#do not burn the employees with the same fire that needs to be directed at their higher ups' asses

[the-witchs-cafe]

Pomni from the Amazing Digital Circus would turn into a witch in Puella Magi Madoka Magica!

Cause of Witchification: As of this post's writing, we aren't completely aware of the details regarding Pomni's backstory, but, as of now, we can definitely tell she is not glad at all over the prospect of being trapped in an unchanging digital hellscape ruled by an A.I who possesses little to no understanding of complex human emotions and desires. The pilot's main conflict revolves around her desperate efforts to find an exit to the real world, only to get hit by the dawning realization that there is no way out and all she could do to spend her days is to continue playing her role within this circus for days and days on end...

Oh, and there is also the threat of getting abstracted that is looming over everyone else's heads, which is...eerily similar to how a character would witch out in PMMM, seeing that they occur to those who have lost the will to continue on.

[sashaisready]

This Must Be The Place: Chapter 5 - I feel numb

Biker!Bucky x Femme Reader

Back at your beloved late grandmother's home to pack up her house, you have a run-in with the town's biker gang 'The Howling Commandos' and find yourself entangled with the metal armed President.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Bucky is a dick in this one. Angst! Jealousy! Idiots who don't communicate!! But I’m loving Steve...He’s moving in a different direction than planned but I’m enjoying it.

Surprise chapter drop! This came outta nowhere lol. Thanks again for all your reblogs and comments, I truly can’t emphasise enough how much they mean to me.

You had whiplash after the kiss with Bucky in the office. It all happened so fast, so fast you didn’t even really think about it. Not that you needed to, your body thought and spoke for you. Every feeling you had for him was poured into that kiss. Every stolen glance, every secret second of pining. Kissing him felt like the most natural thing in the world. As if you were meant to be doing this. A tiny part of you had almost hoped that if you ever did manage to kiss him, that it would be bad…or worse - uneventful. Then maybe the mediocrity would snap you out of your infatuation and allow you to move forward, finally stop you crushing on a man who you knew would be no good for you.

Alas, no. It had only stoked the embers, the fire for him burning brighter than ever before.

That night you had driven home, Clint riding alongside you on his bike until you were safely behind the front door. That was sweet. You had insisted you were fine and apologised to him for the waste of gas, but he was nonplussed. A loyal soldier doing his duty.

You had laid awake in Granny’s old bed that night, wondering what exactly had led Bucky to make a move. Yes, there had been a bit of flirtation between you both, but you’d got the impression he was like that with women generally – especially if his interactions with Amber and co were anything to go by. You’d met many flirts in your time, and you knew better than to pin hopes and feelings on a bit of banter. Some flirts treated it like a sport, getting girls to fall for them with a few sweet words and well-timed winks just to see if they could. Others just did it to pass the time, enjoying the buzz of the exchanges but never really intending it to go further. You didn’t know which category Bucky fell into, but you were smart enough to keep your wits about you. Or at least try to...

He seemed genuinely shaken up by the incident with the customer, angry that he hadn’t been there to save the day and keep his employees out of harm’s way. Was he worried about you? Or was it a bit of a macho display to save face in front of the MC? Someone had caused trouble on his turf, after all. You didn’t know. Why had he even hired you? Did he like you, or were you just a bit of fun that he knew had an expiration date when you sold the house? Did he feel the same way you did, or just think you were a good time girl who would serve him beer and maybe let him into your pants for a few quickies after hours? You didn’t know. But a glimmer of optimism was blooming.

And just how far would the kiss have gone if Sam hadn’t interrupted? You definitely didn’t know that. All you knew was the dizzying feeling you’d felt when he’d kissed you…and just how down bad you were.

Ugh.

To your disappointment, and possibly helping to confirm where Bucky stood, you didn’t hear from him over the next few days. Only a cursory text from Steve to confirm your next shift. You weren’t sure what you expected, but making out with your boss in the back office wasn’t a regular work activity for you – you at least thought he’d text or something. But maybe that’s where you were going wrong. Maybe that was a typical Sunday night at the bar for him.

You pulled up into the parking lot of The Snake Pit on Wednesday evening to begin your shift. As you wandered in, various members of the MC greeted you and asked about your injuries. You smiled and amiably chatted back, reassuring them all was fine. Nat gave you a wave over by the jukebox before berating Sam about his song choice. Just another regular shift. If anyone knew about your little tryst with Bucky, nobody gave anything away to suggest it.

As you got to the bar, Steve was leaning across it and meticulously inspecting a CCTV camera he must’ve unscrewed from the ceiling. You said hi to Tom who was already working, his tongue sticking out of his mouth as he acknowledged you while very carefully cutting up some lemons.

“Still playing up, huh?” you asked Steve as you started putting clean glasses away.  

“Yep,” he replied without looking up. “I thought the connection was loose, but I can’t see any problems with it – so I think it’s something with the individual cameras”.

A couple of the cameras had been on the blink for a week or so, leaving surveillance blindspots in the bar. Bucky was very blasé about it all, but Steve was clearly nervous.

“Want me to call the repair guy?” you asked as you worked around him.

Steve grimaced. “Not yet…I’m just gonna have a play around and see if I can figure it out”.

You poured him a beer as he pulled a screwdriver from his pocket and began opening up the camera’s case.

“Thanks,” he mumbled as you placed the glass in front of him. He hadn’t looked up at you the whole time you’d been there. It would’ve bothered you when you first started here, but you knew now that was just how he was.

“How’s the arm?” he asked suddenly, his eyes still locked on the task in front of him.

“All good, thanks. Bandage was off the next day”.

“Good. And the head?”

“Also good. Just had a bit of a fetching goose egg on my head for a few days”.

“Eh, a look you pulled off, I’m sure”.

You smiled. Steve may have been a man of few words, but he did listen. He did care.

“And don’t worry about that guy. He wouldn’t dream of coming back here. Trust me”.

“Thanks, Steve”.

“Mmm. Y‘welcome” he muttered.

He went quiet again, and you knew that meant the conversation was finished for now so you continued working.

You were just re-stocking the bottle fridges when you realised you hadn’t seen Bucky around yet. You did a quick scan of the room when the front door suddenly flew open.

You couldn’t help the wave of nausea that rushed through as you watched Bucky sweep into the bar, Amber glued to his side as she giggled hysterically at whatever he’d just said. He’d never been that funny, you thought.

Some of the MC members called out to him and he hollered back. Amber was clinging to him, grinning like a Cheshire cat. He dashed by the bar and his eyes caught yours as he walked. He seemed to give you a double take as he stopped.

“You’re working tonight?” he asked, pointing at you accusingly. “I thought you were in tomorrow”.

“Well, hello to you too,” you mumbled back, a little grouchier than planned. But you couldn’t deny that you were expecting a warmer reception.

“I scheduled her,” Steve replied gruffly. “You know those guys from the manufacturing plant are in here Wednesday nights after their shift. We need all hands on deck”.

As if on cue, Tom stumbled behind you and nearly dropped the liquor bottles he was holding.

“Yeah. Guess you’re right,” Bucky replied unconvincingly.

“Buuuucky,” wailed Amber as she tugged on his kutte. “C’moooon…”

Bucky huffed. “Alright…”

He looked at you for a split second, but then they moved over to the other side of the bar. You finally exhaled. You felt stupid. What did you expect? He was going to sweep you up and continue kissing you in front of everyone? You hadn’t even heard from him. God, you thought you’d grown out of this type of thing. Your embarrassment curdled into anger.

As you seethed silently, Steve spoke up again. Well, it was more like a growl than anything as you couldn’t make out what he said.

“Sorry, what did you say?” you asked.

“I said,” and his blue eyes flickered to finally look at you, “Don’t believe everything you see”.

You frowned. “Cryptic…”

“You heard me”.

You watched as he turned and pointedly looked over at Bucky and Amber. Bucky was chatting away to Nat as Amber held onto his metal arm with a vice grip, holding court with the other girls. She was showing Bucky off like a prize.

You felt your face flush. Did…he know? Did Bucky tell him about what happened between the two of you? And what was he inferring about Bucky and Amber?

You went to question him further, but he slipped off the bar stool without another word, zipping off across the room to reattach the CCTV camera.

*

The shift was a particularly painful one. You had to stand and watch as Amber was all over Bucky like a bad rash. He wasn’t necessarily reciprocating her attention – moving through the group drinking, chatting, but equally he wasn’t shaking her off, either. He seemed perfectly happy to have an Amber-shaped appendage, occasionally giving her breadcrumbs in the form of a smile or a wink which she happily devoured. He hadn’t acknowledged you since his admission of surprise that you were here.

Ugh.

Fortunately for you, Steve’s prediction about the plant guys keeping things busy was entirely correct. You and Tom would have bursts of activity as the group all seemed to go in for another round at once, then moments of quiet as they guzzled their drinks back at the tables. You were grateful for the distraction.

The hours clicked by towards the end of the night, and you were tired. Tired of being on your feet all evening. Tired of picking up the slack for Tom. Tired of keeping up with the plant guys who seemed to have bottomless pits inside them that no amount of beer could fill. Tired of how embarrassed you felt by Bucky’s rejection. Tired, tired. Your tank was empty.

The bar had emptied out with only a few stragglers left alongside the MC, so you started cleaning up and closing. You were just stacking some dirty glasses when the high-pitched giggle cut through the air.

You and Tom both turned to see Amber sitting rather unashamedly in Bucky’s lap, giggling as she ran her finger across his chin. He looked back at her with amusement, grinning like a fool.

You squeezed the glass you were holding so tightly that it was a miracle it didn’t break. All the feelings you’d been suppressing suddenly bubbled up, your stomach a nauseating soup of fatigue and hurt. And some rage thrown in for good measure.

“Oh man, she’s so hot…” Tom practically drooled.

That didn’t help.

“I’m just gonna change the Bud barrel,” you muttered in reply, your voice monotonous.

You slipped out through the door behind the bar and quickly rushed down the stairs to the quiet basement where the barrels and stock were kept. Grateful for the privacy, you threw your hands flat against the concrete wall and bent your head towards the floor, exhaling. It took you a moment, but you managed to compose yourself. God, you were stupid.

You unhooked the old barrel and got to work replacing it with the new one, relieved to be doing something with your hands. You berated yourself for getting to this point. A brief make-out session with your boss was hardly a binding contract. It didn’t mean anything. Nothing. Bucky probably got up to more mayhem before 10am most weekdays with his little harem of women. You were just another skirt to him. Jesus. How silly you’d been. You realised maybe you’d let yourself to be caught up in this crush to distract yourself from your Granny and the house. And it was a welcome distraction. But here you were, hiding in the basement at your job and feeling like a high schooler whose crush had invited someone else to prom.

Enough.

You inhaled and finished the task, standing back up and wiping your hands on your jeans.

You straightened up your back and shook your limbs out as you climbed back up the stairs. Time to do what you did best. After all, the only way is through.

[rxzennia]

farewell; let's meet again

– inspired in song 

✎𓂃 pilgrimage of repentance, maigo hanyuu. this song would fit so well with one of my ocs… maybe some other day. i've been meaning to launch this series for so long and it's finally here! (confetti) this isn't quite the intended debut work, but oh well. a bit short, just under 1k.

what's the point in feeling guilty if you can't repent? what's the point in apologizing if you know for a fact that no forgiveness will be bestowed upon you?

boothill, the legendary cyborg gunslinger hailing from your little planet in the corner of the cosmos, and someone whom you've stood by proudly. someone who you've once called your lover, someone who was once the home you returned to every night.

the smell of dynamite, of charred crops, of burning flesh, all of it still remains fresh in your mind; if you close your eyes long enough, you can almost feel the flames on your skin, taking you, too, into its warm embrace.

it would've been a fitting end.

you remained on aeragan-epharshel after the ipc's raid

whether out of your own will or a twisted turn of fate, you cannot say

you can't ever dream of atoning for what you've done, anyways

when explosives cased in metal descended upon your planet, you were safely hidden away in one of the ipc's ships

because you shook hands with them

you played buddy-buddy with the destroyers of your world

why

why.

why?

you can't say for sure, and you weren't even sure if you knew what motivated you

money? power? connections? petty revenge? 

you didn't know – you don't know

when you found out that boothill had taken on the skin of an ipc employee to seek the blood of the true perpetrator, you knew.

not of the intention behind your actions, but of the consequences. your own undoing.

the village hunter that everyone admired, the man whose heart you wished to know, the family man who loved without regrets…

you killed him. you stripped him of his world when you threw yours away. you were an accomplice.

the coward that you are, you didn't tell him

how could you?

he's lost everything, and you want to kick him when he's down?

so you kept your mouth shut – still keeps it shut

you've taken up the post of a leader, looking after whatever remains of your civilization

no one knows of your involvement in the destruction of their livelihoods

so much so that sometimes you can almost delude yourself into thinking you've never done anything wrong

almost

until you see the fire in the fireplace, remembering the carnage that you indirectly caused

and you feel like you could die, let the heat take you to a faraway place to never return

but you're not selfish enough to do that. to die here is to run away, forsaking the people who were lost, and forsaking those who still remain. an act of cowardice – and that's exactly what you are, isn't it?

no one needs to know of your sin, and no one needs to know what occupies your troubled mind. your repentance doesn't need to be known by anyone but you, because you're selfish. you don't want to face the consequences of your own actions, you don't want to face the wrath of your neighbors, you don't want boothill to inevitably point his gun at you.

whenever you imagine his hatred directed towards you…

the same hatred that drives his hunt for oswaldo, aimed at you…

you feel your very existence being ripped into pieces

even so, you wouldn't blame him

you can't blame him

it's all your fault, your fault, your fault, so who else is there to blame but you?

every time someone in your settlement thanks you for coordinating resource exchanges with other settlements, you can barely muster up enough strength to nod

when the elderly hold your hand and tell you how nice it is to have young people stick around…

you can't say a word

you can't even breathe, because you'd cry the moment you opened your mouth

they're thanking the wrong person

you're the sinner who they should never forgive

the one whose actions triggered it all

you idly scribble away at your desk, noting down the schedules of the black ore miners, the routine inspections, whenever a bigshot comes by… all for the tiniest hope that this will eventually serve boothill in some way.

in fact, you've been gathering a lot of these things. the ipc's technologies, gossips, performance reviews, the mundane things, you've been documenting all of them. 

when boothill returns to aeragan-epharshel for whatever reason, you'll find it in yourself to face him again. this time as an ally; you'll act for his cause, walk by his side, while you maintain the distance that you've placed between you.

you have no right to take his hand again

you've alienated yourself, you've chosen the path you want to take – a path for one, and one only

so you won't claim to be lonely.

you're not lonely at all.

your duty still calls for you

there are still things that you must do before you can rest

you, you, you… you alone.

when you don't see a future for yourself, you can only pray that such fate doesn't befall someone else. 

your roads have diverged too far to be reconciled. boothill as a galaxy ranger, and you, as a mere leader of a local tribe who carries the weight of your transgressions.

you sit alone at the cliff where you once watched countless sunrises and sunsets, where there used to be a time where someone was next to you, where you laughed innocently like foolish children.

as you reminisce, you feel glad

glad that you haven't held him down with the weight of your guilt

glad that you haven't been a burden to him

glad that you let him go when you did

you'll always be here, you think, waiting for his return

just as the sun still rise and set every day

your lives go on, until they converge again

if second chances do exist…

if the aeons have answered his anguish… then let your repentance be heard, too.

[soul-dwelling]

Do you think if somehow instead of the weird creepy crap we got with Tamaki at the end, instead we got a good moment for her that didn't ignore her charachter development and set up about training, that your overall opinion about fire force would change or was this just the last straw and in the end not enough to make a significant improvment?

Mostly last straw, but that was because of Ohkubo, not Tamaki or her needing some improvement. 

I do have ideas how this could have been fixed where my overall opinion would have improved...

I think the last straw for me was actually the second Assault versus Tamaki fight, that entire chapter that came out the same day as the anime announcement, where it’s just Assault doing stupid (forgive the term) incel training, only to realize at the end he has to leave the Clads (because Ohkubo can’t keep an overpowered character in the story) so he can devote himself to an underage girl. 

This is not Tamaki’s fault. Honestly, there is a lot good to her story. If you keep it to just “she has bad luck” and “she gets slut-shamed,” that’s really good writing. 

But I think Assault being into her harms where her story can go. And making Assault such a major part to her story makes her very last fight just absolute shit. 

Her training with Benimaru? That was good. I would have liked a little more angst, but it gets the job done. Ending with clothing damage? That was shit--it adheres to the theme up to now (when things go bad for Tamaki, it has to involve her losing her clothes), but it’s a bad theme. And it doesn’t help that the twin girls are there to slut shame her after we just explained that she has been unfairly slut-shamed, so even after she has a victory in training, it still ends badly. 

Granted, I do wish the Benimaru training was a bit more…impressive, I guess? Like, Tamaki’s first fight, during that joint company training exercise? That was probably her peak. She already showed solid command of cat-theme fighting techniques. So, why did that regress in later fights? Why did it only come back when training with Benimaru? I could accept an explanation that, after the joint training, she had a crisis of faith (not helped by Rekka and the Nether), so she can’t do what she did before, and training with Benimaru was living through those traumas to get back to “normal.” But why didn’t it get bigger? 

I do think that, if the second Assault fight hadn’t happened, and if the final Assault fight hadn’t happen, and if the “Tamaki is the symbol of sex and life” bullshit (and the prequel nonsense associated with it) didn’t happen, my overall opinion of Fire Force would have improved. 

Again, me re-writing this, but if it was me? 

Kill La Kill is problematic, I dislike just about 99 percent of it--but getting over what society treats as sexualized is not a bad message. 

You really want to go in this direction with Tamaki? 

First off, you shouldn’t have written her as underage--that has been the problem since her first appearance. 

Second, if you write her as an adult, you still need to get away from this male gaze crap and her being coerced into sexually compromising positions because the author says so and having her groped against her will. Some of this may be solved by having it not be just her: seriously, if Haijima has made fireproof clothing, how come Shinra’s shoes and pants and shirts keep burning up? 

Not that I want to put more characters into compromising positions, but Ogun doesn’t burn off his clothes when starting a fight? Not Lisa? Not Maki? Not Burns? Why is it always Tamaki and to a lesser extent Shinra that end up like this? We really needed Tamaki in a non-fireproof nun outfit in the Rekka fight for that stupid “stuck in underwear and needing Shinra to shield her” garbage? This is too bizarre without establishing some clearer rules--or even hanging a lampshade on it with Viktor and Hibana, two Haijima employees, bemoaning how, regardless how they design the uniforms, these pyrokinetics keep generating so much fire that they can’t make a costume inflammable enough. 

Finally, if you’re really going to have Yoshida here to Karen at Tamaki, and you’re going to end this fight with everyone getting naked to cheer on Tamaki? 

Then you end with Tamaki going full hell-cat mode, exceeding whatever we have seen before: flames around Tamaki that make her look like the twins’ fire kitsune form, just this giant cat creature of flames around all of Tamaki’s body. And the fire is so hot it burns off all her clothes.  (And actually establish this: the firefighter clothes are supposed to withstand the flames of these characters--and then they don’t. If Shinra can burn through his shoes and shirt but not his underwear, that is not equal opportunity, not after Tamaki barely keeping her underwear together. Still, it’s with the obvious problem that this series needs to stop doing this with underage characters like Shinra and Tamaki.) 

If you want Tamaki to have a victory, have it be the least fanservice-y thing possible while still adhering to the theme--”she naked”--you have put forward.

And just make it that Tamaki demolishes her opponents in her last fight, not with the same tired fucking fanservice shit by having her crotch slam into Fake!Assault’s face (gross, sexualized for the audience’s titillation, not self-affirming for Tamaki but just one last joke at her expense) but instead by unleashing that intense fire she has always had since the joint training exercise and now brought back thanks to Benimaru, to the point that, yeah, it’s going to burn off her clothes--but we aren’t making this a gag where anyone in the story is titillated or shaming her, it just is what happens, it’s the same clothing damage you get with Izuku in My Hero Academia, it just is what it is, it is sexualized only insomuch as a reader wants to see it but not in the context of the text itself.

She doesn’t have to be happy about losing her clothes, but it’s not treated as a moment of the story going out of its way to embarrass her or to make her the joke--and it is treated as a moment where people appreciate that she saved them.

Have it be “Tamaki burned her clothes off” but also “Tamaki is exhausted and cut up and burned her skin so much she is going to need grafts and is going to need so much medical recovery--but she lived through this and saved people like a firefighter should and without dying.”

[preparefirstaidtraining]

The Importance of CPR and First Aid Training in Winnipeg

  Winnipeg is Canada's eighth largest city, with a population of over 700,000 people. Like any major city, medical emergencies can happen at any time. Knowing what to do in these situations can mean the difference between life and death. This is why CPR, and First Aid Training in Winnipeg is so critical for Winnipeg residents.

CPR, or cardiopulmonary resuscitation, is an emergency procedure performed when someone's breathing, or heartbeat has stopped. Administering chest compressions can help pump blood and oxygen to vital organs until medical help arrives. First aid training prepares people to act during medical emergencies before professional care is available. Topics covered include bleeding control, broken bones, burns, and more.

Here are some of the top reasons why CPR and first aid certification is so valuable in Winnipeg:

It Saves Lives

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Increased Safety at Work

For those working in Winnipeg, occupational first aid training may be mandatory. Employers have a duty to protect staff from harm and hazards on the job. Proper training ensures employees can respond appropriately if an accident or injury occurs onsite. It also shows a commitment to safety. Due to the same reason, some employers also consider offering first aid training Winnipeg to the employees.

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CPR and first aid skills bring comfort to those caring for children, elderly parents, or vulnerable individuals. Families want to know what to do if a loved one chokes, suffers a fall, or has a sudden medical emergency at home. Proper training gives caregivers confidence in providing emergency care.

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Winnipeg hosts many recreational activities like camping, hiking, boating, and team sports. With outdoor adventures and athletic events comes risk of injury. CPR and first aid certification ensure coaches, recreation staff, and regular citizens know how to help if someone needs emergency care on a trail, field, or waterway.

Meet Childcare Requirements

The Manitoba government mandates those working in licensed childcare centers have up to date first aid and CPR Training Winnipeg. This includes recertification every few years. Caregivers must be prepared if a child is injured or has a medical episode while under their supervision. Many parents will also ask nannies or babysitters if they have first aid credentials.

Where to Take CPR and First Aid Courses in Winnipeg

There are many options across Winnipeg offering CPR and first aid certification classes at various skill levels. Here are some top providers:

Red Cross Training Partners - One of the most trusted names in safety training, the Red Cross offers CPR, AED, and first aid courses for all ages and group sizes. Training partners are located throughout Winnipeg.

Winnipeg Fire Paramedic Service - The WFPS provides a full range of first aid and CPR/AED courses at their training center. Classes are open to residents, students, and people who work in Winnipeg.

Heart and Stroke Foundation - As Canada's heart health charity, the Heart and Stroke Foundation offers CPR and defibrillator training. They have an online self-directed option and in-person classroom instruction in Winnipeg.

CPR Winnipeg - CPR Winnipeg provides onsite first aid and CPR certification for businesses, schools, and organizations in the city. Mobile training comes to your location.

Saint John Ambulance – A national training provider, Saint John Ambulance has a Winnipeg branch offering a variety of first aid and CPR courses suitable for workplace, private, or group certification.

Getting certified in CPR, using an automated external defibrillator (AED) and first aid is one of the most beneficial training programs someone can take. These skills truly save lives and reduce suffering from injuries. Winnipeg has options for all ages and learning needs. Look into CPR and First Aid Training in Winnipeg today and be prepared to help when an emergency strikes.

[violetren]

Blood of the Basilisk Chapter 18

I am rotating Pyter rotating that pendulum around over and over in my mind. I wanna know what the fuck it is.

When I said I wanted to see Nadani leave the house independently I didn't realise I was wishing on a monkey's paw and that an entire full market in the semidaem ward would get burned down to make it happen, holy shit.

Good to finally meet Dura on page though. She was a delight. Calling everyone in the household Lady, and presumably something along the lines of young master for Pyter just to be sure she doesn't go causing offence is such a good little trait.

Sikudhana needs to elaborate on that "you've got a bit of dragon magic in you" factoid. What did Pyter do? Or could Kota have accidentally done something when removing the slave brand? I'm still leaning towards well intentioned feradrake shenanigans.

Feels like a point of potential worry for Nadani until they figure out how it happened what the nature of the dragon power is though. As far as she is concerned it could be a stealth slave mark. I reckon its probably some kind of "you're family" or "you are loved" type deal instead though just because of the genre we're working in.

I love that Sikudhana's response to Nadani's explanation of why she doesn't think it was a gremlin (complete with unicorn) was just to look at her silently for a moment. Like yeah. Same. You're right arson doesn't sound gremlin-y when you put it like that.

The healing of burns by drawing fire out was cool as fuck. This:

The power of the flame was intoxicating, and it took time for her to clear her head enough to realize the man had spoken to her.

fucking worries me a little. It could be nothing. Could just be an innocent comment on what its like using powers when she hasn't had access or understanding before. Could be me fully projecting just because I once played an onomancer who could get power boosts by exploiting elementals with her magic (at least thats what her master trained her for) and so everytime powers of any kind are described as intoxicating I am primed to go "What if they did get addicted though?"

I love how the community has come together to help not just with clearing and healing and rebuilding, but also making sure food and water and such is there to sustain the folks working and in need of care, up to and including putting umbrellas up wherever anyone finds a place to rest. It's so good.

Which makes it such a shame Guthrie arrived to ruin my mood.

Full honestly my first thought was "I wonder if she's returning to the scene of the crime." Closest reason I would be able to think why though is to flush Nadani out and of all potential bounty hunters that might be out to recapture Nadani Guthrie would know she wasn't in the ward, and would have no reason to think burning it would draw Nadani out of the safe confines of Kota's house.

I do think the fire was lit by someone less informed and hoping to get at Nadani though. I suppose it could be unrelated or more to do with the keystone and far gate thing, but... idk.

I like that Dura's response to Guthrie's shit talking Kota was a hand to her knife. I wonder if later Nadani will look back on that as "Loyal Orc Girl gonna Loyal Orc Girl" or as "Kota's employee was ready to pull a weapon on someone Kota doesn't like being around Nadani." One point Kota will have in her favour is that Dura didn't actually make a move against Guthrie.

Every time, or rather the longer, we see Guthrie she feels shadier. Idk. I don't like the interest she's taken in Nadani. She's too careful in her wording and framing of events to set Nadani against Kota even when Nadani speaks against that interpretation to feel well intentioned. She might not have been a direct threat the first time they met, but she's had time to have been contacted or heard about a lucrative kidnapping job by now ('cause you can bet the cult wants Nadani back as much as they want Kota dead for "taking" her) and she definitely feels like the type to finesse the target into practically black bagging themselves.

I have the opening shift tomorrow so I should have been in bed 40mins ago, but I saw this chapter started with Pyter getting scritches and basically fell in a trance so I'm gonna sleep now.

[geigerrune]

Meet the Geneticist!

Name: Eileen MacNamara

D.O.B: October 30, 1940 (28 yrs old)

Place of Birth: Ireland

Relocated to Australia around 1949

Current Location: Florida, US

Height: 5'11"

Weight: 192 lbs.

Relatives:

Parents: Unknown, parents allegedly named "Éadaoin" and "Seán"

Daughter: Maeve MacNamara

D.O.B unknown, around 6 years old, father unknown

Great Aunt (Paternal): Laura MacNamara

Date Hired: June 1968

Assigned to RED

Class: Support, Geneticist.

Operate and maintain RED's Respawn System

Notes:

All traces of employee Eileen MacNamara before the year 1968 are next to none; as if she, and her daughter Maeve, did not exist until 1968. Seems to be linked, and last survivor, to the complete dismantling/destruction of the scientific research facility [REDACTED]. We assume that she was an employee at [REDACTED] due to her vast scientific knowledge, as well as a charred [REDACTED] employee ID found on her person. But due to all files and traces of [REDACTED] destroyed, we have no way to confirm Eileen MacNamara's origins, age, and suspected employment. Regardless, we have decided that her genetic and cloning expertise as well as her technical knowhow will make a perfect asset for TF Industries and Mann Co..

More under the cut!

I made Eileen a long time ago and she has gone through a lot of reworks until I came to this conclusion. It's a perfect combo of all the classes she used to be. Anyway! Here's some....background and I guess mechanic notes on her?

Eileen was once an employee at Aperture Science before getting hired by TF Industries/Mann Co. It's there where she learned about human anatomy, cloning, and genetics. She quickly became the company's expert and with their resources she cloned and genetically enhanced guard dogs. The results were named Tuiren, a female Giant Schnauzer, and Culann, a male Belgian Malinois in 1961. And with funding and direction from the company, went into human cloning. The human cloning wasn't successful until she made a clone of herself in 1963, a girl she called Maeve. But the test wasn't to Aperture's specifications; for they wanted a perfect copy of a human at their current age, not an infant. They dubbed Maeve a failure and wanted Eileen to try again but in order to do that Eileen must destroy her clone. Eileen refused, due to her becoming attached to the child. Tensions only grew between Eileen and Aperture until they finally had enough. Aperture brought Eileen's parents and older brother into the test chambers for their more...dangerous tests and they were killed in the progress. When Eileen discovered what happened, she snapped. In late 1963, she stole research and liberated her dogs and Maeve and she escaped she sealed the facility with everyone inside and burned Aperture Science to the ground. She, her dogs, and Maeve were the only survivors. They lived in a Florida bayou in hiding. She raised Maeve as her daughter. The Administrator was made aware of Eileen when she stole a small cache of Australium in 1967 to experiment on the metal. By the time Eileen was hired by TF Industries, she was able to make fully grown clones and found a way to bring humans back to life. They dubbed the machine "Respawn" and had her install it for RED and, unknowingly, for BLU. She only runs the RED Respawn, and the Administrator found someone else to run BLUs. Maeve stays and lives at RED base with her "mother".

Weapons!:

Primary: A repeater rifle with radiation rounds. Alt Fire to zoom in for headshots

Secondary: Gel Gun. Primary fire shoots Propulsion Gel while secondary fires Repulsion Gel. Great for getting around and moving corpses!

Melee: Crowbar.

Eileen isn't exactly a frontline fighter. She can and will fight when needed, but her main job is to drag fallen mercs (or whatevers left of them) to Respawn. Her dogs help her protect her and bring back mercs. When battles started to take on the same battlefields, she created an underground system that automatically detects a death on the field and sends the mercs genetic code and data to the machine. In MVM, she can help Medic bring back fallen allies faster on the battlefield.

[readerstories]

Horse Whisperer - Tommy Shelby x male!reader

This got so long so quick. Hope you enjoy! (AO3)

Warnings/tags: boss/employee relationship, friends to lovers, fluff (link to bonus smut at the end)

Wordcount: 3418

Request: Tommy x m reader R is good with horses. Rides and takes care of them, but Tommy notices him when he is able to calm down a horse that went completely wild. He finds himself intrigued in this 'horse whisperer'. They share their love for horses and it develops into love for each other. That leads to secret meetings, one pulling each other to the side for quick kisses, riding together etc.

Horses have always been the one animal you gravitate towards. Cats and dogs were okay, but they were nothing compared to horses. You loved them and as you got older, you found yourself working with them, and over time, gaining a reputation for being a hard stable worker who treats the animals well. Which is how you find yourself working on the Shelby estate, taking care of the Shelby family’s horses.

You rarely see any of them, and you have yet to meet Thomas Shelby, your employer, since the stable master had been the one to hire you. You don’t mind, as the horses are your number one priority. You have of course heard about them all, the rumors, the brutality, everything, but they seem to care about their horses, so you don’t care about anything else.

The first time you meet, or rather see Thomas Shelby is when the farrier comes to the stable to check over and shoe some of the horses. It’s a day with some bustling activity as horses are moved back and forth, but it’s all going well.

Until the last horse. A grey stallion named Tom-Tom you had warned them to be slow with, and that they shouldn’t move or even touch him without you there. You know him well. The horse gets nervous easily, and several hundred kilos of a nervous horse is bad news for everyone involved.

Which is why, when you return from taking a piss, you swear as you notice two stable-hands leading him out of his box.

Tom-tom is already agitated, so you increase your pace, keeping yourself from running or shouting just knowing that would make everything worse. It doesn’t help however, as seconds later there’s a loud clatter from somewhere in the stable as something is dropped, and Tom-Tom has had enough.

He neighs loudly and trashes around, the two men leading him barely hanging on to the ropes fastened on either side of his halter. Not deterred and panicking more by the second, Tom-Tom neighs again, this time rising up on his hind legs.

This time the ropes are dropped, and when his front is back on solid ground, Tom-Tom starts running towards the stable door. People dive out of his way, in no way thinking about trying to stop the panicked animal. Only one of the two stable doors were left open, but now Tom-Tom busts the other one open with his shoulder. Someone yells out in surprise on the other side and you swear, taking off after Tom-Tom, not even bothering to yell at the stupid idiots who took him out his box. You will get to them later.

Seconds later you’re outside too, eyes quickly landing on Tom-Tom where he’s pacing, almost running back and forth on the large open space in front of the stable. You quickly note the two men in peaky caps next to the stable door, which must have been the ones to yell, but you pay them no mind, all focus on Tom-Tom as you try to get the horse’s attention.

“What the fuck was that?” One of the peaky men yells, mustache quivering.

”Shut the fuck up or the horse is going to get worse you sod.” You purposefully try not to yell, but your voice comes out forceful nonetheless. It looks like he’s about to say something more, but the other man puts a hand on his shoulder, seemingly to stop him. It works, and you turn your attention back to Tom-Tom.

He is still pacing, not calming down in the slightest. You call his name over and over again as you slowly, every so slowly, creep closer to him.

A few feet away you stop, reaching out a hand towards him.

A few more strides, then Tom-Tom slows, before finally coming to a stop not far from your outstretched hand. He is still nervous as you approach once more, legs twitching, ears flicking back and forth, frothing ever so slightly at the mouth. You keep your voice low and even, talking to him as you get closer.

“That’s it, good boy. You doing better now?” When your hand makes contact with Tom-Tom’s mule, his head snaps up just once, before he puts his mule back in your hand. You move it slowly upwards, tracing your fingers up to his forehead, close to his mane.

“That’s it, that’s it.” You almost whisper, walking just a little bit forward so you can move your hands along his neck, ignoring the ropes for now. You talk slow and low, praising him for calming down and not running away as you slowly move your hand along his neck.

Tom-Tom moves his head so it’s over your shoulder, putting some weight against your shoulder and back.

Your hand moves from his neck down to the shoulder he banged into the stable door on his way out. It feels alright, slightly warm, but you can’t be sure nothing is damaged before walking him around for a bit.

Still being slow, you take a few steps back, Tom-Tom moves his head so you can look at him again. You untie one of the ropes from his halter, letting it fall to the ground, before gently starting to lead a slightly less twitching Tom-Tom away from the stable.

You hear the peaky man from earlier say something, you’re not sure if it’s directed at you or your companion, but you don’t care. You however feel eyes burning into your back, so you glance over your shoulder, your eyes connecting to intense blue eyes watching you from under a peaky cap.

----

A little while later, you return Tom-Tom to his box, satisfied that he will most likely be fine, though you will need to keep an extra eye one him for a few days. Then you talk to the farrier and get him to agree to return in a week, a smart man after having worked with horses for long.

After that, you find the two morons that took Tom-Tom out of his box without you. They were currently cleaning saddles, but you stop them in their work. Standing just inside one of the two doors to the rooms, you give them a verbal lashing. It’s at the tail end of this that Tommy Shelby finds you. You see the eyes of both boys grow wide, and one of them actually interrupts you.

“Uh-”

“What?!” You bite out. The boy doesn’t answer, instead pointing behind you. You turn around and leaning in the doorway is the man with the blue eyes from earlier.

“What do you want?” Blue Eyes raises a brow.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving these boys a reminder that they shouldn’t be stupid and do things they shouldn’t when they have been told multiple times not to do something.” Your tone is clipped, annoyed with the interruption. Blue Eyes doesn’t seem faced.

“Is that so?” He flickers his gaze to the boys behind you, and before you can really process what’s going on, the other door to the room slams behind the boys as they make themselves scarce. Blue eyes give you a once-over. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

“I recognize the cap, you’re a peaky blinder, but other than that I got no fucking clue.” You cross your arms over your chest, the man almost seems like he is having fun.

“Is that a tone to take with your employer?” His tone is neutral, face much the same except a little twinkle of something you can’t recognize in his eyes.

“My employer is the stable master.”

“And his employer?”

“Thomas Shelby.” His brow is raised yet again, and a few seconds is all you need. “Ah, evening Mr. Shelby.” You uncross your arms, fishing out your cigarettes from your back pocket, taking one out.

“If you want to fire me for not being polite earlier, there are easier ways.” You offer him a cigarette, and to your surprise he pushes of the door frame and takes it. You light your own, then hand him the matches so he can use them. The flame dances briefly over his face as his attention is moved away from you, but just seconds later you got eye contact once more.

“I’m not here to fire you.” He says in an exhale of smoke.

“Then why are you here then Mr Shelby?” Your smoke mixes with his as you ask, wondering what this is.

“Please, call me Tommy.” You nod, furrowed brow, but Tommy keeps talking. “I just wanted to see the man that managed to calm down a wild horse.” You snort, already forgetting to even try keeping your response or tone in a fitting way for when talking to your boss.

“He was hardly wild Mr Sh- Tommy, he was just scared. I worked with Tom-Tom enough that I knew that, and I knew how to calm him down.”

“Still, an impressive feat to calm down a panicking animal.” Tommy’s eyes flicker all over you, and you suddenly notice how close he is standing to you. Every time either of you takes a drag of a cigarette, you can almost brush a hand against the other, smoke mingling as you talk. You take half a step back, unsure yet again of the situation you find yourself in. Tommy notices, but doesn’t comment on it other than a barely there tilt of his head. He seems to be sizing you up for something, but you have no idea what.

He mirrors you then, taking a step back too. A last drag of his cigarette before he stumps it out on the ground.

“I will see you around.” He doesn’t let you respond, out of the room and gone in seconds.

----

You don’t have to wonder much or long about what those words meant, as you do actually end up seeing him more after that little incident.

A lot more actually.

Before that day you had never even seen the man, but now, you see him at least once a week, if not more. He’s around the stable more, sometimes talking to the stable master, other times preparing for a ride, however the weirdest times are the ones where he comes around with an excuse to talk to you.

The first time it happens is a few days after the incident with Tom-Tom. He just wanders up while you are cleaning out his stable and asks you about him. You glance up at him, unsure why he is asking, but you start talking about Tom-Tom. You liked your job and talking to Tommy, your boss, was a sure way to keep that job. You end up talking through all your cleaning, and when you try to excuse yourself to do other work, Tommy insists you keep on talking, not letting go of you quite yet. You find it strange, but you do as you’re ordered.

That was the first time it happened, but not the last. Tommy will find you wherever you are, tell you to talk about something, most of the time the horses in the stable. You do so, and he mostly listens, sometimes coming on with comments or even stories of his own.

Surprisingly, Tommy loves horses too. You had thought he was just another rich man that had a lot of horses just because he could, but he genuinely seems to care about the animals. You sometimes see him feed them treats, giving them extra pats and attention when he thinks no one is looking. Hearing him talk about them is great too, sometimes he even smiles when talking about them, which you learn is something he doesn’t do a lot of.

Over time, your friendship of sorts grows strong, and you find yourself looking forward to the days Tommy comes to see you. It is a distraction from your work and the horses, but you don’t mind.

----

It’s night, and for once, the stable is quiet, almost no activity going on. Some horses are moving around in their boxes, and you can hear some animal rustling the bushes outside, but other than that, you’re alone with your lamp.

One of the mares, Lady, is only days away from birth, and to be on the safe side, you had suggested for you to watch her in the night. None of the others had wanted to do it, but you and the stable master were both content with it just being you. You know the old man is not long from retirement, and he was not about to stay up late when someone else he trusts can do it.

The only thing about doing night shifts like this was how boring and lonely it could be. Sitting on a hay bale outside Lady’s box, you try to enjoy or at least not mind the quiet. For a little while you had entertained yourself and Lady by humming, and even singing, some songs you knew.You tire of that quickly however, and have now settled on letting your thoughts wander before you try to find some work or really anything to do.

So when you hear quiet steps nearing the stables you are instantly on alert. No one else is supposed to be coming, and it’s still far until morning. The steps get closer and closer, before one stable door is pushed open, creaking as it reminds you that its hinges need oiling.

The first you see is a puff of smoke, and then Tommy enters the stable. He puts out his cigarette on the wall, throwing it outside, already aware of your ire for smoking near very flammable hay.

“Evening.” Tommy says, sounding weirdly formal for it being the middle of the night.

“Tommy, what are you doing here?” He keeps silent as he walks over to Lady’s box, peeking into it. You stand up so you're next to him.

“She looks about ready to go.” Tommy comments, keeping all of his attention on the horse except a brief glance at you.

“She is, which is why I’m here. But again, why are you here?” The silence stretches as Tommy says nothing, moving to lean his arms on the edge of Lady’s box. Lady doesn’t seem to care, as she munches on some hay.

“Couldn’t sleep.” The admission is quiet, almost like Tommy didn’t want you to hear him, so you pretend you didn’t. Sort of. You know he can use a distraction, knowing your own mind being like that when you’re the one who can’t sleep.

“Hey, let me show you something.” Tommy has to move back as you start to open the sliding door. Lady shifts her attention from her hay to you, blowing out some air from her nose.

“Come, come.” You say to her, reaching out your hand. She slowly takes a few steps towards you, pushing her nose into your hand, blowing some more air.

“Good girl.” You give her a scratch and then move out of the doorway of the now open box, letting her walk past you, into the hallway and right next to Tommy. Lady barely spares him a glance before walking towards the stable doors. You tug at Tommy’s arm for him to follow, grinning as he seems to be watching Lady with some skepticism. Opening the stable door for her, Lady slowly walks outside, stopping not far outside the doors, giving you time to close the doors behind her before she starts walking again.

You quickly catch up to her, as her steps are slow with how heavy she is. Tommy is quick to follow, walking behind you at the slow pace Lady has set. You can see Tommy thinking, glancing between you and her as you walk.

“And you still do not want to call yourself a horse whisperer, ey?” You snort.

“No, this is no horse whispering, this is trust built up over time.” Tommy doesn’t respond, so you let the silence linger, just enjoying the company. You let Lady steer the direction as she usually does, taking you on a short route that will lead you around some of the paddocks.

“It’s good for her to walk like this, both for her and the foal.” You tell Tommy, mostly to have something to fill the quiet night air with. He nods, seemingly lost in thought with his hands in his pockets as he walks beside you

It doesn’t take long before you return to the stable. Although Lady liked these walks, she  would only walk for so long with how big and slow she was. She patiently waits for you to open the stable doors for her, going straight for her box as she gets inside. She gulps down some water as you push the door to her box closed.

Lady peaks outside so she can take the small piece of apple you offer her. You offer the other piece to Tommy, who takes it, and in turn, offers it to Lady. She takes it, munching on it as she lets out a small neigh. You smile at her, then at Tommy.

“I think she likes you.” Tommy is watching her, slowly raising his hand towards her. She lets him pet her for a little bit before moving away, moving into her box, away from the both of you.

“I think I like her too.” Tommy’s voice is quiet and it’s only when he turns his head towards you that you realize how close you are to him. You perhaps only inches apart, closer than needs be in the deserted stable. Tommy is watching you with a look that you don’t recognize, eyes intense as his focus is solely on you.

“I-” Whatever you were about to say is lost as Tommy raises a hand to cup your cheek, surprisingly gentle for a man with such a fierce reputation. But that is also not what you know him as, is it? You know that he loves horses, that you like talking to him, that he is seemingly content to walk with you when he can’t sleep, that he-

Your thoughts are cut off when Tommy leans forward to press his lips to yours.

The kiss is short, barely there, you aren’t even really able to process it’s really happening before Tommy leans back, gauging your reaction

You don’t know what to say, so instead of even trying, this time it’s you who leans forward to capture Tommy’s lips with yours. He is quick to respond, the hand not holding your face pulling you in by the waist. Not to be outdone, one of your hands goes to his ribs, the other to his hip.

His lips are firm against yours, intense and hungry.

He pushes you and you go willingly, letting him push you against the nearest wall, not stopping to kiss you, introducing his tongue, letting him slowly coax your mouth open.

Which would have been wonderful to continue, but in that moment Lady decides to remind you both that it’s her box you’re leaning against and that she would like some peace and quiet. To do this she lets out a loud neigh, causing the two of you to jump, breaking the kiss as you almost jump out of your skin.

“Lady!” You chastiste her, all you get in response is a huff of air and her turning around so her behind is towards you. You huff too, focus returning back to Tommy. He’s watching you once more, letting his eyes wander as his hands stay on your face and waist. He’s warm and firm against you, making you want to stay like this for a good while longer.

“She doesn’t take kindly to being disturbed when she is trying to relax.” Tommy raises an unimpressed brow.

“Is this her or your way of telling us that we should take this elsewhere?” You give him a brief kiss, not letting him deepen it.

“I wish I could, but I need to stay and watch her, it’s my job.” Tommy sighs, leaning back and letting go of you. You wish he hadn’t, the night feels colder already.

“Another time then?” Again, gauging your reaction with intense eyes. You smile and nod, which gets an ever so slight smirk in return.

“Well then, good night.” Without more preamble, Tommy walks towards the stable door. He lights another cigarette, giving you a brief glance while doing so, before slipping out into the night.

----

(Bonus smut that has nothing to say for the plot of you want it)

[by-soleil]

riot

Pairing: Huang Renjun x Female Reader

Word Count: 1K

Genre: angst

This fic was inspired by “Riot - Summer Walker”

A Renjun birthday special<3

Renjun is the epitome of the word perfect. The perfect friend to his friends, the perfect son to his parents, the perfect employee to his boss and the perfect boyfriend to you, he’s just perfect. Too perfect.

Often times you’d find yourself wondering, just how do you manage to land such a perfect person in your miserable godawful messy life.

Renjun is definitely not the typical guy you’d go for. He’s far from the rude assholes you keep finding yourself submitting to these past few years. He’s polite, very well-mannered and treats you like a princess. Literally everything you’ve been praying for.

Him coming home with a bucket of roses or daisies is nothing out of the ordinary. Showering you with the sweetest kisses and praises, things you never get from past relationships. Making people around you thought you’re finally getting your happily ever after.

You don’t.

Something is definitely wrong with you. Maybe you were dropped head first as a toddler or something. Cause you feeling like what Renjun has been giving you these past few years is not enough is just mind blowing.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” you mumble to yourself as you sit around the kitchen island, putting roses Renjun brought home yesterday in a different vase cause you have nothing better to do. The day goes by very slowly the more you think of it. Boredom over-taking your sanity, making you yearn for the sparks you used to felt.

You surely miss the passion and fire like Hades that burned you so good back then. You miss the adrenaline rush you felt coursing through your veins every time you had a fight with those assholes. Something Renjun would never deliver.

Renjun would always emphasis on how he felt the happiest enjoying the peace and quiet with you in his arms. Watching some movies that’s too advanced for your little brain to grasp. Some of the things he made sure the both of you did every Friday night.

But, you need a riot.

“Honey, I’m home.” you hear Renjun charmingly says as he burst into the front door.

Shouting your greeting half-heartedly, you roll your eyes. Making the better part of you feel bad for the man. But the other part of you—the unhinged part—is going to burst anytime soon with the lack of sparks Renjun’s delivering.

“How was you day, sweetheart?” Renjun asks as he snakes his arms around your waist from behind, kissing the top of your head. “I got you these.” he continues, pointing to the very thing sitting on top of the counter with his chin.

“Same old, same old. How was yours?” you sneak a glance at the direction he pointed to earlier. Daisies.

Fucking great.

With Renjun still glued to your back, he starts to ramble about his great day at work and how he’s been counting the minutes until he could finally clocks out and come home to you, his peaceful love—thay was his exact words.

“What movie should we watch today?” he asks excitedly, disappointment washes over you as you realize that today is Friday. Renjun and his fucking loop of a routine.

“I honestly don’t know. You pick.” you answer him as he pepper your neck with sweet little kisses.

The vibration from Renjun’s lips sends shivers down your spine as he speaks against your neck. “But I always pick, we can watch your pick too, sweetheart.”

“Not tonight. I’m too tired to think of one.” you pat his forearms that still caging your midriff.

You don’t deserve him, you keep thinking to yourself. The man is a fucking angel. How is he not tired of this? Of you trying to find a loophole from his routine.

One of these days, you wish he would just lash out on you. Let everything that he has been feeling out in the open, give some riot into this picture perfect relationship you’re in.

“Is something bothering you?” he asks, not stopping his sweet motions down to your shoulder.

“I’m bored.” you exhale the words.

“Do you wanna go out instead? We can just watch the movie after. But I think it’s too late to get a reservation, tho.”

“Nah, too tired for that either.” something is seriously wrong with you. You’d slap the stupidity out of your system if you could.

You can feel Renjun stilling for a few moments before lifting his head from your shoulder. “Then what do you want?”

Your heart skips a beat at the tone of his words. You can feel his aggravation creeping up with the way you’re behaving right now. You quickly contemplate wether or not you want to indulge and possibly getting the riot you wanted.

But knowing Renjun, he probably would get hurt a lot more than you would if the two of you fight. His heart is too pure.

A few more seconds passes by and none of you say anything.

Does the riot you dreamed of worth hurting Renjun? The ever so wonderful Renjun.

Shaking your head, you finally come to your senses. It’s not, definitely not worth it.

“Nothing,” you turn to face him and bury your face on the crook of his neck. “can we please just skip the movie night and go straight to bed?” you plea.

With every breath you breathe down his neck, his body soften around you. Renjun’s pretty hand caresses your back. Soothing you. Putting out the fire you were trying to ignite.

“Of course. We can always do it next week.” he replies sweetly.

Accepting your fate, you second his answer, “And the week after that.”

•••

more of my stuff on my masterlist🤍 & twitter🌞

special tags; @aedreamzy @eleven23

my taglist are open<3

[vannybarber]

The Prenup

Summary: After four years of being together and finally being engaged, Chris wants you to sign a prenup.

Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, chris getting his ass handed to him, a lot of pain.

Part Two Part Three Part Four Final Chapter

Scrounging through the little desk in the corner of Chris and you's bedroom, you hear him let out a boisterous laugh.

He was watching some movie and there was a certain part that he found so hilarious. After 4 years of watching it with him constantly, you still don't get what's so funny. But it makes him happy so that's what matters.

You were searching for the wine opener so Scott could get his middle-aged-4-kids-divorcee vibe on. You cleaned the other day and stuck it in there after a nightly dose of freakydeaky from Chris, which consisted of wine, whipped cream, and a many different forms of chocolate.

After what seemed like forever, you find the corkscrew and grin at your accomplishment. You take one more look in the drawer out of habit and you spot a big orange envelope with Chris' name on it. Being the nosy curious person you are, you take the envelope out and get a good look at it. You see the words Prenuptial Agreement in bold and your heart drops.

Chris had proposed to you 9 months ago and you were happy beyond words. After being together for 4 years, he finally put away his commitment troubles and made you his fianceé. And now you find out he's going to get you to sign a prenup. A fucking prenup.

You look around the room at loss for words. You were angry, hurt and confused. After 4 years of being together, he doesn't have faith in his own judgment that you guys would be together forever? You both have been through literally everything. There isn't one thing you don't know about each other. Your relationship was rare and it was special.

After moments of contemplation, you decide you would confront him on it. There's no way you could carry on the night and sleep after this. Not until you get your answers. Closing the drawer, you take a sharp breath and exhale before walking out the room. You get back to the dining table where Lisa and his siblings surrounded.

"Here you go Scott" you say slamming the corkscrew on the table in front of him. He looks up at you, puzzled. You glance at him then at Chris and he's looking at you just the same. Evidently your tone matched your movements because everyone went silent. You draw back and put both hands behind your back and huff.

"Babe, are you alright?" It was Christopher talking to you now. Your attention goes to him and your lips are in a thin line. Refraining from blowing up at him, you force smile on your face and change your tone of voice.

"What do you mean, honey? I'm fine." You should leave the acting to Chris honestly. That's definitely not your field of expertise. Shifting on your right foot, you stare at him. He shuffles and tilts his head with a knowing look.

"Spill it Y/N. What's up?"

"The flames when I burn this damn house down." So much for not blowing up. You snatch the envelope in front of you and chuck it on the table. Everyone watches the exchange and the envelope fly to the table. All their faces change from confusion to shock and even more confusion.

Chris didn't even need to look down to know it was the prenup. His eyes went from you to the wall. Guilt written all over it, you almost wish you gave a shit. You wonder how long he was going to keep this hidden from you. No need to wonder now.

"You want to explain to me why you have a prenup?" You place your hand on your hip and roll your neck at him.

"I got that for us."

You swear to everything you wanted to lunge at him right then and there. 'I got that for us'. Why do people always use that excuse for everything? They weren't thinking about you, just themselves and expected you to go along with it.

"You got it for us? I know you didn't do this on your own. Who put you up to it?" You look around the room. Scott has his hands up shaking his head. Carly and Shanna both let out a quiet "not me". You look at Lisa who had this look of hurt.

"Chris, you tell me everything. How did I not know about this? Why didn't you tell me?" Well now you know she didn't suggest it. You feel slightly guilty for letting it cross your mind, but you had your reasons.

"Ma, I had my reasons. I kept it hidden because I didn't know how I felt about it myself" he says rubbing his face and fixing his hair under his cap. Still didn't answer your question.

"Christopher, who put you up to this? Tell me now!" You're getting fired up by the minute. You have an idea who it could be too.

"Megan. She thought that it would be smart to consider. Just to protect me."

"Megan." Your voice is laced with absolute venom. "You know Chris, she does a good job keeping you out of trouble and bullshit so you're not all over the tabloids, but sometimes, her ass is too much!"

Chris is never in the news for anything negative. He's always minding his business and moving quietly. Megan is a great publicist, but she can be pretty overbearing about his personal life. She gave you side eye for like the entire first year of you guys' relationship.

"Baby, she was just looking out for me. You know how it is, women getting with you for your money. Guys loose half of everything they have when getting divorces."

You can't even believe it.

"I am not 'women'. I'm your fianceé. We've been together 4 years, Chris! After all this time your material things come before me?" Tears are puddled at your eyes now and your voice is cracking. This catches his attention.

"I told you from the start Chris, that I never cared about your money! Never have and never will. I am used to not having much. I'm not money hungry or concerned for having top tier everything. I've learned to settle."

"Y/N, I didn't mea-" you slam your hand on the table, making everyone jump. Chris shuts his mouth.

"I'm. Not. Finished. I am not marrying your bank account. I'm not marrying your cars. I'm not marrying your house. I don't give a damn about any of that shit. And you literally are still concerned about all of that?" Your face is wet and your nose is runny. You wipe your nose and cross your arms.

"It's not even like that!" Now he's getting upset. For literally nothing. This is his fault. "It's just in case it doesn't work out, we don't need to deal with all the extra mess."

That completely shattered you. In case it doesn't work out. He actually has thoughts that your marriage couldn't work. What would even cause that? You guys don't even argue. You don't even remember the last time you did. You've learned to understand what each other needs and mastered that. What is he on about?

"You know what the sad part is? Us not working out crossed my mind in, like, the first year of our relationship. And I decided that if we did get married, and God forbid we divorced, I wouldn't take anything from you."

He looked at you like he just found out he wasn't the father of your baby.

"Yeah, Chris. That's your money. You made it, not me, so why would I ask for any of it from you? You gave me an amazing relationship and thats enough for me."

"Oh my goodness." Everyone directs their attention to Scott. "So you wouldn't want anything from the divorce?"

"Of course not! I came in this relationship for him. Plus a make my own money. I don't need anyone else's."

You had your own business. Many employees at different buildings in Boston. You didn't have much growing up and you were proud of yourself for not having to worry about financial issues. Chris liked that you had your own thing going and didn't have to adapt to his life and depend on him financially. And he still got a prenup.

Feeling like you were gonna cry again, you rub your temples and take deep breaths to prevent it. But you failed and started crying more. Chris got up and moved to stand in front of you.

"Baby, I'm sorry I upset you. I thought you would be okay with this. Like you said, you don't care about my money so what's wrong with the prenup?" His hands were on your sides, but not for long as you shook them off of you.

"What's wrong with it? What this is telling me is three things. You have doubt that our marriage won't work out, you think I might change my mind and ask for alimony, and that your money comes before me."

"I..." he struggles to form words. You take this chance to get out of there.

"I really don't want to be here right now." Chris looks up and grabs your arm.

"Babe, you don't need to go. Where the hell are you gonna go?" You turn and grab the envelope from the table. You open it and pull the papers out, shoving it in his face.

"I'll go to a hotel or something, but I'm not staying here if this is the shit you're trying to pull with me." You turn the paper to you and look in disgust. You scan over it and your eyes fall on the dotted line where you need to sign. Beside it is where he needed to sign his.

Well not anymore.

You read over his signature on the line. Chris Evans.

He signed the prenup already. Now he was just waiting for your signature. He really was leaving you zero choice.

"You signed it already??" Everyone at the table head snapped up. Shanna gasped and covered her mouth. Lisa mumbles an "oh no" under her breath.

"So you were just going to bring it to me and expect me to sign it with no fight, huh?"

Chris says nothing, but his face is red. You don't wait for a response and walk to your shoes and your bag. Already having everything in there, you slip your shoes on and walk back to Chris.

"Just a heads up, you brought this on yourself."

You whip around and walk to the fireplace. You chuck the papers and envelope in the blaze and turn back to him.

"You can forget about that damn prenup, cause I'm not signing it. As a matter a fact, you don't even have to worry about that because there won't be a chance of us divorcing." You force a smile and clasp your hands together. Lisa and Scott rise from the table panicking.

"Babe, no-"

"Forget the wedding, this engagement and all of it. You can take this fucking ring too." You pry the ring off your fingers and throw it at him. It hits his chest and falls at his feet.

"I'm not marrying you."

You turn on your heel, grab your purse and jacket, walking out the door, leaving the Evans' speechless.

Was this too dramatic? I have my own opinions on a prenup, but maybe it's not as big as it seems? Idk🥴.

masterlist

[blzzrdstryr]

Chrysalis

Yandere!Albedo x gn!reader

Wordcount:2115

CW:Yandere themes

Working for Albedo isn’t that bad - the payment is good, the knowledge he provides is even better - a chance to delve into exclusive alchemical research with a widely acknowledged genius is a far more valuable award than any amount of mora or jewels could ever be. Said prodigy isn’t an awful person to work with either - he’s polite and well mannered, careful not to offend anyone even if his words can be cold and cutting sometimes. Most of the time Albedo is a pleasant company to be around, if one would turn a blind eye to his quirks.

For instance, he has a weird and frankly unnerving habit of staring at you - his teal eyes track your littlest movements as you set up an alchemical apparatus and prepare needed solutions. At first you thought he was overseeing you, checking if you had made any mistake as a fledgling alchemist, yet this hypothesis was quickly disproved when you caught him gazing off working hours. You never voiced your complaints - you wanted to keep your job and study, and maybe he is too socially blind to see how his behavior could be received by others.

Today would also be a great example of an alchemist's lack of tact - he requested you accompany him everywhere for the last few weeks, taking you from the cold heights of Dragonspine to sunny and bustling streets of Mondstadt. You two are sitting in the corner of his laboratory designed for rest and food and share a meal: two portions of his favorite fish, despite being nothing more than the employer and employee or teacher and student.

Albedo doesn’t seem to get or mind what kind of rumours he causes with this seemingly blatant favouritism before you, no he looks as calm as usual as he plunges into the dish with fork and knife.

“[First]”, he says, after the first bite: “Have the aches stopped bothering you?”, a hint of concern and something else. Two or three weeks ago you developed a strange soreness in the different parts of your body - wrists, neck, heart, legs - it would appear suddenly, burning and throbbing and making you gasp, leaving you tired and nauseous afterwards. No one could find the source of the problem, not even Albedo, yet after some time these far from pleasant sensations got subdued, easier to bear and endure.

His hand reaches for your left wrist, thumb caressing the skin, and he pulls it closer to his face, eyes examining the sore spot. You don’t protest, stunned by his sudden action.

“Hm, that’s”, he mumbles, more to himself than you: “that’s good”, he concludes, letting go of your limb.

“What’s good? Did something change?” you inquire, instantly forgetting to take offense at his grabbing.

“You could say that”, Albedo ambiguously says and returns to his fish. You ask the alchemist what he meant, but all you get are even vaguer answers and long silence in the end, as he finishes his meal and nudges you to start your own sunshine sprat.

In the end your questions remain unacknowledged, as Albedo leaves displaying you to accompany him. Surprisingly he heads for the gardens instead of the library, his step light and fast. “Master Albedo” you start, seeing that alchemist is in his creative mood again: “shouldn’t you bring an easel or sketchbook with you?”

“No, [First], I don’t intend to draw, not now. This walk is for me to get some inspiration”, Albedo quickly replies, still walking ahead: “In this time of year the environment changes so rapidly, it provides a mind with a lot of good ideas. You should come with me too, alchemy is a science of change, creation and destruction and nature is better at these three aspects than any of us”. He adds, seemingly sensing the next question you would ask.

He walks near the bushes, teal eyes focused on the blooming fragrant flowers, before he squats, pushing some of the wigs back.

“[First]”, he turns his head in your direction: “you should come and see”. You comply, curious what has caught Albedo’s attention, squatting near him and looking at one of the inner branches usually hidden by others.

It’s an ordinary dark cocoon. You almost turn your head again, before the slightest of movements catches your attention - it’s an insect trying to break out. Chrysalis cracks and deforms as a fledgling butterfly makes way past it’s confines. One second and it stretches its wings, revealing a vibrant blue coloration, the next it leaves it’s former cell entirely, elegantly soaring into the air, it’s azure wings lazily flapping, as it makes its way to the other bush.

“Fascinating”, Albedo breathes out, eyes still on the disappearing figure of the insect: “It transformed to such a great extent”.

You hear a hint of excitement in his voice - he wants to share his thoughts or knowledge then - and nod, prompting him to continue.

“Did you know that a larva needs to literally dissolve itself to reach the next stage of its life? After caterpillar finishes its cocoon, it produces enzymes that turn most of its tissue into a liquid matter and only after that does it rebuilds into an entirely new form”, he turns his gaze back to you, usually cold and thoughtful eyes now warm and dreamy: “Sometimes, I think humans are meant to metamorphose too”.

“How so?” you ask, tilting the head.

“Humans, despite all complexity and intelligence, are still fragile creatures. They’re prone to sickness and ailments and in the end old age ends those who managed to evade death before. Wouldn't it be better if one could go through metamorphosis, be reborn free from pain and hunger and constant threat of passing away? Those humans could live on forever and dedicate themselves to the higher cause without having to worry about dying and suffering".

You raise eyebrows, surprised by the sudden “outburst” - Albedo, despite his partially philosophical nature, has never shared his inner thoughts so freely, not to you at least. He, either out of embarrassment or deep contemplation, shifts his eyes somewhere behind you, and you turn back, following his eyes. He looks at the statue of Barbatos.

Tall and proud, it looks magnificent in the day’s sunlight, golden rays making it glow and shine with the fairness of the marble. Looking at this epitome of unchanging vision, you suddenly get an answer to Albedo’s thoughts and you voice it out the same second:

“Wouldn’t it negate the meaning of life then? Nature breeds diversity - the reason why we have so many flowers is because some kinds aren't adapted to particular conditions and so they change, producing entirely new types of plants. Eternal and undying beings, unconcerned with the earthly matters would have no need to reproduce and pass on its features to the next generation, depriving the world of thousand possible combinations. No new life would be created if the old one could be perfectly sustained".

"That's how you see it", Albedo replies, placing a now empty husk of the cocoon inside your palm - the testament of the nature’s miracle, the testament of one's ability to change: “I’ve witnessed many wonderful sights for today”, he adds, still looking at you, surrounded by flowers and flying butterflies, light breeze playing with your hair and sun illuminating your whole figure with a gentle golden glow.

You part with Albedo shortly after - he closes himself in the lab, before checking up on your sore spots again, quietly mumbling something to himself the whole time. You head for your house and open the alchemical textbook, studying it until late night. That place on the wrist slightly throbs at every movement.

Only when your eyelids fill up with lead and thoughts slow down from the general fatigue you allow yourself to head for the bed, falling asleep the second your head touches the pillow. You see phantasmagorical dreams - of you being a bulging and large larva, spending days simply eating green leaves, until a strange urge overcomes your entire being and you start to build something - a cocoon. Now, surrounded by pitch black darkness you feel a burning sensation - enzymes, enzymes that will dissolve your tissue. Pain quickly escalates and you want to scream and cry, but you can’t - you’re an insect you don’t have vocal glands or tear ducts to do so. Who could have known that butterflies suffer so much?

You writhe and squirm, caged by your liquifying body and hard chrysalis around you and you are in so much agony you want to die.

And then you wake up. All sweaty and distressed you grab at your wrist - it hurts so much, your entire body is on fire, it seems that you have another episode of that strange soreness. You quickly rise to your feet, snatching the painkillers from the nightstand and downing them with a gulp of water. As medicine begins it’s work you lay in the bed again, ready to fall asleep and forget the midnight pains, as you see something that makes your breath hitch and heartbeat fasten from fear.

A strange greyish white discoloration on your wrist in the same place that used to throb this evening. You touch it and it leaves a dry white imprint on your fingers, it also doesn’t have any strange smell.

You rise and quickly dress up, barely suppressed panic and anxiety dispelling the last remains of sleep. The walk towards the Favonius HQ’s is short, especially when you break into a sprint on the way. He is here, he is working into the night today. Quickly passing sleepy knights you climb on the second floor and almost run to one particular door, loudly knocking at it.

Just as you expected, there’s a sound of footsteps and soon a familiar voice asks: “Who is here?”.

“It’s me, master Albedo”, you say, feeling how the pain returns despite the painkillers taken: “you said to report if something changes, with my aches. It changed”.

The words you say and desperation accompanying them prompts alchemist to open the door, as he gestures you to come in, and shut the door as you do so:

“Strip”, he says, mind back to the analytical mode, you comply, feeling ashamed with every second Albedo continues to observe you: “Wait, there’s something on your neck”.

A cool touch to your skin, a short yelp, another burst of pain. You fall on your knees, blinded and deafened by sheer agony. Alchemist produces a distressed noise, walking up to your collapsed figure and carrying you to the nearby table.

He pushes alchemical apparatus away, turning the table into a makeshift bed, and gently lowers you down. “[First]”, his hand card through your hair, while the other nudges a mug with some brew to your lips: “There’s nothing to worry about, your metamorphosis progresses as it should be”.

“Metamorphosis.. What are you talking about?”, you ask, panic creeping into the question. Alchemist looks you straight into the eyes, an eerie smile blooming on his face as he hears it: "Isn’t it obvious? You're going to change and I will help you with that".

“Change?! Change into what?”

“Into a better version of human of course. Do you think I would let you get old or sick and die? You’re too dear to me to do that, you should live and experience a life free from human limitations”, for the first time in your life you’re terrified of him. Albedo always seemed so knowledgeable and calm to you, like a wise wizard from the childhood fairytales, yet now he looks mad and devoid of any humanity:“You shouldn’t worry about these stains, they will disappear once your transformation is complete. Those are just chalk you see, a side effect of your tissues changing over the weeks”.

“When did.. When did you start it?”, you croak out, sensing the agony returning and growing again. It hurts so much I can barely think.

“Dragonspine. You were eating with me”.

You want to insult and accuse him, yet another wave of pain renders you speechless, short huffs and whimpers escaping you as tears start to stream down your face.

“I understand it can be very stressful to you, given how change of this scale is always carrying a great risk”, his voice adopts the same philosophical tone: “The purpose of cocoon is protection of the soon-to-be butterfly from the external harm and influence that could lead to other complications and we don’t want any of that”.

He cards his hand through your hair again, a mockery of a concern dyeing his next words: “You shouldn’t worry, I will be a good chrysalis to your metamorphosis”.

You black out from pain.

[minshookie]

CEO!BTS Reaction to:

You flinching during an argument.

| !warning! | violence, unhealthy relationships, abusive relationship, yandere Bts, choking and sexual topics 18+, dubcon, oral [fem receiving & giving], strong language [Jimin has a potty mouth!!!] rough play.

| this is not in anyway shape or form a true depiction or representation of BTS, this is a work of fiction and is not to be taken seriously. For entertainment purposes only.|(this is my work, please don’t repost or steal)

| Requested [requests open]

A/N | the amount of time I’m taking to get these request done correctly is embarrassing i apologize. I hope you don’t mind that I turned this into a whole reaction and that it’s not fluffy...lmk if you’d like me to change it I certainly will.

Forgive me for mistakes, though this is edited.

Kim Seokjin...

“Ok well what was that out there?” He spoke ominously back turned to you. “I- we-.” Laughing at your lack of response, he cut you off. “You fucked up that’s what it was hun.”

“Come sit on the desk, I want to see you apologize for making me look like an idiot.” He spat the last part like it was disgusting on his tongue. Already in deep trouble you decided to follow directions for once.

Turing smoothly in his office chair, you could see the resentment in his eyes. “Go on.” You swallowed thickly, his angered glare drying your throat. “I’m sorry for....correcting you during today’s meeting.” He scoffed, “there was nothing to correct!”

“Jin you can’t always be right, if you took that agreement, you’d never hit anything close to pro-” “who’s the boss? Hm? Who’s name is on this desk you have your tight ass planted on?” Mistakingly you let your eyes roll out of pure annoyance.

“Well excuse me?!” He leans forward quickly out of his chair, causing you to fall opposite of him. Pens poke at your back, his name plaque digging into your arm. Evilly he grins in enjoyment. “Found your place yet?, you seem afraid...afraid I’d hit you?” Wide eyed you nod, trapped like a mouse under its predator. Every inch of confidence stripped as he glared deeply into you. “Good.” Before you could even process his statement, you were harshly distracted by his rough hand landing across your cheek. Your head turns the other way as your right cheek tingles and burns. Chuckling he grips your chin forcing you to look at him.

“Find your place, and if you’ve forgotten it, I can help you find it...just like that,anytime.”

Min Yoongi...

Watching in envy, you pushed miscellaneous papers into the shredder. What a bitch! You saw her watching Yoongi all day just waiting for him to go to his office. So she could prance in there, thong up her ass, low cut shirt...the works.

“Yah! Y/N, what the hell are you doing?” Jumping in fear , peeking down you found out what you’ve been shredding. He shoved you to the side turning off the shredder. “All those papers we needed for next week’s evaluation and review meeting...” you looked from the shredder back to him shrugging nonchalantly. Already having Somebody in your boyfriends office flirting him into hard on, the last thing you need is more work. “We’ll go fucking print some more of them.” He demanded his face stiff. Jin never liked you, maybe you’ll have Yoongi fire him.

You walked holding the last remaining sheet fully intact for reference, did Jin really think you were going to the copy room? What a dunce. Ignoring the meeting in progress light you pushed the heavy door open. “Hey y/n I’m sorry we’re in the middle of something.” You could tell he was just laughing at something a tint of red on his cheeks. Him kicking you out...this should be the other way. This hurt. “Me?” You gasped. She turned her silky hair fanning. “Y/n when we’re done I’ll come find you Alright?” She spoke a little above a whisper.“Don’t speak to me.” You glared at her walking further into the office. Obviously she’s confused about her rightful place, and Yoongi is too.

“You, get out.” She stretched her eyes looking back and forth from you to Yoongi. “Now.” “Min you can’t let her kick me out.” She scoffed, “I’ll speak to you later alright.” He smiled warmly,She got up storming from his room. “Yoongi what exactly was that?” He sat back in his chair. “A meeting.” “A meeting with what her left tit?” He closed his eyes harshly at your vulgarity. “No a meeting with your colleague about her position.” He offers the seat in front of him, gladly you take said offer.

“But what you did was uncalled for.” Laughing he leaned forward onto the table. He beacons you to follow, leaning forward you fall right into his trap upset he gripped your face making your cheeks squish. “Don’t ever come back in my office acting this way again, understood?” Nodding the best you could. “Huh? Understood?” “Yeah!” He let go leaving a ache in his wake. Before going back he reached for you again instinctively you pull back as if he was going to strike you. “Hm, I don’t treat you that harsh but I will...keep testing me.” He finished, only coming close to fix your hair.

Kim Namjoon...

Another day held the same daily routine, wake up Joon, cook breakfast, clean get dressed and head to work, work, eat lunch in Joon’s office, work,go home, and restart.

Today Joon had lunch delivered, practically throwing his money like confetti paper, much to the delight of his employees. Both of you sat on the floor of his office, enjoying the home style take out in silence. Without noticing all your attention was being absorbed by your phone. “What’s so intriguing kitten?” Your fingers stopped in their place “just texting a friend.” You looked at him through your lashes before going back to typing. He closed his take out container, he finished his meal and sneakily proceeded onto yours. Surprised by your lack of protests he spoke again.

“Oh yeah? And whose this friend?” He mumbled still chewing. “Someone I might know?” You nodded in response, unsatisfied he got up going to wash his hands in his office restroom. “Their name would be helpful y/n.” Just from his tone alone you could tell he was nearing impatience. “He works here, I’m just helping him...explaining how the log in system works he’s locked out at the moment.”

Joon no longer cared for their name and you knew it. “Oh ‘he’?” You nodded, he came drying his hands with his initialed towels. “New guy...Choi?” You looked up fully for the first time in a while. “Yeah, Soobin.” He nodded,Sitting in his desk turning to some papers. Nothing left to say you looked back down at your massages. “I’d like you to eat though, I don’t want you going hungry.” He ordered you around like a father and you obeyed.

Chewing, you almost choked as Soobin sent a joke that you weren’t ready for. Joon raised a brow, “a funny one huh? Let me see.” He looked down at you hand out flat. Your eyes went doe, there is no way your letting Joon read this vulgar joke. Soobin would be out of a job just as quick as he got one. “C’mon let me see, don’t make me take it.” Maybe he’ll laugh about it too, you gave up the device.

At first he squinted before his eyes grew wide. “ ‘This copy machine looks like the one from those cheesy office pornos....let’s make one?’ Y/N this is who you’re waisting your time on?” Rolling your eyes you went back to your meal, annoyed he didn’t find the harmless joke amusing. “Joon he was joking, it’s not like he knows I’m dating someone.”

You felt wind brush past you and a crashing sound occurred from behind, startled you made eye contact. “I had half the mind to throw that piece of shit at your head.” His angered expression taking you aback, you must’ve forgotten Joon is the extremely jealous type. “Go get it, bring it back to me.” Slowly turning trying not to take your eye off of him, you retrieved the shattered phone. Harshly he took it from your hands. Tapping before turning it to you, “block him.” You flinched at his sudden hand movement. “Don’t flinch away from me, block the bastard, before I’m the one bending you over the copy machine.”

Jung Hoseok...

Slouching in the pool chair you observed as the other women splashed and paddled around like children. You don’t usually go to these types of things, and neither does Hoseok. But this time it was important, he was here solely to kiss butt with his new business partners.

He practically forced you to put on your swimsuit, fully planning on walking you around like a show dog for the evening. Crossing your legs you brought your straw to your lips. You’d planned on getting in the pool, but apparently you weren’t good enough for the other wives...or affairs in the pool at the moment.So to spare the embarrassment you decided to watch.

“Enjoying yourself?” Hoseok came behind you patting your head softly. “Hm I guess.” You placed your drink away. “Hobi I’m ready to go. home.” You pouted, his hand still on the chair he came to your side. “Home? We’ve just got here an hour ago.” Nodding at his true statement you turned to look at him. “Yeah...and now I’m ready to go home.” Rolling his eyes he squatted to your level. “C’mon baby, go make a friend in the pool, splash around yeah?”

“No, I’m tired.” He groaned putting his head on your shoulder. “Y/n, boo don’t be a brat, you wanna go inside, wanna find a bed for you?” “Hm will you stay with me?” He looked over his shoulder, “ah Bruce wants to talk cuts and coverage a bit more, I can show you to a ro-” “nooo hobi!”

Panicking he pinched you to lower your volume. The party in the pool ceased and all eyes were on you. You’d learned how to cheat the system,It usually didn’t take much pouting from you to get your way. “c’mon get up.” He pulled me roughly by my forearm almost making you trip over your feet. He pulled you into the spacious home, up the stairs and into a hall. “Here let’s go in this room hobi.” You could tell by the look on his face hobi didn’t come to rest.

“Do you get off on making me look like an idiot?” He spoke close to your face. “Hey, I told you i wanted-” he covered your mouth with his large hand. “I don’t give a fuck what you want, now shut up and get in that fucking room.” Meekly you followed his order. “I’m sorry hobi.” “Ah I said shut up!” You stood in the middle of the decretive room, “down.” Down on your knees before him he looked down disgusted.

“Now make my cock hard so I can teach you how to use your loud ass mouth correctly.” Hesitantly you leaned forward, he groaned loudly reaching for you making you backwards in response. “Quickly, and don’t you dare run away.” He grabbed your hair, now under his full control.

Kim Taehyung...

“Mm how does it feel being my right hand lady?”

“Well seems like I’m on top of you right now.”

“I love how smart you are baby.”

Taehyung had recently promoted you to his secretary, now you can’t help but be in his office all day. Dreamily he looked up into your eyes as you straddled him. “Round 2 huh?” He huffed making you giggle, “let’s not indulge Taetae.” You nipped at the shell of his ear, he gripped your ass tightly. “What else do you have to do, I distributed your work along all the employees you’re here to have fun!”

“Well the phone has been ringing like crazy let me answer at least one call!” You climbed off, your skirt still scrunched around your waist your panties to the side. “Ahhh the baby wants to feel like a big woman go on answer.” Smiling with accomplishment, you picked up the phone. “Hello this is y/n y/l/n, answering for Kim Taehyung.” It was actually another secretary on the line you took notes as he spoke. You felt so responsible you knew Taehyung would be proud, you looked over to see his approval only to find him not there.

Confused you held conversation, until you felt something warm glide along your thigh making you Yelp. “Ah I’m sorry, Mr Lee, repeat that?” In fear you looked under your desk, mischievously Taehyung winked at you. You went back to the conversation, as he lapped your heat. You were already so sensitive you wouldn’t last a minute more of this. “Stop it please Tae.” You hissed pressing the phone to your chest. He did the opposite, penetrating you with his longest digit. Curling his finger and assaulting your clit, if the lewd sound of slurping could be heard by you you knew it could be heard over the phone. Quickly you hung up, very upset you squeezed his head between your thighs.

“Cumming baby?” “No, quitting.” He pulled back confused “what?” You fixed you panties, pulling your skirt back over yourself. “I asked you to let me do one thing, and still you couldn’t keep off of me.” He crawled from under your desk. “Who was on the phone?” He asked dryly, you looked over your notes. “Mr Lee.” “Oh, he calls everyday for his boss they have nothing to offer so we have nothing to give.” You nodded making a note to avoid his calls. “Anything else?” He shook his head going back to his desk with a deep sigh.

Oh good grief, you huffed falling back into your chair, you’ve gotten upset with him and now he’s going to mope around. “TaeTae, please understand I do actually want to work, we’ve talked about this.” You spun your chair to look at him, he looked at you inquisitively. “Maybe you should go back downstairs, I don’t want to distract you.” You could feel your eyes stretching. “Tae! No it’s not that serious.” “No no, your cubicle is still empty, the largest one.” You crossed your arms. “You’ll get the raise you just won’t be here honey...maybe I’ll offer the position to Sana.” He turned from you to go in his computer. “No, I’m not going.” “Bye Y/n see you tonight.” He mumbled nonchalantly.

“No Taehyung.” He gave a grim chuckle. “Stop being hard headed, go fetch Sana for me will you....love you.” “No kim Taehyung, this is MY job!” The phone rung and you picked it up, “hello this is-” He came pulling the phone from you slamming it to hang it up you flinched harshly. “Y/L/N, I won’t ask you agin, get out or do what I promoted you here to do.” He looked into your eyes devilishly. You complied removing your skirt, playtime was over, you sadly knew your place. “Perfect girl.”

Park Jimin...

“I’ll beat your ass come here. Now.” You stood in his office doorway, fear quaking over you. “Y/n...now.” he leaned on his desk looking you up and down. You walked in to what seemed to be your demise. “The door, close it, lock it.” “Mr Park please.” He got up walking behind you and slamming the door before walking in front of you again. “Where the fuck! Were you.” You looked at him, head fogged unsure of an answer. “I-I Mr Park...I’ve been here at work since 3 AM actually...before you got here.” He laughed lightly.

“I didn’t want your schedule, I know your damn schedule, the meeting today’s meeting.” You toyed with your fingers, “OH...oh Mr Park I forgot you needed me I’m sorry h-how did it go?” “We fucking lost the deal, the information you dug up is what we needed and you were somewhere in LaLa land.” He dug his hands into his hair. “C‘mere.” He sat on the leather couch that decorated his office. “Please Mr Park, I’ll stay late and I’ll beg for another meeting date.” He shook his head “no, c’mere.” You stood still pleading with your eyes. “I’ll drag you by your cheap blow out, bring your ass here.” You shuffled to him, he pulled your dress bending you over his knee.

He pulled your dress up, “Mr Park what will your wife say?” You began to tear up, why would he choose you to give his violent love to. “Ha, she’ll say ��fuck me harder” later tonight why?” You shook your head refusing to respond. “Look into the mirror.” You obliged. He pulled his hand up just stoping before it hit you causing you to shudder a jerk violently. “ Do you fear me y/n?” You nodded almost sobbing. “I’ve trained you well...head up...be a big girl.”

Jeon Jungkook...

The whole building was draped in a gloomy mood as Jungkook stalked about looking for something to nitpick. Earlier today you and Jungkook had a falling out on the way to work about how close you were getting with one of your male coworkers. And said coworker that just happened to be your cubicle neighbor. He rounded your area multiple times, chastising said coworker, sending him on errands and putting him down again and again.

Seeing how it was affecting the newbie, you finally turned to Jungkook. “Mr Jeon, can I speak to you.” “No.” He turned quickly before going back to chastise the frightened employee. “Slip up again, and I’ll make sure you’re looking at a deep fryer for the rest of your life Kang.” He whispered just loud enough for you to catch it.

“Mr Jeon please, for a minute.” He clears his throat leaving your area. Your face grew hotter by the minute, you got up going to talk to your distraught friend. “Hey, listen he’s all bark and no bite what do you need help with?” You smiled warmly remembering how it felt to be new in a place like this.

“Well every time I answer the phone and start the question pro-” a heavy hand lands on his and your shoulder “who said this was a social hour y/l/n” a sigh came from deep inside of you. “ Damn it Kookie-” “who? Excuse me?” His eyes widening. “Jungkook- Jeon- I’m sorry...I’m sorry Mr Jeon.” He eyed the two of you “hm...kang get to work, y/l/n you too.” He began to walk away. “Y/n I’ll send you an email, I really need help on this.”

“Email her I dare you.” You spun in your chair “Mr jeon please! He’ll never get better if I don’t.” He rolled his eyes taking off his glasses, “what was he trained for if he can’t use the damn computer?” Everyone in the office was watching the dispute. “Pft I was trained on any of this! I had you holding my hand the whole way why can’t he?” He started waking the other way, his face glowing crimson. “Get in my office, now y/n.” You sat turning to your work. “No Jeon. I won’t.” “Y/n you can come to my office, or clock out and go home for the rest of the damn month.” All eyes on you like this was some cheesy tv drama, you got up following him.

Once in the safety of his four walls you stood hands on your hips “why kookie, why you being a Jackass?” He turned to face you, anger evident. Swiftly he pulled you by your shirt “talk to me like that outside of this office space the way you did today one more time, and you’ll be begging me to fire you. Yeah?” You nodded earning a open palm slap to your cheek, “yeah? Open your slutty mouth like you did for Kang, am I understood?” “Yeah kookie.” Another slap, your cheek began to burn. “Yes Mr Jeon.” He lifted his hand making you flinch in his grip. “Lovely girl, now get out there, and leave Kang alone or else.”

[mckennamayfairgoode]

I Take Flight but You Hold Me

Wilhemina Venable x Reader

Word Count: 7k

Summary: You hate her. You hate the way she makes you feel, you hate the way you can’t get her out of your mind, you hate the way she makes you burn. You hate her, but you think maybe you could love her too.

Warnings: Brief mentions of past toxic relationships. Slight NSFW. Angst? Yes. Yearning? Haha, no of course not….. 👀 Also, yes. 

A/N: I’m supposed to be working on a fluffy Ally piece, but I love this song so much and all it does is make me think of Mina. So this happened instead. 🤷‍♀️ Writing her and trying to capture that snarkiness with the underlying insecurity was very difficult. But I think it came out okay.

Song: To Be Loved by Askjell (ft. AURORA)

You’d seen Wilhemina Venable before: walking through the hallways of Kineros Robotics, her cane tapping rhythmically against the ground in a way that insured others kept a wide berth; sitting outside on a picnic table during her lunch hour, always at the same table, the same space, facing the sidewalk, always, always; once, even, as you stepped out of the elevator to the parking garage at the end of the day. 

She’d stood ramrod straight next to her car, one hand gripping the head of her cane and the other fidgeting with her keys. Something inside you had tugged insistently and you had slowed to a stop, your gaze drawn to the fingerless gloves she wore. They were made of a dark purple leather that covered her slender hands all the way to the first knuckle. Her nails were short and unpainted and for some reason, you couldn’t stop staring.

Someone cleared their throat, breaking your trance and causing you to jerk back as if suddenly woken from a daydream. You looked up and met dark eyes. They were deep and brown and furious. She wore a scowl on her face, one you recognized easily as you’d seen it often enough when you passed her in the corridor. “Don’t you have somewhere to be instead of staring at me with that idiotic look on your face?” she snapped and you realized, in all your time working there, you had never heard her speak. 

Your face growing uncomfortably warm, you had muttered a vague apology under your breath as you darted past her and into the direction of your car. Her voice had been nice. Low and husky with a slight rasp that gave you goosebumps. You tried not to think about how you could feel her eyes on your back.

You went home that night and lay in your bed and tried to ignore the heat coiled low in your belly. But your thoughts ran rampant in your mind, pulling and twisting into versions of her you had yet to see. You wondered, if when she touched you, whether she would take those gloves off or keep them on so that all you could feel were her fingertips. You wondered if she would speak to you, low and husky and warm. You wondered if her bite would sting.

The thought burned you from the inside out.

--

The next week, your boss retired and you were granted a promotion. You were excited at first. A better job meant better pay, but now, as you stand in front of Wilhemina Venable’s desk, you think maybe it’s not all that worth it after all. 

“I don’t have time to sit here and indulge in your little exercise. Unlike some people in this establishment, I have actual work to do,” she says, tapping at her computer and not bothering to spare you a glance. Like you are less interesting than a fly she has to swat away. The notion churns in your gut, twisting your insides unpleasantly. You resist the urge to shift on your feet, knowing that she will catch the motion in the corner of her eye and latch onto it like a dog with a bone. She is an apex predator always looking for weaknesses she can exploit. You refuse to show her any.

“This ‘little exercise’ comes down from Jeff and Mutt. Spending time with you isn’t exactly on my list of priorities,” you snap and you blink and you wonder where it came from.

Her motions cease, fingertips hovering over her keyboard. You try to ignore the way your gaze lingers on her hands. “Is that so?” She looks up then, suddenly meeting your eyes. You want to look away, to move, but you feel frozen in place. They are so brown. Her words are sharp when she speaks. “Do you not recall the gaping fish impression you showed me in the parking garage last week?” 

“I wasn’t gaping,” you retort, neck warming. You hope she can’t see. The flick of her eyes to your ears tells you she can. 

Venable gives you a blank look. “Of course not. Because that would imply that the space between your ears is filled with more than just hot air.” The words get under your skin. They rake across the sensitivity of your nerves and coil around your very being and sink into your bones and you hate it. A part of you thinks you could hate her.

Your spine feels like it might snap as you stand up straight, tension lining the squared edge of your shoulders. “Ms. Venable, we really need to discuss these layoffs,” you say, hoping that professionalism will get through to her so you can go on about your day pretending that she doesn’t set your soul on fire.

She arches a single dark brow, pursing her lips. “What layoffs?”

“I’ve been looking at the account ledgers. We’re overstaffed.”

Venable tilts her head, studying your face. “And what is someone with the brain capacity of a park squirrel doing looking at our accounts?”

Your jaw flexes as you grit your teeth. “That’s my job.”

“Since when?”

“Since three days ago when the head of finance retired.”

“Oh really? And they chose you to replace him?” She clicks her tongue, lips pursing once more. They’re a plum color. You silently reprimand yourself for noticing. “I can’t imagine why. It’s clear you have no capacity for intelligence, no work ethic, and not enough brain cells to do it yourself.”

Heat washes through you like an ocean’s surf. “You’re HR,” you retort.

Her fist clenches around the top end of her cane, those damned leather gloves creaking beneath the force of it. “And you’re finance. As far as I’m concerned, if it weren’t for your department, we wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with.” She locks eyes with you for one long moment that makes your breath catch. You force yourself to remain still and curse the fight or flight instinct inside you that’s telling you to run, that she is a danger, that if you look directly at her, you will be turned to stone. “Figure it out,” she demands, voice clipped. Then she drops her eyes and returns her gaze to the screen of her computer.

You resist the overwhelming urge to shove everything off her desk and demand her attention, her time, her respect. Your body burns with anger and humiliation and the need to know what her gloves would feel like against your bare skin, but you smother it down and squash it beneath your foot like a lit cigarette into the pavement of a sidewalk. You turn and walk away and listen as the same rhythmic tapping from before resumes as if you had never been there at all.

You feel her eyes on you as you leave, but when you turn to look, all you can see is the top of her head. It was just your imagination, you tell yourself. The piece of you that spent a better part of a year being aware of any and all movement tells you that isn’t true. This isn’t the first time you’ve been in the sights of a predator.

However, it is the first time you find yourself hoping that you are.

--

Later that night, you still sit hunched over your desk, finalizing the changes you made to the account ledgers. You don’t know what time it is. All you know is that the sun had gone down long ago, that your back will probably hurt in the morning, that you’re exhausted and your brain is running on fumes, but also that you need to finish. Just a little more time, and you can save these people and their jobs. Maybe a part of you wants to show Venable that you can do it too. She doesn’t believe you can. So you will.

You hear her coming before you see her. The building is completely void of life except for the janitor who came by to greet you a few minutes or an hour ago, you’re not sure. The steady tapping of her cane against the pristine flooring echoes in the empty space around you. You look at your computer, save your progress, and wait.

She appears in your doorway like a ghost draped in lavender. Her pale skin and bright red hair stand out from the shadows like the highlights in an oil painting. You will yourself to look away, but find that you can’t. She raises her eyebrows at the sight of you. “You’re still here.” It’s not a question.

You bristle at the tone of her voice and sit up in your chair. You want to cross your arms, but don't; you don’t want her to think you’re being defensive. She will only see it as an act of war and you are too tired to battle with her tonight. Maybe tomorrow you will adorn your sword and shield and finish what you started, but tonight... Tonight, you just want to look at the stars in her eyes. “I had some things to finish up,” you say once you finally find your voice.

Venable hums, her eyes raking over your form in a way that is not comforting at all. Her path raises goosebumps along your skin. You tell yourself not to blush, and bite back a curse when you do. You search her form for a reason to break the tense silence between you when you notice the folder she holds between her fingers. “What is that?” You nod to the item in question. 

She glances down at it as if she forgot she was holding it in the first place before extending it out for you to take. “It’s a list of low level employees.”

You rifle through the papers and recognize several of the names. People you know, people who work under you, people who trust you. There’s the janitor who always checks on you when you work late and the security guard at the front desk who greets you every morning by name and the young woman who used to work in the cubicle next to yours before you were promoted. Her name is Maria and she has a daughter. You know because there’s a picture on her desk of a little girl with a gap-toothed smile. Your stomach churns unpleasantly. “So those you deem expendable.” You can’t help the bitter tone to your voice. 

Venable catches on if the slight raise of her eyebrow is anything to go by. “They’re replaceable,” she says simply. 

You shake your head and with a flick of your wrist, toss the file back onto your desk. It slides to a stop back in front of her. “I don’t need it.”

She blinks once, twice. “What?” She watches as you stand and begin to gather your belongings. “What do you mean you ‘don’t need it’? Unless you simply tossed them from the window, someone still needs to be fired. Don’t tell me you’re that incompetent,” she scoffs.

You grab your bag by the strap and throw it over your shoulder. “I figured it out,” you respond, voice bitter and words sharp like knives. You refuse to be prey, to roll over until your belly is exposed and your weaknesses are aired out for the whole world to see. Not again. Especially not for her.

Just as you’re about to march out the door, she grabs your arm. You freeze in place. You think you both do. The tips of her bare fingers brush the inside of your wrist and you wonder why your skin burns when her hands are so cold. You can’t think, you can’t breathe, you can only stand there and wonder if she can feel the rhythm of your heartbeat beneath her fingertips. Does it speak to her? Does she understand? Does she want to?

You lock eyes. One long, impenetrable moment passes between you and you hate that you can’t tell what she’s thinking, you hate that she has your heart in her grip, you hate her, you hate her, you hate her. She blinks and the sharp glint in her gaze returns. You snatch your wrist back before she can say something that poisons your soul. You flee your office like it’s on fire. But it’s not your office that’s on fire. It’s you.

--

When you’re alone, you think about her. You chastise yourself, force the thoughts away, but eventually, like the tide rolling in, they always, always come back. It is infuriating. You don’t really know this woman, and the things you do know are nothing good. She is selfish and entitled, cruel and hateful, and worst of all, she makes you burn without ever having touched you a single time.

The sound of the bell jingling above the door yanks you abruptly from your thoughts and you resist the urge to sigh out loud as you realize, once again, where your mind has gone. You tighten your grip on your book, forcing yourself to concentrate on the words but only managing to repeat them several times as they don’t sink in like they should. You’re vaguely aware of a familiar thumping sound growing steadily closer and it’s not until it stops at your side that you realize what it is. Or rather, who it is. You look up to see dark brown eyes already staring down at you.

“You’re in my chair,” she says before you can even work up the courage to speak.

You blink. “Excuse me?” For a moment, you’re reminded of the picnic table she sits at during her lunch hour. The same table, the same space, facing the sidewalk, always, always.

“I know it’s hard for you to comprehend the English language, but if you could summon all of your brain cells to at least try, I’m sure society would thank you.” Venable looks at you disdainfully, her eyes flicking to the open collar of your shirt and then down to the book clasped in your hands. “Lord knows I won’t,” she mutters. 

You bristle at her tone, at her words, at her everything. “This is a public space, Wilhemina.” She blinks owlishly at your use of her first name and taps her cane against the ground, just once, before settling both of her hands on top of it. It is a warning you ignore. “You don’t own this chair or this table or this cafe. I’m sure you can find another seat.” With that said, you turn back to your book, intending to ignore her further.

It works… until you hear the scraping of a chair against the floor and you glance up just in time to see her easing into the space across from you. She pulls a book out of her bag and sets it on the table, but does not open it. She looks at you instead, her eyes cold and calculating as she tries to size you up. You could imagine the gears in her head turning but you decide you don’t want to see inside her mind. If you did, you don’t think you’d make it out alive. “I don’t recall asking you to take a seat,” you comment pointedly. Your body hums at her close proximity and it drives you mad.

“I don’t recall asking for permission,” she snaps back. You huff, but concede her point and avert your gaze, anything to keep yourself from looking into her eyes. “I’ve never seen you here before,” she says. 

“That’s because I’ve never been here before,” you retort under your breath, looking at the words on the page but not reading them. 

“Then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you here? In my chair?”

You sigh and close your book. “How exactly is it your chair?”

“It’s my table.” Her response is spoken with the conviction of someone who thinks they are always right. Your nostrils flare in annoyance. Venable’s eyes are intense and endless as she studies you like you are a science marvel she can’t figure out and it makes you uncomfortable, like you’re nothing more than an experiment under a microscope. She tilts her head, the motion causing her bright red ponytail to fall over one shoulder. 

Your eyes travel the length of it and you’re suddenly gripped with the urge to free it from it’s restraint. You want to see it draped over her bare shoulders or formed into a halo around her head. You want to know what it would look like in the morning, in the earliest rays of sunlight, if it would hurt your eyes to see. You swallow the ball in your throat. “What?”

She rolls her eyes. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?”

You raise your eyebrows and fold your hands around your coffee cup, allowing the warmth to seep into your skin, your bones, eager to feel anything other than the burn inside you. “I just moved down the street from here,” you answer absentmindedly, watching as a man pulls out a chair for the woman in his company. She smiles up at him, warm and real. She’s in love with him, you think. You can see it in her eyes.

“Why?”

You sigh. "Why do you care?” 

She laughs and it startles you so much that you turn to watch it leave her lips. It lights up her face but it is not right. It is cold and harsh and cruel. You wonder if this is what the gods hear before they are smote and sentenced to a mortal life on Earth. “Care?” She laughs again, and shakes her head as if the thought alone is one she wishes to physically knock from her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. I merely wish to know if this will be a common occurrence.”

Frustration bubbles up in your chest and you hate, hate, hate how she can get under your skin. You will not give her the satisfaction of watching you break. You shrug indifferently. “Considering this is the closest coffee place to my apartment, probably.” She looks peeved and you preen a bit like a proud peacock for finally making her feel something other than indifference. You stand up to leave.

“Wait,” she stops you. She doesn’t move; she doesn’t have to when your body ceases all movement as soon as she speaks. That fact alone fills you with dread. You watch in amazement as she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. She flicks her ponytail back over her shoulder and lifts her chin. “You don’t have to leave.”

For the second time in less than an hour, you feel yourself become speechless. “What?”

She rolls her eyes, runs the tip of her index finger absentmindedly along the spine of her worn, hardback novel. “Stay,” she says. She sniffs then, as if allergic to kindness. “If you’d like.”

You meet her eyes, briefly, intensely, too long and not long enough. It feels like a trap. Your brain throws mental hazard signs all around for you to see, bright flashing lights and neon letters that read ‘DANGER, DANGER! DEAD END; TURN AROUND BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE.’ You don’t. “Okay,” you find yourself saying. You sit back down in your seat, pull your book closer to your chest and resume where you left off. Your eyes dart back to her figure and you watch from across the table as Venable does the same. 

Silence settles between you like a blanket. It is warm and comforting and still, you burn.

--

The next week, Venable comes into the coffee shop on her usual day at her usual time, and just as she expected, she finds her chair empty. What she didn’t expect to find was you, sitting on the other side. 

No words are spoken. She takes her seat, you stay in yours. You drink your coffee, you read, you people watch, you take comfort in another person’s presence. You don’t know why, but you feel safe.

You hate it. Truly, you do. It doesn’t make any sense. How can you be safe in the presence of the one who belittles you? Who makes you feel small? Who has only shown you cruelty and whose words are always laced with razor blades? 

And then you realize, this makes perfect sense. For the woman you used to love hid her cruelty behind pretty words and even prettier lies. She had torn you down and disguised the knife in your heart as a beautiful red rose. She had put your hand around the hilt and convinced you that it was you who had done the hurting, the breaking, the stabbing. She had said, with conviction and earnestness in her words, that you were the cause of everything that was wrong with you and her and the both of you together. You had believed her.

Venable is not like that. She does not lie. She does not hide. If you want to find her, all you have to do is look- and she is a painting. It’s pretty at first glance, but the longer you look, the more you see. The beautiful and the ugly, the deepest darkness and the hidden light, all the things she tries to hide and fails to be rid of. You see her.

Sometimes, you wonder if she can see you too.

--

The days bleed into weeks and you wonder if you will ever be free of this hold she has on you. It’s like the seed she’s buried in your head has finally taken root and no matter how hard you try to fight it, you can’t get her out. That’s days, weeks, it feels like years, that you spend thinking about Venable, burning and scorching until you’re sure all that’s left inside is ash. You hate it. You think you might hate her. No, you don’t, a part of you whispers, but you ignore it like you always do.

You butt heads at work. Often and with force, but she will never fire you, because despite her best efforts to prove otherwise, you are competent and you get things done. She thinks you are a menace; you think she is a mad goddess high on a pedestal of her own making. You want to knock her off. You refuse to be another sheep cowering at her feet. When you pass her in the corridors, when you see her on her lunch hour (the same table, the same space), even during the late evenings when you catch her in the parking garage, you don’t cower. You don’t flinch. You look her in the eyes and dare her to smite you.

Every Saturday at 7:50 in the morning, you go to the coffee shop down the street from your apartment. You sit at the table in the back right corner with a coffee and a book and you wait. At 8 o’clock on the hour, Venable will join you. She will sit in the chair facing the room, pull out her novel, and read while you do the same. 

The thoughts that plague your mind don’t stop until you are in her presence. When she sits down, your mind goes quiet. Finally, finally. So you sit and you read and sometimes, only sometimes, do you wish you could reach across the table and stroke her hand.

You rarely speak. When you do, it’s a discussion about literature, about the authors you find redundant and the works you think are derivative. Sometimes, she will comment on something that has happened at work. It is always sarcastic, a jab at some hapless employee or something inane like she is just trying to fill the silence, like she wants to talk to you.

You know this can’t be true. Venable likes no one, takes pleasure from no one’s company, but sometimes you think maybe she doesn’t mind yours.

--

You and Venable eventually settle into a new rhythm, one that ebbs and flows with the days and the flux of your emotions but it is one that is constant and real. Most of your arguments have progressed from barely concealed insults to clever banter and a back-and-forth repertoire that make smiles come unwittingly to your mouth. She smiles sometimes too when she thinks you aren’t looking. A little lift at the corner of her mouth, barely there, but noticeable all the same.  Only because she never smiles and it looks so out of place there on the curve of her lips. If you blink, it will disappear, but you see it. You always do. You think it is beautiful; you also think you are losing your mind, being so attracted to a person you dislike. But you don’t hate her, a little voice in the back of your head reminds you.

You can live with that though. The attraction, the thoughts running on a never ending cycle in your mind, the burn. And you do, for many weeks that turn into months that turn into long hours working together in overtime, that turn into you sometimes joining her on her picnic table during lunch, the same table, the same space, always, always. It isn’t lost on you that she’s let you intrude on her safe spaces, not once, but twice. You don’t know what it means so you don’t think about it. You don’t want to give water to a plant you aren’t sure you want to grow. And you are fine with that. You live with it.

Until one day, you fuck up.

--

It’s one of those Saturday mornings in which you speak. These mornings are not so rare anymore, but when they happen, you cherish them, turn them into memories in your mind. You don’t even know why, but you bottle them up like four leaf clovers and put them in your pocket for safe keeping. The sun is out, shining through the window over Venable’s shoulder. It sets her hair aflame. It hurts your eyes to see, but you can’t look away.

You don’t even remember what you’d said and doesn’t that just eat you up inside? That a woman you can’t stand has the ability to completely turn your brain to mush? You’d said something and it had just come bubbling out of her: a laugh. A real one, warm and low and husky. The sound of it makes it seem like she laughs all the time, like those laugh lines around her beautiful mouth are genuine. You have never seen her look happy before. You wonder if you make her happy. You wonder if you could, if she would let you.

As you look at her, as you watch the smile on her face grow, as her hand comes up to settle on her collarbone like the motion will keep her heart from leaping out of her chest, you feel your own heart drop unpleasantly into your stomach. And you freeze.

Oh.

Oh, no.

You don’t know when it happened. When the Venable who made you feel small became the Venable who laughs at your jokes and smiles where you can see her. When the Venable who tore you down became the Venable who presses her hand into the small of your back when she passes by you at the office. When the Venable you detested and who detested you became the Wilhemina who makes you feel safe.

You don’t know, you don’t know, you don’t know.

She is the deep blue underbelly of the ocean and she is pulling you under. You don’t want to drown. You want to burn and burn and burn. But she looks at you and douses your fire. She is the chain around your ankle, the anchor weighing you down, pulling and pulling and you wonder at what point you stopped fighting and let yourself sink.

Stomach churning, you lurch from your seat and make for the door.

No, no, no. 

You don’t notice her following you until you’ve made it down the sidewalk and feel her hand clasp around your wrist. Just like old times. Her fingers are gentle and soothing and this time, they trace the veins under your skin, timid and softly and barely there but you can feel her. You want to weep. You wonder if she’d been wanting to do that, if she had wanted to do that last time. Can she feel how your heart beats for her?

You watch her fingers for a moment, too scared to look in her eyes, fearful of what might be there. What if she wants you too? What if she doesn’t?

“Wilhemina-” you start, and that single word has her dropping your wrist as if it were on fire. Maybe it is. Maybe you are.

Her eyes darken and she turns without saying a word. Your heart in your throat, you watch her back as she walks away, determination in every step she takes. The picture is enough to hurt you more than the idea of falling in love with her scares you. 

You’ve been hurt before. Mistreated, gas lighted, bruised, and broken. But you are not broken anymore. You remade yourself. You became a new you that you rebuilt from the ground up, piece by piece, until you were a wall of solid brick. You are not soft, you are not naive or gullible or innocent, not any longer. You know the damage she could do, the danger she poses to your heart and your soul and your brand new walls. How did she knock them down without you realizing? The only conclusion that you come to is that she was supposed to. 

You realize, suddenly, with an ache in your heart, that the walls weren’t meant to protect you. They were not even made of bricks. They were the walls of a home and inside was your heart and painted on the front door was a sign. A sign addressed to Wilhemina Venable that simply read: Come on in.

You’d taken too long. She’s almost at the end of the block now. Your heart thunders in your chest as you break into a jog, rushing to catch up with her. “Mina!” The nickname tumbles from your lips before you can stop it.

Wilhemina jerks to a halt, shoulders angry and bunched up around her ears, reminiscent of a disgruntled cat. She locks her fingers around the head of her cane. It seems like she might turn around, like she might let you in. Look at me, please look at me, please, please, please. For a moment, you think she might. Her head turns to the side, just barely, just enough for you to admire the way the sun glints off the sharpness of her cheekbones. But you blink and she’s walking away from you still.

You dodge pedestrians and cyclists and dogs on leashes and in your mind, you beg and plead for her to stop, to turn around, to do anything but walk away from you. You would rather her yell at you and belittle you and call you names. You would rather feel her thorns against your skin, or feel the ire build up in your bones until you know nothing but anger, anything, anything, but this intense helplessness. You can’t do anything but run.

By the time you catch up with her, she is ascending the steps to a townhouse. You reach the mailbox, watching as she pulls her keys from her pocket and fiddles with them like she doesn’t actually want to use them, but feels like she must.  “Please don’t run away,” you plead, your voice quiet from exhaustion, from pain, from the feeling of your love for her overwhelming you completely as it fills your body and inflates your soul. You wonder how you hadn’t felt it before. 

Wilhemina stops and you could sob with relief when she finally, finally looks at you. Her eyes are so very dark, but they are not stone. They are weary, cautious and guarded, but not impenetrable. “Excuse me?”

“You heard what I said,” you retort, and it’s just like old times. The sparring games that never really ceased. It’s time to pick up your sword and shield and fight for the love of your life. “Please, Mina.”

Her jaw flexes and you can see her knuckles whiten from where her fingers grip the head of her cane. “I’m not running from anything. I am simply going home.”

“Really?” You move down the sidewalk, closer to her and further away from the real world. You want to live inside her bubble if she will let you. As she has before. As she will again. If you cannot quit her, she cannot quit you. Please, please, please. “Because I think you love me and that scares the hell out of you. Well, guess what, it scares the hell out of me too.” It hurts to say, and a part of you is afraid that voicing it out loud may make it disappear, but your heart still yearns and your chest still burns. The realization that it’s real, that it’s not all in your head, has you ascending her front porch steps. You need to be closer. You need to look in her eyes and feel the weight of the world lift from your shoulders. You need to see the stars.

“Funny, I recall you fleeing the coffee shop like I had a disease. Clearly, you don’t want to be seen with-'' You kiss her, smother the words against her lips and press her back into the townhouse door, holding her firmly but gently against you. If love is a person, you can feel her right now beneath your hands. Warm and soft and whole.

She hesitates, only for a second, before you hear the clatter of keys and her cane falling to the steps. Her hands reach up, bare of her gloves, and wrap around the collar of your shirt, simultaneously pulling you in and pressing against you. She bites your lip, harsh and unforgiving, and it stings but it hurts so good. You whimper when she soothes it with her tongue. “Foolish girl,” she hisses against your mouth.

“Am I?” You ask breathlessly, running your fingers up her spine. She’s trembling, but she leans into your touch all the same. “I think you like that about me,” you murmur against her lips.

You look into her eyes. They are still guarded, still cautious and they search your face like she is waiting for the punchline. You realize, with a great overwhelming sadness, that she is expecting you to laugh at her, to betray her and say it’s all a joke. She is afraid of you. You reach up with your other hand to sooth the furrow between her brows. You follow the elegant line of her nose, trace the small groove above her top lip, brush your fingertips along the curves of her mouth. “I won’t hurt you,” you whisper. Like it is a secret, and maybe it is, but it’s a secret just for her.

You watch in wonder as Venable disappears, as chocolate brown eyes turn glossy and vulnerable, as her lips tremble, and Wilhemina appears before you. Your gazes lock, and if two souls can speak to one another, you know that yours are speaking right now. They’ve been waiting for each other all this time.

You take one of her hands in yours and press it against your chest, to the erratic beating heart beneath your shirt. She may be the ocean, surrounding you, pulling you under, and holding you down, but you realize that you were the anchor all along. You will not falter, you will not move. She is a force to be reckoned with and you- you are the stone that will not break. “Feel that?” you ask. She nods, bites her lip, searches your eyes for the answers to questions you don’t yet know. You don’t need to know the questions. You vow to find the answers anyway. “That’s yours,” you say. “That’s for you. No one else. Not now, not ever, not even before. It’s always been yours.”

“That’s very poetic,” she murmurs huskily, trying to sound sarcastic, but her voice wavers and loses the sharpness to her tone. Her eyes are wet. You realize yours are too.

“I’ve seen what you read,” you respond. You feel her hand curl into a fist above your heart. “You like my poetry.”

She snorts, leans up, brushes her nose down the length of yours. You kiss her once, just to feel her beneath your lips. “Possibly,” she admits under her breath when you pull away. You smile, kiss her again and again and again. She leans into you like she wants to crawl inside of you and become one person, one soul, one being. You think you already are.

Her tongue slides into your mouth, hot and insistent, overwhelming your senses and causing your brain to stutter. The burn that settled in your being when you saw her that moment in the parking garage flares like a fire that’s been coaxed to life with kerosene. You’re familiar with this burn, with the nature of it. It has been a piece of you for months now. The very first moment you met her, she crawled into your heart and built a fire inside you. As she sucks your tongue into her mouth and bites at the tip and her nails scratch down the length of your neck, you realize that this fire was never meant to go out. It was meant to be a bonfire that could rival the stars.

You don’t know when you picked up her keys and her cane, or when she unlocked the door to her townhouse, or when you followed her up the stairs. You don’t know when you lost your clothes or she lost hers or when you traced her spine with kisses. You don’t know how you got here, with her underneath you, her long red hair splayed across her pillow like a halo around her head, but you are here. And you are in love. 

You watch her throat bob when she swallows. She’s staring at the ceiling as if it holds the answers to the universe. Her eyes are not guarded, or weary, but cautious. Look at me, please look at me, please, please, please. And she does. Your heart somersaults in your chest. She is right. You are a fool. 

The cautious look is gone, replaced with a determination that is both strange and familiar. She cups your face in her hands and tugs you down until your faces are so close, you can feel her lips brush yours with every breath she takes. “I might hurt you,” she admits, voice trembling as she looks into your eyes and you wonder if you look as scared as she does. “But I will try. What I hurt, I will soothe.” Her thumb traces the spot she bit not moments ago.

“I know,” you whisper, before you lean down and press your lips together once more. You gently bring your body down to rest on top of her so that all you can feel is your naked skin against hers. It is warm and soft and unbearable and you know you are crying but they are happy tears. As your kiss deepens, and her tongue comes home to meet yours, you feel a saltiness fall into your mouth and you realize that she is crying too. You kiss her and worship her and love her, love her, love her.

You fall like an anchor into her ocean where you will sit unmovable, impenetrable, always and forever. Her waves can lash at you, the tides can rise and fall, but you will not break. For her, you will be everything.

You breathe her in and feel her body move beneath your bare skin. You trace her spine with your fingertips, press kisses to her collarbone, hold her in the palm of your hands like she is the whole entire world. And to you, she is. You show her the night sky when she closes her eyes, and you teach her to reach up and take the stars for herself. You tell her you love her and you make promises you know you will keep. She doesn’t have to say it back. You can see it in her eyes, feel it in the way she kisses you, in the tender way she traces your face and looks at you like you are the sun. You wonder if she can feel your heartbeat against her chest.

You make love and you burn and burn and burn until you are a supernova ready to come crashing down into her ocean.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Son of none

Based off this post: Aka Percy Weasley was abandoned by his family and I don’t think they realised just how much danger an 18 civilian blood traitor son would be when stuck behind enemy lines. Well never fear, a fic is here as if I don’t have any other drafts...any whoooo

@transparentfreakpursepanda

Warning for blood, torture, self loathing. Mentions of bullying and neglect. Cursing.

(Also while writing this I was listening to Polaris by Natewantstobattle and...yeah if you want more angst while reading this listen to them and think of Percy :)  )

Percy deserved this.

Knowing that didn't change things. It didn’t make it easier to make it duck past the office that had once belonged to Barty Crouch Sr without feeling dread and greif. As harsh as the man could be and that he had not bothered to learn Percy's name... Percy still mourned his loss. For all that he was, Barty Crouch Sr had been a good man.

Life at the ministry taught him quickly, that kind of wizard was few and far between.

He wondered if the look Barty Crouch Sr had shared with his son before his death wax the same his father had shared with him the day he left.

Maybe it wasn't wise to compare yourself to a deranged murderer, but if that's the kind of wizard his family thought he was...

"Weasley"

It was stern, drenched in spite that was not unlike his old potions professor. But sadly even Snapes treatment of him in class did not hold a candle to what was happening now.

Percy lifted his head, it felt heavy. Infact all of him felt that he was on fire. The figure infront of him came into focus, not that Perch could quite recall his name. Edward? No that didn't seem right. Not Edward was his wand in hand and looked very annoyed, his dark mark was on full display.

Percy became very well aware in that moment that he couldn't move. He was bound to a chair in a room that looked very much like a cellar. He was still in his ministry robes, though they were dirty and tattered and stained in something.

It took Percy longer than he should've to realise it was his own blood. Not that he knew where he was bleeding from. "You Gryffindors and your bloody stubbornness" sneered Not Edward, he was a broad man, towering over Percy.

"You're wasting my time, and yours of you don't hurry up and tell me where your family is hiding." Percy shook his head, defiantly even if his body protested at the sudden movement. "Like I said before, even if I did know, I would never tell you." 

And than Not Edward would shout profanities all the while using his subordinates to use Percy as target practice till he passed out. That had been the cycle for... Well he wasn't sure for how long. Apart from the first time when Percy had weaved a convincing story about the family heading to Romania to hide away with Charlie...a whole false hunt that ended with the brand he now had on his arm. 

But this time was different.

Not Edward smirked "thought you'd say that, no matter. We've found out how to get there attention, and they'll hand themselves over." Percy laughed, it was a strangled and it sent another wave of pain through his body.

Not Edward was still smirking, in fact if anything his confidence grew. "And better yet, you're going to the bait that brings them here." And that stopped Percy laughing at once, he was quieter. "What makes you think they'd come" the words were barely above a whisper that echoed throughout the room.

Not Edward (Percy really needed to learn this man's name for his own internal monologue's sake) rolled his eyes "don't pull that on me, you Weasely's are more attached than a bunch of grapes. Rest assured, they'll be coming one way or another."

With that he left. Percy tried not to think about the fact a death eater had more confidence in his families arrival than he did. His mind wandered to the day he left, guilt pooled in his stomach. No amount of head trauma would erase the disgust and rage in Arthur’s eyes, Percy knew at that moment he had lost all right to call the man father. 

He could never look him in the eye again, he couldn’t even look himself in the mirror without seeing him staring back. His mothers eyes haunted him, she’d been the only one to try to reach out but he had slammed that back in her face. Not that Percy should have been surprised, he’d always been a parasite. 

If anything they must’ve been relived to be rid of him. 

They wouldn’t come, he knew that. Than why did his heart race, did tears threaten to fall and his stomach churn at the thought? Percy thought of his siblings, young and old...they wouldn’t have given him a second thought. Fred and George would mourn the loss of their favourite target, but they would move on they all would if they hadn’t already. 

For Percy though, this was the end of the line. 

_______________________________________________________________

Weasley family dinners were always something else, Bill knew this better than most. He smiled to Fleur who sat at his side, amusement on her face as they both watched Molly do as she does best. It was organised chaos at its finest, and while Shell cottage was a far cry from the Burrow, somehow it all came together. Harry was laughing at a story Ginny and the twins were telling, Charlie and Hermione were actually helping Molly along with Arthur. 

But even with how familiar it was, it was missing a certain brother rolling his eyes at the story and telling the true ending to the annoyance of the twins. Who would than direct the others to helping out with dinner to there mothers amusement. 

Percy. 

Ever since the watch, a muggle watch at that had arrived on his wedding day, with no name for the sender but only Bill’s name signed by an all too familiar handwriting...Bill hadn’t been able to take his mind of his little brother. His absence at his wedding and just seeing him around the house stuck out like a sore thumb to Bill. He wasn’t the only one either, he could see how his Mum would pause her eyes searching before looking down and moving onto something else.

Much like now when she put down the plates and realised that she’d left a little extra to the side. “Mum, I get that you miss him but you can’t keep doing this. Percy’s not coming back” the first to say it was Charlie, his voice soft like he was talking to an irate dragon. “Good riddance” that came from Ginny, in that whisper that wasn’t even trying to be quiet. 

Instantly Molly became much like a dragon. “Ginevera Molly Weasley, don’t you dare speak about your brother like that!” She yelled, hot tears burning in her eyes. “Molly...” Interjected Arthur, putting a calming hand on his wife’s shoulder “you can’t blame her for her anger. Come on, let’s dig in.” And that should have been the end of it but Molly turned to him, her own temper boiling. 

“Don’t you start, Arthur. Don’t you tell me I should be sat eating dinner while my son is out all alone.” She spat. “Mum, it’s fine Percy’s probably having high tea with the new minister, talking about the importance of  cauldron bottoms” snickered Fred, “pfft yeah, just sat around telling the dark lord about his book report” agreed George. Bill frowned, as did Fleur but that was nothing compared to Molly. 

Her gaze hardened and the twins shut up instantly, they’d never seen her this mad. “I dont care if you hate him, I don’t care if this isn’t my home...you speak of my son following HIM, get out of my sight now.” She said, slumping into a nearby chair. Bill stood up, putting his own hand in his mums which she took gratefully. “Percy may be the most ambitious lion around, but he wouldn’t join you know who. He left to join the ministry because that's what he believed in, death eaters isn’t even in the equation.”

And Bill meant those words. More than he ever thought he would. 

“Though is there any difference between the death eaters and the ministry anymore?” Asked Harry, the place was filled with them after all. “Yeah? Might be but they’ve kept the employees, not that I know what’s going on in there anymore.” Said Arthur, adding his 2 galleon’s into the mix. “And there not going to take kindly to a Weasley” Said Hermione, making everyone look down as if they hadn’t just realised that. 

It didn’t matter if Percy had disowned himself, his family was very much publicly fighting the people he was now stuck with. 

And that was when fate decided to be extra cruel and the radio burst into life. 

“Greetings from the Ministry. Our daily transmission has already been received today but we have an exceptional treat for the wizarding public. We will be instead hosting an interview with one of our newest employees, give a hand folks to Percival Ignatius Weasley.”

Everyone in the room froze, and yet Ron who was the only one of the family minus Fleur not to speak, ran to the radio and put the volume as loud as he could. 

“Say hello your family, Percival.” Taunted the voice, it was very gleeful as it spoke. No response was heard. “Oh, silly me I forgot how many hours you young people work, not to worry let’s get him up boys.” 

A splash was heard and a shuddering scream. “Morning Percival, sorry do you prefer Percy? Don’t care, lets start the interview. So Percival, how are you finding the ministry?” Everyone sat with baited breathe.

And yet it was there Percy who, through shuddered breaths managed to whisper a “fuck you...fuck you and your ministry”

“Well that is very rude, and here I thought your mother would have taught you manners” “don’t...don’t you talk about her.” Said Percy, Molly broke down into tears and Bill held her close. Unable to tear his gaze from the radio, no one could. 

“What do you want to say them? I’m sure they’ve missed you. In fact, just for you we’ll be hosting a party. And there all invited to the ministry, so long as they bring a certain Mr Potter.” 

There was a silence before “don’t come...don’t. Whatever you do, don’t... it’s fine. I’m fine, I love it here.” He laughed, everyone cringed at the sound he made, as if he was choking. “It’s fine, don’t come...parties are overrated yeah.” The transmission started cutting off, Ron frantically along with the twins tried to get it working. 

They heard “too busy. Don’t come, Harry don’t...stay where you are!” Before the  transmission cut off.

No one could speak, horror was etched into all of there faces. The twins were scrabbling over themselves with wand in hand to track where the transmission had come from. 

The Ministry. 

“We’re going...now” said Molly, standing up. Her tears were gone, grabbing for her wand and coat. “Molly...be rationale, we need to plan this.” Said Arthur, Molly spun on her heel and glared. “I am not going to sit here while those...monsters torture MY son! Planning will take to long, did you hear him Arthur?! Did you hear your son crying out in pain...he doesn’t have long left...” Arthur looked down, unable to respond. 

Molly looked at the rest of the family, her gaze saying it all: You can come with me or you can stay. The first to stand was Bill, closely followed by Fleur who met his thankful gaze with a determined smile. Charlie and Ron were next, grabbing there wands with Harry and Hermione following. Ginny and the twins exchanged guilty looks but stood. Arthur couldn’t look at any of them, he simply picked up his wand. 

“Harry, I understand if you wish to stay” said Molly, he shook his head. “I might not know him well but Percy’s family 2...I cant sit here while you guys go even with the danger.” He replied, and somehow that was all it was, Percy was family...enough said. 

And so the family of lions got up and left, to find the one they left behind. 

_______________________________________________________

Percy was terrified.

A part of him argued that he should be grateful they came at all for him. Maybe it was out of pity, out of ensuring that he wasn't able to be used against them.

Yes, that's all it was. He was nothing afterall, he was merely a civilian in a war.

And yet hearing Molly tearfully and frantically whisper his name. Hearing Hermione yell the counterspell to his imprisonment to Ron who did so perfectly. Seeing the light of spells cast by Ginny and the twins to stun Not Edward... (Who was apparently called Edgar... Eh close enough.)

Feeling Charlie carry him in his arms, mumbling curse words. Smelling Arthur's cologne.

It all felt right. It was warmth that he couldn't remember experiencing. It was enough to lull him to a facade that everything was fine.

But when his wounds were healed and he saw them all looking at him... Percy knew he had to shelf that dream. "I told you not to come" was the first thing he said, averting his gaze. (Couldn't look them in the eye)

"And you must've lost a few screws if you thought we wouldn't" said Bill, meeting Percy's gaze. "You shouldn't have" is all he replied. "And what, let you be killed by the ministry?" Gaped Ginny. Percy shrugged "wouldn't have made much difference, you've only gone and put yourselves in more danger."

"Are you... Are you fucking with us right now?" Asked Fred, incredously. "No, im too busy ranting about cauldron bottoms to do that." And if Fred paused, Percy didn't see it.

Seeing as no one was getting anyway, Bill sat beside Percy who immediately felt on edge. "Thanks for the watch" he said simply. Everyone blinked in confusion and than realisation as no one has known where Bill's new watch had come from. Percy smiled faintly "You're welcome, reminded me of you."

"Although, I do wish you could've gave it in person" continued Bill, testing the waters. Percy surprised him by shaking his head "no you wouldn't have. It was your day, I wasn't going to ruin it." Bill frowned "is that what you think?" Percy shrugged again "it's what I've been told."

"You are way to chill after being tortured" said Charlie, Percy looked at his bandaged arms and snorted. "Eh? It's nothing new. That guy was just there for the theatrics, sadist if you ask me." Charlie raised an eyebrow "nothing new?" Percy nodded "yeah, what you think the ministry that's so far up Voldermorts ass would allow me to work there without some 'interviews'."

Everyone paled.

"But than why stay there?" Asked Arthur, Percy froze. Steeling himself, switching from calm to panic to calm in an instant but they all saw. "I've got business there, things I need to get done and ensure are done. Speaking of which, thanks for the rescue but I should be off."

He didn't belong here. Not anymore.

"Percy, you can stay." Said Molly, already standing up to get his room prepared. "No, I can't. I have work, I have a duty... And I'm no longer part of this family." When he said that, Percy felt like the wind was knocked out of him but stood his ground. "Percy... That's not true.."

Percy met Arthur's gaze, his father's eyes. "Really? Than pray tell why did no one tell me you were all in hiding... Or a warning? And don't say it was impossible because I managed to send a parcel to a location I didn't even know about nor knew existed."

No one could answer that.

"I'll be off, and don't worry I won't tell them anything. Just do what you do best, and leave me alone." Arthur managed to grab Percy's wrist though he hissed in pain and pulled his arm back like he'd been burnt. "Don't.. Touch me, Arthur Weasely."

Arthur recoiled, Percy looked away. "I spent my whole life wanting to be someone you could be proud off...I listened to all the critism and yes I was a prat. But the moment I made my own choice you already made me aware I didn't belong in my own house. I’m sorry...that I’m not athletic like Ginny, I’m not smart like Ron or as successful as Bill and Charlie, I’m not a hero like a Ron or fun like Fred and George. That I’m just plain ol prat Percy.”

He began to walk away. Just like he did before.

"That choice was against following Dumbledor, turning against the light." Said Molly, wanting him to understand. Percy laughed, with no humour at all but glaring hard. Rage emanated from him.

"I'm sorry if I choose not to stand behind an old coot who routinely sends an abused boy to his abusers, who nearly got 3 11 yearolds killed because he wanted to weed out a possibility. Who nearly got thousands of children killed and did nothing to save Ginny with the chamber. The man who wouldn't give an innocent man a trial and got him sent to the worst prison for 12 years... Who put teenagers in a death game and let an underage kid join because why not. That man is a monster and I refuse to follow someone like that. But no that means I'm blindly following authority." He sneered, staring at them all.

"And the ministry? Because as corrupt and fucked up as it is I know I can do something. That changes can be made in the systems to benefit everyone, Dumbledor is someone who breeds child solider’s and let's a known abuser teach at his school and somehow I’m the only one who isn't okay with that."

And with that Percy left, no one knew what to say. They simply sat in silence, absorbing everything they just heard. Ginny thought about how Percy had profusely apologised after she was free from the chamber, how he’d made time for her since than. Ron thought of all the times they’d have an adventure and Percy would watch over them like a mother hen. 

Bill and Charlie recalled when Percy would still come to them for help before he started Hogwarts. When they found him bruised and broken from bullies except this was because of them. “He really thinks that doesn’t he...?” Said Fred, George nodded. Neither could smile, guilt pooled in their hearts that they didn’t think he felt like that. 

Molly sobbed for her son who was once again lost and Arthur wondered where he had gone wrong to lose his son all over again. 

________________________________________________

Meanwhile Percy entered a muggle flat in London. Alone again just like he belonged, laying on his bed and looking at the brand on his arm.

'Son of none'

And if that didn't hurt most of all.

Suffice to say they all things to think about for when they’d meet again. 

[fandom-collective-writers]

Bonding a Mate

Fandom: Ikémen Sengoku Suitor: Kenshin Uesugi Author: @otome-smut-queen Tags: Dubcon, ABO, smut, breeding, bondage, modern AU, NSFW, impregnation, Alpha/Omega

Mai wrinkled her nose as the stench of Alpha flooded the room. She had come to her friend’s bar to escape the coupling going off back at her house, though she was still doubtful that Hideyoshi even knew that she wasn’t in the house after causing a problem at work with her post-heat pheromones. Despite working for Nobunaga Oda for several years, she had been able to hide her true secondary nature from all of the high-level management she worked as a personal assistant to. Until the previous month when she had her first full-blown heat and had been unable to do anything except try to sate herself in bed. Now she was dealing with the usual bull that came with Alphas trying to tell her that she wasn’t capable at her job and she should just ‘settle down’ and let someone else have her job who could provide for their family that way. It made her angry. The only saving grace was the part where her boss didn’t care about her secondary gender. He only cared for the quality of her work, which only suffered when toxic Alpha managers would suddenly come up to the CEO and Director floor to tell Mai about why they should be dating. He had issued a company-wide directive that afternoon after she had been pinned in the corridor and intimidated, Mai was not to be approached unless they were willing to risk their jobs. It was likely to go unnoticed until Nobunaga fired someone for that reason, but she was glad her boss had faith in her still.

She groaned and necked back the remainder of her rum and coke. If the Alpha group were anything like those at her workplace, then she would be better off going home now.

Then Kanetsugu grabbed her hand, stopping her from leaving the bar. His silvery hair usually framed an icy pair of purple eyes, but he wasn’t looking at her with them for once. The bar dropped a few drops very swiftly, making her shiver before the sound of Kenshin’s footsteps broke the spell that Kanetsugu had weaved over her body’s inability to move. She swallowed nervously as Kenshin’s hand replaced Kanetsugu’s on her forearm. Then she was led down the bar, her arm lifted over the pumps and tills as the room watched the display of dominance silently. Mai didn’t dare to look over her shoulder as they reached the end of the bar, and the door to the employee-only area was opened by Kenshin. He scoffed loudly and pushed Mai through first. She caught a glimpse of a group of Alphas, probably the same group that she had smelled entering the bar, and they had been positioning themselves to make a move on her from their positions in the room. She swallowed nervously, looking up at her friend and waiting for the explanation. She trembled slightly, not because she was scared of Kenshin, but because she was so angry that strange Alphas thought they had the right to do as they pleased to her.

“I’m so weak, this is disgusting,” she scoffed, before Kenshin wrapped her up in his arms, stroking her hair out of her face.

“You need to be more aware of your surroundings. You smell of Omega right now,” he commented sharply, rubbing her back to help soothe her. He was also pumping out his scent, designed to calm down any distressed Omega and make them pliable to his commands. “I’m taking you back to my place. You’ll hold on tight to me on the back of my bike,” he instructed, already manoeuvring Mai through to the staff room where he picked up his motorcycle helmet and a spare one he kept at work for these occasions. Not that Mai thought anything of his actions, her body reacting like a puppet on strings as Kenshin gently pushed the helmet onto her head and helped secure it before the two were on the bike and speeding off through the city’s streets. The streetlamps twinkled as they zipped through the corners, Mai holding on firmly to Kenshins’ waist as he had told her to. She was only in jeans and a blouse since she hadn’t been able to get changed before escaping out of her house several hours before, but she melded herself to the Alpha to protect herself from falling off.

It had been a while since she had been at Kenshin’s apartment. A modern, top floor, two-bedroomed home with every gadget possible it seemed as Mai put the helmet down on the sideboard next to Kenshin’s. He watched her silently, waiting to see what she did while guarding the front door so there was no escape for her.

She stretched her arms out, rolling her shoulders to release the tension as she looked out over the Kyoto skyline. There was something beautiful and memorising about the scene as she gazed out of the window. Kenshin purposefully pumped out his scent, keeping her pliable as his arms slid around her from behind, holding her body against his. She groaned softly as his lips brushed her neck, her head tilting to the side to give him plenty of access. Her eyes fluttered shut as his lips kissed up to her jaw, a soft growl down her ear sending shivers down her spine as Kenshin felt her ass push back against his hips. He smirked to himself as he turned her head and claimed her lips possessively. Mai was completely at his mercy as the Alpha parted from her, ignoring her whines as he picked her up roughly and stormed through to his bedroom.

“Strip,” he grunted his command, pulling away from her only for long enough to check that he had locked the front door. He had been watching Mai carefully since they had reunited after her career brought her to Kyoto once she had completed university. He had kept every suitor away from her, and thankfully her stupid bosses had never made any attempt to woo her. But he had waited patiently enough, and now she was his as he came back into his room.

Her nervousness was adorable, she was down to her underwear as Kenshin quickly stripped, his clothes left in a trail from the door to the bed. He kissed her with a passion that threatened to burn them both, leaning over her and pulling open a drawer in his bedside table, purposely obscuring her view of it as he pulled out the restraints. He looped them through his headboard bars, one eye on the writhing Omega underneath him and the other on his hand that was keeping hold of her wrists before he had her locked in them.

Mai squeaked, tugging reactively on the material cuffs as she glanced up to see what Kenshin had done. Not that Kenshin minded, since it left her neck open to his markings. He groaned as the soft floral of cherry blossoms came from her scent glands, his cock throbbing and desperate to be touched as he continued to kiss down her skin.

He used raw strength to break through the centre of her bra, and then snapped the straps to toss the offensive item clear of the bed. Her confusion was cute as Kenshin took a nipple into his mouth, using his tongue and teeth to tease it into a hard peak, his mismatched eyes watching Mai’s expression change to one of bliss. Her hips rutted up, groaning as Kenshin’s nimble fingers slowly began to tease her clit through her panties. He smirked as she whined in frustration that he wasn’t touching her directly and chuckled softly.

“I told you to strip, and you didn’t get fully undressed, so this is your punishment,” he stated simply, before turning his attention to her neglected nipple. He used his tongue to roll it between his teeth, sucking and nibbling on her skin, as the pad of his middle finger circled against her clit, using the wet fabric to deny her what she really wanted. He knew that she was close to being open to anything he said, her secondary nature was taking control and leaving her free to his will. He needed her to say that she was his, to mark her up and to never leave as the blush on her cheeks started to darken.

“Kenshin, please, Alpha, I’m sorry,” she stuttered, the words falling out of her mouth as she pulled on the cuffs. Her hips rutted and writhed against the bedsheets, trying to work the offending item of clothing down. He kept her legs pinned under his body as her moaning increased in volume, it was getting harder to not just tear the panties off her as Kenshin weighed up the idea in his mind. No underwear would mean that Mai would need to wait in for him to get what she needed, it would mean that she couldn’t leave until the world knew that she belonged to him.

He couldn’t wait any longer, as he pulled so harshly on the fabric that it tore under the pressure, and left marks on her hips. He would apologise later and make her think it was unintentional. Mai was producing so much slick, she would be able to take him as he parted her legs. It was a view that he never wanted anyone else to see unless Kenshin was the one breeding her.

“Kenshin,” she whined, wriggling underneath him. It was cute, she was trying to flip herself over to present for him like a good little Omega would do. He would have to try that position next time as he smiled down at her, her breasts now shiny with his spit and the desperation evident on her face before he thrust his whole length into her core in one swift motion. Mai cried out in delight, her pussy filled with Alpha cock, and a nice thick one at that, this was meant to be her position in life. Kenshin knew that he needed to put his pups in her as he rocked his hips swiftly against hers. He needed to breed her as her neck was bared to him, his hands pinning her legs back to her torso as he started to slam harder and faster into her. The way she squeaked and moaned was addictive, it was cute how she babbled about needing to cum, he knew that his knot was starting to bloom before he growled possessively and sunk his teeth into the crook of her neck.

It was a white-hot ecstasy that exploded inside of him. His teeth pierced her skin at the same time that his knot popped inside of her core, Mai’s screams of pleasure threatening to bring the apartment block down while she spasmed around his cock as it poured his cum into her. He had slid an arm around her back to hold her close to him as they rode out their mutual climax. His tongue lapping at the freshly laid mating mark over her scent glands on her neck, his Alpha nearly content to bask in the afterglow. He nudged her face towards his glands, nipping at her tender skin as a hint before Mai returned the favour. They would be locked together for a little while, his cock was keen to keep her pussy full of cum for the moment as Kenshin kissed Mai on the temple.

He could hear her brain starting to clear and work out what was happening.

“Shhh,” he soothed, pumping out his scent to keep her placid. “I’m looking after you now. There’s nothing for you to worry about, you’ll be kept with me, just nice and pregnant with my pups, doesn’t that sound so nice? Nothing to worry about and no other Alphas to run from,” he purred as her brain slipped back into Omega mode, accepting the affection from her new mate. He’d get her to comply easily enough, she was safe now with him.

[samwisethewitch]

Curses and Hexes

Cursing is one of the most ancient forms of magic — and one of the most controversial. Whereas most magic is constructive (used to manifest or attract things), cursing is destructive (used to cause misfortune or harm).

Technically speaking, curses and hexes are similar but different types of spells. A curse consists of written or spoken words, sometimes combined with gestures. A hex is a ritual involving material items. However, most modern witches use the terms interchangeably, as I do in this post.

The fastest way to start a debate in any witchy community is to bring up the topic of cursing. It seems like everyone has strong opinions on the subject, either for or against. For your practice, all that matters is what you believe.

So, When Is It Okay to Curse Someone?

This is a tricky question, and the answer depends on the witch.

There are some witches who believe that intentionally causing harm or misfortune to another person is always wrong, and will never cast curses for this reason. This is an entirely valid position! If you fall into this camp, know that you’re in good company.

Other witches believe that cursing is acceptable when it’s truly warranted by the situation, such as when your life or livelihood is in danger. Others believe that cursing is simply a means to an end, and can be done with good intention (cursing your friend’s unfaithful partner to get them to stop cheating, for example).

The one thing that most witches seem to agree on is that curses are serious stuff, and should not be taken lightly. Unlike other types of magic, curses are fueled by negative emotions like hate, anger, and heartbreak. This makes them very powerful, but also very draining for the witch casting them. Cursing someone means reliving any trauma you suffered at their hands in order to use those memories as fuel for the fire. Some people aren’t willing to put themselves through such an ordeal, which again, is entirely fair.

Because curses are fueled by such strong emotions, they’re powerful and volatile. They’re like the nitro fuel of witchcraft — if you don’t know what you’re doing and aren’t careful, someone could get seriously hurt. That someone could be you.

My personal view on cursing is essentially the same as my view on physical violence. It’s not the answer to all, or even most, problems, and it sometimes makes the situation worse instead of better. It should never be your first option, but it might very well be your last resort. If someone is holding you at gunpoint, you’re entitled to use violence to protect yourself. Likewise, if someone is putting you or a loved-one in life-threatening danger, you’re entitled to use whatever magical means necessary for protection.

Before You Curse

If you think there’s someone in your life who deserves to be cursed, go through the following criteria to decide if cursing is really the most appropriate action.

Sleep on it. When we’re in the heat of the moment, we sometimes say or do things we don’t mean. If you think you’re angry enough with someone to curse them, give it a couple of days before you reach for the vinegar and chili peppers. Give yourself time to cool off and clear your head. If, after a week, you still feel like a curse is warranted, move on to the next step.

Think about your own motives. Why do you want to curse this person? What did they do to make you angry enough that you’re willing to use magic to harm them in some way? If it’s a minor annoyance, like cutting you off in traffic, a curse probably isn’t appropriate. Likewise, if your motivations are petty or catty in nature — like cursing someone because they beat you out for a promotion — I highly encourage you to stop and do some self-reflection. For one thing, you may not be able to conjure enough genuine hatred and anger for an effective curse. For another, in these situations you may find it more helpful to do some work on yourself (working on anger issues, learning to gracefully accept failure, etc.) rather than lashing out at someone else.

Ask yourself if this situation matters in the long run. It may feel incredibly important now, but try to take a step back and look at the big picture. Will this person matter in a year? Five years? Ten? Are they important enough to warrant allowing yourself to channel enough negative energy for a curse? (If this person is putting your life, livelihood, or safety at risk, the answer to all of these questions is YES!)

Make sure your anger is directed at the right person. Who is really responsible for the pain you’re feeling? For example, if your significant other cheats on you, your first reaction may be to curse the person who “stole” them from you. But you aren’t really upset with this person — you’re hurt because your partner betrayed your trust. I’m not convinced that a cheating partner is a serious enough reason to cast a curse (again, will it really matter in ten years?) but if you decide to do so, at least make sure it’s directed at the person who is truly responsible for your pain.

Consider doing a banishing instead. In situations where a person is a danger to you or your loved ones, sometimes the best option is to give them a magical push out of your life. A banishing does what the name implies — it banishes a person or thing from your life. Unlike a curse, a banishing does not cause harm or misfortune to the person being targeted. It simply removes them from your life.

You can perform a simple yet effective banishing with a piece of paper, a pen, cayenne pepper, and dried lavender. Write the name of the person or thing you want to banish on the paper. Look down at the name and say, out loud, “[Name], you are no longer welcome in my life.” Sprinkle a bit of cayenne on the paper and instruct it to burn this person out of your life. Sprinkle a bit of lavender on the paper and instruct it to bring you peace and healing. Fold the paper up to create a little packet around the herbs, then take it outside and burn it to ash. (Be careful — cayenne smoke burns!) As the paper burns say, “I banish [name] from my life, never to return.” Scatter the leftover ashes on a busy road.

Consider doing a binding instead. Maybe you don’t necessarily need someone out of your life, but you do need to take away their power to cause harm. In this case, a binding is your best bet. A binding is a spell that “binds up” someone’s power, preventing them from taking certain actions. This can be useful for dealing with people who are toxic or abusive. Like a banishing, binding does not cause harm or misfortune to the target.

You can perform a simple binding charm with a photograph of your target, a pen, and red or black thread. Write your target’s full name (or as much of it as you know) across the bottom of the photo. Look down at the photo. Say, out loud, “[Name], I bind you. I bind up your power, so that you can no longer ______.” Fold the paper up as small as possible. Then, begin to wrap the thread around the folded paper. As you do, say, “[Name], I bind you.” Continue wrapping until the thread completely covers the paper — there should be no paper visible.

For whatever reason, some people seem to have a natural resistance to banishing and binding. You may find that your spell works for a while, but the person you tried to banish/bind eventually returns to their old ways. There’s some debate about why this happens — some say it’s because these people are narcissists or energy vampires, while others think it has something to do with their force of will. Personally, I think it’s because some people are so nasty and hateful that it takes nasty, hateful magic to get rid of them for good. If you find yourself dealing with one of these people, and your banishings and bindings aren’t sticking, you may want to move on to a full-fledged curse.

Creating an Effective Curse

Okay, you’ve done your self-reflection, you’ve considered or attempted a banishing and/or binding, and you still feel like cursing is your best/only option. In that case, here are some general guidelines for making sure that your curse is appropriate, effective, and ethical.

Be VERY specific. Don’t just lob a ball of negative energy at someone and expect it to do what you want. Be very, very clear about your intent for this curse. Use precise and specific language. Make it painfully obvious what you want to happen and how you want it to unfold.

For example, when writing a petition or incantation, don’t just say, “[Name] is cursed.” Instead use something like, “Should [Name] ever contact or harass me again, he/she/they is cursed. Let him/her/them feel what I have felt and suffer as I have suffered.” You could get even more specific and detailed if you wanted to, but the important thing is to establish some basic parameters for the powerful dark energy you’re unleashing.

Make sure the punishment fits the crime. A curse to cause sexual impotence probably isn’t appropriate for an abusive boss… unless that boss is sexually harassing their employees. In that case, sticking a few pins in a rotting cucumber may be just what the situation calls for. (Yes, that’s a real curse. Yes, the cucumber represents what you think it represents.)

Making sure the punishment fits the crime also means being honest about how serious of a curse is deserved. Do you really need to ruin this person’s life to get them out of your hair, or will a mild inconvenience do? As strange as the idea of a curse being fair sounds, avoiding overkill will not only maintain balance but will keep you from expending more energy than you have to.

Make sure your curse is only affecting your target and not anyone around them. When it comes to curses, family, friends, and coworkers can sometimes get caught in the crossfire. To avoid this, make sure your spell is targeted to a specific person by personalizing it as much as possible. Include photos of your target, their full legal name (or as much of their full name as you know), and a taglock if you can get it. You may even want to include a line in your petition or incantation specifying that this curse will only affect the desired target and not their friends and associates.

Set clear conditions/parameters. The most effective curses are situational. Think of it as laying an energetic trap in or around a certain situation — this is more efficient and uses up less of your energy than if you were to just cast a blanket curse that affects every area of the target’s life. Curse parameters take the form of, “If [name] does x, they will be met with y.”

Setting parameters also makes sure your curse is truly deserved. For example, maybe your friend has an abusive ex-spouse, and you want to use a curse to keep your friend safe. If the ex-spouse is already leaving your friend alone, there’s no reason for a curse. But if they aren’t leaving your friend alone, they deserve to be met with vicious, magical resistance. For this situation, you may want to use an incantation like, “Should [ex-spouse] ever approach or contact [your friend], they are cursed with discomfort, unrest, and legal trouble. Let them be hunted and put down like a rabid dog.” This ensures that if, at any point in the future, the ex-spouse starts harassing your friend again, the curse will immediately go into action.

Don’t attach yourself to the curse. Perhaps the most important part of cursing is making sure you keep the energy of the curse separate from your own energy. Revenge is a double-edged sword, so you need to take precautions to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.

Any time you cast a curse, you want to limit its connection to you as much as possible. Don’t include any of your own personal effects in the spell. You may also want to avoid using tools that hold a special place in your practice. For example, you may not want to use your altar as a place to craft curses. You may want to use materials that can be disposed of easily. Make sure to dispose of curse remains somewhere outside your home, such as at a busy road.

After casting a curse, it’s important to set aside some time for self-care. Start with a thorough cleansing. This can be as simple as taking a bath in salt water (or dumping a bucket of salt water over your head in the shower, if you don’t have a tub), but if you would rather do a full-fledged cleansing ritual, even better! It’s important to do something to remove any lingering negativity from your energy field, and to make sure the curse doesn’t attach to you in any way.

Cursing is intense, emotional, draining work. After casting a curse, take at least a few hours to rest and be kind to yourself. Eat your favorite foods. Take a nap. Read a book or watch a movie. Do whatever you need to do to make yourself feel good.

You may want to do some inner work after cursing to help process the intense emotions involved in this kind of magic. This can be journaling, meditation, energy work, or some other healing modality. If you’ve experienced serious trauma, you may want to consider speaking to a therapist or counselor in addition to doing work on your own.

Resources:

Utterly Wicked by Dorothy Morrison

Of Blood and Bones by Kate Freuler

New World Witchery podcast, “Episode 102 — Evil”