#of. you are alive to work. the only thing that matters is how your employer feels about you.

[avifaunaa]

how the world spins without you [ n.r. ] [ pt. 5 ]

Authors Note: forgive me for how late this is. It wasn’t intentional and I had meant to get it out sooner. But I’m running on caffeine, bitterness of my breakup, and whatever’s left of the chemicals my ADHD meds gave me before i ran out so . . . 🧍🏻‍♀️

Masterlist

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART SIX

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader

Summary: Natasha has found you and it is time to bring you home. The Black Lotus as a threat has been eliminated but her employer has not — which leaves more of a mess to clean up later. But that could wait . . . Natasha did not think she could bare to part from you for a moment.

Content Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, emotional turmoil, aftermath of torture, medical treatment [ r!recieving ], Rio makes an appearance then dips, early symptoms of PTSD [ r ], cuddling, injuries, anxiety attacks, outward expressions of reassurance, love, and safety [ Nat —> R ], Natasha has some sort of mental disassociation about coffee when it’s actually about almost losing R.

Word Count: TBA, but shorter than the others. Sorry fellas.

5 . . . 4

“She’s crashing!”

“Blood type is —“

“We need to restart her heart!”

1 . . . 2

Electricity jolting through you and echoing into your ribcage, reaching the organ that pumps life giving blood into your veins.

“I will debrief when my partner isn’t lying on the table bleeding out!”

3 . . .

One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three.

Something warm envelops you and you knew nothing but the radiating heat within whatever surrounded you. You did not feel as though you were within your own body anymore, but a spectator to what was being done to save your life.

It changes someone when, you decide, when they have to see their own body lay prone upon the surgery table split open and stitched back together, blood soaking into surgical gloves as wires and tubes kept you somewhat alive.

It was ironic in a way — watching yourself get a blood transfer as you bled almost as quickly as they gave back.

No wonder you were near death. Death?

A feminine form joins you at your side with a ghostly silence, arms folded in front of themselves. They wore a ragged dark green hood that went with silky emerald robes, brushing the floor of the surgical room but didn’t seem to collect dirt or mess.

Waves of cold floated from her and yet — yet you had this primal urge to stay very still.

Like prey attempting to keep itself hidden form a narrow-sighted predator in the brush.

“You’re lucky,” the being finally said, voice echoing in the room. No attention was brought to either of you by your team of nurses and surgeons who worked around you. One of your monitors wailed.

“I think I see myself about to die,” you retort, but it’s sort of an accepted stance on the matter. What can you do? You’re in no state to stop them.

“No,” mused the feminine voice, laughter cold and brutal in the bitterness echoing its edges. “No, you’re about to live. Yet another that I am unable to reclaim.” A pause. “Perhaps it is just not your time.”

“Who can know?” you asked, unflinching as one of the nurses throws another blood soaked rag into the growing pile. “I suppose only gods and celestials.”

“Oh, sweet thing. Not even they know until it is their time.” A chill crept up the back of your neck, the hairs standing up. You turned, expecting to find the being there, but they were now by your head at the surgery table. “But I do.”

“What are you?” you asked as they slowly crossed the threshold of the surgery room in a way that was inhuman. 

“Guess. I’ll give you three.” They were more amused by the entire situation than they were annoyed, apparently. She started humming a soft tune as she circled the doctors and nurses surrounding your body.

You watched them further and tried to think, but the tune of their humming was like a throbbing to your soul.

‘nothing satisfies but your soul.’

‘well I am Death, and none can excel.’

You began to open your mouth, but even doing so had resulted in nothing of value.

They did look up at you, though, like they heard whatever you had wanted to say and allowed a smile to curl at their lips, finger going to their lips.

They lifted a dagger and pressed the tip delicately against your forehead as one of the nurses brushed a hand over the spot at the same time.

When you finally managed to catch a glimpse of their face, all you saw was a skull.

You feel so heavy, brain foggy and mouth full of cotton. But you were waking, you think. Or perhaps dying was like waking from the worst nap ever imaginable.

There was an annoying beeping somewhere on your left side that was nagging at your brain. You wanted it to stop — did Natasha forget to turn the alarm off when she woke up early? You’d kill her for it.

But trying to reach your arm up was met with no success. You could hardly find energy to wiggle your fingers even though you threw effort into it.

Then warmth danced across the back of your hand and the sound of screeching on floor. A chair, maybe. Yes.

“Oh, my love.” Natasha, your lovely Natasha. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

Open your eyes? That was a simple ask for one such as you, the great apprentice of Tony Stark. Yet as you made the attempt, you were sure your eyelids were glued shut and were met with a sting when you blinked them open slowly.

It hurt — oh everything hurt. The light was much to bright and blinded you instantly, the edges of your retinas felt like they burned, and the watering that begun was like boiling water.

“You’re doing great, just keep trying,” Natasha coaxed gently, stroking your hair with a heavier hand than you’d like.

“Lights,” you moaned out, squeezing your eyes shut again and turning your face toward the darker section of the room.

“Okay, yeah. They’re not on a bright setting but if you need them off, yeah.” You heard her scrambling and moving around the room, and the pressure on your head lightened after a few seconds.

“Try now?” she murmured from farther away.

You slowly turned your head back and hesitated. You were in so much pain already — why did she insist on adding to it?

Still you made the attempt, blinking slowly open until you saw only the lights coming from outside of the window and cracked door outside of your room. It was considerably less harsh and you didn’t feel like vomiting as much.

“Gnarly.”

Natasha let out a large breath she had apparently been holding. “Gnarly,” she repeated as she retraced her steps back to you.

“I think I died.”

“If you did, sweetheart, I’m glad you didn’t stay dead,” your girlfriend said with conviction. Your hand was scooped into both of hers as she sat back into the chair at your side and pressed her lips against your palm. “So glad.”

“There was a skeleton woman there.”

Natasha releases a shocked, watery laugh. She squeezed your hand so tight you were sure she was doing it for herself rather than for you. “Oh yeah? Was she hot at least?”

You tried to shuffle through your memory of being around your own body, of the cold woman who had you wanting to run away. But that was a fading moment of time and it was fading fast. You hardly even seemed to remember that it was a memory at all.

“I don’t know. Probably not as hot as you,” you decided to respond, eyes hazily flicking to her face. Natasha was crying, lips still pressed to your skin, hair in the messiest updo you’ve ever seen the perfectionist don.

When she didn’t give you anything else in words, you used your free hand to try and get some movement back. Wiggled your fingers and dug them into the hospital grade blanket covering your body, feeling again.

Wetness collected on the back of your hand and you blinked. “You’re leaking on me.”

She sniffled loudly and moved her head up, turning to wipe her nose on her upper arm. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“It was a joke, but at least you leaked on both of us now.”

Natasha didn’t laugh, so you stopped trying to create more humor. A high pitched, one beep signal from the machinery alerted you both to glance over.

“It’s just the automatic dispensary of your painkillers. It’s fine.” She set your hand down and started wiping at her face. You wished she wouldn’t — Natasha was the only thing keeping you believe you were truly alive right now and not in some purgatory hell.

“You almost died.”

You blinked sleepily at her. Her jaw was clenched tight and her knuckles were so white with how she clenched her fists together, chin resting on them.

“I’m sorry,” you rasp. Because what else can you say? You wouldn’t do it again? You’ll do better?

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” Natasha whispers, “I want — I need you to get out of this. You were almost gone, you couldn’t even . . .”

It’s a fickle thing, the brain. It’ll do what it has to do to protect itself and the host — the body — and in doing so may create a lapse of memory, a struggle to recall certain things of importance.

And then those things may crop up later in life and cause a whole shit ton of trouble.

You don’t remember much of what happened — you remembered the woman, the dark room, feeling cold and tired. You don’t remember Nat finding you, or anything beyond some hushed voices of the woman as she spoke to you during your captivity.

In the end wouldn’t that be the better result? Your trauma would be limited even if the damage done to your body told an entirely different, more profound story that you couldn’t remember and maybe wanted to make the decision not to.

Whatever had happened to you — you knew it was severe. You knew it paid a hefty price from your entire being. But the look on Natasha’s face and the blacked out corners of your memory that are just as unreachable as your body is broken, it tells a story of its own and you never want to read it again.

“I’m going to get through this,” you vowed in the quietest voice. Your throat still hurt, and your tongue was dry. “We both are. You and I. Me and you.”

“I haven’t tried a new flavor in weeks,” the redhead confessed, leaning closer until she lay half down in your lap. Exposed and vulnerable, yet she allowed it here and now. “Losing you destroyed what it meant to try and be kind to myself, to step outside of a box that contains my comforts and my knows. I couldn’t risk getting hurt if I didn’t try at all.”

You lifted a weak hand, covered in IV’s and monitors, then dropped it non-gracefully into her hair and stroked.

“Are we . . . Talking about coffee? Right now?”

Natasha leaned into your hand, the weight of it, as though begging for it to never leave.

You obliged and kept the pressure, adding to it as you carded your sore fingers through the tresses of hair that were loose enough in the bun she had. You were tempted to undo it entirely, but your fingers may not work well enough and you were growing sleepier by the second with the release of medication.

“I didn’t sleep well without you, and I cancelled the reservation to that Thai place you’d been begging me to try. I couldn’t do it without you,” she blurted out. You paused, fingers dug into her scalp.

“Did you get your money back from the short notice seating?”

“No,” Natasha said dully, and you sighed. “I forgot about it until the night of and they texted the reminder of the time.”

“I always tell you to put reminders on top of reminders in your calendar.”

Natasha whines in response.

“Natasha,” you slurred out, determined to stay awake long enough despite the drugs clawing at your nervous system, “this isn’t about any of that, is it?”

“No, Mayshka,” she whispered so softly you nearly asked her to repeat herself, “I find that I can’t — I can’t do anything new or scary without you by my side. I am one of the most powerful spies in the world and I have defeated likes bigger than most will ever have to face.” A pause, and you wanted so terribly to reach your entire body down and curl over her, “But before you I did not feel human nor did I think I had the need to. I knew what I knew and had what I had. You unravel the worst of me and find that scared part of Natasha that I’ve tried so long to bury away and make her apart of me again. And without you I’m not entirely sure how I can manage it. Because you make me brave. You make me feel again.”

“No,” you murmured, putting enough pressure down so she was forced to lift her head and meet her gaze. “Nat, you met me because you were doing those things. Getting out of your comfort zone, and trying to unravel what you think is the worst of you. Don’t you get it? You were already doing it.”

“With one thing — at one place.” Her chin rested on your clavicle and her eyes shone with unshed tears. “You did what Clint and Steve couldn’t quicker, easier — and all of it . . .”

“I love you,” you said, cutting her off effectively. She didn’t need to have a spiral right now — because that’s what this was turning into and Natasha needed to understand that your role in her life was not changing because of this. “I love you and we’re making it out, do you hear me? If your fear is that I’ll walk away then you can let that go right now.”

She stared at you, blinking the tears down even though some escaped. “I love you too, but sweetheart none of what you said after that was legible.”

It didn’t matter, you were out.

Doctor Cho was a woman of terrifying excellence and extraordinary character. You had never met her in person beforehand — a fact you proudly wore like a pin due to your incredible safety standards in the lab.

But once you started becoming more alert over the next few days, you managed to stay awake long enough for you to meet her at her daily check-ins.

This time your babysitter was Tony. You almost vomited your breakfast on him when he came to relieve Natasha so she could get some rest and TLC at the Compound. You would never protest her actually agreeing to go and take care of herself, but Tony, as deeply as you adored him as your boss and the man you’ve come to see as a friend, would not stop talking.

He had brought one of his miniature holographs and had removed your bedside table, “Oh sure, I was entirely done with my food, Tony,” you said as he wheeled it to the end of your bed, food still half eaten and fork still lifted in the air and in your hand.

He placed the gadget on the table and began fiddling with the settings before pulling up blueprints.

Specifically, your blueprints. Of the project you’d been so busy with for the last two years that it had taken its own team to continue progress on.

These looked different than your designs however, and the math was not correct in the corner of your work.

“Tony,” you started, patience ebbing by the second, “did you steal my project?”

“Absolutely not,” he said, his eyebrows shooting into his slicked up hairline as he crossed his arms and glared at you, “I was bored one evening —“

“— you don’t get bored —“

“ — and I found your project. And I should have, I admit, placed more interest in it with how often you helped me with my arts and crafts.” He rubbed his goatee, then snapped his fingers and started playing around with the holographic designs now activated. “I figured out why your prototypes weren’t working out.”

“Oh, gee,” you said glumly. “What did I miss?”

“It’s not that you missed anything, my young apprentice.” He started zooming into one of the corners of the blueprint. “Do you check your work?”

“Multiple times. Daily.”

“Are you sure?”

You squinted at him. “Yes.”

“Wonderful to hear, because you didn’t on this occasion of this design.” He pulled up the mathematics and pointed to your work. “It’s one of your first ones, and I think you’ve been grazing over it instead of going back to it.”

You trailed your eyes over each mathematical equation, and when you saw the mistake you made you groaned loudly. “Fuck.”

“Not a problem!” Tony replied cheerfully. “I fixed the math, thus fixing your big issue of not producing the right product. When you return to work, there will be the correct blueprints and a 3D printer ready to create a prototype.”

“You’ll have to wait, I’m afraid,” you said, again glumly. “Natasha has informed me that my return to any sort of work is forbidden until Cho signs off on it. Strictly.”

Tony rubbed his goatee again, contemplating. “I can perhaps talk her into allowing you to work from home?”

“That may actually be great. I fear I may go insane if I have nothing to do for six weeks outside of my physical therapy and checkups.”

“Bah.” Tony waved his hand at you as he turned off the hologram and pocketed it, flopping down on the visitors chair next to your bed. “You’ll be right as rain under Cho’s careful guidance.”

“You’d know?” you needled, quirking a brow at him.

He shrugged. “Avengers get hurt.”

You fell asleep sometime into his visit, waking up to Natasha having replaced him once more. She had scooted the chair next to the bed closer than Tony had had it and was reading through some paperwork. She wore a green jacket and her hair was done in a braid down her shoulder.

“Wow, I may go blind from just how pretty you are.”

Natasha let the page in between her fingers drift back down as she looked up and rolled her eyes, ensuring you saw such action. “And I may just cry from how low hanging fruit that was. Even for you. No, especially for you.”

“Leave her alone,” a deeply accented voice drawled from your left, startling you a greater deal than you expected, “she’s likely maintained some brain damage after Stark’s prattling today.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Just Yelena, unfortunately,” Natasha corrected, throwing the paperwork on top of her bag next to the chair as she leaned over to fix your wires after they nearly ripped from your skin.

The blonde in question was leaning against the windowsill, nearly shadowed out from the dipping sunlight and staring at you with a smirk on her face. “Oops.”

“Oops,” you mocked, Russian accent pronounced.

“Twist the IV, Nat,” Yelena says without looking away from you, “make it hurt.”

“Don’t you have some American politicians to terrorize or something?”

“Ha.” Her nose wrinkled in amusement as she pushed herself off and walked closer to you before collapsing at the end of your feet.

“Yelena,” Natasha scolded, though it went ignored. “Get off the bed.”

“Yeah, get off the bed.” You stared at her as Natasha flicked your wrist. “Ow.”

“You’re encouraging her. Enough. Both of you. I need you in almost an entire piece if we want to get you home, and that means Yelena shouldn’t be riling you up,” your girlfriend expressed, shooting daggered glares at the younger of the two.

Who proceeded to throw her hands up like she did nothing wrong in the slightest. “I am entertainment. For funnies.”

“You’re loads of funnies,” you agreed, smile rising up on your face. Natasha grabbed your chin and turned you to her. “And you’re so pretty.”

“She’s dosed,” Natasha concluded, releasing your chin after you leaned in for a kiss. “That’s why she’s entertaining you right now.”

Yelena seemed to find this aspect to be incredibly enticing, and she started trying to ask you questions about weird things like Kate’s favorite bar, and where she liked to go on dates, and —

“Yelena.” Natasha’s tone was sharp. “Stay and turn on the television, and watch it, or leave. I’m serious.”

“You’re always serious.” Yelena frowned at the redhead but skulked over to the free chair, away from you, and requested you turn on the TV.

The three of you watched the television in silence for about thirty minutes when Yelena asked you, “Did you tell them anything about Natasha?”

Natasha was silent, but you could have sworn you heard her inhale a sharp breath from your right.

“I don’t remember a lot,” you admitted to the blonde, finding the courage to look her in the eye. You found an intensity there of a sort — not angry or cold, but curious and questioning. “But I remember that I never said a word about Nat. I refused at every turn.”

Yelena flexes her fingers behind her head, then turned her gaze back to the television and was seemingly satisfied with that answer.

Natasha, however, was not.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why didn’t you give her what she wanted, if it could have saved your life?”

“Well, I signed an NDA,” you started casually, glancing over to gauge her reaction. When she didn’t give you the response you sought, you close your eyes. “Natasha, why the fuck would I give you up? Explain to me in simple terms, like I’m stupid.”

“I’m not going to insult your intelligence,” she quietly answered, in that dangerous tone you knew from her. “But if she asked you for something — it could have —“

“She was going to kill me anyway,” you said. “She even said she wanted to do it sooner. But my torture — as it was — was prolonged so that you’d have a better chance at getting to me. Seeing the damage. Reacting to it.”

“She wanted to do it sooner,” Natasha echoed, cold.

“She mentioned an employer. I don’t remember much of that conversation,” you said with guilt seeping into your tone, biting the inside of your cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” Natasha enveloped your hand in hers and pressed a kiss to your temple. “Don’t be sorry. Nothing you went through is your fault, or worth and apology from your end.”

“Maybe not,” you agreed, still unconvinced. “That doesn’t mean I can’t feel bad for what I couldn’t stop her from doing.”

“That’s my line,” Natasha scolded, shaking her head. “But you’re sweet.”

“Get a room,” Yelena muttered good-naturedly.

“We’re . . . We’re in my room.”

“I never asked,” you said tiredly once you got out of the hospital. “Did the cats . . . They’re okay?”

“Oh, they’re fine,” Natasha said as she drove you home, hand on your thigh, or your hand, or leg. Touching you was more common than it had been before you were taken and tortured. She couldn’t seem to let herself let you go. “They both managed to hide under the bed — though Sam got his hands mangled when he tried to grab them.”

“Oh no.” You smiled a little. “We should write him a card.”

“I think that would piss him off more, honestly.”

Natasha and r will return in part six

PART SIX

[running-in-the-dark]

-

[ms-demeanor]

if we're like, showing graphs and stuff, this is the type that i think a lot of people on tumblr are thinking of when they think about the economy.

Only one third of people with family incomes below $50k spent less than their income each month. I would guess that a lot of people on tumblr who get aggro about this topic (and the vast majority of people on r/povertyfinance, who discuss this sort of thing a lot) fall into this earning category.

Real wage increases only matter if you got a raise (one third of workers got a raise last year, which means that 2/3rds didn't - included in the economic wellbeing report linked above). Whether or not rent is outpacing wages only matters if you're not going to be rent burdened (more than a third of renter households are cost burdened in every state and 12 million rental households spend more than half their income on rent). Employment rates lose a lot of meaning when you're working multiple jobs to make ends meet (the percentage of multiply employed workers was falling in the US from 1996 to the 2010s, when it plateaued, then it started rising slightly then collapsed in 2020 and has been rising steeply since then and it's too soon to tell if it's going to go back to the plateau or keep going up).

Four in ten adults in the US is carrying some level of medical debt (even people who are insured) and 60% of people with medical debt have cut back on food, clothes or household items; about 50% of people with medical debt have used up all their savings.

Tumblr is the broke people website and yeah, people who are working two jobs to afford $900 for one room and utilities in a three bedroom apartment are not going to feel great about the economy even if real wages are raising and inflation-adjusted rents are actually pretty stable. "The Rent is too Damn High" has been a meme for 14 years so, like, yeah. Even if it's pretty stable when adjusted for inflation it is stable and HIGH.

It's hard to feel good about the economy when you're spending the last few days of the pay period hoping nothing unexpected hits your account, and it's VERY frustrating to be told that the economy's doing well when you've had to start selling blood to buy groceries.

Sure, unemployment is low, that's neat. It's good that inflation has stabilized (it genuinely has; prices are not likely to fall back to pre-inflation rates and eventually you'll likely be paid enough to reach equilibrium, but a lot of people aren't there yet).

But, like, it costs eight thousand dollars a year out of pocket to keep my spouse alive. I'd guess that we've paid off about a third of the 40-ish thousands of dollars he's racked up since his heart attack. His medical debt is why I don't have a retirement plan beyond "I guess I'll die?" So talking about how good the economy is kind of feels like being chained in the bottom of a pit that is slowly filling with water while people on the surface talk about the fact that the rain is tapering off. Neat! That's good! But I can't really see it from where I'm standing.

Inflation really is getting better. My state just enacted a $20 minimum wage for fast food workers. The Biden administration has worked hard to reduce many kinds of healthcare costs. A lot of people have had significant portions of their student debt cancelled.

But a lot of people are still having trouble affording groceries and it doesn't seem helpful to say "your perception of the economy is decoupled from the reality of the economy" on the "can I get a few dollars for food today?" website.

[angel-kyo]

Pay it no mind

Part XXVIII

In which reader confesses their feelings to Gojo, but it seems these are not returned (maybe?).

Warnings: reader is on the receiving end of rejection (kinda), and the fact that I'm obsessed with unrequited love is a warning itself. Firearms, injuries and blood are mentioned.

Previous: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part IV, Part XV, Part XVI, Part XVII, Part XVIII, Part XIX, Part XX, Part XXI, Part XXII, Part XXIII, Part XXIV, Part XXV, Part XXVI, Part XXVII

----------------------

Onoda Asahi had been a sorcerer what he liked to call a couple lives ago. He had left that world to have a normal job but ended up in the wrong side of the tax law. Sooner rather than later, the corporate life stopped fitting him.

He had then found a job that allowed him to keep a low profile. The only problem was that the salary was just as low. So, he had resorted to do some questionable jobs for anyone who could pay the right price.

When someone from his old life as a sorcerer had contacted him to get rid of a certain nuisance for a decent amount, he had accepted in a heartbeat.

“You can take out a curse but not a human?” Onoda asked to the man who had summoned him. “That’s some strange morality, alright.”

“You’re one to lecture.” The man took an envelope out of his haori and gracefully put it on the table. “If you must know, it is not about the when and the who takes them out, but the why. Their death cannot be linked to us.”

He looked at your finally immobilized form on the floor.

His employer informed him of your upcoming promotion to grade one, and the kind of missions you were taking. His role would be simple. He was just going to activate his technique, which could debilitate a target of his choice if it was within range, from somewhere near your battle.

A strong curse and a sorcerer who was not at their full potential; it was an easy equation. It would be another work accident.

Except that he kept failing. Without knowing the specifics of the curse you were fighting, he had been activating his technique intermittently in the areas where he has been informed you would be, but he could not keep it up for prolonged periods of time without being noticed, and he would not get too close to the battlefield for the same reason. As such, he had not been able to time his debilitating technique with the exact second when you may receive a fatal blow.

How did he know that? Because you were still alive and kicking.

The man who asked him to tail your missions had been clear to state that when did not matter much. In fact, it would be suspicious if an obviously planned attack happened that season. That is why it had to look like an accident.

“Half now, half when we get notice of their demise, whenever that is.” The man slid the envelope in his direction and stood up, straightening his haori. “But remember, Onoda, sooner is better than later.”

And he could not agree more, especially if half of his payment was still pending. So, if sabotaging your assignments would not work, he would try the direct approach.

That is how he had gotten into your apartment. He would end things there cleanly. However, when he heard you in the hall calling someone because you did not have your keys, and he opened the door discreetly so you would come in, he admittedly thought that would make you suspicious and this plan would not work either.

Onoda walked to the side of the room where his gun had landed after you kicked it out of his hand. He had hesitated to use his technique in your apartment because of the residuals and all. If a sorcerer came over, it would ruin the narrative of a-robbery-gone-wrong he had wanted to build.

A thief who thought the owner was not home, surprised in the middle of the night, gets scared and shoots once -no, twice- before running away.

He thought it was a believable story. Newspapers where full of those.

Of course, that fell out when the first and second shots had missed their target and not gone through your head as he had planned. He must have impacted somewhere else though, because there where bloodstains on the floor.

He picked up the gun and eyed your unconscious form.

He still had a bullet left.

Activating his technique as a shock instead of a field had allowed him to fightback and hit your head. If he left you there, bleeding and unlikely to wake up any time soon, maybe you would be dead in the morning, and he would get his paycheck in the afternoon.

If he shot you once more, he would make sure.

That was what he was going to do when he noticed a little girl standing at your doorway, looking at you.

“Your cat is on my window,” she said.

Onoda thought maybe the girl had been awaken by the racket of the fight. He had put a silencer on the gun as to not wake up your neighbors, but whatever the reason, what was a little girl doing by herself outside of her home at this hour?

“Are they sleeping?” the question was then directed to him with a curious look. That was not the man she had seen around before nor the homewrecker with white hair her mother had told her to stay away from, and why where you sleeping on the floor?

Onoda realized he had not much choice. The girl was probably too young to understand what was going on, but she had seen him, and that was an issue.

Suddenly, he decided that last bullet would have a different use.

***

It was past 1:30 a.m. when Nitta tried to park near your building.

She had returned to give back your keys, which she had found on the backseat of the car. She knew they were yours because she had not driven around anyone else that night, but when she had called to let you know she was on her way back, you had not answered your phone.

I need to be better at this, Nitta thought, I should have noticed they had left the keys there sooner.

She guessed that in the worst-case scenario she would find you sitting outside your door, but what she found was a police car outside your building and a group of people in the street.

When she stepped closer, Nitta heard a frantic woman speaking to an officer and understood what the commotion was about.

Someone had been shot in the building. The floor had been evacuated as a preventive measure, although the woman's daughter, the only person who had seen the suspect, had said the man had shot the lights off and escaped through the balcony. It was the girl’s scream at that what had woken up her mother, and she had found her neighbor unconscious and wounded. All officers in the area had already been alerted to look out for a shooter.

“Who was the victim?” Nitta asked to a man standing nearby.

“The occupant of the 101,” the man responded without paying much attention to her, his focus on the surroundings, as if waiting for someone to open fire from the dark. “I think they…”

Nitta was momentarily too shocked to continue listening to what the man said next, because she remembered all the relevant addresses that were given to her, including those of the sorcerers that she assisted on the regular, and she knew the set of keys she was holding was likely to include the key that opened the door to the 101.

***

“Gojo?” Ieiri’s voice was calling him from his phone, but he could not bring himself to say anything. “Gojo, are you still there? Did you hear what I said?”

He had. In fact, that had been the last thing he heard before the world went awfully silent for a second, and he felt his legs and arms going numb, as if all the blood in his body had been redirected to his heart so it could take the news Shoko had just delivered to him. Then Shoko’s voice had distorted like a breaking line.

[name]… Shot… Hospital… Major blood loss… Surgery… “You should come,” Shoko’s voice was firm but compassionate in that professional tone Satoru thought doctors surely had to be taught to use when acting as the messengers of bad news.

Early in the days you had started taking solo missions in your graduating year, you had sometimes returned wounded, and it had been Shoko’s job to patch you up and call Satoru to pick you up.

“Gojo, you should come. [name] did something silly again and needs to be carried to their room,” Ieiri said, a teasing smile forming on her face while she looked at you.

“I do not!” your shouted in the background.

But now there was something else in that tone that made Satoru feel like the ground was shifting beneath him, some genuine worry he did not like, because what if Shoko was not asking him to come and take you home but to come and say goodbye?

----------------------

Note: I'll leave this here and go back to hiding slowly...

Thank you for reading!

Next: Part XXIX

@mavs-stuff @witchbybirth @crookedlyaddictedone-blog @tqd4455 @maybe-a-bi-witch @mo0nforme @maliakealoha @zacatecanaaaa @blushhpeachh @astriarose @missesgojosatoru @ba-ks @sukunasleftkneecap @songbirdlully @cole-silas @heijihattorisgf @chokesonspit @hersheyzzz @smolbeanzzz @luciledreamz @avidreadee123 @moonmalice @ratscandaler @sadmonke

[heathersdesk]

The F Word

I'm an elder millennial and I've been in LDS/Mormon online spaces since I was a teenager. Since 2007. Sixteen years. That's almost as long as some of you have been alive. And there's something I've never talked about before that I want to explain to those of you who need to hear it. And you need to stick around for THE WHOLE THING not to misunderstand what I'm going to say.

The vast majority of you end up okay. You'll make it. You'll figure out your happiness and embrace it fully, and it'll all work out. You'll be okay. I care about you all tremendously, but I've seen your stories play out enough times that I know how it ends. If we can keep you from yeeting off the mortal coil prematurely, you'll be just fine.

There is one group this isn't true for. They're the ones I worry about the most every time I see them: the trad wife cohort. The women who have already decided that their only plan for their future is to get married, have an undetermined number of children, and leave everything after that as a giant question mark, to be decided for them by other people's choices.

I'm the only LDS person in my family. I come from a family with three generations of divorced/separated women. To be financially independent enough to take care of myself was instilled in me from birth. Protect yourself and your financial freedom from abusive men, from men who do not have your best interest anywhere near their thoughts.

That's what I learned from watching my mother work herself to the bone to pay for my father's attorney from the constant legal trouble that alcoholism, drugs, and nonsense behavior from untreated mental illness brought upon us. There were times we didn't have food, but there was always a case of beer in the refrigerator. That's what I learned from my grandmother, who divorced her husband at a time when that was unheard of because he abused her. That was what I learned from not one, but two great-grandmothers who, as southern women with all of the cultural baggage it entailed, left their husbands and lived on their own rather than putting up with disrespectful behavior from the men they married. Women who believed that it is better to be alone than with any man who doesn't respect you.

This is my backstory, my lore, if you will. And I swore I would honor it by never putting myself anywhere near situations that looked like these. To be financially dependent on any man, no matter how kind and generous, was something I never wanted for myself. I wanted my own job, my own money, the ability to travel, to do as I pleased. I wanted financial freedom, the security of knowing I would always be able to take care of myself AND him AND our children if it ever came down to that.

That's not the life I have. In all but name only, I'm a trad wife. Chronic illness and disabilities have made it so I cannot work. I am fully financially dependent on my husband, and every effort I have made to change my situation has come at great financial expense, as well as compromising my physical and mental health. I've had to let go of the life I wanted for myself because I've never found any employer who was willing to give me the accommodations I need to accomplish even a fraction of my goals. And even if they did, it's impossible for me to work enough hours for me to ever achieve them.

I'm a trad wife, not by choice, but out of necessity. And it scares me every day.

If my husband dies in an accident, or a mass shooting? If he becomes disabled? If he ever becomes as sick as I am, or worse? What will we do? We have plans for this. We have multiple retirement accounts, including one in my own name, that he puts money into. He sees my situation, understands it, and prioritizes it in how he manages our finances. But if it were to happen today, tomorrow, any time before we both can retire, we're screwed. Shit Creek, no paddle.

If he leaves me? If I ever have to leave him? How will I support myself? Honestly, I don't know. I don't have an answer to that question. It scares me more than I can articulate. I hope I never have to find out because I'm too disabled to take care of myself. That's the only thing I know.

There are too many women who are far too eager to put themselves into this place of financial insecurity and precarity. They don't even realize how dangerous that path is, for them and for their children, to have nothing that truly belongs to you. Not really. Not if the money that paid for it wasn't yours. Not when everything you treasure and recognize as the life you want has his name on it.

Being a trad wife is built on an agreement of mutual exploitation. In exchange for providing unpaid, undocumented labor, your spouse has agreed to pay all of your expenses indefinitely into the future. If this were a job, you would never agree to those terms. Trad wives don't understand that when it comes to marriage, however, they're jumping into that exact situation head first.

All of this to say: I'm not morally or ideologically opposed to anyone being a house wife or SAHM. I understand EXACTLY what happens to women to make that a necessity. I don't judge anyone who ends up in that position, either by choice or by force. But I'm not going to let anyone go into or remain in that situation blindly, having never once thought about how to finance the life they're dreaming about. I'm not going to let anyone walk through life somehow thinking that everything is supposed to magically work out for them like some sort of fairy tale. That's not how the world works. That not how life works. And I hate the thought that the first time all of this occurs to someone is when their life comes crashing down around them.

If "feminism" is the dirtiest word you know, you're not in any kind of position to advocate for yourself. If you don't see yourself as your husband's equal (which is what feminism, by definition, HAS to mean), how could you even begin to negotiate for yourself in a divorce, a job interview after being out of the workplace for 10+ years, or to family who you'll be reliant upon to get you back on your feet? If you don't even have the courage to say you deserve to be treated like an equal in society when everything is going to plan, how would you do it from the floor with the wind knocked out of you?

Not as long as "feminism" is the dirtiest word they know.

I'm not here to argue about the superiority of trad wives OR working wives. I'm not here to fight for anything but UBI so we can all exist in a more secure financial state, independent of individual circumstances. And I'm definitely not here to scare you.

I'm simply here as the person you will inevitably be turning to in that moment of crisis, where faith and devotion fall short of giving you everything you wanted in life. I'll be the one with the bottle of water and saying "You are brilliant and strong. You can figure this out." I'll also be the one nodding in agreement that your husband took for granted all the love and labor you gave to him, purely because he was socialized to think he has a right to do that to you. No, I don't think you're crazy. No, I don't think you're asking too much. YES, YOU NEED A LAWYER FOR YOUR CHILD SUPPORT CASE. I'll be there for all of it, to say all of the things to you that you can't imagine ever needing when you say "all I want is to be a trad wife."

How do I know? Because I've been doing it for sixteen years now with people who sounded just like you do now. In person and online. In public and in private. With friends and strangers. I've never had the luxury of being anything but a feminist, an advocate for women they don't even realize they need, that they don't (and won't!) have the vocabulary to ask for.

[askuemki]

i wrote a thing one night and I don't know what to make of it.. I feel like it might be general enough to imagine anyone there?? but like its gay asf so there's that

warning for general mentions of intimacy..

...

To love is to feel alive, as for I am the envious weed in your garden. My vines seep through your soils, creeping over your roots. They sprawl out and over, under and yonder. A fustrage with each inch I take. I erupt your livelihood, to take the tears you weep. As you cry, I cry with you; a crude symbiosis. My leaves carnage, a toothy grin grows wirily. To be in sorrow is to be in torment, my thorns twisting and straining against themselves.

Yet you grew anew once again, no matter how many times the petals are snipped. As for you are the flower and I am the weed. I am to rid, you get to stay; you get your way, and I must go away… Why must it be YOU? I could do more than a flower could ever. You laze upon the soil, your petals are an awe-ful to the human eye. The hands of love graze you so gently, cupping your pot with a sincerity that I could only ponder. His eyes so lovingly grow at the sight of you, so enlarged, you can see your own reflection. To be in the void of his space, he idles you as a star. To know you are loved, he keeps you at bay… But tenderness sanctioned of two, more than a human could ever provide. Taken into the arms of another, enwrapped by a warmth yearning to comfort. To be worshipped by your lover as she melts into a bow. To be kissed and overwhelmed by her desperation, just so you're overcame with love. Perfection is a fragile thing, to achieve it is to turn you into glass. No matter how many boulders you overtake, no matter how many times you drowned to suffer, her hands laid upon you so achingly sweet. Handled as glass, a sculpture to preserve, her honeyed fingers cup at your cheek to rest your weary head. If you yearn for more, she is delighted to bless you more, over and over until the early dawn perverts through your window. And then to wake up with her sunkissed face, envy blots your thoughts. Your own hands jolt with covetiveness, qualm a hallucination that you dream improper. But you have not been chastised by Him. While endorsed, you are not stricken with a blasphemest crime. You hold her with resolve, your chest swoons steadfast, as she is here and you are hers. The snooty sun enlightens your room, revealing the revalous fever. You are entangled with warmth that adorns you, the nest messied of her adoration. Your mess stained the sheets, splattered with reeking pearls. Shunning the spots that could paint your legs, you've met with frustration. Her warmth, lukewarm; you ache to chain yourself to the embrace. But as she is glory, inherited a kindness just for you, beckons to your sulking. You cloaked and soaked your impurity, and it had seemed you reset the clock to yesterday. Refusing to conform to modesty, you lay disrobed. Time can wait for the both of you, it leaped without you enough. The sun slowly slid by. A silence reserved for two, a comfortable blanket weighing the both of you down. Yet, your snide mind made you think, the drug of love wears the oppression off. Yet, it had made a point that weaned you off your high. You have been dearly placed into a capsule to be adored, to be admired, but all you've done is to greedily bury yourself in the hoard of her fondness. Not the weed you have declared, but you are her star in the soothing sea of her eyes, and to shine is to give, to be admired you must have a greatness deemed worthy. You overtake the employment of your blankets, wrapping around her as if she were a gift. Her hair, soft as fur of a stuffed plush, idling by to pet. She has a landscape of her own for you to explore, dips and grooves met by your hands grows a vault of warmth; treasure only for two. To be loved is to be endowed in greatness; to love, a coaxing to work for, but the rewards are worth greater… A shrill mellow enough to mercy your ears, yet it sparks within you. Two stars shine, bathed in another's light. They strive as two, you and her. Forever more, evermore, until the end of time.

[tiredassmage]

For the OC relationship asks! Intimacy, social circle and meet strange for the OC of your choice! 😁

Finally decided I Really want to spend more time talking about Nik, so I'm going to put him in the hot seat for this one! :D

[oc relationship asks]

Intimacy: Is your OC the type of person to engage in long-term relationships, or are they more casual in their intimacy and affection? How do they feel about intimacy and relationships in general?

Nik tends to run rather casual with relationships. He doesn't mind if someone only wants to stick around for a day, a few days, maybe a couple weeks... He would generally say he prefers to approach such things with that more no-strings attached and no expectations necessary mindset and... it is not... not influenced by the kind of work he does. I think arguably at the heart of the matter - or at least as an important core of it - is the fact that Nik has led a life filled with making enemies, and while it wouldn't be the first or even a relatively early thing he'd admit to, it's not the kind of lifestyle he wants to saddle just anybody with.

At the very least, he feels more assured if it's someone that can 'take care of' themself. Someone that might be at least somewhat familiar with how to handle the rabble that often tangles with liars, killers, thieves, gangsters, and crime lords like himself. Someone with enough 'attitude' that they won't take being pushed around. A part of him trusts they won't be such an easy target if they are that way, and, even more unlikely to be clearly admitted, it might even be an attractive quality.

Beyond all of that, I do think he's... fairly casual with being intimate with a partner - in private. There's a part of him I think that likes being a bit of a protector in this way; he doesn't want his partner(s) to take a fall for his own actions, he likes when he feels he doesn't have to "worry too much" about their abilities, but he also... likes to feel like he can do something, if he must. And when you can get back the cooler, distanced outer walls, he... enjoys taking care of his partner(s). Likes sitting with them and gently massaging their arms or shoulders while they talk about their day, likes to be able to lay with and hold them. He likes that feeling of being able to keep them safe - even if it just a feeling, a bit of an illusion.

To keep from rambling on too much longer, I think... Nik... seems fairly in-control and perhaps unbothered at a glance, but I also think he's got one of the worst cases of the spy's paranoia of my set of agents - and therefore my set of blorbos. He earned his reputation prior to being taken into Imperial Intelligence as one of the top enforcers and assassins you could ask for, but being left to take beatings and something of a fall by one of his previous employers - and one he had shown quite the dedication to - really changed his outlook. No cartel head was ever going to show him the same kind of loyalty they demanded, he'd say in hindsight. And that kind of mindset has really trickled out to everything else. Nik would probably say he's fine without a relationship, he's fine remaining uncommitted, and... he can take care of himself. Which isn't all untrue, exactly, but... I think he finds that it's... nice. To have someone that'll actually have your back. And given that he's always looking for backup plans to keep himself alive and ahead.., the kind of trust to place in someone that they won't get him hurt again? That they won't work their way close to him and leave him? It's... a lot. And it'd mean a lot to be able to do that. Being 'fine' is one thing, but being happy is another, after all.

Social Circle - What's your OC's social circle? Are they obligated to spend time with others in their circle, or are they happy to be there? Has their social standing and social circle ever changed, and if so, how did your OC feel about it?

In a few words? Limited and almost ever-changing. To kind of pick up on the coat tails of the last part of the first answer, I think a sense of belonging is something he wants a bit more than he actually tends to admit to himself. He grew up among the galaxy's underworld, matured in the company of smugglers and criminals, and with that familiarity a certain kind of comfort comes. He'll probably always feel far more at home in a seedy Hutta cantina than he ever did among his 'peers' during his service to Imperial Intelligence.

But even amongst those he decides he... might like well-enough, those that might even share good ideas or sympathies... Nik's ability to really trust probably has about as many, if not more, bolt holes in it than those cantinas. Nikihlus keeps acquaintances. An ever-running logbook in his mind of who might be able to help him with a certain kind of need. Accepting work in Imperial Intelligence, for example, filled a need - the need to stay alive, considering the alternative was... rather unpleasant, given the charges of being sent against the Empire's goals.

Something I've found interesting with him is that Nik is by pretty much no means someone who is actually invested in improving aliens' standing within the Empire, but also part of his process of leaving himself exit plans is... testing the length of his leash a little, if you will. He'd call himself self-interested, and part of that interest is not being treated simply like a tool, so he's made some rebukes in Intelligence against Imperial xenophobia - if for no other reason than to remind them that he's not their loyal hound. As much as one can, at any rate. I like to think Keeper probably knew from the start that Nik only intended to make good on his offer of employment so long as it was convenient, and to make a break for it when a better opportunity arose. Nik's certainly got no love for the Empire, and his loyalty is only ensured in the promise of payment and the 'permission' for survival granted in exchange for his services.

And there's certainly a part of him that hates ever having made that deal. But lingering on it, getting too involved in just what is demeaning about the arrangement and what isn't doesn't necessarily keep him alive. It certainly doesn't ensure the pay. He knows enough to not bite the hand that feeds while they're looking at him for it. He does, after all, intend to make good his escape after the bite.

Meet Strange: What's the most memorable way your OC has ever met a new person? Was it a good experience? Bad experience? Just plain weird? How's their relationship with that person now?

I'd make an argument for it being old man Keeper. Keeper's directly responsible for recruiting Nikihlus to Imperial Intelligence, offering him the Cipher's path as an alternative to execution for work against the Empire. On paper, it's a simple enough proposition, and not entirely out of character for what Nik knows of the Empire. It's Imperial self-interest, simply. To make use of a tool until it breaks, until it is no longer useful.

It gives Nik a somewhat... complex relationship with Keeper. At face value, he never really expected the man to give a damn about his well-being in the arrangement, but there's glimpses here and there that the man might give a sliver enough of a damn whether he makes it back from his missions - even if maybe it is only because it's wasteful to get your operatives actively or negligently injured or killed in the line of duty. It's not easy to train capable and reliable ones, after all. Keeper's frequently the primary subject of when Nik attempts to test that leash of Imperial control then; he judges the man isn't... entirely likely to shoot him on the spot for being a nuisance. And that earns the old man a... morsel of something like respect.

But the man's also part of the Imperial system that is definitively not as interested in Nik's well-being and future as Nik rightly is. He's still the face of the arm-twisting deal by which Nik was offered the 'grace' to live, like it's something the Empire really has a right to determine (he resoundingly loathes that it pretends it does). At the end of the day, he'd go through the man without real hesitation to regain his autonomy and freedom. Imperial Intelligence is a means to an end. A currently paying means to an end, but an unwanted sort of middleman in the matter nonetheless.

And I think another part of it that makes Nik give him a smidgen of respect for it is that I think they both operate with an understanding of these under-the-surface feelings. And the understanding that they're not... really misplaced. But Keeper is nothing if not pragmatic about his resources, and Nikihlus deems him one of the more tolerable authority figures he's answered to in his life.

Another contender for this spot would probably be Kaliyo. Nikihlus isn't my main canon to the Imperial Agent story, after all, but him and Kaliyo would get along far too well, I think, to deny them ever having run into each other. So, in amongst my main characters, I imagine Nik and Kaliyo run into each other after the class stories; Nik is more 'canonically' Cipher Seven, and uses the chaos Cipher Nine creates amidst the Castellans and the Star Cabal to fake his death on Imperial records and slip the leash of his Imperial masters. I never quite worked out the specifics of how they met because I never got to a point where it was relevant to include in anything, but it's likely they met perhaps around the Shadow of Revan era. The idea was that neither of them were closely tied to Imperial interests any longer, and they're the kind that would cause trouble with each other. One of Kaliyo's many stories of people she mused at taking over the galaxy with, except Nik is I think the kind that could manage to hang with her. Running underworld business, looking out for themselves, blazing a trail of chaos and thieving and whatever else suited their fancy across the galaxy together. Possibly with a little bit of romance; stay tuned for if I manage to get them together in his playthrough, lol.

[sharlenedablogger]

What is STEM?

STEM stands for science, technology, engineering, and math. These four fields share an emphasis on innovation, problem-solving, and critical thinking. And together they make up a popular and fast-growing industry.

Most STEM workers use computers and other technology in their day-to-day jobs. Many also use the scientific method to test hypotheses and theories. Most STEM jobs are in high demand but suffer from a lack of qualified candidates.

STEM is necessary for growing the economy and staying globally competitive. As society innovates and technology advances, the need for professionals who understand how these technologies work and who can propose practical solutions continues to grow. The U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics (BLS) calls STEM careers "tommorow's job," emphasizing the importance of these unique industries. Today, STEM jobs are in high demand, and many are projected to stay in demand for several years. At the same time, STEM professionals are in short supply, which is why so many colleges — as well as the U.S. government — are imploring students to study STEM. This high demand for computing professionals makes sense if you consider how much of our lives have become reliant on some form of digital technology. It’s how we communicate and keep in touch. It’s how we entertain ourselves. It starts the engines in our cars; in medical practices, it keeps us alive; it drives massive segments of our economy; and for better or worse, advances in digital technology will continue to control the future direction of our society. As our daily lives become more reliant on software and digital devices, jobs in computing will become increasingly more important.

Engineering and Physical Science is the next largest category of in-demand STEM careers. These are careers like Orthodontists, Petroleum Engineers, Biochemists, Nurse Anesthetists, Civil Engineers, and Cartographers. Yes, cartographers—map makers—are still a thing and they earn a median salary of $63,990. (Cool, I know.) These types of careers have much less to do with computers and more to do with rolling up your sleeves and getting elbow deep in real work, with real results that you can see right now.

Life Sciences and Mathematics are much smaller fields than the previous two, but they make up the third most significant chunk of STEM careers. These two fields involve the more theoretical STEM careers that account for only a small amount of the demand for STEM professionals. These are careers like being a Clinical Research Associate or an Economist that—while still in demand—might be harder to find a position in. However, these are by no means your only options when it comes to STEM careers. It doesn’t matter whether you prefer working with computers, building robots, drawing blueprints for skyscrapers, or developing groundbreaking medicine. If you can make it through a STEM program in college, there’s a STEM career for you. 

Going through a STEM program is pretty intense. It requires a lot of dedication, perseverance, and sacrifice to make it all the way through. No matter how, this style of education builds the skills and mindsets that employers find incredibly valuable. And since the demand for STEM professionals is so high, employers in STEM fields are willing to offer some of the most generous starting salaries that recent graduates can get.

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 14 - Farengar II: Dragon Rising

Fredas 22nd of Last Seed 4E201 Afternoon

Farengar

It grates on my nerves, sometimes, how often I have to interact with simpletons during the course of my research. If I could, I'd simply sit in my study, and have a runner retrieve books for me until my voice disappeared from disuse. Luckily, with most of the people, using small words and stroking their ego is enough to get what I need, and I need never speak with them again once our business is concluded.. The ones I can't stand are the brutes with just enough brains to be knowledgeable in one thing they desire, but care for naught else.

Such as Delphine.

"You see? The terminology is clearly First Era or even earlier. I'm convinced this is a copy of a much older text. Perhaps dating to just after the Dragon War. If so, I could use this to cross-reference the names with other, later texts." The text in question - The Holding of Jarl Gjalund - wasn't... completely useless. It was certainly valuable thanks to its age, but the only insight it gave was a loose translation of old places that could help decipher other texts. Useful only in conjunction with other texts, but no real intrinsic value to speak of.

But, of course, none of this matter to Delphine. She requires direct answers, careless of such subtext, unless it informs exactly what she wants to hear. "Good. I'm glad to see you're making progress. My employers are anxious to have some tangible answers."

Ah, yes. Delphine's mysterious 'employers.' People with an odd number of old, supposedly lost, manuscripts and information. Would I could meet them in person rather than work through this willfully ignorant intermediary, but she insists that they insist that secrecy is imperative for their survival. Imagine how much progress I'd actually make then. Ah well, I suppose not every scholar can count on a Jarl to guarantee their safety. "Oh, have no fear. The Jarl himself has finally taken an interest, so I'm now able to devote most of my time to this research." No more inventing cantrips to keep skeevers out of the food stores. Thank Julianos.

"Time is running, Farengar, don't forget. This isn't some theoretical question. Dragons have come back." I frown. Another thing I don't like about Delphine; while her employers might have a wealth of knowledge, she herself is more than abrasive and ignorant. I can tell she has no interest in the actual research itself. No interest in knowledge for understanding's sake. So why pursue it? Doubtless for destructive purposes, like so many of her kind. I worry what she personally might do with that information. Not until I myself understand more.

"Yes, yes. Don't worry. Although the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously valuable..." A few loud voices from the hall distract me, but only for a moment. "Now, let me show you something else I found... Very intriguing." I duck beneath my desk, looking for that scroll with the Dragon Cult information. I could have sworn I left it here... "I think your employers may be interested as well."

"Farengar," Delphine says suddenly. "You have visitors."

"Hmm?" By the Eight, can't I have a single meeting uninterrupted? The price of my research finally being important, I suppose. "Who is it?"

"Cheers, Farengar!"

That voice. I bang my head against the desk standing up, but sure enough, standing in the doorway is... Blast, I knew I'd forget his name. "Ah, yes, the Jarl's protégé! Back from Bleak Falls Barrow? You didn't die, it seems."

"Never felt more alive, Farengar. Thought the same can't be said for that necromancer we found in Brittleshin Pass, eh Uthgerd?"

The woman standing beside him, who I vaguely remember from the inn a few weeks back, scoffs, "Please, the man was dead inside long before we stumbled upon him. Didn't stop you from screaming like a child when you saw those skeletons."

"They startled me! And of course you wouldn't mention those ice runes I saved your hide from."

"You're just upset that I let him spark your ass once because you wouldn't stop trying to tell me how to fight."

They both laugh, and I notice Delphine seems amused by their banter. However, more important things are at play here. "Did you retrieve what I sent you for?"

Still chuckling, the woman reaches into her bag and pulls out a tablet. One look confirms it, if Delphine's suddenly hungry look hadn't. Old artefacts always have a certain gravitas about them. "Aaahhh, the Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow. Seems you are a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way."

She places the tablet on my desk, as I pull out a roll of parchment and charcoal. Tracings are more useful for casual investigation; no need to lug the tablet to and fro to see this or that detail. And I'm sure Delphine's employers would love a copy as well.

"What about our reward?"

"You'll have to see the Jarl about that," I say, eyes not leaving my half-finished tracing. "Perhaps his steward, Avenicci. I'm sure one of them will pay you appropriately. My... associate here," I use the term for Delphine for lack of a better one, "will be pleased to see your handiwork. She discovered its location, by means she has so far declined to share with me." Delphine, naturally, pointedly ignores my glare as I continue. "So your information was correct after all. And we have our friends here to thank for recovering it for us."

For her part, Delphine looks appreciatively at the pair, though she seems more focused on Uthgerd than... The bard. Tedo? No, that's not it. "So you went into Bleak Falls Barrow and got that? Nice work."

She starts to speak again, but out of nowhere Irileth suddenly runs into my study, shouting my name. We all stop, and I notice a commotion in the throne room, guards scurrying everywhere. What in Tamriel could have sent the ants into such a flurry? "Farengar, you need to come at once. A dragon's been sighted nearby. You should come too." The last part is said to the adventurers, as if an afterthought, but I hardly care. My pulse quickens. A dragon!

"A dragon! How exciting! Where was it seen? What was it doing?"

Irileth, ever the stick in the mud, replies, "I'd take this a bit more seriously if I were you. If a dragon decides to attack Whiterun, I don't know if we can stop it." Always the pessimist. There's a skull staring at us right this moment that shows us it's possible. Rather than respond, I follow Irileth up a set of stairs to the Jarl's map room. The crowd is short of overwhelming, a dozen people all vying for attention at once, but I simply must find out more.

The Jarl finally manages to quieten the room, and addresses a guard sitting near the table, guzzling a skein of water. His face was pale as snow, as though he'd seen a ghost. Or, I suppose, a dragon. Much more intimidating and accurate. The guard's conversation with the Jarl was short and informative; a dragon sighted near the Western Watchtower, circling it, but not attacking it. Though, if that behaviour is aught to go by, that might easily have changed since then. I could better tell if I had been there, or had the information been more detailed. But still. A live dragon. That's all I need to hear.

When the Jarl finishes informing his housecarl to rally the guards, I approach him with purpose. "My Jarl, I should come along. I would very much like to see this dragon myself."

"No." His response is instantaneous and sharp. "I can't afford to risk both of you. I need you here working on ways to defend the city against this dragon."

I almost retort a number of rebuttals; my need to know better firsthand the capabilities of dragons, the inaccuracy of secondary accounts, the usefulness of my own knowledge to help the guards. But his words to Irileth, about coming back alive and not becoming a martyr, give me pause. Delphine mentioned before that my research is no longer merely academic. A dragon, full of fire, sharp fangs and claws, and possibly rage, is just outside the Hold's borders. Perhaps my observations would be done best from a safer distance. I nod to the Jarl, to show my agreement with him, and head out. I had best find a suitable vantage point from the ramparts to oversee the events unfolding. And, with any luck, perhaps I'll have more than mere bones to examine once all this is over.

Chapter 13 - Uthgerd IV: Bleak Falls Barrow x Chapter 15 - Irileth I: Dragon Rising

[autumnshowell]

fabula:: Autumn Howell

Name: Autumn Howell Occupation: Personal Driver for A.J. Astor Age: 25 Born (Born Late October 1999) Sexuality: Lesbian Species: Werewolf Pack: Eventide Hometown: Port Leiry Relationship Status: Going Steady with @photoariaPersonality: + + : Loyal, Creative, Brave, Ambitious - - : Resentful, Selfish, Stubborn, Hot-Tempered Major Connections: @photoaria (girlfriend) @kevma (good buddy) @huntedarte (wolfdad) @retrospectral (other mother [positive]) @summersauveterre (half-sister) @ajastor (employer/bad influence) Updated 2/25

Personality Traits: Once upon a time Autumn was a quiet, mild-mannered, and almost reclusive young woman. She rarely argued, or stood up for herself, or pushed back against others, even if she felt slighted or hurt. That changed when her car struck Arte Ryan on a full moon and the red wolf sunk their teeth into her shoulder.

In the aftermath of that accident, the pads, gloves, and guard rails came off, and Autumn's formerly quiet, internalizing, non-confrontational attitude began to shift wildly, the wolf inside her becoming a goading force to not stand for things that hurt her or make her feel weak or stupid or small. She's become hot tempered, and her stubbornness and resentful nature manifest themselves more openly than ever before; a wolf that won't be bullied out of its territory. Biography - [[tw; illness, death, grief, mental health, injury, parental abuse, homophobia]]

Autumn always thought she was going to be an author. Her teachers and babysitters always liked to comment on her creativity and her love for scribbling down stories and telling tall tales to excuse even the most minor of childhood crimes. For a while, she even believed them when they said she’d be selling books on the best-sellers list one day. Her father encouraged her, her mother clicked her tongue - writers are poor, she'd say to him. Her father fell ill at a young age, and Autumn, only a child herself, watched him whither away in bed while her mother seemingly grew more and more spite-filled and resentful of the work required to keep him clean and comfortable - this was the thin end of the wedge that would ultimately cause a stark rift between Autumn and her mother Amanda. When her father died, Autumn was morose and distraught for months. Her mother acted relieved, as if a burden had been removed from her life, content to wallpaper over the hole in her daughter's life with placation about how much she missed her father out of one corner of her mouth while being all too eager to talk about how much better off they were out of the other. Further, what had been mild disinterest while her father was alive slowly turned into a sort of vindictive resentment; Autumn's mind had taken a big blow with her father's loss, and Amanda had no time or inclination to offer love or help to her daughter. Growing up in those early years after her father's death was a lot of 'move on', 'get over it', 'grow up'.

In school, Autumn engaged with her peers through writer’s club, too afraid to make friends the normal way. She played sports sparingly, though badly, and eventually quit. Of course, she had a handful of regular friends, the kind who are largely incidental, who you think of as your closest confidants up until you throw your mortarboards to the sky after senior graduation and everybody scatters to the wind like dandelion seeds.

She had a shot at Whitmore or UC Berkely, but her mother's constant guilt-tripping and domineering kept her stuck in Port Leiry and sentenced her to a stint at Tideview. There at university she makes the best of the disappointment, and the distance from the strained relationship with her mother and some actual psychiatric help proves a boon. She starts coming out of her shell there, and a girl teaches her that she likes girls, too, and they have a thing, a dangerous proposition in a small town, but it doesn't really matter - Autumn's too clingy, or not good enough, or too annoying, and she gets ghosted, and any attempt to find out why leads to vitriol that sends her crawling right back into her shell.

She doesn't even properly graduate, either, because her mother hurts her leg and doesn't take care of it and the infection calls Autumn home. She takes a year off to play nurse to a woman that couldn't be less grateful, but from whom Autumn is convinced she can earn withheld love. It doesn't work. Her mom heals. Autumn never goes back to school, and settles into a dead in life in what she sees as a dead end city, living with a mom who only likes her when she does exactly as told. Update - Game Start: Eventually she comes to terms with the idea that she and her mother don't get along in the same space, and so she moves out, gets an apartment. Her mother has hooks in her hard though, and so she still busts her ass to help out at the house - cleaning, keeping the lawn tended - it makes Autumn feel like an ungrateful failure whenever she tries to pull away, and her mother's happy to provide approval so long as she gets something out of it. Autumn still resents her, but a part of her desperately craves her approval, or her love, or anything really.

In a bookstore she meets a girl - Aria - the most beautiful girl she's ever seen. The girl, Aria, is similarly drawn to her, and in the parking lot, attacks and drinks some of Autumn's blood. Autumn goes home with a sore neck and a hazy memory of the entire thing. She sees her again weeks later at a music festival, and they go home together. She finds out they share a mutual friend, Kevin Ma, and the common ground proves a solid bed for roots to take hold.

One day she is attacked by Aria in the back of the bowling after Aria and Kevin have a falling out, prompting Aria's sire Laure to come and fix the situation with compulsion takes a spill at the back of the alley behind the bowling alley, and Aria's there to catch her - the two share a kiss only for her to find out a week later that her boss, retaliating for her spurning of his own advances, has used the incident to sack her, accusing her of lewd behavior. Autumn's world starts to shake at its foundations after a string of further misfortune visits itself on her.

Attending a masquerade event at the invitation of Aria's sire and lover Laure Stephens, she becomes caught up in a feud between Stephens and another rival vampire, Svetlana Lomidze, when the ancient Vampire uses compulsion to force her to injure herself, making a scene when the blood drives Aria to frenzy and nearly drain Autumn dry in front of a group of onlookers. Laure dispels the situation, but it prompts a conversation between Aria and Autumn; one where the truths revealed are rendered moot when Autumn and other humans in attendance are compelled to forget the supernatural scenes they'd seen unfold.

In the wake of her firing, Autumn recedes into solitude, pulling back from Aria and Kevin and new friend Morgan Moss in a depressive spiral. During this time she meets two people, Elyse Kerr and A.J. Astor. In Elyse she finds a boisterous artist who rekindles in her the old lust to create that's been laying dormant for some time. In A.J. she finds a caustic rich man whose selfishness can't help but buy into. The two embed themselves in her life. She introduces Elyse to Aria, and the three grow a friendship. Astor is a tougher sell, his acerbic wit and blunt-as-a-knife attitude somewhere between annoying and aspirational.

Autumn, tired of her loneliness and spurred on by Elyse, goes to Aria, and the two formerly confess feelings for each-other, and arrange for a date - Aria offers to take Autumn to the club Soleil, planning on confessing to her the facts that were hidden from her mind after the Masquerade, but when the club erupts into a bloody rave, it turns into a rescue. After escaping, Aria confesses her Vampiric, and Autumn finds it in her to forgive her, more fearful of being alone and without her than the implications of romance with a Vampire.

Having introduced Elyse and Aria, Autumn helps the two prepare references for a piece Elyse wants to debut at an upcoming community gallery. During a trip to upgrade her beater car into something worthy of an Astor, A.J. reveals that he's capable of softness when he springs on Autumn that he's going to pay off her school loans, even if he couches it in the idea that its purely for his benefit.

With Aria's secret out in the open, the two settle into a strange balance. Aria gifts Autumn a small locket filled with Verbena, provided by fallen Hunter Reid Halstead. Autumn slowly and cautiously acclimates to the new knowledge that she's dating a member of the undead, but as much as she settles into a more explicit relationship, she begins to become paranoid - because of course where there's one vampire, there has to be others.

When her mother calls her for dinner to discuss Thanksgiving plans, an argument turns into an impromptu coming out, with Autumn revealing her relationship with Aria to her mother. This goes about as poorly as it could, and her mother demands that she leave. Distraught, Autumn goes to Port Leiry's Overlook Park to think, and resolves to go to Aria and ask her to make her into a vampire so that the two can run off together. On the way back into the city, however, disaster strikes when Autumn swerves to avoid hitting an animal darting across the road, sending her down a nearby hollow. Unable to pull herself for free, she calls for help, but it isn't help that shows up.

Wanted Plots The Soulmate - Filled (@photoaria) Someone for Autumn to fall in love with, obsess over, worry about, and probably fumble on account of her various issues and instabilities. The Source - Filled (@huntedarte) Autumn’s been living in Port Leiry her whole life, blissfully unaware of the terrifying underworld the sits beneath its mundane surface.I’d like her to stumble into this cursed knowledge vis a vis the Werewolf Curse itself. 

The Enablers - Filled (@ajastor, @elysiumkerr) Autumn’s biggest problem is that she lacks initiative. She needs somebody in her life to push her to be more selfish, to be more about herself rather than about others. She needs a bad influence.

[deathlygristly]

My first thought is to try and show them how politics actually matters, how their vote can lead to people being alive who otherwise might have died, or people suffering horribly who otherwise might have been okay. And point out that these people include themselves, like for example because eventually they or someone in their family is going to need health care. And that depends on voting, because your vote can help determine if you’re exposed to illness without knowledge and warning or if you’re vaccinated against it or if you have access to care or if it’s affordable.

But I hear from people online that it doesn’t work like that, that they’d see it as condescending and/or boring and that it would have the opposite effect and drive them further away. From what non-autistic people online say, you have to find a way to appeal to their ego and make them feel like they’re cool and of high status and part of a high status group. I have no idea how to do that because that’s completely foreign to me.

There’s also the issue of agency. I think a fair few “non-political” people feel like life just happens to them and nothing they do has any effect. They’re probably more likely to believe in conspiracies to explain why things happen.

I’ve also heard some people talk about avoiding politics and voting who seem to be really focused on avoiding conflict and not standing out and people pleasing. They seem to agree with the types who see it as a team sport, only they seem to see choosing and supporting a team as impolite and taking up space they shouldn’t and inviting conflict, which they see as the ultimate sin. And yeah, this type are usually women from traditionally religious backgrounds.

Here’s a paper I found on “disorders of agency”. Not sure if it’s helpful.

A study about agency and how it’s affected by depression and anxiety:

Also found this:

It seems like at least some of it is based on extremely limited thinking, like people thinking on a very immediate and short timeframe or only thinking about immediate personal benefits. It’s like they can’t think in systems over time. Which I imagine contributes to feeling a lack of agency. If you are waiting to see immediate changes to your personal life as a result of voting, then of course you aren’t going to feel like voting does anything.

Also are they aware that politicians don’t personally and immediately control their wages from their employer? Maybe some education on how things actually work and who has what authority would help?

Doing a quick search for how to encourage systemic thinking led to a lot of upper middle class office work sludge, so I tried encouraging higher order thinking instead. Found this guide to the concept of Socratic questioning.

Not sure if that would be helpful or not?

Hmmm.

Maybe you could just ask them things to help them along? Like “Oh wow, I didn’t know that a person who gets elected to office can quickly force your employer to raise your pay! That’s so cool! How exactly do they do it? Do you have examples I can look up? If no one has done it before so you don’t have examples, do you have a link to the document showing the federal or state or county ruling that allows them to do it?”

Okay that would probably not work on neurotypical people, true.

Maybe something like…”Okay, I hear you, it’s hard out here if you weren’t born rich. Been that way for our species for thousands of years, so we got lots of company down here in our not born rich misery. But hey, after thousands of years of working on it, we’ve made a ton of improvements. Probably not the majority of your siblings died in infancy, right? Depending on how you vote, we can continue improving. Or we can get Trump and his science and vaccine denial and go back to having 10 kids and only 3 of them make it to adulthood. You gotta vote to keep the improvements going. Yeah, it’s slow, and I get that sucks, but it’s either slow improvement or death. And I ain’t choosing death.”

"How to talk to your MAGA family members" I don't have any. The thought of any of my family voting Republican at all, let alone MAGA, is absurd.

"How to talk to your MAGA friends" I don't have any. I used to have a couple Republican friends, but they switched when they voted for Obama in 2008, if not before. My father's friends who are MAGA ghosted him when he tried to talk to them.

What I would like is "How to get non-voters to vote." I don't have any friends or family members like that either, but it could be useful online. And I have not got the first clue how to do it. I'm not talking about the tankies who claim to refuse to vote based on "principle." I mean the people who just go "meh, I'm not political, don't feel like it." How do you break through apathy?

[ddollipop]

PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME. . . ! — ( PANTALONE. )

#. synopsis! — pantalone plays around with his new favorite employee in his office .

#. contains! — explicitly nsfw content , slight begging , cum eating , creampie , boss x employee , skullfucking , deepthroating , sloppy blowjob , reader calls pantalone "sir" , office sex , dirty talk , vaginal fingering , light degredation .

#. word count! — 4.3k .

There’s an all too well-known cycle of debt in Snezhnaya. It’s far easier than one might imagine to reach out for help from the Fatui, and in many circumstances, it becomes an offer far too enticing to ignore. But a bitter truth remains under all the posturing, under all the seemingly happy smiles that hide thinly veiled sins beneath the surface. And that bitter truth is that no debt, no matter how small, will ever go unpaid if you’ve gotten yourself wrapped up with the organization that runs this nation both from the shadows and in broad daylight.

Thus, here you are; working under the ninth of the eleven Harbingers, a man with undeniable charm, effortless charisma, and strict rules for those he oversees. Admittedly, it’s unusual for the Regrator to allow a lowly debt-payer to take up work in his vicinity, —but something about you seemed to pique his interest. Maybe it was that three million Mora debt your gambling addict of a father somehow managed to wrack up on a consistent losing bender, or maybe it was just that you seemed so painfully out of place standing before him.

As you’d come to learn very quickly, Pantalone is no stranger to delegating tasks to those that owe outstanding debts. However, it’s highly unusual that he would ever take someone in under his own supervision so carelessly. Although, you’re certain that he likely knows everything there is to know about you by now. . . Born in Snezhnaya to a working class family, one that was virtually torn apart by the loss of your mother. After her passing, your father went “off the deep end” as many would say; —started drinking, began disregarding the very-much-so alive members of his family, and blew everything on pointless bets and games that were all but specifically designed for him to fail.

And so here you are again, the eldest child of the house. . . The daughter that has to clean up the mess he’s made of everything.

It could be worse, you suppose. Pantalone is strict, but offers a fair amount of praise when the moment calls for such a thing. He’s easy on the eyes as well, which certainly doesn’t hurt. As long as you keep yourself in line, he’s relatively gentle and seems to value positive employer/employee relationships. Those make it easier for everything to work like “a well oiled machine” as he once put it.

Still, standing before him, your nerves are shot. You’re no fool, and you know much better than to trust the front he’s put on for you thus far. Above all else, this man is a Harbinger, and he likely has no qualms about forcing people to bend to his will by whatever means necessary. Though, it’s not as if you have much to offer him. You spared what little Mora you had in hopes of making a small dent in your father’s debts, and since then, every morsel you’ve made has gone directly to lining the pockets of the Fatui. The only other thing he could possibly take is the clothes off your back, —and even then, this is the uniform he gave to you at the start of the month, so it’s hardly yours to begin with.

“You seem nervous,” he notes, a barely-there smirk playing on his lips as he closes the door to his office.

The little clink that resounds throughout the room has you taking in a sharp, quick breath in hopes of steadying your mind. It doesn’t work.

He leans in a little closer, —close enough to feel the ghost of his breath against the shell of your ear, whispering: “Do I scare you?”

You’re uncertain of how to reply. If he were anyone else, you’d just be honest and admit that he does. But, then again, if he were anyone else you likely wouldn’t be scared to begin with. Pantalone is not anyone else, though. He’s the kind of man you’d hate to make your enemy.

“No sir,” you say softly in reply, voice close to quivering which easily gives you away.

He knows you’re lying like the priceless rug his glossy, cuihua wood desk sits on, —and maybe if you were anyone else he wouldn’t take kindly to that sort of deception, But you too are not anyone else, and if anything, he finds your feeble attempt at hiding your nerves to be endearing. The small puff of air he releases from his nose with a quiet, low snicker leaves your shoulders visibly stiff.

“No?” Pantalone inquires further, hands traveling up your arms to smoothe over the plane of your tense shoulders.

If you didn’t know better than to let your guard down, he might well have disarmed you then and there. He can be deceptively gentle when the need arises, and that much has been clear from the start. It’s just that now you yourself are at the receiving end of his underhanded tactics.

“Then you’re in desperate need of a massage,” he comments flippantly.

You know he has no intention of giving you one; least of all one with only concern for your well being at the forefront of his mind. He’s playing at something, —though you can’t say what.

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir,” you answer.

“Sir,” he muses, and though you can’t see his face from this angle, you can practically hear the smirk in his voice as he kneads the pads of his fingers against you ever so softly, “that has a lovely ring when you say it.”

He’s close enough now for you to catch the scent of his cologne. It smells expensive and sweet, —made of warm tones and likely concocted for Pantalone’s use alone. Designed to be pacifying. 

“Say it again.”

The request —demand?— leaves your breath hitching in your throat. He can feel the way your shoulders tense harder, shaking slightly under the pressure of it all. When you fail to do as he’s asked of you, he moves to stand in front of you.

“Cat got your tongue?” He asks.

His thumb glides along your bottom lip, the side of his index finger coming to rest just below your chin. You hate to admit it, but when he’s so close it’s all too easy to wonder what his lips would feel like slotted against yours in an ardent kiss. He stirs something within you, and he seems to know that despite you having never said it aloud. You can’t help it when your gaze flickers between his curious eyes and his mouth.

“You’re free to take a taste," he says, so quickly that it's startling, —as if he'd been waiting for your line of sight to drift there forever.

You hesitate, —but you can’t deny that you’re willing to take him up on the offer. You can’t deny that you’re curious. 

Pantalone waits patiently, as if to tell you that denial is an option if you’d like to take it.

Unfortunately, you don’t.

His lips are soft and warm, perfectly unchapped despite the harsh, everlasting Snezhnayan winter. His hand moves to the left, forming sweetly to the side of your face as his lips move in tandem with yours immediately. It’s clear in that moment that he never had a doubt you’d take him up on his offer. He knew your decision before you'd even made it. Or, rather, he'd been arrogant enough to assume it and had just gotten the luck of the draw.

"I admit," he says between hungry, breathless kisses, "I don't typically indulge myself with those who work for me."

That doesn't come as a shock to you. For whatever it's worth, he's not a bad boss. . . And even after this, you doubt you'll feel any differently about that. He’s been fair to you, if a bit strict, and he doesn’t seem to be the type to take advantage of anyone in a manner such as this. Although you don’t know him well enough to be certain of it, your gut tells you you’ve hit the nail on the head. Not to mention the fact that a man like him likely has many things to hide, and allowing the wrong person to get in too close would be something akin to career suicide.

A part of you wants to ask “why me?” —wants to ask what could possibly make you so special in his eyes. After all, you’re by no means a unique case. You’re sure he’s seen innumerous women just like you swing in and out on account of a loved one’s irresponsibility.

His next comment answers your unasked question.

“But you always look at me with such a sweet, innocent stare,” he says, voice low. “It’s been driving me wild.”

It dawns on you then just how human Pantalone truly is. He may well be a Harbinger, —but he’s also a man. A man with wants, yearnings, and needs. A man of desires in the same way that you are a woman of them.

He kisses you with tongue this time, loving the way your shoulders stiffen once again in surprise as you let him have his way. Admittedly, he’s a bit of a control freak. He likes to call the shots anywhere he can, and the way you’ve passively taken to his ebb and flow has him half-hard already from the rush of it all. He’s surprisingly gentle, but you have a feeling it won’t be like that forever. In the same manner he is both a man with needs and a Fatui Harbinger, you can only assume he is also a man of soft touches and strict adherence to dominance.

Without missing a beat, he tugs you along. His lips hungrily crave for yours as he positions himself against his desk, leaning back on it. He steadies himself with the glossed edge, jutting a single knee out and slinking it between your quavering legs, hiking up your skirt quite a bit. The coarse fabric of his dress pants is rough against the thin, silken material of your underwear. A tiny moan escapes your lips as the friction sends a little pulse of electricity to your veins.

"How cute," Pantalone quips, nipping lightly at your bottom lip. "You're already making noise and I haven't even properly touched you.”

This man is far from inexperienced, and that much has been clear from the start. He knows how to draw you in with little more than his eyes alone, commanding you around with the sharpness of his gaze. It’s intoxicating; the way he pulls you in and twists your desires, making himself completely and utterly irresistible to you.

He peppers kisses down the column of your throat, loving the way it feels when you swallow, muscles contracting just behind your skin. A hand of slender fingers threads through your hair, barely ghosting the tips against your scalp before he’s yanking on the strands, exposing more of your neck for him to feast on. Though the primal side of him wants nothing more than to sink his teeth into you, bite, bruise, and mark you up so you’ll be unable to forget about this encounter too easily, the business-savvy side of Pantalone knows better.

People in the workplace love to talk, —love to gossip. And if word of this, if only in the form of speculative rumors, were to get around. . . Well, that wouldn’t be very pleasant, to say the least.

When his teeth graze your earlobe, an ecstatic shiver creeps up your spine.

“Let's put that pretty little mouth to some good use, hm?”

Before you can really wrap your reeling mind around your position, he has you on your knees at his feet. He loves the way you look up at him with innocent doe-eyes, gaze like an animal caught in the spotlight. You’re so sweet, maybe even somewhat bitter, and he’s not sure he’s ever wanted anyone more.

Those coarse dress pants bunch around his knees, and the cock that rests between his thighs is semi-hard by the time you take him in your hand, guiding the warm tip to your lips. His taste is surprisingly neutral, but your jaw has a harder time adjusting to his girth than your tongue does to his flavor.

Pantalone is startlingly gentle when it comes to this. He doesn’t snake his long fingers through your hair and push you down, down, down until your nose brushes against the skin of his lower stomach. He simply watches with curious, cat-like eyes as you test your limits on him, slicking him up, attempting to find a rhythm that doesn’t feel so awkward.

No discouraging comments come from above. Instead, Pantalone presses a large, warm hand to the crown of your head and smooths it down your hair as if to say that you’re doing fine, —that you’re making him feel good just by giving it your best.

The first time you gag, he hums. Although you pull away at first, scared of the sudden reflex, you slowly adjust to him, and Pantalone offers you time to do so. He likes the way you're so persistent, yet inexperienced all the same. The idea that he's the first man to ever have you like this is. . . Exciting, even if he’s just making an assumption. It fills him with a sense of pride that he hasn't felt in a long time. It’s different.

But his gentleness doesn’t last.

It began to fade the minute he fisted a handful of your hair, eliciting a surprised moan from you. Pantalone likes the way it vibrates against the cock stuffed in your pretty little mouth, lips puffy from the rough kisses forming around him. Your gaze seems to shake.

He can’t hold himself back anymore. He can’t play it nice when you look up at him like that, just begging for your throat to be fucked raw.

As both his hands wrap around the back of your head, holding you steady and in place, you’re by no means naive enough to misunderstand what’s about to happen. He catches your gaze just before he rolls his hips, member slipping down your throat. He busies himself with every nook and cranny, feeling the way you contract around him, pulling him in, pushing him out, again and again. He uses your mouth like a toy to be played with, one that he’s taking his sweet time in savoring every micro-movement of.

You’re gagging and sputtering, spit pooling in your mouth and spilling out the corners as he has his way with you. It’s so sloppy and hot, sweeping you away until you can’t feel anything at all besides the yearning for him to fuck you on his desk like an animal and his fat cock closing off your airways, sneaking in breaths between the harsh movements of his lean hips.

“Play with yourself,” he grits through his teeth, and you do as he says, slipping a hand between your thighs to nudge at the sopping heat there.

Your panties are completely and utterly ruined, soaked with arousal, and it’s all his fault. You can’t seem to recall a time when you’ve ever been this turned on, —pussy drooling and so sensitive to every little touch as you run your fingertips along yourself in feather-light touches.

Pantalone pauses with his cock buried in your throat, then slowly removes himself completely. He’s rock hard, covered in your saliva, and oozing pre-cum from the tip. He’s fucking throbbing, so close to bursting and yet saving that for later, and apparently, nothing seems to get him off more than watching you dance those nimble little fingertips across your clothed pussy, spit dripping from your chin to all over the floor of his office.

He clicks his tongue in disapproval, and your hand stops moving between your legs.

“Look at the mess you made on the floor of my office,” he demands. “Clean it up.”

The moment you move to do so with your hand, he hisses.

“No, not like that,” he nearly growls. “Use your fucking tongue.”

You’re torn between that being sexy and completely disgusting, but in the end, you do as he says with no questions. Inhibitions are lowered when you’re as horny as this, after all, and the way Pantalone strokes himself to the scene is enough to push you to do it.

“Don’t you dare swallow,” he notes, watching as you lap at the mixture of semen and spit on the floor, only to hold it in your cheek.

You lap at the wet splotches on the ground a few times, collecting the spillage on the flat of your tongue before he tugs you roughly to your feet. He tears your blouse open, popping all the buttons off as if it were an easy feat. Your bra comes off simply as he unclasps it with grace, only to discard it and suckle on your nipples. He bites at your breasts, marking himself there instead of on your neck. When his mouth is on one, his hand is on the other, making sure the both of them receive the rightful attention they deserve. He loves the way your flesh shifts under pressure, —loves the way you’re trying to squeeze your legs together for some relief.

“Such a little whore for me,” he mumbles, obviously so proud of himself for having made you like this.

In any other circumstance, his arrogance likely would have been infuriating, but as he looms just above you, mouth suctioned to your tit, hand roughly massaging at every lob of flesh he can get his hands on, it serves only to leave you moaning in pleasure. Your toes curl the moment he pushes your skirt up around your midsection, tearing your panties down and situating you on his desk.

Pantalone steals the heels off your feet, then does away with your underwear too. You’re practically glistening in the sunlight that spills in from his open office window. The only article of clothing left on your body is the skirt that he rendered useless the moment he bunched it up and hiked it up around your middle. He further positions you, —one foot on opposite sides of the desk, spreading you open for his entertainment.

“Just fucking look at that,” he says, slapping the flat of two fingers against your slit, making you jolt a little. “You’re soaked for me.”

Your breathing becomes ragged the moment he smacks those digits against you again, then once more, and then so many more times that you completely lost the ability to count. He admires the way your arousal sticks to the pads of his fingers, watching as it stretches for a few moments then snaps away. This pretty pussy, sopping wet and begging to be pleasured, is all his. And he knows that.

With how turned on you are, he has no trouble sinking two fingers inside, prodding at your insides. You gasp when he’s up to the knuckles, mewling over every little touch and every little move Pantalone makes. It’s hard to keep all the contents you lapped up in your mouth when he’s got you going crazy like this. The pad of his thumb comes down against your clit, drawing rough circles on it as your back arches and your thighs shake. You’re so vulnerable here, exposed for his eyes only as your cunt convulses around his fingers, attempting to suck him in deeper. 

“Spit,” he commands, placing a free hand right below your mouth.

You do, depositing his seed, your saliva, and whatever the fuck else you likely picked up off the floor with your tongue into the palm of his hand. There’s something so erotic about the way it drools out, stringing along your lips. He slicks himself up with the mixture, leaning in close to press a kiss to your mouth. 

A surge of new warmth surrounding the digits he has buried in your snatch lets him know that you’re still dripping with need, hungry little pussy ready for whatever he has to give you. He’s not one for teasing in this regard. He prefers to get straight to the point; or maybe he’s just so achingly hard that he needs to be inside you right this instant and couldn’t be fucked to finger you on this desk for any longer when he knows what you really want is his cock buried inside you.

The moment he presses inside with reckless abandon, you realize that his previous gentleness had simply been a clever deception to ease you into things. He isn’t someone with that much self control. At the end of all things, he is but a beast at heart; the man between your legs pounding into you so deeply that your body is shaking under the weight of his lust. He’s touching places inside you that you hadn’t ever realized could feel this good; —fucking you so nice and so deep that your mind has already started checking out.

Stars were practically hanging behind your eyelids the very moment he slid inside, hammering in and out with every ounce of energy he has to offer. His stamina for this is jarring, but it feels so good that you don’t have the time nor the will to dwell on it. All that matters in the moment is his thick cock pounding you out, his skin slapping against you, —setting fireworks off inside your gut.

It’s all too easy to get swept away when he touches you like this, both inside and out. You let out a shattered cry and he uses it as fuel, gripping at your hips and forcing you closer. You’re the prettiest mess he’s ever seen, —the prettiest mess he’s ever made. He wants to keep you locked away from the world, save you for his own, though he knows that’s an unreasonable request. Not that he’s ever claimed to be a particularly reasonable man anyway.

He’s so smug about this though, so goddamn proud of himself that it’s almost sickening. He loves the choked noises you make, the way you try to swallow moans and find yourself whining instead. He’s dangling your high by a thread, and he knows exactly what buttons to push to get you going.

And push he does, every single one of them, ghosting past every sweet spot buried within. For as much as this is all for him, a means to an end, he’s taking care of you, too. . . It’s romantic, if you squint and tilt your head a little.

You reach up with a trembling hand, and Pantalone only reacts with a sharp breath in as you tangle your fingers in his hair. You hold him tight, pull him closer, —push him more. Your strong grip comes in great contrast to the sloppy execution of his movements as he draws closer to his peak, orgasm shivering just below his skin. Really, he’s surprised he’s managed to edge himself along for all this time. It crackles just beneath the surface, ready to explode.

To think someone of his stature would be fucking you senseless, getting you drunk off his dick in the middle of the day right on top of his desk. The desk he signs important papers at, reviews work samples and contemplates futures at. . . All of that and more, and yet here he is, length sliding smoothly in and out of you, looking so handsome that it’s almost unreal. The glisten of your juices on his member is far too enticing to ignore, so he fixes his gaze there, watching as you swallow him up, taking all of him in like the good girl he’s always known you to be.

The squelch of your pussy has him gritting his teeth, jaw aching in the aftermath. Your walls grip at him, massaging him down, clouding his mind and fogging up his inhibitions. Whatever it takes to have you convulsing on him, crying out as you’re speared on him, cumming all over him as he chases his own release inside you, is what Pantalone will do. He’s vying for it no matter what it takes.

“Fuck,” he hisses, then continues with a demand, “—let me hear you beg.”

If you’d been any further along, his command likely would have fallen on deaf ears.

“Please,” you vocalize reflexively, “please, please, please don’t stop.”

Not that he had any intention of doing so, but the sound of your voice, so broken and desperate, hanging on the edge, really presses him that much further into your divine. He might be the one largely in control, the dominating figure in this instance, but he’s still drowning in your ocean. Pantalone isn’t sure he’s ever felt desire this sincere, this all-encompassing. He’s practically losing parts of himself inside you.

“How’s it feel?” He asks, though he’s positive he already knows the answer by the way your toes are curling around the jutting edge of his desk.

“Good,” you gasp, “so good, sir.”

That’s all it takes.

As your walls tighten around him, overstimulation driving you completely and utterly into the abyss, Pantalone lets you wring him dry for every last drop he’s worth. There’s a stutter to his breath and a relief in the way he sighs, panting and attempting to collect himself. His chest heaves and your eyes are having a hard time focusing again, having rolled so far in your head that you were seeing starlight.

The cum he spilled inside is thick and warm, leaking out the minute he pulls his cock out. It drips down the front of his desk, so erotic and defiling. . .

“Don’t waste it,” he complains, stuffing two digits inside you to stuff the cum back in.

You half expected him to scoop the rest of it up with his fingers and demand that you clean it off with your tongue.

He doesn’t, but your walls react, clenching around him, and suddenly, he’s not so keen on letting you get back to work anymore. . .

[ivy-loves-chocolate]

Hello! can i have yandere wesker headcanon? from the Code Veronica version. His s/o always tries to avoid it at all costs.

Hii anon, of course!

I hope you like it.

As usual, for early content check my ko-fi/patreon. Thank you!

You knew Wesker vaguely, based on other people's rumors, as he was your coworker during your Umbrella days. However, you had no idea how much he knew about you. From the outside, it seemed that you didn't exist for him, but on the inside, he had deeper feelings for you that led to an unhealthy obsession. You were smart, beautiful, and very determined, traits that made you a very accomplished scientist, and a challenge for Wesker.

Once he knew all the information he needed about you, he hired someone to stalk you, in order to get a better view of your personal life. All of your potential boyfriends disappeared when things turned serious, and that made you believe that something was wrong with you, but that wasn't true since Wesker pulled all the strings. It was, of course, for your safety, as none of them were worthy of having you. Wesker was your only choice, and you had to figure it out soon. He knew so much about you, as if you two shared the same house, but in reality he barely noticed you. He pretended so well that you had no idea what he was doing in secret. 

His plan was coming to fruition, and once you were at your lowest due to not finding a partner, he began to act. The flaw in his plan, which he didn't anticipate, was that you didn't bother to notice him. You will not give in to his advantages, no matter how hard he tries. You said no to dates, flowers, and gifts. Truth be told, you didn’t like Wesker. He was arrogant, selfish, and mean. At some point during your relationship, you avoided him on purpose because he didn’t seem to get the hint. The more you’d reject him, the closer he’ll get. As a result, one day Wesker got mad and kidnapped you, but you escaped just in time thanks to the small outbreak that occurred in the Arklay Mountains.

He wanted to retrieve you that night but ended up toasted. You were long gone, and knowing that he'd follow you, you went to Antarctica in the employment of the Ashford family. It was weird to work with Alfred and "Alexia," not to mention the harsh and cold weather, but it was better than being near Wesker.

Wesker was heartbroken and searched for you for a while, but he lost hope and focused on his new mission.

The Redfield brothers were in the facility, causing mayhem. You didn’t know where Alfred was or if he was still alive. On your way to the security room, you heard a familiar voice from within.

"Ooh little fishy, come see my hook." the man said with arrogance in his tone.

You placed a hand over your mouth as you tried to suppress a scream. It came out as a muffled yelp, but unfortunately it was loud enough for Wesker to hear. You heard his steps coming to the door, and you ran away as fast as you could.

"Did he notice me?" You asked yourself.

"What’s that in the distance? I see another fish."Wesker said this theatrically, knowing he can catch you if want. 

"Shit, shit, shit!" You tried to make it to the hangar, hop on a jet, and fly far away from there. 

"Umbrella is going down; why didn’t I find employment somewhere else?" 

You pulled out your security card and tried to open the doors. Your hands were shaking, so it was hard to scan the card through the small gap, but eventually the light turned green and the doors began to open. You didn’t care about Alfred; he was a jerk anyway.

"Going somewhere?" Wesker asked from behind in a calm tone. 

You froze in place. It felt like time stopped, and like a cornered rabbit, you waited for the big bad wolf to kill you.

"Listen, Wesk-" a hand grabbed you by your neck, forcing you to face him. Upon seeing his bloody eyes, you let out a scream. They pierced through your soul as they looked down at you with anger and disappointment. 

"Do you have any idea what kind of hell I had to go through in order to save your prissy ass?" 

"I-I’m sorry..." you said, but your voice was fading as the grip around your neck became tighter. 

"No, no, you’re not sorry. I did everything I could for you. I gave you a promotion, more money, and more resources, and what did I get? Rejection"

His face slowly morphed into something that didn’t resemble a human anymore. In that dim light, he seemed like a grotesque creature, one that was ready to rip you in half. 

You took one final deep breath as you felt his hand crush your neck, and without realizing his next move, he smashed your head into the metal grid of the large door, making you lose consciousness. 

You awoke in a strange room with huge pain throughout your body. You tried to stand up but failed multiple times as your legs were too weak to carry your weight. Eventually, you gathered some strength and started to explore your surroundings. 

The room you were in was spacious, with a floor bed and some magazines, along with a TV and a small closet. When you moved further, you heard a clinking sound and felt a gentle restraint on your ankle. You started to sob when you realized the gravity of the situation. Cuffed to the floor in an unknown place with the worst headache and nausea, you began to scream as loudly as your weak body allowed, hoping to get his attention.

He made an appearance after twenty minutes, dressed in black, and he sat in front of you. After a few moments of silence and as your vision improved, you noticed that he wasn't himself, as his sheer confidence and symbolic smugness were missing from his face. He looked rather sad and exhausted. 

It appeared that his eyes changed colors as well, and instead of that bloody red there was a warm shade of amber. He scanned you from head to toe in silence, keeping his own conclusions to himself. 

Wesker didn’t want your relationship to end up like this, because he hoped you’d understand that he only used extreme actions because he loved you. He decided to be very calm and tolerant with you as he realized how hard it would be to make you fall for him, but one thing is certain: you will love him by any means necessary.

taglist: @shadow-wolf510 @ravenrune @cassie-todd

[yanderes-galore]

i dont think you’ve done micheal afton yet.. is he ok to request for? cause if sooooo i’d like to request yandere micheal (any game you want is fine) and a scared & crybaby reader? like reader will full on start crying if they get scared by anything

AGAIN NOT SURE IF HES ALLOWED-

He is allowed, yes! Since it wasn't specified I'll do the scariest one I know, The FNAF 6 fan concept of Michael Afton. The one where he's a literal corpse with a mask on posing to be normal. Made as a concept as it was not specified. The first time I write Michael is corpse Michael LMFAO.

This probably would've gone better with Sister Location Michael, lol 😅 Maybe I'll do two versions. I just wanted to test my version of FNAF 6 Michael.

Yandere! Michael Afton with Emotional! Darling

Concept (FNAF 6)

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Possessive behavior, Moral conflict, Implied kidnapping, Walking corpse, Angst (?), Paranormal, Obsessive behavior, Implied stalking, Selfish behavior, Forced affection.

- In FNAF 6 Michael really only has one goal, to put an end to this mess with Henry.

- Yet he also has someone hired for help.

- While Helpy is good help, Michael also wants to have an actual person to help.

- Which happens to be you.

- Interacting with your employer is minimal, as Michael prefers not to speak to you.

- It's already suspicious enough to you that his skin is an odd color and he wears a mask all the time.

- That and the smell of something rotting that refuses to go away no matter how much cologne he douses himself in.

- Powdering his skin to be a more healthy color is also a lot of effort.

- Either way you try not to be too concerned about your employer, but it's hard not to feel a little nervous around him.

- At this stage of his... 'life'... Michael hasn't bothered to think of loving someone.

- He was always so focused on finding his father and gaining money.

- Even now he's essentially a walking corpse desperately trying to hide the fact he's dead.

- Yet somehow, he feels guilt at the fact you have to work here with him.

- Unaware that you're the only natural living one here.

- Surprisingly he feels comforted yet nervous when you point out certain things about him.

- "You're looking kind of skinny, Mr. Afton... Have you been eating?"

- Does a corpse need to eat? Do they even...need to sleep?

- "Mr. Afton, you look so pale- Is that a scar?"

- That ones a long story....

- "Mr. Afton, please take care of yourself...."

- You're too sweet for your own good.

- He just wishes he could've met you when he was still alive and well, that way he could excuse his feelings.

- Just what was he thinking! Dragging someone as vulnerable as you into this hellhole with him....

- Then he proceeds to fall in love with you...!

- You'll be so scared of him if he reveals himself.

- What's the appropriate response to the knowledge a walking corpse likes you?

- Especially since you get scared easily.

- You refuse to salvage bots as you claimed they 'jumped' at you.

- Which, based on Michael's experience, isn't too hard to believe.

- Michael refuses to have you do night shift alone, you're also left with Helpy to do day tasks.

- It was his mistake to hire you.

- Now he's jeopardizing everything, isn't he?

- He feels he knows everything about you while you both work, yet all you know of him is the bear mask and skinny body that always reeks of some unknown scent....

- Michael can't even speak to you normally without struggling or sounding distorted.

- You were always nervous around him but you're terrified once the facade unravels.

- Michael takes nights with you, he knew he shouldn't have brought you.

- The mask he wears is flimsy... not only that but one of those haunted bots proceeds to attack.

- He hears you scream, something forcing him into action to push and shield you away.

- The mask falls....

- Another scream.

- He doesn't care what you think, he just wants you safe.

- Michael needed to protect you because you're so damn precious to him it hurts.

- "GO!"

- Michael hears himself croak before dragging you to a safer part of the establishment.

- You're sobbing, eyes fixated on his face.

- It's the face of a corpse...he knows what you think.

- 'What the hell is my employer!?'

- It would be too much to explain.

- "Get away!"

- He feels hurt by your words but he could care less.

- He refuses to lose you, not now....

- "No..."

- "Afton, please!"

- "It's... Michael-"

- You only continue to thrash.

- At this point he doesn't care what you think, he doesn't care if you hate him....

- He only wants to hold you like this forever....

- Maybe he's truly gone mad now....

- He feels selfish, forcing himself to use you as comfort when you're clearly unwilling.

- Yet he just doesn't care anymore.

- He only wants you for himself now.

- What would Henry think if he knew what he had done?

[inariter]

Things Change-4 (Duskwood x Reader)

Masterlist:

Things Change-1

Things Change-2

Things Change-3

Things Change-4

Things Change-5 

                                                         --------  

Complications, fun little things life likes to throw your way. And you can either embrace them, find solutions, and resolve it. Or you can simply run and avoid it until it has finally hunted you down. 

I’ve faced my fair share of complications. Most of the time, I’ve tried to ignore them, to convince myself that I’m fine when I’m anything but. I try to shove it so far down in some hopes it might resolve on it’s own.

Never seems to work no matter how much I try again and again.

And now...now, another one has been thrown my way.

Your heart is a funny thing, it can want so many things at once. It can sway either way, especially when it comes to something called love. Now they say if you’re going to choose between two people, always chose the second. Because if you’ve truly loved the first one, you wouldn’t have fallen for the second.

Now riddle me this, two people have walked into your life. One a wanted individual who can never truly be as open as you want them to be. Who can never be as present as you need them to be. But it’s clear they would do anything to keep you safe and secure, even if it means they risk themselves. In them, you always find a comfort unlike any other. And two, the new person, one who all you’ve heard were these bad things. But when you meet them, they’re anything but. Instead, they can listen for time on end. They make you smile and laugh more than you ever have. They make you feel alive...and they can be there. You know it’s only the start into what may be, feeling there is so much more there than meets the eye.

How I am to choose? How am I to know which one is best?

How do I not let any of this infiltrate this influence me? How can I ever focus on the case on hand?

I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. 

And nothing seems to help, only worsening it all.

Because here I stand, in the midst of this chaotic spider web. Trapped like a fly, waiting to be devoured. 

Knowing that someone I’ve called a friend is out there, wrecking havoc on us all. It’s all coming together, my suspicions are only growing. It’s only a matter of time before I’m caught or he is.

It’s the only way any of this can end.

                                                         -----------

And as the night finally quelled down, as the alcohol slowly left her system, (Y/n) could feel her mind begin to clear. 

(Y/n) and Lilly able to piece together the puzzle Jake left behind for them both, now it was only a matter of time before it would come full circle. (Y/n) could see her reservations about the newcomer, understand where she came from. While she said water under the bridge, it would take time to really forgive Lilly for what she did.

And of course, how could she forget Dan, texting her out of the blue. She could imagine how worried he was and he had his own unique way of showing it. Something that warmed her heart to see, especially as they weren’t as different as they thought they were. As they were forming a relationship of their own, beyond the pressures they faced.

Leaving her with Phil, the conversations in person and online resonating deeply with her. Unsure what to think now, much less what to feel. Though she wondered if she gave anything away, if Phil might uncover her own secrets and what he may do with said information.

It was all banking on time now. To see how things may or may not unfold.

So it was as good as time as any to sort the mess of her head as everything began to simmer down for once. (Y/n) looked to her phone then to her portable evidence board. Trying to fill in the missing pieces with hypotheticals but her mind kept wandering back to the night of Jessy’s attack.

(Y/n) knew only a few people knew what Jessy was planning that night. Richy by default being the employer, Phil knew bits when he confronted her but he only knew the rumors surrounding (Y/n). The others, well Dan was in the hospital, Cleo and Thomas were breaking and entering, and Lilly didn’t want to be involved.

“It’s all coming together, Jax. It’s funny, how wary some of them were to me. But in reality, it’s a person closest to them that they should be most wary of.”

A few oddities seemed to be blatantly obvious now she had time to have fun and go see the world beyond her home and computer. It was really proved to be helpful.

“I understand why none of them were able to uncover what happened. Because none of them wanted to face the dirty truth. It’s only a matter of time now.”

Now, she had her growing suspicions and it seemed to go back to one person again and again. Whether she wanted to accept it or not was hard to say. 

Especially given everything. 

(Y/n) knew the others may not accept her suspicions, none of them wanted to think that one of their own could have done this. So for now, she decided to let it play out a bit longer. To see where this road is bound to take her and whether he would move again.

Maybe then, more evidence would present itself. Maybe then, they would be more open to this theory of hers.

Maybe...

                                                       -----------

“This isn’t right, none of this is right!”

“That doesn’t matter right now. We have to look out for ourselves, (Y/n). You think they’re going to let us off the hook? You think it’ll be a slap on the wrist if we spill our guts? We aren’t dumb, little kids any more.”

“And this is the right thing? Can’t you hear yourself, right?! I mean, take a look in the mirror and tell me what you see right now.”

Gesturing at young woman, at all they were doing. For what? To cover their hides, to let someone else take the fall, so that they might have a chance at a decent life. She looked at the group, trying to find a single line of reason between them.

But none of them said a word. None of them could even look her in the eye.

“I’m not sure about you guys but I’m not living with this guilt. I refuse to let things go this way.”

“(Y/n)!”

“Come back! We’ll figure something out.”

“Please!”

Their words fell deaf on her ears as she continued pressing on. Finding her way back to the road, to the town she could barely call a home. 

Not after everything, especially not after this.

And then, with a thump, things went dark.

Ring...Ring...Ring...

                                                        ----------

The sound of her phone ringing woke the sleeping woman, for once she had an entire night of good rest. For once, she didn’t rely on her pills to guide her through a night of dreamless slumber. And for once, she didn’t feel like the waking dead.

And when (Y/n)’s eyes saw the caller id, she almost fell out of bed reaching for her phone.

“Jessy? How are you doing?”

“Better, my body still hurts but it’s not as bad as before. It’s also nice to hear your voice, (Y/n).”

“I’m glad. You know, I’m always here for you if you ever need anything.”

“I know. Though I had hoped our date would have ended better. I would have showed you around my house as we toasted to the night. Until, you know.”

“Jessy, I had a fun time. You got my mind off of everything and I can’t thank you enough.”

Though they both went silence, (Y/n) could imagine Jessy’s giddy smile gracing her face, capturing her many features just nicely.

“(Y/n), are you going to keep your promise? Are you going to take me away from this place when this is all over?”

“I am a woman of my word. I’ll take you away if you still desire it.”

“I want you to.”

“Then it shall happen, m’lady.”

She could hear that laughter that was like honey on the ears. Jessy was slowly becoming the best friend (Y/n) missed on having. While others may mistake it as more, (Y/n) knew where they both stood on these matters. At least (Y/n) hoped she did.

But if this friendship would continue growing, (Y/n) could only imagine where else it would go. How more their friendship would grow and blossom. Something she wouldn’t give up for the world.

“(Y/n), thank you. You’ve done so much for us...for me. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s what any person with a heart would have done.”

“I don’t think so. Which is why I want to ask something of you. I want you to come to Duskwood, I want to see the woman who has done so much for us in person.”

“Jessy...I don’t know.” 

“I guessed as much.”

“Look, I’ll think about it. There’s no promises but I’ll think about it.”

“I appreciate it. Talk later?”

“Yeah, talk later.”

Sighing, (Y/n) wondered how much longer she would have to put with this farce of hers. She knew it was only going to be a matter of time before word spread around this small town. Word of the new girl passing through and if they were smart enough, they would be able to figure it out.

And lies were no way to keep up the trust that was being built.

So she would only have to wait until the situation needed it so.

[sophiria]

could you do a yandere gojo x reader? how would he act is he violent or kind and manipulative? i think it would be kinda cool. please do your own twists too.

Thank you for the ask, lovely anon <3

As you color me blue

Yandere!Gojo Satoru x handmaiden!Reader

Warnings and tags: manga spoilers, implied codependency, undertones of controlling, obsessive and possessive behaviour, undertones of manipulation, mention of a kiss, mention of blood and death related to other people, Gojo is both sweet and dark

Word count: 800 words

You've been Gojo's handmaiden for the past ten years. There's no one who knows his habits, likes and dislikes more than you do, and Satoru absolutely adores that about you. He loves your devotion and the fact that you only see him, no matter how many people come in and go out of his household. When a guest bothers you too much, Satoru makes sure they never step foot inside his family's property ever again (that is, if he leaves them alive to see another day.) He had been ready to start a war when a certain fellow sorcerer suggested he hand you over to them, and the only thing that stopped him was your soft touch on the small of his back. He loves that despite no physical relationship (not yet anyway) between the two of you, there is still intimacy lingering in the comforting, treasured gestures you often exchange. Every time the other employers of the estate notice such loving touches, they don't say anything. They know the head of the Gojo family strongly dislikes you being questioned, and they definitely don't want to find out what he's capable of if he comes to know someone aggravated you (once, a fellow maid suggested in front of Satoru that you were acting improperly with him. After that, you will never see her again.)

Gojo spoils you quite a lot, from hiring seamstresses that fabricate custom yukata and kimono according to your tastes (though they always have to be in different shades of blue, because Gojo Satoru wants your clothes to match his eyes, especially if you are to stand next to him during meetings and ceremonies), to delicacies always waiting for you in the morning. He buys you elegant jewelry, the books you want to read, and the makeup products you want to wear (here too, he tells you that he'd rather you wear different shades of blue when it comes to eyeshadow and eyeliner.)

Satoru doesn't want you to leave the property on your own. And when he permits you to step outside of the residence, he has to be there with you, watching every move you make and determining the path you will take that day. Sometimes he uses his ability to teleport to travel outside Japan and allows you to see the places you have always wanted to visit, but the journey doesn't usually last more than a day. He tells you that it's for your safety and that you have no idea about the kind of vile enemies he has (and you always listen to him because the Strongest Sorcerer knows best, and there's no one you want to please more than Gojo Satoru.)

You are forbidden from taking a lover while you are employed at Satoru's residence, a rule that he had personally included in your work contract (and after those fools who worked for him showed an interest in you? Gojo would rather you not know where they end up after he dismisses them.) Your constant and complete dedication to him doesn't bring you any friends, and you end up having just colleagues with whom you don't really spend your free time. Then again, you don't really have much time off. Because when Satoru Gojo is not dealing with matters of the Jujutsu world, he is everywhere you are. He's there with you when you wake up, at breakfast, lunch, afternoon tea, and dinner. He's there with you at night too, lulling you to sleep as he tells you about his day. While you aren't a Sorcerer, you can see Curses, and Gojo makes sure you know everything about Jujutsu (especially the terrifying parts, so that your desire to meet the people in his orbit slowly decreases. He already has to tolerate you being around other Sorcerers when they visit his estate, and he can't stand anything more than that.)

When Kenjaku seals him inside the Prison Realm, time doesn't pass for Satoru, but for you, it does, and you lose him for over a year. Once he comes back home to you, covered in the blood of those who dared to separate the two of you, he finds you draped in his favorite kimono, a turquoise one with pink cherry blossom patterns. He takes you in his arms, and you don't care about the smell of copper as you weep and hug him tightly. As Gojo coos reassuring words and he listens to you mumbling about how you were lost without him but refused to mourn him because you had faith, he leans forward. Then, he takes your chin between his index finger and thumb and finally kisses you for the first time. Your lips are warm and wet as he tastes your tears of adoration for him, and he smiles inside your mouth. You're entirely his, and for you, Satoru Gojo is the only divine being you'll ever worship.