter with all the bags.

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious now give me that.”

After about ten minutes of eating and shooting the breeze with Natasha, Wanda, Vision, and Tony; you’re ears immediately catch the sounds of thundered running down the hallway and other muffled curses from two familiar individuals.

“Fun’s arrived.” Whispers Natasha with a friendly nudge to your arm as it lays on the flat surface of the table while you absentmindedly crumple up a wrapper.

Biting your lip you anticipate the impending commotion, “Fantastic.” And this whole evening could be more enjoyable if your hundred year old boyfriend would have used some common sense.

A second later the door swings open to reveal a panting Sam before Bucky slides in after him, equally as flustered, those two idiots. As they stand there collecting their breaths, Steve casually steps into the room, walking past them and over to the bags of tacos, “Aw sweet, taco night.” He confirms excitedly, hungrily eyeing up a particular bag.

Rolling your eyes, you slouch carelessly into your expensive swivel chair before turning to Wanda who’s seated across from you, “Hey, Red Riding Hood, you’re up.” She turns her attention away from Vision and nods before giving you a sly smirk and using her power to send a balled up piece of taco wrapping straight for your head.

In one calculably swift motion do you incinerate the paper material before its able to reach your face, “Y/N you’re going to set the fire detectors off.” Laughs Tony as he crumbles up a new ball.

“Eh, we could afford a renovation.”

Tony fake scoffs, “Rude.”

“Well Y/N, I thought you did great.” Applauds Wanda with a chuckle as the three other men walk around to the far end where no one is seated, “Alright Tony you next.”

You refrain from making any eye contact with Bucky who steals a few longing glances at your smiling face, instead he follows Sam and Steve to the opposite end and watches as you quickly turn another balled up paper to ash. The sounds of your laughter and the rest of the tables almost enough to drive him insane.

Yet he refrains, Bucky knows he’s essentially in time out, reason for almost getting himself killed today; and you’re not breaking anytime soon, or so he thinks.

Ignoring the three boys hungrily attacking their poor tacos away from the main groups theatrics, Vision suddenly gains your attention, “Well I suppose I should participate with this game or fear feeling left out....uh, what is the objective? Or perhaps the name?”

“They throw wrappers at me and I set them on fire before it hits myself or the ground.” You reply while crumbling up another piece, leaving Vision to process the possible deeper meaning to your brief explanation, though there really isn’t one. It’s just for fun.

“By the way I’ve been able to get her exactly once.” Brags Tony with a shit eating grin, causing you to scoff at that memory. 

“Oh fuck all the way off you flicked water into my face and then threw the paper.”

“And it was very much worth it.” He confirms as you roll your eyes at his cheating from last taco night.

The rest of your friends fill the room with snickers and some louder laughter coming from Sam down at the far end, with a raised brow you snap your head in that direction and stand, “Something funny bird boy?” You quip in a half threatening manner.

Sam’s smirk immediately drops from his face as his expression appears nonchalant, “What nooo. That was Steve.” He mutters before taking another bite out of his taco.

“Y/N that was definitely not me.”

“Uh huh.”

“Maybe it was Bucky.” Jokes Sam as you shift your fiery attention over to a fearful Bucky who quickly shakes his head before smacking Sam on the arm.

“No.” You confirm with a knowing smirk, “He doesn’t have a death wish.”

“Well neither do I please have mercy.” Pleads Sam with hands raised in defeat, “I would like to finish my taco.”

You stare down at them for a brief tension filled moment before casually shrugging, “Yeah alright.” Before sitting back down again.

——

Opening up the trash can you quickly shove down three giant paper bags from dinner with a bit of effort considering how full it is. Natasha and Vision are cleaning up in various areas nearby while Sam, Bucky, Natasha, Steve, and Tony sit in the lounging area discussing if it was necessary that Dobby was killed off in the Deathly Hallows. You know, normal things you discuss with your superpowered friends.

Well Bucky is mostly just listening and stealing glances over to you every couple of minutes, really wishing you would just walk over to him and let him show you how sorry he was with the biggest hug he could possibly muster. Probably never letting you go again, though you wouldn’t mind.

Ignoring your own longing to be cuddled up next to Bucky, you instead fight with the damn trash can to fucking shut its dumb lid already. With one hand forcefully shoving down bags, paper plates, and banana peels you start to think if volunteering for clean up was even worth it.

A blue flame suddenly erupts from your palm and makes a big black hole through the paper bags and plates, your eyes go wide in surprise as you immediately retract your hand from the trash and shut the lid just as quickly.

Taking a single step back you let out a breath before turning your head to find Bucky watching your whole ordeal go down with a drink in hand, guess he must have gotten up to get some juice and stayed for your one on one brawl with the trash can. Rolling your eyes, you wave it off, “Completely under control.” You mutter as he slowly nods.

Well this is awkward.

Shifting your gaze from Bucky to your friends and back to Bucky again, he finally speaks, “Is that why the lid has smoke coming from under it?”

“What?” You wonder in puzzlement before looking back down at the trash can to find smoke indeed rising, “Oh fuck!” Ripping the lid off you’re kindly greeted with a burst of flame and smoke. Well, shit.

“Uh, Y/N?” Asks Bucky with an uncertain chuckle, “You’re positive everything is under control?” Quips your smartass boyfriend.

With more flames rising to an almost alarming level, though not quit yet, you glance at your oblivious friends before racing for the sink, “Yes! Everything is fucking fine!” Wanda skips to the side as you snatch a cup of something from the counter by the sink.

Running back you skid in your tracks and dump the clear liquid onto the flames which causes them to rise even higher and gain the attentions of everyone sitting down and relaxing, “Why is my trash can on fire?” Asks Tony as casually as ever.

“I don’t know maybe it looks better this way?!” You sass before giving the glass a double take, “The hell? What the fuck was in this!” You shout, holding up the glass while fire burns in the trash from behind you.

“Oh that had some Quinjet fuel in it, why do you ask?” Replies Tony, he’s gotta be fucking with you.

Squinting at him in bewilderment, you shake the empty glass in frustration, “Why the fuck would there be a random glass of fuel sitting in a clear unlabeled glass on the fucking sink of all places!”

“What did you think it was?”

“Oh I don’t know!? Water?!” You snap causing the fire to roar even higher at your outburst.

Looking almost like a demon princess standing there with flames rising from behind you, your fists ball up with blue flame, something that you don’t even realize is happening as you give Tony a (what the fuck are you actually stupid) face.

Sensing your obvious irritation and rising anger, Bucky comes to the rescue with a whole bowl full of actual water and promptly dumbs it onto the flames which causes the unless materials to sizzle and whine. Soon the oranges and reds are gone, leaving the contents turned to ash and nothing more then wet soot.

Distinguishing your own flames, you hang your head low, revealing a tired heavy sigh as you mumble, “Shit.” Suddenly you feel admittedly quit drained and annoyed from the events of the day, even if they weren’t all bad.

Your friends keep silent for a moment before Steve quickly stands, “Movie night anyone?” Gaining the attention of everyone in an instant; you bless the blonde for his intuitive ways of helping you out in the smallest of moments. He truly is a great friend.

“Yeah I could watch something.” Adds Sam with a shrug, “I’m thinking Deathly Hallows Part 2.”

“Yeah it’s pretty good I’ll join.”

“Me too.”

“Yeah I’m in.”

Everyone get up and begins walking for the door as you stay standing in your spot near the wet and ash covered metal trash can, everyone exiting for the home theater except for Bucky who’s back is to you while he tells Sam you’ll be there in a minute.

Folding your arms, you suddenly feel like it’s the first time you and Bucky have ever talked one on one with each other, you’re typically a pretty damn confident and fiery person to begin with, it’s just. Being mad at your favorite human in the whole entire world and then embarrassing yourself with accidentally setting the trash can on fire can take its toll.

Also not to mention the mission many hours ago was admittedly hectic and stress inducing and then, Bucky....perhaps a moment to calm down would have been smart if taken earlier. God your life moves to damn fast.

“You are so intense sometimes.”

Breaking out of your self reflective trance, your eyes quickly dart up to see Bucky who’s giving you a soft smile, “If you wanted my attention you could have just asked.”

“Very funny.” You scoff, “I was actually too busy being mad at you.”

“Ah, right.” Nods Bucky as he mirrors your defensive positioning, deciding to cross his arms and make a pouty face like yourself, “So I guess we’ll just stay here and brood then?”

“I’m trying to make a point.” You mutter, you’re not gonna crack, you’re not gonna do it.

“I’m trying to get my girlfriend to watch a movie with me.” Admits Bucky with an affectionate head tilt as you frown, “I know they’re not going to wait for us so....uh....okay let me start over.....I’m sorry for being reckless and almost dying. And I mean it too, with all of my heart. I love you Y/N.”

Although you’d like to throw his dumb reckless ass some sass and strut away leaving him guessing and begging for more, you just can’t find it in you at this point. He looks at you with those big beautiful blue eyes full of love and adoration for you and only you, how could you possibly resist them?

You know with every ounce of your soul that he means every single word, and you also know that he’s missed you since the second you yelled at him and slammed the facility door, leaving him alone and regretting his past decisions that could have potentially ended him then and there.

“Sometimes James, sometimes.” You mutter, shaking your head in disapproval before a small smirk pulls at your lips and in that moment he knows you’re his, “Come here.”

Heeding to your wonderful command that he’s been waiting to hear all day, he swiftly makes the short distance to gather your smaller body into a giant Bucky bear hug, his strong arms wrap protectively around your back as his head falls into the side of your neck as he quickly steals a small kiss.

You pull him in even tighter and fully enjoy the sensation of himself flush against you, metal arm squeezing your rip cage and long dark hair that falls into your eyes; god you love him so much.

Giving you one last little squeeze of affection, Bucky slowly pulls away and presses his head against yours, “I gotta be honest, I have no idea what this movie is about.” Reveals Bucky as he continues to holds you close.

Chuckling you press a kiss to his lips, “I’ll tell you what’s happening. Let’s go before we miss anything else.”

Nodding, he tilts your head up to press a sweet kiss to your lips one last time before letting you go, so that the two of you can begin walking for the door. Opening up the metal and glass door for you like the gentleman that he is, Bucky quickly jogs over to your side.

“So Sam told me these guys are wizards or something? Like they can teleport and fly I think?” States Bucky in question while walking in step with you.

Looking over at him you smile at how cute he’s being right now, giving him an agreeable nod, “Yeah they can do cool stuff like change form and set things on fire.”

Bucky suddenly starts laughing much to your confusion, “Y/N does that make you a wizard?”

Shoving him to the side you snort as he keeps laughing, “Shut up.” You mutter humorously as he stumbles from your friendly push.

Making quick steps to catch up with you, Bucky pulls you into his side, “Forgive me I didn’t mean it...” Snickers your adorable idiot, “I bet you’d be the best wizard, pointy hat and all.”

Shaking your head you can’t help the smirk that tugs against your better wishes, “I’m gonna set you on fire.” You jokingly threaten him with as he affectionately squeezes your side, causing you to be pressed even closer against him.

“Wizard.” Muses Bucky as he plants a kiss to your cheek as you try and push him away.

“Bucky, shut the fuck up.”

“But, I love you.”

[makoxmind]

35, 46, 50

35; are they possessive over their things? or over other people? Both?

Extremely so! He has little want nor need for material things but he despises anyone who touches or moves his clothes, his pauldron, or his sword, because if he has put them somewhere hes put them there for a reason (easy access, always in view, quick to equip). He isn’t one to ‘leave things laying around’ at all and if someone picks up something of his he immediately stops whatever hes doing and aggros on them like a low level mmo enemy trying to get it back this is all the other person hears the moment they touch them https://youtu.be/YVTR8lTnnx8

When it comes to people, he acts like he isn’t possessive over them, because that goes against his outward persona of being cool and unruffled by the little things… however. Even though outwardly he is merely side-eyeing those who vy for the attention of his close friends, when it comes to them being touched in any way, he instantly decides for them that any contact is too much. Cloud doesn’t really understand body language that much and perceives threats way too easily, so a stranger giving a friend a friendly pat on the shoulder really rubs him the wrong way! The only time its acceptable (to him) is when its friends interacting with friends… otherwise, those who would even dare to flirt with Tifa, Zack or Aerith is gonna end up with a very short man either silently blocking their next move or just just full on yapping at them to ‘step back’ like hes a little body guard WEPTOGGWEWGPGWPEGPGREWP

(Because hes pathetic the idea of those three paying any kind of endearing attention to others when hes right there………………….. hmm.)

46; if they could control one thing in the world, what would it be?

Time. There are so many things he wants to go back and redo and so many moments where he feels like he did ‘wrong’, either via overreacting, underreacting, saying the wrong thing or doing the wrong thing. In the moment he felt like he was right, but he reflects often on his past. What if his mother could have been saved? What if he had actually killed Sephiroth instead of faltering so easily? What if he had tried to be closer to Tifa as a child? What if he had tried to open up to people when he joined Shinra in the first place? Why did he lose those specific members of Avalanche (spoiler safe here) and what would have happened if he had tried harder? Been faster? Cloud feels like hes constantly letting people down, but maybe if he could redo things again, he could show others that he is capable of being someone that truly saves others.

50; where do they see themselves in 2 / 5 / 10 years? (Warning for death mentions )

He believes he will most likely be dead. There were plenty of moments in Remake where he seemed to be entirely accepting of death, and now more than ever if he has something to protect… well, then he doesnt really matter to himself. If he has to die to save someone or to kill Sephiroth then so be it, he sees himself as just another cog in an ever turning universe and his life isn’t essential for it to keep turning. Though he refuses to die until hes done some semblance of good, there is no doubt in his mind that the coming journey out into the world will be his actual undoing. Thats ok. The world is more important… and he feels he is so, so insignificant.

If he doesnt die, hes always thought being an actual mercenary would be his calling, no longer for the profit of it but because of his desire to save. He’s seen suffering on a terrible scale done by those who have too much power. Easing that suffering selflessly would be what a real hero would do, whether it meant continuing to destroy the lives of those who think they tower above others or by killing monsters ravaging town. It’s only downside is that he knows he’d be incredibly lonely doing that… so he imagines frequently returning to wherever ‘home’ is, where Aerith and Tifa will hopefully be safe and waiting. (ZOINKS)

[lalainajanes]

For “neighborhood block party” on my bingo card! This one takes place in the same universe as Sweet As (quirky supernatural small town fic in which Caroline’s a dryad who owns a bakery and Klaus is the leader of the local werewolf pack and mates are a thing ;) ) though it’s more of a prequel.

The Fall Festival

Before he’d met Caroline, Klaus’ mornings had fallen into a predictable pattern.

He would wake up at the same time, wander into his kitchen to find a full pot of coffee and a pack member or two. Occasionally, there was an emergency. Sometimes there was an issue where his opinion was wanted. Most often, his visitors would come with a problem that could have been solved without Klaus’ input, though he’d never complained.

Klaus had been an outsider once, had become pack leader when the father he’d never known had died, and Marcel had shown up at his door in Chicago. At the time, Klaus had resented the disruption to his life.

Now, he doesn’t understand how he’d survived so long, locking himself in a cage every month.

His mother had explained his parentage when he’d turned twelve, and it had been revelatory, explained why he’d always struggled to wield even a hint of the power that came naturally to his siblings. Esther had told him what to expect, that he’d be dangerous, but she’d refused to tell Klaus anything about the man who’d passed him the werewolf genes, hadn’t even supplied a name.

The rift in their relationship had begun there, had only widened since. When Klaus had chosen to accept his birthright, he’d ensured he’d never be welcome in the home he’d grown up in. He’d never regretted it.

Most of his siblings happily defy their parents to visit, and the pack had become another sort of family.

Three months after Caroline had opened her shop, Klaus had trekked out into the forest to deal with one of the rare emergencies. A scent had been picked up on a security run two days prior, of a young, unfamiliar wolf.

A wolf who proved to have a gift for hiding.

Klaus and his inner circle had been trying to track the interloper, had to find them before the next full moon. His pack had long-standing agreements with the humans and the various local supernatural sects. A young wolf could have jeopardized the easy peace the town enjoyed without meaning to. Klaus and his pack would have had to pay the price.

Young wolves could not always assert human will over animal instincts, which could be deadly if any prey crossed their paths.

And to a werewolf, just about anyone can be prey.

That morning Klaus had decided to head west to an area of that woods that was dense with trees and wildlife. His pack usually leaves it be, understanding that there would be objections if they were to start messing with the local ecosystems. Besides, it offers little opportunity to run, something a werewolf is always eager to do when given a chance.

He’d been moving slowly and silently, examining the ground for prints that looked similar to the ones they believe belong to the young wolf. He’d frequently paused to see if he could pick up a scent, but he’d grown distracted.

Klaus had come across a grove of trees emanating a strange warmth. Curious, he’d rested his hand on the trunk of one.

Only to have the rough bark shiver under his touch and melt away, growing soft and smooth and scented of cherries and spice rather than earth.

He’d snatched his hand back and turned away as soon as he’d realized what was happening, had awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, and wondered if it would be cowardly to flee. He’d heard rustling, soft footsteps, the glide of fabric over skin. Then a woman’s voice, dripping with amusement, “You can turn around now. I’m dressed.”

Klaus had turned slowly. “My apologies. I was unaware I was trespassing.” He’d averted his eyes, realizing that “dressed” wasn’t entirely accurate. The woman had only slipped on a robe, a pale green confection of a garment made from silk and lace, loosely belted and short. He’d looked closely enough to realize she was gorgeous, with a riotous mess of blonde curls framing a flushed face and friendly, curious blue eyes.

His body had reacted, and Klaus had forced himself to begin breathing through his mouth. Her scent had clouded his thoughts, tempted him to step closer.

He hadn’t understood what was happening, why he was reacting so strongly to a stranger.

Klaus might have grown particular about who he invited into his bed, but he was hardly inexperienced or prone to awkwardness in the presence of beautiful women.

He’d gone a little wild when he’d become pack leader five years ago, had freely partaken in pleasure just about any time it was offered. Offers were still coming, but Klaus had largely lost interest, leery of complications that could occur with attachments. At the time, he’d only occasionally indulged when an alluring visitor caught his eyes.

Which hadn’t happened in months.

Why was this woman, not even a wolf, so very compelling?

When he’d clasped his hands behind his back and carefully fixed his attention to just above her forehead, she’d made a noise, an aborted laugh. “Wow, never met a shy werewolf before. You guys are usually super quick to get naked.”

Klaus’ eyes had swung to hers, shocked and a touch suspicious, “How do you know I’m a werewolf?”

Her head had tilted towards the trees, “It’s hard to explain. When I’m in that form, connected to the ground, there’s a heightened amount of intuition. Most supernatural beings pull power from some variety of natural elements, and I can usually tell which one, feel the energy.”

“You’re a dryad,” he’d said slowly. He’d remembered reading about them as a child, in one of his mother’s books. An old, thick tome, with tiny print, that detailed the origin stories of all the known species that walked the earth. He hadn’t recalled much more than the basics, had made a mental note to check if the library in his home had a similar volume.

“Guilty,” she’d chirped. She’d held out her hand, “Caroline Forbes. I bought the bakery in town a couple of months ago. You should stop by sometime.”

He’d shaken her hand, that contact enough to ensure Caroline would never stray from Klaus’ thoughts for long.

That brief brush of her skin on his had spurred a change in Klaus’ morning pattern.

He’d visited Caroline’s bakery the next day. Had rolled out of bed, earlier than he had since he’d been obligated to attend morning meetings, and driven to town. Caroline’s business had been easy to spot, featuring a cheerful striped awning in the same shade of green of the robe Klaus had spent far too many minutes contemplating.

He’d slid into a booth shortly after Caroline had opened up. She’d noticed him, appeared pleased to see him and wiggled her fingers in greeting.

And thus began a new routine.

* * * * *

Caroline smiles at Klaus as soon as he arrives. His face immediately grows suspicious.

Oops. She might have overdone it. Klaus is weirdly adept at spotting ulterior motives, and Caroline needs a teeny, tiny favor.

Which is not to say that she doesn’t look forward to his morning visits. More often than not, they’re the highlight of her day. She happens to have gotten a delivery late yesterday afternoon, one that’s essential to pulling off something she’s been working on for ages, so she’s particularly excited about it. She needs to borrow Klaus’ artistic skills to realize her vision.

That she’ll get to spend a little extra time with him is just a bonus.

He walks up to the counter and leans against it. “You look like you’re plotting something.”

She tilts her head to the side, uses her sweetest tone, “Don’t you think it’s a little early to be accusing me of such a thing?”

She spots the twitch at the corner of his mouth though he maintains an impressively deadpan expression. “Honestly, I suspect you’re usually plotting something.”

Caroline had to give him that one, “Okay, true. I might need a hand from someone who’s more artistically inclined than I am. AKA you.”

“What can I do for you?”

She smiles again, kind of glad that there’s a counter between them because Klaus’ lack of hesitation has her feeling all sorts of fuzzy things, and she very well might have thrown herself at him.

Which is not a thing that they do, though she’s hoping that changes at some point.

“I bought some lights and paint for the window. I splurged on it because it’s supposed to be really pretty, kind of sheer, and shimmery. I was hoping to paint some leaves and vines around the borders of the window, but my test runs were… subpar.”

“Still a bit upset about the Summer Solstice party then?”

Caroline glares without any real ire, “Shh. You know that’s a sore subject!”

She’d been woefully unprepared for just how serious the town took its celebrations. The Summer Solstice had been her first one. She’d nailed the food, had baked up tiny, fluffy meringues, served them with a vanilla peach compote, topped with fresh whipped cream and toasted almonds. Everyone had raved about them. But a few people – mostly the members of the town council who are generally unpleasant and excessively gossipy, in Caroline’s not at all biased opinion – had made snide remarks about her lack of decorations.

She’d been mortified even though it totally hadn’t been her fault. She’d miscalculated, not yet grasping just freaking slow the mail was. She’d had a ton of fresh flowers, but the paper lanterns and candy-colored trays and linens she’d ordered had arrived two days too late.

Caroline’s determined to do better this time and prove that party planning is her super-power, damn it.

Klaus is shrugging out of his jacket, “Show me to the supplies, love.”

“You’re the best!” she exclaims, reaching over to flip up the top of the counter. “Come on, it’s all in my office. Along with my very bad diagrams but feel free only to use them as a guideline. Far be it for little ‘ol me to tell a professional artiste what to paint.”

“Willing to cede control?” he teases. “Shocking.”

Caroline shrugs, “Guess I must trust you.”

Whoops. Caroline means it, but it’s a weighty thing to say.

Klaus has stepped passed the counter, bent to stash his jacket underneath. He freezes, head bowing before he up back at her. “I’m pleased to hear that,” he replies.

Caroline’s teeth sink into her lower lip, and she glances around. A few people are watching her curiously and, though she hates it, she knows now is not the time to dig into anything serious.

Though she’s not sure how much longer she’ll be able to resist.

Caroline clears her throat, heading to her office. She unlocks the door, stepping back to gesture Klaus go in first. She turns around to check that April’s come out from the kitchen, motions that she’ll be back out in ten, and then she joins Klaus.

He’s eyeing the sofa, “How often do you sleep here, sweetheart?”

“How do you… oh, right. Werewolf.”

Caroline’s pretty careful not to think about Klaus’ senses. Intellectually she knows he can probably sniff out all sorts of secrets, that the way she reacts to him is entirely unsubtle. She lives in purposeful denial to avoid melting into a puddle of mortification.

“Rarely. I did it a lot when I was scrambling to get this place opened. Now it’s pretty much just the night of the full moon, or the odd day when there’s a big complicated order.”

“Why the full moon?”

Caroline snorts, “Has it escaped your notice that you guys pack away a ton of food after the full moon? It’s my most profitable day of the month.”

She leans down and hefts the box of paint. Klaus steps forward, “Here, let me.”

Caroline lets him take it off her hands, “You know I’m probably at least as strong as you are, right?”

“I had read that, yes.” His eyes flit over her speculatively, and not for the first time in his presence, she thinks about how nice it would be if telepathy were in her bag of tricks. She knows what she hopes he’s thinking. Caroline’s been spinning fantasies that run the gamut from sweet and sensual to hot and frantic since Klaus first wandered into her grove. She’s pretty confident her interest is reciprocated, but he gives her mixed signals.

Caroline’s naturally tactile. She tends to crank that up when she’s in flirt mode. Klaus is careful to stay at a polite distance. He doesn’t cringe when she touches him, but he doesn’t touch her back either.

It’s confusing.

Caroline had gotten tipsy and whiny about the situation last weekend at the bar. Bonnie had been sympathetic and knowing, refused to spill what she clearly knew. Bonnie had only said, in that infuriatingly cryptic way witches have, that Caroline would figure it out when the time was right.

She and Bonnie haven’t known each other long, but Caroline had sensed she wouldn’t budge. She’d pouted until Enzo had arrived with shots.

Things had gotten a little hazy after that.

“Ah, so you’re just gentlemanly?” Caroline teases, watching as Klaus sets the box on her desk. He’s focused on it, so she takes the opportunity to ogle a little. His grey t-shirt is thin and snug. She’s going to be thinking about the way his muscles shift underneath it when she’s alone.

“Something like that.”

“Well, never let it be said that Caroline Forbes doesn’t pay her debts. I’ll save you a bunch of the desserts I’m making for the festival. I’ve perfected them over the last few days – pumpkin with pecan crumble, a delicious marriage of the best fall pies.”

He shakes his head, a laugh rumbling from low in his throat. “Sounds delicious. Perhaps you’ll save me a dance? There’s always a bonfire once the shops close down.”

Huh. That seems like an unmistakable signal. One Caroline hadn’t expected.

She swallows her initial instinct, the urge to joke about how Klaus must have decided she doesn’t have cooties after all. Caroline licks her lips, wonders if he can hear that her heartbeat has quickened. “I’ll make sure my dance card has a spot for you.”

* * * * *

Klaus finds Marcel in the living room when he comes downstairs on the night of the fall festival. He stops short, dread growing in his stomach. He’d spoken to Marcel earlier, and he hadn’t mentioned stopping by. “What happened?”

Marcel’s eyes narrow, “Is that a new sweater?”

Klaus doesn’t understand how that’s relevant to Marcel’s presence in his home.

He lifts his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for an answer to his question. Marcel grins, “Alright, not in a talkative mood. Heard. No disaster, don’t worry. I added an extra few cases of wine to the regular order last month, remember? Just here to grab them for the festival.”

Right. The pack operates several businesses but nothing with a storefront in town. On festival nights, the shops on Main Street decorate and offer free food or small gifts to anyone who wanders in. The town council covers the food available in the square, and Klaus’ pack supplies a significant portion of the booze (only fair since Klaus is quite sure they partake more than most). For this one, if he remembers correctly, they’re providing mulled wine and spiked hot chocolate while Enzo’s bar will set up kegs.

Klaus nods, relaxing. He glances at the clock on the wall. “I trust you can handle the delivery yourself?”

“Why, got a hot date? I don’t remember you ever doing much more than making an appearance at one of these things. This eagerness to arrive early is interesting.”

Marcel sounds far too knowing. To an extent, as the pack’s second in command, it’s his job to know Klaus’ business. He suspects what Caroline means to Klaus, that his wolf has chosen her, but Klaus has never confirmed it.

He’s been resisting the pull, exerting iron control over his instincts, maintaining a careful amount of distance even when he ached to return her affectionate overtures. And it’s not because he doesn’t want her, but because the bond is permanent. Unbreakable, once it’s solidified.

Klaus’ path is set. Caroline’s not bound by the same magic, not unless she wants to be.

“Obviously, you have this under control,” Klaus says, spinning on his heel. “Lock the door when you leave.”

Marcel’s laughter follows him out of the house.

* * * * *

Caroline’s nervous. More nervous than she’s ever been before a date, and it’s not even a date. She’d selected her outfit carefully. Her cream sweater dress has a wide neckline that’s prone to slipping off her shoulders. She’d selected dark tights for underneath and thigh-high boots, which are saved from being too risqué for a family-friendly event by their minimal heel.

She’s been getting compliments all evening, had smiled politely. She’d picked the outfit with one person in mind.

At nine, Caroline locks up, rushing into her office to let her hair down and touch up her makeup. A tap on the window comes at 9:06. She tucks a curl behind her ear, takes a deep breath, “You are not fifteen. Get it together,” she mutters to herself before she flicks off the lights.

She waves at Klaus through the window, grabs the small box where she’d packed up the portion of tartlets she’d saved for him and her keys.

Main Street is brighter than usual, street lamps lit and wrapped with strands of tiny white lights. Caroline steps outside, her eyes running over Klaus. He’s changed since this morning into darker jeans and a navy sweater. Is it a date outfit? She kinda thinks so.

“Hi,” Caroline says, impressed it’s not a squeak. She doesn’t trust herself to open with a compliment about how he looks – her brain-to-mouth filter is unreliable even when she’s calm, cool, and collected. Instead, she gestures to the windows, “Your paintings were a hit.”

Klaus doesn’t seem to hear her. He swallows heavily. “You look…” he trails off, but Caroline’s not an idiot. She knows exactly what the tiny ring of gold around his irises means.

Caroline’s grateful for the confirmation that her attraction isn’t at all one-sided. Her cheeks heat, “What, this old thing?”

He reaches for her, and Caroline’s heart stutters, mouth going dry. It’s the first time Klaus has made any sort of move, and it feels like the start of something she’ll want to remember.

Though she’s not capable of explaining that certainty at the moment. Caroline can’t claim to have a quiet mind, she’s capable of laser focus, but there’s usually a whole list of thoughts and questions in the background, each clamoring for attention.

Right now, there’s only Klaus and the shrinking distance between their bodies.

His palm lands on her upper arm, warm even through her sweater. His fingers tighten, skimming down, lingering when they meet the bare skin of her wrist before his palm meets hers.

She exhales shakily, returning the pressure. Caroline sways forward until her knees brush Klaus’, and his free hand clasps hers. He leans forward, and the hint of stubble on his face rasps against her cheek. “You are overwhelmingly lovely,” he murmurs, mouth brushing her temple.

Caroline’s lips part, and she’s seconds away from turning her head and rising to her toes when Klaus takes a half step away. He pivots until they stand shoulder to shoulder. He keeps one of her hands, and Caroline follows his lead when he begins to walk towards the town’s center.

She barely registers her surroundings, couldn’t name any of the people they pass or describe the decorations. She only feels Klaus’ hand, the solid strength of him next to her, is only aware of the addictive mix of comfort and anticipation fizzing through her veins.

He pulls her into his arms when they reach the makeshift dancefloor next to the bonfire.

It doesn’t feel like a first dance.

There’s no awkward shuffling or hesitant hand placement. Klaus’ grip on her changes, fingers threading between hers, and he wraps his arm around her waist. Caroline’s body melts into Klaus’, her hand rising to rest against his chest. She shivers when his head dips, his breath skimming across her bare shoulder.

There’s music, but it’s not important. She and Klaus move together seamlessly, closer than they probably should be in public, lost in their own world.

No one dares to disturb them.

[softyoongiionly]

Portraits of a Tiger || 02

Legends of a great and equally terrifying warrior nicknamed the Tiger have been emerging from your fellow villagers for quite sometime. Stories of his skill, his stealth and his supposed wickedness have been passed around to the point where he is more prophecy than person. You have lived your life with a strong sense of conviction, rarely letting gossip influence your opinion. However, you would be lying if you said that his legacy didn’t intrigue you. When the Tiger and his infamous army arrive in your village to refuel, you come face to face with the man behind the myth.

And no amount of marketplace gossip would ever be enough to capture the true complexity of his nature.

Pairing: Merchant! Reader x Warrior! Yoongi

Genre: Adventure, Romance, Smut (later), Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: language, depictions of violence both verbal and physical however they are fairly mild, mentions of war and power dynamics, there will be smut in future parts so, (18+ only please).

Current Tag List (let me know if you want to be tagged!): @gldnrecs​ @naajix​ @bluewhale52​ @nikkikenji​ @lustedkisses​ @loveyoongles​ @hear-me-growl​ 

A/N: oh hiiii. I’m a little obsessed with this universe so, I hope you guys are enjoying all the Warrior! Yoongi content. Love you!

Once again, I want to shout out @bulletproofbirdy​ for everything she has done to make this fic possible. I love you so much! 

“I’m just saying, some of the women in this village should at least attempt it. Wedding a solider is an honor, not to mention the fact that it sets you up for life.”  

Jane’s voice sounds beside you and it causes you to smile to yourself; she’s always coming up with plans for other people, attempting to live vicariously through them.  

“Like Y/N- you’re young-” She tilts her head, her frizzy red hair almost twirling above her scalp, “-ish. You would probably be able to convince one of them to take you for a bride.”  

You scoff, “Thank you for having so much faith in me Jane, I’ll keep that in mind.”  

Jane quickly moves on to another girl in the market, throwing the same amount of enthusiasm her way.  

You know she means well, even if she is a little brash at times.  

It’s been two days since the market place was riddled with thieves and soldiers. Things have mostly gone back to normal apart from the same armored men loitering about your village.  

Over the time that’s past, you’ve been able to meet or at least learn more about Yoongi’s fleet.  

Seven men, each of them possessing an incredible amount of skill, made up the group behind the gossip.  

Seokjin was indeed in charge of community outreach (and the cooking) but, he was also an incredible marksmen; his aim was unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed. Whilst you were cleaning up yesterday evening, you saw a few of them practicing and Seokjin through a dagger from nearly 200 feet away only for it to land directly in the center of the target.  

Namjoon, you met in the library whilst you were reading more about a new remedy you were planning to try. He was extremely brawny but very mild mannered. He introduced himself and thanked you for the bread you had delivered and upon speaking to him, you learned of his position in the fleet; psychological warfare. According to Namjoon, he was in charge of depleting the moral of their enemies by various means that he didn’t specify.  His gentle demeanor made it very difficult for you to believe that he was apart of such a dangerous team but you realized that, that was the very reason he was so successful.  

Jungkook, according to Seokjin, was the fleet’s first responder: The first man on the ground during a battle and usually the last one to leave. He had two things on his side: speed and strength. The fleet calls him the Terror Cub which is supposed to be a play on Yoongi’s nickname. You’ve also learned that Jungkook is Yoongi’s younger brother and upon minimal observation, you can tell they have a very close bond.  

Jimin, you met at the tavern during an evening out with Rachel. He was incredibly kind and his beauty was nothing short of offensive. His position in the army made sense; he was known as a Red Herring or in civilian terms: the distraction. Jimin’s beauty and charm was the fleet’s secret weapon and after spending a bit of time with him that night, you could definitely see why. Without a uniform, Jimin looks like a soft and unassuming man. A target would never suspect his true intentions.

Taehyung and you had a lot in common as he too was an Apothecary only- he didn’t specialize in the same type of medicine you did. Taehyung was the fleet’s resident poison expert. You met him at the tavern as well as he was the man Jimin hung off of the entire night. You learned of their romance throughout the evening and, couldn’t help but admire the sheer power between them. The Herring and the Poison Expert, what a duo.

Hoseok was still a bit of a mystery to you as he rarely ventured into the village. According to Seokjin, Yoongi placed him charge of training the new recruits specifically in the art Hoseok was most familiar with: archery. Upon the introduction of his position, you quickly recalled a story regarding the legendary archer.  Hoseok’s expertise had made it into the discourse in your village roughly a year ago when the Royal Army took down invaders in the snowy mountains just west of your home. In accordance with the story, Hoseok defeated their front line from the treetops before they were able to reach the rest of his fleet. You hadn’t had a chance to speak with him much but, he did introduce himself when you brought a second basket of bread to the camp.  

Aside from being their general, their leader and, the most expert swordsman in all of the land, Yoongi was also the fleet’s strategist. He mapped their every move, their every course, their objectives and several precautionary measures should things go sour. He was essentially the brains behind everything but of course, you didn’t learn this from him. The rest of his men had revealed bits and pieces about him throughout your interactions with each of them.  

In addition, you also learned that Yoongi’s army was a defensive force. They were established as a means of protection by the Queens which would mean that the stories of them ruthlessly invading territories around the region were null and void. The seven of them preceded over a much larger fleet; 22,000 men who follow closely behind them but never fight unless Yoongi calls in for backup.

The Tiger’s fleet was the frontline, the brain, heart and soul of the royal army.  

You feel a bit of sadness for them. They have done so much to protect this land and although they are revered and admired, they are also unnecessarily feared.  

The morning passes easily and it’s one of those days where you actually enjoy being out in the plaza.

The weather was nice, temperate and cool just as you like it.  

Clouds encase the otherwise sunny sky which keeps it from growing too warm in the marketplace and, with the slight breeze wafting throughout the atmosphere, you feel content.

A minimal afternoon crowd makes it easy for you to provide accurate and lengthy consultations to your patrons.

“Yes- just apply this three times a day and you should notice a significant reduction in the inflammation.” You smile sweetly, passing a lot the salve to your customer before you notice a familiar color making its way through the crowd.

It’s platinum and the curve of the ponytail its attached to belongs to someone you hadn’t anticipated on seeing.

It causes your heartrate to go a little wonky whilst you attempt to look away.

The salve Yoongi purchased from you days earlier prove to be very popular amongst his crew and now his tin that was supposed to last him three months is nearly gone.  

He may have other reasons for returning to the market as well but, his story was air-tight and would need no further explanation.

He would know, he checked.

“Good morning,” You smile at him and Jane’s train of thought is derailed the moment she sees your next customer. “How can I help you?”

He raises his hand, a large metal tin between his fingers, “Do you have any more of this? I woke up this morning to find that my men have ransacked it. If you have the stock, I’d like to buy 7 more tins so I can have one of my own.”  

You can’t help it but allow your eyes to widen at his request; the profits from 7 more tins would be enough to feed your family for the next month.

But you compose yourself quickly and nod, “I have more than enough- you said 7 right? Did you want the big tins again?”

He lowers his hand and sighs, his eyes flitting back towards his tent, “Please. I don’t trust the younger ones to use it as you instructed so, I want to make sure it lasts as long as it can.”

Snickering, you bend down and grab the requested amount of tins for him and nod in understanding, “Makes total sense. I’m guessing one of the main culprits was Jungkook? I saw him rubbing his hands together for a really long time and, now everything makes sense.”  

Yoongi smirks, his teeth peeking out between his lips, “Aish that kid- he's gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.”

“He’s younger brother right? I can see the resemblance...” You tease, wrapping the tins in paper,  spending a little too much time on each one and, no it’s totally not because you’re trying to prolong your interaction with Yoongi.

“Adopted brother yes- my parents took him in when he was 7. It’s interesting you think we look alike though, you’re not the first person to say that.” Yoongi’s hands have found their way to his uniform, smoothing it out subconsciously.

“Oh really? Yeah I wouldn’t have suspected that, you guys have the same mouth-” His brows raise at your comment and the glint in his eye makes you backtrack, “his lips are a little bigger I guess though so- uh not that I’m looking closely at your mouth or anything but-”

Yoongi starts chuckling then, the shakiness in your tone amusing him “I understand what you mean don’t worry. What’s my total?” He nods to the tins, which you’ve finally finished wrapping.

“Oh! Right, I’m sorry- your total is 24.50...” You slide the tins towards him carefully before Jane’s shrill voice sounds from beside you.

“Give the man a discount Y/N, he’s practically buying out your entire stock!” She urges, gesturing wildly towards your cart.

Your mouth opens as your eyes move quickly between her and Yoongi “O-”

Yoongi raises his hand, “Nonsense. Ms. Y/L/N’s products are some of the finest I’ve come across and are certainly worth the full price-  24.50 you said?” His brows raise again, looking directly into your eyes, not even bothering to turn to Jane’s direction.

The direct way in which he addresses her sends a bit of heat to your cheeks. Jane is someone you have mutual respect for but, her attitude isn’t your favorite nor is her incessant need to put her nose in everyone’s business.  

“Yes, thank you.” You smile sheepishly, bending down once more to grab a paper bag from beneath your counter, “I’ll put in a few bags of rose hip and peppermint tea free of charge; they help with inflammation. I know you all will be training over the next few weeks so, you should get some use out of it.”

He offers a small smile and bows his head, “Thank you. Uh-” Yoongi turns once again back towards his camp, “Seokjin hasn’t stopped talking about your bread, has he arranged for you to bring more?”

Giggling, you accept his payment, tucking it away beneath the counter and nodding, “Yes. I’ll be by this evening with a new batch.”

“Has he offered any payment? We appreciate the hospitality of course but, I do hope he plans on compensating you for your trouble.”

Waving him off, you shake your head and slide the bag his way, “It’s no trouble at all honestly, I’ve been wanting to hone my baking skills for quite some time so, this just gives me an excuse to do so.”  

He grimaces, “Still, you should be-”

“I really don’t mind Yoongi, I promise. This transaction is going to take care of my family and I for quite some time. Not to mention the fact that you all saved my village A LOT of trouble. Take the free bread.” You insist, smirking slightly and if you aren’t mistaken, you notice a light blush come across his cheeks.

Clearing his throat, he steps back away from your cart, moving the smile off of his lips as best as he can.

He likes the sound of his name on your lips a little more than he cares to admit.  

He needs to get out of this plaza before he smiles at you one more time.  

It’s getting a little out of hand.

“Appreciate it.” He mutters before bowing his head once more, “I suppose I’ll see you this evening then?”

Something flutters around in your stomach, “You will. Thank you again for coming by.”

His mouth fixes over a tight smile as he fashions the bag around his wrist, which is quite delicate for a man of his nature.  

When Yoongi is fully out of earshot, you take a deep breath and begin straightening up your cart, trying to distract your mind from his presence

Jane however, has been foaming at the mouth ever since he shot down her suggestion of a discount and quickly rushes over to you, smacking her hand across your arm.

“Ow! Ok- listen we have got to find another way to greet each other because, you’re going to leave some permanent damage on me one of these days.” You admonish, your brow furrowing as you rub your arm.

She ignores you and leans down, her eyes wide with curiosity, “You ARE going to pursue him aren’t you? He’s clearly interested, did you see the way he smiled?! He was quite literally hanging on every word you said!” She whisper yells, her eyes darting around  

This conversation is giving you deja vu and given your flustered state you don’t necessarily have the capacity to argue with her.

“Maybe he’s just kinder than you all gave him credit for.” You answer coolly, giggling as she tugs frantically at your dress.

“He’s kinder to YOU. He barely gave me a second look.” She insists, sound slightly bitter

You quickly move on, waving over another customer, a smile still on your lips, “Aren’t you happily married Jane? I’m sure your husband looks at you plenty...”

She kisses her teeth and rolls her eyes, “Happily is a loaded word dear. Regardless, my point stays the same. You said you were bringing bread over to him didn’t you? Are you planning on using that chance to further this little bond you two have?”

Its your turn to roll your eyes now, “I plan on using that chance to deliver bread.”

With a grumble, Jane reluctantly returns to her cart as she too has a customer heading her way.

The rest of the day passes easily, which you are quite thankful for given that you’re evening plans are a little out of the ordinary.  

It’s hard to get Yoongi out of your mind but, you really do try, he is just a man after all.

Just an interesting, intelligent, handsome-

“Y/N...” Rachel’s voice drags you out of your train of thought and causes you to quickly shift on the stool towards her.

You went to her house after you day had ended because:

She’s the absolute best

and

She has the better oven

“What? Sorry I was-”

She smirks knowingly, sprinkling flour over the dough on the cutting board, “Just thinking about how you plan on charming the Tiger tonight?”

You’d like to deny it but, she isn’t entirely wrong.

Instead, you just go back to wrapping the current loaf of fresh bread in the same paper you use to wrap you wares back at the market.

The cheese in this batch makes the outside of the bread a little greasy so, you always gift it with some wrapping; it also keeps the bugs away.

“You know- you should come with me. It's your one-way ticket to Jungkook, you only have a few weeks to gain his hand in marriage.” You point out, smirking.

Rachel blushes profusely, “I- well- you know?!?! He really is something.” She stutters, swallowing back a bit of her nerves before continuing, “I don’t know if I can do that. You've seen me in social settings...”

You snort and point in her direction, “I have. You’re great in social settings. We panic- in private- together remember? That’s how we bond.” Clenching your fist to your chest dramatically, you continue with the rest of her concern, “Honestly he’s not that intimidating face to face. He was practically hiding behind in his friend when I was there...”

Jungkook had stood out to you for that specific reason; his demeanor at the plaza would have never lead you to suspect his shy and rather docile nature.  

He certainly was perplexing.

Rachel smiles whimsically, staring off at nothing while she half-heartedly kneads the dough. She then lets out a sigh before giggling at the end of your sentence, “I suppose you’re right. He seems gentle underneath that brawny exterior. He’s so handsome too- and such a high rank for being so young. I’m just a village teacher...”

You smirk again, “Gentle is one way of putting it.” Then you scoff, feeling actual offense at her comment regarding herself. To express your distaste, you throw a piece of dough her way, “Stop that. You are literally the most eligible woman in this entire village. You are an artist, an educator and-” You take a bite out of a spare loaf of bread and shove it in your mouth, relishing in it’s doughy, cheesy texture. “- a damn good baker. Don’t sell yourself short.”

She rolls her eyes playfully, “Oh alright...you’re quite eligible yourself you know! How does it feel to have caught the eye of the Tiger himself, hm????”  

“So you’re coming?” You ask excitedly, bouncing on your stool before promptly looking away in denial, “I have done no such thing. He’s just being friendly to me because I cured his dry skin. Soft hands will change a man let me tell you...”  

“Ohhhh I suppose I will.” She sighs with a shrug to her shoulders, “My curiosity will always get the best of me, for better or worse.” She leans closer to her friend, conspiratorially “we can’t have that Tigers paws TOO soft—don’t do your job TOO well, oh esteemed herbalist.”

“In sickness and in health til death do you part...” You finish with raised brows, before giggling “esteemed and eligible? Now you’re just flattering me. I don’t think he’ll need to come back to my cart at least, I gave him enough salve to last the winter.”

Rachel shoves rounds the counter suddenly, heat blooming on her cheeks as she tries to shove you off the stool, “Oh YOUUUUU!!” She rolls her eyes again, looking at you pointedly, “Regardless of salve, you don’t give yourself enough credit. All jokes aside, Y/N, from what you have told me about your run ins with the general, he seems to appreciate your conversation. I don’t imagine people treat him with such frankness.”

Your laughter increases as you hold onto the counter for dear life, “Hey easy!” Biting your lip, you try to think of the right words to say without giving yourself away, “He’s very interesting. I am- you know, very intrigued by him that’s for sure.”

She lets you off the hook, her own laughter dying down as she returns to her place, “He is fascinating...I am a bit surprised at how different he seems to be from the stories...it raises so many questions like- how did he end up where he is?”

“I don’t know honestly. I kind of feel bad that so many people had him wrong- Seokjin said they don’t get a lot of hospitality due to the rumors about Yoongi.”

Rachel pouts before turning to pull one of the last batches of bread out of the oven. As she tugs the tray out of it’s warm resting place her lips tug up into a smirk “Oh it’s Yoongi now? On a first name basis with the nation’s greatest general I see- that was quick.”  

It’s your eyes that roll this time, heat rushing to the tip of your nose, “That IS his name... I can’t keep calling him Tiger now can I? That would be weird...”

She continues smirking but, her eyes hold a bit of sympathy as she addresses the rest of your sentence, “Seriously though, that breaks my heart for them...he handled that raider with more kindness than he deserved. It makes me wonder how many other rumors are unfounded.”

“Yeah it really surprised me- I was expecting there to be bloodshed...I still can’t believe he just let most of them go. I’ve seen soldiers administer worse punishments for lesser offenses.  

“I suppose you are right. Yoongi seems to be shrouded in mystery, but perhaps you will have a chance to learn more about the man behind the myth?” She suggests, brows rising with her inquiry.

“Typical teacher- rooting for me and all my hopes and dreams.” You tease as the two of you load up the bread into the basket, “Perhaps YOU will have a chance to learn more about the man behind the chest plate hm? Are you all ready to go?”

She smiles, “I will ALWAYS root for you!” And as the two of you begin packing everything up she huffs, blushing once again, “You really won’t stop teasing me, will you?”

“Nope.” You smile cheekily, dodging as she tries to wack you, “I can see it now- you, educating the youth and him- protecting the innocent. It’s a match made in heaven.”  

Rachel offers a shy grin as the two of you head out the door, “A girl can daydream...”

The walk to the camp doesn’t take long but within the short period of time you spend walking, your stomach manages to work itself up into a frenzy.

“Ok- the main tent is the one with the flag on the-” You begin, pointing it out to Rachel but your voice is quickly swallowed as you spot him:

The Tiger aka Yoongi, strolls through the courtyard of their camp towards a group of awaiting recruits in the distance.

He’s wearing crème colored linen pants and a matching peasant blouse, his long white tendrils wrapped up into a bun atop his head. He strides through the grass with confidence, his dark eyes observing his surroundings.

“You were saying?” Rachel eyes you curiously before following your line of sight.

Before she can say anything, you rush to return to your explanation, “Seokjin is the one that I made the arrangements with so, we can deliver these in there.” You gesture to the main tent, swallowing back a bit of nerves.

You don’t see many of Yoongi’s men out in the yard with the exception of Namjoon. He’s sitting on a bench, dressed entirely in red, sketching on a piece of parchment.  

As you ring the bell of the tent, Rachel subconsciously shifts behind you.

“Is that my bread?!” Seokjin yells from inside the tent and after a bit of shuffling, he pushes aside the entrance, a bright smile on his face, “Ugh it is. You are a godsent Y/N...” His head cocks as he sees Rachel standing beside you, “Oh hello, you must be Y/N’s friend. Kim Seokjin, did you assist with this delivery?”

He extends a hand to her warmly and Rachel graciously takes it, smiling softly.

“I did. It’s very nice to meet you. You can call me Rachel...”

He returns her smile, bowing his head, “Rachel- that’s a beautiful name. Thank you for doing this, I haven’t seen these men so energized in quite some time.” Seokjin smirks fondly before his teeth tug at his bottom lip, “Would you two mind joining me in here for a moment? I have a question I’d like to ask you.”

You nod despite your confusion, still in disbelief that you’ve made contact with the nation’s most infamous men.

“Of course.”

Rachel nods politely, following behind you as Seokjin holds the entrance open.  

Your hit with the smell of wood as you enter their tent along with a hint of musk. It’s genuinely surprising that the odor isn’t stronger given that multiple men likely share these quarters. There’s several cots on the floor and mini lanterns adorning the ropes holding the tent together. Supplies, personal belongings and various weapons litter the floor and tabletops and, in one of the cots you spot Jungkook, laying down, shirtless.  

In front of his face sits a book that needs no introduction; a famous military strategy guide written by an ancient legend. Befitting, you think, of course they would have their men brushing up on military technique.  

Your brain also hones in on the man holding the book:

Jungkook is truly beautiful. His chocolate locks reach the base of his neck, disheveled but luxurious whilst his tan and soft features are screwed up in concentration. He doesn’t notice your presence at first but, Rachel certainly notices him.

You can hear her swallow beside you, her face turning bright red as her body subconsciously shifts closer to you.  

Her lips part silently and she tries her best to tear her eyes away from his body. The broadness of his chest and the smooth curves of his stomach is enough to capture your attention as well despite the fact that muscle doesn’t normally warrant a reaction from you.

As you the two of you grow closer to him, his eyes finally flit in your direction and, they grow wide like saucers. Hastily, he throws his book to the side before ripping his blanket off the end of his cot and wrapping it around himself.

“Jungkook-ah, make yourself decent. We have guests. I believe you’ve met Y/N already but, this is her friend Rachel...” Seokjin gestures elegantly to both of you, unbothered and unaware of the lingering tension in the air.

“Yes Hyung-” He mutters and grabs his brown linen shirt off the floor and tugs it over his head. He stands, almost robotically and extends his hand towards her, “Nice to meet you.”

Rachel moves in a similar way, her eyes still widened slightly whilst she takes his hand.

“Hi.” She responds, her voice smaller than usual and it causes Seokjin to quirk his brow at the two of them.

Jungkook visibly swallows, his prominent Adams apple bouncing in his throat as his hand sort of lingers against hers.

“I like your- “ His eyes flit to the top of her head, “ribbon. It’s blue.”

Seokjin smirks knowingly at the two of them now and he opens his mouth to break the tension before Rachel speaks up.

“Thanks!” She says a bit too loudly before swallowing the volume a bit, “I like your shirt. It’s very brown- a nice brown.”

Jungkook offers a tiny smile, dropping her hand reluctantly and before their encounter can continue, Seokjin speaks up.

“Uh ok, hooray for first meetings hm?” He nods to the exit of the tent, “Jungkook, I believe Yoongi was looking for you. He needs an assistant for today’s training session.”

Jungkook immediately perks up, nodding in excitement, “Yes hyung.” He pivots towards his cot to collect his armor but turns around once more to glance at Rachel, “Nice meeting you.”

“You too.” She practically squeaks, raising a hand in farewell.

Jungkook’s teeth peek out as he grins before he grabs his armor and practically sprints out of the tent.

Seokjin chuckles warmly and shakes his head before gesturing to the wooden table towards the back of the tent, “You are welcome to have a seat here, this should only take a moment.”

You each take your places at the table, illuminated by the lantern hanging above you.

Seokjin rounds the corner to sit across from you, his prince-like features tightening with a bit seriousness.

“As I said- this will be quick.” He assures you, licking his lips and lowering his voice a bit, “I was speaking with Yoongi earlier today and, he mentioned something that made me quite curious. He relayed a bit of your conversation with him-” He looks at you, “-he said that you told him that raiders were a common occurrence in your region, is that correct?”

You take his lead and lower your voice as well, glancing at Rachel before answering, “Yes. The number of raids has been increasing recently over the last few months actually.”

“I see. Do you have any idea as to why that may be?”

“I mean- our village is known for negotiating with raider clans.” You offer,” Our leaders feel as though it prevents violence.”

His brows quirk, hands clasping on the top of the table, “Has that method been effective so far?”

You look to Rachel for her insight and she tilts her head, considering the question, before she nods in approval which causes you to follow suit.

“I guess so. We have a specific strategy but, we are equipped with defenses as well.”  

Seokjin nods, his brows knitting together in thought. His plush lips part for a moment as he contemplates his next response, uncertainty written all over his face.

“Have either of you noticed any similarities between the clans? Anything at all- clothing, weaponry, language?”  

Your immediate response is to shake your head.

When a raid is occurring, you don’t necessarily have time to observe your intruders; safety is the only thing on your mind.

Rachel however, has noticed a similarity.

“There is one thing I’ve started to notice actually-” She begins, “They all seem to have a similar strategy. When they arrive, they encircle the town first before working their way inwards. It takes them a very long time to reach the center of the village, which is where we wait for them. It’s very strange actually, the center plaza contains most of our valuables- it's almost as if they are trying to take over in a way. However, they always end up leaving after negotiations and, I’ve never seen the same faces twice.”

Now that she mentions it, you recall that similarity as well.  

They do deploy the same tactic but, you just assumed that it’s the most effective way to get the most out of their raid.

Perhaps that isn’t their only intention.

Your stomach shrinks at the thought as you try to push it out of your head.

Seokjin’s features twitch with a bit of unease but, he composes himself quickly and smiles.

“Thank you. I’ll pass that along to Yoongi and see what he thinks of it.” He takes a deep breath, “We really appreciate your cooperation. As I mentioned to you the other day, it’s not very often that we are able to communicate with civilians and it makes our job a lot easier if we have insight from people who actually live in the territories we try to protect.” He eyes you both with a bit of hesitation then, as if he’s contemplating something, “If you wouldn't mind spreading the word that we aren’t a group of vicious demi-gods that would be great. As fun as the legends are, they can be a hinderance to our work...”  

You and Rachel nod in understanding, chuckling lightly at his word usage as the three of you stand.

“I’ll pass along the information. Thank you for having us.” You smile, bowing your head.

Rachel follows suit and, subconsciously her eyes drift to Jungkook’s cot, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Seokjin.

“We appreciate having you very much.” He smirks as his eyes flit to Rachel, “Both of you. I think you should come along with Y/N for future deliveries Rachel, I’m sure Jungkook would enjoy that.”

Comically, Rachel’s eyes widen a bit as she aggressively clears her throat, frantically looking away from Jungkook’s cot.

“What? Why would he? Wh-What do you mean?” She stutters which causes you to giggle fondly at your friend.

Taking her hand, you squeeze it gently and address Seokjin’s request, “Oh she’ll be back, don’t you worry.”

He chuckles and gestures to the door, “I look forward to it. I’ll walk you two out, I hope you have a good rest of your day.”

Rachel mutters something inaudible by your side, towing behind you reluctantly.

After your departure from the tent and a bit of friendly verbal sparring between you and Rachel, you separate to finish the remainder of your day.

That evening, you decide to go against your parent’s judgements and journey to the river once again.

As beautiful as it is in the daylight, the moon provides a rendition unlike any other. She casts her glow on the water like the mother of all spotlights, dancing across the surface with ease.  

The truth is, you often sneak out after your parent’s have fallen asleep to find solace in the atmosphere of there. It’s almost magical and you feel as though you can think clearly here.  

You always bring your wicker basket along as well so you can collect any herbs or ingredients you may need.

It’s a necessity to switch off between plants though and ensure that you aren’t depleting the rivers natural resources too much; a practice you are continuously getting better at.  

The river carries it’s usual orchestra of sounds along with a bit more whistling in the trees.

It’s mating season for the birds here and they are singing to one another in hopes of finding a lover.

You giggle to yourself and think of what the world would be like if humans implied a similar method of finding a partner.

“Should I be concerned that you’re out here alone, laughing to yourself?”

The voice instantly sends energy up your back and you whip your head around to find Yoongi standing a few yards behind you.

He looks a bit worn out, likely from all the work he’s been doing with the new recruits but, his beauty overwhelms you regardless.

The moonlight casts shadows on his face, his mouth pulled up in a smirk, his hair tied back once again into a ponytail.

He’s wearing a set of clean clothes, a white linen top with brown pants, his sword strapped loyally to his hip.

You imagine he never travels without it.

“Should I be concerned that you’re stalking me?” You retort trying to control the smile that crosses over your face.

He smirks, his hand coming up to rub behind his neck, “I’m not stalking you. I’m patrolling the perimeter, common military practice. You just so happen to be along the perimeter.”

“The perimeter is one the other side of the river, there is a path just through those trees over there-” You point to a group of trees to the left of you, “So technically, you’re not walking the ENTIRE perimeter.”

Yoongi smirks broadens enough for his teeth to peak out as he nods, impressed by your knowledge, “Fair enough.” He nods to the river behind you, “I like walking through here, it’s peaceful.”

You can’t help but return a smile of your own as you nod, “It is. I don’t blame you for taking a detour, even if it was to scare the lights out of me again.”

He chuckles, “Are you out here often?”

“Very.” You nod, “This place serves multiple purposes.”

“Oh does it? What purposes are those?”

“Well, I get most of my ingredients from the river or the surrounding forest so, it’s vital to my work and,” You gesture to the space around your head, “It’s the perfect location to contemplate my existence, the meaning of life, the secrets of the universe- you know, stuff like that.”

Yoongi’s expression grows very amused then, his tongue poking out between his lips before he laughs again, “Ah yes- that stuff. Has the river provided you with any answers?”

“Oh yeah- plenty but you know, the answers only lead to more questions. It’s a vicious cycle.” You quip, giggling a bit and feeling very comfortable in his presence.

There is magnetism between the two of you.

It’s something you’ve never felt before.

And deep down within your heart, you hope he feels it too.

He steps towards you subconsciously, glancing towards the moon and then back at you, “I know that cycle very well. Have you found anything worth sharing? My job doesn’t exactly allow me to indulge in philosophy very often, I’d welcome any of your insight.”

It’s perplexing that a famous General would care to know your thoughts regarding the best eateries in your village let alone, for him to care about your philosophy.

It’s incredibly odd.  

You've always been a fan of oddities though so, you don’t think as much of it as you should.

“You’d have to be a little more specific, I don’t think you’d want to sit here whilst I prattle on about the complexities of the universe.” You laugh

He bites his lip in contemplation, his gaze on you softening significantly, “I wouldn’t be so sure...” Yoongi murmurs and the way he looks at you sends your heart on a marathon, “But I see your point; what do you think of the war?”

Taking a deep breath, you attempt to compose yourself and your thoughts in order to accurately address his question.

“I understand it to a certain extent. Historically speaking, humans have consistently risen in opposition of one another for whatever reason. Peace seems impossible at times. With so many selfish people rising to power, it almost incentivizes that kind of behavior. It’s rewarded. Peace is only possible when you restrict the empowerment of those who act within their own self-interest. The cycle always continues though so, war is inevitable.” You speak softly, taking your eyes off of Yoongi for a moment to focus on your choice of words.  

His dark eyes seem to glimmer with fascination as he nods along to your response, the two of you shifting closer to one another.

Unintentionally, of course.

“How should we restrict the empowerment of those individuals?” He licks his lips as his eyes narrow in curiosity, “Do you think there is a way to do that?”

Chewing on your cheek, you consider his question before letting out a sigh, “The power would have to return to the masses. I think the idea that humanity needs finite leadership isn’t completely accurate. Snuffing out corruption is difficult though, especially since it’s already been let loose. I guess there isn’t a linear path but, I’d like to believe it’s possible.”

He smiles, “So would I. My profession wouldn’t really imply that though would it?”

Your hands play with the fabric of your dress to distract from how close the two of you are as you swallow back the instability of your breath.

“I think it does actually. You aren’t tasked with the corrupt objectives; your job is to defend against it.”  

A grimace comes over his face, “I still engage in violence.”

“You do.” You agree, your hands lowering to clasp in front of you, “There is a difference between you and your enemy though isn’t there?”

Yoongi is truly hanging on every word you say, eager to hear the soft twinkle of your voice, eager to understand your mind.

“There is.” He answers tightly, glancing down your hands, “Violence isn’t our objective.”

You notice his gaze on your hands and it causes you to look at his own; they look softer than you remember, which you hope you can take partial credit for.

Amused, you watch as he clasps and unclasps them unknowingly, his nerves starting to creep up inside his head.

“What is your objective?” You ask, smiling softly at him

He bites his bottom lip, nodding as he understands where you’re headed, “Defending the innocent.”

“In times of war, peace also requires an army...” You conclude, hoping to comfort him in some way.

He smiles again but, he doesn’t look up at you, his gaze transfixed upon your fingers, “You should consider becoming an advisor of some sort.”

Your head tilts, your heart rate going crazy in your chest but, your curiosity and it’s need to be sated override your need to be proper.

“Why do you keep looking at my hands?”

He still doesn’t look up but he does blush, nervous laughter emanating from his lips, “Because I want to hold them...”

At his confession, he looks up at you longing, his throat bobbing as he swallows and tries to discern your reaction.

Without thinking you unfurl your fingers and turn your palms so they are facing towards the sky, slightly embarrassed by the way that they shake.

“Then hold them.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen momentarily, shooting down at your upturned palms before he slowly, almost agonizingly places his own shaking hands atop yours.

Simultaneously, the two of you intertwine your fingers, feeling the erratic pulse of one another.

“It’s good to know that my heart isn't the only one that’s pounding.”

Nervously, you giggle and nod rapidly, “Definitely. I thought I was the only one...”

He chuckles in response, stepping towards you a little more so you can feel the heat coming off of his body.

The two of you stand there in silence, enjoying the feeling of one another and the simplicity of the act you’re performing.

Words fall short on your tongue because, you are truly in awe of the way you feel and, part of you worries that you’re actually dreaming.  

A shout nearby, coming from one of your fellow villagers rips the two of you out of your moment as Yoongi suddenly remembers why he came this way in the first place.  

He drops your hands and steps back, feeling slightly regretful that he let go of you so abruptly.

“I’m sorry.” He clears his throat, looking back towards the voice before gesturing to the forest, “I should go- my men will come looking for me if I’m gone too long.”

Quickly, you nod in understanding, stepping a few inches back, “Of course. Thank you for the talk- it was-”

“I’d like to come by the river more often while I’m here- if that’s alright with you.” He interrupts you, his voice a little shaky as he clears his throat again.

Knowingly, you grin, “I don’t own the river Yoongi...”

Your quip breaks the bit of tension between you and he chuckles, his hands adjusting his clothes unnecessarily.

“I’m aware, Ms. Apothecary. I was just implying that-”

You interrupt him now with a smirk rushing to your lips, “You were implying that we should cross paths again.”

Yoongi bites his lip, cheeks the color of summer roses, “Yes.”

“I think we should too.”

This makes him smile and for a moment, he looks like a young man, completely rid of any burdens.

It’s a good look.

“Are you ok to walk back on your own?”  

You want to tell him no but, the light from the main street is yards away and after that, your home is only 5 minutes by foot.

“Yes.” You nod to the forest behind him, “Are you ok to walk on your own?”

He rolls his eyes before chuckling, patting the sword at his hip, “I’ll manage.”

With one last parting smile, the two of you begin to go your separate ways.

Tonight, each of your minds would be filled thoughts of one another and if you were lucky, you’d cross each others path while you sleep.

One could only hope.

“Goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight General Min.”

[heyheydidjaknow]

I do not have a decent title for this. I’m also not even going to bother with an image (even though I know it would generate more traffic) because I’m not going to steal someone’s shit. It’s about 3500 words, so have fun with that.

Chapter 1

Dying is not fun.

I do not know if you knew that until last night. Maybe you figured that since it was romanticized so much that it would not suck as much as it so clearly and obviously did. Maybe you dreamed of dying relatively peacefully, surrounded by your loved ones. Alas, those dreams were dashed last night when you, oh so wise Y/N, decided that you were going to try baking and forgot the most essential step; taking the thing out of the oven. You remember that night so clearly, the screams of your family begging for their lives still bouncing around in your ears like a torturous golf ball that made a habit of forcing itself into your throat, the feeling of your hair catching alight as your skin bubbled and charred, and rational thought became a foreign concept. You do not remember if you had died from a heart attack or hyperthermia or smoke inhalation, but you had a general idea that, yes, that night had been your last on Earth.

So, where the fuck are you?

You pull yourself into a sitting position, your back pressed against something hard as your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness. The air smells like rotten food and exhaust engines as you pull yourself off the concrete, looking around the alleyway that you had found yourself in. It’s small, narrow, unremarkable in every way, with graffiti covered dumpsters near the entrance. Dazed, confused, generally out of sorts, you make your way to the entrance, patting yourself down for injuries you did not seem to have.

You rub the side of your face with your hand. ‘My head is killing me.’ You slip your hand into your jacket pocket, feeling a key and a piece of paper. ‘God damn it is cold in this alley.’ You zip up your jacket, walking out into the open as you pull the note out, beginning to read.

“Dear Y/N,” you mumble as you read, “we are pleased to inform you of your acceptance into our transference program, yadda yadda yadda, whoopdeedoo…” You skim ahead of some introductory jargon before getting near to the point of the note. “From this point forward, enjoy your permanent residence at ten West.. fifteenth street… apartment number six two two… New York, New York?” You blink. ‘I… that’s not my address.’ You pull out the key. ‘Wait, hold on.’ Your eyebrows furrowed. ‘New York? Wait, I was dead, wasn’t I?’ Your eyes become unfocused. ‘I don’t live anywhere near NYC. Where am I?’ You look around for some sort of landmark, street name, anything to give you some idea of where you are.

You hear a car squeal to a stop on the street corner in front of you, snapping you out of your stupor. As identical men start climbing out of the back of the vehicle, all marching deliberately towards you, a fifteen-year-old girl, your immediate reaction is to run like hell. Unfortunately for you, apparently your speed was not comparable to that of the men who quickly apprehend you, scooping you up and dragging you kicking and screaming into a van. You hear vaguely familiar voices outside, but your focus is less on the mayhem and more on the more pressing matter of getting yourself out of the van. You pound at the door, feel for any sort of locks on the inside, something, anything to get you out of the van, still screaming your head off as you hope whoever was outside had the common sense to call nine one one. You feel your eyelids droop as your breathing slows, your voice dying as your pounding becomes less intense. You slide to you knees, eyes closing even as you mentally scream at yourself to get up, keep at it. You passed out.

--

You wake up laid on the floor this time, the pulsing of electricity above your head almost soothing as you open your eyes. You stagger to your feet, looking around your well-lit enclosure, pink florescent lights lining the ceiling and walls like arteries. After taking note of your new bruises and checking to see if you still have your few personal belongings—you do—you ran over to the door, eyes fixated on the mind boggling, ridiculous scene taking place in front of you.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’ You back away from the slot in the door, trying to process the blatant larping headassery. You had not thought that you would honestly be able to say that, apparently, you were kidnapped by the mother fucking Kraang, yet, in some stroke of tomfuckery on behalf of whatever deity controls your universe, you have, obviously, been kidnapped by some seriously hardcore cosplayers. If nothing else, you must admire the obviously advanced set up.

You run your fingers through your hair, chuckling almost manically. “So,” you say to yourself aloud, “I got kidnapped by TMNT fanboys. Great. Fantastic, even!” You pace around the room, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “I guess this makes me April O'Neil, then? Cool.” Your voice is extremely tight as you shake with intense, mostly negative emotions. “So, I’m somewhere in New York, kidnapped by the Kraang in the worst convention ever. Let me guess,” you laugh, losing your mind a little as you speak to nobody. “I’m gonna have a run in with the Teenage Fucking Ninja Turtles next, right?”

As if on que, you hear laser blasts and shinking metal. The high pitched beeping on an alarm sounded as you heard people—‘Male, teenagers… fuck my life,’— talking about power or something as their footsteps approach your room. You pound on the door. “Hey! Over here!”

You see a brown set of eyes look in through the window. Your suspicions are confirmed; ‘Definitely TMNT larping.’

“We found her,” the owner of said eyes, the one cosplaying as Donatello, calls to the others. Lasers shoot by his head as he turns to stare death in the eyes.

“We’ll hold them off. You pick the lock.” ‘Leonardo.’ You breathe a soft sigh of relief; if nothing else, you are apparently on the side of the people trying to get you out in this game. You hear footsteps going towards the firing.

“Don’t worry,” “Donatello” reassures you, voice tight with apparent anxiety, “I’ll have you out of there in a second!”

“Thanks, Donnie.” You give him a half-hearted thumbs up, trying to see what he was doing through the window. “Take your time.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Wait, how do you know my name?”

You sigh. “Look, man, I don’t know the script for the first episode by heart. You’re gonna have to cut me some slack for not being off-book.”

“Off—what?” He stares at you blankly.

You purse your lips. “I’ll explain if you let me out,” you promise. “Just pick the lock before the blue one gives you shit.”

“Oh, right! The lock!” He nods, grasping onto the logical thing you say and leaning down to start working on the alien technology. He pulls the cover off a control panel by your door, starting to fiddle with the wires.

You lean against the door, watching him work curiously. You hear the battle cries of “Michelangelo” and the toppling of robots as he works, clearly focused on his task. You zone out again. “This is some serious shit,” you mumble.

He mutters in frustration. The one dressed as Raph marches over, more impatient. “Oh for the love of—get out of my way,” he snarls, proceeding to take a very real looking sai out and stabbing the panel with a very in-character ferocity. You almost feel the urge to applaud the acting, and you might if this weren’t such a high stakes situation.

The door in front of you and behind you open at the same time and, deciding against getting captured again—you remember something about hanging from a helicopter in that scenario and you want nothing to do with that—you run alongside the turtles like your life depends on it, stumbling to a halt once you reach outside and slamming the doors closed behind you, blocking it with your back.

Your feet scramble to gain some traction on the cement. “Donnie,” you snap, almost impressed by the force used to pound against the doors, “put your staff in the handles of the door. We gotta go ASAP.”

“Wait, hold up.” The one dressed as Raph jabs his thumb towards you. “How do you know his name?”

You groan. “For fucks- it’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, not fucking Happy Sugar Life. Get the thing in the thing before the vine thing kills us!”

“The what?” Donnie and Raph seem much more confused than before, staring at you inquisitively and angrily respectively.

“Uh, guys?” Mikey pointed. “I think she means that vine thing.”

From the shadows emerges a towering creature made of plant life, its vinelike limbs draping across the ground like roots as it rears its ugly head. Its exposed, pulsating heart pressed against what remains of the creature’s ribcage. “You did this to me,” It growls. “Now you’re going to pay!”

“It’s-“

You cut Leo off. “Snake guy. Mutated into a weed. If you wanna kill it, go for the heart.”

He looked back at you, joining the other two pairs of piercing stares. “Cut that out.”

“Then don’t monologue and kill it before it has mobility!”

“On it.” Raph charges at its lumbering form, and within moments, it falls to the ground in a heap.

The pounding against the door is getting more intense. “Donnie! Staff!”

“Right!” He runs over, sliding his staff in between the door handles.

You stumble forward, the pounding already starting to crack the wood. “Alright, now we can leave.” Without waiting for the others, you sprint away from the building like your life depends on it. The others, clearly confused, follow.

You got a fair few city blocks away before you slow down, breathing heavy and palms stamped with the outline of the key you were holding desperately onto. “You run really fast for cosplayers,” you pant, “with all the- the paint and all.”

“Yeah, about that.” Donatello stops next to you, a thousand questions apparently swimming around in his head. “How do you know our names?” His mouth moves a mile a minute. “How did you know the weakness of that vine creature? What do you mean, cosplay? Who are you? Who were they?”

You cut him off. “One question at a time, hot stuff. Deep breathes.”

His pupils dilate. “H-hot stuff?”

Leo cuts in. “How did you know what we were—uh—cosplaying?” he asks tentatively.

“Odd time to cut the act, but alright.” Your heart rate lowers to a decent pace as your mind still struggles to comprehend what had just happened. You slow your breathing. “I mean,” you explain, gesturing with your hands, “it’s TMNT. It’s iconic.”

“Iconic?” He nods. “Well, since you know so much about it, then why don’t we test your knowledge? To see if you’re a real fan..”

“Y-you think I’m hot?”

“I don’t see the point, but I’m down.” You shrug, deciding to ignore the melting turtle for a second. “Shoot.”

He thinks for a moment. “Who’s the main character?”

You shrug. “You four, I guess.”

Mikey jumped in. “What’s the theme song?”

“Gonna have to be more specific there, buddy.”

“Is it really a great idea to just talk out here in the open?” Raph crossed his arms across his front.

“Probably not.” You look around. “Unless you have a map on you, I’d suggest we go back to your lair.”

“Our—what kind of stalker—”

“Look, honey,” you sigh, “if we’re going to go over every aspect of their lives that I know about we’re going to be here for a long time. For our purposes, just assume I know everything I need to know, and if you’re curious about specifics, we’ll go on a case-by-case basis.” You start walking down the sidewalk. “I’m guessing you guys hang out in the sewer, right?” You feel almost tempted to say that they’re just flat out psychotic, their blatant conviction in their own characters almost frightening. ‘I’ve heard of kinning,’ you think, pulling up a manhole cover you see at the end of an alley and wincing at the smell, ‘but this is ridiculous.’ You blink at the surprising lack of weight.

“Yeah.” Mikey—no, the Michelangelo cosplayer—walked over, already hopping in. “Our show must be super popular, right? Who’s the favorite character? How long have we been running?”

“Oh, you guys are—” You stop talking. “Wait, what year is it?” You start climbing down.

“Two thousand and twelve. Why?”

You step off the ladder, starting to walk behind him as he lead the way. “Well, it’s not tweny twelve where I’m from. It’s twenty twenty.”

“Wait, hold up.” He turns around to face you as he walks. “You’re from the future? That is so freakin awesome!”

You rub the back of your neck, trying to ignore the smell. “I mean,” you confess, “being from the future would be cooler if I was from a better time, I think.” ‘I wonder where they—’ You shake your head. “But, If we were running on the same time, I’d only be seven, I think, so it’s pretty cool I get to be here, I guess.”

“Dude, totally!” He turns a corner. “Our first day up top and we meet a time traveler?”

“Technically,” a voice from behind you makes you jump, “if what she’s saying is true, she somehow also knows interdimensional travel as well.”

‘Mother fucking ninj—cosplayers, focus. Don’t let them pull you in too.’ “Well, I really wouldn’t say—”

“Guys, is there not a clearly bigger concern on our hands?” You were already getting sick of not hearing footsteps. “Like, say, I don’t know, the fact she’s claiming we’re fictional characters?”

“Look, man,” you roll your eyes, “I already said I’m more than happy to answer any questions I can. In fact,” you continued, stopping in your tracks as you stared the red—clad turtle in the eye, “I’ll even stay put until we sort this whole situation out.”

“Fine by me.” Leo and Raph both face you, eyes boring into your soul as you stand there awkwardly.

“Let’s start off with the basics.” Leo’s tone is awfully light compared to his blatant skepticism. “What is everyone’s name?”

You force yourself not to roll your eyes again. “You’re all Hamatos.” You point at the tall one with the gap in his teeth. “That one’s Donatello, the yellow one next to him is Michelangelo, you,” you point at the red one with the broader shoulders, “are Raphael, and the sensei appointed leader is Leonardo. Easy.”

Leonardo nods. “Okay, you got the easy one.” It is at times like these when you wish you could read people. “What are we?”

“Teenage mutant ninja turtles.” You don’t have to hesitate.

“How did we become the way we are?”

“Splinter had a Kraang run in and you got ooze on you. Last thing you touched before you transformed was a person, so you became turtle/human hybrids.” You rest a hand on your hip. “Oh, happy birthday, by the way.”

A sea of blank faces face you. “Wait, you know who those things are?” Donatello is the first to speak after a pregnant pause.

“Well, yeah.” You shrug, the reality of the situation not yet dawning on you. “They almost take over the world in at least two season finales.

“They what?”

“Yeah.” You stick your hands in your pockets, fingering the key and note, confused by their apparent horror. “I mean, I’m still on the season three finale, but alien invasion is this show’s bread and butter for the most part.”

“I- what?” Raphael appears to be having a stroke. “What- bre- I- huh? What the-“

“Is he okay?” You look, completely unconcerned, at Donatello, who is swaying on his feet.

“Alien.. invasion…”

You blink, walking over to him and placing your hand on his cheek. You were surprised at the feeling of skin under your palm. ‘Not face paint..’ You look his incredibly pale face over curiously. ‘Not a mask…’ “Oh.” Your fingers slide down and off his jaw, falling slackly. “You weren’t joking, were you?”

If nothing else, he seems less concerned than he did a second ago.

Leonardo—‘The actual—hold on a minute.’—grabs your shoulder. “This isn’t a joke.” His face is stone. “You’re being serious, right?”

You felt blood drain out of your face. “Sadly? Yes.” You force yourself to take deep breaths so as to not pass out. “But, on the bright side,” you smiled weakly, “I can guarantee your survival for at least a few months.”

“What do you mean a few months?” Raphael is shaking as he yells, his voice roar echoing in the enclosed space. “How is it only—what the hell?”

“The show only ran over the course of an in-universe year.” You fight to keep your voice steady as dread seizes your throat. “I don’t know what happens after the year is up, or if it even lasts the whole year.”

“So we have less than twelve months to live?”

“This is so not cool.” Michelangelo is having a bit of a mental breakdown. “So, so not cool.”

“Hey, it’s not a guarantee!” You put your hands up reassuringly. “That’s just how long the show runs. Besides, it’s a kid’s show. There’s no way they’d kill off the main characters.”

“The hell they—who the hell is they?”

“Nickelodeon.”

“What the fuck is Nickelodeon?”

You groan. “Look, I’m just saying that you four are definitely going to survive the next few months!” Your voice rises easily to his volume. “I don’t know what happens after those months are up! I haven’t gotten to that point!”

“Why the hell not?”

You ran your fingers through your hair, laughing incredulously. “What, do you think I knew I was going to meet the IRL Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and had a chance to plan accordingly? No!” You throw your hands up in the air. “I died last night and now I’m here! Hell, I don’t even know where the fuck I’m going to go, fuck knowing who’s going to get the fucking axe between now and the series finale!”

“Will you two both cut it out?” Leo snapped, shutting you two up.

You put your hands up, still fuming and glaring at Raphael. He responds in kind.

“What’s your name?” He looked at you.

“Y/N. Y/N L/N.” Your breathing slows slightly.

“Alright. Y/N, you said you’ve seen up to season three, right?”

“Yeah.” You nod.

“Meaning you know what’s going to happen in the next few months, right?”

You nod at the leader.

He thinks for a moment. “Then we need to stay in contact. If what you’re saying is true, your knowledge of our show could be extremely valuable to us.”

You rub your eyes with your hands, sighing, trying to cool down. “I can do that.” You put your hands down. “If nothing else, I’m more than happy to offer up emotional support. The next few months are going to be extremely physically and emotionally difficult for you guys.”

Donnie pipes up. “Do you have a place to stay?”

You pull out the piece of paper. “I have an address and key, but I don’t know my way around NYC.” You smile slightly at the unintentional rhyme. “Do you guys know where ten west fifteenth street—wait, it’s your guys’ first day.” You nod. “I forgot.”

“It’s alright.” Donatello is oddly quick saying that. “I-if you want, I—we can help you find it.”

You rub your arm, your previous indignance replaced with extreme embarrassment at your previous actions. “Nah, it’s alright,” you reassure him. “I’m sure I can find a map or something.”

“It’s really not safe to just wander around New York so late.”

You pause at that. “That is an extremely good point.” You nod. “Alright. But I owe you guys dinner or something for trusting me this far. Also,” you smile teasingly, “what you’re currently eating is legitimately revolting.”

“Amen to that.” Raphael, if nothing else, seems to have calmed down.

Mikey hopped in. “Oh, we just found this crazy awesome food—”

“I can order pizza,” you reassure him.

He punches the air excitedly. “Let’s go!”

“If you want, you can sleep on the couch for tonight,” Leonardo offers. “It’s going to get light pretty soon, and we really shouldn’t be seen.”

You shrug. “Works for me.

As you follow the teenagers down the sewer, conversating as you walk, you take a moment to reflect on all that has happened so far. A part of you, oddly enough, is almost excited by the prospect of spending time with these guys. But a stronger, darker part reminds you sweetly of the dangers you knew lay ahead.

You close your eyes. ‘I’m never going to see my family again, am I?’

How that is the least of your worries, you don’t know.

Table Of Contents

Chapter 2

[imaginingmyloki]

A Shift in Reality

Fandom/universe: Marvel

Pairing: LokixReader

Timeline: AU marvel where its after Ragnarok so Loki keeps his character development and no one dies because infinity war/end game never happened :)

Word Count: 2140

A/N: So this is the first non-requested fic I have written in a long time. Reader’s powers are essentially Daisy Johnson’s powers (earthquake/vibrations for those who haven’t seen agents of shield- if you havent seen it I HIGHLY recommend it!  If any part of reader’s powers being used for certain things get confusing I’ll try to link a youtube video of Daisy using her powers doing the same thing to see a visual of it! But here’s an overview video of her using her powers to do a lot of really cool stuff if you’re interested :) not at all relevant to the story but I have a MAJOR crush on daisy haha). I’m already working on part 2 and it should be posted early next week! Anyways, I hope you guys like it :) and requests are open so if you have any let me know!

“Kid, where are you?” Stark came over coms sounding like a frantic father. “I’m fine, Tony. I’m 26 and I don’t need a babysitter.” I had only been with the team for a couple months. Tony had found me in rough shape, running after escaping from Hydra. After a few weeks healing and training, I had been allowed to go on a few easy missions with the team but always had to stay with someone since I was still learning to control my abilities. Hydra didn’t teach me control, they only taught me to use anger as the driving force behind my power and with powers like mine, that could get dangerous quickly. This was my first mission where I wasn’t instructed to stay with someone the entire time. I still ended up walking with Loki for the first few minutes after everyone splitting up. He and I had become friends since I had moved to the compound. He was the only one who didn’t look at me like he was waiting for me to break or pestering me to talk about what I had been through before joining them. It was supposed to be a simple mission just to gather some intel from an old shut down Hydra base. I turned down a hallway that had a door at the end as Loki turned down one on the opposite side of the corridor. He gave me a nod before we went our separate ways as if to reassure me that I could handle this. I made my way towards the door and realized that it was slightly open and I could hear low talking inside. I paused just outside the door to listen, “There’s at least 6 of them here and probably more outside for backup. We need to hurry up and wipe the server and blow the rest of it.” 

I tried to warn Loki over coms but didn’t get an answer so slowly made my way into the room, staying out of sight of the two men sitting at the bank of computers. As I snuck around a large shelf, something came into view. A bomb that had a timer on it and was counting down. It was hooked to multiple, smaller impact bombs that would go off after the initial explosion disturbed them.This would cause catastrophic damage to the building. We had 2 minutes until it would bring the building down on top of everyone inside. Giving up on staying hidden, I stepped out, hands at the ready, and said “Stop the bomb. Now.” The man at work on the computer continued what he was doing and the man who had an air of authority about him slowly turned to face me and the air in my lungs suddenly went cold. His name was Nelson and he was the man that had been in charge of me when Hydra had me captive. It took everything in me to remind myself that I was in control of myself and I didn’t need to tell him that I was ready to comply with whatever orders he would give me. I was free now and there would be no punishments for disobeying. “Well now if it isn’t my most promising weapon of mass destruction. We’ve been looking for you. The boss is not happy with me for losing you. You took out quite a few high value assets on your way out.” He was smirking and the look on his face made me feel like I was missing a piece of the puzzle. With coms still silent and no sign of anyone coming to help me, the fear started to sink in and the room around us started trembling as I began to lose control of my powers. Nelson chuckled, “Still having trouble controlling the fear, I see. Guess we didn’t quite beat that out of you yet, huh?” I glanced quickly at the timer, a minute and 15 seconds left. Loki suddenly came running into the room, a knife in both hands. Before I could say anything to him, the knives left his hands with a swift flick of his wrist. One took out the man at the computer and the other landed in Nelson’s shoulder. “Go, Loki. Get everyone else out of here.” He ignored me and sent a warning out to the others over coms. Mine was apparently the only one not working. I heard Nelson let out a short laugh at my confusion. “Of course we knew you were here, 9213. We may not be able to hack all of Stark’s tech but we can manage to fry a single com unit.”  Hydra didn’t refer to any of their assets by names. It was either “soldier” for those that they tried to replicate the winter soldier on or by your file number. I was file number 9213. Just as I was about to respond, the bomb went off. Without thinking, I dove towards it and used my powers to contain the explosion. Loki punched Nelson, knocking him out. The exertion of trying to hold the explosion in place was starting to get to me. “Loki, I need to let this go. Is everyone out?” he nodded and I told him to go as well. He didn’t move but I couldn’t hold it anymore so I pushed it as far as I could in the opposite direction of Loki. The force of the explosion threw me into the shelves and just before everything went black I realized that Nelson was nowhere to be seen.

                                              --2 weeks later--

I sighed in frustration as I rolled over and adjusted the pillow for what felt like the hundredth time. Every single time I lay down and close my eyes to sleep since we got back from the mission, I can hear a rhythmic humming noise but when I open my eyes to try and find the source of the noise, it disappears. Giving up on sleep, I made my way to the kitchen for a midnight snack. “Oh for fucks sake, why does Thor keep putting the Oreos on the top shelf?” I grumbled to myself as I climbed up on the counter to reach my favorite cookies and heard a low chuckle behind me. “Need some help with that, Love?” I turned around with my arms crossed and looked down at Loki from where I was standing on the counter. “You could have offered before I climbed up here...” I pouted. After grabbing the Oreos and Loki helping me down from the counter, we sat on the couch together. Loki was almost always awake late at night so we had developed a sort of routine. We sat and talked for a few hours about everything or we sat and read together. Tonight was a reading kind of night but after a few minutes of comfortable silence he said “So what’s been keeping you up this late, Darling? Sleepless nights are my forte but before recently, I rarely saw you up and about after midnight.” I didn’t know how to explain the nonexistent noise that was plaguing me and keeping me awake without sounding crazy. After a few minutes of quiet contemplation I sighed and said “Ever since we got back from the mission a couple weeks ago, I hear this humming noise whenever I am trying to sleep but its almost like I’m hearing it through a wall. It’s muted but loud at the same time.” He gave me a look of concern “You hit your head pretty hard on that mission.. you were knocked out until we got back home to the compound. You should talk to Banner and make sure you’re ok.” I told him I would talk to Banner when he came down from his room. The sun was just starting to rise and I wanted to go up to the roof to enjoy the peace that always comes with the way the sun slowly chases the darkness away. 

I had been up on the roof for an hour, enjoying the quiet with my eyes closed and my face turned towards the sun. This was my favorite place to meditate and destress. After relaxing and getting my mind to go blank, I started to hear the noise again. Instead of immediately opening my eyes like I had been at night, I tried to focus on the noise to see if I could tell what it was. The humming noise started to die down some and I started hearing a slight beeping in its place. Just as I was about to give up, I heard a familiar voice say “(Y/n)? Can you hear me?” but when I opened my eyes there was no one on the roof with me. With the addition of hearing voices added to my list of problems I decided to give up on meditating and head down to the clinic to see Bruce. When I got to the clinic and told him what was going on he gave me a concerned look. After he ran a few tests, Banner came back into the clinic and I could tell by the look on his face that he was just as confused as I was. “Nothing in the tests suggests that there is any residual damage from the hit you took and you passed the hearing tests with flying colors so I don’t think that it affected your auditory cortex.” he said as he sat back in the chair across from me, rubbing his chin in deep thought. I could tell it was truly bothering him that something was wrong and he couldn’t figure out what it was or how to fix it. There was a knock on the door and Loki peeked his head in, “Are you alright, (Y/N)?”  I smiled at him and gestured to the seat next to me, inviting him to come sit. As he sat down Bruce said “So you said you only hear it when trying to sleep or when you let your mind go blank while meditating?” I nodded and he said “OK so I have an idea. What if we try giving you something to help you sleep? You can sleep here in the clinic so we can monitor everything and maybe get some answers on what’s going on with you.” He must have seen the hesitancy on my face because he was immediately reassuring me that I would be 100% safe and looked after at all time. Loki grabbed my hand and said “I will sit by your side while you rest and look after you myself.” This calmed my nerves a bit and I reluctantly agreed. After Bruce administered the meds and I got comfortable, I was beginning to feel pretty drowsy. Loki and Banner had pulled the comfortable couch from the library into the clinic and put nice cozy blankets on it for me. Loki had set up a chair next to me and was quietly reading out loud because he knew it helped to calm my nerves. As I drifted off to sleep the sound of his voice slowly faded and in its place was the humming. I started to notice more noises added to the humming. A steady beeping noise, hushed voices that I couldn’t quite make out, and I swear I could hear someone snoring. I reached up to scratch my nose and heard a gasp. “She moved. (Y/n)? Are you awake? Can you hear me?” I knew that voice. Why did I know that voice? I slowly opened my eyes and looked around. “What the hell is this?” I asked. My hand immediately went to my throat, surprised by how raspy and dry my voice sounded and the harsh feeling in my throat as if I hadn’t used my voice in a very long time. I was surrounded by strangers in white coats. “Who are you? Where am I?” I tried to move but realized I was hooked up to machines. Wires and IV lines getting tangled as I moved. The beeping was coming from a heart monitor next to my bed. I was in a hospital. Did Nelson find a way to take me away from the compound? I raised my hand in an attempt to use my powers and make a run for it but nothing happened. I looked at my hand in confusion and then searched the room for any kind of clue as to what the hell was happening. There was a small tv on in the corner that caught my attention. The team was on the tv. It was in New York and they were fighting aliens. “Is that the news? What happened?” everyone was looking at me. A small woman slowly sat on the end of the hospital bed and put a hand on my foot. The familiar voice from earlier came from her and said “(Y/n), honey, thats just a movie. Its your favorite movie. Remember? The Avengers?”