#so my memory is a tad faulty

[cloudwhisper23]

I was talking to my mom earlier about how I almost got expelled, and I am very tempted to do an inspired bit in Back in the Nightmare where a character may or may not get expelled for fighting.... we'll see though.

[slytherinshua]

113 L. SEUNGJUN

genre. onf universe au (byubyu specifically). fluff. warnings. kissing. seungjun kinda overthinks a tad but reader sets him straight. seungjun is locked up for time travel. a brief mention of guns and a past wound ig? pairing. seungjun x fem!reader. wc. 1.5k. request. no. a/n. i'm pretty proud of this fic idk why skdjs onf lore fics are always so fun to write im still fascinated by their lore even tho i don't understand it too well lol but i try my best.

The sound of metal clashing outside made a groggy Seungjun blink his eyes open. He had been locked up for over 48 hours now with no access to food. He was allowed a little water if he begged the android guards extra nicely. His throat was scratchy and dry from the time spent locked up despite the water supply. They certainly didn’t treat time travel criminals as nicely as escape rebels. 

Seungjun was sure he looked horrible by now. Or “a little bit scruffy around the edges”, as you would say, even the time when he had a gaping wound in his side. He missed the way you could make light of any situation right about now. He would do anything to have a reason to laugh again.

Seungjun was no stranger to the computer operated prison cells he was often shoved into after being caught. Years ago he had been thrown in for smaller crimes, but got out within a couple hours when he figured out the lock code while no one was looking. This time, it was a lot harder. They had upgraded their system; those damn robots learned quicker than the human brain could. 

He had almost accepted his fate of rotting in the small square room by the time 24 hours had passed, but he still kept out a sliver of hope. You were still out there and free, which meant you could still come to save him. 

He wanted to laugh whenever he found himself stuck in a situation where he had to rely on your good graces to get out. One of these days he was sure his sweet words and gentle kisses wouldn’t be enough to convey his thanks. You were sure to get sick of him eventually, right? He was always the one messing things up.

His pride didn’t entirely allow him to accept that you were better than him, though he knew in the back of his mind that you were. You were perfect wherever he was faulty and just as decent at the skills that he professed he excelled in. Maybe that was why you were perfect for each other— or, rather, why you were too perfect for him.

It was strange how the human mind always wandered back to the people they loved. So much time and energy was spent just reminiscing memories, and while he found it beautiful, he also acknowledged it as one of humanity's weaknesses. The androids certainly didn’t spend their hard-drive space with personal connections. They didn’t have anything to lose, and that was why it was so hard to win against them. 

Seungjun shook off the thoughts in his head and focused on the noises he heard from the corridor. From his watch, he knew it was deep in the night hours, a time when security usually lessened in numbers for recharge sessions. Now was as good a time as you were ever going to get if you were coming to save him. And, by another glance at the watch, Seungjun had a pretty good idea that you were.

The entire team’s locations were shared across the watches; a necessary safety measure for situations like now. The little red dot that showed your location was moving steadily closer to Seungjun’s, and that was when a shadow of a smile started to form on his face.

He stood up and walked to the edge of his cell, peaking out into the dark corridor while also being careful not to get too close to the electrically charged door. If he touched it, he would get shocks charging through his body— something he learnt the hard way. In order to escape, he’d have to take down the electricity system, but pulling off such a scheme without the android guards finding out was beyond his power with such limited resources. You, however, might just be able to pull it off undetected. 

A hushed curse just barely reached his ears, and he perked up, trying to hear anything else. It definitely came from you; there was no way any of the robots would let such profanity past their voice record logs. They weren’t the best with advanced vocabulary.

Soon enough, your figure appeared into view, searching around quickly between cells. Once your eyes fell upon the room with the code that read ‘113 L. SEUNGJUN’, you were quick to rush up to the other side of the door.

“Hey, time travelling dumbass. Long time, no see.” You whispered out with a smirk playing on your lips. Seungjun could feel his heart leap in his chest and he returned the smile. He had really missed you.

You quickly punched in the code to his cell and Seungjun watched as the door flickered away. You reached out for his wrist, already pulling him along before he could ask what the escape plan was. You seemed more than familiar with the layout of the building even in the dark. Seungjun opted to let you lead him to the way out without a word. He still didn’t know if there were any guards who might be on patrol.

It was a smooth escape, and you both were out into the cool night air before too long. Seungjun let the crisp fresh air fill his lungs fully, now realising how he had been holding his breath out of caution on the way out.

“How did you disarm the security cameras without getting caught?” He asked once he had caught his breath. Though he had been mostly focused on getting out, he had noticed the distinct lack of little red flashing dots that had been his constant reminder that whatever he did was being watched those 2 days straight.

“Minkyun figured out how to hack it from the inside, so all I had to do was find the control room. Hyojin got me the blueprints and Jaeyoung helped set up the game-plan. My job was pretty simple; get in, disarm, and then go find my stupid ass boyfriend.” You grinned, ruffling his hair as you said the last part.

Seungjun would’ve complained about you messing up his hair, or even the crude nickname that he secretly adored, but he had been apart from you too long to object to anything that came out of your mouth. He was hanging onto every word, soaking up the sound of your voice as his eyes studied yours fondly.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet. What, did something else happen while you were in there?” You questioned with a quirked brow. Seungjun just shook his head at your question.

“Nothing happened. I’m just glad you came for me.” 

“You didn’t seriously think I would ditch you that easily, right?” You stared at him in shock as his eyes told you all the confirmation you needed. “Lee Seungjun!” You smacked his shoulder as you called out his name, causing him to jump and rub the spot afflicted in pain. 

“Do whatever it takes to get this thought into your ant-sized brain, okay? I am in love with you which means I will not leave you behind. Ever. Even if I get blasted by one of those androids and die— I’ll haunt you as a ghost until you realize that you can’t get rid of me that easily! Don’t you ever forget that.” You told him sternly, your eyebrows furrowed.

He wanted to laugh, or maybe cry, or maybe kiss you until he couldn’t breathe; he wasn’t sure which. How he had ever ended up winning your heart was beyond him, but he was so grateful that he had. And so, he decided to go with the third option.

“I won’t forget.” He whispered, leaning closer until his breath hit your lips. 

You took the first move, pushing your lips on his, starting the gentle dance of passion and care. You didn’t mind that his lips were dry and slightly chapped from the days locked up. No matter what state they were in, they still felt perfect over yours. He pulled you closer almost desperately, but you were just as eager to have him as close as possible. The effect of his absence for 2 days on you was something you never wished to repeat. Though you were sure it would come back to bite you someday; you needed Seungjun like oxygen. 

The kiss lasted until Seungjun was gasping for breath, just like he had hoped. Still craving your touch, he stayed in your arms, his chest pressed against yours as close as possible until he could feel your heart racing as much as his. 

And he realized that maybe you weren’t too perfect for him after all. 

Maybe you were just right. Maybe he could be yours without feeling guilty about all the trouble he dragged you in. Maybe you even liked how rebellious he was, Seungjun thought as you curled your fingers through the section of bright red hair blanketed under his raven strands. The thought made him smile, summoning that warm feeling in his chest that he had always been a little wary of in the past. 

Maybe he liked having someone to rely on as well, even if it was another weakness he had to account for. He made up his mind that no matter what, he wouldn’t doubt you again; you deserved at least that much, after all.

↳ onf taglist: @eternalgyu,, @candewlsy,, @weird-bookworm,, @seunghancore,, @haecien

[curiousemwanders]

FIC REC: Twist Of Fate

Twist of Fate by Oakstone730

Okay I have a lot to say about this fic and I’m going to try and say it in a way that makes sense. (AKA this is a long post!)

I often pick long fics to read at work between appointments with clients, and I read this over the last three days at work and after work because I literally couldn’t put it down. I finished last night and spent a good amount of the night still thinking about it. I’m going to start with the only negative thing I have to say about this fic, which isn’t really even a negative, but it’s that maybe it should be rated Mature, not Teen. There are a few scenes that were just a tad too steamy for me to be reading between appointments with clients. In any other context, I would not call that a downside. 

We choose fics to read for all sorts of reasons; we want to see our favorite characters in different scenarios, we wish they hadn’t died, we feel the author has wronged them, or misunderstood them, we want plot holes to be fixed, we don’t like the jobs chosen for them in that god awful epilogue. In more recent years, I think that many of us who read Harry Potter fan fiction have strayed further from the original source material for some of these reasons. It’s so much easier to read a fic that re-writes their adult lives, that established the characters and their identities in ways that place them in direct opposition to the hateful politics and ideas that J.K. Rowling has begun to espouse. And I think this is right, I think it’s good that fic authors are doing this. However it often leads me to avoid, or ignore works that play more directly in the world that Rowling created. I don’t mean the wizarding world, I mean the canon. It often feels that the works that play in the canon, that build upon them, are however subtly accepting Rowling's ideas, her hatred. I know this to be faulty logic, projection of my fears onto the fic. But I would be lying if I didn’t say it’s stopped me from reading some, many, works. Including the great many works created before we knew just how despicable Rowling really is. 

I preface with that information to say that I don’t often read stories that build in the canon rather than rewrite it or use it as a backdrop that the characters are recovering, evolving from. This fic of course does play in the cannon, it expands it, and at points does use it as a backdrop for character recovery. What I find so interesting about the way Oakstone730 writes this story, is the way they’ve interwoven their plot, their ideas, their character growth, with the canon, with what we already know of the story. And I do mean that they wove the story through the already existing canon. 

I suppose this is the point that a succinct summary of the fic would be useful (I’ll try to keep it as spoiler free as possible, but read at your own risk). In Twist of Fate Oakstone730 begins with a prologue set during the trials after the war Harry learns that he not only lost significant memories, but that he also isn’t a virgin, or as straight, as he currently thinks himself to be. What’s more, that he likely had been having sex with his boyhood nemesis Draco Malfoy, who is currently on trial for war crimes. The story then begins in earnest with the Quidditch world cup where Harry and Cedric talk a bit about sexuality (important to note that Cedric is also gay in this fic). At Hogwarts, after hearing that Harry can resist the Imperius curse, Draco seeks him out, offering to help him in potions if he can help Draco learn how to also throw an Imperius. Harry gets Cedric involved in order to help them, and to protect himself. And slowly, over the course of several chapters, we see them begin to build a friendship, and eventually fall in love. We don’t get any hint of why Draco would erase Harry’s memories of him, at least not until Harry begins Occlumency training with Snape. It then becomes clear, for those of us who remember the books, that Voldemort could use Harry’s memories of Draco against him. This fact isn’t made fully clear to either of them until the summer before 6th year when things become untenable for Draco. 

What I love so much about the writing and storytelling in Twist of Fate is that it takes canon and says ‘yeah, that’s what Harry remembered, let me show you what really happened.’ There were so many parts where I would sit wondering ‘is this where we’re going to break from canon?’ AND ‘how are you going to explain this part of the story?’ Each time the answer was, no, Oakstone730 never broke from canon, and each time I was amazed by how they were able to weave what happened in their story through the canon in ways that not only made sense plot-wise, but made thematic sense to the original canon and to this new version. One of the best examples of this in my reading was how the second task was handled during the Triwizard Tournament. Go back and read it, it’s masterful. 

Along with this reading, we get a much more complex story of our characters, we see Cedric as someone who wasn’t happy-go-lucky perfect, but as someone with texture, with a boyfriend he didn’t get to see often, dreams of being a mindhealer, skills he certainly used with Harry and Draco. We see Draco not only as an ex-Deatheater in a story of redemption (as in many excellent Drarry fics), but as someone who is actively unlearning the cultish and unequal upbringing he was raised in. I find that struggle is often hard to write, and subsequently to find. Further we see him engage in the actions many of us wish he could have taken in the canon, acting as a spy, helping the Order from the inside. And most notably, he does this without even the thought that we would survive. Draco too is a woven character, playing the nemesis when needed, but showing to us, the readers, his true colors. 

Harry’s character in this is another amazing example of both adding delicious complexity and the masterful weaving I discussed above. When we read the canon, we often see Harry as this boy who has experienced so much complex trauma, who can be so observant, but also so obtuse and unable to express himself. This fic takes that and shows us another way to interpret it. Instead of a boy who wasn’t able to express himself, we see him with Cedric and Draco actually processing his trauma, building resilience, and most importantly, being happy. And we see that when those memories are erased from him, his skills for managing stress, for understanding himself and others becomes blunted again. We see him unable to control his magic, unable to let his friends in, to tell others about himself, to the extent that he runs away and goes into hiding. 

All together this fic was amazing to read, and I truly appreciate the ways it built upon the characters and the story. I love it not only for the simple joy of reading it (oh god I didn’t even mention the delicious angst!), but because I can see the depth of skill it took to write this story, and I can't help but be mesmerized by it. 

[calamitydaze]

Personally I like it but I haven’t read the books in years and have terrible memory so I only remember bits and pieces but even as someone who hasn’t read them in so long and likes the show I agree some parts just do not make sense to me at all whether that be from my faulty memory or it just generally feeling off I’m not sure…

I have hopes it really could get better and I hope it does but yea even tho I like it I definitely get you and I am probably looking at the show a tad rose tinted cause I was just so excited for it and one of my favorite wrestlers who is also an actor plays ares so that further rose tints it for me -PBA

honestly i think the show works better for someone who only distantly remembers the books or even hasn’t read them at all, because it’s ended up being more of a rewrite/retelling than an adaptation! i may have unknowingly shot myself in the foot by rereading the series just before it came out :’) i do see glimmers of greatness so i’ll stay tuned and maybe it’ll improve with future seasons, but most importantly i’m glad you’re enjoying it!! i may be bitching about it but i never wanna take away from the fact that a lot of people do really like it

[egittae]

The boy’s reaction left a knowing smile on Lambert's face, but for the moment he focused on keeping the pace as they reached the vast field. Unlike the path they had been following up until now, rocky and uncertain, this glade was covered in soft grass- the last breath of green before it inevitably gets blanketed by mud and snow once winter fully pokes its head in. It was perfect for a couple of rounds in canter as the ground was stable for the horses, offering no risk for them as well as a tasty snack for the equines once they finally reached a stop in their practice.

“You truly thought that I would contradict my own safety warning, so quickly? Please, only my memory is faulty. My judgment remains solid as ever.” It was said with an easy tone as the professor dismounted from his horse, one hand holding the reins while the other stroked the animal’s face. He didn’t mean to scold the prince, only poke fun at his reaction a little bit. “Excellent canter, however! Solid and well trained, your posture held stable and you followed your horse’s rhythm quite well. Good job, Dimitri.” He then turned to face his own mount, reaching into one of the pouches strapped to the saddle and manifesting an apple and a small knife. “And good job for you too, big boy. Very good!” Lambert then began cutting slices of the fruit, feeding them one by one to the animal- who took each with much gusto.

His eyes remained on the equine, but he was listening to Dimitri’s words. “Indeed, I did.” A small smile appeared on his lips, slightly hollow. Slightly tired. “You think that it is just an excuse to cover up something, do you not? It is okay. You are not the first, and you will not be the last. It does not bother me anymore.” Lambert had already been subjected to suspicious glares time and time again now, and it wasn’t like he could even be angry at those people. He was aware that it sounded like a big bad lie.

Lambert turned to face Dimitri, that smile still there. “You are a prince, you have the right to pry, not as a matter of rank, but for the sake of your own safety.”

“When I came to Garreg Mach, I already knew that my situation would make it…a bit difficult for me to face the institution and its knights. Imagine, a suspicious individual with seemingly no recorded past and a background that sounds like a bad excuse, attending the monastery that contains not only the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros but also countless children of nobles including the heirs for each nation’s leading titles? Absolutely ridiculous, I would have no peace and with good reason.” It would’ve been quite the potential security exploit if it ended up happening, and Lambert… did not want to go through that.

“And so, I sought the Abyss instead of the Academy. That is why you do not see me around the monastery’s halls, despite my title as a professor.” A small part of him longed to be among others on the surface again, but it was easily overpowered by the simple fact that he just wouldn’t fit in. He’d feel miserable wandering these halls as a ghost, surrounded by so much life.

The Ashen Wolves granted him a glimpse of that illusion- of being surrounded by life and being part of it.

Lambert sighed, watching his horse finish munching on the apple slices before reaching down for the grass below. “…yes. Perhaps difficult is an understatement, but indeed.” Placing the small knife back in the pouch, he crossed his arms- still watching his horse. “It is a tad isolating, to be in this world without a face or a past to speak of- only vague pieces of memory and nothing more. I do not even know the names or whereabouts of my own family. Or if my family still lives, in the first place.” He frowned slightly.

“The Abyss gave me the shelter I needed, because no one in there cares about who I am or who I was. And those kids down there…regardless of what they have done in their lives, I am a firm believer that they deserve a chance to receive education, too. I help those who wish to be helped, and the cardinals gave me that opportunity.”

“All of this to say, no. I am not some undercover assassin hired to get you or anything. I got enough paperwork to grade on my desk, thank you very much.” That melancholy from before seemed to fade- at least enough to allow a proper laugh to ring through his lips. “But I do hope that has clarified much of my person in your eyes. I have nothing to hide…and even if I did, I do not remember.” He was just lost, that was all.

@blaiddllodi

"Dr-dressage?" The comment struck Dimitri from the side, as he could not have imagined a less suited place for exhibition techniques than an icy mountain path - had they not, just discussed the dangers of racing, of pushing too far out of line? Had they not discussed the volatility of winter herself?

But, it was as the professor had said, they had appeared in the clearing that had been marked on their maps: it was a beautiful glade, dotted with burbling, clinking knotted streams that had not quite iced over, the grass frosted over in a delicate shawl, the space fairly glittering in the crisp afternoon sunlight. Truly, if any in the monastery were to take a ride out for the glory of nature, it would be for this spot.

They circled for a moment, and though the professor had said that he was not being graded, there was a stiff precision to Dimitri's control of his horse as he went through a few of the tamer motions by rote, recalling the horsemaster of his own house, of Gautier and Galatea, and all the lessons that they might have imparted.

Dismounting, hearing the crunch of ice beneath his boots, Dimitri cast his gaze to the sky - still a clear, watery blue, for now, but the air was colder here than it was at the trailhead. They would need to be careful coming back down.

"Excuse me professor, I don't mean to pry but… you said that you simply awoke in a field, with no memories?"

It was…a hard tale to swallow, he supposed, for one such as this to have been granted teaching license at the Officer's Academy. Although…he was not, was he? He had not headed any classes that Dimitri had seen, although his clothing seemed monastery provided.

Was it merely a story, then? Was he hiding from something more sinister?

He did not seem hunted though. Merely…lonely.

"That…" His brow furrowed. "Must have been difficult."

[thesunicarusfellfor]

Mortal of Gold - Part 3

(Yandere!C!Techno x GN!Shy!Reader x Yandere!C!Philza)

Anyone want my list of the characters as gods? There were a few characters that I couldn't think of like Ponk, so I just left them out. ANYWAY. Hi, how's it going? ALSO I CANT EDIT THIS DAMN POST AND THE SPELLING ERRORS ARE SO IRRITATING

Part 1 Part 2 TW: Mention of amnesia, memories being altered Send me a message via inbox if you wanna be added to a general or series tag list. Make sure to turn off anon, please. ------- “They weren’t born… A mortal?”

A light wind brushed over your features, causing you to give a small sigh and roll over onto your side in an attempt to block the light from hitting your lidded eyes. It was nice and quiet for once… “(Y/n)?” A distorted voice echoed softly, causing you to flinch a bit. You opened your eyes slightly to see a silky blackbird sitting on the sheets beside you, a few golden trinkets laying beside it. Upon seeing your eyes slide open, the creature hopped up onto its legs and began making soft cooing noises, “(Y/n)! (Y/n), you’re awake!” Glancing around at the surroundings you had been placed in, racking your mind for any sort of familiarity but failing to come up with anything at all, even who you were. You sat up, slowly brushing your fingers along your ombre silk clothing before putting your hands on the sheets below your body, frowning as you didn’t recognize the bed as yours. “Hello…” You murmured softly, reaching your hand out to the crow who eagerly jumped forward to nuzzle your hand. The feathers of the bird felt… Odd. They felt more like grabbing at misty fog, but with a light staticky cotton texture that caused a buzzing sensation on your fingertips, “I’m sorry, my memory… Seems to be a tad faulty… Could you tell me your name?” “I’m Chat, Dadza- er… Philza’s familiar! I was a gift from Mumza, oops... Kristen, the Goddess of Void and Death.” It chirped, its voice having multiple layers in your head, causing you to shake your head a slight bit, “No, they’re not married, only parental figures to the souls that pass on to the afterlife or those they saved sometime before they passed on… I believe they have more of a co-worker relationship.” You nodded slightly, pursing your lips at how the creature’s voice sounded in your mind. It was unsettling and caused shivers to crawl up and down your back, but at the same time, it was incredibly calming and had a soothing aura. How that worked, you had no clue whatsoever. Brushing off the unsettling voice of the bird, you decided to focus on the name that caused a light to go off in your head, “Alright… Philza… I think I remember that name…” “Yeah! Dadza- Eck… Sorry. Phil, he’s the God of Survival and Crows! He controls not only every crow in the mortal land, but he also controls whether or not someone will survive a situation. If there is no way that the mortal can survive, he will send a crow down and have them guide the soul of the mortal to him! Then he escorts them to Kristen! He has gained the name Angel of Death because he works for Mumza!” You decided not to question why the crow called Philza and Kristen Mumza and Dadza, knowing that you’d probably find out later, but by the sound of it Chat seemed to be multiple children, “Okay… Makes sense…” You mumbled slowly, nodding your head up and down. With a sigh you slowly brought your legs over to the side of the bed, only now becoming aware of how large the soft mattress was. Lowlands! (Hell) You could probably fit six people who were ten feet tall in it with room to roam! Pushing yourself off the bed, you also realized how high the beautiful bed was off the floor, Gods, whoever lived here was tall! Behind you, you heard a small chirp, and you saw Chat watching you curiously. With a small shrug, you decided to pick the familiar up and hold it in your cupped hands as you walked out the door, “Oooh! Dadza never carries us like this, and Technoblade does only when he’s about to yeet us out a window!” “Yeet?” You scowled in confusion as you walked through the arched doorway, your bare feet padding silently on the quartz flooring, “I'm scared to ask. Technoblade? Is he also a god of some things? He sounds familiar as well…” “That’s its word for throwing something. Well, it yells the word when they throw something or get thrown, so I assume it’s yelling in excitement,” A deep voice spoke from in front of you, causing you to gasp and lift your head from the crow. The telepathic chirping and squeaks from Chat in your mind quickly formed the name Technoblade, so… You had a feeling that your answer was on its way past his

lips, “I’m Technoblade, or Techno, the God of Blood and War. It’s… nice to see you finally awake…” He shifted awkwardly on his feet as you curiously studied him. His appearance could certainly be described as godly if anyone asked you. His long pink hair was mostly twisted and tied into a braid with bits of golden chain and a polished golden crown adorned with rubies, garnets and diamonds. Upon his pale skin, dozens of scars of varying sizes decorated his skin in different areas, but they were displayed in an almost proud manner. Almost. When he spoke, his dark pink eyes hidden behind cracked glasses searched your form for any sort of injury, “I’m… (Y/n)... I think. I don’t know if this bird is exactly trustworthy in its information… Do you know where I am?” Techno snorted as Chat gave an offended squawk at your statement, “That’s very fair, to be honest. You’re in the Tundra of the Upperlands, and this is my palace. No there is no snow, I believe the person who named this place has never looked into the name or word Tundra, but it’s been like this for too long to change it-” He paused for a moment as he noticed you looking extremely confused, “Ah. Right. Desert. Don’t worry about it.” “Oh… Okay…” You frowned at the tusked male for a moment before shaking your head, deciding not to question it much, “Now, uh… How did I get here, and why don’t I remember anything about myself? Or, about you and this Philza guy, I was told about.” You lifted Chat slightly toward Techno as a silent indication that Chat was the one who told you about Phil. “That’s uh… Phil’s field of expertise.” He rubbed the back of his head with his black-tipped fingers before adjusting his crown, “I don’t understand much of what happened, and Phil will tell you what you need to know that will keep you safe.” Hesitantly, he held his free hand out towards you making you realize that he was easily over seven and a half feet tall, “C’mon, I’ll take you to him and get you the answers you need.” His hand was extremely steady, you noticed as you stared down at it cautiously. Once you noticed that he didn’t seem to want to do you harm, you slowly shifted Chat into one hand and used your free hand to take the one extended to you, which you couldn’t help but notice, made Technoblade very happy, “Okay. Thank you.” The god held your hand in his calloused one for a few moments before beginning to lead you down the tan and white hallways that were turned a light golden hue from the rising sun. It was quite a long walk filled with a slightly uncomfortable silence, but you distracted yourself by looking around the palace curiously. It was obvious he was the God of War by how many swords hanging on walls and sets of armour he had placed on armour stands in the hallways. Eventually, he walked you through an archway that led into a wide-open room with multiple windows that had many crows perched on the windowsills, some chirping and singing some little tune in perfect unison while others shuffled around, seeming to do a little dance. You were quick to realize the whistling of one of the birds didn’t match up and noticed that it was coming from the man with the large white and green striped hat as well as massive black feathered wings dangling on his back, fluffing themselves up every so often. When you and Techno stepped in, the blackbirds started chirping loudly, losing the rhythm of the tune the winged man was whistling as Chat started telepathically squealing about… 2/4? Two out of four what? “Ah!” The hat-wearing male turned around and clasped his hands together upon seeing you standing up, “(Y/n), you’re awake. I was worried the injuries you sustained were enough to keep you out cold for a few more weeks. I’m glad to see I was wrong. I’m Philza, God of Survival and Crows, and I see you’ve met Chat and Techno. Pesky bird, I told it not to wake you...” You pursed your lips for a moment, analyzing the shorter god as the bird squealed out its protests. While he was shorter than Techno, he was certainly tall, standing roughly around six feet tall, his wingspan

probably double that for each wing! His blonde hair was long around his face but was pulled into a loose braid like Techno’s was, although instead of gold intertwined into his hair, it was silver. His outfit was made up of a loose green shirt and black pants, with a red heart-shaped pendant dangling off of a chain into the center of his chest. Why did that pendant… Look familiar? You slowly rose your hand up and clasped at the pendant around your neck, noticing how Philza smiled softly, “Technoblade… Said you could tell me why I can’t remember anything?” “You’re still wearing my gift, I see,” Philza gave a soft hum as Chat jumped from your hand and onto his shoulder, before gesturing for you and Techno to take a seat where he already had drinks and some form of cakes set out, but they certainly weren’t there when you came in. Upon seeing your confused blinking, he gave a soft laugh, “I’m a god, mate, magic is no difficult task for me, let alone creating some measly tea and desserts. Now, sit down and I will tell you everything…” - General - None Mortal of Gold -@generalalmond @binas-idea-vault @ohworm-writes

[caker-baker]

Hi!! I hope your having a wonderful day or night! I was wondering if you could do another part to the speedster and telepath? No worries if you can’t!

Tracking a hero who theoretically ran faster than a bullet was proving difficult, especially when there was no longer a customized mental hold on said hero.

The villain didn’t give up, though, and they wouldn’t now, but their attention was being pulled away.

Normally, the villain would have put aside any crimes to find their hero, but this was also a matter of pride. Their intel told of some new villain, someone in their city, their terf.

They were ready, their mind warded to the brim if the other villain happened to be a telepath, and most other defenses didn’t stand against the villain’s mental strength.

Except super speed, apparently. They thought bitterly.

The villain wasn’t proud of their little tantrum a few months ago, but it gave them some perspective - how much they need the hero.

They had a contingency plan now, albeit a somewhat weak one. The villain had never been outsmarted like that before, even if it wasn’t so much about outsmarting, and more of the villain’s cuff going faulty.

Then the hero phasing through the cuff.

And predicting the villain’s moves.

And managing to avoid the villain’s mental grasp.

Maybe the hero was a tad more quick than the villain gave them credit for, quick in more ways than one.

With rolled up sleeves and an outfit they didn’t mind dirtying, the villain entered the supposed base of operations for this other villain, some run-of-the-mill dilapidated factory building, just outside the city.

It was a well educated guess, their intel could be wrong, but it looked too calm, something similar to when the villain just started.

“Hello.” The villain drawled in a mocking tone. “Surely you knew I was coming, wherever you are.”

The darkness wasn’t an issue, the villain could just extend a mental reach, what was an issue was the lack of thought to take hold of. There was just nothing.

“Hm.” The villain was resigned, and already back to focusing on the hero.

That’s when it hit them, this - this nothing felt a lot like something else.

“Hero?” The villain asked.

The answer was clear when the villain was knocked onto their back by a seemingly invisible force.

“Of course. You made it away from me once with knowledge of my telepathy, so why wouldn’t they send you back?” The villain stood and dusted themselves off. “Was the intel wrong as well? No new villains I need to take care of?”

All the questions were rhetorical, they both knew that, just like they both knew they were only building up to the inevitable.

The hero stopped. “You’ve...you’ve been quiet.”

Immediately the villain knew something was wrong, but they could play around this for as long as necessary.

“Yes, my plans have been otherwise put on hold until a certain pet finds it’s way back home.”

The two began a slow circle around each other.

“Why,” the hero staggered to the side, the villain raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you just freeze me then?”

“Something’s different about you.” The villain acknowledged, almost sing-song “Since you’ve so kindly locked me out of that pretty head, I’ll have to figure it out the old fashioned way.”

With that, the hero zipped around, the villain very narrowly dodging their attacks. Once or twice, the hero would stumble again, slowing them down.

After another trip, the villain figured out the hero’s pattern: left to right, side to side. Knowing that, it was easy for the villain to shoot out their hand and snag the hero back by their collar.

They figured if the hero could phase through objects touching them, phasing through the villain would be no problem, hence grabbing the hero’s collar. The hero could always, however, phase through their own uniform, but the villain doubted they would want to be shirtless.

“Are you really so,” the hero stopped and panted, as strange as that was. “So hurt?” The words were supposed to be mocking, but the hero’s tiredness made it less so.

“Hurt? No, pet. This is all a matter of pride.” The villain didn’t hesitate, not wanting to give the hero a chance to run.

With their free hand, the villain placed their fingers on the hero’s temple, and plunged.

The villain could still vaguely sense what was happening in the outside world, but the hero’s mind was much more occupying.

It was chaotic.

The villain could feel any and all of the hero’s piece of mind torn to shreds, not gone, but broken. Then there were the surface level thoughts: Stop it. Get out of my head. You aren’t supposed to know how.

The villain went deeper.

It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts.

Memories began to bubble up, memories the hero very much wanted to stay hidden.

“It’ll be ok,” a whitecoat promised. “It’s just so they can’t control you.”

The villain felt the hero’s pain as something sharp and quick took them over, felt the hero’s mind synch up with something not their own, felt barriers upon barriers, layers of pressure too heavy for one head.

Almost as if someone dragged them out, the villain was forced out of the now angry teared hero’s mind.

“Hero,” the villain spoke low and soft. “I want to help you, but I need you copoorate”

“No. No.” The hero tried to pull away, but the villain held fast.

“They tried to make your mind as fast as the rest of you, so fast I couldn’t touch it.” The villain snapped. “They did it poorly. It will kill you unless I find a way to undo that. Let me find a way to undo that.”

The hero wasn’t as frantic anymore, but their face was still red and tired, the occasional tear slipping down their cheek.

“I’m not going back with you, I don’t want to be under anyone’s control.”

The villain buckled after a swift kick to their shins, the hero released from their grasp.

“You-” they growled. “Stay still.”

“Screw you.” The hero said from somewhere in the building, too fast for the villain to tell.

“Was I really that bad to you?” Asked the villain, eyes searching frantically for a stumbling hero. “It doesn’t have to be compulsion, pet, it doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to be, just come back with me, let me fix whatever happened.” Contingency plan be damned.

The hero tripped over their own feet, tired and sweating.

“How often do you tire like that?” The villain asked, slowly walking to the hero. “You know it’s not normal, I know it’s not normal, so why pretend it is?”

This time around, the hero was predicatable, and before they could move, the villain tackled, pinning the hero on the ground.

With one hand on the hero’s head, the villain mustered all the command they could.

“Sleep.”

And the hero did, suddenly out like a light.

Truth be told, it probably wouldn’t take that much to put the hero to sleep, they were already exhausted.

“I promise, pet, I’m not trying to hurt you.” The villain whispered, before taking the plunge again.

They didn’t know if it would hurt the hero, going through their unconscious mind. This was something they had only done twice, both times were out of necessity, somewhat like this now.

There was the whitecoat again, whispering soothing words to the hero as something took root in the base of their neck.

Go back. The others urged the hero. You know how to finally beat villain.

The villain felt the hero’s humming head, the heaviness sinking in deeper. Wide eyed, the villain left the hero’s mind to flip them onto their stomach.

It was hardly noticeable at first, but the villain was good with gadgets, good at knowing what to look for.

The chip at the base of the hero’s neck was killing them slowly as it worked. Rewriting a prefrontal cortex through the spinal cord was horribly stupid, and something even the villain couldn’t do.

The villain needed total silence and a cleanlier place of work if they were going to detach the chip from the hero’s spine. And that’s just what they would get.

.

Every so often while working on the hero, the villain seriously questioned who the good guys were.

They didn’t delude themselves into thinking they were a good person, the villain knew they weren’t, but they wouldn’t try and rewrite someone on a mental level like this.

What the villain did was gentle, what the other heroes did was sloppy. The villain just urged the hero to stay, they didn’t try and force them to change completely.

It wasn’t right to do that to a fellow hero.

When the hero woke up, they would be angry, angry at the villain for taking them back, angry they had lost, but hopefully themselves again, that’s what mattered.

The villain watched the hero intently, wondering what their anger could afford them, and considering the fluttering eyelids, the villain would soon find out.

“Please don’t move too fast, pet. As hard as that is for you.”

The hero didn’t heed any warnings, a hand flying up to the base of their neck, legs already planted on the ground.

“Just hear me out!” The villain had raised their voice over the hero clattering throughout the small room.

The hero continued to zip about, almost to the door, but the villain was standing in front of it.

Now they were face to face.

“While I have no doubt in your abilities and think you could match your frequency with mine easily, I also don’t believe phasing through me and the door is a risk you want to take.”

The room was otherwise unhelpful to the hero, no windows, and there was no telling they would come through somewhere safe if they tried a wall.

“Surely you don’t expect me to be civil.” The hero spat.

“Well, I was hoping you would take into consideration that I saved your life.” The villain knew they were guilt tripping the hero, but they really needed to hero to comply, which they did.

Now sitting, the hero didn’t bother to look the villain in the eyes.

“Your hero friends,” The villain began, sitting opposite the hero. “Sent you to fight someone viewed as a psychopath, armed only with experimental technology and super speed.”

“Are you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“A psychopath.” The hero explained. “I never asked in the time we were together.”

“No.” The villain said slowly. “And that isn’t the point. You don’t want to get to the point, because then you would be forced to admit your hero friends are bad people.”

“Don’t read my-”

“I didn’t. I don’t need to anyway, you have confirmed my suspicions.”

“No!” The hero protested. “You’re just twisting around the situation!”

The villain tilted their head up. “Am I?”

At that, the hero stayed silent.

“I’m not going to make you stay, pet.” The villain said, much to the shock of them both. “I just have a favor to ask.”

The hero’s eyes narrowed. “And that would be?”

“Stay away from your hero friends, just a couple of days.”

There was silence, and for a second, the villain was worried the hero wouldn’t agree, but their thoughts told a different story.

“That’s all?”

“Scout’s honor.” The villain held up a hand in a mock pledge.

It was difficult for the hero to stifle a laugh. “For some reason, I can’t imagine you as a happy camper.”

“Ah,” the villain grinned. “Well, a budding telepath rooming with more loud children, you know how these things go.”

The hero stood again. “Will you be unlocking the door?”

“If I must.”

Then the villain was alone. “Goodbye, pet.” They whispered.

It was unfortunate the hero didn’t seem too angry at the other heroes, it would have made going after their reckless friends easier. Still, they didn’t need the hero’s approval, they would be doing it one way or another.

The new mental track was still in place, so the villain knew if the hero went back on their word to see those apparent friends.

Yes, it would all be a choice this time around, but the options would grow slim.

.

A note: I hope you are having a wonderful day or night too.

[ash-imagines]

So as I had mentioned it is currently storming where I am. I have loved, loved, LOVED storms since I was very young. The street we lived on had a faulty transformer or something. (Haha not to sure what the part was called now) But come every summer during the electrical storms, it would shut down the whole block. Now, you might think I have tales of well spent rainy afternoons (you would be right) but for me it was the lead up to the blackout. I would make my favorite snack, popcorn then I would run around lighting all the candles in our house (and we had many, still do..) and wait for the power to go out! I just loved when it would happen. Even now when blackouts occur I look forward to lighting all of the candles and being mesmerized by the glow of their light.

And one other fond childhood memory came to me during this. (Because of popcorn, haha I really do love the stuff) As a child and even now as an adult I love to go on picnics. (Not even as a romantic sort of thing, just simply to be) Though the ones from my childhood are a tad different. See, as a child my picnics need all of two things to be considered complete. First being, my baby blanket (a soft yellow patchwork) to be the picnic blanket. It had to be that blanket no other would suffice. And the next needed item, a bowl of popcorn. Weather I was alone or inviting a friend this was how a picnic was meant to be. Tbh though, I still very much loved my simple picnics.

For some reason this made me remember a time when I was little where I had a couple of these "how to be a spy" books. One was just a book but the other was a kit that included some "spy gadgets". So one night I stayed up trying to put into practice the things that I had "learned" from my spy books, putting my gadgets into this toy purse that I had (it was this exact purse, minus the phone because this was the early 2000s). I put the gadgets and the books in the purse, I put on a "disguise", and I'm not even sure what my plan was (I don't think I even had one). I couldn't leave the house or anything because it was like 10PM and my parents were asleep. I think just as I was about to leave my room I came to the realization that there was no point to any of what I was doing and I went back to bed.

And yes, I did watch Totally Spies. Side note, wasn't there a show that took place in the same universe as Totally Spies with a different handful of kids also being given missions by Jerry? Or am I thinking of something else?

[ephemerlskies]

constant craving 04 (final) | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: “drabble” series, best friends to lovers au, slight angst, FLUFF, bestfriend!au, unrequited love, smarter idiots but still idiots all the same

⇢ word count: 6.8k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol, excessive drinking (drink responsibly), pining, jungkook is an overdramatic baby, a surplus of feelings (i am disgusted with myself), one (1) fire hazard

⇢ summary: with the Friendiversary approaching quickly, both you and Jungkook have an array of trials to navigate through. and, as Seokjin gets caught in the crossfires, you must finally make a decision that will define how the rest of your life will unfold. 

♪ playlist: constant craving - k.d. lang, bad religion - frank ocean, misunderstood - lucky daye, neu roses - daniel caesar ♪

�� series index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 (final)

a/n: wow.... so bitches really call this a drabble series then write a 6 thousand word finale... its me im bitches... anywho, i really love the way this played out!! jungkook had to hit the bottom to start rising to the top and it shows. also, the ending is like....... hehe well ill just let you all see for yourselves. enjoy my lovely readers! this wrapped up such a heartfelt series that is so dear to my heart. thank you all for the support for this! and i might whip up a few drabbles simply because i think this relationship is really cute hehe ok... happy reading! <3

part four: i love you too

Carrying that music box in his pocket felt like a well-deserved and all too grim reminder of what went down a few days ago. Sitting drunk yet again, though one would best describe Jungkook’s posture as more of a sloven pile of flesh and bones withering away on a bar stool, he searched for the wallet which was in one of his four pockets.

He reached for the wrong one. Instead of the faux leather skimming his skin, it was a solid wood corner pricking the pad of his index finger. It stung more than it should have. Perhaps he'd gotten a splinter, or the top layer of his skin was simply too raw from all the wear and tear of your fight. Jungkook wasn’t one to jump at such negligible shocks, but it sank him back into that night. It wasn't the wooden corner at all.

You loved him. You still love him.

That's what you said. That's what nearly put him on the floor instead of in his chair, and what had been preying on his mind as if he were no different than a helpless animal drowning his regrets in whiskey. And he knew he should have said it back. 

Jungkook theorized ways to defy the cruel restraints of time, and if the universe would be so kind as to allow him to travel back to that day in middle school when he happened upon a scared, flush-faced student running so fast and panicked that they bumped into each other, just to be the one who said 'I love you' first. Or those genies and shooting stars and blessed fountains that supposedly granted wishes; he would pay no hesitation to plead with whatever deity would listen and permit his most prioritized desire. 

The retrospective bargaining remained a ghost haunting just about every waking moment of his life. Though, he had not been quite sure if said ghost was some cosmic sent presence or simply his own guilt. If regret took on physical ramifications, then Jungkook would have been convinced that was why he felt as if his legs wouldn't have been able to carry him even if he tried.

If I could just go back to that night with the knowledge I know now, I would have hauled my ass to your house instead of that club and told you that my choice was made for me the moment I met you. Every other person I ended up with these past twelve years was simply a buffer for loving you. I had to prepare myself, because loving you was something entirely too tremendous for a boy still grappling with his own faulty speech pattern to assume.

I wish you knew that. I wish I didn’t stand there like an idiot and let you leave, thinking me some hero for finally letting this new guy Seokjin take the place I had always imagined being in. I wish I had just said that I love you.

I love you.

I love you, ___.

Jungkook’s vision resembled that of a smudged lens. However, there were no fingerprints on his eyes. The world had turned blurry and colorless, the latter he knew was not due to the sixth order of whiskey he let soak into his heart’s open wound. 

A life of color was one of the many things that left when you did.

He didn’t know it then, but Jungkook was being fervently dramatic since it had not been more than seventy-two hours the last time he spoke to you. Thought to him, it was akin to being just short of death and taking another breath would have been an expense he wasn’t sufficiently funded to pay. 

Whatever happened in the interim of him paying his tab and walking out onto the sidewalk must have landed somewhere in the blacked out stretches of his inebriated memory, since he was now staring at your contact gleaming on his phone bearing the semblance of one guardian angel.

It was so ingrained into his routine. Opening the app with the phone icon, clicking the ‘recent’ tab, and finding your name no further than three contacts down the list because he called you as if he had important things to tell you, though normally it was just to hear your voice or to tell you about what he had for lunch. And it nestled into his muscle memory as natural as it was for him to breathe or blink. Even when alcohol debilitated his driving, walking, and thinking, his body was drawn to seek a haven such as yourself. And he nearly pressed ‘call’.

Before the comfort of your voice could ring through to his phone, reality descended upon that reflex. Right now, you were probably with Seokjin, attending some pretentious art gallery for one of his colleagues.

It was just Jungkook and the night sky and the moon that he hoped you were gazing at too; it would be the only connection to you as of now. The moon, a parcel for the most longing gazes.

There are stories where the two protagonists get it right. This was not that story. That reality stung more than the residual burn of whiskey clinging along his throat.

Both you and Jungkook made every wrong decision possible. From the moment you subjected yourself to exploiting the veneer of being a ‘good friend’ to disguise any true feelings that might have taken light, to the moment Jungkook was presented with all the excruciatingly obvious signs that you were in love with him, but was simply too inept to notice, to the both of you neglecting any urge threatening the bounds of platonic. Any path that would have steered to a destination where you two would get that happy ending was conveniently untaken.

And you had a long journey riddled with heartbreak after heartbreak to prove it.

He traded his phone with that wooden music box, scuffing the soles of his shoe as he walked back home, hoping he’d be able to give the gift to you on your Friendiversary.

-----

Your pain was still raw. In this way, you had not considered, or rather avoided the idea of tending to such delicate wounds. The days leading up to the infamous anniversary had been spent hoping you would organically heal enough to allow the presence of Jungkook while denying another reopening in your wound.

You had been juggling a not so thrilling number of conflicts the three days preceding that self-acclaimed national holiday.

One, Seokjin and his bottomless supply of invitations that you felt too obligated to refuse. He had such a life packed with plans which is more than you could have said for Jungkook. He, most likely, busied himself with promoting ranks in some obscenely violent video game. Two, a mutual friend of yours had told you Seokjin was fixing to make your relationship official this coming Friday, and you didn’t want to admit the lackluster reaction upon hearing the news was equivalent to receiving a C on a test. It wasn't the worst grade to receive, but you knew there would always be something better than adequacy. Not satisfying enough nor disappointing enough to be dealt with without bending a few expectations. And three, all you really wanted, the only agent of excitability (both good and bad) that diluted the festering numbness in your heart just a tad more, was thinking about seeing Jungkook on your Friendiversary.

But with that excitement, was its equally worrying constituent: whether or not you would be able see Jungkook that day without cracking under pressure.

Things weren’t exactly attuned between the two of you. Your emotional stature had never been more unsynchronized and offkey with Jungkook’s, so, forcing a celebratory movie or dinner would be no different than adding cornstarch to the already thick tension.

“___? Are you listening?” Everything Seokjin had just been droning on about filtered in and out without a single word being absorbed, and you could have pretended this wasn't the case but  stress had apprehended caring enough to lie.

“Sorry… No, I wasn't. I’m just stressed is all.” Since that was only a half lie, self-admonition had not yet taken permanent residency whenever you would look at Seokjin’s eyes offering nothing but genuine tact.

“Oh, sorry to hear! Are you okay? Anything you wanna talk about?” That, and the soft press of his hand over yours had swallowed you into a perpetual, guilty cycle of comparing two incomparable people.

Seokjin was always like this. Serving a gentle smile and honest ears as a vessel of calmness during whatever calamity you were grappling. It was safe knowing if you fell, you’d have a comfortable cushion to soften the impact. He was mindful with his words and had the intelligence to articulate them with impressive eloquence. You were more likely to see pigs fly than to see him stutter. He had a diverse group of friends and walked a steady path to a financially secure life. And you started to wonder what else one would need in a partner? Any sensible person would do much more than you had to snag someone like Seokjin, as handsome as he was kind and respectful. He seemed to have everything Jungkook lacked, including mutual feelings for you.

It would have been entirely too easy to pick him, as if there was a ‘Seokjin’ button and a ‘Jungkook’ button and you could press Seokjin’s on a whim. If choosing him would have meant miraculous nullification of all your very real and very unremitting feelings for that idiot you called your best friend, then you would have done it in a heartbeat.

There wasn't a 'Seokjin' button or a 'Jungkook' button, nor was there a button that would wondrously redistribute your feelings towards Seokjin.

And then there was Jungkook. Always in the back of your mind when he wasn't tenanting the focus of it.

He was never predictable in the ways that mattered. It was just as difficult figuring out his next move as figuring out whether this trait was exciting or exhausting.

Though, this had not been to say you didn’t know him well; in fact, all his habits and preferences and pet peeves could be bound into a book, written by you, and it would be so accurate anyone who read it would think it was an autobiography. He knew you to the same caliber. Where Seokjin would ask what was wrong, Jungkook wouldn’t need to. He already learned your behavior to know to say something along the lines of ‘tell me what’s wrong when you're ready, we can watch your favorite movie or swing by that Chinese place with those great fried dumplings in the meantime’. And on more favorable occasions, he'd say nothing and simply wrap you in his arms and let his shirt become a delta for your tears.

To anyone else, that might sound entirely too frank and perhaps a bit dismissive to be comforting, but to you it was the exact cure for each affliction. To never need explanations that would validate your feelings because Jungkook saw to that right when he took notice; to never manufacture fake smiles through failed attempts at cheering you up since, of course, he knew exactly what to do to vegetate joy in your heart and earn a smile from years and years —and years— of practice. It had almost driven you mad, thinking about how he knew from a shift in your brow what you were feeling and yet, somehow, never realized how deeply in love you were.

All the while, the moment you were convinced you had been versed fluently in his every move, he would pawn another blindsight that would leave you breathless and amazed all the same. Jungkook always had concealed tricks up his sleeve, and life was anything but repetitive with him. You would more often than not find yourself struggling to relearn language and existing itself just to keep up with him. How exactly he managed to wield such diametric facets of being was an enigma beyond the reasoning of this universe.To feel like home, somewhere you belonged outside of your own body, and a daring voyage into a completely new world all at once must have meant he was some sort of Godsend. Only angels could have sculpted a soul so magnetizing, you assumed.

Seokjin was an umbrella, shielding you on some arcane journey under an unforgiving rainfall. Your shoes kept dry and your hair intact.

And if he was the umbrella, then Jungkook was the rain. Falling everywhere and all at once, so that you couldn't help but let yourself be saturated in his entire, vibrant being. And who’s to say letting such a water fall against your skin was a bad thing? Sometimes rain is cleaning, gentle even. They bear fruits as beautiful as rainbows that guide you to an unnamed treasure.

Your treasure, however, had a name.

Jungkook calling.

"___? Hello? You in there?" Seokjin waved his hand in front of your face mostly in a jesting manner, but part of him felt like your eyes were blinded by something held in your heart. If he hadn’t pulled you back into reality, you might have been lost forever.

“I'm just…” Your attention had abandoned this conversation the second his name gave light to your screen. “Sorry, um…”

“It's okay, you can take the call. I’ll be in the kitchen making us some coffee.”

If you were to thank him profusely, it would have been far too obvious how much you missed seeing his name among your notifications, and most likely expose how often you spent thinking of Jungkook while you were supposed to be enthralled with Seokjin. So, you just nodded and answered the phone.

Nodding and answering, as though that didn't feel like taking a breath of clean air after hours of swimming through muddied waters.

“Hello? ___?”

“Jungkook.” It took you longer than usual to form a response and what was assembled had been a half-baked utterance just to let him know you were on the other side of the phone, hearing his voice and feeling a surge of energy course through your veins like he was some delicious narcotic filling life into you after only a week without him.

“___.” Jungkook was in his own debt of words as well. The exchange halted for a few seconds, a jaded breathing cutting the cracked static.

“Look-”

“Hey so-”

Any hope that you had finally caught up to the same page as Jungkook was lost. Now, it seemed you two were reading entirely different books.

“You go.” You said after another dreadful pause. He was the one who called, so he should be the one carrying the burden of navigating through this deafening tension.

“Well, I- uh… I�� Well, you see I was just, um, wondering…” Jungkook’s heart must have shut off. That would explain why even the most rudimentary of words felt closer to a foreign language. Or, why he was making conscious efforts to counteract the threat of his nearly dormant lisp.

His brain was drained dry of any blood, his inner mechanisms were shutting down. Even without the alcoholic filter catching words and common sense in its web, Jungkook felt himself fall into an overactive state of dumbfoundedness. Sobriety only a cataract for his emotional override. 

“Our friendiversary?”

“I’m sorry, I did not understand literally anything you just said.”

“Me neither.”

The charming and familiar laugh that spilled through the speaker reminded you that Jungkook was in fact a real person. Not some figmented embodiment of every lost and unrequited and tortuous feeling you had been suppressing for twelve years. Jungkook was real, his laugh and everything else you loved about him were all so incredibly real. And more importantly, the pure joy you felt was real; a permanent serialization of his. Your smiles and his smiles had always surfaced in tandem.

Now, you both were laughing. Neither were warranted by his messy attempt at forming a coherent sentence. The weight of discomfort shedding from your shoulders had been partnered with a slew of relieved chuckles.

“Anyway, um. I- I still wanna see you on our Friendiversary. Or, at least give you your gift.” Admitting that was terrifying but the thought of breaking the consecutive streak of eleven years simply because he was too much of a coward to admit he wanted to see you dizzied him. However, the thought of spending your friendiversary alone terrified him beyond comprehension. So, he thought not about that as a possibility; he carved an opening to his heart in hope you wouldn’t send sharp thorns of rejection into it.

“Yeah, I, uh. I still wanna see you too. I mean, it is a national holiday. We gotta have holiday spirit, right?” You were forcing playful banter, it felt like lemon juice scouring cuts on your tongue, but you were so desperate to make things between you two feel normal.

“You’re right! So, um… You can come over tomorrow night. I’ll set up a surprise or whatever.” He seemed to have fallen back into stride with pre-confession Jungkook. Trying to keep up with him now would just exhaust you of all your means, so you chose to save the rest for tomorrow night. Even if that meant watching him walk away to some unforeseeable finish line; his back, the last part of him you’d see until you could finally collect your broken pieces and start walking as well.

“Sounds good! I’ll, um, see you then.”

“See you, ___.”

You had no idea, and how could you, that Jungkook was now wiping small clusters of wetness from the bed of his eyelids. Why he thought you, the one person that remained a constant in his life, would say no to him over one fight (of many) made for quite the spill of tears. But if you did know, you would have told him you felt like crying too.

"Hey! How did everything go?" You were so immersed in your virtual conversation with Jungkook you nearly forgot the person you were presently with. The train of guilt wouldn't stop for your pathetic attempts at disembarking.

"Oh! Thanks for the coffee." You sipped, and it had just been a stall to blink away the tears that were straying beyond your will of concealment. "It went good. We're still celebrating our Friendiversary."

"Friendiversary?" Seokjin's light chuckle veiled his tense concern.

"Yeah... Uh, it's just this thing we do to celebrate our friendship. The day we met."

"Oh... that's..." His eyes were scaling the rim of his mug.

"That's what, Seokjin?" You were stern, knowing well enough it was born of far more than platonic defensiveness. And you had no right to be the one prosecuting him since you clearly had more to hide than meets the eye.

"I mean, it's just interesting how dedicated you are to an anniversary with a friend." Seokjin wielded that soft-spoken voice which made it difficult to be anything but patient with him. And from the tone of it, he seemed to have no ill intentions with that statement, though it had not been an entirely innocent observation. To you, however, it felt like he might as well have set you on fire.

"Interesting? What is that supposed to even mean? I mean, we've been friends for twelve years. I- I don't know why people are always so judgmental." Your arms crossed over your chest, hoping he would take notice how much his comment slighted you. If asked, you would have insisted you would have been this worked up over any of your friends. Though you knew well enough this was untrue, and it made you feel even worse acting as though Seokjin was the one at fault here.

"I'm sorry. I'm not judging you, really. I just... I just have never heard of two friends doing something like that so religiously."

You sighed out all your anger, knowing the way you snapped at him was merely misdirected frustration. "No, I'm sorry. I know it's kinda weird."

"Look, I get it. You guys are close. But, ___, you talk about him so much that half, no, over half of your stories include him. We've been dating for, what, barely a week now, and I know more about this Jungkook guy than I know about you, and I haven't even met him."

Lips parted, ready to dispatch another slew of defenses to refute all the things he said. It was more disappointing than it was shocking to find nothing but a long sigh emerging. Because he was right. Jungkook has been interwoven so thoroughly in your last twelve years that if you only told the stories without him in it, then it would be the least accurate and nondescript retelling of your life. Fragments of an unfinished novel. It would miss the most crucial pieces, entire chapters, of your story.

You would have been presenting a shell of you, hollow and one dimensional. All the inner parts of you, the lungs and veins and tissue that gave you life and made you whole belonged solely with Jungkook.

That's why you sat there, blank faced, foolishly waiting for the words that wouldn't come to your aid because you had no place to contend with him.

"Seokjin... I'm with you..." It's all that would come up your throat, and it felt like acid. You were sure it burned his ears when he heard them more than it had your throat.

It hadn’t even been partially true. Physically you were with him, but in your head you were sitting on your couch with Jungkook, consuming a concerning amount of junk food while chatting through a movie used more as background noise than entertainment.

"Okay. Does that mean you don't have feelings for him?"

"Well..."

"Can you confidently say you could replace all the time you spend with him with time you would spend with me?" Seokjin must have noticed your returning tears because he loosened his verbal grip from your throat. To you, it sounded like he was pacifying you for some horrible sin, to anyone else it sounded as though he was simply trying to dredge up feelings that would disrupt the chance of a relationship between you and him. "___, I like you. I really do, but in all honesty, I'm looking for something serious. I think we would be great together, but only if you don't have any feelings left for him."

"Seokjin..." You regretted looking at him.

Sweetness was strewn in his eyes and gentle smile. Seokjin was softer than cotton, which made the real threat, the rough sandpaper wearing away skin and bones, you. It made it all the more painful to know you had been keeping everything you felt for Jungkook hidden from Seokjin. Though, if one would have presented an objective point of view, your feelings were far from secretive. And the most brutal honesty was that you knew feelings for Seokjin were never in your attainability. Not the way they always had been for Jungkook.

He was the wrong person who crossed paths with you at the right moment. A mere convenience. And you knew he deserved much more than what you had to offer.

"And maybe I'm being an idiot, but I like you too much to give you some ultimatum which would put you in such an unfair position. So, I'll let you think this over." His compassion felt more like a sharp blow to your chest. “No pressure.”

If he hadn’t smiled like he did, then you would have broken up with him right then and there. It was not possible to rip away such tender hope away from a smile so sweet.

"I'm sorry." You meant the remorse behind those words and it still hadn’t amounted to a proper consolation. "I'm sorry. I guess... I guess I'll go... Seokjin?”

“Yes?” He replied quickly, and you knew only a pace that rapid was one brought on by a sliver of faith that you might have made your decision right then.

“You’re a really great person. You deserve the world.”

Unfortunately, you couldn’t give him what he wanted. And as bitter and unkind as that might have felt at the moment, it was the only bit of truth and relent you could have offered him.

-----

In your bed, sleep became somewhat of an abstract desire. You knew your rest was deprived from you when the digital clock on your bedside told you it was six hours past the time you'd normally fall asleep. It was because you really did have a choice to make now.

To choose Seokjin, and know you'd collapse in the safety of his reciprocated affection, though haunted by how you would never feel the fullest extent of content. And you would live with that until resentment and distance wedged irreversible damage in your relationship.

Or, to choose Jungkook, which would catapult you into a depth so dark and tenuous that you would have no idea whether you'd meet gentle snow or hard, deadly concrete when you landed. And maybe you'd never land at all; maybe you would be caught in a state of falling down and down forever, until your beating heart eventually stilled.

Which one was worth it? Which were you willing to risk? These were the questions that kept you awake.

The hours leading to your undisclosed celebration events with Jungkook ceased being actual points of your existence and merely obstructions that you had to plow through in order to arrive at some conclusive moment. Something that might give you an answer to all your questions. Something that might have released you from devotedly checking your phone for a Jungkook patented text or call.

You were turning into a half-being. Someone who could only inhale a full breath, laugh an intentional laugh, and sleep a soundless sleep when their other half was there.

If you thought being in love with Jungkook for your entire friendship was pathetic, then you couldn’t fathom what you had become now.

Standing in front of his door, the same one you lugged him to that night he was too drunk to balance on his feet, when you willingly carried all the weight he couldn’t, when your lips became acquainted and comfortable with his within half a beat, you felt as if this chunk of wood was mocking you. A partition barricading you from Jungkook. Your Jungkook. The man you always felt you were on the outskirts of, with only a window to peer into his unreadable mind. And that was enough for you ―until now.

Now you were going to knock on that door with your hand, make him open it for you, and walk into his home. You would be the one to step foot inside of the very structure that only solicited closed doors and immovable walls and fogged windows. And you would leave behind your timidity, every feeling and urge that left you with disappointing compromises for the sake of maintaining this friendship.

You would be selfish, and he would finally feel a mere glimpse of what you have always felt for the best and worst of your life.

Even when he opened the door, arming a smile that actively disarmed you, this home of his was yours to conquer. This was your time to act for you alone, despite how many smiles he sent your way. You had not any weapons or shields or an infantry for a clutch. You just had your heart and all the love it carried. 

“Hey! ___, you look… You look great.” There was no real incentive for him to censor how he truly thought you looked. Immeasurably beautiful. It was simply his own nerves impeding on the feelings that were too intense to express without it being followed by an entire soliloquy of I love you’s.

“Thanks... You too...” You could almost feel the words brimming in your and Jungkook’s mouth, carrying such raw emotions and longing intentions.

"I'm really glad that- Jungkook..." Walking into his house punctuated what you were about to say.

His living room was strewn with enough candles to steal the last of your words and to consider his house a fire hazard. That didn't negate this lovely sea of lights to be anything but romantic and thoughtful. A bit cluttered, and not at all perfect, but it must have taken Jungkook hours to set up every wax column. The thoughtfulness of this gesture would have astonished you had it not been for the consistency of Jungkook snatching your breath and words away whenever he tried. It was antithetical, the way you expected his surprises. Yet, always surprised all the same.

Unpredictable, completely surrounding you just like the rain.

"I had to turn off my fire detector but... Worth it." Jungkook considered the number of mishaps that could have dampened any chance of this being romantic.

A candle could tip over and set his entire place ablaze, the wax could leak onto his carpet and tabletops, damaging his furniture and savings for replacements, you and he could have suffocated from all the fumes steaming from the wick. But if that look on your face didn't feel like the only bit of revival to keep his heart's steady beating, if your eyes didn’t look as though it was the only set of eyes that shed beauty into this world then he wouldn't have used up exactly three lighters to pull this stunt. But it did, and he felt warmth and color return to every inch of his body.

He would have used hundreds of lighters to ignite thousands of candles if that meant an ounce of happiness from you. He wanted to say that, but he knew the candles said it for him.

The spectacle almost made you forget why you were here in the first place. It almost made you forget the resolve you managed to gather before entering. And then he said your name.

"___."

The letters flowing from his lips as if they could only be pronounced by his tongue. It sounded so good. So good, that if anyone else were to say it then it wouldn't have been your name at all. It would have sounded wrong, sullied. And it wasn't supplied by neat articulation, this new belonging of your name in his mouth. The need for him to sculpt your name into this world was more than that. "I will never forgive myself if I don't get this out while I still can."

"Jungkook, what is all this?" You didn't know why you felt a collection of tears brimming along your eyes, but you didn't care to figure it out. Perhaps you felt an influx of feelings, an abundance too heavy for your body to seal within the confines of your emotional seams, so they overflowed in the form of tears. This certainly had not been the first time you cried over Jungkook, but you had never cried over him like this.

"___, I love you!" Jungkook said loudly. It was just you and him who could hear, but it felt as though he wanted the entire world to know.

"What? I- You- What?" Your lack of verbal poise was indicative of your love for him once again taking the reins of your mind and heart. Words were a luxury you couldn't afford as of now. You just had to feel everything you were feeling until the rainstorm settled. The hope that he would spare you some remnants of fluency was far along, and you weren't too sure if what Jungkook was about to say would be gentle enough to leave you with any words at all.

"I love you. I don't know why I didn't know it sooner. Or maybe, I- Maybe I did know?" Jungkook sighed at his own ineloquence. "I'm stupid! That's it. That's my only excuse. I'm so stupid. The way I felt about you, the way I still feel about you, is something I thought all best friends had. I thought everyone felt like the moments they weren't spending with their best friends just felt like filler moments. Like, every day I spent without you was just a span of time I had to wait out until I see you again. Like every damn moment of my life is spent waiting for you. And if I don't end up with you then... then I'll never stop waiting."

"Jungkook, I-" He prevailed in surprising you, taking words and breath and thoughts all at once.

"And, I'm that stupid! I really thought all best friends had those moments when they stare at you, and- and-" Now, you weren't the only one with wet eyes and cheeks. "And I just feel like looking at you and being with you just makes me better. It makes me a better person, or something, and it makes me feel like... Like I'll never get hurt again. And even if I do get hurt, I know it's you I want to be there. I know that whenever something bad happens to you, or when you feel like crying or when you're happy or angry or anything that I want to be the one who gets to be by your side. When I look at you, all I want is to love you. To love all your pain away."

"You really mean that?"

"Yes! God, I love you." You didn't notice how it happened, but Jungkook's arms became a shield around you. Inside his arms you were indestructible. Your hands pressed against his cheeks, memorizing the plush, smooth skin. The world could hurl all the fire and ice it had, but it wouldn’t matter. "___, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry it took me so long to figure it out. I'm sorry that in that period, I hurt you. Please, forgive me. I love you, and I want to be with you."

"Of course, I forgive you. I... I can't believe this." Hearing everything you always wanted from him was drastically different when it was actually unfolding. It was a million times more than any hope or dream you used as a salve for your longing. It was everything.

"Maybe it took so long because I was afraid. Because the idea of loving you was something I wasn't ready for. Even though I did love you, God, who was I to take on something as fragile and crucial as loving you. I know I probably would have messed it up. And, fuck, maybe I'm messing it up right now. But I just needed it to be perfect. I needed loving you to be perfect because I don't want to give you anything less than that."

"You were always enough for me, Jungkook. More than enough. You were and are everything to me" His arms that pressed you further into him expressed how happy that made him. 

"But I'm not perfect yet. I might mess up... A lot. No, I'll definitely mess up. I don't know if I can offer you perfect yet. But I do know that through everything I have never stopped loving you and I will never stop loving you."

"Jungkook... I don't know what to say." Your thumb grazed a falling tear from his face. Jungkook had not cried often in front of you; and you could tally up the amount of times he had on your fingers alone. But when he did, it was still as beautiful as when he was smiling or laughing or even scowling.

"You could say you love me back." You did. You loved him, his smile that was currently on a mission to melt your heart, his arms that carried both the good and bad parts of you, his wit that you always relished in. All the reasons to love him were an endless flowing river. If you were lucky enough, you would catch a glimpse of each beautiful current and be able to give name to the gravity that pulled you into him.

"I love you too, you idiot." The last word caught in your throat because your lips were being kissed instead.

His lips. Warm and exciting, allotting your being with an infinite devotion of his. And it was more than you could have ever hoped for.

It felt like fire. Like a grove of candles encapsulating the origin of heat. You and Jungkook, holding each other so close, you could have become one. Hot and all-consuming of anything in its path. If one stood too close, they would suffer scorching embers that stray from the orange pyres. Seokjin, Irene, and any other unassuming casualty that had the misfortune of stepping between the two of you, harboring the burn scars to remind them of what fumed from their interference.

Every element concocting between you and him was that of a bright flame, cremating pure metals and wet woods and thick forests alike.

You were in his home. His arms and lips and hands told you it was your home as well. All that time spent wondering why you could never slip inside before was never because he didn't want to let you in. And the thing is, you never thought to knock until now. You sat outside in a silenced hope that he would voluntarily open that door for you. But unknown to you, Jungkook seemed to be waiting as well. Waiting in a large room with empty spaces where you belonged and where he kept reserved for your residence alone.

He waited even when he wasn't quite sure of who he was waiting for, or if you would ever actually spill your warmth into his home. He waited until his fingers turned to ice and his eyes fell to exhaustion, for you to walk inside.

"So, you're like my boyfriend now?" Your voice brushed against his smiling lips.

"Yeah, your boyfriend, or whatever."

"You know this means you have to top next year's friendiversary. And I mean, all these candles? That's gonna be tough." It could have counted as sensory overload, the feeling of his palms flush against your back, the tip of his nose grazing yours, the bright array of candles illuminating the room. But you were so, incredibly cold without him that this felt like solace to you.

"When have I ever disappointed you?" Jungkook regretted what came out of his mouth too late to stop himself from saying it.

"Oh, I couldn't count the amount of times on my fingers alone! What about that time you forgot our chains for the tires on our trip to the mountains? We almost died." His eye roll only encouraged you to continue. Maybe, if you were lucky, he'd equip that cute pout whenever he wanted his way. "Or what about when you swore you brought water, but three miles in on our hike you had that look on your face. You know I reminded you to get water and you swore you did. Or what about-"

"Okay! I get it! I fuck up, jeez." He scrunched his nose, his eyes waning into crescents courtesy of that grin of his. You counted the number of wrinkles along the bridge of his nose as you always did, though you had acquired an expertise in the geography of his face. Each line and angle and ridge were now and eternally yours to restudy and marvel. "Hey, uh, almost forgot."

He reached into his front left pocket. "I, um, kept carrying it around thinking I'd see you somewhere. Kinda dumb right?"

"Not dumb." You opened the tiny box, wound the handle until the spring felt tight and you could see the throngs prick the textured wheel, and it was one of those moments where you didn't see a gift in your hand. You simply saw his thought and sentiment manifested as a box of wood that sung a tune.

All the things Jungkook wanted to give you, the sun and the moon and the entire universe were not his to give. So for now, he settled for this music box and there would be a day when he would collect each celestial being and place them right into your hands. Maybe then, he would feel less of a debt for possessing such a love like yours.

"This is... I love it. Thank you, Jungkook." You smiled, but it was motivated in the hopes he would smile back. You thought he deserved that much, at least. And he did.

"Sooooo... Can I tell Seokjin that you're actually in love with me and that he sucks ba-"

"Um, absolutely not!" As always, his crudeness and slight inability to remain mature for too long only wedged you deeper in love.

So, terribly in love. Your state of constant craving for Jeon Jungkook had been left barren. That desolate, solitary province was no longer yours to take residence in.

You had a home now. And you had no need to crave Jungkook anymore. He was right here, holding you.

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

a/n: okay, cry with me.... these two.... such hopeless saps for each other i'm here for it. final destination is simp city... also (spoiler) it is completely canon that irene and seokjin bond over their mutual heartbreaks and get to smitten hehehe. anyway, my loves i hope you enjoyed this finale as much as i enjoyed writing it!!! it was a short but heartfelt journey with these two and i will miss their idiocy sm. thank u for your endless support i love u all!!! <3

[ververa]

“Who is in control?”

A/N: Would you believe me if I tell you this was an accident? I did not plan on writing it, because I never felt like anyone could top Wilhemina Venable, but then I had this idea and oh well...

Wilhemina Venable x reader

Words count: ~4,000

Wilhemina Venable had never been a people person. The truth was she didn't like people at all, the same as she didn't like surprises. Especially if they were attractive, successful, witty and bossy. She wouldn’t know that if it hadn’t been for you. Because you, Y/N Y/L/N a new investor and a future partner of The Cooperative happened to display all of those features.

It’s not like you did anything specific to make the redhead rage. Just your presence itself was enough. You seemed so perfect, both inside and outside. Beautiful, smart, compassionate, empathetic. And she hated it. You were just too good. Too good to be real. But you were. You were real, well and alive and right there, approaching her desk on your way to Matt and Jeff, as you did every morning for the past week or so.

“Good morning, Ms Venable” you greeted, that melodious voice of yours and that charming smile plastered to your face made her go crazy 

“Good morning” she said, straightening in her chair 

She hated you. How could anyone be so perfect? She wondered looking you up and down as you were standing there, going over some papers.

“Are you alright, Ms Venable?” you asked, interrupting her thoughts

“Of course. What makes you think I’m not, Ms Y/L/N?”

“I don’t know, maybe the fact you’re starring and practically drooling like those cute dogs in videos” you raised your eyebrow, challengingly 

“Very pawky for such a frippet like you. Felicitations, Ms Y/L/N!”

“Did that impress you?” 

“Do I look as if I was impressed?”

“It’s hard to say actually”

“Well… I’m not. As a matter of fact I’m rather disturbed by your fulsome indecorum. Now, I’d like to confabulate some more, but  I have work to do”

You laughed. You loved teasing her like that. That hint of satisfaction on her face whenever you let her come down on you made your day complete.

“It was nice to see you too, Ms Venable” and just like that you left, as if nothing happened, as if you hadn’t just made Wilhemina flustered. 

It was yet another thing about you that she despised. The fact you were so eloquent. Yet still she had to admit, it was nice to finally have a worthy opponent. But you didn’t have to make her feel all the things she felt when you were around. Nervous, shy even. With you she felt small, faulty, not even half as good as she wished she was.

You, with all the power and glory you carried, confidence hidden inside you, all the money and fame, made her, Wilhemina Venable feel intimidated. And that’s why she hated you. Or she claimed so. She hated you, because no one could ever measure up to her, at least on the intellectual level. And then you appeared. You managed to change it during your first meeting. It was less than a minute, maybe half a minute, but it changed everything. You swept her off her feet within seconds, because somehow you could equal her or maybe, actually, outmaster her. And that, the fact you seemed so flawless made her mad. It annoyed her, because the truth was no one could equal you. No one compared to you. Wilhemina would never admit it, but she was jealous. Jealous of you.

And yet she couldn’t hate you to the fullest, simply because you never caused any harm. In fact, you were the only one who displayed some basic knowledge of etiquette and refinement. And that was a remarkable part of you. The part that struck her in the first place. Something that impressed her. Of course, she would never admit it, because that would indicate she liked you. And she did not. She didn't like anyone, and you weren't an exception. That's what she decided. The decision was final and there was nothing more to be said. But as the time passed, Wilhemina found herself being less and less sure of it.

One part of her wanted to be you, but then there was that piece, a little tad of her that wanted to be with you. She desired you like she had never ever desired anything or anyone before. And that was confusing. It made her feel weak. It made her lose control. And so she decided not to like you, because it was easier than allowing her desires to win. Than admitting she wasn't all that cold and heartless as she wanted people to think she was.

But you could see through her. You knew better than anyone, because you noticed everything.

You knew that all she desired was to be wanted. What she craved and feared the most was intimacy. Being vulnerable. Being close with another person. That was the major reason for her acting the way she did. For her pretending to be so indifferent. 

From the very beginning you realized the two of you were actually pretty alike. Two individuals. Two strong, independent people. So indifferent and unimpressed by the world. Bored. Stone-cold, yet still able to be warmed up. There just had to be that certain kind of spark. The right type of person with particular qualities that the process required.

And you were dead sure you felt that spark with Wilhemina. That's what made you want to give it a try. Though convincing Wilhemina to take a chance on you wasn't all that easy. She was stubborn, but so were you. 

You had got your mind set on her and you kept persisting. You always got what you wanted and it wasn't going to be any different this time.

You knew she was warming up more and more with each passing day. With every little conversation and playful, witty argument the two of you shared. She was caving in to you. Slowly and reluctantly, but she was. Even if she didn't like it, she couldn't resist you no matter how hard she'd try.

But you gave her time, so that she could figure it out on her own. So that she would admit she wanted you. And you knew for a fact that she would, eventually. And if she wouldn't, you were ready to help her with that. The costs didn't matter. You were going to make the one and only Wilhemina Venable spit it out no matter what.

You were well aware of what you were doing. The same as you knew you could allow yourself to do it. Nothing and no one could make you stop. You realized it wasn't necessarily right. You might have been bad, in fact, but, the truth was - you were good at it. What's more, you liked it and you knew she did too. 

And that thrill the desire brought you. The rush of adrenaline. The warmth filling your body. It was worth the effort. She was worth the effort. There was no way you'd turn back.

"So, Ms Venable, are you going to the party tonight?" you asked 

Wilhemina's eyes shifted from her laptop to your form. You were standing there, so close to her, basically in her space, as you were leaning against her desk. You were the one, who could ever do something like that. Got so close and remained completely unbothered, being so confident at the same time. And made her feel weak. And hot. And mad. And annoyed. You gave her so many intensive feelings. What was she supposed to do? Was there any rescue?

"No" she said emotionlessly. If only you knew how much it cost her.

"What do you mean 'no'? You have to"

"Who says so?"

"I do" you answered confidently

Wilhemina looked up at your face, your eyes met. You gave her that wicked smile she couldn't stand. It was as if you were telling her "I'm in control. You're playing my game". Where did that confidence about your superiority come from? Or what made you believe that you could actually make her comply? The redhead wondered, as she looked you in the eye. Completely cool. Composed. Indifferent on the outside. Burning from inside. 

She was well aware that you were the one shuffling the cards of the game. She allowed you to. Why? She didn't know. All she knew, she was waiting in vain for your final move, for you to play your ace. But you were taking it slow. Torturing her. Making her deteriorated into nothing but insanity. Keeping your intentions to yourself. So enigmatic. But mysteries were exciting after all.

"I'm not sure if you could tell, but I'm not exactly a people person"

"Ahh. Yes. As always reserved and ungetatable. But I think you're not as dark and cold as you want people to think. So, could you just once embrace joy? Be my guest. I can guarantee you won't regret it" you offered her a small smile

"I already do"

"Well, does that mean yes?"

"That better be good"

"Oh, it'll be. Have some faith in me, Ms Venable" you winked

Wilhemina rolled her eyes.

"The chauffeur will pick you up at 7" was the last thing you said before disappearing in the elevator.

Wilhemina shook her head. How did it come to that? How come she went from accidental mistaking you for an incompetent secretary to, actually, secretly admiring you as the boss? The redhead sighed as the memories overfilled her mind. And why would she still remember that, when she didn't give a toss about you? Well, maybe she did. In fact, after giving it a second thought, very reluctantly and cautiously, she must admit she did care. Sort of. Just a tiny bit, but not too much. You weren't a deific creature after all. You weren't anything special… and yet you turned everything upside down. It felt as if she was on a carousel and you, you were the music that dictated the tempo. The kind of tempo she hadn't known before. Exhilarating. 

Wilhemina may have tried all she wanted to keep telling you and everyone else that she didn't like parties and didn't want to go. She could argue, but you knew it wasn't honest. Deep inside she was curious. Curious about the fancy reception. Curious about your house. But what she was interested in the most was you. 

And still Wilhemina wouldn't admit it. Not in her everyday stamping ground. Not at work. Not when there still was an oddment of dignity, sense of superiority and control coming from within her. 

But it was all gone when you were near. When you stood too close to her, she couldn't be strong. She couldn't defeat you. She couldn't fight it. Whenever she looked into your eyes, she lost control and she didn't know how to stop it. You were unstoppable. I can't go. She told herself. She knew she'd be completely lost if she went. There would be no grounding, nothing that could rescue her. Nothing to stop her from falling.

"Ms Venable? What have I done to deserve your visit?" you asked, as you let her into your office.

Wilhemina looked at you, but she averted her eyes almost immediately. You looked too good. And those glasses you wore while working… it was too much to handle for her. Too much to contain herself. She chid herself. She moved forward. Proud, dignified.

"I came, because on second thought, I'll not be able to squire your party"

You stopped on your way to the desk. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. You had been giving in to all her mood swings, allowing her to decide, giving her the illusion of power. But you were done. You couldn't keep holding it back. That's where you drew a line. You had your limits too. 

"You don't come off as a creature of whims or caprices, so where does this change come from?" you turned to face her, your hands in the pockets of your jeans, thumbs sticking out of them

"I'm busy this Friday"

"What, are you having a headache planned in advance?"

"No... I have no desire to spend time with stupid people"

"Neither do I" you said, taking off your glasses and putting them down on your desk "That's why I want you to come" you continued, resting one hand on your hip.

Wilhemina's eyes widened. She did not expect that. She was sure it'd go smoothly, but, of course, you had to complicate it. Why was she surprised? You always did that. You always made things harder for her. 

"One hour. That's all I ask for. And if you won't like it, you'll be free to go"

It didn't sound too bad. One hour didn't seem that long. Perhaps, she could do that.

"Fine" she said, both hands clutching the top of her cane

"Wonderful!" you smirked with satisfaction "I'm glad we reached a compromise"

How she hated you. You were so overconfident. So cocky. So alluring. So hard to resist.

Wilhemina couldn't focus on her work. Not when you were still there. Not after your conversation. She just sat there, at her desk, blankly staring at her laptop. Of course, that was until you appeared. At times she wondered if you were doing it on purpose. If torturing her was giving you satisfaction. Or if driving her insane was your aim.

"It's time for me" you stated "But I decided I'll call by your desk first"

"What for?" Wilhemina asked and only then did she notice a giant box in your hands

"Well, I figured you may come up with another excuse to get away with the party" you carefully placed the box on her desk "Now" you tapped on top of it "You have no plausible excuse. Remember 7pm. Don't be late"

"I'm never late"

"Good. See you then" you winked, before putting on your sunglasses and leaving.

Wilhemina waited for you to disappear. Only then did she bring herself to open the box. Inside, neatly packed in wrapping paper was a dress. Fancy, long, purple dress. It was exactly her type. There was no label, but by the high quality of material Wilhemina could say it was expensive. She carefully touched it. She must say it was beautiful and she liked it, even though it was a gift from you. And then she noticed a little piece of paper. A note from you.

Wilhemina huffed as she read "It's a date" written in your perfect handwriting.

~~~

Never late. You rolled your eyes as you looked at your watch. It was past 7 and Wilhemina still wasn't there. Your house was full of people - businessmen, investors, different companies' directors and you. Was it possible that she stand you up? You wondered, stuck in some boring conversation. You were done. You needed a drink. 

You excused yourself, giving your interlocutors a small smile. You made it to one of the tables and took a glass of champagne. That's when you heard her.

Wilhemina cleared her throat and hit her cane on the wooden floor, announcing her presence You smiled to yourself. What a relief.

"You're late" you said, composing yourself, before you turned round. You stopped in your tracks as your eyes set on her. "You're stunning" you complimented looking her up and down "You're forgiven"

"How generously of you, Ms Y/L/N" she tried not to smile

"May I give you a tour?" you asked offering her your hand

Wilhemina nodded, but didn't take your hand.

"Let's go then"

You led her through the mansion. Occasionally making some comments about the interior or decorations. Doing your best to avoid getting into any kind of interaction with other guests, who kept greeting you or waving or smiling at you, as you led Wilhemina forward. That was until you reached that one room - the library. You let Wilhemina in and then closed the door, sighing in relief as you did so.

The redhead looked around. Antique furniture, exquisite vases, first edition books. That's what surrounded you.

"Must be really nice to just snap your fingers and get whatever you want" she commented

"My money is the least impressive thing about me babe" you shrugged, approaching her

"Don't ever call me babe!" Wilhemina stopped and turned to face you

"Why not?" you asked innocently, too innocently

"Don't tempt me"

"I wouldn't dare to" you gave her a sly smile

"You're infuriating" Wilhemina closed her eyes

"Am I?" you raised your eyebrow playfully

"I hate you" she growled

"No, you don't. You're being ridiculous right now. You love it. You live for it. For me teasing you. And you're dying to see where it goes. Just admit I'm right"

"No"

"Why?"

"You don't get to tell me what to do" she crossed her arms across her chest, protecting herself

"Of course I do" you stepped closer

"No. No, you don't. No one gets to control me"

"Oh, but I do" you smirked

"No one tops me"

"Is that so?" you put your hands on hers 

"Y-yes" she stuttered at the sudden physical contact

"You're so much fun to tease" you gently uncrossed her arms and moved closer. She took a step back. You followed her. She wanted to move again, but there was no more space. Her back pressed against a wall. You smiled, taking her hands and throwing them around your neck. 

Wilhemina's heart was beating faster and faster as you were getting closer. Inch by inch. 

"Not so fast" she stopped you "I-it's not that easy with me…"

"Don't worry. I've got time" you smiled and leaned in. Your lips touched hers. At first they barely brushed against hers. You didn't want to overwhelm her after all. You kept things slow. Devoured her.

At first Wilhemina tensed up. She wasn't used to people being so close to her. Being so intimate. Making her feel weak. Vulnerable. Hesitant. Reluctant.

"It's okay" you soothed. She closed her eyes.

"Do you have any idea of how long I've wanted to do it?" you said against her lips

"No…" she said. Her eyes still closed. Her breathing shallow.

"From the day I saw you in my office for the first time" you continued and kissed her again. This time more passionately. Your hands rested on the wall, on both sides of her body. You pulled away, but then almost immediately began kissing down her neck. It didn't take long before you found her pulse point and began sucking on it.

Wilhemina moaned. The sound came off as a surprise. It was embarrassing. Intimidation took over her. She didn't realize… she didn't mean to... Her eyes snapped open, wide in horror, but you were there to sooth her. 

"Don't. Don't shy away"

Your lips collided again. Gently. Carefully. Slowly exploring the parts of her that probably no one ever had. She let you. She relaxed. She gave in.

"No one can top you, huh?" you teased, using your foot to part her legs, before pressing your thigh to her core

Wilhemina moaned again.

"That's it, darling" you kisses her jaw "I can top whoever I want to" you moved to her neck again "Whenever I want to" 

You moved your hands to her waist. Then began rolling up her dress, carefully, so as not to destroy it. Not now, when she'd have to go back to the party. Your hands slid under the material.

"Y/N…" she stopped you, using your name for the very first time. 

"What?" you looked at her

"Y-you want to do it here?"

"Yes" you nodded, at that point you were sure it was rather obvious

"Now? W-what about the guests?" she questioned 

"Isn't the thrill of getting caught half of the fun?" you pecked her lips, before attaching your mouth to her neck again. Wilhemina gasped at the sensation.

"Now, tell me. Who is in control?"

"You"

"Louder" you demanded, moving your thigh

The redhead inhaled sharply.

"You! You are, Y/N"

"That's it. Good girl" you kissed her forehead, before pulling away. Wilhemina opened her eyes, confused. Suddenly missing your warmth. Missing the sensation of your hands on her. Missing the feeling of your thigh between her legs.

You straightened your suit. Wilhemina examined your face, searching for answers.

"My assistant is coming" you stated as if it was something obvious. Wilhemina frowned and suddenly the door opened.

"Ms Y/L/N!" a young man called you "Mr-" he was about to say something, but you cut him off

"George, how many times do I have to tell you that you're supposed to knock? What if I was here with Ms Venable half naked and on her knees? That would be a very awkward situation, wouldn't it?"

Wilhemina's eyes widened at your words. Her cheeks turning red as the boy nodded.

"We wouldn't want it, would we?"

"No, Ms Y/L/N"

"Then learn how to knock for fuck's sake!"

"Yes,  ma'am" he said, leaving and closing the door

 You turned to look at Wilhemina again. Your features softened immediately. You were about to move towards her again, but a knock interrupted you.

"What?!" you asked, taking a deep breath to calm down

George opened the door again.

"Mr Johnson wants to talk about the-"

"I'm coming. I'll be there in a sec"

He nodded and left, at which you sighed. Wilhemina watched you intently.

"It won't take long. You can wait here, because I assume you changed your mind and you'll stay"

"I will"

"Good" you pulled her in for one more kiss

Wilhemina placed her hands on your arms, dragging her nails up and down.

"I scratch and bit" she said against your lips, before doing as she said and biting your lower lip

You smirked. "You'll beg and crawl too" you winked at her, as you pulled away "I'll see you, Ms Venable" you said, handing Wilhemina her cane that landed on the floor at some point of your making out.

She smiled and nodded, thinking that maybe you weren't all that bad after all. Because, although, despite… she didn't hate you that much. Maybe she, in fact, could like you. Yes. Perhaps she could. No, she did. Yes. She did. She decided she liked you.

Tag list: @midnight-lestrange, @natasha-danvers, @stopkillinglilyrabe, @welshdragonrawr, @saucy-sapphic, @yang12e, @xixxiixx​

[ironhusband]

Rhodeytony seasons of love master post of headcanons

What I didn’t miss too many days and decided to make up for it this way, not at all!

Rhodey is a rocket scientist and Tony is an engineer so you would expect that if they followed the recipe for fireworks, everything would be A-Okay. But of course, those two genius boys can’t ever let anything be simple. So when they try to make fireworks for Rhdoey’s family fourth of July party, there might have a close call with Tony’s fingers and the grass in Rhodey’s yard is burned to the crisp. Mama Rhodes is Not Happy.

Rhodey doesn’t often get drunk without Tony, but during the era between Ultron and Civil War where Tony is retired, Rhodey is a new Avenger and they miss each other terribly, the team makes Rhodey drink two shots of Nat’s too strong booze, and he maybe leaves him a voicemail before being wrestled into sleep. “Toooooony,” he whines into the phone, “I love you. I love you very very much. Did you know that your friends are the best? Because they are! Sam, you are the best! Tell Tony you are the best. No, but for real though, I miss you. I miss you, I miss you, I miss you. You should leave your stupid Malibu house and come live with us. Your friends are the best. And you are the best. It will be so fun. And then I won’t miss you anymore...” The next morning Tony calls him and tells him, “that’s the worst way you could have asked me to move in with you” but by the afternoon boxes start showing up.

Tony is often up by 3 AM so 3 AM voicemails aren’t uncommon, even if Tony hates leaving them (”it’s not 1993 who has an answering machine?”). He especially stays up and leaves voicemails when Rhodey isn’t there to drag him to bed. He’s usually a little bit manic, and just a tad longing at that time. But Tony’s sane enough while leaving them so it’s mostly just ramblings about Rhodey’s suit and its modifications and muses about Tony hijacking a military plane to see him. Rhodey sometimes uses them as a way to relax when he’s away and missing his husband.

None of them knit the ugly sweater. Roberta does. Tony cries when he gets his first ugly sweater from her because he knows more than anyone it’s a right of passage into being a Rhodes, and he finally gets a family. Tony wears the sweaters all the time because it fells like knowing someone cares for him. Rhodey, however, isn’t that touched by the ugly sweaters, and resumes to be seen with them. He doesn’t touch Roberta’s ugly sweaters on any day but the extremely cold or laundry day. That is why Tony is Roberta’s favorite.

Neither of them screams first in the haunted house. Our two prankster boys pull all their resources in Halloween and create a haunted house out of their MIT dorms, making everyone scream. Some of the things they invent for the house shouldn’t even be possible so people scream more than at any haunted house because they are convinced there’s magic involved. It makes Tony and Rhodey fall to the ground laughing.

Rhodey pulls Tony back in for the lazy day. Not only because Tony’s mind is so busy that he gets up way too early because he’s dreamed of an equation, but also because Tony gets up way too early for the time he fell asleep, and Rhodey wants to make sure his boyfriend gets at least some sleep. Besides, Tony needs to learn what a lazy day is and Rhodey wants cuddles when he’s finally home.

Tony is on the fall festival’s planning committee out of spite (one of the students there KICKED HIS CHAIR) and pure mischief and makes sure to ruin it in some way every year, or at least antagonize everyone else. He and Rhodey scheme every year how to torture the planning committee.

Tony wins Rhodey a stuffed platypus at the carnival and Rhodey wins Tony a faulty tape recorder. I have this exact scene in road trip fic.

Tony is the ice skating pro because he was a dancer as a child and part of his training was ice skating, but even he can’t skate without falling on his ass with how tightly Rhodey is holding on to him. Tony never takes Rhodey ice skating again, but him, Natasha, and Jeanette all have fun while ice skating together. Rhodey is upset about not getting ice skating dates with his boyfriend anymore, especially with how tight he gets to hold on to Tony in the ring. But he still likes to watch videos of Tony mastering the skill.

Rhodey makes the best hot cocoa! He learned the secret recipe from Mama Rhodes and will not share it, not even with his husband. Tony always pouts over not getting the recipe (”you’ll butcher it, no way”) but he’s happy to have his husband to make it for him, because it tastes like heaven and he’s the luckiest person on Earth for it. The Avengers also enjoy Rhodey’s hot cocoa in the winter and also try and figure out the recipe. None have succeeded so far. Mama Rhodes is delighted by so many superheroes enjoying her recipe.

Cuddling ensues when they get snowed in. Tony hates the cold and the boredom it all entails so he’ll leech on to Rhodey for warmth and entrainment. Tony sort of gets on Rhodey’s nerves by the end of it, but he finds Tony super cute when he falls asleep on his chest. It ends with Tony making himself so insane he creates robots to shovel all the snow away. It somehow works. 

Tony doesn’t much like the holidays because they bring back too many bad memories but he finds how Rhodey’s excitement adorable. Rhodey’s near childlike joy at getting presents on Christmas morning makes the holidays bearable for Tony. Rhodey insists they create their own traditions (like his parents did) when they get together and rent their own apartment during their MIT days, and so they create a few. During Thanksgiving dinner, they each get to make one dish and they order the rest of dinner to make up for the lacking food (Rhodey only made the turkey Tony only makes the cranberry sauce). Their tree is purely for decoration as they exchange gifts privately with each other, and it’s a rule that they must make all the decor for the tree. As they grow up and get more family members, the thanksgiving tradition is stopped but they leave the Christmas ones and create a few more traditions. For Thanksgiving, their small tradition is getting each other a gift card for a restaurant they recommend, a memory from the old times. They never eat at the table, but instead set up a buffet and allow people to mingle on the couches while they eat the food. Tony does the shopping for Thanksgiving and Rhodey does the cooking, except the cranberry sauce, because it’s easy and Tony can handle it. For Christmas, they have a lazy day in bed instead of wake up to see their presents. The Avengers might leave them presents under the tree but Tony and Rhodey only care about the gifts they give each other. Every new bot gets its own sock stocking and they let the bots decorate their socks. They both leave the suits in a random square in New York with the sign “they want to be dressed for the season!” and watch the different creations of Iron Man and War Machine “snow”men. It happens a few years in a row.

Rhodey hides the mistletoe right above Tony’s workshop door because he knows Tony’s always there and he’s one of the only ones allowed in, so Rhodey’ll get plenty of kisses. Plus, he gets some adorable pictures of Tony kissing his bots.

Tony hides the mistletoe in frequently-used spaces (notable mentions: Fury’s drawer when he leaves his pencils and the hanger on which Clint hangs his arrows) because he’s a little shit, and wants everyone to hate him. “I’m going to make you some of my hot chocolate, Tony,” Rhodey says as he opened the cupboard for the pot. Tony desperately tries to hide his smirk, “okay, hubby.” It takes a few minutes before Rhodey says, “fine, I’ll kiss you, but no hot chocolate for you.”

The season which reminds Tony of Rhodey is spring. Because Rhodey is just as lovely and beautiful as the season is. Spring reminds him of Rhodey’s passion and intelligence, the way everything turns green so quickly reminds him of how quick Rhodey is to develop an idea. It reminds him to pick flowers for his husband and finally being in the season to buy Rhodey’s favorite fruit, strawberries.

The season which reminds Rhodey of Tony is winter. Because Tony hates the winter. He hates Christmas and snow and rain. He hates the cold and the blackouts. So whenever something especially winter happens, like snowmen building or Christmas shopping, Rhodey thinks with a fond smile “oh, Tony would hate this”.

[barbwritesstuff]

Wait, is Shawnie a new RO you're adding to the game? Cause I thought it was just originally 4. If so I'm excited to be able to meet them, I'm just asking cause I don't know if my memory is once again being a tad faulty.

There are seven in total. Four appear in the first chapter (Ed, Marco, Vicky, and Carrie). One appears in chapter five (Shawnie). The last two appear in chapter six.

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter Nine: Group Therapy

Characters: Captain Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: A familiar drink brings back steamy memories for Shane (by popular demand), a ghost from the past picks a fight with the present, and the future hangs in the balance for our heroes.

Behind on the drama? It’s cool. I gotchu.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings:  Language, mature themes, violence, smut, alcohol consumption, more feels than you can shake a stick at.

Author’s Note: Guys. Listen guys. I know this chapter is a tad late…not that I have deadlines, I just know y’all want more sooner than I can always get it to you. It’s also, though, a bit longer than most of the previous installments have been. I hope you guys enjoy it. I think it’s my favorite chapter so far…I definitely cried the most writing it…you’ll see why…I’m not sorry. Initially, for some reason, it was hard to stay focused. (I blame my own emotions and feelings clouding my ambitions. Can’t let that happen anymore. Even though the same factors apply. I’ve gotta keep my head in it!) I’m actually pretty sad that there won’t be very much more of this story…they’ve been such good friends to me. I may just have to find a way to keep them going in follow-up drabbles. I don’t know. But I’m open to suggestions.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags: 

@onlyhenrys

@cavillryarchive

@summersong69

@titty-teetee

@bloodyinspiredfuck

@agniavateira

@oddsnendsfanfics

@omgkatinka

@thisismysecretthirstblog

@misslaland

@speakerforthedead0

@tumblnewby

@suavechops

Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@

It wasn’t top on Shane’s list of things she wanted to do tonight, but it had been ages since she’d gone out with her friends. It wasn’t totally because she’d been seeing Sy. But more recently, he had become the most prevalent reason she ended up bowing out. Because she had plans with him, or she needed to do things that she hadn’t gotten or wouldn’t get done because of plans with him unless she skipped out. They were bad excuses, but those of an introvert weren’t usually top-shelf, anyway.

It was Heather, the other secretary Marsha and her husband Alec, some of her fellow PTs Cory and Juan, and both OTs, Olivia and Miranda there at Cade’s that night. And Shane and Sy, of course. They were sitting at two tables close together, and after dinner, the guys got up to play darts while the ladies ordered a round of shots.

Heather both requested and paid for the tray of tiny glasses full of dark liquor. Shane knew the aroma all too well. Those were full of Jack Daniels. And she got tingly just thinking about the spirit, especially now.

“Let’s drink the first round to Shane.” She passed them around and held one up. “For landing captain sexy pants over there, and for being happier than I’ve seen her in actual years.” Heather clinked to the middled with the other girls as they completed the toast with cheery responses of “to Shane!” With intermittent whoops and cat-calls. She felt funny saluting herself, so she said nothing, silently dedicating her own drink to the guy she wasn’t expecting, wasn’t even asking for, but who’d been gifted to her, by God Himself, it seemed. Whoever or whatever or why ever, she was grateful for him.

She downed the full measure of whiskey, feeling the familiar pleasant burn down her throat and reminisced about the last time she’d had the drink.

~~~~~~

“No you’re cheating!” She slurred at Sy’s kitchen table.

“Not how I see it!” He smirked, that crooked grin mixing with the alcohol in her already impaired system making a heady and dangerous concoction.

“You’re delib’rately using my PT career against me!” They we’re playing “Never Have I Ever.” And he’d just used “never have I ever measured somebody up with a big protractor.”

“Hey, you’ve been trying to get me with ‘never have I army this, and never have I army that.’ And you just can’t and now you’re mad about it.”

“Ugh, I’m not mad, I just…don’t like cheating okay. Fair play. I’m a Hufflepuff, through and through!”

“As a Gryffindor, I resent your implication against my honor! And I say, drink twice.” They’d run out of mixer, and were down to the straight liquor. She was fine with it. She loved the sweet, oaky burn of Number 7 as she held small swallows on her tongue. Relished the burn of it on the tender skin of her lips like a rough kiss. She took two shots at his insistence.

“Never have I ever…fired a gun!” And they both drank because she had chosen a “never” that she “had ever” on purpose. She liked feeling this way with Sy. She liked being able to abandon her control and feel safe in so doing. Knowing that he wouldn’t let anything hurt her. Including herself.

His eyes began to glimmer in a way that she could always tell meant he was thinking something particularly salacious. Which typically meant something good was about to happen.

“Never have I ever…fooled around in a kitchen.” He waited a beat, then slowly stood, taking a long stride to stand directly in front of Shane, towering over her as she sat limp from drinking and more than ready for whatever he was planning. The kiss he gave her was almost instantly hungry, devouring, consuming. A wild fire that would spread throughout the forest of her. He pulled a stool out from under the table near her, barely having to break the contact and sat down in front of her on it. She leaned into him now, the boneless feeling now overtaken by her craving for him. She tugged at his casual blue tank top that stunned her because of the way it matched his eyes so well. She needed him closer. His hands rested on her thighs, mostly bare in the shorts she'd chosen for tonight, simply for their comfort, and not because they provided any sort of easy access. Not on a conscious level, anyway, she told herself.

His grip was tightening but the pain of the pressure didn't matter. His thumbs and fingers were rupturing tiny blood vessels and she registered the pain and the fact that she would have bruises in the shape of his claiming grip but all that really mattered was that he was there. Near. Present. And touching her.  

His hands moved, sliding up her legs, their trajectory shifting inward, their aim to open her up to him.

She was nothing short of willing.

He reached down to the seat between her legs and pulled her closer to him. Yes, she thought. He's too far away. Even though she could smell the whiskey on his breath even as she tasted it, still sweet on her own tongue. He laid a gentle hand on her left cheek, an almost chaste gesture, that snaked into something entirely different as it descended, brushing her neck, between her breasts, and over her abdomen, tumultuous from his touch and the drink.

He made it finally to her apex, easily brushing aside the fabric of her shorts, and teasing her there over her underwear with a soft, measured touch. She threw her arms around his neck, a wordless plea for him to go on. But her body was at odds with her mind.

“Sy, I wanna go slow.” She meant she didn’t want to end up in his bed tonight. Well, not that she didn't want to…

"Don't worry, sunshine. I'll take it real slow." he assured her, pretending to misunderstand her meaning as he teased her over her panties. She couldn't have spoken to correct him even if his lips hadn't taken an urgent hold on hers. His firm but frustrating touch was leaving her speechless and breathless.

Finally, he moved her undergarment aside to touch her, skin to skin. To pull a sweet, euphoric moan from her with just his fingers. He had been right about taking his time. It took him ages to find that space inside her that brought her to her pinnacle, but he made the wait enjoyable, all the same. She had a feeling he could have gone right to it, if he’d wanted to, but since she’d asked for it…

He grinned and chuckled into her mouth a bit as he toyed with her. He finally spoke,

“Hot damn, girl, you should have told me you needed me this bad.” He added a second finger to his game of search and destroy.

She could only grasp at his bare shoulders and the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to ground herself. He quickened, then slowed in sweet torture until her cries of his name became over loud for his neighborhood. The last build up, he added his thumb , brushing it against her aching center.

It hit her in waves of bliss as every muscle in her body responded to his localized, expert touch. Her vision blurred and for a second she could see the electricity flowing through air and matter and into her. Since when did THAT happen to her when she came?

“Sy!” She whimpered, a plea for him to stop but also to never stop.

“I know, darlin’, it’s alright. I’ve gotcha. Go on and let it out.” And she barely realized another climax had been building in her before she was falling headlong into it again, just as intense as the first one. He slowed, gently soothing her body after its small death, rubbing her neck and shoulder on the right side with his free hand.

He took his right hand away from her heat, brought it up to his mouth, and tasted her on his fingers. He poured them both another shot of whiskey, they threw them back, and once she had caught her breath from it all, she said,

“I don’t know the score, but I think you’ve won.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Back in the present, she felt too sober to handle the bombardment of questions coming from her coworkers, no matter how pure their intentions.

“So are you guys a couple, like officially?”

“Have you met each other’s folks?”

“Do you think he’s the one?”

“What is he like in bed!?”

“I bet he’s an absolute fiend!”

“Nah, guys ya think that about are always so vanilla.”

“How big is he!?”

All of these questions seemed to come at one time, or at least before she could answer the previous ones, and it made her head spin.

“Listen, girls. I’m gonna go get myself a strong drink, and when I come back, I’ll answer one question at a time, so figure out the order in which you’ll be asking, and a punishment system for interrupting. Fair?” The hens all nodded their beaks in agreement as she stood to go to the bar. She reminded herself to add a disclaimer when she got back to the table about having veto power over questions she felt weren’t appropriate.

As she stood at the bar waiting for her turn with the bartender, she tensed as she heard an all too familiar voice say her name.

“Shane Benton.” He said in a charming tenor that she now found obnoxiously boyish.

“Elliott Thomas. What misdeed did I do in a past life to end up back in the same room with you?” He ignored her jibe.

“You look well.” He said, surveying her as if he intended to make a purchase.

“Okay.” She would not give credence to half assed, insincere compliments.

“Who’s the guy you’re with tonight?”

“That couldn’t be any less your business.”

“You’ll always be my business, sweetheart.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Funny, you didn’t seem to give a shit when we were together.”

“Come on, tell me where ya met this meat head.”

“Back off, Elliott.”

“Come on. He’s in a plaid shirt. He looks like he’s trying to cosplay the Brawny man. How quick does he pick you up?” He raised his eyebrows, driving home his attempt at double entendre.

The rage came suddenly, without warning, and manifested in a firm slap from her right hand to his left cheek. It landed solidly enough for him to have to stretch his jaw and feel it, as if making sure it was still there.

"Well, still got some spunk. Good to know. Not so fast--" he grabbed her wrist as she stepped away from the bar, but she was saved the trouble of getting out of it with her favorite self-defense maneuver, by the solid wall of red plaid and denim topped with his favorite black Chiefs hat. Sy had apparently noticed her altercation at the bar and elected to step in.

"What's goin' on here?" he asked, not brusquely, but so coolly that it was almost friendly. Elliott let go of Shane's wrist immediately and threw his hands up.

"No trouble here, man. Just a little friendly conversation between two former lovers." he said, oozing pure, stinking hubris.

"Oh, you're Elliott. Nice to meet you, man." Sy reached out to shake the man's hand. "I've actually been wanting to thank you."

Elliott looked confused. So was Shane. This guy had broken her heart. What was Sy intent on thanking him for?

"I wanted to thank you for fucking up so bad with this kind, beautiful woman, this graceful and forgiving saint, that she couldn't stand the sight of you any longer. Who knows. If you hadn't been such a dick, she may not have been free to be with me today." all of this, Sy said with Elliott's hand still in his. Shaking it. Apparently not too firmly. Until Sy leaned in very closely and whispered something to Elliott that made him go several shades of puce, and grimace, pulling his hand away, which Sy eventually relinquished.

After Elliott had tucked his tail and ran away, Shane found herself in a far less merry temperament than she'd come in with. She and Sy decided to leave. They said their goodbyes, Shane promising more answers as soon as she could. And they left, her arm around his waist, and his around her shoulder.

About halfway to Sy's truck, Shane heard a solid ping near her ear and the shattering of glass on the pavement nearby, followed by a low growl from deep in Sy's chest. They halted in their stride, Shane turning quickly around, Sy turning more slowly and intentionally in the direction of his would be attacker.

Elliot stood beside the brick exterior of the bar with three other men, none of them within 50 pounds of Sy, and hardly a match for him…individually…but together, she was concerned. She would absolutely try to help fight these guys, but she couldn't take out more than one with the potential weapons she had on her person that she could inventory off hand. Plus, if she had to fight Elliott…he'd get into her head…she knew it. Thank God she didn't know the other guys. She'd hope to get one of them.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" Sy said, back to his polite self, not worried about potentially getting into a street fight in which they were outnumbered two to one.

"Just thought you'd like to tell my buddies here what you said to me in there. I mean, I gave them the gist, but I think they'd like to hear it from you." Elliott puffed.

"Ah, somebody can't keep a secret." Sy sigh scolded him, wagging his finger at him as if he was a misbehaved child. "I was gonna let it all go as long as you left us alone. Did you mention that to them before you got them into a whole mess o' trouble?"

"Tell them, you fuckin' coward."

"Big talk from a guy who had to make it four to one before he confronted me." Sy accused.

"Four to two." Shane squared her shoulders, standing next to Sy, and attempting to make herself look more formidable, which was next to impossible given the fact that the man beside her was a massive army captain and she was just…herself. But she'd be damned if she stood by and let Sy take all of this on when it was all because of her. Plus, she didn't want him to reinjure himself.

"How about you jump in if I need ya, sunshine." He whispered to her. She didn't move or reply. "But ya know, since ya asked so nicely, I will oblige. I told this piss-ant friend of yours after he physically accosted this lovely lady here, in no uncertain terms that if he EVER touched MY GIRLFRIEND again, he'd be begging for death for hours before I had mercy on him and put him out of his misery and that his body would never be found." He eyed each of the men before him, his fiery gaze a physical force upon them, letting his promise to Elliott sink in. "Now if y'all wanna defend a man who would put hands on a woman, and then proceed to physically assault a United States Army veteran like myself, I can come up with similar guarantees for all of ya. And carry them out here tonight. But y'all look like ya've got a lot o' shit ya still wanna get done in this life with limbs and dicks intact. So I would encourage all of you fine gentlemen to walk away from this situation."

Two of the men, surrendered, claiming Elliott hadn't mentioned that he'd hurt Shane or that Sy was a vet. One of the men asked to shake his hand and thanked him for his service. The smallest member of Elliott's group, however, remained with him. Shane thought she recognized him after getting a better look. He'd been at a few events she'd been to with Elliott's friend group. She thought his name was Kyle. Clearly he was one of Elliott's oldest and most loyal friends. He still looked skeptical. Unsure that the two of them alone could take Sy. Shane thought he was right to be worried.

"Come on, Kyle!" Elliott summoned his friend to the fight.

"I dunno, man. He's a soldier and I mean…look at him. Look at us!"

"You pussy." Elliott walked up to Sy.

"You don't want to do this, friend." Sy warned.

"I'm not your friend, asshole. You stole my girlfriend." he swung wildly at the larger man, but missed. He was unsteady, Shane could see now, from excessive drink. She hadn't noticed inside.

Sy remained still for one punch that landed weakly on his jaw, barely displacing it. "Are you done, there, Mayweather? We even? Now that you got to hit me?"

"We are not done. Not until one of us is on the ground." Elliott insisted.

"Fair enough." Sy socked him with a jab straight to the nose, knocking him dizzily to the hard asphalt of the parking lot. Kyle came up to him to drag Elliott to a nearby car as his head lolled forward like a rag doll.

"I'll get him to the ER. Explain to them what happened. You guys get home safe. And thanks for not killing him. Or me." Kyle said as he opened his passenger door. Sy helped heave Elliott's comatose form into the seat and shook Kyle's hand.

Shane's eyes were still wide at the entire chain of events. Her adrenaline supercharged from her readiness to fight alongside her man. Which, she was both relieved and disappointed that she didn't have to do. But there was another thing on her mind. She had been mentally replaying what Sy had said to Elliott played over and over for more reasons than his chivalrous and heroic conduct.

When they were in the car and headed to her house, Shane asked him about it.

"So…you called me your girlfriend tonight." she looked at him.

"Shit, Shane, I'm sorry. I've been wanting to ask ya for days to make things official, and I just haven't found the right time. I was gonna ask you over drinks tonight in front of all your friends, but then that asshole fucked it all up. I even have a gift for you." he fished around in his pocket for a small, flat box, and handed it to her. She flipped up the spring loaded lid of the black velvet box, and inside, on a tiny pillow of black satin was a silver necklace with a silver charm. An "S" in an elaborate script with a small emerald set in the lower hook of the letter. "And if you don't want to make it official, you can still keep the necklace, because the 'S' can be for 'Shane,' and the stone can just be an emerald, and ya don't have to think about it like it's my birthstone, and I--"

"Sy, hush. Of course I want to be your girlfriend, officially. I've been dying to say it myself. And I love the necklace. It's perfect."

"Really? You mean it? All of it?" she'd never seen him so desperate. She had no idea why he thought she might not be serious. But she did have an idea of how to prove it.

"Stay with me tonight, Sy."

"It's still early yet, babe. I'll have plenty of time--"

"No, I mean, I want you. Tonight." How could she be more clear than that?

"Oh, you mean…but I thought you wanted to wait until my treatments were over?" He asked, as if he didn't want to get his hopes up just yet.

"When you were on the phone with my boss that day, you said something that I haven't been able to stop thinking about. Something that's gnawed at my will and resolve ever since. You said that life was too short, and you didn't want to wait to be happy when you could be happy now." she was verging on tears. "Well, I'm tired of waiting too, Sy. You make me happier than I've ever been, and I don't see the point in ignoring what we really want anymore. Because the fact is, Sy…the fact has been for a while now," she laughed at her own foolishness for stifling and ignoring it all this time, "I love you. And I think I have from the moment you first called me ma'am." She was fully crying now, and the tears had broken through down his cheeks, as well.

He pulled into her driveway and jumped out of his truck, still running, headlights blazing into her yard. He jogged around the front, but Shane, being uninjured had caught up to him without the benefit of a head start. He caught her up in his arms as if she'd stay there forever. They sobbed tears of joy and relief as they kissed each other with abandon, silhouettes against the footlights and exhaust courtesy of the Ford Motor Company, the PowerStroke engine roaring a soundtrack for this moment as it idled.

"I love you, Shane. From the moment you found me dreading therapy all alone that first day and cheered me up instantly. I knew." he brush the tears and hairs away from her face and held it, scrutinizing her features in the high-beams as if he intended to draw her from memory.

"I didn't know you were dreading it." she laughed, lightening the mood a bit.

"I was. A lot. Never had a lot of luck, especially recently, with PT. Until you."

She smiled, and looked at the truck, a third party to their romantic moment now more obvious to her.

"You're wasting gas."

"Hang the gas. I'm wasting time with you. You wanna go inside?" he asked. She nodded.

"You go get your purse. I'll be right around."

Sy shut off the truck and took his keys out, locking the vehicle from the fob after his arm was back around Shane and they were walking up her front porch steps.

Up Next: Chapter 10- Myofascial Release

[waddlenotwaddles]

Beginnings

Or: the story of one agent’s unconventional recruitment to the PSA.

“Fishsticks,” Wei muttered, prodding at the stubborn image scan on her laptop that simply refused to un-pixelate. “Come on, you old thing. Why won’t you load?”

She clicked a few keys decisively and pressed ‘Enter’. The image juddered, somehow pixelated even more, and then the entire webpage crashed, showing only a grey, sad-looking error icon on-screen with a blue ? in its centre. Wei clutched at her hair and resisted the urge to shriek, but it was a near thing.

(read the rest on ao3, or:)

It was no use. If she wanted any chance of finishing her work before midnight tonight, she would have to return to her tiny desk at the Club Penguin Times offices, where the internet was reliable but which was also busy and crowded and clamouring with penguins to the point that her flippers started to shake just at the thought of it.

Wei closed her eyes and swore under her breath. This is impossible. I can’t get into a panic every time I enter my own place of work.

Her laptop beeped feebly at her, announcing the imminent decline of both her battery percentage and continued will to live. Wei cursed again and fumbled her laptop into her arms, pulling the charging cable from her bag and casting around frantically for an outlet. The Book Room, it seemed, was allergic not only to reliable internet but also to basic technology as a whole; the only outlet in sight was already fully occupied by both an ancient, sputtering lamp and a small black box with a blinking red light in one corner. With a muttered “sorry”, Wei unplugged the dying lamp and replaced it with her laptop’s charging cable. At the very least, waiting for her laptop to charge up would give her time to mentally brace herself before she had to return to the office.

Wei sat on the floor with a bump and a sigh, and something knocked against her flipper. She twisted around, and saw she had narrowly avoided sitting on that little black box with the blinking red light which still occupied the second plug of the electrical outlet. Even with her stomach growling with hunger (she’d missed lunch) and her overtaxed brain making her thoughts lag more than usual, it should’ve occurred to her sooner that this black box was, in fact, a router. An internet router, to be precise.

Wei’s eyes widened. She reached out for the router, but then withdrew. She was in the Book Room above the very public Coffee Shop, not in her own igloo, for crying out loud. She couldn’t just — just poke around other folks’ electronics without asking permission first! Even if she was, for the moment, completely alone and unobserved in the room… and even if said electronic was sitting right there, blinking tantalizingly up at her as though pleading to be fixed…

Wei’s flipper twitched again in the direction of the router. All she wanted to do was fix the Book Room’s terrible internet. Surely there would be no harm in that.

Wei didn’t consider her technological knowledge to be that remarkable, all things considered. Certainly not even close to the realm of penguins like Gary the Gadget Guy, whose inventions held an undercurrent of genius that she could never possibly hope to understand. That being said, Wei had picked up one or two tricks over the years, and these had eventually allowed her to develop her own Methods for doing things. Said Methods weren’t illegal, exactly, but they could occasionally be a little… flexible. One of these Methods included the program she began to boot up on her laptop, even as she connected her laptop to the router with a second cable from her bag. She had written this program herself several years back, to improve the internet at the workplace of a friend whose boss had refused to hire a technician to fix their network connectivity issues, and it only required a few more tweaks in code before it began scanning through the Book Room’s router as easily as picking o’berries. It took a few minutes longer to gain access to the router’s configuration, which Wei accomplished with a few guilty glances over her shoulder toward the still-closed door of the Book Room.

“Sorry,” she muttered again to no one in particular. “I promise I just want to make the network run faster. Even the Dojo has better internet than this.”

Ding. The program wrapped up its final processes and obediently closed itself with a self-satisfied air. In her other window, Wei could see the previously crashed webpage reloading, now much, much faster than before. She allowed herself a little fist-pump of victory.

Which was promptly cut short when her entire screen froze, went grey, and proceeded to throw up several glaring error windows all over the display.

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” she yelped, tapping desperately at the keys. “What’s wrong with you now?”

The screen flickered. She could practically hear the fans on her poor laptop strain with the effort of preventing it from overheating. This is a straightforward process, she thought with dismay as her laptop’s memory nearly overflowed despite her frantic efforts. Or at least it should be!

Then as suddenly as it had begun, the blowup stopped. No further error windows appeared, and her screen only lagged slightly when she tentatively tested a few keys. The laptop fans died down to their usual quiet hum.

Only… something was different. When she checked, her laptop memory was still fuller than it should’ve been, and it didn’t take long for her to discover the reason why: a program that had definitely not been present before was now running itself innocuously on her laptop, like a small but stubborn snow-leech sucking away at her RAM.

Wei’s eyes narrowed. She tested the internet, and found that it was running as smoothly as expected.

So this was the reason why the internet connection had been so terrible. Not merely because of a faulty router, but because someone had — had somehow installed a secret program onto said router, where it had stayed for who knew how long, eating away at the extra space and mangling the system into an unusable mess.

But who on the island would do such a thing, and why? A penguin playing a prank? Or someone with more malicious intentions — someone trying to steal information, perhaps, or install malware or even spyware on unknowing penguins’ devices if they tried to use the Coffee Shop’s public internet?

Wei would be the first to admit that she had something of a vivid imagination, but this seemed off in a way that genuinely unsettled her. Her suspicions only grew when she attempted to open this strange program, only to discover the file was heavily encrypted — and it was no amateur’s work, either.

“Alright, then,” she said under her breath, squinting at the numbers on screen. “You want to play this game with me, jerk? Then let’s play.”

.

She hadn’t done anything like this in ages. Not since she was still in school at least, and eager to push the boundaries of her technological capabilities. But like many of Wei’s more dubious Methods, once learnt, it proved to be a hard one to forget. It took her quite a few attempts to suss out the full thirty-two digit encryption key, even with her computer making full use of its ability to compute, but after what seemed like an interminably long time, the firewall collapsed beneath her assault like a stubborn snow-fort finally being knocked over.

“Got you,” Wei murmured triumphantly. The mysterious program sure looked malware-y enough, even after being decrypted, but she had her own ways of protecting her computer from harm. She moused over to the file and opened it with a decisive click.

She was expecting anything from irritating advertisements to a virus’s game attempt at deleting her files. What she was decidedly not expecting was for a nonsense slew of squares dotted with circles and Xs to suddenly shoot across the screen, followed by her own startled face staring back at her from the monitor. With a furious squawk, she scrambled to cover her webcam with one flipper, but already there was large text blinking into existence above the image of her face, this time in readable letters:

NAME: ANWEI

STATUS: CIVILIAN

ERROR 403 — ACCESS DENIED

LOCK DOWN FOREIGN DEVICE IMMEDIATELY.

What do you mean, lock down — !!!

Wei’s laptop screen suddenly flared with an eye-searingly blue light, so bright that she was forced to shield her eyes. Then, with a fatal-sounding whine, the display sputtered, spasmed, and slowly died out, leaving Wei still sitting on the floor of the Book Room, gaping silently at her unresponsive laptop. - - -

Wei did not sleep well that night.

She was too anxious to eat more than a few bites of dinner, and when ten o’clock rolled around, she found herself turning on all the lights in her igloo and triple-checking the locks on her doors and windows. Her laptop, which she had firmly closed and weighed down with a heavy book for good measure, sat in the centre of her cleared-out desk where she could keep a close eye on it. Then she dragged a chair into the foyer so she could sit and guard the front door, phone in flipper and poised to call… somebody, should anyone try to break in, or something.

In her head, a quiet voice that sounded a bit like her last girlfriend’s asked if maybe she was being a tad overdramatic about what was probably just a prank being played on her.

Sagging back in her chair, Wei shook her head furiously to clear it. Mere pranks couldn’t just — just shut down someone’s laptop remotely, or identify exactly who she was from a single blurry photo taken by her webcam.

She wondered, a little wildly, if she ought to start running through her old Card-jitsu katas just in case.

An hour passed; then another, then another. Despite herself, Wei’s eyelids were growing heavy by around three in the morning, and before she knew it, she was startling awake in her chair when her usual seven a.m. work alarm rang shrilly from her bedroom.

In her lap, her white puffle Ai squeaked indignantly at this disturbance before flouncing off in a huff. Meanwhile, Crown, Wei’s second puffle, had somehow found her way on top of her desk and was now rubbing her furry face against the still-closed laptop.

“Get away from that,” Wei muttered, staggering over to her desk and scooping Crown into her arms. “That might not be safe.”

Crown chirruped and head-butted Wei’s face affectionately. At the other end of her igloo, Ai began to demand for her breakfast with loud, imperious squeaks. Wei sighed, and despite the prospect of confronting her massive unfinished workload thanks to her laptop practically imploding the day before, the tight knot in her chest finally loosened somewhat.

“I guess it does seem silly to think about now, huh,” she said to Crown, ruffling the yellow puffle’s fur. Crown tolerated the cuddle for a few moments longer before she squirmed free and hopped over to join Ai by the food bowls.

In spite of her restless night, the brisk morning air revived Wei somewhat when she finally stepped out her front door. Her spirits only continued to rise when she encountered no unpleasant surprises during her walk to the local branch of the Club Penguin Times offices. Today was Friday, the day after the weekly issue was released, and therefore it was the day when her workplace was at its emptiest. It was, in turn, Wei’s favourite day of the week to work, for it meant she had to endure the barest minimum of social interaction possible.

So it was that Wei became relaxed enough to hum along to the tune on her MP3000 as she pushed open the doors to the front lobby. But she stopped short at the entrance when she noticed several things at once:

The usual receptionist was gone, and standing by the front desk instead were three penguins who, eerily, all turned around at the same time to look at her when she walked in.

One of these penguins was Aunt Arctic herself, even though the Club Penguin Times editing offices were located on the other side of the island, and:

One of the other two penguins, wearing a black suit and dark sunglasses like something straight out of ‘Penguins in Black’, stepped forward, half-opened her jacket to reveal a shiny emblem pinned to her lapel, and said in a calm voice,

“Are you Anwei, the employee from the Archives Department? We need you to come with us.”

- - -

“So let me get this straight,” the suited penguin said slowly.

I’m not, Wei’s brain supplied uselessly. She kept her beak shut.

“You located and broke into a PSA Level 5 High-Security Clearance Server…  because you were trying to fix the internet in the Coffee Shop.”

“In the Book Room, actually,” Wei said in a small voice. “And it was an accident.”

The heating was turned on in the small basement room where the three of them currently sat, but Wei’s flippers were ice-cold all the same. She clasped them in her lap to keep them still. She had been placed into a chair in front of a dusty, unused office desk, while the other two penguins sat behind the desk in their own chairs, facing her. The black-suited penguin must have sensed Wei’s nervousness, for she visibly softened before speaking once more.

“Again, you’re not in any trouble, Wei,” the suited penguin said gently. Wei kept her eyes fixed on the nametag pinned to the other penguin’s blazer, which only read ‘S’. “We know you didn’t mean anything malicious by it. All we want to know is how you were able to do it.”

At that, the brown penguin accompanying S snorted and kicked their feet up over the arm of their chair, looking for all the world like they were lounging on a sofa in the Ski Lodge instead of crammed into a wooden chair in a dank little basement of the Club Penguin Times offices.

“And don’t give us any of that nonsense about it being an accident,” they drawled. “The day some penguin can bypass G’s security by accident is the day puffles sprout wings and fly.”

S turned around to give the brown penguin a truly withering glare that was obvious even under those impenetrable sunglasses. “Not helping, Zed,” she hissed.

Zed stuck their tongue out at her, and S scowled back. Watching them now, the two penguins could not be more diametrically opposed; S sitting primly in her neatly buttoned-up suit and tie, and Zed slouched over in a comfortably worn pink hoodie with a blue baseball cap turned sideways on their head. And yet the way in which the two of them interacted, like squabbling siblings who had known each other from the egg, was just so mundane that Wei began to relax, despite herself.

“It really was an accident,” she said. The other two halted their staredown immediately to refocus on her. Wei resisted the urge to shrink back.

“I mean,” she stammered, “I honestly had no idea what I was looking at when I found it. I thought it was a virus, at first.”

Zed sat up and raised an eyebrow. “You thought it was a virus and you still opened it?”

Wei fidgeted. “Well, yeah. I couldn’t just — leave it there, and let some other poor penguin who came after me get their account information stolen, or something.”

S and Zed were silent. Wei tried to elaborate. “I know how to protect my own data from most cyberattacks, so I thought it’d be best if I, er, extracted the corrupt files and dismantled them so they wouldn’t hurt anyone else. Only, when I opened the file, that happened.” Wei gestured at her laptop sitting on the desk, which was open and turned toward the other two penguins but still without power. “And, um. I guess you know what happened next.”

“...right.” S exchanged a look with Zed. “You still haven’t told us how you were able to break the encryption on the server.”

Wei couldn’t help but bristle a little. “I used my own decryption program. But I can’t exactly show you how I did it with my laptop like that, can I?”

“So she does have a backbone,” Zed said, sounding amused. They reached a flipper into their hoodie pocket, pulled out a battered blue phone, and held it up to their ear. “Everything’s good, folks,” they said into the phone unexpectedly. “You can let up now.”

There was no reply that Wei could discern, but Zed tucked the phone back into their hoodie and waved at Wei’s laptop. “Go ahead, you can open it now. I’ve told HQ that they could transfer control back to you.”

No part of that sentence made any sense to Wei, but the startled way in which S jerked and whipped around to face Zed was telling. “Zed,” she whispered. Then, with a significant glance back at Wei, S visibly calmed herself and said stiffly to Zed, “Agent, may I have a word with you outside?”

“Bit late for that now, I think,” Zed said dryly, and Wei tried not to look like she’d been listening too obviously. “C’mon, Sash,” they went on, nudging S/Sash/??? in the shoulder. “You heard what G said. This is too good of an opportunity to waste.” Then to Wei, good-naturedly, “Open up that laptop for us, would you?”

.

“This is remarkable,” S murmured some time later, with no sign of her previous reservations. She scanned avidly through the programming code that Wei had pulled up on the screen of her now miraculously-restored laptop. “May I…” Her flipper hovered over the keyboard, and Wei nodded, recognizing the fervour of a fellow nerd who desperately wanted to take a closer look at the Cool Thing in front of them — not that she ever would have considered one of her own programs to be “cool”. S immediately took off those dark sunglasses and pulled the laptop closer to her, leaning toward the screen.

“The code is a little disorganized,” Wei said nervously. She jumped when Zed clapped a flipper to her shoulder.

“No use talking to her for a while, I’m afraid,” they said cheerfully as S began to write fervently in a small notebook she pulled from her jacket, eyes still fixed to the laptop screen. “When she gets like this, everything goes in one ear and right out the other.”

“Shut up,” S said without looking up.

Zed smirked, but steered Wei aside. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something else,” they said, leaning against the wall and crossing their flippers. “You probably have a lot of questions.”

“I’ll say.” Wei shook her head vigorously, then burst out, “Who even are you? Why are you questioning me like this? How did you take over my computer and what was that program I opened and what does any of it have to do with me?”

Zed held up their flippers. “Whoa, slow down. One question at a time, please.”

Wei breathed out slowly. “Fine. Who are you?”

Zed grinned. “Well, that’s easy enough. I’m Zed, and the penguin with the stick down her collar over there is S. Not our real names, of course, but we can tell those to you, too, soon enough. We’re members of an organization called the PSA.”

“You mentioned that… PSA thing before,” Wei said, gathering her thoughts. “What is it?”

“Let’s just say we’re a specialized, anonymous group dedicated to protecting the island from harm.” Zed reached into their pocket and pulled out a slightly more scuffed-up version of that same shiny emblem S had shown her earlier. They passed it to Wei, who examined it closely. “Most of the island leaders and mascots are aware of our existence, including your boss, Aunt Arctic, though we generally prefer to keep out of sight of the general public.”

“Wait.” Wei looked up. “You know Aunt Arctic?”

Zed shrugged. “Not personally. More like she knows of us, really. She’s not a member of the PSA, of course, but she demanded to see our identification before she let us speak with you. Nice lady.”

“Oh,” Wei said, a bit faintly. She had only met Aunt Arctic once before this, during a party to celebrate the publication of the 100th edition of the Club Penguin Times, and even then, she’d only had the courage to stammer out a quick ‘hello’ before bolting. The thought that Aunt Arctic would go through all that trouble, just to protect an employee she probably didn’t even remember meeting, was a little staggering, though Wei was grateful for it. I ought to send her a fish basket or something as thanks.

“Which brings me to my next point.” Zed gave Wei an unexpectedly piercing look. “What you did with that program in the Book Room… you really shouldn’t have been able to do that.”

Wei glared at them a little. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What Zed means is that the encryption on that program was designed to be foolproof,” S said, suddenly appearing at Zed’s shoulder. She paged through her notebook with a scrutinizing eye. “There are only a few penguins on the island that we know of who are capable of that level of decoding expertise, and all four of them are in the employ of the PSA. Heck, G and K were the ones who wrote that encryption in the first place.” S looked up at Wei, and surprisingly, she smiled. “And then you turned up.”

“Um,” Wei said. “Sorry about that?”

“No, you don’t need to apologize. Quite the opposite, actually.” S stepped forward and held out a file toward Wei. Hesitantly, Wei accepted it, running her flipper over the word CLASSIFIED stamped in red on the cover.

“You possess a number of skills that the Penguin Secret Agency would find quite useful for a number of reasons,” S said, refocusing Wei’s attention on her. “And we sought you out today because we’d like to offer you a position.”

Wei blinked, then shook herself. She didn’t have water in her ears, did she? “I’m sorry — a position?” Wei repeated. “You mean, like — like a job? At this Penguin Secret… thing?”

“Yep,” Zed said.

Wei opened her beak, then closed it. “But —” she floundered. “But I already have a job here, with the Club Penguin Times!”

“We’re not saying you have to quit your position here at the newspaper,” S hastened to assure her. “Most of us work regular jobs in our civilian lives. Agency work is usually assigned on an on-call basis, so there’s plenty of downtime between assignments.”

“The PSA’s probably most interested in hiring you as a consultant, anyway,” Zed added. “That’s, like, one assignment every six months, tops. And the pay’s not half-bad, either—”

“Not to mention,” S said loudly, interrupting Zed with a glare, “You would be helping us keep the island safe from threats of all kinds.”

Wei stared down at the file in her flippers. She eased the cover back, and her own name gazed up at her in bold black letters from the page inside.

“Take some time to think about it,” S said more gently. “No hard feelings if you decide the job’s not for you, but if you are interested, all the information’s there in the file.”

Wei could only stand there and continue to stare blankly down, the gears in her mind whirring away frantically. Eventually the other two penguins stepped away and began gathering their things, leaving Wei’s laptop still open on the desk.

“Wait,” Wei heard herself say before S and Zed could leave for good. The scuff of their feet paused at the other end of the room.

“You still haven’t told me what that server was for,” she said, not looking up from the file. “The one I accidentally opened, I mean. Why was it in a router in the Book Room, of all places?”

There was a pause, then an amused chuckle. “If you must know, it’s part of a series of secure PSA servers hidden in select locations around the island,” Zed said. “In the event that the computer mainframe at Headquarters is compromised, our most sensitive information can still be kept safe and accessible by our agents, if they know where to look.”

“The server that you accessed is a bit of a… special case, though,” S said. She sounded a little exasperated. “The Book Room was already ruled out by our tech division as being too public of a space to be truly secure, so its server was left empty, only to be used in the worst of emergencies.”

Wei was finally able to drag her eyes from the file to S and Zed hovering at the door. “But it wasn’t empty,” she said, confused.

Zed looked like they were holding back a laugh, and S sighed. “As it turns out, one of our agents thought that a secure PSA server which had been mostly discarded by the agency as useless would be a grand place to store his family’s top-secret fish recipes,” she said dryly. “The penguins on duty yesterday were just as surprised as you were to be notified of a security breach taking place in a supposedly empty server.”

“The agent responsible for misusing the server has already been reprimanded,” Zed added, snickering. “You should’ve seen his face when he learned of what happened from the Director themself.”

“More worried for his job, or for the sanctity of his oh-so-important apple-fish pie?” S muttered to Zed as the two of them left the room. The door clicked shut before Wei could hear any more of their ensuing conversation, but Zed’s laugh echoed loudly down the hall.

- - -

“This is crazy,” Wei said to a sleeping Ai later that day back at her igloo. (Aunt Arctic had taken one look at her after her conversation with S and Zed and immediately given her the rest of the day off, much to Wei’s relief.)

“This is just absolutely ridiculous,” Wei continued, petting Ai’s fur a little desperately. “I don’t even know who these penguins are. I shouldn’t want to join their weird little secret club and weird secret ways, even if their technology is incredible and like nothing I’ve ever seen before in my life.”

Ai’s only response was a snore. On the coffee table in front of them, Crown hopped over the scattered pages of the file that Wei had spread out and read and reread countless times over the past several hours.

Wei stared at Crown. Crown stared back and let out a questioning squeak. Wei sighed.

“Oh, what the hell,” she said, and reached for the phone.

The penguin on the other end picked up after two rings. “Hello, you’ve reached the Sports Shop in the Ski Village,” they said cheerfully. “How can I help you today?”

“Um.” Wei glanced at the file in front of her. “I think the password is, ‘G has forty-five pairs of socks.’”

[elisethetraveller]

Continued from; eloquentyrant

Whilst he had been very much content with tending to his own business, being subjected as the target of constant staring soon grew to be rather aggravating to the mobster. Brows furrowed with a mixture of both impatience and annoyance, his voice is curt when he finally addressed her. “Do I know you?”

Perhaps she had been staring a bit too obviously but it was ever so annoying when she saw someone she almost could recognize. So unsure if she’d actually met this person before or someone like him or if he just looked familiar Elise had perhaps been looking in his direction for a tad too long.

“No, I don’t believe so.” Even if her memory of who she’d met was on few occasions faulty other people tended to remember if they’d met her before. “My apologies you just looked familiar.”

( @eloquentyrant )

[the-reader-to-my-hero]

It’s Raining Somewhere

Note: i think Candy and Rain are homonyms in Japanese? Feel free to correct me!

A sequel to Voice

Tears fell onto his phone screen, magnifying little splotches of the dead chat. Tomura grinded his teeth, trying to bite back the sob in his throat. He shook like porcelain china in an earthquake, rattling further and further toward the edge until finally he’ll—

“Hey…” a soft voice whispered into Tomura’s left ear, sending his muscles coiling and his body whirling around to face the intruder. Yet all he saw was empty space, and he tried to gulp down air, tried to make sense of the disembodied voice from beneath the howling winds of his emotions.

“Hey, hey ssssh it’s okay, it is me. It is Rex,” the voice soothed as it shifted around to stay in both earbuds. It sounded like...a girl. “It is okay...I am here. I am here.” Her Japanese, while not as obvious as some, had hints of an English speaking accent. Her words were slow and carefully thought out.

“R-r-rex?” Tomura warbled, before clapping his hand over his mouth like a child after saying a bad word. God. He sounded pathetic. He was pathetic. He was supposed to be the horrific prodigé of All for One himself, to be the most notorious villain this damn hero society had ever seen. And yet...yet here he was, blubbering like a weakling, to a person he’s never even met.

“Yeah, yeah it is me,” she replied rather breathlessly. “Sorry, I know I do not speak Japanese very well.” Was that why she didn’t talk before? “But I am...I am here for you I—“ there was a huff of breath, an awkward chuckle “I did not...think this through. I am sorry.” Another chuckle.

“Why are you apologizing?” Tomura snapped irritably while he tried to absorb her voice into his head. This was a bit of a game changer simply put. It shouldn’t have been, but could he really be blamed for assuming that his friend was a dude or some non binary blob? But Rex’s voice was soft, husky, sounding like she was relaxed even though her words were all over the place.

“Habit,” was her curt response. If Tomura could strain his ears he would. He listened to the muffled sound of footsteps that slowed with creaking wood like she was climbing stairs. There was a squeal of a door opening and the faint tell-tale slam that it shut with behind her. A twinge of jealousy shot through him. He would have been berated by Kurogiri for slamming the door.

It struck him she mentioned living all alone. He wondered if she was lonely. He decided that if she was it was her fault. That didn’t stop the fact Tomura was… feeling things. Things that scared him more than any pro-hero or plan going wrong; this warmth blossoming in his shivering body.

“Oh,” she remarked with insightful commentary “it is candy*”

“Candy??” he blurted, thrown both by the tone and the statement. What was candy? Why did she just realize whatever it is was candy? He didn’t hear the sound of something being opened, no creak of a door, or a box.

If Tomura hadn’t cranked up his volume he would have missed Rex muttering “candy...candy…” under her breath. Suddenly RaticalRex exclaimed: “Oh! Rain!” forcing her friend to rapidly turn his volume back down.

Tomura scoffed, “You say you speak japanese, but you can’t even distinguish candy and rain?” She was silent for a few long moments, making him wriggle impatiently. What little patience he had rapidly dried up in just a few seconds. “Seriously?? Are you that slow even understanding it?!”

He just got an awkward chuckle immediately in return. Her comprehension seemed fine… Or maybe she just thought he sounded funny or something. He already felt like a joke.

Just when it seemed she spontaneously dropped dead, Rex replied, “Well. Not….exactly.” There was the sound of light footsteps. What was she doing? “I—uhm…. I am not used to talking...out loud.” Another awkward half-laugh. “I can’t even speak in English, and that’s my first language.”

“That’s your fault. I told you to go outside…” Tomura hissed sourly.

“Mhm. You diiid” she recalled nonchalantly. She seemed completely unphased by his hostility, but that wasn’t anything new. Infact, it was like his biting remarks comforted her, her Japanese loosening up like muscle memory was kicking in. “Doesn’t mean I talk to strangers.”

“You’re talking to me,” it was an automatic response that flew right out of his mouth. There was a pregnant pause. Shigaraki sat back in his bed with held breath, the springs of his mattress creaking loudly.

“Heh! Yeah…” she hummed, before falling into silence. Tomura swore he heard the faint drumming of a downpour. “But you’re not…

really a stranger… a-at least not to me,” there was a quiver to her matter-of-fact tone, a subtle wavering of confidence. Did it really matter to her that much?

“Hm,” Tomura grunted, not knowing what to say to that. They’ve known each other for… about a year now? They didn’t even play games that often anymore, they just… talked. Talked about… things. Things like video games, movies, and trends. They had discussed anything and everything, like it was natural, like one of them wasn’t a dire wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing.

Tomura glanced at his bedroom door. He felt thrilled, like a kid sneaking out under their parent’s noses. Nothing had changed, but then again that wasn’t true was it? Rex spoke,something they (or she) had always made up excuses for not doing.

“Hey,” Rex called out of the blue, her voice so quiet it was barely above a husky whisper like she was afraid she’d scare him. Damn, he wasn’t some skittish rabbit. He was Shigaraki Tomura...not that she knew that.

“What,” he snipped, instinctively lifting his chin as he stared at his phone like she could feel his glare.

“Is it raining where you are?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

There was a faint snicker, and a shift of feet. “By looking out a window silly goose.”

Silly goose?? What were they 12???

Yet for whatever reason, Shigaraki still got to his feet with a displeased groan, and slunk toward the tightly drawn blackout curtain. He shuffled with the blinds, squinting at the light, before letting his eyes adjust. Lo and behold, it was pouring outside, water falling in thick sheets with the wind howling.

“Yeah it’s rainin’, why?” he muttered impatiently, staring out over flickering city lights as the lights bounced off the water. Huh. It was almost kind of pretty.

“I just… I-I like the rain,” her tone was a little shy, unsure, clearly hearing just how odd that sounded. “I live outside the city… so I can’t really see it that well but it's...its nice. I think so anyway.”

“Hm…” There was another pause, but Tomura waited, pressuring her to say something else. She was just spouting nonsense like she always did (her speaking voice practically an exact match to her texts), but she just… intrigued him.

Rex snorted “Y’know, I don’t get out all that much, gotta listen to a lot of ...noise when I’m working,” there was the faint sound of footsteps. “Nice to hear the rain for a change.”

“You’re fucking weird Rat,” Shigaraki flopped back onto his bed, starfishing out and staring up at the ceiling.

What followed was a genuine guffaw, an outburst that sounded like a bootleg Godzilla scream. Tomura’s eyes about popped out of his head at the bizarre sound, and the series of giggles that followed afterward. Before he could as so much as open his mouth, she had already opened hers.

“Sorry sorry it’s just!” she couldn’t finish her sentence before devolving back into senseless snickering. God, her laugh was weird, like someone with a faulty spray bottle.

“Why are you laughing at me? The fuck is so funny?!” Paranoia seeped into Decay_God’s skin like he was soaking in a bath.

“No no! I’’ not—I’m not laughing at you!” Rex tried desperately to reassure him. “It's just—what you said was true and it just—!” She laughed more, and Tomura sullenly folded his arms and stared at his decrepit ceiling, counting the seconds it took her to pull herself together. “It’s just something that you would say.”

“What is that suppose to mean?” Decay drawled with a curl to his lip.

“N-no! Thats not—“ she caught her breath “It’s just...Cool that you don’t treat me any different cause...I probably wasn’t what you were expecting.”

“Why? Cause you’re a girl?” she didn’t reply. Bingo. “I couldn’t give less of a fuck. You kick ass in the arena. You get results. That’s what matters to me, not if you have fucking tits.” He heard her snort, the sound muffled like she was covering her mouth. Tomura smirked a little, caught off just a tad how she laughed rather than strangled him.

‘It's just something you would say’. Did she think about him? How often? What other stuff did he “say”?

“Thanks Decay,” jesus was she trying to murder him with kindness?

“For what?”

“Being a good friend.” The gentle tone was so earnest, it single handedly shut down Tomura’s 2 working brain cells. Him??? A good friend? No. No that wasn’t right…

“Huh?” he grumbled, feeling his eyelids drooping. He was crashing, the exhaustion of the day and his breakdown creeping in slowly. Chances were he hallucinated that statement.

“Well, like, you’ve done a lot for me a-and… I dunno…” cue another nervous chuckle, “I’m glad...we’re friends.”

Tomura didn’t know what to say, how to reply, he never did. RaticalRex had thrown these curve balls at him before, but hearing the warmth in her voice was...a whole different ball game. In times like these, Tomura’s brain would shift gears, try to take control of this situation by throwing out whatever came to mind first.

“Why were Amaria’s tits so fucking big?” was what won the lottery for his emergency slot machine of words to say. He was too tired to even kick himself over the shitty

There was a beat of silence, 1, 2; “Amaria’s tits were one hundred percent fanservice and it’s bullshit. She was actually so well-written too! Someone clearly put a lot of work into her but hur dur someone thought that she looked better with double-d titties to slap around and—“

RaticalRex kept talking, audibly moving around with the clink! of dishes and running water following her. sounding like she was making dinner. Decay_God quickly sank into the purgatory between dreaming and waking realm, listening to the sounds someone he never met but felt like he knew.

He was so tired, that he thought he heard RaticalRex whisper a soft “Goodnight Tomura,” before he sank beneath the waves of sleep. Yet when he awoke 8 hours later, the words had not evaporated with the foggy dreams.

“Goodnight Decay, get some sleep” lied in the chat from around 6 hours ago. It was a dream. It had to be his subconscious and conscious intertwining xXDecay_GodXx and Shigaraki Tomura. It was just a dream.

...Right?