#I was talking to my boss about my thing about ladders

[mr-snailman]

hmmm okay so like. I'm kinda in this weird place right now where... like... it's not that bad? and it would be sooooo easy to be like, nahhhh, it's not that bad, there's nothing wrong with me, it's not like I'm actively trying to kill myself, everybody thinks about it sometimes, right? BUT I'm also thinking that maybe it's better to get a handle on this shit before it gets worse, yanno? like okay, maybe I should listen to the early warning signs and go talk to somebody, and if it does turn out to be nothing, that's great! but if it does get worse, it won't be AS bad because I'll have taken steps to shore up my defenses ahead of time.

[muchmossymess]

I need to stop sleeping all day its giving me wild as fuck dreams

[inbabylontheywept]

The Motherfucking Lizard King

No one at work trusts my boss. 

He's smart. He works hard. He's not trustworthy. He hasn't actually fucked anyone at work over, but he's ruined his last two marriages with affairs, and got dumped by his third fiance when he wouldn't sign a prenup. The fact that we all know this is just a hazard of working in a small town. 

Anyway: The thought process of the people in the lab is that if he screwed over his first wife, and his second wife, and was probably planning on screwing over his third wife, it would be insane for him not to screw us over. After all, what kind of idiot treats their employees better than their spouse? 

I dunno. His kind, I guess? He's had a few chances to fuck us over, and he hasn't taken them. Opposite really. When our parent company was doing furloughs, he stayed in the office almost a hundred hours, talking and talking and talking his way up the corporate ladder. And in the end, no one at our site got furloughed. 

He's pulled strings like that before. And it baffles me, right? Because it really does make zero sense. He'll move the heavens and the earth for us, but his wife and kids are afterthoughts. It feels like any moment, he's going to look into the mirror and realize how stupid that is. It feels like I'm betting on him making the same stupid mistake again, and again, and again - like it would be less cynical to believe he was, eventually, going to stab me in the back. But he hasn't yet, and as far as I can tell he's been making that mistake for close to fifteen years, and it's already cost him everything it can. If he was going to learn, he would have by now. 

So my position on him is that if he wanted to date someone I cared about, I'd warn them off. I don't trust him there. But I tentatively trust him to be my boss. Maybe one day he'll stick the knife in and twist, and everyone will say Ah, Babs, we warned you, but for now, I accept that he's doing a very predictable, very irrational thing, and I've made my peace with it. 

---

My job has glue traps. 

No one likes the glue traps, but we don't have a lot of options. Poison's banned by state law, spring traps are banned by company safety, and several non-lethal options tried in the past failed to work. The mouse problem can get pretty bad if it's ignored, and there's some real health hazards in that. Our site has never had a positive hantavirus test, thank God, but the big base about a half hour away has. That guy's gonna be on oxygen the rest of his life. 

If a mouse gets caught, we just euthanize it. But more than mice get stuck. Lizards can wander into those traps too, and the people working there have different feelings about the lizards. They don't pose nearly the same kind of risk mice do. They're chill little guys, and they keep the moths away, and they're just 

You know. They're friendly. There's something to be said about walking into a room, and hitting the light switch, and seeing two little guys on the wall start to do pushups as soon as they see you. 

People used to just euthanize the lizards too, but I had pet leopard geckos as a kid and I couldn't take that so I wound up googling how to free animals from glue traps. Now, when a lizard gets stuck in a trap - which happens once or twice a week - I get some vegetable oil from the breakroom, and a little plastic fork, and I'll spend fifteen to twenty minutes just kind of gently prying the little guys out. 

I have a team of technicians that help me operate one of the larger machines. They're real blue collar guys, ex-airforce, and they make me look like a little kid. Being an engineer means they'll look to me as a leader sometimes, which is a wild experience. And I started helping the lizards for my own conscience, but one of the crazier consequences of it has been that it seriously boosted my leadership cred. Because those guys see me, and they go: Hey. If he's willing to fight for a lizard, he's gotta be willing to fight for me. 

I cannot overstate how nice that is. Most engineers that want to make a change to a maintenance practice, or try an upgrade, they have to work their asses off to get the techs to buy in. But I can just ask. They already trust me to do good. They know I'm new, and they know I'm not the smartest engineer in the building, but they also know I'm the one who gets lizards out of the glue traps. 

And just because of that, they're willing to follow me. 

---

My boss has a meeting every month or two. It's typically basic house cleaning stuff - reminders about routines we've gotten lazy on, and updates on future projects. Maybe some warnings about problems coming from higher up in the company.

People are, in my opinion, a bit too cynical about the meetings. It stems from people not trusting our boss, which again, I understand, because it would make so much more sense if he wasn't trustworthy. It's a testament to the man's incredibly unhealthy priorities that he is. But as we made it to the end of the meeting, one of bullet points was: 

Do NOT mess with animals in the building. 

So I looked at my techs, and they looked at me, and when he got to the point, he was so scathing I actually just wanted to crawl under a rock and die. He said basically that he'd heard some reports about someone in the building handling animals that found their way in and got stuck, and that he just wanted to emphasize how insanely inappropriate that was, not to mention dangerous, and that if he needed to speak to anyone about it again, there would be severe consequences. 

I was willing to just take the shame and move on. I was. But one of my techs is old. Old enough he could've retired two years ago. And his actual literal goal is to one day get angry, yell at someone, and storm out. That's how he wants to retire. So instead of biting his tongue like everyone else, he stood up and said: I hate the glue traps. You hate the glue traps. We all hate glue traps. But we've all sat here for years, ignoring the little things that get stuck in them, watching them die, and then Bab's comes in, and he is the first person in decades to give enough of a shit to start pulling the lizards out. And I don't want him to stop. 

Get humane traps or shut up but we are not going back to the old way of just letting things starve. 

And my boss actually froze up. He got all wide eyed and stared at Marc, and then the other techs jumped in, and there was a very small but intense rebellion in the meeting and my boss kept trying to interrupt while getting absolutely bowled over by this gang of angry middle aged air force vets, and eventually he just went 

I will speak with Babylon about this afterwards! After! And then he will speak with everyone else, but I have more points to cover. 

So they went silent, and my boss rushed through the last five minutes, and we all adjounred. The techs really didn't like that I was going in alone - they thought our boss was going to try and shout me into compliance. Marc in particular was like, Look, if he tries bullying you, stand your ground, and if he threatens anything, just come get us, and we'll give him hell. 

So armed with that, I went to my boss's office. I sat in the chair across from him, and he kept his composure for maybe five seconds before just flopping back into his chair. 

I had no idea you were saving lizards, he said, but I'm glad you are. I always hated seeing them die in the glue.  

I wasn't expecting that. I was about to ask him what the comment from the meeting was about then, but he answered that before I even got the chance.

A snake got into the building last week, and - someone picked it up and chased a coworker around. Turns out that coworker was severely afraid of snakes, and now it's a shitshow. We're a small site, and now I can't ask those two to work together anymore, to say nothing about how the snake fared after all that. Being upset about that is a reasonable thing, right? 

And he gave me a look like he actually wanted an answer, so I said Yeah, totally, chasing a coworker around with a snake is a dick move. Especially if that coworker is already afraid of snakes. 

And he said Exactly! and then we sat there a few moments longer. He looked so incredibly tired that I did, actually, feel kind of bad for him. And then he somehow managed to sink even further into his chair, and said

Look, I know I'm not a good guy. But I'm not evil. I'm not some sort of crazy asshole that's going to demand that everyone watch lizards starve to death. When you go back downstairs, could you try to pass that on? That I'm not evil? 

I said Sure because it wasn't a hard request, and he looked relieved. I actually made it halfway out before I realized I had a question. 

Who grabbed the snake? I asked. 

Not supposed to talk about it, he said. But whoever comes to mind first is probably right. 

ThatGuy? I asked. And he looked me in the face, nodded his head yes, and said No. 

---

The techs seemed a little disappointed that they didn't get to storm the boss's office, but were otherwise in good spirits. They were actually a little bit embarrassed to hear about the snake story - apparently, it wasn't much of a secret. It'd just slipped their minds because it happened three weeks ago. 

We did maintenance after that, the same basic repairs we did every week. The meeting had been stressful and it was a relief to work with my hands. When the parts were reinstalled, everything cleaned and smooth and ready to go, Marc found me again. 

You know what the lesson of today is? he asked. And there were quite a few answers to that that I could have taken - from don't assume the worst of people to be careful with how you spend your trust - we all need it more than we think. 

But instead I said what? because I wanted to hear what his answer was going to be. 

That I got your back, he said. Then he clapped one very, very large hand on my shoulder, gave it a good squeeze, and walked back to dosimetry lab.

---

The next day, Marc gave me a package and told me to open it in my office. I was suspicious, but I followed the request.

Cardboard gave way to a small baggie, obviously full of fabric, which opened to reveal a t-shirt that read

"I Am the Motherfucking Lizard King."

I looked at it, I loved it, and then I got an idea. I went to my boss's office and knocked on the door. When he opened it, I asked him if he would be willing to allow something very unprofessional to happen for morale building purposes.

How unprofessional? he asked. I held the shirt up in answer. He gave the shirt a short look over and snorted.

You can wear it on weeks without customers, he said. Which just so happened to include that week.

I'll pass on that it came with your blessing, I replied, and he looked oddly relieved.

Thanks, he said. And then I went downstairs.

---

The techs were very, very happy to see the shirt. And while my boss's reputation remains in tatters, and probably will be until he moves (or dies), the next time there was a meeting, there was quite a bit less complaining about how mere presence. Which is, I guess, a start.

We'll see if he squanders it.

[luveline]

Hiiii sugarplum. I would absolutely adore some stripper reader x Hotch maybe like some of him comforting her or just coming to visit like outside of the case and some fluff 🥰🥰

ty for requesting!! fem

You’re texting on the wall outside of work when a shadow cuts across the streetlight illuminating your lap. Your head flinches up, phone to your chest, but the man standing in front of you isn’t one you’ve ever been scared of. “Fuck, Aaron, you scared me,” you say with a nervous laugh. 

He smiles at you in his gentle, unassuming way. “Sorry. I took care to scuff my shoes as I walked.”

“Oh, you took care,” you say. Your smile is far less gentle than his; your cheeks apple, your words coloured with it. “I was in my own world.” 

“I thought we talked about you coming outside alone.”

“Did we?” you ask, the short wall you’re sitting on biting into your hands and thighs as you tip back to grin at him teasingly. “Gosh, I’m sorry, Mr. Hotchner, I can’t seem to remember any such talk.” 

“Mm.” He rolls his eyes. “You don’t remember that?” 

“Don’t recall, no.”

“So you also won’t remember the conversation we had about flowers.” 

Your first date, your only date, and your first bouquet. He’d given you flowers and read the embarrassment on your face immediately. You aren’t the kind of girl who gets flowers. 

What’s wrong? he’d asked. 

You’d held the flowers to your chest, something in you worried he’d take them away, though you’re almost positive he’s incapable of being cruel like that. Do I look stupid? 

Of course you don’t. 

There hadn’t been much else to say about the flowers, until after the evening had gone well, and he’d asked you for another date. High with the delight of knowing Spencer’s nice, handsome boss doesn’t just think you’re pretty, he likes you, you’d said Sure, if you bring me another lovely bouquet, we can go on as many dates as you like. 

Aaron pulls the bouquet from behind his back. Petals bounce off of his tie, pinks and whites and baby blues against his black blazer and pristine white shirt as he taps his chest. They’re beautiful, and far too many. 

“Are they really for me?” you ask. You’ve never seen such a big bouquet in your life. It’s a wonder they fit behind his back. 

The strangest thing about dating him has been his sudden propensity for moments of shyness. “That depends,” he says, the slightest hint of nerves in his otherwise dulcet tone, “are they nice enough?” 

“They’re the prettiest flowers I’ve ever seen.” You stand up and hold out your hands, pull them back to your chest, and then hold them back out again. You can’t not want them. 

He hands them off to you. 

It must be weird for him to meet you like this. He’s very high up the ladder of his career, and it doesn’t make much sense for him to fall for you. You’re younger, less educated, less prestigiously employed. You hadn’t understood what it was about you that pulled him in, but you can remember how clearly he told you he was interested in you. No shame. Not a hint of reluctance. He’s bringing you flowers outside of the stripclub, ignoring the fact that you’re in sweatpants and a tight corset-type bra, and he hasn’t looked at your body once. 

“I was just texting you,” you say, opening your phone to press send on the text waiting in the hot bar. 

Aaron’s phone immediately pings. 

He reads it quickly. It isn’t a long message. Hi, handsome. Want to pick me up tonight? 

If he’d said yes or no didn’t matter, because you’d just wanted to talk to him, and here he is. 

He finally ducks in. A half side step into your reach, his face angled down, he kisses you chastely on the lips and everything fades away. The neon pink at your feet, the buzzing streetlights and the passing cars, the steady thump of music from three different buildings, it all disappears under his warm hand. He kisses you, and he hugs you to his chest, careful not to crush your flowers. You could glow from the inside out. 

He’s still smiling as he pulls away. “Are you hungry?” he asks softly. 

“So hungry.” 

“We can get anything you want.” 

“Really? What if I want the same as last time?” 

It had been expensive and you’d felt vaguely underdressed. Aaron doesn’t baulk. “Anything you want… You may need to wear my jacket, though. I don’t think your current outfit adheres to their dress code.” 

You push the flowers just under his nose. “Funny.”

[unreliablesnake]

Tough choice (Simon Riley x reader)

Summary: After a successful mission, you get a lot of job offers. But there's one that gets your attention.

Note: We lost a hero, it's hard to fill his shoes. / This will probably get another part where Simon confesses his feelings. And tells the reader about what he thought of them during the first meeting.

Warnings: character death mentioned

Ever since that mission last year, people have been extremely interested in getting you on their side. You were swimming in options, going from briefing to briefing to find that one job which managed to pique your interest. The CIA wanted you higher up the ladder, giving you more responsibilities, while some PMC’s sniffed out what happened and were now trying to sweep you off your feet. Shadow Company offered a fortune for your services, but even Phillip Graves’s charm wasn’t enough to convince you.

And now Laswell brought you an opportunity that made you think. Task force 141. “Ask Alex for reference,” was all she said before handing you the number of Captain John Price. 

It took days to get a hold of your friend, but once you did, he spoke highly of the team he helped out every now and then. “I think they need you to fill some big shoes. A sergeant was KIA and now Ghost needs a partner on the field,” he explained.

“Ghost?”

“Mhm. Man’s a mystery, but he’s damn good at what he does. If I were you, I would go for it.”

So you called Price and organized a meeting with him. This was the first round of the interview process, the opportunity to learn more about your possible future boss, the team, and, of course, how they operate. The captain works with a sergeant called Gaz, while Ghost had worked with Soap, another sergeant who had been KIA. That latter you already knew from Alex. 

Price told you to visit the base the next time they're all there, and you gladly accepted the invitation. The team’s mystery man, the one you would have to work with, grabbed your attention. His superior spoke highly of him, and the fact Alex also emphasized that he was excellent at what he did made you curious. He certainly lived up to his call sign by keeping his identity so hidden. You didn’t know his name, you didn’t know his age, you didn’t know what he looked like. All you knew is that he was a Brit, just like Price and Gaz. 

It took your schedules to align almost four weeks, but eventually you made it to their location and were greeted by the captain as if you were already a member of their team. His warm smile brought one to your lips too, and you soon found yourselves deep in a conversation about Kate and Alex. He liked working with them, and despite Alex being labeled a deserter, the team often crossed paths with him. That was good. Meeting him every once in a while would be nice.

“Ghost is waiting for us in my office,” Price began to say, only to pause for a brief moment when he stopped in front of a door. “But I think I’ll give you two the chance to talk alone. I already told him about you, even mentioned that I want you to work with us, but he has to be the one to finalize our decision.”

Nodding, you waited for him to open the door, then stepped inside the dimly lit room. The window shades were pulled down and the only source of light came from the small lamp on the desk. Ghost was sitting in the swivel chair behind it, his eyes scanning a file that you assumed was yours.

You opened your mouth to say something, but Ghost interrupted you right away. “I want you on my team,” he stated sternly as if it was an order, then threw the file on the top of several other documents. 

Despite your best efforts to keep things professional, a snort coming from you filled the room upon hearing his words. “So does everybody else,” you informed him, slowly folding your arms over your chest. “I already turned down several offers. Convince me; why should I pick this team?”

The lieutenant stood up and walked over to you, finally letting you realize just how much bigger he was. He was intimidating, yes, but that didn’t stop you from keeping eye contact with him. “You know Laswell. If you trust her, you can trust us,” he said.

“It’s not a matter of trust.”

“Then what do you want to hear?”

A sigh left your lips. It wasn’t about the money. If it was, you would be working for Shadow Company now. To be honest, you didn’t even know what you wanted from the job. But there was one question that bugged you since you first heard about this guy. “Are you a good person?” you asked him seriously.

Since you could only see a small part of his face, you almost missed that surprised glint in his eyes. “No,” came his answer. 

For a few moments you just watched him, thinking about his response. He was honest, that you truly appreciated, but you could hear something in his voice that you couldn’t quite place yet. Regret? Pain? Doubt? Self-hate? Whatever it was, it made him sound and look human. Without realizing what you were doing, you took a step closer to him, making this giant man lean his hips against the desk to build back some distance. 

“When can I start?” 

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed the way his large fingers tightly gripped the edge of the desk at your words, as if he was trying to ground himself. Was he thinking about the sergeant he had lost? If it was you, your mind would always return to the person who died under your command. What if this one dies too? You would be asking yourself this over and over again. So you didn’t want to rush him, you just stood there and waited for him to pull himself together. 

And then, after several minutes of deafening silence, he finally spoke up. “Good decision. Price will tell you the details,” Ghost informed you before moving past you to rush out the door.

[sheepwavehdg]

HDG story recs: Ongoing mid-long length works

Some more recs of stories that aren't front page on ao3 or SUPER commonly talked about. This time focusing on stuff you can sink your teeth into as they're currently updating;

Tears of lavender by callmeprismatic: a frustrated artist creates what might be feralist propaganda, and ends up in a wardship. an absolute hidden gem in the setting, criminally under-read.

Dollhouse by PyxxieStyxx: an egg is given an invitation to a mysterious dollhouse, but they definitely arent a doll themselves, definitely not...

Root Privileges by shitpostleft: a comedic story about a failgirl affini systems admin and her friends trying to get her to go outside. inspired by the idea of affini-swapping the cast of wellness check.

Ramifaction by fuckingterrify: a lawyer has her mind slowly eroded by the biorhythms of her Affini guardian. This story does some incredibly clever things, and is one of my absolute favorite stories in the entire setting.

Artful Manipulation by floof_likes_plants: while I am known as The Pladdy Writer, I was not the first. This story was, and it rules. An irate affini surgeon ends up helping a human who gets under his skin.

Empty shell by stimulacrum: an emotionally empty Terran prison guard helps arrange a defense from the alien invaders, until it turns out the invaders aren't quite so bad.

Irregular orbits by rocketmermaid: a safety scout on an outpost long abandoned by the accord is rescued from a killer solar flare by the affini. what first appears to be gentle help may be more manpulative than it seems. depraved kink and a heartfelt story of reconciliation ensues.

Knock upper bend over by sapphicsounds: a pregnancy kink mob-boss-to-housewife story. I have beta read the full thing, and it's one of the hottest things I have ever read.

Freedom's ember by kanagen: the ramifications of No gods no masters are explored in this sequel story set 60 years later.

Golden Ladder by ashinbloom: a depressed egg is rescued from a solar flare by a strangely human affini, and must navigate life in the compact.

Alder's Prize (M/f) /Adelira's prize (F/f) by Sheepwave and 4WheelSword- Hard noncon forcefem that plays out a lot like the original HDG but with the horny turned up to 11. Has both M/f and F/f versions. it's still my list and I'm still allowed to Include one of mine, plus I cowrote it so it's only half mine.

Sol is Short for Solace by witch_freya and Fluxom: a Terran rebel on the run goes on a hitchhiking space road trip and is constantly getting fucked along the way while her future owners stalks her prey from afar. this one is depraved and i fucking love it.

Angels on her shoulder by pyxxiestyxx: One of the setting's only drone fics, a rebel is given a mysterious latex suit that connects her to an affini from afar, and has to try to get out without being caught by her insane crewmates. yeah I'm including two by my girlfriend and nobody can stop me

[pparacxosm]

hunger is ugly

(blue-eyed son 3 !! which, as any third and final installation of a franchise ((back to the future and spiderman withstanding !!!)), is obviously the best one; i’m only half kidding; homeless era!patrick zweig x jaded businesswoman!reader; see parts one and two; tw eggnog; tw coworkers; cw smut but nothing crazy; if you’re seeking closure don’t hold your breath; i’m sick of these two; they clearly don’t know what they want; and i refuse to take blame; tw fitted sheets; tw cocaine talk)

He once told you he couldn’t wear a suit. I couldn’t, he’d said, I’d look ridiculous in a suit. But he cleans up quite nicely, actually.

In fact, he looks good, and you’re not above admitting that. He looks better, actually. Healthier. And he looks handsome in his casual blazer and charcoal linen slacks. Oh God, are you gonna look frumpy beside him?

“I’ve always wanted to go to an office Christmas party,” he says.

You’re on the floor before him, straddling your full length mirror, and all your tumbledown, halfway gutted makeup products are strewn wildly about you.

Your bed, behind you, is a skeleton state, too. When he’d come over, he’d nearly laughed at the fact that you’ve apparently been so busy, your clean bedding is still sitting in a laundry hamper in the corner of the room, and you’ve been sleeping in the inserts on a bare mattress for who knows how long.

Patrick doesn’t pass judgment on the mess in your apartment. He still feels he owes you in some weird, kiss-the-hand-that-fed-you sort of way.

You’re not a slob. You always look put together when you leave the house. You’ve just had to focus on work. You can’t stumble at the finish line. Or… the glass ceiling. Or the penultimate rung on the corporate ladder. Whatever. If you can successfully execute this next product launch, who knows what other doors might open for you. Probably doors in buildings very similar to the one you’re already working in. But that’s nothing to sneeze at. Every morning, you see your reflection in those immaculate windows.

So anyway, it shouldn’t matter. Things just get away from you sometimes.

Patrick’s standing above you pensively reflecting how many undone buttons says Corporate Shindig Eyecandy (Please Give My Date That Promotion) as opposed to Reformed Tennis Heartthrob. His shins are sort of bracketing your hips.

“Well, it’s half an office Christmas party, and half—like—a congratulatory… thing. For Deirdre’s successful proposal,” you murmur, leaning forward, tugging your temple to flatten your eyelid and flick on your liner.

“Aw, what?” he frowns, “Deirdre? We fucking hate Deirdre.”

You laugh. You try not to delude yourself, not to let these moments exist in some flowery vacuum in the eye of your mind, not to ask him to fix your bedding for you. But it’s hard.

Whoever let Sam replace the DJ halfway through the party was either a genius anarchist or too drunk to care.

You know it’s probably the latter. You down the cognacheavy eggnog from your glass and make a disgruntled face. You don’t know what you expected. Shania Twain is belting from the speakers while Sam wiggles his headphones in a dumb, awkward dance.

He’s pretty funny, all things considered, but you’d still like nothing better than to whack him up the head with an ink cartridge.

One of the blousy interns from your department is haplessly flirting with Patrick, pretending he bumped into her and made her plash some eggnog on herself, but she’s trying to be selfaware about it.

“Oh gosh, isn’t this such a cliché: the boss’ plus one wiping a dairybased drink from the subordinate’s—… oh no, I know she’s not technically my boss, but she’s sort of my senior within the company, like on the general corporate ladder, argh, I know, I hate it!”

She could’ve said superior, you think, instead of senior.

You’re feeling too pissy to go and save him from that failed interaction. You turn your back to the crowd and look out of the glossy black windows. That chorus keeps stomping its pointed heels over your fragile nerves.

The best thing about being a woman is the prerogative to have a little fun!

Do you have a little fun? Are you a Good Time? You have to laugh. It’s just a stupid song. But you need the validation.

That’s why Patrick picks the wrong moment to come and talk to you.

“Hey, this chick is chasing me with a napkin around the room.”

You snort. “Not my problem.”

Patrick leans against the buffet, delivering a wry salute when Sam points at him from the DJ booth and winks. “That guy’s something,” Patrick chuckles, “He asked me to sign his dick.”

“Did you?”

Patrick hums like he’s ambivalent and places a large hand on the small of your back. “Would that be good for you, if I did?”

“I’m fun, right?”

You swirl the remains of eggnog in your glass. You ask the question like he’s been holding out some big secret from you.

Patrick blinks. He scoffs in disbelief, but also smirks pointedly at your glass. “You’re asking me?”

You stare at him through the briar lace of your eyelashes. Everyone who’s met him today has had their own lashes drenched in laughter. You hadn’t realised it first. You’d figured those were mutually exclusive things, downandout charm and the breathing room of comfortable success. But no. He’s charming, anyway. It’s just that he’s not haggling for scraps of generosity anymore so much as he’s lapping at the fleeting dregs of likability. And you hate that you notice that, and you hate that you notice him, that you know him, in a sense. Because what are you supposed to do about it?

“Everybody loves you. Just… be objective.”

Patrick still laughs. He rubs his stubble. He should’ve shaved this morning. He thought he was doing something for you, something nice, by coming with you to this thing and wooing everybody’s pants a little tighter, but maybe he’d missed the mark. “You know I can’t be objective.”

“Why not?” You sound petulant, leaning angrily against the buffet. You’re old enough to know what he’s saying, of course. He’s being nice. He’s telling you he thinks you’re fun, that the rest shouldn’t matter, but then he doesn’t need anything. Even when he had nothing. So he wouldn’t get it. He wouldn’t notice.

Patrick tilts his head and narrows his eyes in that way he does when he’s vivisecting you, then clears his throat. “You’re drunk.” He laughs again, a little gratuitous. Then, after a while, “I have fun with you. You’re engaging.”

“Engaging?” you echo, frowning. “Seriously? What am I, an essay?”

“No, I just— Jesus, what do you want me to say?”

You clench your jaw. Okay, you are drunk and you’re at this office party from hell and a hard rain’s a-gonna fall, so goddamn it, he will call you fun.

So you get right into his face. You’re good at that, even if you barely reach his shoulder. “Tell me I’m fun, because I am, and you think I am.”

You try to swat his hand away, but his palm stays put, a hot magnet just above your tailbone, and he doesn’t even look like he’s doing it on purpose. It’s just that he feels an emptiness in his stomach, depressing but also thrilling. Like taking a hit. Like you’re a little bag of white powder. Beyond the dark windows it starts to snow. He used to do a bit of coke, when everything around him dropped dead and started to rot, and he couldn’t stomach the smell. He doesn’t seem like the poster kid for moderation, but the coke was good, and he didn’t let it be any more than that. In fact, at times, the coke was great. The coke was fun. But he couldn’t live with the coke. You understand? He couldn’t settle down in New England and raise a cat with the coke.

“I don’t think I can win with you,” he murmurs, and, for his part, he at least sounds like he needs to change that.

It’s supposed to be a comfort fuck—and you call it fuck in your head dismissively—but it’s too raw and unknown. You’ve spent so much time in this questionable relationship with existence in his life. In and out. You thought you’d learned him, or at least learned the both of you, but his hands on you, his mouth on you—it’s frightening, finite, foreign. Somehow divorced from this man who, for all his egofueled casual mania, doles out intimacy like free samples.

This is what it feels like to watch him unravel, but it’s not just beggar’s desperation. No, he’s making room for someone else beside him in a way he hasn’t in a long time.

He keeps touching every part of you, frantically, trying to feel all of you, sinking his head between your thighs with a groan of relief, immersing himself in another body. But not just any body, because he keeps mouthing your name. As if to remind you that he is here, and you let him in. Because it matters that it’s you, that someone who knows him is letting him in. He’s humming to himself as you come against his fingers and mouth.

... hunger is ugly... souls are forgotten... I’ll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it...

You like his full weight on you, sinking you into your undressed mattress, trapping you, suffocating you under his bottomless gloom. He has one hand on your thigh. He lifts it at an uncomfortable angle, sinking his cock deeper into you, making it ache. How does he know you like that, anyway? He doesn’t. He noticed.

You want to resent what he’s doing here, which is trying to ‘win with you’. Because he’s been on a winning streak, and you’re not about to spoil that.

And these demeaning, mechanical thoughts probably aren’t reflective of his inner monologue at the moment, but it’s easier to believe he doesn’t respect you than to contend with this whole thing.

You want to tell him, you don’t know what I like, but he starts talking about this tournament. There’s a match in Boston, for real this time. You’re having trouble paying attention.

You fall asleep with him still inside you, head on your chest, and you, crushed comfortably by his weight.  

You wake up before him. He must have rolled off you in the middle of the night. He’s sleeping next to you, one hand stretched towards you, head on the pillow at a strange angle.

You turn away quickly.

You sit on the edge of the bed, breathing in and out, staring at the heap of his cocktail wear on the floor. You feel sore and stupefied. You feel cramps in your muscles. You feel weak in the best and worst way possible. You keep breathing in and out, hoping you’re keeping quiet.

But he wakes up anyway.

You can feel his gentle eyes on the slightly hunched line of your back.

“Hey.”

“Morning,” you mumble, throat dry. Why does it have to be morning? Why does it always have to be morning?

“Come back here,” he says, as if it weren’t morning.

You shake your head softly.

His silence is edifying. It goes on for too long.

“You’re not gonna stay, are you?” you ask, serious and formal, gripping the edge of the mattress. You clench your jaw, body taut.

You can hear him swallow, throat working to get the syllables out.

“I’m not, like… leaving you.”

You close your eyes.

“No, I mean—yeah,” you chuckle miserably. “You’re probably doing the right thing. The best thing for you.”

You feel the tears slide out one by one, and your shoulders shake slightly.

“Please don’t cry.” He’s using that soft and primordially tentative voice he uses with your cat. “I’m not worth it.”

You look over your shoulder at him. “Then why is it so fucking hard to watch you go?”

It’s only recently you’ve started getting angry with him. You used to get grudgingly amused, perhaps vaguely reproachful, but now his stupid face just makes you livid.

His eyes tremble pensively. “I don’t know. But that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You turn your head away, rolling and wiping your eyes at the same time. “I just don’t see how it could work.”

And there’s a door he could open for you. There’s something he could say at this juncture to reassure you, momentarily, that it could. But he can’t bring himself to lie, because he cares about you too much to take a bump of that powder.

He hangs his head and looks at the beautiful line of your back, memorising it.

Then he gets up.

“I’m gonna make coffee, then we can get that fucking fitted sheet on, alright?”

You nod absently. You don’t turn to look at him as he puts on his clothes.

He comes up to you before he leaves. He runs his finger under your chin and lifts it up. There’s a kitten scratch on his cuticle.

You could come watch the match.

But he doesn’t say that. You haven’t seen him play since New Rochelle. “I’ll fill the demon’s bowl. I think she’s starting to like me.”

You laugh, wiping more tears.

Patrick takes that hand, your hand, wet with tears, and brings it to his mouth. He kisses and licks the salt away. He keeps it there for a moment longer than he should. You gently pull away.

You only exhale when he’s gone.

Toby slinks out from behind your mirror, swishing her tail back and forth in contempt.

You narrow your eyes. “Oh, shut up,” you whisper.

[scarletttries]

Roman Roy x Age-Gap! Reader Headcanons:

Pairing: Roman Roy (Succession) x Reader

Word Count: 2k (warning: mention of Logany child abuse)

Author’s Note: Oh Roman Roy, you're really making me fall in love with your sad little face and your slightly softening heart this season. Thank you for this request, please enjoy these thoughts about Roman Roy with a younger, but still very much legal adult, reader. Also please fill my inbox with Kendall and Roman requests because I am thinking about little else! 😊

Update! Part two here 😀

- Roman Roy has always felt simultaneously like he's never really grown up, and that he was never allowed to be a child. Growing up as the youngest son of Logan Roy he wasn't allowed the chance to make the silly mistakes of childhood folly. Logan had been through that before and frankly he needed Roman to be a serious adult from the moment he could comprehend his father's disapproving glare. Naturally this was an impossible ask of a small, sensitive boy, and led to blows to back of the head when tears threatened to stain the silk shirt he'd been so uncomfortably forced into for another endless press event where he stood like a prop, just desperate not to get in any more trouble or let his dad down worse than he already had.

- As Roman entered adulthood he began to be left out of all the rooms where serious people met and talked about things he could never quite get right; he's wasn't self-interested enough, he didn't have those killer instincts, he couldn't rid his head of the thoughts of how many people would be affected by the company's every move. As Logan and Kendall started to tire of his quippy comments, relegating him to waiting outside for busy work, he could feel himself struggling to meet the thresholds of adulthood that Ken seemed to have carried with him for as long as Roman could remember. This dichotomy of boy and man left Roman feeling like he was never quite comfortable with his age, unsure what lense to see that number through. And then he met you.

- Getting a job at Waystar may have left you feeling a little morally uncomfortable, but you reminded yourself that ten years experience there and you'd be able to get any job in any industry you like, while also being able to pay for your own place. So you pushed that feeling down each day as you entered that office full of rich old white men. Given you'd actually had to earn your place there, rather than just knowing someone, it wasn't long until your work ethic, intelligence and ingenuity had you climbing the corporate ladder in your department and getting you noticed by some of the much higher-ups. Naturally they tried to just take credit for your work, but when the day came that Logan actually asked for an explanation of a report you'd produced, Frank had no choice but to put you in a room with the big boss face-to-face.

- You'd heard nothing but bad things about Logan Roy and as he stared at you in pure contempt while you answered his questions, wondering why his time was being wasted with this young thing from the bullpen, it took all your resolve to hold your nerve, giving short answers and trying not to give him anything to hold over you. Every so often you'd let your eyes flick over his shoulder to the man standing behind him, ten years older than you but pulling at the sleeves of his shirt like a little kid as he watched you face the interrogation, outwardly seeming far more nervous about the situation than you did. After fifteen minutes of watching you hold your head high and speak so confidently about your work, Roman was staring at you unashamedly in a mix of awe, intrigue and disbelief. Despite the age gap you seemed to have all the facets of a self-assured adult that he felt he'd never quite unlocked, while exuding the joyful exuberance of youth he'd never been allowed. He needed to know more about you, so when Logan shouted at Gerri to 'throw you in a dress and bring to this week's investor mixers' he could feel his heart pounding in his chest at the sheer hope and possibility of the answers you might hold.

- You weren't thrilled to spend your evenings surrounded by colleagues, stood to attention in case anyone needed a question answering, but you didn't hate the full railing of designer evening wear that had been sent to your apartment for the occasion. You found yourself trying to blend into the shadows of a corner, unsure of your place in this room and this crowd, wondering if any of the food on display was actually for eating, or if that would be seen as a massive faux pas. Luckily Roman had been keeping an interested eye on you all evening; who you'd spoken to, what you'd been dressed in, the frankly adorable face you'd pulled when Frank handed you a Whiskey twice your age and you took a very unwilling sip, feigning appreciation before slinking away to stick your tongue out at the burning taste. And finally he built up the nerve to approach you now that you were alone, trying to approach casually by picking up a grape from the ornate platter beside you, only to take a bite, realise it was plastic and having to hand it mortified to a waiter that had watched the whole thing from your side. He could feel the blood burning in his cheeks as he watched you try and stifle a laugh, both mortified that you already knew he was a fool and pleased that he'd been able to bring a smile to your face this evening.

"Yeah yeah fuck you." He laughed as he stopped just in front of you, all the words he'd planned to share failing him now that he was close enough to see the beauty in your sincere smile as you shook your head,

"Really I should thank you, now I'm one step closer to figuring out what's actually edible here." You replied with a warmth that almost made Roman recoil, so used to the icy chill he usually received from those around him.

"Well certainly not that whiskey." He nodded to the short crystal glass you'd been trying to put down since Frank handed it to you, tone sarcastic but without the cutting edge he was usually one to deliver. "Why is that the one thing these old fucks actually like to be their own age?" As you laughed again Roman felt a little victorious, he had set himself a pretty low bar but he was confident he was going to be the highlight of your evening.

- As you spent the next week being dragged to different events, you'd always find Roman slinking to your side before the night was through, as if you'd always been old friends, just counting down the hours of everyone else's company. You'd counter his one-liners and then ask him where he'd rather be on a Friday night and make him realise he didn't really know any other kind of night. So when you'd list off your weekend plans, and hobbies and interests, and tell him stories about your friends that had his hyena laugh echoing across the otherwise solemn room, he'd start to realise just how much he was missing out on, and how much he wanted to explore that with you as his guide.

- It stopped being enough, just finding you on odd evenings. Roman would start finding your desk at Waystar, pretending to just be wandering through a junior office coincidentally. He'd glance at his wrist, ignoring the fact he'd forgotten to put on a watch this morning, and comment that as 'technically kind of your boss' he needed to make sure his best employees were actually taking a lunch break, and also were you hungry? Sometimes during the day he'd just melt onto the floor beside your desk, chatting about nothing as you tried your best to type and pay him the attention he so desperately craved. He'd start having all of his meetings in the rooms on your floor so he could wave at you as he walked past the huge glass windows keeping your team contained, an apt metaphor for the walls up inside him he was worried you'd never cross.

- Poor insecure Roman, he'd really try and force himself to ask you out, but ultimately he'd be so afraid of the potential backlash of rejection, that it would be up to you to finally ask if he wanted to grab a drink after work, one Friday when he'd been particularly clingy. You'd take him to a fun, casual bar and watch his eye's light up at people playing darts or ordering fried food and generally the nice, relaxed atmosphere where he didn't feel he had to be the smartest person in the room. Occasionally a friend of yours would walk in a wave and ask how you were doing, and you'd introduce Roman as your friend with no shame or regret and he'd say something funny and get the same rush of pride at making you laugh that he did the first time, and he'd feel like maybe the more time he spent getting to know you, the better he could see himself, still young at heart but not the kid he once was. His lost childhood and misspent youth given a second chance as you offered to see him again next weekend.

- Once you open the affectionate floodgates Roman would be the clingiest koala you can imagine. He'd rarely be as direct as holding your hand, especially not in public, conscious of looking just like his father with a younger woman on his arm. But in the privacy of your little apartment, the one Roman fell in love with the moment he saw it, he'd take a slightly threadbare throw and toss it over the both of you as he all but crumbled into your lap when he wanted to talk about something he thought would make you run. Opening up about his father's wrath and his warped view of himself, glancing up periodically to check you hadn't ran away and left him behind, finding softness in your eyes instead of disappointment and sinking even more deeply into you.

- Roman would think you are an absolute fucking genius for everything you've done for yourself. Worked hard to be the best at your job? Genius. Manage your own bills and do your own laundry? Genius. Carry a water bottle around and make him drink some when he has a headache and somehow he feels better than he has in years? Genius.

- Roman would follow you to hell and back, but you'll have to forcibly remove him from your apartment when you want to go outside. He's never been somewhere that actually felt like home, every soft furnishing and mismatched bowl making him want to haunt your halls forever. If you ever make him a home cooked meal, he'll act like it's not a big deal, but honestly he's crying inside that anyone would go through the effort for him, and that he was the person they chose to be around. Cut to him going thrifting with you to buy five new dishes for you to cook in next time, plus anything else you like.

- Occasionally you'll successfully get him outside for a hike, or a walk, or even a day at a museum or arcade; and Roman will go full toddler on you. Pointing at everything excitedly, running around and shrieking, making sure he was your undivided attention and dragging you by the hand to look at everything. By the time you're home you're ready to collapse, only to notice Roman surreptitiously placing a little souvenir somewhere on your shelf, sneakily bought from a gift shop while you were in the bathroom, before pretending he has no idea how it got there.

- Roman is so enraptured by the incredible, rounded human-being that you are, that eventually some of your self-belief would start to rub off on him, making him feel more sure of himself than he ever has before. Thinking less about the approval of others (except you, he still desperately wants that), feeling confident in his ideas, and no longer feeling like he's stuck in Peter Pan mode - despite falling for someone ten years his junior, Roman would finally feel like he was becoming the man he was always supposed to be, thanks to you.

Let me know if you want a part two of this!

[nonymous-nb]

•────~❉᯽❉~───────────────•

Subspace x Tall!Reader

•───────────────~❉᯽❉~────•

"Tall ass bitch. — ..my tall ass bitch."

PHIGHTING! | Headcanons | Fluff | Romantic.

Warning/s: [data not found.]

Extra: [brain dead + my brain can't think of anything LMAO]

• Ngl, I feel like Subspace wouldn't really care if you're tall or not..... lemme just write something up rq.

• Okay so, first of all, he thinks he's the tallest working demon in Blackrock. (He likes to intimidate shorter people with his height.. you can't change my mind.) So seeing someone taller than him and most importantly.. HIS OWN PHUCKING ASSISTANT— he was a bit flabbergasted when he wasn't the taller demon in blackrock now. sad lol.

• He does find your height quite useless and useful sometimes.. that's when he needs to reach much higher places that he can't reach that is.

• He doesn't like you nor does he hate you though, you guessed. he just thinks he doesn't need any assistant as he can do anything by himself, plus he has his biografts to order around.

• That's until neither of them could reach a tall ass shelf.

• He once ordered the biografts carry each other to get something off the shelf anddd... they all fell onto him LMAO—

• He did call out for you to get the stuff he needed, until you said something about him getting a chair or a ladder so he could reach it, yeah, he never asked again as he felt dumb of not thinking of that. -5 pts.

• Don't worry, you got him some mechanical parts as an apology that you think he'd like, so he won't kill you afterwards.

• He thinks it was a nice upgrade for his biografts though. +1 pts

• He is still an ass to you.

• But, he actually forgave you after about 3 months as you kept giving him the things he could use for his biografts, and occasionally asks you to buy some things..

• When he's chill and tired, do ask him about his latest inventions, he'll lighten up, he hides his little excitement and talk about it 24/7 and will never stop.. what have you done. +5 pts

• He now does insist that you go shopping with him at times, whenever he feels like it as you have an advantage to look for stuffs he wants. called you a dang giraffe too

• He makes you his personal eye shopping tree as you can see much higher places..

• Oh yeah, you carry everything too lol

• When you're now on his good side, he would repay you with a nod when you do/did something useful or worth his time.

• Don't worry it's gonna change overtime.. wink wink.

• For most parts, he acts like he doesn't like or care about anything, but wants you to get it for him secretly. do get it for him though.. +3 pts

• Oh, right, forgot to say that when you ask about his biografts or his inventions, AND you're actually interested in them??? Just know he's secretly giddy about it. +20 pts

• But now that he knows you're interested in his inventions, he showcases them to you, he never misses any damn details about it. (he talks about how efficient some of the component parts are too)

• Yay, you're on his good side, he's never letting your ass go now.

• Ngl, he dislikes it when you show anyone else with the same interest as you have for him, your interest shall solely be towards him, and him only.

• If he needs you for something and he can't find you? Yeah, doesn't happen you're the 2nd tallest in this building. no he doesnt wanna be on 2nd place.

• He also has this tendency to steal you away from anyone you talk to.. no matter how important it is, he's the boss, YOUR boss to be exact. So you should only follow HIS orders.. you are his assistant after all.

• Yeah, he only wants you to be interested in his doings and no one else. jealous ahh bit—

• [Y'know what, let's skip to when you guys are dating, yeah? I can't think of anymore bs.. why do i even do this..]

• You'll be the one carrying everything, no matter how small or big it is, you're carrying it.

• He uses you as a ladder, he makes you carry him whenever he can't reach crap.

• Also not only you're his ladder, he makes it as an excuse to do less things. Oh he could reach that? he calls for you. Oh no, it's it's a bit high up with a ladder besides it.... calls you anyway. You're his personal ladder now and you can't get away with it.

• He also makes you give him some piggyback rides, his legs are tired.

• Will definitely blush if you carry him bridal style.

• Don't do it in public though, he might present you a certain tripmine. *winks.*

• Also whenever he has some conversations with Scythe and makes him uncomfortable, he makes you as a shield.

• Scythe definitely think he's being babied.

• Overall, you're his.. you can't change that.

• You can't get away nor run now after all, you have him by your side..

[Ngl, I don't think Subspace really cares about how tall anyone is, he just wants his inventions done and stronger.]

[unnoticed-poison]

𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎! 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚔! 𝙷𝚊𝚣𝚋𝚒𝚗 𝙷𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚕 𝚅𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚇 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 °【 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟑 】°

【 𝕿𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖑𝖊𝖗 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕 】

【 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟏 】

【 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟐 】

【 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟑 】

【 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟒 】 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 1

【 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟒 】 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 2

So I forgot I explained the situation in my other yandere fic but not this one so I'll do it now so everyone will know.

The reason some girls are genderbend is because I can't exactly write yaoi or yuri cause of my religion, the most I could do for them is turn them into males so they can be romantic yanderes, hope you guys understand.

Also because I like to write genderbend as well.

The treatment Valentino gives Angel Dust will be mentioned of course, and not all the girls will be genderbend, it depends on how the story will go.

So anyways enjoy the chapter ❣️

˖๑‧˚꒷꒦₊꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦˚‧๑˖𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ˖๑‧˚꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦₊꒷꒦˚‧๑˖

Things were not going so well for Charles at the meeting.

"And then I went ahead and invited her to my place-"

This 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳 won't stop babbling about useless stuff and avoiding the topic at hand.

"- I failed to seduce her since she's so oblivious, but I can always try again next time," Adam said nonchalantly, taking a bite out of the rib as he glanced at him. "So what did you do this weekend?"

"Sir." The exterminator standing behind Adam looked less than thrilled while listening to his boss's chattering as well. " There's only a few minutes left for the meeting."

"Really? Oh well, you can start talking then."

Fucking finally.

Charles stood up after clearing his throat, holding up his papers as he started explaining the situation at hand.

"So I'm sure you're well aware of the overpopulation issue we're currently facing, I would like to suggest-"

Adam interrupted him. "OH that's not a problem at all! we're taking care of that just fine, Lute!" He called out as Lute stepped closer to him. "How many demons did you kill this year?"

The exterminator's voice was blunt as he answered. "Got a good 275 sir."

"275!? Badass! Awesome job danger dick." They fist-bumped as he said this, making the demon frown.

They're proud of that..?

"You know those are my people, right..?"

Adam laughed. "Of course! And that's what makes it even better!"

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Charles continued. "As I was saying, all our problems will be solved if we rehab those sinners and cleanse all their souls so they can join you guys in heaven and the extermination won't be needed anymore!"

He explained as fast as he could while holding up each paper. " The redeeming process will take place in my hote-"

"That's enough."

Huh?

"But I haven't finished yet-"

"I've heard more than enough, if what you're suggesting is letting those miserable fuckers climb up the ladder then you can forget about it, that's the dumbest idea I've ever heard in my long, loooong life."

"Everyone makes mistakes! They can redeem themselves-"

"They had the chance to do that when they were 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦, now that they've earned damnation, it's no one's fault but their own," Lute spoke in a scornful tone, his eyes narrowed in disgust. "And for your information, angels 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 make mistakes."

Charles narrowed his eyes at him in return. " You really think so."

The man smirked. "I 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 so."

Adam, visibly annoyed, slammed his hands on the table, making them both stop. "Alright that's enough!"

He rose to his feet and made his way over to Charles until they were standing face to face. " Look here pal, hell is forever and there's nothing, and I mean absolutely 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 you can do about it, so I suggest you give up now, and I'll pretend I never heard any of that bullshit."

A sneer of contempt crept over his face as he towered over the boy, he looked too much like his father, just looking at him made him 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬.

"You should consider yourself lucky that damned snake gave you a pardon from the extermination or else you and your hellborn kind would've been dead a long time ago."

Charles could feel his blood boil, his face flushed in rage as he scowled at him.

This damned bastard-

Before he had a chance to respond, the angel suddenly stepped back.

"And now that I've got your and the audience's attention, I would like to announce that we've made a determination!" With a triumphant smirk, Adam turned his head to stare directly at where the camera was.

...?

Confused, Charles turned his head to where Adam was looking.

....

Shit!

There was a camera?!!

How come he didn't notice it!

"-To move up the next extermination."

What?!

"Wait a second that's not-!"

"I can't wait a whole year to slaughter those little cunts, I know the day just finished, but we'll be back in six months!" Taking hold of both the drone and Charles's hand, he sent a menacing smile to the camera. " Enjoy those next few months dear sinners! Cause they might be your last."

Once he said that, he roughly threw them out of the room and returned to his seat while bursting into a fit of laughter.

"Wait!" The demon exclaimed, papers scattered around him as he tried to enter the room again. "Hold on a moment!"

"Now where is my favorite angel-" was the last thing he heard Adam say before the door slammed shut in his face.

......

Frustrated beyond words, his face scrunched up in anger as he slammed his fist into the door.

"Fuck!"

This was not how this was supposed to go!

He made things WORSE.

He then heard a voice come from the small drone.

"Looks like Lucifer's brat fucked things up for us all! What a shocker, I'm sure your father will be 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥."

....

He squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a deep sigh as he dropped his head, feeling defeated.

"Excuse me, are those yours?"

Huh?

Charles lifted his head and looked over his shoulder.

Despite the woman being out of uniform and wearing a simple dress, he was certain that she was one of the angels with the wings and halo.

Moreover, the giant hammer in her hand, still dripping with blood, served as a stark reminder of her rank.

Her other hand was holding the papers he drew at the hotel, with a basket hanging from her wrist.

Was that an egg?

Despite being a little disturbed by the sight, he couldn't help but be drawn by her looks.

She's pretty...

"Sir?"

Charles snapped out of it, a flush spread across his cheeks when he realized he'd been staring too long.

With a sheepish nod, he stood up and brushed off his clothes as he went over to you.

"Oh yeah they're mine!"

With a nod, you extended the papers. "Here you go then." You said, handing him the papers, some were stained with blood.

He looked at the stained papers for a moment before taking them off your hand. "Am.. thanks."

"No problem, have a nice day."

With that being said, you walked past him and towards the room he just got kicked out of.

His eyes followed your back for a moment, letting out a heavy sigh and turning around to leave when he suddenly paused in his tracks.

Wait..

𝘚𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦

𝘐 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭?

Perhaps you're the one that arrogant prick was talking about?

𝘍𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦..𝘴𝘦𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘦...

Maybe it wasn't too late yet!

If he could convince you of his project then maybe...

Perhaps you could help change Adam's mind as well!

Or at the very least move the extermination back to once a year like usual.

"Miss! Please wait!"

Turning back, he quickly headed over to you.

Upon hearing that, you paused and turned back to him with a raised brow. "Do you need anything?"

"I'd like to speak with you about something urgent."

You silently glanced back at the door and then back at the blonde, you had arrived just in time to witness him get thrown out by your boss.

So you had a pretty good guess on why he wanted to discuss with you.

"I'm sorry but my boss's words are final, I have no say in them, so whatever you spoke with him about I can't do anything."

That was mostly a lie, but the blonde didn't need to know that.

"Please! I beg you, it will only take a minute."

Gazing at the sheer desperation on the man's face, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him.

..........

.....

Damnit.

You finally let out a sigh. "Go ahead, I can't promise anything though."

?!

Charles's face lit up with happiness as he gave you a beaming smile.

"Thank you!"

Despite your visible disinterest, the man excitedly explained his entire project to you in detail.

There might be hope to clean up the mess he made after all.

˖๑‧˚꒷꒦₊꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦˚‧๑˖𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ˖๑‧˚꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦₊꒷꒦˚‧๑˖

Hope you guys liked the chapter!

I really need to focus back on my Yandere Animation Studios fic, that thing only has the trailer chap posted 😭

Anyways until next time ❣️

[urfrenfishy]

new charlie yuurivoice episode spoilers

can we talk about how high up the ladder casper actually is. like. that’s fuckin crazy. we all know how distrusting auron is, pretty sure the only reason he trusted charlie at all was bc let’s be honest what could charlie possibly do. BUT PERSONAL DRIVER??? HE TRUSTS CAS. TO DRIVE HIM PLACES?? crazy amounts of trust. especially for a guy with so many enemies.

also. something tells me cas isn’t just a driver, like yes i’m sure that’s their like formal job just like aurons formal job is CEO but- in the shadows…cmon cas is like definitely one of aurons top hitmen or something.

to further back up the double job thing, let’s talk about the pay. it’s implied that cas is like- loaded and i doubt they make as much as they do for them just to be a driver, that’s some you keep my secrets i keep yours and also provide a boat ton of compensation for it kind of money

and also, casper’s silent reluctance to tell charlie their profession. i feel like if they were ‘just a driver’ they wouldnt care so much about not telling him and keeping their job a secret, it’s not like he’d see them differently if they were just a driver to his old boss. if anything he’d think it’s a funny coincidence, but- if they actually had something to hide underneath the driver gig, then id get why they’d be as nervous as they were in the episode.

so yeah. crazy shit. but also i have theorized that cas was like aurons hitman since the mention of their job/money so i win

[agoldengalaxy]

Stan wakes up to the sound of the key in the lock.

It doesn’t take long for the adrenaline to set in, but he knows the difference between the sound of a key and lockpicking, meaning it has to be Wendy or Soos. He can’t imagine why either of them would be back this late.

He stands up from the armchair, shoving his glasses on his face, and walks carefully and quietly toward the gift shop. In the dark, he squints at the silhouette, outlined by the moonlight that pours in from the window. They don’t seem to notice him quite yet, fumbling with the ladder to the roof. Stan hesitates, then flicks on the lights.

“Coming here after work hours is pretty unlike you, kid.”

Wendy whirls around, her eyes wide like a deer in headlights, her expression unlike any he’d ever seen her wear before. What’s more startling is that her face glistens with tears, which, after a mere second, she seems to remember. She turns her face away, trying to play it off. “I’m…sorry, Mr. Pines. I didn’t wanna wake you, but I had to get out of the house.”

His gaze flicks toward the ladder to the roof, which he knows she uses as a reprieve during the workday. He’s never said anything before, and he definitely won’t now. If she feels safe here, it means he’s doing his job as her boss. Despite her attitude, her dumb friends and her smart mouth, he’s really come to like her. Maybe those things aren’t all that bad, anyway.

“…I’ll grab sodas,” he says, turning to the vending machine. When she doesn’t reply, he glances over his shoulder. “C’mon. Least you can do after breaking and entering this late is let me keep you company.”

A small smile appears on her lips now. “It’s not breaking and entering if I have a key.” She ascends the ladder. Stan steels himself, grabs two colas, and follows after her. The last thing he’s gonna do is let his fear of heights or fear of talking about teenage feelings obvious.

The night air has a chill that makes him feel much more awake. They sit beside each other in silence for a few moments, with soda bubbles and quiet chirping bugs the only sounds to fill the air. “I am sorry,” she says again. “I just feel better when I’m here. I guess being up on the roof is ironically kind of grounding.”

“You’ve been watching too many of those weird movies.”

“Yeah, probably.” Wendy smiles a little, the breeze ruffling her hair and drying her face. She hesitates, looking down at her soda can. “I love my family. My dad’s doing his best, and my brothers are becoming awesome little dudes. But…”

Stan holds his breath. He hadn’t been expecting her to open up to him, of all people. “Must be hard. Being the, uh, the woman of the house.”

“Yeah.” She glances up at the moon. “You know what it’s like, when your dad is trying his best, but he focuses more on your siblings than you?” She takes a sip from her soda. “Man, sorry. I don’t even know if you have any siblings. Guess you’re not the right person to ask.”

Something in Stan’s chest burns, then freezes over, because of course he knows that feeling. He knows it more than he’ll ever tell her. He stares at the sky too. “I can imagine.”

“Things just made sense when Mom was around, and now…it’s all wrong.” Wendy sniffles, trying to play it off with another sip. “I can barely sleep anymore.”

Stan looks at her more closely in the moonlight, the way she’s trying so hard to hold it together, all of this weight put onto a young teenager’s shoulders, like any moment she might collapse. He sighs softly, putting an arm around her shoulders to pull her close. Surprisingly, she doesn’t pull away, and he pretends not to notice her quiet sobs.

They sit for a while, until her cries quiet down, and a little while after that, too. The next time he chances a look at her, he realizes her eyes are closed, breath soft and warm against his arm.

“Wendy, hey. It’s cold out here. Let’s go in.” He shakes her gently, and she complies groggily. They make it back down the ladder and he leads her to the living room, where she promptly lays down on the armchair, her legs hanging off of the sides.

He’d thought she had already fallen asleep, but as he’s placing a blanket over her, she mumbles, “Thanks, Stan.” He pauses, then smiles a little to himself, knowing no one is around to see it.

In the morning, they pretend it never happened.

[topazy]

Little dark age

Paring: Rick Grimes × reader

Warning: Swearing, zombie guts & blood, mentions of drug use

Chapter: 1.01

“Is Glenn really going down to get that guy?”

“Sure is.”

“Gods,” you groan. “Make sure nobody steals my shit while I’m gone; that idiot is going to need back up.”

With one hand, you keep a steady grip on the shaky ladders while using your free hand to shoot at any dead person that gets too close to Glenn and the new guy. With tiny chips of yellow paint rubbing on your palm, nipping it, you become impatient. “Hurry the hell up!”

Glenn screams as he runs up the side alleyway before climbing up the ladders.

The new guy seemed slightly disoriented and was taking far too long, looking from side to side as the dead started to close in on him. You shoot at the ground beside him, causing him to jump. “Unless you want to die, move! ”

With the extra weight of two grown adults and walkers grabbing at the metal bars below, you shove your gun into your waste bands and quickly start to climb back up to the roof. When Glenn gets to the top, you snatch the baseball cap from his head, causing him to frown.

“Sammi…”

Once you shake off the large spider, Glenn was yet to notice, you toss the baseball cap back to him, “you almost got yourself killed, dumbass.”

“I was saving... the guy in the tank from the geeks.”

“Yeah, well, don’t be surprised if the others are pissed. You’ve just attracted a shitload of walkers.”

When the new guy gets to the top of the ladders, you take in his clothing, a police uniform with a couple of badges on it. You offer him your hand, “sheriff?”

He nods.

Once the new guy is up on the roof, Glenn leads the way back to the hatch and goes to the next building, where the rest of your scavenging group is waiting. Glenn opens and it’s going to step down, then suddenly stops. “There was something on my hat, wasn’t there?”

“No, of course not.”

He shivers before going down first.

—

While Andrea and Morales explain to the new guy that all the noise he made attracted the dead, you continue to shove things that you deem necessary into one of your backpacks. The class surrounding the bottom ground of the store starts to crack with walkers banging on the glass windows.

“I can’t get a signal on the radio,” T-dog says. “We are going—”

He’s cut off by the sound of a gunshot. Another one goes off, and Andrea pinpoints the sourness of the sound, “It’s Dixon.”

You look down at the rest of your group's belongings and frown. You snatch your other bag and begin to storm towards the staircase leading up to the roof. “That bastard has my gun!”

—

Merle laughs when the others tell him to stop firing at the walkers. Holding up the guy, he says, “Hey! You ought to be more polite to a man with a gun! ”

“My gun,” you snap. “You thieving little crackhead.”

Merle was one of the most vile, insufferable men you’d ever met in your life. He blows you a kiss and jumps down from the ledge he’s on. It only takes a matter of seconds for Merle to racially and physically attack T-dog. You try to pull him off but get backhanded, causing your lip to slip open.

Groaning, you push yourself up onto your elbows.

Merle spits on T-dog before standing over him. “Yeah! All right! We’re going to have ourselves a little powwow, huh? Talk about who’s in charge. I vote for me. Anybody else?”

From the way his eyes are dilated, you can tell Merle was high on something. You watch as the new guy gets to his feet behind him quickly and creeps up on him.

“Show off your hands, huh? All in favor, huh? Oh, come on. Let’s see them! All in favor?” Merle raises his own hand and points the gun at the others until they copy his actions. “Now that means I’m the boss, right?”

The new guy picks up your gun that Merle tossed and hits him in the face with it, knocking him to the ground. He handcuffs him to one of the metal pipes connected to the ground on the roof.

“Who the hell are you, man?”

“Officer friendly,” he answers, grabbing Merle by the collar of his top. “Things are different now. There are no colored people anymore. No dumb-as-shit, inbred white-trash fools either. Only dark meat and white meat. The living and the dead. We survive this by pulling together, not apart.”

“Screw you, man.”

“I can see you have a habit of missing the point.”

“Yeah, well screw you twice.”

The guy presses his gun against Merle’s head. “I ought to be polite to the man with a gun. Only common sense.”

You wipe the metallic-tasting liquid mixed with saliva off your chin with the back of your hand. Glenn hands you a piece of ripped-up fabric. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.” You get to your feet, go to Merle, and kneel in front of him. “All of Dixon’s common sense was snorted away a long time ago.”

The man tilts Merle’s head back to see traces of white powder stuck to the bottom of his nose while you search his pockets. You pull out a little glass tube of white powder and ask, “What is it, cocaine? Ketamine? Heroin?”

“Put it back, you little bitch!”

“Suppose it doesn’t matter what it is,” you shrug before tossing the tube off the roof.

Merle kicks his legs and roughly pulls at the handcuffs. “When I get out of these cuffs, I’m going to make you pay for that! You fucking cu—”

He abruptly stops talking when the new guy clicks the safety off his gun.

—

You walk around the clothing section of the store to kill some time. With Glenn and Morales gone to scope out a potential way out, there wasn’t a lot left to do.

Hearing footsteps, your hand immediately goes to your handgun, but relaxed it when you realize who it is. “Hey new guy,” you say, putting your hand out. “I didn’t catch your name before.”

He shakes your hand. “It’s Rick, Rick Grimes.”

“Well, Rick, thanks for shutting that asshole up.” You push some clothes around on a clothing rack. “Honestly, if I wasn’t for the fact that I like Merle’s brother, I would have taken a shot at him a long time ago.”

His eyes land on your dog's tags, but he doesn’t ask about them. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Samara Rose Blake, but everyone just calls me Sammie Rose.”

Rick goes to say something but rolls his tongue and shakes his head. You go back to looking through the clothes, fully aware that you’re being observed.

“Do you have kids?” He asks, watching as you pick up two child-sized jackets.

“No, but there’s a couple of kids back at camp, and you can’t go wrong with lightweight jackets. You? I heard you say you’re looking for your family.”

“I have a wife and son, who I haven’t seen since... well, I haven’t seen them in the new world.”

Andrea comes into the room and says, “They're back.”

From the look on her face, you know it’s not good news.

—

“This is a suicide mission,” you grumble.

With the tunnel Morales and Glenn went down being a dead end, the group came up with a new plan. Someone would break into a vehicle, bring it up to the side of the building for the others to get into, and then drive away. The plan was easy enough, except for the part where someone needed to do all this without being spotted by walkers.

“A suicide mission your on, baby,” T says before rubbing zombie guts onto the king white coat that covered most of your body.

Rick had found gloves for everyone to wear while rubbing zombie blood and guts onto Rick, Glenn, and you. The smell was revolting, and the thought of walking outside amongst the dead terrified you, but you were so used to going scavenging with just Glenn that the thought of him going out there without you as backup didn’t feel right. To get the zombie insides on the outside, Rick had to drag a body from outside and cut it up with an ax.

Jacqui places a wooly hat on top of your head and tucks your hair underneath before putting zombie guts on your back.

After a few moments, you slowly twirl. “Do you think we have enough on?”

“Yes,” Andrea says, waving her hand. “You guys smell revolting.”

—

You let out a shaky breath before opening the door to go outside. “I sure hope this plan works; otherwise, I’m throwing you to do the dead first, Rick Grimes.”

“Noted,” he tried to keep a serious tone, but hints of a smile pulled on his face.

Taking a deep breath, you open the door for the three of you to take a gamble on your lives.

Mimicking the dead’s moments, you drag yourself underneath a few vehicles before coping with how they walk. You subtly look at Rick, wondering if he’s the same Rick Grimes you’ve heard Carl and Lori talk about. You thought about asking him before what his kid name was but didn’t want to give him false hope in case it was coincidentally the same.

Oh shit.

The sun disappears behind thick, dark clouds quickly, and rain starts lashing down. Washing the scent of death from your blood-soaked coats.

“The smell is washing off. Isn’t it?” Glenn asks.

"No, it’s not,” Rick says sternly. When a walker's stare lingers on him, he changes his mind and says, “Well, maybe.”

The second you hear a roaring sound, you know your covers are blowing. “Run!”

Rick manages to kill a few zombies with the ax before you reach the fence blocking off the parking lot from the rest of the street. The three of you make it into a large van just as the fence collapses and the walkers break through.

“Oh, my god. Oh, my god. They’re all over that place,” Glenn says, panicked.

“Our people are safe on the inside for now,” you attempt to reassure him. “They will probably have been distracted by the noise we made, anyway.”

“She’s right,” Rick says. “Glenn, you need to draw them away. Those roll-up doors at the front of the store—that area? That’s what I need cleared up. Raise your friends; tell them to get down there and be ready.”

“And I’m drawing the geeks away, how? I missed that part.”

“Noise.”

—

You smash the window of a bright red sports car, tripping the alarm, and swiftly reach inside and unlock the door before hot wiring it. You get out and squeeze Glenn’s shoulder. “You’ve got this man; I’ll see you real soon.”

“Yeah, yeah, be safe.” Nervously, he gets in and speeds away, distracting all the walkers coming your way while you run and jump back into the van.

Rick gives you a questioning look.

“What?”

“Do I ever want to ask how you know how to hotwire a car?”

“Definitely not, sheriff.”

—

You climb to the back of the van, open the doors, and bang on the shutters, “Come on guys!”

Once your people start to enter the van, you jump back into the passenger seat and pull out your handgun, ready to shoot any walkers that come up the windows. T-dog pulls the van door shut and says, “Go, go, go!”

Rick speeds away from the building and out onto the highway. You look back to check if everyone is okay and notice someone is missing. “Where’s Merle?”

“I dropped the damn key,” T-dog says, his voice full of remorse.

Oh shit, Daryl wasn’t going to be happy your group returned without his brother.

[strogoff-era]

Why I also love Lt Graham Gore : aka me talking about my fav for far too long

This post is a companion of @earthshine-moon's post about Graham Gore ! Very good post, go read it ! Also we focus on different scenes so i think our posts are complementary

First, i just want to come back to the sleigh pulling scene. Many people hc Gore to be friend with Goodsir, and this is a very good hc. However, I dont think they're meant to be in the canon. They feel like they haven't interacted much before. And that makes Gore even nicer !! He didn't have to listen to Goodsir talk that much during the walk. He doesn't know that dude ! He could have told him to shut up but he didn't !

Also his behavior in that scene is very stricking to me not only because this is the first time we have a focus on him, but also because of the contrast with his previous scenes.

When Gore is around Franklin or Fitzjames, he is so much more serious. I think this is both professionalism and "my boss sucks ://". But when he is the highest ranking and has to take care of a group, he is thriving.

(the rest under the cut, bc im nice to your dash)

Expanding a bit on Gore's sentiment toward his superiors : Gore is very attentionate toward the crew. You can totally see it with his interaction with Goodsir, but also by how relaxed his sleigh team seems around him.

There is also the diving scene. Graham is not the focus, but he is there with Dundy and Des Voeux. (Btw, i absolutely love how Des Voeux is the lieutenants' intern. They bring him everywhere and he hates it. Just look at him during this scene, he's hilarious). When Collins asks for a surgeon and Franklin & Fitzjames refuse, you can see him frown and look at James. He knows he can't say anything but he clearly disagree. If Collins needs the reassurance of a surgeon, why not bring one ? It isn't too much to ask ? And when he leaves, you can also see he's pissed about this.

It's also in this scene where he does the adorable Nintendogs™ head tilt. I need a gif of it so bad.

Another scene I want to talk about is not actually in the show, but we have it in the script. You remember that scene where Irving shouts at Manson for being scared in the hold and Hickey goes to help him ? In the first version, it was Dundy in Irving's place and Gore in Hickey's. We were robbed !!! I couldn't find the right extract in the script and the link I found doesn't work but here is a post with a proof. I owe my life to anyone who will send me the full script of that scene.

It's hard to determine what the scene is meant to convey since I haven't read it in its context. But Gore is not afraid to call out another lieutenant in front of the men if he thinks he was in the wrong.

Also, I think "Title's no substitute to for common sense" explains his disagreement with Franklin and Fitzjames. Just because there is a power difference between you and someone doesn't mean you should take advantage of it. Had Gore survived past episode 2, I think this sentence would have summed up his decision making.

This post already took too long to write so I'm gonna end it with a bullet list of all the cool things I couldn't include :

When Des Voeux is disrespectful of the Netsilik, Gore disagrees with him. Many acting details I quoted in this post aren't in the script, but Gore being against Des Voeux on this is clearly written.

Also in the script, Gore is described as Sir John's "favorite son". Some food for the "lieutenants and their captain have a family dynamic" lovers ! But also a really good ground for Little-Gore parallels that could be great to explore in fics !

Historical Graham Gore also comes from a naval family and made his debut on his father's boat :)

Actually Sir John and Gore's relationship lives rent free in my head. Sir John loves him but not enough to write an eulogy for him, instead rambling about Jacob's Ladder for minutes before dropping his lieutenant's name right at the end. Nothing is about Gore in this speech, we learn nothing about him. I don't think this was on purpose, Sir John is just like that. But that raises the question whether he liked the Lieutenant or the man wearing that title

Both Sir John and Crozier calls him Graham btw

Historical Crozier and Graham had already met before ! Crozier was a mate on Graham's dad's ship, the one where Graham made his debut on the sea ! :D Graham was 11 at that time. Please make this fact into a Terror hc, it is very cute

Another historical fact that should become fanon : Graham played the flute

And finally, the most important fact about the Lieutenant Graham Gore : In the script, Jacko was supposed to go in his arms instead of Irving. Monkey likes him

[suckerforcate]

LOVED your first kate stewart fic!!

a request/prompt for my queer UNIT boss babe: reader is an alien and has been hiding it from kate despite them having a Thing (relationship/flirting/other), out of fear that kate would be angry when she finds out. kate is indeed angry when she finds out, because reader's an alien? bc they were hiding it? 🤷🏻

feel free to change what you wish to!! 💚💚💚

Misplaced Doubt

Pairing: Kate Lethbridge-Stewart x fem!Reader

Word Count: 1200

Warning: NSFW being hinted (just minor), bit of anxiety

Summary: Kate finds out you're not human, but actually a Timelady. How will she react?

A/n: So, I made Reader a Timelady, cause it fits best with the physiology. Seems the most human. I settled with Timelady but there's no use of pronouns, so it could also be read as gn!reader. Let's just ignore that the Timelords are all dead. Hope you like it!! Would love a repost, like or comment. <3

■----------------------------------------■

You were torn. Obviously, you were aware that this approach was not the right one. Kate meant a lot to you, and you really liked her. So keeping secrets was wrong. But what were you meant to do?

At the beginning, you'd just been scared of telling her. Scared she'd reject you or wouldn't want you and at some point so much time had passed that it would have just been awkward to tell her. Cause how were you supposed to tell your girlfriend of nearly a year that you were a Timelady? That you had two hearts, could very well be a different person entirely tomorrow and would live to see her die.

Right, you just wouldn't. And if one day you'd regenerate or simply not grow old, well that was a problem for your future self.

Except it wasn't. In a very stupid string of events you'd managed to fall down the ladder when trying to change a light bulb and Kate was fussing. All her motherly instincts made themselves known, and she went slightly overboard with her worry.

"It's fine, Katie. I promise." You assured her as you sat in her couch, Kate kneeling beside you and looking worried. She was convinced you should see a doctor. You're sure they'd be delighted to find out about your second heart.

"You fell of the ladder. It's not fine." She insisted, eyebrows adorably furrowed and nervously biting her lip. A side of her anyone but you rarely got to witness.

"Look at me, I'm smiling and talking and breathing. I'm fine." You assure her again and smile at her as if to prove your point. But she was stubborn, you knew that. And if she had something in her mind there was no way going around it.

"No, I'll take you to the Doctor. I won't accept a no." You sighed, knowing that there was a good possibility your little, actually not so little, secret was about to come out.

"Kate, we can't go to the Doctor." You said, sighing and defeated. She had just gotten up and turned away to get her stuff when you spoke. So she turns back around and looks down at you confused.

"Why not?" She asked sceptically and crossed her arms. You sat up a bit in the couch, already feeling your body easily heal whatever had been hurt by the fall. You looked at her apologetically, as if to apologise for what was yet to come.

"I haven't been entirely truthful to you, Kate." You sighed and rubbed your face, elbows propped up on your knees. You looked up at Kate and gestured to the armchair across from you. "Please, sit down."

And she did. She sat down, though she still looked sceptical. Her arms were crossed, and her eyes fixed on you. You felt your hearts beat rapidly in your chest the tell-tale signs of anxiety rising in you.

"There's something I haven't told you. And I'm sorry for keeping that from you. I just didn't know how..." You sighed and closed your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "I'm a Timelady, Kate." There, it's out. No going back now.

After what felt like forever you opened your eyes and looked at Kate. She hadn't said a word. The silence was excruciating. The look on her face broke your heart, and you were sure it was all over now. She looked so hurt. So heartbroken. And it was your fault. She untangled her crossed arms and rubbed her palms over her jeans, then she stood up and paced up and down in front of you.

"How could you not tell me that?" She asked and besides the hurt there was an obvious layer of anger in her voice. She stopped pacing and crossed her arms again, looking down at you in the couch. She even looked angry.

"Listen, Kate I didn't mean to keep a secret or anything..." She scoffed and didn't even let you finish. She couldn't even look at you.

"You didn't want to keep a secret? Well, newsflash, you kept a secret." She shot back, and you could feel yourself shrink with every word you said. You'd ruined everything. You'd been dishonest with her and why would she want to be with someone who's not even human. It had been eleven wonderful months. But that was over now. Great.

"I'm sorry, Kate." You said again, practically sinking into yourself, eyes downcast. Silence. When you look up you nearly expected her to be gone. But she was still there. Her arms hanging at her sides and the hurt back in her features. It was killing you.

"Don't you trust me?" She asked and it sounded so broken. You looked at her confused. Of course, you trusted her. With your life. "I work for UNIT for fuck's sake. I can keep a secret.

"Course you can. That's not-..." you watched her for a second. She seemed hurt that you hadn't told her, hurt that you'd kept a secret. But...she didn't seem repulsed or disappointed or like she wanted to reject you.

"I didn't want to lose you. You're too important." Now it was her time to look confused. Silence, again. Until she sinks back into the armchair, this time leaning forward. Towards you, a good sign.

"Loose me?" She asks with that adorable high tone that she always used when she was curious about something she didn't quite understand. Her brows were furrowed as she waited for an answer.

"Yeah. Loose you." You said and shrugged helplessly. "I'm not human, Kate. Above that, I'm a Timelady. It could might as well happen that you come back from work next week and I have a different face, a different personality." You explained, dreading the second she'd understand the full impact of this. But it didn't seem to come.

"But you'd still be you." She said as if it was the easiest thing in the world. How could she just not mind at all? People would talk if she suddenly had a 'new' partner. She can be alright with that. Can she?

"But, how can you just not care?" You asked dumbfounded. Confusion written all over your face.

"I'm pissed that you kept that from me. And you'll have some making up to do for that. But I love you. I'd never leave you because of something like that. I fell in love with who you are. Not the face or the body you have." She explained, more gently now. Then she even smirked slightly. "Not to say I don't appreciate the body." You blushed slightly, still a bit shocked by her nonchalant approach to all this. This woman was truly remarkable.

"I love you so much, Katie. I'm sorry I doubted you." You said and reached over to gently take her hand in yours. "Let me start with some of those amends I have to make." You said and pulled her to her feet, immediately wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing her flush against you. She giggled and looked up at you with those beautiful eyes, filled with love and the world was back to being alright.

[rorywritesjunk]

I can’t tell where the journey will end But I know where to start

Prequel to my Kid Buggy fic, set about 11-ish years before that story.

Buggy meets you by chance when he needs his buttons sewn back onto his jacket. He’s young, up and coming, and he thinks everyone should cower before him wherever he goes, but all you do is smile at him.

Rating: PG-13ish just for some swearing. Warning: Buggy’s in his early 20s. He’s an asshole. He just is because I wanted to write him loud, demanding, everything. Also, I’m not nice to Buggy when he tries to flirt. I definitely write him as a bit of a disaster when it happens. It’s just going to get a bit worse from here. This chapter is just kind of fluffy but also Buggy is kind of young and anxious and has a bit of an attack but Sunny gives him love. Bath time chat as well. A/N: I have no idea when Buggy became a Captain, so he’s a fresh faced captain in this. No clue how long this fic will be.

Title comes from “Wake Me Up” by Avicii.

TAGLIST: @lostfirefly @ane5e @kingofthemfingpirates @the-angriest-angel @tiredemomama @valen-yamyam16 @i-reblog-fics-i-like @plethora-of-fickleness @uhnanix

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8 + Chapter 9 + Chapter 10 + Chapter 11 + Chapter 12 + Chapter 13 + Chapter 14 + Chapter 15 + Chapter 16 + Chapter 17 + Chapter 18 + Epilogue

Chapter 11

“If you’re hanging out here today, I’m putting you to work.” Miss Pins told Buggy as she glared at him as he leaned back in the chair in the shop. You were working on an order for a customer, patching holes in a jacket while Buggy sat and watched you, but your boss wasn’t having any of it.

“Do I get paid?” Buggy asked. She shook her head.

“Your payment will be getting to spend time with Sunny while at the shop.” She told him. “Now, there are some things I need put away in the backroom that Benji can’t reach with a ladder, and I’ve seen some of what that Devil Fruit of yours can do, so go help him.”

And that's how Buggy (begrudgingly) became a shop worker for the day. If it meant he got to spend the day with you, then fine. He helped organize things on the top shelves, cleaned windows, and even helped paint the front exterior of the shop with Benji (while managing to get covered in paint). The only upside was you bringing him lunch once he was hot, sweaty, and covered in purple paint. 

“Looks like you could use a bath.” You chuckled as you set a plate of sandwiches down for him and Benji. 

“What? No.” Buggy took one of the sandwiches, shoving it into his mouth as he continued talking. “I'm fine without one.”

Benji made a face as he picked his own up. “You sure?”

“What’s the damn point? I'm just going to get dirty again.” Buggy told him as he ate. You shook your head and went inside to grab them both something to drink. “Besides, life on a ship doesn't allow for such a thing.”

“You're on land now.” Benji pointed out. “And you stink.” He pinched his nose and stuck his tongue out at him. 

“Yea? Well, that's because I'm a man and you're just a kid!” Buggy shot back. “I smell manly, got it? You just can't handle it.”

“No, he's right.” You said as you came back out with their drinks. “You do stink, Buggy. You need a bath.”

His jaw dropped at what you said. Did you really think so? He wondered if you were teasing him because you sat down and kissed his cheek. 

“One bath on land won't kill you.” You told him, smiling. “And getting caught in the rain doesn't count as one, okay?”

And he really did love you because he was nodding in agreement with whatever you told him. Benji was pretty impressed that he listened to you and was convinced you had magic powers for a moment, because at the end of the work day, you had Buggy in the bathroom and in the tub, washing his hair for him like you would a stray dog.

“Don't you trust me to do it myself?” He asked as you ran your fingers through his hair, making sure the shampoo was able to reach his scalp. 

“Of course I do.” You told him as you tugged on a lock of hair gently. “But why would I miss the chance to play with your beautiful hair?” 

He turned red and covered his face with his hands when you said that. Why did he have to blush every time you said things like that to him? You said nothing after that, just humming softly as you made sure his hair was fully lathered before using a cup to pour over his head, rinsing the shampoo out. It took a few minutes, but once it was done you grabbed a towel and began drying his hair.

“Buggy, can I braid your hair?”

“What? Why?” He asked as he turned to look at you. You twirled a lock of his hair around your finger with a shrug.

“Keeps it out of your face while you wash up.” You replied innocently. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at you before nodding, wondering what was going on in your mind. Honestly, you just wanted to braid it because you thought it would look nice in a crown braid on top of his head. You got up to grab a comb and some hairpins, humming once more before returning to your spot outside the tub. He turned around to look at you with a frown.

“Why are you doing this?” He asked. “Why are you… so nice all the time to me?”

You looked at him curiously, frowning a bit before you shrugged. “I don’t see a reason not to be nice, Buggy.” 

“Yea, but-”

“I only thought you were an asshole once, Buggy, and you apologized to me for it. Other than that you’ve always been nice to me.” You leaned in towards him and he leaned back just a bit. “I think you’re sweet for a scary pirate captain.”

Buggy’s face turned red as he glared at you. “Are you making fun of me?”

“What? No.” You smiled and put your hand behind his head, pulling him back to you for a kiss. He tensed up, turning redder, and when you pulled back you weren’t sure you’d seen him turn that shade of red before. “You okay?”

“Y-Yea.” He looked away from you. “I’ll finish up. Uh, you probably have things to do.”

You raised an eyebrow but nodded, kissing his cheek before getting up. “Come find me when you’re done, Buggy.”

~

Buggy found you in the kitchen a little while later as you started on dinner. He stood and watched you for a moment, scratching his chin, wondering if you really would marry him if he asked. Would you want to live on a ship for months at a time with him? Would you be happy with him? Why would you even think of leaving this life to join him on a ship? His mind was starting to race as he started wondering why you would even consider being with him, and he almost started to panic just a bit. 

“What’s on your mind, Buggy?” You asked, not turning around and interrupting his thoughts. “I heard you walk up.”

He hesitated but walked over to you and wrapped his arms around you carefully, letting his head rest against yours. You touched his arm softly, stirring the pot of stew with one arm carefully making sure not to spill the contents. 

“Would you really marry me?” He mumbled against you, refusing to move as he tightened his hold. You stopped what you were doing and pushed him away from the stove before turning to look at him.

“Do you not want to suddenly?” You asked with a frown. 

“I-I do! I just… wanted to know if you really want to!” He said. “Or are you just saying that to be nice?!”

You sighed softly and put your hands on his shoulders. “Buggy, honey, I do. I am not saying it to be nice, I'm saying it because I want to marry you eventually. I want to wait until I'm finished with my apprenticeship, okay? And after that you can propose however you want, but I want to marry you.” 

“Really?” He asked. You leaned in and kissed him, catching him off guard for a moment, and when he tried to hold onto it for a second longer, you pulled back and patted his cheek softly.

“Yes, really.” You insisted. “Remember, if I didn't like you, I wouldn't be this nice to you, Buggy. Feeding you, sharing my bed, all that kind of stuff. I do it because I care about you.”

“You really want to live on a pirate ship?” Buggy frowned. You shrugged and smiled at him.

“I wouldn't mind. Besides, my mom was a pirate and she used to say she could see me ending up on a ship one day like her.” You told him as you kissed him again.

“Wait, what?” He jerked away and looked at you, confused by what you just said. “Your mom was a pirate? You never said your parents were pirates!”

“My parents weren't, just my mom.” You chuckled as you smiled at him. “She was a member of the Cook Pirates under Captain Red Leg Zeff.” 

“What?!”

“I guess we got a lot to learn about one another, Buggy.” You said as you turned back to the stew you were making. “But I like that we have the time to do so.” You looked back at him. He looked like he was still processing what you told him. “You okay?”

“Your mom was a pirate?” He asked. “Really?”

“Yea, for a few years.” You shrugged. “Met my dad on a merchant ship they were raiding and fell in love. Decided to stop being a pirate and married my dad.”

Buggy stared at you for a moment, his mind still processing what you said. Your mom was a pirate but wasn’t anymore? Did… did he need to stop being a pirate to marry you, like your mom chose to do? He didn’t want to stop, but he loved you. Was this a choice he was going to have to make? His mind was starting to race; you looked back over at him, saw he was becoming distressed, and walked over to him.

“Hey, stop thinking for two seconds and sit down, Buggy.” You told him as you led him over to the table. 

“I don’t…. I can’t give up the sea!” He blurted out. 

“What? I wouldn’t ask you to do that!” You told him, looking surprised. “Why would you think you had to?”

“Your mom-”

“Yea, she chose to because it was what she wanted to do.” You told him as you made him sit down. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that, Buggy.”

He looked up at you, uncertainty in his eyes. You ran your fingers through his hair and sighed, letting him wrap his arms around you. What was going on, why was he suddenly so panicked? 

“What’s going on in that brain of yours?” You asked softly. “You still will be a pirate if you marry me, Buggy. I wouldn’t ask you to ever give it up and no one should.” 

“I can’t give up being a pirate.” He muttered as he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. While you were touched that he was this comfortable around you to drop his guard like this, you were a little surprised how anxious he could become over small things. 

“You aren’t going to.” You assured him as you stroked his hair softly. “I promise. I want you to become the most feared pirate, Buggy, and I won’t let anything stand in your way, okay?”

He just nodded, refusing to look at you as you held him. This was such a contrast from when you first met him, when he demanded services after storming into the shop. Now he was sitting in your kitchen, letting you hug him after thinking he would have to give up his piratey lifestyle for you. 

“Are you okay, honey?” You asked. He could only nod. “Okay. I need to finish dinner. You can hold my hand if you want.”

“I’d like that.” He mumbled as you pulled away, his hand slipping into yours and popping off his wrist as you returned to the stove. Buggy stayed at the table, watching as you worked. You were adding a few spices into the stew before checking the flavor. Once you seemed satisfied, you took Buggy’s hand and put it on your shoulder while you set the table. He watched you, wondering now what you thought of him. He felt pathetic, getting worked up over nothing, but you were there for him, comforting him, which made him feel better in the end. 

He was starting to think he didn’t deserve you, but you finished setting the table and reached over to brush his hair out of his face, tucking a lock behind his ear before kissing him on his forehead.

“Dinner’s ready.” You told him. “I can walk you back to your ship after, okay?”

He didn’t really want to leave after dinner, however.