*hisses violently*

The Diplomat.

//Jerome x Reader.

Requested: Yes.

Summary: Y/n is Oswald Cobblepot’s younger sister; she is the definition of innocence. She helps him with the social stance to negotiating, and is with him while he is trying to negotiate with one of the newest, most hyped criminal. Jerome Valeska.

Rating: Mid-fluff.

Warnings: Threats, language, slightly flirtatious Jerome.

Need to know: Set after Jerome’s revival, as he has more power, etc. (Also, I don’t have many revived Jerome fics.)

Title: The Diplomat. //

“Now, listen y/n,” Oswald says as he hobbles towards the gigantic garage door. “I don’t want you to have to do this, but if you do, I’d feel more comfortable if you had this.” He turns to her, pressing a gun to her palm, urging her to take it. Y/n sighs softly, staring down at the sleek black gun.

“I’d rather not, Oz, I think I’ll be fine…I’ve never needed one before.” Y/n says tentatively. Oswald’s head tilts as he stares down at her, and his head shakes, his mouth open slightly.

“Y/n, please do this for me.” Oswald’s eyes searches y/n’s. “These are bad people, y/n. If shit hits the fan, they won’t care who is armed and who isn’t. They’ll shoot you, y/n. So, take the damn gun.” He hated being harsh towards y/n but sometimes he didn’t have a choice. A small, irritated sigh slips past y/n’s lips as she grabs the gun from him, instantly flicking the safety on. Although Oswald knew y/n wasn’t really upset with him, he still felt guilty. He knew she could take care of herself, but it was always more a question of would she. Oswald dusts of his jacket, stands slightly straighter, and knocks his umbrella -which he uses as a cane- against the door five times, then four, and finally one. The door creaks and groans, and then lurches upwards slowly, the whole way squeaking as it rolls up. Oswald motions with his head for everyone else to enter first. They move forward as Oswald does, followed lastly by y/n.

Once she’s in the storage unit, the door closes- much quicker than it had opened. The slightly pale ginger stands up with a flair, his permanent smile widening as he moves forward to greet them.

“Hello, Oswald.” He says, his voice gruff as he stretches out his hand. Y/n moves forward, holding out her hand to shake his too, but his gaze merely stops on her for a second. His eyes light up slightly, and he withdraws his hand.

“Yes, hello.” Oswald says hastily. Jerome’s gaze flicks down to the gun in y/ns hands, and his eyebrows shoot up as he turns over to Oswald, his eyes sparkling as he tilts his head.

“You shouldn’t give toys to little kids; not toys like that,”

“I’m not a kid.” Y/n mumbles, not looking over at him. His eyebrows shoot up even higher as he whirls around to face her.

“Ah, she speaks!” He claps his hands together once, and moves in front of her, staring down at her. “Oswald, what is it that you wanted?” He continues, moving too fast for y/n too keep up. He turns around, spinning in a circle, stopping when he stands in front of him. “Because as you kn-ackaugh.” He pauses, his whole body wrenching as a look of pain crosses his scarred face, his eyes closing tightly. Jerome clears his throat roughly, his body again spasming. He cranes his neck up, arching his back slightly as he stretches his neck, his head rolling from side to side. When his eyes finally do open, they roll over to peer at y/n before he laughs roughly. “Sorry about that- being stabbed in the neck will do that to you.” He taps his wrist, staring down at y/n still. “Why did you take her here?” He moves forward quickly, and a look of panic crosses Oswald’s face. Jerome reaches out, grabbing her chin gently and moving her head up and down, side to side, examining her face. “This isn’t exactly what I was expecting in payment, but…”

“I am not trading you my sister!” Oswald hisses, moving forward violently. One of Jerome’s lackeys moves forward quickly, restraining Oswald as Jerome hops away from y/n, a shrill, loud laugh erupting from him.

“It was a joke,” he wheezes, grasping his sides as he bursts into another fit of rough, high pitched laughter. “Can’tcha take a joke, Oswald?” He grins at him, and holds his hands up quickly. “Look, I’m not here to make enemies.” A short, bubbly laugh flies past his lips once more before all expression leaves his face. His eyes burn as he looks at Oswald and y/n. “Unless you want to make enemies.” He casts his gaze over to y/n once more, smiling brightly. “Hey there, sweet cheeks. Be a doll and give me your gun?”

“Don’t talk to her like that Jerome!” Oswald explodes, staring at Jerome, murder written in his eyes.

“Oswald, stop.” Y/n says, holding her arm out in front of him. She steps forward, locking gazes with Jerome as she holds up her gun. His eyes only leave hers every few seconds to look at the gun. “This?” Y/n asks, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

“Yes, that gun. Is there another damn gun would I be talking about?” He growls. Y/n pulls her other arm away from Oswald and holds the gun out to Jerome.

“Just calm down, okay?” She meets his gaze once again. “We don’t want any trouble.”

“Ha! Hard to believe, with your brother over there.” Jerome barks out a laugh, eyeing the gun but not taking it.

“Jerome.” Y/n says firmly. Something about the way she speaks compels Jerome to meet her gaze. “I don’t want any trouble, Jerome.” She moves forward, grabbing Jerome’s hands. At this point, all of his followers are tense, fingers on their triggers. Y/n nudges Jerome’s hands open gently, placing the gun in them. He stares down at her, his eyes darkening as he grips on to one of her wrists tight, tossing the gun across the room with his other.

“You’re brave for someone so quiet.” Despite all the angry noises coming from Oswald, Jerome reaches out and strokes y/n’s cheek. “So, gentle,” he murmurs, every feature on his face softening. As y/n feels herself getting lost in Jerome’s eyes, her heart pounds quickly.

“And you don’t seem very dangerous for the most infamous criminal in Gotham.” She comments, tilting her head so his hand is cupping her face more, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “But, you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. Right?”

Jerome pulls away from her, his whole-body stiffening. “That’s exactly right, doll.” He waves his hand in the air. “Just, do whatever you’d like, Oswald. We can team up whenever, you need a favor, I’m your guy, you need supplies; I’m your guy. Take whatever you want now, we can just get more.” Oswald’s jaw drops open, and one of Jerome’s followers turn to him.

“Bu- but Jerome, are you-” His voice is silenced by the bang of a bullet as it sinks through his skull. Jerome stares at his gun in shock, as if he hadn’t known it was loaded, and then tosses it aside carelessly. He turns back to y/n one more time.

“Do me a favor,” he says softly. “Don’t trust anyone but your brother. He’ll take care of you, he’ll keep you safe.”

“Well, can’t I trust you?”

“No. Come to think of it, I don’t want you coming around here again.”

“Well, why not? Maybe I want to come down here some more.” Jerome swallows roughly.

“I can’t have you around me. You’re going to stay away from me.”

“I don’t have to do what you say.” Y/n says, easily getting fed up with his sudden coldness towards her. “You barely even know me, what’s your deal?”

“I know that I’ll like you, y/n. I know that I’ll love you, in fact. That can’t happen, y/n. It can’t.

“Maybe I want it to happen,” she calls out, shocking Jerome and Oswald. They both turn to look at her, jaws slack.

It can’t! When people like me, like your brother, when we care about people, they get used as leverage. Your brother let you out of the house much?”

“No…no?”

“My point exactly. If people knew he cared for you, knew he was your sister…you’d be dead in an instant, doll.” Jerome laughs, and turns around. “So, I’ll say it again; you aren’t coming back around here. Oswald, get her out of here.”

As y/n leaves, she makes a silent promise to herself.

She will visit him again.

She wants to see him again, and they’ve only just met. She’s already infatuated.

Title: Daggers

Image: Dark and Anti fighting on who can spend time with you.

You watched the two men in front of you, questioning if they really should be called men considering they were both acting like children. And why was this? Because the two decided to argue over who’s day it was to spend time with you. Of course you didn’t get a say in this matter so you watched the two boys argue and you were slightly becoming impatient, you only wanted to go to the movies.

“It’s my day! You had the human yesterday!” Anti hissed at Dark, glitching violently. They never even bothered to use your name unless it was to you and half the time it seemed like a chore to them. Dark was a little more polite and did use your name more, Anti however, not so much. When you asked him about it, he simply shrugged, saying that ‘The human’ was a nickname, but you knew that was a lie.

 "The human has a name, isn’t that right, (Y/N)?“ Dark addressed you as you sat on the bed in your room, you didn’t answer, knowing Anti was glaring holes into your head. Dark whipped his head to Anti, glaring at him, "It’s rude to glare at others, Anti.”

“Hypocrite!” Anti said, now glaring at Dark. 

You had had enough, “Guys-” But were quickly cut off by Dark, 

“Not now (Y/N).” He stated, his hand raised as he continued to glare at Anti, “I’m gonna shove a knife down this kid’s throat." 

Anti became more angrier the more time passed, "Not if I cut your head off first old man.” The pair had taken a step towards each other and it started to worry you. You never liked these fights, cause for one, your room would become a mess in the space of two seconds. The boys always fought messily and it annoyed you.

 "It’s my day, I deserve it, I did the job for you last night so why can’t I go??!“ Anti asked Dark, nothing but venom in his voice.

"Hey-" 

"Shut up before I make you shut up.” Anti spat at you, your eyes going slightly wide. 

You didn’t like it when he was angry at you. You were only going to ask what the job was from last night but that was out of the question…“I don’t care what you deserve, it is my turn, I treat people with respect unlike you.” Dark had hit a nerve, causing Anti to stand finger length away from Dark, glitching with fury, his claws beginning to show. 

“Um-”

“NOT NOW (Y/N)!!” They both shouted at you, causing you to become angry, you were on your last nerve. You mumbled to yourself, getting up and working on a plan to make them stop. The pair hadn’t even noticed that you had disappeared to receive the pairs daggers. 

The daggers always helped when they were like this or just when you wanted peace and time with your real friends, this was one of they times. You knew they would be super pissed with you when they found a way back but that was something you could always handle. You pulled out Anti’s dagger, shoving it directly into his back from behind, he shouted in pain before glitching away. Dark began to smirk, giving you the opportunity to pull his dagger out, stabbing him straight in the chest, he hissed in pain before disappearing in a puff of black smoke.

 You threw the clean daggers onto your bed, grabbing your jacket before making your way out of the now peaceful room.

anonymous asked:

How should someone respectfully salute a woman they met for the first time?

Thank you for coming to me with this question.

The first thing you absolutely must do is accept the fact that a woman met for the first time will take it as a grave insult if you have no visible muffin on your person. Understandably one can’t be expected to carry around a muffin at all times, so if you come upon a woman whom you haven’t met before and you are, at the time, unmuffined, you should immediately cover both of your eyes with you left hand, and place yourself flat on the ground, face down, as quickly as you can (use your right hand for support). Then you must emit a sharp whistle, followed by a long voiceless alveolar trill, transcribed thus: [r̥ːːː]. This will indicate to the unmet woman that you mean no disrespect, and were simply caught off-guard by her sudden appearance. At this point, the unmet woman should continue on her way. Be aware that it is within her rights to step not just over, but on your body as she continues on her way (for more on this, see Corbitt v. Russell). If you believe that the unmet woman has moved out of your line of sight, you should ask as loudly as you can, “Are the frocks still on the bannister, or hasn’t Uncle Harry explained?” If you receive no response, you are safe to get up off the ground and continue your day. If the unmet woman is still within earshot, though, she will began to shake and hiss violently. If you hear this, it’s advisable to remain on the ground and to keep still and quiet. Don’t try asking again until a full hour has passed.

Now, assuming you do have your muffin with you, should you come across an unmet woman, you need not be alarmed. Whether or not the unmet woman has caught sight of you, you must immediately say, “Hop! Hop!” Say it quite loudly, but no need to shout. If the unmet woman is unaware of your presence, this will draw her attention. If she is already aware of your presence, though, she will take it as a sign of respect that you still went to the trouble of saying, “Hop! Hop!” With that done, place your muffin in your left hand, and then with your right hand, tear off a small piece. Having done so, raise your right knee quite high in the air (as high as you can), and then step down nice and forcefully, while at the same time executing a clockwise quarter turn. Facing this direction, toss away the bit of muffin in your right hand proclaiming, “To the sun!” Execute the same series of steps, and then, when facing away from the unmet woman, proclaim, “To the moon!”, and toss your second bit of muffin away. Repeating the same steps and facing a new direction, you will toss your third bit of muffin away, proclaiming, “To the moon!”* Finally one executes the last quarter turn and, rather than tossing, eats the last bit of muffin, offering, after the bit has been swallowed, “To a divine morning of auspicious portent.” At this point one executes a half turn, facing completely away from the unmet woman, and sits down, cross-legged. The muffin is then placed upside-down atop one’s head. If the muffin stays, the woman is considered respectably met. If the muffin falls forwards, towards the greeter, the meeting has gone awry, and the entire affair is considered a failure. If the muffin falls towards the unmet woman, she may replace it on the greeter’s head and give it another try, or she may toss the muffin in the street, continuing on her way. If the muffin falls in any other direction, this is considered a draw, and both parties continue on their way, officially having never met.

Regarding the type of muffin, there are at least nine different major opinions on the matter. Naturally, attitudes have changed through time, but most commenters agree that a non-apple cinnamon muffin is the safest bet. It’s prudent to avoid fruit flavored muffins of any kind before Labor Day. After Labor Day, it really depends on whom you ask. Most agree that apple is always in season, but Collins (1913) disagrees sharply. According to Collins, the only suitable fruit flavored muffin after Labor Day is lemon, but both Chesterfield (1869) and modern commenters Selwig (1994) and Mayors (2002) suggest lemon muffins are suitable only in the spring. As noted in Malcolm, Rodriguez, & Morgan (2016), modern women are far less traditional than in decades past, so it’s best to adhere to recent surveys of woman meeting practices, like Dante (2004), Huang (2007), and the seminal 2011 study “Muffins in the New Millennium: How modern women are redefining the commoditization of space in nouveaux interpersonal interactions” by Mansfield, et al.

The important thing is to not think too much about it. It always seems like a big to do on paper, but the truth of the matter is we meet many woman every single year, and with Amazon’s Prime Now, purchasing fresh, interesting muffins has never been simpler—or cheaper. So relax! When a new woman comes along, so long as you’ve got a muffin with you, you’ll know what to do.

(Oh, but of course, NO BANANA NUT MUFFINS. lol Sometimes it’s so obvious you feel like you don’t even need to say it, but in the interests of being thorough, there you go. And again, I really am just being thorough; please don’t take it amiss that I’m stating something so obvious! After all, we all have to learn some time, and this post may be someone’s first exposure to the art and science of respectfully saluting women.)

*For those wondering why one says “To the moon!” twice in a row, it’s actually a bit of a historical accident. Originally, one said, “To the mode!” This persisted until the 19th century, when some confusion was introduced into the system. In territories west of the Mississippi, it was common to say, “To the main!” on the third toss [for obvious reasons, given the region], and this custom was passed on in various forms further west and to the south. These individuals misinterpreted the word, though, and simply substituted a second “moon” in its place. This is the wording that came into vogue in California, when the short silent film A Dame for to Court was shot. The film was a hit, and played in theaters all the way from Avalon to Albany. Younger folk especially began to replace the original “mode” with “moon” as a direct result of the film’s influence. This at the time was known as “Doing the Dame”—a phrase which was grossly misinterpreted in later years. Its origin aside, though, the practice persists to this day.

angelsarenamederika  asked:

Have you ever written any works about that clean, empty train station Harry ended up in? Or rather, what that place may have looked like for other people?

Ginny woke up with a gasp that felt like sandpaper shoved down her throat. Her lungs brimmed with rock and cold water, with the thick musty smell of snake.

She inhaled again and it was softer– she blinked her eyes open as the world rearranged itself. Mildew and stone gave way to the scent of sun-warmed grass. Apple blossoms. Branches cut the sky into shards of blue. 

She had learned how to fly in this orchard. She had stolen her brothers’ brooms out of the shed and practiced when no one was watching her. She knew this view–lying on the ground, looking up–because she had laid out here in the shade on hot summer days, because she had fallen off brooms and bruised herself all over, again and again, knocked all the air out of her lungs.  Ginny sat up. 

-

Ginny sat up. Her mother put a mug of tea down in front of her. Ginny wobbled where she sat and clutched at the rough edge of the kitchen table. 

“Drink your tea,” said Molly. 

“Mum,” she said. “I think I’ve been hurting people.” The Burrow’s kitchen was sunlit and scrubbed clean behind Molly. 

“Of course you wouldn’t, sweetheart,” said Molly. 

Mum,” said Ginny. “There was blood on my robes." 

"We’ve all killed a few chickens in our time,” said Molly. 

“How did I get home?” She wrapped her hands around the steaming mug. It was cold against her palms, wet and gritty. There was dirt under her nails. She shivered. “I was at Hogwarts." 

"It’s not going to be easy,” Molly said. “He’ll tell you that, someday– the choice between what is right and what is easy. Isn’t that interesting? That doing the right thing is always so damn hard.” Molly put the tea kettle back on the stove. Her apron was thick beige canvas, well-used. “But you won’t really be listening. Because a boy will just have died, and you’ll be thinking about that. About whether or not he had a choice.”

“Who’s dying?” Ginny said. “Who’s going to die?" 

"No one you know well,” Molly said. “It’s alright. No one important to you. Someone very important to other people, but, of course, everyone is. And no, he won’t have had a choice. Right, or easy. But you do." 

-

Bill was trying to brush her hair. It was tangled at the back of her skull, matted, but his hands were very gentle. The chair she sat in creaked under her, old, in need of repairs like everything the Weasleys had ever owned. Sunlight dripped down through the leaves of the orchard. Bill had been the one who taught her to undo the lock on the broom shed door. 

"You haven’t done this since I was little,” she said. 

“You’re still little,” Bill said. His voice was younger, squeakier, and when she tipped her head back she saw his chin smooth and unstubbled, his hair still short and neat, his ear unpierced. 

“I miss you,” she said. “You’re going to leave. You’re going to go on adventures and forget to write home and forget to visit." 

"I’ll visit,” said Bill. 

“Not enough,” she said. “I’m glad you grew your hair out, though. It looks good. Mum doesn’t get it, but it looks more like you." 

Her skull was cradled in his hands, still tipped back, looking up at him. 

"You’re not really here,” she said. 

“No,” he agreed. “You’re all alone. You’re on the floor of the Chamber, can’t you tell?" 

Ginny touched her robes. They were cold and damp, sticking to her spine. Moldy water dripped from her hem onto the dry dirt of the orchard. 

-

"You’re just embarrassing us,” said Percy. He was fussing with his robes, picking lint off them. A sunbeam came through the kitchen window and draped itself around his shoulders. 

Ginny swallowed. “You don’t mean that.” She looked around the kitchen, but it was empty. Mum and her teapot weren’t anywhere. 

“Can you imagine how Mum and Dad will feel?” Percy said. “When it comes out their baby girl has been strangling chickens and killing Mudbloods?”

“No one died,” she whispered. “And don’t say that word." 

"C'mon, Ginevra, no one died but they were meant to. A camera, a mirror, a ghost, a puddle– the Mudbloods got lucky." 

Her whisper shrank and shrank. "Don’t say that word." 

"Mudbloods? Why? You wrote it on the wall in blood.” His face twisted, sneering, twisted and twisted– she had never seen Percy’s face skew that far. She didn’t think faces could move like that. She didn’t think they should. She squeezed her eyes shut. “You’ve been trying to kill people all year, and you haven’t even managed one,” said the thing with Percy’s voice, the voice he used to tell first years to knot their ties properly. “Embarrassing. Maybe tonight you’ll finally get it right." 

"You’re not really here,” she said. “This isn’t real. This is a dream, it’s all in my head, you’re not really here." 

"Of course it’s all in your head,” Percy said, or something that had once looked like Percy said. She wasn’t opening her eyes to see. “Why would that mean it isn’t real?”

-

“Welsh Greens are my favorite dragon,” said Charlie. Ginny pried her eyes open. Charlie smiled at her from across the kitchen table. Her tea was still gone. Percy was gone. The sunlight had faded to pale morning light. She was shivering. 

“I try not to play favorites,” he said. “You know, but sometimes you just gotta admit things to yourself.”

“Charlie, I think I’m dying.” She gripped the edge of the rough kitchen table and it bit into her palms. 

“They’re just so elegant,” Charlie said. “The first time I saw one fly. Do you remember? No, you weren’t born yet, I think. But Dad got suspended for a month, though Mum and Dad didn’t tell us that part–something with Lucius Malfoy–but he had a month off so we went to stay with that old friend of Mum’s in Newport. Right near the preserve. And we went out into it, and the twins kept trying to run off, and Bill spent all his time reading those adventure books he liked so much then, but we saw dragons. A Green sunning, across a gorge. One flying, almost directly over us. And I knew, right then, what I wanted to do with my life." 

"I think it was Lucius who put the diary in my textbook,” she said. “Why would he do that? Why did I write in it? Why did Tom make it? Why did I write back?" 

"See this?” said Charlie, rolling up a sleeve. Two long jagged lines of scar tissue bulged down his forearm, wrapping around it. “Poor thing got stuck in a trap and nicked me when I was getting it loose. Damned poachers." 

"Charlie, I think I hurt people.”

“And here,” said Charlie. He untucked his shirt and showed her a big shiny burn that went all up and down his leftside ribs and hip. “Healing skin,” he said. “It’s the weirdest thing.”

-

“We prank Filch and Mrs. Norris all the time,” said George. He was sitting in a tree in the orchard, the way the twins had used to before they got too big for the fragile branches. “But Merlin’s beard, Gin, never like that." 

Ginny sat cross-legged in the grass, picking stalks and trying to weave a crown. "Do you think Mrs. Norris’ll be okay?" 

"And Justin?” said George. “He’s a little twerp, but my god. We could have helped you put cayenne in his oatmeal or something, come on." 

"It wasn’t me,” said Ginny. “I didn’t mean to." 

"Okay, was it not you, or did you not mean to?” said George. “Those are two different excuses.”

-

“Never trust something if you can’t see where it puts its brain,” Arthur said. Her father was under the car. She couldn’t see him from the mid-chest, up. She couldn’t see his face.

-

“You know it’s not your fault, right?” Ron was lying on his back on his bed and she was laying belly-down on the floor, coloring. The ghoul in the attic banged pipes– angry, desperate sounds resounding like they were in an empty, vaulted space that swallowed up echoes and spat them back. 

“I wrote back,” she said. 

“Yeah, and? Plenty of people have penpals. That’s all you did. You were lonely. Don’t you think I get it? We’re the last ones, you and me. The point where people have seen so many Weasley kids they stop bothering to learn our names. I know.”

“I should’ve known,” she said. She rolled over onto her back, her hair tangling with her colored pencils. It sounded like the ghoul had maybe broken a pipe– a violent hissing shook the room. “Never trust something if you can’t see where it keeps its brain." 

"That’s stupid,” said Ron, sitting up, leaning over so she could see the profile of his long nose, his flop of red hair. There was a spreading stain on the ceiling above him.

Dad says that." 

"Well Dad’s stupid sometimes. What does where something keeps its brain have to do with anything? Somebody put that diary in your stuff. Someone made that diary– and they kept their brain right in their skull, just like us." 

"So it’s ‘never trust anyone’?” Hissing, snarling, metal on stone, the drip of water. Her skull pressed into the hard floor, too heavy to lift. The noise rose and rose, but she could hear Ron’s voice just fine. 

He shrugged, lanky shoulders bobbing. “I dunno. Maybe it’s 'do your best.’ I dunno. You’re eleven. Why do you have to be thinking about stuff like this?”

“You’re twelve. Why are you?”

Yeah, well, I helped fight You-Know-Who in my first year." 

Ginny curled her fingers into her dark robes. She had had to throw away the ones she’d killed the roosters in. She’d never learned Mum’s cleaning spells well enough for that. 

"You could, too,” Ron said. The stain on the ceiling kept spreading, white plaster going dark. “You did. Fight You-Know-Who, your first year.” Water dripped onto her forehead. 

“How?” she said. “I helped him. Tom was in my head, my hands– He was–" 

"You tried to tell people.”

“I should’ve made them listen,” she said. 

“You can’t make people listen,” said Ron. 

“What can I do, then?” she said. 

“Wake up,” he said. “Wake up, wake up, come on, Ginny, wake up, Harry why is she so cold.”

-

“I’m so scared, Mum,” she said. The tea was steaming but her hands were shaking against cold ceramic. “I think I’ve been hurting people." 

-

"You’ve always been able to tell us apart,” said George. The leaves on the trees rustled behind him. “We appreciate that, you know? Like, there’s some pranks we can’t play with you around, but, still, it’s nice." 

-

"You can go,” Percy said, kindly, and Ginny shivered and shivered. “You’ve always wanted to. You’ve been dreaming about running all your life. Just taking a broom and going." 

-

Apple blossoms filled the air. Dry grass tickled her cheek, the curve of her calf. Branches cut through the sky– blue, broad, endless. She could feel cold, rotting water seeping into her robes, her socks, swallowing her hands. 

-

Bang. The ghoul in the attic was hitting pipes again. Hissing. Shouts. 

-

Bang. Swinging his feet, knocking his heels against the table legs, Fred sat on the rickety table in the broom shed. He trimmed the stray broken twigs from the tail of his Cleansweep, whistling, and he didn’t look up. 

The door of the shed hung open behind Ginny, the sun at her back, the smell of apple blossoms in the air. 

"If you’re going to steal our brooms,” Fred said. “You could at least help with maintenance, you know." 

"Why are you the last one?” she said. He had stopped whistling, but the sound kept going, ricocheting off the walls. “Why weren’t you with George?”

“We don’t do everything together,” said Fred. He looked up from the broom and he was smiling. “He’s going to do a lot of things without me, one day.”

“Where am I?” she said. “What is this? This isn’t home." 

"Isn’t it?” Fred said. He was smiling and she wanted him to stop. “You see, Ginny, you get a choice. Not everyone gets a choice, but you do. This is a place where people wait,” he said. “This is a place where they get to decide. To go forward or to go back." 

"What if I don’t want to go back?”

“Then you take one of these brooms, Gin, and you just go.” He stood up, holding the broom loosely in his hand. “You used to dream about it, remember? When no one was paying attention to you, or when they were paying too much, or when Ron broke your favorite porcelain doll. You thought about sneaking out here, and taking a broom, and just going. The first time you snuck out here and stole my broom, that’s what you meant to do. Run away. Find a circus, or an adventure, a new life.”

“But I came back." 

He shrugged. "You ran out of the cookies you’d packed. And it got cold." 

"It’s getting colder,” she said. “Fred, I’m so cold." 

"You won’t get cold, if you go. You won’t run out of anything.”

“What’ll I find?” The sky out the window was blue. It went forever. 

“I don’t know, kiddo. Not yet.”  

-

Bill was brushing her hair in the orchard. It didn’t hurt, but she knew it should. She tipped her head back. The sky was blue. She let him hold the weight of her skull in his two big hands, his rings digging into her scalp. 

Charlie was telling her about dragons. Percy was picking lint off her shoulder and telling her to get some sleep. George was picking dead leaves off the apple tree and dropping them on her head. 

Ron laid on his back in his bedroom and water dripped down from the ceiling. The ghoul was shrieking, the pipes were hissing. The stain spread and spread and she watched it go. She couldn’t lift her head. 

-

“You have a choice,” Arthur said. He had oil on his cheek from fixing a car he swore he never meant to drive. 

“It’s getting colder." 

"I know, baby." 

-

The handle of Fred’s broom was trapped between them, digging into her ribs, bruising her collarbone. She twisted her hands in the back of his shirt and buried her face in the front of it. Fred was taller than he should be. His chin was bristly with a beard he shouldn’t be able to grow this well, not yet. 

"I miss you,” she said. “You’re going to leave." 

"Are you?” he said. 

She gripped the back of his shirt tight. She could smell the orchard through the open door. She was crying. Her tears were the only warm things in the whole world. “No,” she whispered. 

“It won’t be easy,” Fred said, his chin pressed to the top of her head, because he was taller, he was so much taller than he should be. She cried and the stain spread through his shirt. “But it will be worth it." 

-

Apple blossoms and old stone. Snakes in the dry grass. This was where she learned to fly. She had taught herself. 

"Wake up,” said Ron. “Harry, why is she so cold? Wake up, Ginny, you’ve got to wake up." 

The blue sky was cut into a hundred shattered pieces. 

She opened her eyes. 

Stay Professional! Part 2

Work AU! Fluff and Angst: JK x Reader

Read Part 1 Here.

“Where.. what..? What happened?” You slowly opened your eyes to find yourself neatly tucked under your covers dressed in yesterday’s work clothes that stank of alcohol. You immediately felt as though someone had violently stirred your stomach like a thick soup of calm-chowder and ran straight to the bathroom, almost vomiting up the bitter taste of bile. 

Clueless and with a killer migraine, you splashed some cold water on your face and looked up- a reflection of dark eye-bags and hair that defied physics. 

“Oh god..” You mumbled to yourself, evidently becoming terrified at the thoughts of what you could’ve possibly done last night. The last time you got that drunk was all the way back in 1st year university when it was acceptable and was the encouraged norm. So many mistakes were made..

You checked your wrist-watch to find that it was halfway through the day and you’d not left the house for work. Panicking, you hopped in the shower and temporarily forgot about the migraine until you stepped out of the elevator and into the office. 

Greeted with whispers from co-workers and an angry boss that had glued her hands to her hips, it was a reasonable reaction considering your wet hair and struggle to walk in a straight line. 

“Look who decided to show up huh?” 

“I’m so sorry Ma’am. I..” adrenaline rushed throughout your body as you tried to find a reasonable excuse for why you could possibly show up 4 hours late to work. 

“You..? What? What did you do? You look like a mess. You look terrible!” 

Since you couldn’t think of anything logical to say, you’d just decided to tell her the truth. You were experiencing the worst hangover possible so it was understandable that you weren’t thinking the most logical. 

“I went out with my friend last night and I didn’t feel well in the morning. Please let me off the hook.” You sighed, bowing your head down to show respect and asked for forgiveness. 

“You’ve been such a slacking member. You don’t even know how to make coffee and you can’t handle the simplest of tasks. Tell me, how’d you manage you even get this job?” 

You just gritted your teeth together in hopes that she would stop spewing utter bullshit. I didn’t spend ¾ of my life in school to get treated like this.

“My apologies ma’am. I promise you this will never happen again.” 

“You don’t need to kiss my feet. You’re not even worth it. You’re fired.” 

You’re fired. 

I’m fired? 

Those words echoed through your mind and looked up at her with a shocked and annoyed expression. Eyebrows raised and eyes squinted, you looked at her in disbelief.

“E-excuse me?” You scoffed, unable to keep up the ‘submissive-perfect-girl’ image any longer.

“You’re fired. Get out.” She repeated, turning around in a swift motion and walked away from you- tempting you to throw daggers into her back. 

“You’re a bitch you know that? You treat everyone else like shit and think you’re all that when in reality, how are we expected to look up to someone that can’t even dress half as decent as your ugly sugar-daddies? You’re rude and annoying as fuck and then you wonder why you keep getting dumped by all of them you parasite.” Your vulgar language brought the entire floor to a silence. Your co-workers looked at you as if they’d had seen a zombie climb through the window and it looked like everyone’s souls had been sucked right out of their bodies due to shock. 

Your boss was in disbelief and refused to process the words that had ran through her burning ears from anger. 

“What did you just say to me?” She hissed loudly, violently pushing the closest stack of books down onto the ground. She was pissed.. but so were you.

“I’ve just about had it with your bullshit everyday. You make my life miserable and I hope you continue to get dumped because karma really is a bitch.” 

“Watch your mouth you ungrateful bitch!” She grabbed hold of a cup that was full of hot coffee (that was probably made by the secretary in your absence) and threw it in your direction. 

Instinctively, you covered your face with your arms and let out an inaudible scream of fear. To your surprise, no heat or burning sensation followed on. Instead, the scent of rich coffee and expensive clothes put your fear to a halt.

“Am I interrupting something?” Jungkook presented his usual cold demeanour and spoke in an icy tone that was sure to freeze the hottest of fires. 

He swiftly shook off the boiling coffee which dripped down his new Versace coat sleeve that he had purchased recently and stared down at your boss with eyes of pure disgust. 

“I believe this is against not only company rules but normal legislation as well. Your actions will have concerning consequences. Please understand that you will face charges.” He spoke gently with a smile on his face, a sense of deadliness that caused her to whimper in fright.  

A followup of yells from Jungkook’s bodyguards broke the thick atmosphere. 

“Sir! Are you alright?! We’re so terribly sorry sir we got caught up with the CEO in the hallway.” They projected their voices a little too loud for the sensitive ears of Jungkook. 

“Shut up… this is nothing.” He wiped off the excess hot coffee from his coat and threw the tissue at one of the body guards. 

“Are you sure sir? Your mother will be very worried. Would you like me to contact the CEO?” They mumbled with teeth evidently chattering, terrified at the amount of trouble they’d have to face. 

His mother? The CEO? WHAT?!

The realisation hit you like a 5 tonne truck. You’d just been saved by the future CEO of the company. Instead of you, he was splashed with hot coffee. Because of you- he was splashed with hot coffee. How in the world were you supposed to process that kind of information. What have I done?

Y/N, clean yourself up and my office. Immediately.” He barked, causing you to jump in shock from his unusual loud voice. 


Was it possible to die from nervousness? Your heart was beating so fast it felt like it could fly out of your chest at any moment. The sweat that formed in your palms was almost convincing enough to say that you’d just recently washed them. You still looked like a mess and you tried your best to tame down the hairs but there were still persistent strands that stuck up in the most inconvenient places. 

You took a deep breath in and out for the 5th time before pep talking yourself for the 8th and attempted to knock on his door for the 10th time. You gently knocked on his office door and prayed to all the gods in the world for forgiveness. 

“Come in.” He said, his voice now recognisable as you’d gotten a little familiar with his velvety tones- unable to remember exactly why. 

“Did you call for me, Sir?” You shuffled into his office, a plastered blush and anxiety evidently obvious on your features. You stared down at his white tiled flooring and fiddled around with your sweaty thumbs. What could he want from me? I’m already fired. 

“How could you possibly act as if nothing has happened after your actions?” He questioned, resting his hands that were clasped together on the dark mahogany desk. 

“Please pardon my actions. I spoke completely out of line and I apologise deeply for my vulgar language. I’ll leave the company as soon as possible, sir.” 

“That’s not what I’m talking about, Y/N.” He looked at you. The temperature of your body skyrocketed from his curious stares that felt as long as centuries. 

“Do you perhaps.. not recall of your actions from last night?” His voice was firm and stiff, it progressed to increase in volume as he got up from his leather seat and approached you. 

“I.. I don’t have any clue on what you’re talking about sir. I do remember drinking last night though, but I don’t remember anything else. Please forgive me for any inconvenience that I may have caused.” 

“Stop apologising and look at me properly.” He commanded, his husky tone sent you running for the hills inside your head. 

You examined his expression- such a beautiful face and jaw dropping features. The heat rose up to your ears and you felt as red as a ripe tomato. What was he doing? So close up in your personal space. 

“You don’t remember even if I’m this close?” He murmured, a somewhat arrogant smirk that spread across his lips. You felt his words graze your skin and shook your head quickly. 

“Sir I have no clue on what you’re talking about.” You looked away from him, eyes adverted down onto the ground once again. 

“Then what if I do this?” He mumbled, gently placing his hand on your chin to turn your lips onto his. His cold lips felt familiar and somehow relaxing yet you were freaking out completely from his sudden actions. But you couldn’t possibly push him away. He had you wrapped around his finger and continued to deepen the kiss by gently sucking on your bottom lip and trailed his hand down your spine. 

Part 3

Choose Your Mistakes #31

Part thirty-one of the interactive fanfiction, Choose Your Mistakes. Please check the FAQ and the Setting Info if you have questions, and be sure to make your choice below.

You chose to distract Anti.

Originally posted by prosecchoe

How dare…

You shrieked, charging at Anti and bringing the arm in your grasp down as hard as possible on the back of his head. And then you did it again.
You’d stepped into Anti’s smoke without thinking. Static rippled across your skin, and your hair stood on end.
Anti twitched violently, turning to regard you with a confused expression.
“D͜id̡͏̶ ̸̨͞y̡͟͞o̢̕͘ù̧͡ ̷͜s̴̕e̵r̀̀͠í̷ou̢͢͡ş̧l̴̨̡y ̨̛j͜͝ú̶̢st̸̢-”

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Struck (Part Eighteen)

Originally posted by marvel3xo

EXO Fanfiction: Fantasy AU
Main pairing - Female Reader x Kim Jongdae/Chen
A mysterious group move into your apartment building and you find yourself drawn to them, one in particular… but is it safe? Who are they really?

< Previous | Next >

You stared as his body tumbled to the ground. There were bodies everywhere, bodies fighting, bodies running. The air was thick with smoke and flashes of light. You could barely see anything, but nothing could pry your eyes away from his body tumbling to the ground.

’THERE ARE TOO MANY!

As more figures pooled around him his body disappeared into the crowd. You could hear a voice screaming, screaming, whose voice was screaming?


You woke up with a start and a gasp. You groaned as you blinked back the sunlight that was streaming into your eyes. Licking your dry lips, you tried to remember the dream that had woken you, but your mind was groggy. You frowned, trying to remember but it was like something was holding it back.

Huh? you thought, as your eyes adjusted and you realised you were no longer asleep in your chair but had been moved to your mattress on the floor. You smiled, and turned to where you expected to find Jongdae sleeping next to you.

Except - Jongdae wasn’t next to you.

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Familiar Terrors

pairing: finn balor | original character

summary: no matter how well you hide, he will always get inside of you.

author’s note: this is extremely dark. please be forewarned.

trigger warning: noncon, rape


When I’d been gifted a fluffy, brown teddy bear, I’d been so snobby about it that I’d perched it atop my pretty, white dresser. I refused to dirty it, to do anything more with it than primp it up where it would remain for the rest of its existence. Though I was a bit too old to be gifted a teddy bear, it wasn’t a wildly inappropriate present, so my family didn’t think much on the matter.

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2

Unfaithful : Part Twenty-one

Summary :
In the Pre-apocalypse , you went to your aunt Lucille’s house in Virginia to spend the summer there, but you fell in love with her husband Negan .

**drama - romance - angst- smut - betrayal**

Pairing : Negan x Female Reader OC.

Dedicated to @negansmainwife

Taglist:
@lbonnell123
@yellatthetopofyourlungs

@i-am-negan-trash

@warriorqueen1991

@ryangoslingstanktop

@monicapernas

@negans-network

@negan–is–god

@memphisgirl1977

@frozenhuntress67

@jmackie1983

@ali-pennell @myheart4ever47

@pinkykayley

@ladyhawk4133

Please let me know if you wether want to be tagged or untagged.

Warnings : language - angst.

Note:

This fic is about betrayal or adultery, call it what you want, please if you feel triggered about such thing don’t read. If not , you can be wether team y/n or team Lucille. LOL

Previous chapters :

https://negansslowlyburn.tumblr.com/post/159839481553/unfaithful

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤


“Ugh shit!” Lucille uttered in annoyance as she backed away from the plate she dropped to the ground.
“God damn it Lucille, you should fucking rest! ” Negan groaned as he bent to pick up the shattered little peices of glass .

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Mythology

Word Count: 1334
Author: Ashlyn
Request: N/A
Warnings: N/A
Notes: Lots of winking

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The Chain (Pt. 2)

Originally posted by in-perfectenschlag

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: angst - language - some fluff

Word Count: 2.4K

Summary: After being apart from Bucky for some time, you agree to talk things out with him. But will you let him back into your life, or will you shut him out completely? (You can find Pt. 1 on my blog tagged under #my fics)

A/N: Thank you all so much for the feedback on my first fic! A few of you asked for a second part, so here it is! If you’d like, send me some requests or prompts, and feel free to leave some feedback for me!

Read part one HERE!


The atmosphere in the coffee shop is warm and inviting. The tables are packed and baristas move swiftly behind the counter, trying to keep up with the endless amount of drink orders. After ordering a large latte, you give the barista your name and walk away from the counter, the sound of a machine finely grinding espresso and steamers warming milk circling around the air. Loud chatter dances around you, and you finally spot a small open table across the room, nestled in the corner by a large window.

The table stands tall and has raised stools accompanying it. Settling on the stool sitting across from the wall, you dig your phone out of a small pocket in your bag and then tuck it into the small space under the legs of the stool after placing your phone on the table. You take a deep breath, inhaling scents that remind you of fall and the cool autumn breeze. It was nearing the end of September, and with each passing day, the days shortened and the nights extended their reign over the day. You sport a large, comfy scarf, a long sleeve maroon shirt, a black skirt paired with tights and a pair of black combat boots. You thought you could brave the cold in the skirt, but you realized as soon as you stepped outside of your apartment building that you were wrong.

You hear your name being called out above the sea of chatter, light music, and espresso machines, and carefully slide off of your high seat. Walking up to the counter, you thank the barista with a smile and she hurriedly turns away to finish making another drink.

Striding over to your spot, you carefully set the large ceramic mug on the table, the contents of the mug threatening to slosh over the edge at any moment. You push yourself up onto the stool, your feet dangling above the ground, and delicately lift the mug to your lips. Taking a sip, the hot liquid burns your tongue, and you carefully lower your drink. You look at your phone and see one new message notification. Unlocking your phone, Bucky’s contact pops up.

Where are you?

You swallow hard. By the window, in the corner, you type hesitantly. 

When Steve had asked you a few days ago if you would agree to speak with Bucky, you reluctantly agreed. The way things ended between you two sent you flying into a frenzy of heartbreak and sorrow. You locked yourself in your room for days, refusing to return to reality and facing the pain of walking out into an empty apartment. Bucky’s absence left a gaping hole in your life, even though he was the one thing that made your life worth living when nothing else did. At the time, you thought it was a great idea to talk with him - you were completely torn between being so desperate to have him back in your life or trying to forget him. But now that the time was here, it took everything in you to not bolt out the door. You swing one ankle over the other to stop your leg from fidgeting and hook the top of your foot behind the bar in the middle of the stool.

“Hey,” a soft, low voice hums. You look up from your phone to see Bucky standing next to you. A soft, barely-there smile plays at his lips. His hair is pulled into a low, loose bun with a few strands dangling against the side of his face. He’s wearing a black leather jacket and a white t-shirt, dark jeans, and light tan boots. Visible bags from a lack of sleep hang below his eyes, and his beard was a bit rougher than usual.

“H-hey, did you uh, order anything?” You choke out.

“Yeah, just a black coffee,” he says gently as he pulls out the other stool and slides into the seat. Even when he’s sitting, it feels like he towers over you.

David,” a barista calls out above the commotion of the shop.

“Well, that’s me,” Bucky easily slides off his seat and walks up to the counter. David? You chuckle to yourself. You watch as he grabs a mug from the barista, smiling as his mouth forms a “Thank you”.

He walks back over, taking a sip from his coffee and placing it on the table, then settles into the stool again.

“So David, huh?” A light chuckle escapes your lips.

“I was worried about drawing attention if I used ‘Bucky’,” he grins. Bucky can be such a dork sometimes, but he also had a point. With a guy as attractive as him, he gains enough attention as it is. Throw in his name, and it was sure to cause some sort of spontaneous mob of people trying to talk to and get pictures with Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier.

“So…how are you?” He asks with a concerned tone.

“Could be better,” you mumble. “You?” Bucky looks out the window, gazing at something you couldn’t see.

“Things could definitely be better,” he sighs and casts his gaze downwards. Steam rolls of the surface of his black coffee and into the shop air. Neither of you says anything for a few awkward moments. You pick up your mug.

“How long?” Your words are firm, unwavering. Bucky leans slightly over the table, supporting himself by placing his forearms on the smooth black table top. His arms are long enough to reach more than halfway across the table, holding the mug of coffee between his rough hands - his metal arm was masked by a sort of technological sleeve Tony had made for him awhile ago that mimics the look of skin, disguising the metal. He only wears it when he feels overwhelmed and needs a sense of normalcy.

The inches of distance between you two is the closest you’ve been to him in at least two weeks. A flick of desire to reach out to him and take his hands in yours and beg for him to come home burns in your chest, prompting you to tightly cross your arms. Your chin sinks into your large scarf, and you wish none of this ever happened in the first place. A part of you screams to take him back, but another part continuously begs you to not let him worm his way into your life again so easily.

“What do you -,” Bucky closes his mouth as he processes your question.

His eyes drag up from the coffee in his hands to your face. His brows were knit together in worry, and you could see some tears beginning to well in the corner of his eyes. He looks away again, out the window that your table has been pushed against. Quickly, he purses his lips and runs his tongue along his bottom lip before biting it.

“Three -,” his voice breaks and his head dips. Your heart feels as if it’s dangling by a single thread, and at any moment, the Fates would snip at the frail lifeline with razor sharp tools, sending your world into a never-ending, downward spiral of Hell and heartbreak once again. Bucky brings a closed fist to his mouth and clears his throat, then lowers his arm, slowly rubbing the side of the mug with his thumb.

“Three months,” his whispers.

Snip.

“Three…three months?” Your voice trembles in disbelief. Contrary to your former belief, that time frame was much, much longer. That was three months of him sneaking around your back, hooking up with other girls. Three months of you spending sleepless nights worrying about him while he was away on missions, but in reality, who knows how many “missions” he really went on.

Gradually, the surroundings of the bustling coffee shop fade away into nothingness. The commotion and chatter of people that mix with the sounds of espresso machines transitions into one solid, buzzing noise. Your peripheral vision blurs, leaving only Bucky in your line of sight.

It’s you, Bucky, and the unspoken truth between you. It feels so quiet in the room that you could hear a pin drop and bounce on the tile floor.

“What - I mean, w-why…,” your thoughts trail off into silence. Your mouth hangs slightly open, and your brain moves at a million miles per hour trying to reprocess what he had done to you and what you should say to him. You want to scream at him, but can barely find air to simply breathe.

“There’s nothing I want more in the world than to be able to take it all fucking back,” Bucky sniffles, suddenly bringing you out of your daze. Your attention snaps to him. His gray eyes are lightly rimmed with a delicate red. “I-I don’t know why it even started in the first place, I just…,” his voice stalls as he promptly sits up, leaning against the wall behind him as he drags a hand down his face. His nose scrunches when he sniffles.

“Do you know what this did to me?” Your voice a barely audible whisper. “What your actions did to me?” It feels like stones are pulling on your body, preventing you from making a run for it. A wave of anger shoots through your body as searing tears begin to gather in your eyes. Bucky’s focus shifts intensely to you.

“I didn’t sleep…Or eat…O-or even leave our -,” your breath lodges in your throat. “M-my fucking room for almost a damn week...all because of you, James,” you spat at him. He cringes at your use of his name, and it feels as if your jaw has been welded shut. A few tears escape and slowly cascade down your face. Your breathing is shaky, and your lungs feel like they’re being squeezed. “You destroyed my life,” your violent whisper hisses through your teeth as you lean over the table. You’re so close to him now, you were sure he could hear your heart beating erratically from your pent-up anger. “I trusted you with all my damn heart, and you suddenly decided that it didn’t matter? Do you even know what it feels like? W-what it feels like to lose -,”

“Everything? Yeah, I do. I lost you, Y/N,” Bucky’s gaze remains unmoving from yours. The air around you lays heavy and claustrophobic. “I’m just…I’m so, so insanely sorry. You have no clue how fucking sorry I am,” he faintly whispers.

A prick of desperation jolts you. An increasingly large part of you craves to have him back - back in your arms, back in your bed, back in your life - but there’s still a part of you that continues to remind yourself that what he did should be unforgivable and that he’s never to be trusted again. You’ve been through this before, and you know that second chances rarely ever work out.

But…what if this one did?

“I know,” you manage calmly. Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and feel your heart rate slow down. “You hurt me, Bucky,” the quiver in your voice sends a shiver down your body. Bucky sits up in his seat, covering his face with his hands. A few moments pass before he drops his hands into his lap.

“Is there anything I could possibly do to make this better?” He questions with a tilt of his head. A trace of burning desperation laced itself into his wavering voice. You gaze drops to your latte and bring it to your lips, taking another sip of the bitter drink. What you wouldn’t give for this to be liquor right now.

“You know I don’t give second chances,” you quietly state as you lower your drink. Raising your gaze, you watch as Bucky purses his lips, nodding. A tear silently slides down his face, getting lost in his beard.

“That’s…understandable,” he whispers unevenly. He draws in a shaky breath and starts to rise. “Well, uh…thank you for agreeing to talk any-”

“But for you, I’d make an exception,” you cut him off. Bucky blinks at you and slides back onto his stool. “For the past few years I’ve known you, I’ve built my life around you. What you did was so insanely stupid, idiotic, and sure as hell reckless, but I think we can…rebuild.”

Bucky says nothing and continues to stare at you, absorbing your words. You shift in your seat and breathe in an uneven breath through your mouth. A chill roams your body as you realize what you had just admitted. The excitement begins to build in you as you realize that this second chance was your ticket to being able to live again.

As long as you’ve known him, Bucky Barnes has always been the one that’s talked you through anxiety attacks, came to your rescue when random people would try and hook-up with you at bars, and was the person that offered to walk you home at night when you didn’t want to be alone. You have countless memories with him, ranging from hardcore jam session on an evening drive to pranking other members of the Avengers when you would visit the compound.

He was your world, and nothing could change that.

Bucky takes in a quick, sharp breath.

“A-are you being serious?” His face transitions into a look of pure hope and desperation. You reach across the table and place your hand on top of his, giving his a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah, I am,” you assure him as a small, sincere smile blossoms on your face. Bucky’s eyes light up as he smiles.

“Thank you, I-I don’t really know wh-what to say I’m just so -,” he stops as another tear threatens to spill over. “Thank you,” he whispers with excitement and a hint of disbelief.

“If you ever, ever do anything like this again, I will kill you myself,” you warn him.

“Understood,” he chuckles as another smile slowly spreads across your face. “But I have a feeling Steve may beat you to the punch.”


Read part one HERE!

Tags: @dcandmarvelimagines @buckyisloved @isaxhorror @awinterloveuniverse @hollycornish @randyortontattoos

Imagine: You grow very sick; no one is sure wether or not you will be able to make it.

The boys knew it was different from a sting and that this was serious and far beyond anything they could fix.

Newt stayed strong like he always did; put on a brave face and made you blind to reality. He did whatever he could to keep your hopes high.

One night you were worse than ever. You coughed until your throughly was so sore you could barely breathe.

Newt handled you a damp towel to keep you cool. You held the towel to your mouth on your next cough instinctively. You pulled the towel away from your mouth and red was splattered all over the towel.

Newts eyes grew wide and then quickly shook it away.

“Let me get you a new one” he suggested as he kissed your forehead.

Newt almost didn’t make it out the door before the tears started flowing. He held it together this whole time with this fake illusion that you would get better. Yet now it was clear that wasn’t the case.

Newt dropped to the floor and cursed the air as he pounded his fists onto the ground.

“Why her” newt screamed “fuck” he hissed.

Violent sobs escaped his lips as he still lay on the floor.

“I can’t loose her” his voice was barely able to squeak.

hc that rogue loves reading (and criticizing) shakespeare

they’ll go on long rants to sting about how dumb romeo + juliet were

or babble for hours with rufus over how genius iago is in othello

rogue flipping ppl off by biting their thumb, no one else knows what it means except rufus who laughs his ass off

rogue occasionally speaking all old fashioned to confuse sting

rogue laughing anytime someone mentions a sword because sword=dick in shakespearian innuendos

rogue up late crying over how sad hamlet is

rogue quoting shakespeare at random times in response to stings questions: “what’s wrong rogue?” “to be or not to be, that is the question” “…no rogue, that wasn’t my question, wtf does that even mean”

rogue flirting with sting using lines from romeo + juliet and much ado about nothing, sting fully convinced rogue’s gotten 10x more smooth when I reality they’re still a quoting bookworm

rogue using shakespearian insults on people: “Thou mammering crook-pated popinjay!”

and most of all, rogue owning an entire hoard of copies of the plays and hissing violently at sting whenever he walks near it like a fckin possessive dragon

“I’m sorry Baby”

pairing: Jimin x reader

insp by

Summary: You both had planned to roomate with a friend, but since that plan flopped, you were the only two as man & women that ended up as roomates. You have lived together for 4 months so far and Jimin has the biggest crush,

Warning: Strong sexual content, oral, smut

A/N: I usually base my smuts, ect on songs, to set a certain mood/feel of a scene of affection. An affection the person feels for the other. To give it a passionate read. So you will always see a ♡. Also this wasn’t hard to write because I always think of jimin in such a way ( ̄ω ̄;)

Jimin smut where you both are roomates and he has this biggest crush on you (which you don’t know about) and he accidentally walks on you naked? - anon

×××

You sat up on the couch, after waking up from a nap, you bunch your self up.

Sighing, you thought about your handsome roomate Park Jimin. You thought he was too high standard for you, and that he probably has had about 100 girlfriends by now. It might be judgemental but he was too perfect, and perfect isn’t for you. You reminded yourself. So you never really flirted with the male, or spoke in a sexual way to him, though you wanted to.

But anyway, you were upset because of him in the first place, so why would you even think of this. Your eyebrows arched, remembering what he did last night.

“Hangmun” You snarled to yourself, cursing in his language, you’ve heard him say it playful to his friend taehyung multiple of times. Asshole is what it meant.

Again..but what did he do? Oh yeah, that’s right, he brought Taehyung over and they were talking loudly about sex loudly in the living room at 2 a.m in the morning. You could hear Jimin’s giggles and Taehyung’s deep laughs, in your sleep. It annoyed you so much that you opened the door, scarying taehyung and jimin.

Taehyung screamed, “Ya! What is your problem scary woman?!” He pouted his lips, standing behind jimin, who giggled at you.

“Could you keep it down! Please,i’m trying to sleep”

“Sorry Y/N, we will be less loud for now on” Jimin apoligizes.

Taehyung just smirked and tried to whisper something in Korean but you heard exactly what he said.

“Is that the girl, that masturbates in her room loudly all day?”

You gasped, slamming your door.

Ah So embarrassing, you thought slapping your forehead. Jimin told your business to this one. Who else might know.

Why would jimin, do something like that. You both got a long so well, but after this you just want to slap him on the head, and roomate someone who is luckly a girl.

You sat there all day embarrassed, it was nearly 12a.m and you were waiting for him to come home, so you could talk about it. And since he was taking so long , you decided to take a shower. Stripping your clothes one by one, you grabbed your towel and went into the shower for about 25 minutes. 

 Jimin was going to come home alone this time, exhausted from dance practiced. He noticed how angry & embarrassed you were last night, and you might want to talk to him. He avoided the situation because he hated getting into arguements with you, because it felt like it would push his chances to be with you further than closer. And he really liked you, your attitude, Your figure, and your smile that made him nervous. That’s why he’s later than usual. He removed his bomber, swinging it over his shoulder. Revealing his buff-life arms , wearing a black short sleeve shirt. Throwing it on the couch when he entered. He pushes his orange,tangy hair back, showing his forehead. 

He bites his lips, looking around, Looking for you. He calls for your name, twice. 

 “Y/N…if you are here..I just want to apoligize for ..what I told tae..” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. Your name rolls off his tongue lazily again, exaggerating the last syllables of your name. He walks slowly to your door, twisting the knob. Without knocking. 

Finding you standing there, your back turned to him, as you dried your hair. You ass revealed to him. Jimin’s mouth forming into a small “o” as his eyes roamed slowly from head to toe and back up again. Then he noticed what he was doing. He forgot to gasp, His chest heaving, he never thought he’d see you like this. But since he was so anxious to apoligize to you face to face, he got to. 

 “Y/N” he says slowly, breathlessly You gasped turning around to find his eyes, no where near yours, but at your breasts. 

 You couldn’t find yourself reacting to this man, the lust, in his eyes, his lips parting as if he was trying to speak. You just stared at this guy, Fuck, why does he wear such tight pants, and shirts like these. Your lips slowly parted, trying to figure out why he was staring at you like you were just the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. 

 He bit his bottom lip, his lip turning from plush pink to red. Passing his tongue over it after, Until he met your eyes for a split second. Quickly grabbing the towel, his eyes remained at the same place. You quickly turned around, facing the wall. 

 “Why are you here?” You say surprisingly calm. 

However your heart rate said otherwise. He didn’t speak…he saw how you looked at him as well, He slowly took steps towards you, his hands coming from his neck. He stopped his reach. And spoke, 

 “Y/N…I’m sorry” He says, you could feel his hot breathe down your neck. His head hanging down, and his hair dropping beside your face. 

“Y/N” He hissed your name. His hands slowly,come around your hand, holding onto your towel. “Almost every night” he pauses, as his hand sets on top of yours now. “you masturbate….and I just can’t help myself Y/N” 

He slowly removes your towel, with your hand still grazing on top of his. “..even if you don’t like me, I can still help your frustrations” He says as the towel drops to the floor now. 

 “And..W-why would you do that” you say now, blushing dark, feeling your self shake, from the intense body heat of jimin’s chest breathing pace against your back. Harshly he turns you around , facing him now, he replies, 

“Y/N, I..I like you..- he stops himself, admiring your body again, he presses his lips onto yours roughly, lifting you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist. He takes your bottom lip into his mouth, sucking at the soft skin. You began to moan into his mouth. He grabbed your leg, roughly wrapping it around him, he anxiously unbuckled his pants, You helped him pull it down, his boxers slid down with it. He pumped himself a few times before entering your wetness. You arched your back off the wall, squirming under him, when he rammed you up the wall. 

“Jimin-ah!” You moaned, his face was burried into your neck, he quickly bites down your neck, sucking deep leaving you a moaning mess in his hold. He moved you up and down that cold wall, Leaving visible marks on your neck , that you’d have to explain to your friends later on. He felt so good inside you, He filled you up with his thick member. He was so anxious to be inside you. His thick thighs clashing against yours, 

“Ohh you feel so good,” He grinds into you harder, and slower. “Y/N, your so so wet” he whimpered. “Squeeze me jaiga” He grunted into your ear, You were already leaking on his cock, you couldn’t handle this sudden action. 

It was too good. You were already close. 

 As he was riding into the wall, you couldn’t help but play with the rim of gis shirt while moaning & gasping into his kiss. He stuck his tongue into your mouth, overlapping yours, 

 “Ohhhhh Jimin, ugh, you’re so thick inside of me” You groaned as he went deeper inside of you His hips thrusting faster into, making a loud wet smacking sound, kissing on your collarbone now. 

 He then takes your right breast into his mouth, and flickers his tongue over the bud, making your walls convulse around him and milk him slowly. 

 “Your pussy is just like how i imagined y/n” he groaned, He grinded hard, humping you pratically into the wall. Anxiously wanting you to orgasm quickly for him. Though you were already there, he stopped his steady pace and pulled out slowly. You whinned at this. 

 “Jimin don’t tease, please” You desperately whimper. He picks you up, laying you on the bed, “You’re so beautiful..Y/N” He looks up at you seductively. He kissed your inner thighs slowly, leaving wet marks. Spreading your legs wider, “Jiminnnie” You moaned, causing him to smile at the cute little nickname you gave him. 

 “Your so cute y/n” he teases, now at your entrance, he darts out his tongue, barely even touching you yet. He smirks at your reaction. Again..his toungue glides slowly up your slit, 

 “Ahhh! mmm” you hiss, at the feeling of his wet long tongue playing with your entrance. He holds your thighs tight around his arms, so you wouldn’t squirm. Now flickering his tongue quickly up and down your inside your hole. You screamed suddenly, pushing away from his mouth. 

“Jimin-ahhh! I’m coming” You push away from his mouth, arching your back off the bed. 

“Baby girl, your so sensitive” He kisses at your bud. “i’m not done with you,” he smirks.“ He enters you again, letting you adjust this time. He starts off slowly, putting his hands beside each side of your head. He grinds into you, He whinned, while inside of you, as you ruffled into his hair. 

Wrapping your legs around his waist again. He began to pick up the pace, thrusting hard into you deeper, You both moaned together, as he sped up even move and then it turned into screams and back scratching. Your hand landed on his round bottom, and squeezed at the flesh. 

"o-Oh fuck me jimin ,just like that” You gasped,raising your legs higher, feeling another orgasm approaching, he lifts himself up, and starts flickering your clit in a fast motion, thrusting hard into you. 

“Oh!! I’m coming again!” You shout, you grind up into him, running your hands dowb his abs. 

 “Y/n..I’m coming too ahhh” he hissed, he thrustsd violently into you 3 more times before coming as you both rode out your high. You both couldn’t breathe correctly, as he fell on top of you. Time passed by, he gulped before speaking. 

 “You know you don’t have to masturbate, everytime you get horny y/n..you could always ask me” 

 “How was I suppose to know that you liked me in that way” you reply, turning over to face him. 

 He smirks at you, with that cute eye smile he had probably since birth.  

“Well you know now” He kisses you, getting back on top of you.

“You are too high standard for me park jimin” you say looking down away from your eyes, he lifts up your chin and kisses your cheek delicately

"Then I guess we’re a match” he smiles.

Fire & Brimstone: Nessian Angst/Smut

NSFW, Yo.

AO3 Linkage

Side Note: This isn’t really the Nesta we currently know. I’d like to think that once Nesta realizes being fae can give her emotions the agency they need to control her life, she’ll calm down a little. She’s still snarky and pissed off here, but she’s also coming to terms with a lot of baggage, so she’s more the Nesta I’m hoping we’ll end up with in Book 3 - aka one who isn’t quite so mean all the time.

Lots of angst. And a small bit of smut that defies the rules of physics, but oh well. But mostly angst.

Fire and Brimstone

“It’s a spa.”

“It’s a geothermic pool in the ground brimming with sulfur and minerals that are good for the skin and known to be purifying to bodily toxins.”

I stared at the steam rising from the geothermic pools and called bullshit. “It’s a spa.”

Cassian scowled. “Call it whatever you want, sweetheart. It wasn’t my choice to drag you here. You can leave whenever you want, although I know you’re dying to see me with my shirt off in all my bandaged, bruised glory.”

In light of what had happened to Cassian’s wings, his humor had turned from an arrogant bravado bordering on sultry to a self-deprecating brand I wasn’t quite sure how to cut. The implications of it, however, still pissed me off.

“No thanks,” I replied. “Ugly and bandaged brutes aren’t quite my thing.”

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Coming Home

Dean finally gets up the courage to ask out the cute boy who works the reference desk in the library. When he’s rejected however, he assumes it’s because Castiel simply isn’t interested. Until they find each other in the middle of a blizzard, Dean learning that maybe Castiel’s rejection stems from something entirely different than disinterest.

Rated T for adult themes.


Dean supposed he was kind of cute.

Okay, maybe that was a lie. He was really cute. With the disheveled, dark brown hair, and those big, big blue eyes. There were slight bags beneath them, like the skin hooked up over his high cheeks bones, and his lips pulled into these delicate, pretty points. Yes, Dean had spent a considerable time watching the other boy, taking in such features. He spent a considerable amount of time at the library anyway, being an English major, and Castiel spent a considerable amount of time behind the reference desk, where he worked. It seemed only natural that they run into each rather often, or so Dean had reasoned upon realizing he saw Castiel almost every day.

He didn’t come to the library just to see those blue eyes however. That’d be ridiculous.

Biting his lip, he watched as Castiel ran someone through the computer, no doubt looking something up, his mouth muttering out an explanation as the clueless student asked more questions.

Dean sighed.

“Why don’t you just go talk to him?” Charlie muttered in his ear, Dean starting before turning to look at her. She was standing behind him, arms crossed over her chest as she cocked a knowing eyebrow.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean frowned, not appreciative of his friend’s suggestion. Charlie worked at the library too, at the front desk, and sometimes joined Dean after her shift ended, the two of them studying some before heading back to their respective dorms.

“I’m serious,” she persisted, flopping down in the chair beside him. “What’s the worst that could happen? All he can do is say ‘no.’”

“That is the worst that could happen,” Dean grumbled out, looking down at his textbook as his teeth ground together. The idea of talking to Castiel, or maybe even asking him out, not only put his heart a-flutter, but sent a kind of hesitant fear down through him. He didn’t want to be rejected, and would take silent watching over that any day.

“So you’re just going to stalk him for the rest of however long you’re both going here?” Charlie sighed. “Wow, what a trade-off.”

“I don’t even know if he likes guys, okay?!” Dean hissed rather violently. “I don’t know anything about him, actually.” This realization was a rather glum one – an inevitability of staying distant.

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Overwatch: The Silent Treatment

Commission for @korr-a-sami who wanted some Jealous WidowTracer ft. Sombra

Read on AO3 here

(No this has nothing to do with the “Shadow” series, this is a stand alone for now)


“I’m fine” she says.

And that was when the entire week spiraled into hell.

Suddenly and seemingly overnight, Tracer mumbled passive aggressive comments, pouting, arms crossed and avoiding eye contact. She spoke only through gritted teeth and not so convincing words.

“I’m. Fine.” she hissed, shrugging her shoulder violently to shake off the hand that was placed there.

At first, Widow was taken aback by the intense response. She had never before heard her voice so low with such bite, she would have been impressed if it wasn’t obviously aimed at her. But now it was annoying, frustrating beyond belief she never thought she would actually miss that stupid cheerful voice or the light in her eyes.

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Bond retires with Madeline and settles into a restless domesticity. Years later, in the dead of night, he receives a phone call. It’s a staticy call from an unknown number, a plea for help from his former Quartermaster. – anon

I love this idea… Jen.

(Please note that continuation requests need to be submitted in the ConsultingWriters inbox. Thank you! Jen)

The phone was naturally at the opposite end of the room, beeping obnoxiously loudly; it was so rarely in use that Bond generally tended to ignore its existence. Every once in a while, Eve or Tanner would get in touch to check in, on something dimly resembling a social basis which Bond was always quite grateful for.

Bond was mind-numbingly bored. Indescribably and inexpressibly bored.

Madeleine ignored the phone, and so Bond dragged himself out of bed: not an alarm, but a phone call. Unknown number.

Curiosity and irritation both mildly piqued, he answered: “Bond speaking.”

Bond?

The voice was rattling, the line distorted with hisses and pops of static. “Who is this?”

“Who is it?” Madeleine asked from the bed, a direct echo. “James?”

Bond, I - nee- it’s Q – Q – I ne – help

The line was cracking all over the place, only words slipping through, piece by piece, but the single letter was enough: “Q?”

Yes.”

The voice was right; whatever vowels sounds trickled through the static were round and crisp, English, indisputably Q’s voice. Older, perhaps, but still recognisable. Bond always remembered voices, names, faces. The life of a double-oh was behind him, but old habits die hard, and it was all but reflexive. Bond could never forget.

“What’s happened? Where are you?”

Plea- help – you can – trac- … tracers.”

Instantly, Bond felt the rush. Unmistakeable and immediate.

“What’s happened?”

“… hostage, I…

“Q, I’m losing you. Location?”

you stole - … - them, you-”

“The tracers?”
Yes.

“Injured?”

“I can’t – los – Bond…”

“Q. Status.”

… not good.”

The first truly clear sentence: Q’s voice was strained and tired, cracking as much as the phone line itself was. Bond could hear the fragility, his old Quartermaster, calling him for help at an ungodly time of night, rather than MI6.

MI6 was unsafe. Bond was not affiliated. The only person Q could trust who would be even slightly placed to help him.

Madeleine’s voice: “James?”

“I’m coming for you,” Bond promised, as the line crackled louder and hissed violently at him, Q’s voice half-gone. “I promise you, Q, I will find you.”

Thank you.”

A dial tone, and Q was gone.

Less than an hour later, and Bond was too.

Cut - Jimin (M)

Reader x Jimin

Genre(s): Angst // Smut

Word Count: 3.8k

Author: Ash

Summary: He drowned himself in alcohol and tobacco, praying that it would help ease the ache, but how could it when nothing could intoxicate him as well as she could? Her touch and empty promises of love was all it took to reel him back in time and time again. No matter how many times she hurt him, he would still be wrapped around her sinful little finger.

Notes/Warnings: Use of alcohol, tobacco and implications/mentions/viewings of cheating - This fic is inspired by the M/V for Cut by iamnot (can be found here)


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