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thatbadadvice · 3 months

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Help! I'm a Perfect Genius, but This Potential Employer Asked Me a Boring Interview Question!

Ask A Manager, 13 Feb 2024:

I was rejected from a role for not answering an interview question. I had all the skills they asked for, and the recruiter and hiring manager loved me. I had a final round of interviews — a peer on the hiring team, a peer from another team that I would work closely with, the director of both teams (so my would-be grandboss, which I thought was weird), and then finally a technical test with the hiring manager I had already spoken to. (I don’t know if it matters but I’m male and everyone I interviewed with was female.) The interviews went great, except the grandboss. I asked why she was interviewing me since it was a technical position and she was clearly some kind of middle manager. She told me she had a technical background (although she had been in management 10 years so it’s not like her experience was even relevant), but that she was interviewing for things like communication, ability to prioritize, and soft skills. I still thought it was weird to interview with my boss’s boss. She asked pretty standard (and boring) questions, which I aced. But then she asked me to tell her about the biggest mistake I’ve made in my career and how I handled it. I told her I’m a professional and I don’t make mistakes, and she argued with me! She said everyone makes mistakes, but what matters is how you handle them and prevent the same mistake from happening in the future. I told her maybe she made mistakes as a developer but since I actually went to school for it, I didn’t have that problem. She seemed fine with it and we moved on with the interview. A couple days later, the recruiter emailed me to say they had decided to go with someone else. I asked for feedback on why I wasn’t chosen and she said there were other candidates who were stronger. I wrote back and asked if the grandboss had been the reason I didn’t get the job, and she just told me again that the hiring panel made the decision to hire someone else. I looked the grandboss up on LinkedIn after the rejection and she was a developer at two industry leaders and then an executive at a third. She was also connected to a number of well-known C-level people in our city and industry. I’m thinking of mailing her on LinkedIn to explain why her question was wrong and asking if she’ll consider me for future positions at her company but my wife says it’s a bad idea. What do you think about me mailing her to try to explain?

Sir,

You have been wronged in the most grievous of ways by a coven of retaliatory, self-aggrandizing women who have failed in the extreme to recognize your brilliance, your talent, and above all, your general superiority.

Of course you should mail this mediocre "grandboss" on LinkedIn to inform her of the deep offense she caused you by interviewing you in the first place, let alone doing so using a boring question — indeed, you have a moral and professional obligation to do so in order to preserve your honor and the honor of scores of men like you who have never done a single solitary thing wrong in their lives, ever.

But I beg you to consider doing more. A single, private message to one incompetent bitch may not convey to the necessary parties the depth and breadth of the situation. Many, many people have important lessons to learn from your experience, and I encourage you to share it widely. Consider making a public LinkedIn post, and ensure that it is shareable across platforms. Depending on your financial resources, a billboard with your name, professional headshot, and contact information could go a long way toward ensuring that everyone in your industry who needs to know just how you handled the way these women treated you, does know about it. I hope that in your continuing job search, you are able to connect with potential employers who have a much better grasp of all you bring to the table.

#advice #bad advice #ask a manager #workplace #workplace advice #linkedin #bosses #working #developers #coding #fedoras #men #misogyny #workplace misogyny #hiring #job searching #employment

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ohdeerfully · 1 month

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Spoilers ahead for the final episode!

Imagine reader being a healer for others but is cursed to not being able to heal themselves.

Like during the final battle, their skills are heavily relied on while they also fight along side them. Afterwards they rush to find their lover Alastor to heal the wound on his abdomen. Poor thing was so worried about healing him that they forgot about patching up themselves.

hello everybody im alive........... hello hold your applause /j

i got two very similar requests so i combined them into one! hope thats alright with the two anons! hugs and kisses

Stitches

alastor x reader (fluff) TW: nothing serious, just some briefly graphic(ish) descriptions of violence/gore, reader referred to as female but doesnt influence plot

join my discord!

◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈

It was supposed to be “no big deal” for him; that’s what he had promised you. You worried, of course, but knew better than to pester and beg for him to change his mind. Plus… of all demons to hold back Adam, Alastor seemed like the most capable. You had to trust him. He promised.

You were in the midst of slaying an Exterminator of your own, cutting it down with a sword lined in angelic steel, but you couldn’t help that your train of thought kept returning to the Radio Demon, who was currently on the roof of the Hotel maintaining a forcefield that prevented more angels from joining the battle.

You allowed your eyes to glimpse up towards said roof even though you knew it’d be impossible to see him from your position on the ground. You had looked just in time, however, to see the shield that surrounded the battleground begin to dissolve, an opening blooming around the figure of Adam.

A sickly cold feeling of dread churned down your spine and into your stomach, but you forced yourself to stay focused. Alastor would be fine, surely. It’s not like he said it was an invincible shield. You had other things to worry about, anyway, when you realized a wasp-like swarm of Exterminators had made their way in from the dissolving forcefield, their glittering white wings and shining angelic weapons molding together in a blur.

You fought along a small group of demons from Cannibal Town, providing aid and healing when possible. It seemed to go on for hours; stab an angel, tear one away from a companion, heal, stab, save, heal… it somehow began to feel monotonous and repetitive. Your whole body stung, littered with wounds ranging in extremity, but you couldn’t stop. Not if you were going to win this thing.

That monotony was broken when the chaos halted for a brief moment—not even a second. You had seen Charlie looking up in… fear? Shock? So, you looked, and your breath hitched. It took you a moment to process.

Why was Adam flying above, looming, grinning, analyzing… Why, when Alastor was supposed to be keeping him occupied? The immediate answer that came to mind brought back that sickening feeling from earlier, but increased a hundredfold. It seemed that Charlie also had a similar idea.

You couldn’t ignore the feeling this time and, against your better judgment, took off towards the crumbling Hotel, abandoning your position as healer. They could wait, honestly. The pounding in your ears and anxiety in your body clouded the sensation of angelic spears grazing past you, filling your already burdened body with more gashes.

You were halted by a powerful beat of wings, wind pushing you backwards onto your back. You scrambled into a sitting position, leaning on your arms. All of the aching, stinging pain from the night seemed to rush in all at once because of the interruption, and you could barely keep your eyes steady on the man in front of you.

The first man, at that—standing all too high-and-mighty above you, a twisted grin curling up his mask.

“Hey, bitch,” He said almost casually, grabbing you by the hair and lifting you up to be eye level with him. You stifled a pained cry at the sensation, though your eyes filled with tears, betraying both your fear and pain. You hated yourself for looking so weak in front of Adam, but you were almost too exhausted to mask it.

“The fuck did you do to Alastor?” You talked through a mouthful of blood. You spat some out in his face, to which the grip on your head tightened but he seemed otherwise unbothered. You did see a glint of madness in his eyes, though.

“So you’re that fine babe of his?” Adam mocked, looking up and down tastelessly. You didn’t expect much more from the ‘dickmaster’ but you couldn’t help but feel disgusted. “Satan’s daughter told me all about you when she was trying to tell me you gross fucks could be redeemed.”

He started rambling out a multitude of insults and curses. It seemed fitting, you thought, that the stuck-up first man would be too full of himself to keep his guard up and just start going off on a tangent about how cool and awesome he is versus how gross and weak your kind is.

“I mean, the fuck? You all sucked ass at being alive, so why the shit would we let you up into heaven? And, quite frankly, too fucking ugly to live up th—” He choked on the last few words he had, his eyes widening in shock and pain. He dropped you to the ground.

During his rant you had managed to use your heel to kick up a stray spear from beneath you. His tirade had given you enough time to balance the weapon between your feet, aim, and jam it forward into his stomach. The robe he wore darkened, glistening gold seeping into the fabric and from the hole you punctured into him.

“You–” He spat, hovering his shaking hands around the impaled spear. He gingerly pressed a hand against the wound, lifting his bloody palm to his face to look at the mess. He looked up, down, up again, and took a quivering step towards you. There were a million expressions in his eyes all at once; rage, fear, pain, disgust…

“You fucking bitch,” He took another step, reached a hand out towards you. “You can’t kill me! Nobody can kill Adam! You’re just a worthless, sick, good-for-nothing sinner that couldn’t—fuck!” He stumbled and fell forward, and you jerked away as his fist nearly closed around the hem of your shirt. As much as you hated the guy and wanted him dead, you still cringed at the sight of him falling onto the spear and impaling it completely through his body.

You heard a distant cry of his name, but you didn’t hesitate to see who it was. You took off into the hotel, albeit slowed by a painful limp, and made your way up the stairs towards the radio tower.

There was an ominous feeling in the air as you ascended the ladder into the nearly demolished tower, slowly opening the hatch into the room. An intense, static-y feeling smothered your senses, hair raising and skin prickling at the sensation. You ignored the uncomfortable feeling and peered around the dark room.

Claw marks and a trail of blood caught your attention, leading your eyes towards a corner where the demon you wanted to see most sat against. He had been wordlessly watching you with glowing red eyes since you entered.

“Al,” You said almost breathlessly as you rushed forward, ignoring the way your leg shot pain throughout your body in protest. You fell gracelessly to your knees in front of him.

“I don’t want you here,” He said rather plainly, a hiss in his voice as he spoke through his teeth and a grimace of a smile. You ignored the comment, eyes traveling over his body before settling on his palm, which was pressed against his abdomen. There was a still-growing patch of dark blood seeping through his shirt and between his fingers.

You reached your hand out towards him, flinched to a halt for a moment when his claws tightened around the fabric of his shirt, but continued. He made no move otherwise to stop you, but you could feel the tension in the air growing as the static ambience got louder.

“I can take care of myself,” He said, his other hand suddenly snatching your wrist. His grin widened, but his eyes narrowed. You frowned at him.

“Yeah, but it’d be a lot easier for me to just fix you now,” You retorted, trying to jerk your hand away from his grip. He didn’t yield. “If you stop being so damn stubborn.”

“I’ve dealt with much worse, my dear,” He continued to convince you to leave him alone, his voice smooth with that manipulatively suave voice he put on sometimes. Unluckily for him, though, you were just as stubborn as him.

“But I’m here this time to help you,” You finally managed to free your wrist from him, your sharp expression unwavering from his own, which seemed equally aggravated. Maybe he was too weak to actually stop you, or maybe he actually did want your help and just wouldn’t admit it, but he didn’t stop you from lifting his bloodied hand from his wound.

You pursed your lips at the grizzly sight, but said nothing. You ignored the stinging smell of blood that flooded your nose. You hovered your hands over the wound, channeling the energy in your body that granted you the ability to rapidly heal others. A faint light flowed from your palm and into the gash across Alastor’s torso, forming glowing stitches that weaved throughout the damaged skin.

Periodically glancing up at his face as you worked, you watched for any sign that told you to stop, but it never came. He stayed silent the whole time, which was… rare, from him. You would never admit this out loud, but Alastor seemed almost… pitiful, in this silent, weakened state. The Radio Demon himself, reduced to a bloodied, passive husk of himself.

After healing so many demons during the battle outside, you had spent so much energy. You were already so weak and exhausted, but you pushed yourself to force just a bit more—

“There,” With a weak sigh, you sat back, admiring your own handiwork. Even though it was magic, it did take some mental ability to know how to use your power. “Was that so hard?” You chided him jokingly.

He gingerly drug a clawed finger down the stitches, analyzing it for himself.

“I have to admit,” He began, looking up at you. “It would have been nice to have you in my early years as— dear?”

You barely heard what he was saying as all of your senses seemed to get foggy all at once. Your vision blurred and speckled, you ears felt muffled, and you swayed with lightheadedness. You pressed a hand to your face, trying to steady your breath.

“I’m good,” Your voice came out in a quiver. “I think I just—”

You don’t necessarily even remember fainting, but reason that you must have as you stared at the ceiling above you. You woke up ten minutes ago, and spent the time piecing together everything that happened. How much time has passed since then? A couple hours? Days? It was hard to say. Though, you thought as you looked around. The hotel looks… damn good all things considered.

The door creaked open and your ears perked at the sound of a familiar voice humming some tune that you couldn’t recognize. Considering the atmosphere wasn’t tense, you actually welcomed the prickling, static-like sensation that Alastor’s presence brought.

“Ah, the sleeping beauty awakes!” He announced pleasantly, setting a plate rattling with two neat little glasses of warm liquid on the bedside table. You eyed them and quirked your eyebrow.

“Seems you were ready for it,” You said, commenting on the fact that he brought two cups.

“Well, what kind of man would I be if I wasn’t au fait to my darling’s status?” He explained, clasping his hands behind his back and leaning over you. He would never admit that he brought up two cups every time he checked on you just in case.

His overall demeanor seemed appropriately confident and indifferent, but his eyes held an uncharacteristic look of tenderness and worry as he looked over you, analyzing your condition. He sat at the edge of the bed, picking that plate up again and offering you a cup.

You sat up against the headboard and took it with a light smile, warming your hands on the smooth surface. You enjoyed the aroma of the tea, and you realized it was your favorite. How sweet.

The room was silent, save for the quiet sound of a radio that seemed to just… radiate from him… but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Now that you were sitting up, you took the chance to look down and over yourself. Bandages were wrapped tightly over your arms, chest, stomach, legs… basically everywhere. You were suddenly all too aware of the dull ache that afflicted your entire body.

When you looked up, you noticed Alastor had been looking at you rather intensely. His expression was weird and unreadable. You tightened your lips awkwardly at the strangely passionate look in his eyes, looking into random directions to try to ignore it. You tried to concentrate on taking another sip from the cup in your hand, bu, to your dismay, it was already empty. You sat it down on the plate.

“How’s my stitchwork holding up?” In an attempt to dissipate your own awkwardness, you reached towards his abdomen. He caught your hand gently, directing it away from himself. But he didn’t let go.

“No doctor in all of Hell could have done better,” He complimented. He still had a hint of that weird expression. “If only you could fix yourself up the same. Fortunately I have some experience from my time alive…” He trailed off.

You couldn’t contain yourself anymore, jumping forward and tightening your arms around his neck. The static in the air sharpened for a brief second, matching the tenseness in his body, but slowly returned to a normal frequency. After a few more seconds, you felt him slide his own arms around your waist, pressing you against himself.

“You scared the fuckin’ shit out of me,” You said, voice muffled by his coat. “I thought Adam killed you. I thought I was going to find your body buried under the rubble.”

“So you avenged me by killing Adam yourself? I appreciate it,” He remarked lightly, a slight chuckle rumbling from his chest. His voice was low, breath tickling your ear as he held you with a feather-light but somehow still firm grip.

Alastor was quiet for another moment, and you realized the static in the air had completely dissipated. You also realized the pressure of his arms wrapped around you was getting increasingly tighter.

“You worried me as well,” He said finally. “You were out like a hibernating bear for days. You worried everyone.” You pulled your head out from the crook of his neck and met his gaze.

“Can’t a gal get her beauty rest?” You joked softly, bumping your shoulder against him playfully. He swayed for a moment at the contact, but the eye contact never broke. Wait, was he getting closer?

Instinctually your eyes closed, and the briefest kiss was placed on your lips, then your nose, then your forehead. Before you could open your eyes, Alastor placed his hand on your head and pressed you back against his chest. He then began rubbing his hand gently on your back in a soothing motion.

Despite being in bed for apparently days, you still felt tired. You sank into him as his claws drug gentle shapes against your skin, careful to avoid bandaged spots. He hummed a quiet tune, and you noticed his microphone of a cane, which was laying against the bedside table, emitted an accompanying song.

“Maybe redemption isn’t all that,” You commented with a sigh, lazily picking at the hem of Alastor’s collar.

“Hmm?” He prompted you to continue.

“Is Hell really so bad if you’re with your favorite soul?” It felt corny to say, but you couldn't really find a better way to phrase it. Plus, you couldn't take this rare moment of tenderness for granted.

His hand paused for a moment, and he gently squeezed your arm in response. You felt him press another light kiss to the top of your head.

“I know, now,” He finally replied. “Just the feeling.”

#ohdeerfully #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #fluff #alastor x you #oh my god yall #writers block... my number 1 enemy of all time #hazbin hotel spoilers #sort of

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whalesforhands · 4 months

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Hii! I have an idea ☝️😈

What about teen gojo and geto meeting future reader and they’re all baffled and mesmerized and all this fluffy stuff and reader is just like “🧍‍♀️” confused since she was fighting a curse a few seconds ago- But the adult versions of the two are busy doing whatever else so she has to deal with them until the curse wears off?

Just wanted to ramble 🏃‍♀️ Merry Christmas!

i like ur rambling, anon. guess what timeline i picked, hehe. whether or not it’s canon to main dyf au, is for you to decide. merry christmas hohoho

You practically deflate onto the ground, knees scraping against the soft dirt whilst your poor, beaten up staff was used as your sole support where you had stabbed it into the dirt, your hands sliding down the handle of your weapon as the dust settles around you.

It was rare to have you deployed on-field for an exorcism of a curse, and even rarer for you to have to deal with anything above a Grade 2.

(Mainly due to your husbands who were sorely against you having to do any exorcism at all.)

But, alas, even they can’t slay every single curse in the world; the higher-ups having purposefully kept their most powerful busy as of late.

“And you promise to abandon your mission if you can’t defeat it?” A seriousness in his tone, almost dreadful, almost domineering in nature. Geto Suguru will not take no for an answer, his hands upon your shoulders squeezing lightly, trembling just ever so slightly.

“Do not fight anything you deem above your skill level.” Gojo Satoru is wholly deadpan, your pinkies interlocked in a promise as intense eyes stare you down. You feel his pinky tighten, restless, unlabeled impatience. Absent of any semblance of playfulness. “Okay?”

You’ve taken their words seriously, only taking fights that you know you would win; only running when you know you can’t.

A jujutsu sorcerer does not give their life up so easily.

You hear a rustle from the bushes, eyes darting behind you, and ripping your weapon out and readying for another face off just as you feel a familiar, overwhelming power looming just where you had looked away.

“Now, now, now.” That familiar voice, lacking in all the more mature tones you were used to, all the gentleness that you’ve grown so fond of.

“You’re gonna drop your weapon, put your pretty hands up and slowly turn around to face me.”

(You didn’t even hear his footsteps. Was he flying?)

There’s no hesitation in your compliance, the clatter of your staff to the ground as your hands are held up. The malice in the energy you feel all stoked and ready to explode at any given moment, the tones of his voice an underlying, upset melancholy.

You’re facing the Gojo Satoru, afterall. However, there’s an issue with him, something you’ve realized all too soon after loving him for so long.

There’s a tensed silence between the both of you during the stare-down, your eyes still getting used to his slightly shorter stature, much shorter hair as compared to your highschool days and current adult age. His cheeks a tad bit fuller, but eyes dulled considerably.

He’s still so cute.

“My Six Eyes tell me that you’re (name) (last name).” From your breathing pattern down to every last speck of your cursed energy; it was undeniably you. His eyes shine with quiet grief, and gritted regret as you meet his gaze.

You feel sorry for him.

“…but you’re not my (name).” You’re a little more mature looking, a little far too calm and collected in his presence. You’re the same; yet not the one he knew. His eyes narrow as the red on his glowing hand fizzles out, his stance commanding and broad as his feet finally touch the ground before you, using his looming height as a threat. It contrasts the way his voice cracks just as he ends his words, a beating silence enveloping the both of you as your heart calms, your hands slowly going down.

“And you’re not my Satoru.” It causes a stuttering, reddish plum to his cheeks, a throb to his heart that he hadn’t expected to feel, clenching his fists, a click of realization alongside his fingernails digging into his skin, intrepid gaze holding your calm one.

“So I am in another world.”

——

This wasn’t your Suguru either. His hair is messily bunned up, the bags under his eyes darker than you have ever seen him. His lips are dry, his complexion lacking any of the usual vigor your Suguru had.

He looks far too weary, far too tired as he sits upon a nearby bench, hunched over and just so exhausted that it makes you wonder when was the last time he has had a good night’s sleep.

“Oi, Suguru!” The ‘Satoru’ that you had met is all too keen to greet the boy, his hand around your elbow and pulling you along with him. “I found out where we’re at!” His loud call only heeds the visible slump of the black-haired boy’s tensed shoulders, eyes still cast towards the ground as the cicadas call around him.

“And I found somebody to help us.” He brings the both of yourselves to a stop before the blank boy.

“It’s nice to meet you?” You’re honestly at a loss for words at the situation. For how all powerful and odd Gojo’s powers can be, you hadn’t expected this situation one bit.

It’s at your voice that this ‘Geto Suguru’ nearly whirls his head back at a speed so quick that it nearly scares you. Dry, reddened eyes widening and mouth opening, getting up on shaky legs as he extends a hand towards you.

“You—“

——

“So…” The silence is far too awkward for you to be comfortable. “There was a (name) in your timeline too, I hear?” Your fingers are twiddling with your jujutsu uniform as you sat in between the both of them, their proximity a just inching between the line of too close whilst awaiting for Ijichi’s pickup to the campus.

‘Gojo Satoru’ is the first to speak up. “Yeah.”

A pause.

“Our (name) is… Dead.” You see ‘Geto Suguru’’s hands clench at his uniform pants, bundling the fabric up so tight that his knuckles started to turn white.

Oh. You feel bad now.

“I’m… Sorry about that.”

A breath is sucked in through his teeth. “Don’t be.”

You shouldn’t feel sorry for them at all. It’ll just make it worse than it already is.

Isn’t it funny? Comical? That their (name) had to be ripped away from their hold, had to be clawed away from their reach, only for fate to place another you; living, breathing right in front of them.

So palpable, so alike, so unbearably, painfully you. It makes them want to throw up in disgust, honestly. But they can’t.

Because it’s you.

“I-I’m sure that I-“ No. “Your (name) lived a good life if you were both around, then. Please- Trust me on this.” You know. You know that any version of ‘you’ would be satisfied with their life if they had friends like them; Gojo, Geto and Ieiri.

It’s a life that no version of you would ever regret. You wouldn’t regret becoming a jujutsu sorcerer if you had gotten to meet people like them.

And it brings two broken hearts just a tinge more comfort.

——

“Um, Satoru..”

“Yes?” It was a chorus of two similar voices.

“Ah— No. Uhm— My Satoru.” You’re a bit frazzled as you nod towards your blindfolded husband, a satisfied hum coming from him as he made his way towards you.

“Just call the other one Gojo! Or you can just call for your hubby~” He’s cooing into your ear for the duo to watch on, a hand on your waist to hook you in close as a smile is donned upon his face.

There’s a beat of silence before the more intimidating white-haired sorcerer spoke up.

“No. I want to be called Satoru.” The younger Gojo had had his eyes set upon you, never letting you leave his vicinity. Then, that means that the other ‘Geto Suguru’ would be called as simply ‘Suguru’, then.

“Your blindfold’s pretty lame. Do I actually want to wear that?”

Your Gojo chooses to turn his nose up, and ignore that sneer his younger counterpart gave him. “Man, I was so angry.” You hear a sigh as you see a hand wave off the younger boy. “Do whatever you please, little me. But don’tcha leave yet, please! My Suguru’s gonna be so stoked to see this.”

Oh, speaking of your Suguru.

“Did you tell him to pick up some dashi stock for our dinner tonight? I ran out yesterday.”

“…how about we just order a pizza tonight?”

“Sator— Gojo!” Your hands are immediately upon your hips as you feel him hug you towards him, a hand going up to stroke the back of your head, as your face is pressed to his chest to muffle the incoming scolding.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Don’t be mad at me! A wife’s scorn is a husband’s greatest regret!”

“…you guys live all together?” ‘Suguru’’s voice breaks the moment between the both of you.

You feel a rumbling of your husband’s chest as a laugh is released.

“And we got kids together too. Ya jealous yet?”

——

“Aha, this is certainly a sight.” Suguru is shedding himself of his jacket as he kicks off his shoes by the genkan, the sight of his younger self, and double the Gojo certainly jarring for him as they sat around the dining table.

“Welcome home, honey!” It’s your Gojo that skips along to press an obnoxiously wet kiss to your other husband’s lips first as you gently place the final bowl of zaru soba down.

(Minus the miso soup side dish. You’re still slightly mad, but you have guests over.

“We could’ve just ordered a pizzaaaaaa!” Your husband’s whines are ignored as you strain the noodles out.

“I’m not feeding guests a pizza, dearest idiot husband of mind.” You pat your hands dry upon your apron, turning to flick at his forehead as he whines even more, begetting a giggle before you tiptoe up to press a kiss to the area.)

“Welcome home.” Your voice greeting your husband is lost on ‘Satoru’ and ‘Suguru’’s ears as they stare down at the bowl before them. The significance of the food almost making the cursed spirit user tear up.

This was his favourite food. It— ‘You’ and himself used to eat this frequently until—

“Suguru… Are you okay?” A whispered concern from his Satoru.

“Yeah. I—“ He thinks he’s going to be sick. “I’m fine.”

“It isn’t much, but I hope you enjoy it.” His ears finally tune back in just in time to hear your voice once more. Dreary copper-amethyst gaze flicking up to meet your warm, lovely face.

He’ll eat it. He’ll eat it. He’ll eat it.

“Don’t push yourself if you can’t.” It’s this world’s Suguru that pops in, much longer hair, his older features, his broader stature and more muscled body.

(Does— He know what he’s been through?)

His chopsticks are trembling as he brings the noodles to his lips, mouth opening and slowly chewing— He stops as a realization hits him.

It’s delicious. It’s so delicious. There are tears in his eyes as he begins to gobble it up, a hack in his throat as ‘Suguru’ pushes the urge to vomit away to take in more.

(If— if this was his final time meeting you- Then he has to. He has to. But— This is strange. Even his counterpart didn’t react all that much to his and Satoru’s appearance.

It occurs to him that perhaps, they aren’t in another world. If they’re meeting their older selves, then— Perhaps they are in another timeline.

Which means—)

His gaze returns down to the now empty bowl before him, before flickering up to meet your satisfied, almost prideful face.

“Thank you for the meal.”

“You’re welcome! I’m so happy you loved it that much!”

Perhaps this situation wasn’t so bad at all, giving him the chance to see your smiling face once more.

——

“If you give me a kiss, I’ll tell him~” Is he mocking his younger self…? You just wanted him to help the other ‘Satoru’ to get back to his world. Alas, you relent, leaning over to press a chaste, quick kiss to his cheek as your Geto watched on with upturned eyes and a happy smile.

“Hey, kid me.” A joyful hum, a satisfied gait as your Gojo watches the little boy who he once was.

“You already figured out how to go back already, right? Whatcha waiting for?” Huh…? Your Gojo already knows how to get them back?! Your eyes widen as you nearly choke on your water.

“Now, now Gojo. Don’t tease them.” Your Geto is chuckling, patting your back as you cough. “You’ll make our poor wife worried. I’m sure that they have some sort of unfinished business here.”

What?! Were they both in on this? This is just getting stranger, and stranger…

“Heh. Guess it isn’t a surprise I would know myself best, huh?” Satoru lets a cocky grin overtake his features as his fingers intertwined with his Suguru’s.

“Guess I really am the strongest.”

His gaze finally stops at you. “It was nice— Y’know.” He grows shy, eyes shifty from behind his sunglasses. “Seeing a (name) again.”

‘Suguru’ speaks up. “Thank you for— Allowing us to experience it again.” He’s grateful. The most he’s ever been, the most he’s ever felt ever since your passing.

Thank you. But— It’s only goodbye for now.

“It was nice meeting the both of you!” You’re bowing politely as you wave.

(The younger Suguru is finally smiling. Even if it’s just a little.)

“We’ll see you soon! Wait for us!” A salute and a bright grin. And in a flash, they have disappeared.

…what?

masterlist

Notes:

If you don’t get it, your current Satoru and Suguru have experienced what their younger counterparts have been through.

Younger Gojo and Geto have been watching every move you’ve been making. Keep that in mind if you ever reread this, haha.

During dinner, younger Gojo and Geto decided to share a bowl together since Geto hasn’t been able to eat a full meal without throwing up. It was the first time in a while he’s eaten so much. When Gojo saw how much he was eating, he asked for a separate bowl for himself.

Geto Suguru thinks he’s pretty handsome in this world. Would…you have liked someone like that too? His Satoru certainly does. He’s seen the shifty, almost shy gaze his Gojo threw the older Geto. Maybe he will grow out his hair.

“Aww, I was such an adorable brat!~” His hands are placed upon his cheeks as he cooed, watching as his husband and yourself cleared the plates.

“Hmm. I suppose you must’ve lost all that cuteness in your youth, wouldn’t you agree, darling?.” Suguru’s cooing back at him from the kitchen with a laugh, his body turning to you to ask for your opinion.

“His younger self was certainly so cute… But I suppose my answer depends on whether he helps with the dishes today.” You’re teasing him right back as you slowly wash the plate.

“W-what? Fine, I’m coming! Call me adorable, pleaseee!”

#jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satosugu x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk angst #gojo x reader #geto x reader

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 7 months

Text

Oh dear sweet god

Why do I do this to myself

This goof has such a chokehold on my heart I just CANNOT

Working on P is for Public of ABC's of Kink, but it's getting split into two. Part one is SFW, part 2 will be very much NSFW. Already working in it and planning to have it up tonight.

And awaaaaay we gooo—

I lied part 3 will be NSFW don't hurt me

Blacksmith's Daughter

Part 1 of 3

Part 2 here

Series: ABC's of Kink

Letter: P is for Public

Wordcount: 2.7k

Tags: SFW, NSFW (part 3 only), fluff, hurt/comfort other stuff maybe

LA!Shanks X AFAB!Reader

Dear gods I loved writing this one

To say you were in a pickle would have been a grievous understatement.

You and a close friend had been caught sneaking around a Marine base after getting the bright idea to break into their treasury vault. For a few years since your father's death you had been down on your luck, and it had seemed a quick ticket to dragging yourself out of the gutter. You had become over that time a particularly skilled thief, and the training you had recieved from your father in blades, not to mention the pair of cutlasses he had smithed for you, didn't hurt your chances.

And you had been forced to give yourself up after your friend was killed while resisting arrest.

Thrown onto a Marine ship bound for Impel Down, locked in the brig with your hands and feet bound in irons. No family, no friends, set to rot for at least the next few years in prison, if not for the rest of your life.

You were fairly certain your situation couldn't possibly get any worse.

The officer guarding the brig was leaning against the desk across from the stairs that led up to the main deck of the ship, polishing his rifle with a rag and gun oil and whistling to himself. He had an easy enough time of it—you were the only prisoner there, and you weren't bothering to give him a hard time. You had been aboard the damnable ship for three days, stiff and sore from your limited range of movement in the heavy shackles clamped around your wrists and ankles, the gravity of your situation weighing heavily on you, and there really wasn't any fight left in you.

Sudden shouting from the deck overhead made him pause and look up the stairs, his brow furrowing under the brim of his cap as you both listened.

"Open fire!"

"Pirates!"

"All hands! Man the guns!"

The officer glanced into your cell, shouldering his rifle as he tossed his rag on the desk and pointed at you.

"Not a peep, wench."

You just leaned back against the wall of the cell with a sigh. "Yup."

So your situation could get worse. Wonderful.

The ship rattled and shook, the cannon fire making your ears ring. Bits of the ceiling fell into the cell around you. You flinched when a hole was blown through the wall of the cell next to your own, the cannon ball rolling across the floor and clanging against the bars. Rather than rotting in prison, you were just flat out going to die.

A fitting end for a miserable few years.

And then all at once, you heard another voice call for ceasefire. The cannon fire stopped first, and slowly the sounds of fighting on the deck above your head fell into relative silence, peppered with animated chatter and laughter.

That could only mean one thing—the Marines had lost.

And your suspicions were confirmed when, a few minutes later, one of the senior cadets on board burst through the doors and sprinted down the stairs into the brig in an outright panic, whimpering, attempting to draw his pistol with shaking hands—but not before he was followed by a broad-shouldered man with a long black ponytail, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, holding a large rifle with one hand and leveling the barrel between the young Marine's eyes.

The pirates had won. You weren't sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Oh, don't shoot the kid, Benn, just get him restrained."

You watched another pirate stroll down the stairs and lean into the wall at the edge of them, bright red hair framing his face, a long black cape hanging around one of his shoulders, and a pair of cutlasses slung over his shoulder—your cutlasses. He set them lightly on the desk and patted his crewmate on the shoulder a couple times as he passed.

There was only one man on the Grand Line that matched his description, and even having lived in a town too far inland to have had much experience with pirates, you had heard of him—Red-Haired Shanks, captain of the Red Hair Pirates, who held one of the highest bounties in the world.

"Be quicker to shoot him." Benn shrugged a shoulder. "Or just coldcock him over the head."

"Kid's probably already shit himself." Shanks grabbed a coil of rope from the wall and tossed it across to him. "No use adding injury to insult."

Benn rolled his eyes over toward his captain...and then his gaze flicked back a bit, landing on you as you glanced warily between him and Shanks. Benn gave a nod toward your cell, and your heart went from racing to ceasing entirely when Shanks turned his head and locked his gaze with your own.

He lifted his eyebrows a bit, his dark brown eyes glinting.

"Well, hello there." You swallowed as he approached the cell slowly. He wrapped his hand around one of the bars, leaning forward. Evidently your anxiousness was written all over your face, as he said next, reassuringly, "Don't worry love, we don't bite. Unless you make the idiot decision of opening fire on my ship," he added, raising his voice just a bit and tilting his head to look back at the Marine cadet, who was putting up absolutely no fight over having his hands tied behind his back now.

Shanks directed his gaze back over to you, flashing a charming grin. "So what're ya in for, sweetheart?"

You took a deep breath, and forced yourself to speak. "I—I, er—"

"She snuck into the base in Nanohana and attempted to break into the treasury vault," the cadet chimed in, and flinched as Benn shoved him down to sit against the wall.

He then grabbed the gun-oil rag from the desk and stuffed it in the cadet's mouth.

"Nobody asked you, kid," he said, leaning against the adjacent wall and crossing his arms, his rifle propped up against the wood paneling beside him.

Shank's grin only widened at that. "Did you really?" You nodded shortly, and he chuckled. "God, what a horrible crime," he went on, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Everyone knows the World Government is horrifically impoverished and doesn't have a single Berry to spare." He leaned a bit closer, resting his head against one of the iron bars. "How far did you get?"

"W...we had just gotten the vault open before we were surrounded," you said quietly. You couldn't tear your eyes away from his, as they widened and his eyebrows shot up toward his hairline, completely taken aback.

"Impressive," he said, his eyes passing over you slowly. He bit the corner of his lip thoughtfully, before his eyes returned to yours. "You said we. You have a crew?"

You shook your head. "It was just me and my friend. Well...more like my brother, really." Your eyes dropped to your knees for a moment. "He didn't make it," you said quietly, still not quite able to process it. Your best friend, your only friend, who you had known for twenty-three years, since you were a toddler.

Gone.

When you lifted your eyes back to the red-haired captain, his expression had softened considerably, mouth turned down in a small frown, his amusement replaced with genuine concern. "I'm terribly sorry to hear that, sweetheart," he said gently. He drew in a deep breath, and let it out as a slow sigh, before flipping his cape out of the way and taking a seat on the floor—and you noticed with a bit of shock as the cloak shifted that the left sleeve of his loose white shirt was empty.

He rest his elbow on his knee, leaning his chin into his palm, hand curled over his mouth for a long moment.

"Arabasta is around three days from here," he said finally. "Provided the wind cooperates, and honestly we could do with making port. We'd be more than happy to take you home."

You swallowed, your heart still pounding, still anxious, but for a different reason now. This man, who didn't even know your name, who was gazing at you with a gentle compassion spread across his handsome features that you were entirely unaccustomed to, offering to go out of his way just to get you home—this man had a bounty of over three billion berries?

After a moment, you shook your head. "Wouldn't be much use," you said, shrugging a shoulder. "I don't exactly have a home."

"Any family?" You shook your head—your father's death had been wholly unexpected, and led ultimately to the closing of his smithy, where the two of you and your "brother"—his apprentice—had also lived. Within less than a month you had been on the streets. "Friends?"

His face fell a little more every time you shook your head no. He ran the pad of his index finger over the top of his lips, glancing briefly at Benn.

Back at you, looking at you almost like you were a poor, abandoned puppy he wanted to take home.

He glanced at Benn again, longer this time, until his first mate sighed, straightening out from the wall. "I'll figure out who's got the keys," he said, already starting toward the door.

"Good man."

From the slam you heard, you were fairly sure he kicked the door open at the top, and his voice boomed over the loght chatter on the deck.

"Alright, you assholes. I'm gonna ask one of you who's got the keys to the brig. I don't get an answer in ten seconds, you're getting an extra hole in your head, and I move onto the next guy."

Your eyes widened a little as you looked toward the stairs, moving back over to Shanks as he laughed a little.

"Has a real knack for subtlety, doesn't he?" he said with a crooked grin. He leaned back, planting his hand on the floor behind him. "Seems you have two options, love. You can stay here, with a bunch of tied up Marines who want to take you—where, Impel Down?" You nodded, and he returned the nod. "Or..." He cooked his head slightly to one side, his grin widening a little. "We can break you out of here and you can come with us."

You blinked a few times. "And...go where?" you said slowly.

Her shrugged a shoulder. "Wherever the wind and the waves carry us."

He was asking you to join his crew. You felt your eyes widen a bit, and Shanks laughed softly when he saw his meaning had sunk in.

"I'd choose the latter option, personally," he said. "Never hurts to have another good thief on board."

"You...can't really say I'm a good thief, given..." You glanced down pointedly at the iron shackles around your ankles. "Well, circumstances."

"Ah..." He waved his hand dismissively. "Everyone makes mistakes early in their career. How long have you been thieving?"

"Two years," you said. "Since my father died. Mostly just...pick-pocketing and sneaking money pouches off vendors. This was the first actual break-in."

His eyes widened a bit. "Your first actual break-in," he said slowly, the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk, "was into a Marine base in a major city?"

You shrugged a shoulder, and nodded. He huffed out a sigh, shaking his head.

"Oh, I like you," he said in a low, flirtatious tone, his eyes making a slow pass over you that made your heart speed up and blood rush to your cheeks. "So tell me, princess...." He finally leaned forward again, resting his arm across his knee, and went on with a debonair grin. "Is there a pretty name to go with that pretty face?"

You managed to stammer out your name, your eyes wide as saucers. His smile softened as he shook his head a little, his gaze locked firmly onto yours as he spoke one word softly.

"Beautiful."

You jumped when the door opened, and both of you looked over as Benn descended the stairs, flicking a spent cigarette butt at the Marine cadet still seated in the corner. He tossed a ring of keys over to Shanks.

"Already informed everyone we have a new thief on the crew," he said flatly, tossing a ring of keys over to Shanks.

Shanks swiped them out of the air, grinning. "And how do you know that? I don't recall telling you."

Benn gave him a look equally as flat as his tone.

"Oh, lighten up, you grumpy old bastard," said Shanks jovially, pulling himself to his feet. Your eyes were glued to the keys as he flipped one out and tried it in the cell lock.

It didn't open.

"So what're we doing about this?" said Benn, gesturing broadly. "Caravel full of tied up Marines. Sink her? Just leave her adrift?"

Shanks shrugged. "Might as well just leave it. Take anything that isn't nailed to the floor."

There was a muffled sound of protest in the corner, and both men turned their gaze to the cadet.

Shanks tried the second key, with no success, as the cadet managed to turn his head and tug the cloth out of his mouth with traction from the shoulder of his coat. "Y—you can't just—there's no telling when another Marine ship will come by!"

Shanks snorted. "Or another pirate ship." He flipped to the next key, smirking. "So you'd rather I sink her?"

"W—well, no, but—but we—"

Benn had evidently heard enough. He rolled his eyes as he stooped down to pick up the cloth, and the cadet's jaw snapped shut immediately. Sighing in irritation, he grabbed the kid by his nose and held his nostrils shut until he was forced to open his mouth to take a gasp of air.

And Benn immediately shoved the cloth back into his mouth, and pointed a finger an inch from his nose. "Do it again and it'll be the last thing you ever do. Got it?"

The cadet nodded quickly, his eyes wide circles of terror.

The third key turned, and the lock clicked. You expelled a heavy sigh of relief at the sound. Shanks chuckled lightly as he watched you lean your head back against the damp wall behind you. "No need to worry, love," he said, kneeling down at your feet and flipping to the attached set of smaller keys for the cuffs and shackles. "I can pick a lock when I need to." He freed the first one, leveling his eyes with yours, and a small shiver coursed up your spine as he reached out and brushed a few strands of hair behind your ear, his thumb briefly caressing your flushed cheek. "I'm not letting a few iron bars and chains keep me from you."

"Oh dear god," Benn grumbled under his breath, rolling his eyes, and you almost giggled a little, biting your lip. The guy wasn't wrong, Shanks was laying it on pretty thick.

Though you weren't really complaining.

Shanks glanced back at him as he set to unlocking the second shackle, feigning surprise. "Oh, are you still here?" he said with a sarcastic smirk. He turned his attention back to the irons. "I fear I forgot there was anyone else in the room for a moment."

He glanced up and gave you a little wink before tossing the shackles away, and touched your shoulder lightly to indicate for you to lean forward so he could get to the cuffs wrapped around your wrists.

Benn leveled his eyes with yours, glancing at his captain, and gave a small snort of laughter. "Good luck."

And with that, he headed back up the stairs.

"Oh, don't listen to him, sweetheart."

Shanks chuckled, leaning over you to quickly unlock the shackles, so close you could feel the heat of his body, smell the leathery scent of his cologne mingling with a subtler hint of spiced rum. Your heart raced as he stood back up, dropped the cuffs, and held out his hand, smiling.

You hesitated for the briefest of moments, before placing your hand in his. He pulled you to your feet...and then flush against his chest, grinning as he wrapped his arm around your waist.

"I promise I'm perfectly harmless."

#opla #one piece shanks #red haired shanks #shanks #shanks one piece #shanks x reader #help i love him #one piece fan fiction #opla fanfiction #fluff #hurt/comfort

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storiesofsvu · 7 days

Text

Decadent Desires Ch 3

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: language, alcohol, minor political conversation, minor mentions of sexual encounters.

It was the sound of your coffee pot automatically brewing that originally roused you from sleeping, the beeping signalling it was done the reason you finally got out of bed. Traipsing down the stairs still in your silk pj set you yawned, starting to stretch out your body, dropping your phone on the breakfast bar before padding through the living room to open the blinds. The sun slowly rising through the sky and you deemed it warm enough to crack one of the windows, letting yourself actually get some fresh air on a work day. Wandering back to the kitchen you pulled down a coffee mug, adding a bit of creamer from the fridge before filling it with coffee. Right as you went to take your first sip, your phone buzzed on the countertop and you let out a huff, scooping up the device to a text from Heather.

‘You can work from home, it’s a low day.’

‘Thank god. I really didn’t want to put real clothes on.’

‘Well you’ll have to at some point. You’ve got lunch at Old Ebbitt Grill at two.’

‘Who am I schmoozing for you?’

‘Emily Prentiss.’

‘The fed from yesterday? What’d’ you need with the FBI?’

‘She asked to meet with you. You’ll have to discuss it with her.’ ‘Put it on my card.’

‘Alright. Thanks.’

‘Wear that Tom Ford blouse I like so much.’

‘The blue one?’

‘It brings out your eyes.’

‘I’m beginning to think you might have ulterior motives going on here...’

‘Enjoy your lunch.’

You dropped the phone back onto the counter with a huff, knowing you weren’t getting another word out of her on the subject. It wasn’t unlike Heather to send you in to do a certain level of dirty work when it came to getting other politicians to do what she wanted. It was technically part of your job, she would simply just suggest you use your assets in a way she couldn’t to get them to lean her way, and it almost always worked. Still, you couldn’t possibly imagine what a Section Chief from the FBI would want with your skill set, surely the bureau had their own type of publicists to deal with whatever kind of a situation this was.

You glanced to the clock above the stove to find it was barely eight o’clock and nearly debated going back to bed but you knew that was a bad idea and turned to your coffee instead. You thought about what to do for breakfast while you grabbed your work phone and laptop from your bag, setting them up on the breakfast bar before opening the fridge. You settled on some easy eggs and avocado on toast and restarted the coffee machine to brew a fresh pot, turning on an instrumental playlist on your phone to get your day going and your brain running.

Finished with the food, you refilled your coffee and settled in at the counter to start sorting through emails, shooting one off to Heather with reminders of all the upcoming week’s appointments, meetings and appearances. The rest of the morning felt rather dull, the anticipation of lunch piquing your curiosity more often than not, sending you down spirals rather than focusing on your actual work. You caught yourself leafing through FBI websites and any news articles you could get your hands on, and considering the status you held, that was more than the general public.

Finally around eleven thirty your brain couldn’t get through another email and you opted to jump over to the gym for a quick workout to distract yourself for a bit. You left more than enough time to shower, making sure you were fresh and styled, selecting the blue blouse Heather had recommended before finally leaving your house.

Old Ebbitt Grill wasn’t far, it only took you ten minutes to get there, especially considering the lack of midafternoon traffic. You’d been there a few times before, a standard choice for business lunches among the elite of Washington, close enough to Capitol Hill that it was convenient but just far enough away that it was slightly more away from eavesdropping ears. You pulled up the drive in front and were offered valet service that you accepted, passing off a five for a tip before heading inside where you were greeted by a young bubbly hostess.

“Hi,” you smiled back, “reservation at two, could be under Walton, Prentiss or Dunbar. I think it’s only for two.”

Her finger began scanning through the reservation look in search of one of the names, “oh! There you are.” She beamed up at you, “Walton for two. You’re the first to arrive, would you like to wait or be seated?”

“I’ll sit.” You laughed softly, “god knows I could use a drink.”

“Of course, right this way.”

You were led past the bar area to the dining room and directed to a green velvet back booth, white table cloth adorning the table. You slid in as the hostess scooped up the extra place settings and wine glasses,

“Can I get something started for you?”

“Uh… two waters and a glass of pinot grigio would be fantastic, thanks.”

With another smile she was gone from the table and you were left to settle in, glancing at your watch you realized you were practically twenty minutes early and let out a soft sigh. Punctuality was almost too much of your strong point, but at least you were never late for things. You scanned the menu quickly, sliding it off to the side to pull out a work file that you’d been putting off looking through, thanking the server that came back with your drinks.

When Emily entered the restaurant she wasn’t entirely too sure what she was getting into, it almost felt weird to be doing this during the day, especially on what was technically a work day. She’d gotten an out of office lunch and work from home afternoon approved so she didn’t have to drive back, and it was Friday so she just kept telling herself it was an early weekend. The hostess picked up right away that she was meeting someone and offered up your last name to confirm before guiding her through the room.

The moment they were through the bar Emily had eyes on you, neatly tucked into a booth, a pen in your hand and a file folder in front of you that all your attention was focused on. Your hair was pulled back off your face but most of it still down and loosely styled. The make up on your face was slightly more detailed than it had been when she’d met you at the office, a little heavier around the eyes, a slightly less neutral lip. Your outfit hugged your frame, accentuating your body perfectly, blue top dipping slightly to expose a tasteful amount of cleavage, black pencil skirt leaving just enough leg out to be admired, and of course designer heels on your feet. It was all accented with a silver bracelet, necklace resting on the swell of your chest and jeweled earrings to match your shirt. You glanced up at the movement coming toward you, a smile taking over your face as you greeted her.

“Agent Prentiss,” you smiled as she slipped into the booth, “or, is that a demotion? Should it be Section Chief Prentiss?”

“That’s way too much of a mouthful.” She laughed, “just Emily’s fine.”

“Alright.” You shot her a grin, flipping the file shut and capping the pen before you slid it back into your purse, “sorry, work never ends.”

“I didn’t keep you waiting, did I?” While she was concerned she may have been late, she was happy to see that you were completely content on your own, and that you took work on the go, already another green flag in her book.

“Oh not at all, I have a habit of being insanely early wherever I go.”

There was a slight pause as the server came over to ask about drinks and Emily glanced towards you, your eyes flicked to your half empty glass and you thought about it for a second.

“You may as well bring another one.”

“Heather okay with you drinking on the clock?” Emily asked with a small grin.

“Have you met a politician who doesn’t?” You laughed, “you know… I think that’s the biggest difference between our branches of government, you’re usually armed. The only weapons we carry are our words and nefarious blackmail.”

Emily chuckled at that, watching as you took a sip, “well I took a half day.” She turned to the server, “I’ll have a sauvignon blanc please.”

A few moments later they returned with Emily’s wine and the two of you placed an order for a round of appetizers consisting of scallops, beet and burrata, calamari and the bread service. Conversation flowed easily enough, chatting here and there about the day, how the weather seemed to finally be warm enough to enjoy being outside, little tidbits about work. Emily found joy in the fact that you could keep up with her when she mentioned work, that it didn’t take an extra three tangents of explaining details for you to understand what she meant. By the time the food came out, the two of you were fully comfortable around each other and after a bite of a scallop, you decided to make the jump to attempt to get to the point.

“So, I know I’ve heard that the BAU’s in a bit of hot water right now, but I didn’t think you needed a full PR takeover. Don’t you have your own communications team for those kind of things?”

Emily stalled, quickly popping a piece of calamari into her mouth to spare her a few seconds to figure out how to start things. “Uhm….” She swallowed the food down, chuckling awkwardly, “that’s not exactly why I wanted to meet. Heather… recommended you for something else.”

“Ah…” You leant back against the booth, your elbow draping over the back of it, “I knew Heather had ulterior motives about today but I didn’t realize she was passing me off to utilize the extra skill set.” You chuckled, having now figured out exactly what Emily was alluding to, but you weren’t going to let her off that easy, you wanted to hear her say it. The corner of your lips twitched up at the way she tensed across the table from you and you went in with another tease and false lead. “You want to know what other PR teams I’m close with, whose assistants have loose lips or an axe to grind, dig up a little dirt on someone. Director Bailey? AG? Who’s the thorn in your side, hmm?”

The knot in her stomach burst at the latter part of your sentence, suddenly distracted she glanced up at you with a furrowed brow, “wait, you could really get in with the AG for me?”

“Mmhm.” You nodded over a sip of wine, “she thinks she’s a good friend, would you like me to do some nosing around?”

“No, no.” She waved you off, “that could get you in trouble.”

“Emily, believe me, with most of them all you need is a few too many glasses of wine, a little flattery, maybe a hint of an illegal substance and they’ll tell you whatever you want.”

She let out a low laugh, “I’m going to ignore that last part.” You chuckled as she picked up her wine, taking another sip while you scooped up another scallop. “You certainly have some kind of pedigree, don’t you?”

“I had a lot of ladders to climb to get where I am now, and a decent education and quick thinking always helps.”

“Was PR always the goal, or did you have your eye on Capitol Hill?” She asked and you nearly snorted.

“Where I am is where I want to be. Communications Major at UCONN, followed by a stint at Georgetown.”

“What does a ‘stint’ consist of?” She asked with a raised brow.

“Just a little law degree, never really intended to use it just wanted the knowledge.”

“Did you write the bar?”

“Mmhm.” You nodded, taking another sip of wine, “passed with flying colours. Just never really saw myself as a lawyer, fighting in courtrooms isn’t my style.”

“So why bother with the extra three years then?”

You shrugged, “Heather paid for it. Said if I was overqualified for a role I could bargain for better pay.”

“Wow…” Emily’s eyes widened, “she must really like you.”

“We’ve known each other a long time. She always knew she wanted me working for her in some capacity and she needed someone who she could trust, someone who was going to know what they were doing and was right for the field. When you work for Dunbar you have to fit the brand. Now making sure that brand is upheld is my job, she had to start with someone.”

“You enjoy working for her? She’s a good boss?”

“Are you kidding me?” You laughed, “being on her payroll is better than any other politician in the country, maybe even the world. She has a much higher level of expectations that always need to be met, she knows quality, she knows class and she demands it out of everyone. So she supplements with extras to make sure we know how appreciated we are and to keep us loyal.”

“Sounds like she knows what she’s doing.”

“She always does.” You leant forward, bracing your elbow on the table so your chin could rest in the palm of your hand, “which is why I know whatever she suggested I help you with is exactly what you need. But I’m starting to feel like I have to sign an NDA to even have this conversation.”

Emily sucked in a deep breath letting out a sigh before reaching for her wine glass, “well… I am hoping for a certain level of discretion and the previous couple of times I’ve tried this it didn’t exactly work in my favour.” She glanced back across the table to find your head still perched on your hand, eyes full of curiosity as you looked back at her and she nearly gulped.

“Do tell… what is it you want from me Agent Prentiss?” Your voice was lowered, both an attempt to get her to own up and to make sure you weren’t overheard, “I work in PR, I know how to uphold an image and believe me, I know how to keep a secret.”

She swallowed down a gulp of wine before slowly beginning to speak, “I’m… looking for someone who is willing to spend a night or two a week together, could be friendly company, could be more if you’re comfortable. And I’m willing to pay.” She winced, suddenly stopping herself, “wait, that sounded bad.”

You chuckled softly, smiling across the table at her to urge her to continue.

“Basically, I’ve got a bit of spare time and extra finances. I need someone who understands I can’t always be around, that work can and will upend plans constantly and suddenly. Someone who values privacy. I don’t have time to do the whole dating thing, the strings that come along with that.”

“Casual intimacy in exchange for fancy dinners, pricey jewels and lavish vacations?” You murmured softly, your head tilting in her direction and she nodded, “well… now we’re finally on the same page.”

“And you’re comfortable with that?”

Your eyes slowly raked over her, taking in her beauty, a small grin on your lips as you nodded, “Mmhm.”

“And the stipulations that come along with my work?”

“Not an issue. As you know, I have my own career and working for Heather can be a twenty four seven, seven days a week job and similar to yours, it includes a lot of travel. Discretion is easily attainable and I know how to uphold a certain image.”

“Good.” She let out a low huff of a laugh, “the last couple of dates I went on before this were garbage.”

“Mmm… I think you likely got caught with the ‘professional’ babies… they don’t want to work; they just want to get paid for being hot.” You rolled your eyes, “they don’t care about careers, they want to be center of attention at all times.”

“And lord knows I don’t have the time or patience for any of that.”

Before you could reply your phone began a series of buzzes on the table top, your eyes flicking to the lit screen and you sighed, “hold on, it’s Heather.” You picked up the device to swipe open the text chain, half muttering to yourself, “bitch said I could work from home today but god knows I can’t go twenty four hours without having to put out a fire.”

“Duty calls?” Emily asked with a near grin, watching as you finished your wine.

“Unfortunately.” You cast a smile in her direction, “and right as we were getting to the good part, sorry.”

“No apology necessary, go. I’ll take care of this.” She gestured to the table.

“Are you sure?”

“All things considered; I think it’s my responsibility.”

“Right.” You laughed softly, popping your phone back into your purse as you slid out of the booth, “you have my number?”

“I do.” She nodded, “I’ll make a reservation for next Friday, we can do dinner and discuss this further?”

“Of course.” You smiled at her, “I’ll see you Friday Emily.”

_______________

@mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @scorpsik @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @regalmilfs4me @ara-a-bird @five-bi-five-mind @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @hotchs-bitch @ollysmulti @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @hopedoesntknow @venromanova @waitaminuteashh @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @wittygutsy @cx-emerald-cx cx @momily @nilaues @borinxnovak @soverign @v3nusxsky @blackbird-brewster @mccdreamys-writes @l4yne @obsessedwjill @supercorpstan97 @asolitaryrose3 @honeyycatt @trauma-factory @lisqueen

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds #decadent desires #emily prentiss fanfic #criminal minds fanfic

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zyrlovesmizu · 4 days

Text

(current) mizu as your childhood friend + lover

this is actually based on my self-insert oc’s story so i hope you guys don’t steal this oc lore idea for your own ocs 😭🙏 btw, these are much more longer headcannons just so you know!

- Both of you first met at Master’s Eiji home.

- Let’s edit the story a little: When Mizu snuck into Master Eiji’s home, you noticed her and tried to tell Master Eiji about it. Of course, he was well-aware (bro practically had super-hearing) about it but just brushed you off, wanting Mizu to make the first move for interaction.

- As she was hiding, you just ambled up to her and would hold her hand when it was freezing. God, just imagine two tiny kids holding hands like the amount of innocence in that is so 😭

- Secret! Secret! Master Eiji smiles everytime he hears you too running and laughing in the field outside

- When you guys play hide-n-seek, she would always hide at somewhere above your eye level so she could jump onto your back to surprise you

- You were her teenage crush but she was too afraid to confess because she was afraid of you seeing her more as a ‘brother’ and of ruining the friendship

- You try to help her out a little in her sparring like leg placement and hand positioning etc *

- Bro, the amount of physical contact is enough to make her explode… like she is NOT listening to you AT ALL when you teach her that

- Master Eiji always comments (when you weren’t around), “hm.. the big boy has a crush, I see…” + snickered just to annoy her further LOL

- He’s literally the gossip guy in an alternate universe 💯

- She honesty hated that she felt this way about you… like she should be devoted to her goal of revenge but her mind was so clouded with you it was difficult to balance her focus 😕

- She’s either (1) trying to impress you by slashing the air in random directions with an unnecessary amount of force and swiftness OR (2) she’s feigning that confused look on her face so that you’d come and assist her ><

- She adored you when you were so set on ensuring her sword fighting skills were the best they can be AA

Your fingers brushed down her wrists, shifting the palm further from the other on the hilt. At one glance at her, the redness blossoming on her cheeks was a clear sign of her embarrassment—was she insecure? With a soft sigh, you brush your fingers delicately on her arms. with a soft reassuring smile, “Hey, hey, relax.. make sure not to tense up when you’re fighting.”

At the same time, Mizu was practically internally screaming. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit! Her little teenage heart was practically about to explode from inside of her chest at the amount of embarrassment and nervousness stirring inside. Her cheeks would flush, her breathing would grow heavy, her fingers slightly shaky.

“Mizu? You okay?” Your voice snapped her out from that daze.

“I—.. I’m alright..” she mutters as you shift her legs back a little to maintain her balance. Her skin tingled and before she knew it, she just blabbered out, “your hands are nice and warm.”

Her own words took her a second to process and she could not fucking believe she said that.

“No wonder you liked to hold my hand when we were younger, hm?” You giggled, running a hand down your hair as Mizu watched you with adoration, trying to imagine your hand caressing her own head.

#mizu blue eye samurai #blue eyed samurai #bes mizu #mizu #tumblr fyp #headcannons #mizu bes #childhood friends #childhood friends to lovers #teen crushes #flustered #younger mizu is the most adorable thing in the word #you x mizu #mizu x reader #reader x mizu #cute #fluff #bes fluff

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hederasgarden · 2 years

Text

Night Drive

Summary: Your reunion with Rooster gets interrupted by Hangman.

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x F!Reader x Jake “Hangman” Seresin

Word Count: 867

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only. Semi public oral sex (m receiving), discussions of threesome, cum swapping and dirty talk.

A/N: Thank you @whatblogisthis216 @therebeccaw and @wildbornsiren for looking this over. I have been away for a while and had anxious moment about my writing skills. Thanks guys!

Please reblog or comment if you enjoyed! Your support keeps me writing.

Masterlist ♡ Top Gun Masterlist

It’s dark on the beach, the stars above bright and beautiful with the ocean waves crashing against the shore, but you don’t see or hear any of that. Your face is pressed firmly against Rooster’s hard, tanned stomach and his soft grunts fill your ears.

“Fuck,” he sighs, hands on the back of your head keeping you in place.

You moan in response, trying to breathe around his thick length as you suck on his cock. Giving him a blow job in the front seat of his bronco isn’t the brightest idea, but you’re parked in a quiet and secluded spot. Here Rooster can be as loud as he wants and there’s no danger of someone overhearing the wet, sloppy sounds you’re making.

God, you’ve missed him. He’s been gone on a mission for weeks and the familiar taste of his skin and cum are enough to have you wet and achy.

“Couldn’t wait to get home, huh?” A voice asks, startling you both.

It’s Hangman, his southern drawl unmistakable. If you weren’t so preoccupied with swallowing all of Rooster, you might have told him to fuck off. You ignore him, bobbing your head.

“Like you’d deny her,” Rooster retorts, panting, squeezing and rubbing the back of your neck.

You can see Hangman’s feet shuffle closer and he whistles, bending down until his face is level with yours. He drags his fingertips along the curve of your jaw.

“Can’t blame you, Rooster. She looks real pretty like this with those tears and that eager little tongue.”

You can tell your boyfriend is getting ready for a quippy retort so you hollow your cheeks and swirl your tongue. He swears, groaning deeply. Hangman’s eyes are still on you and it emboldens you. The hand on your head twitches and you continue to work Rooster over, more enthusiastically than before. Just when you feel his heavy balls draw up against your lips you pull off him.

Sitting up with a smile, you ignore the wrecked sound Rooster makes in response. His thigh trembles below the hand you rest there, letting you know just how needy he is. “Sweetheart,” he whines, trying to guide you back to his cock.

“This isn’t a free show. It’s going to cost you,” you tell Hangman, ignoring your boyfriend.

“Oh darlin, you know I’m good for it,” he boasts, using his thumb to wipe the spit on your mouth. He maintains eye contact as he slowly licks his finger clean. The skin around his eyes crinkle and he gives you a smug look.

“What did you have in mind?” You ask him, dropping your hand to Rooster’s lap to lazily stroke him. His desperate little grunt has you slowing your motion, teasing him further. Hangman’s gaze follows the movement, seemingly entranced.

“Paris is nice this time of year,” he says finally, grinning when Rooster bucks into your hand.

“Here?” you ask, doubtfully.

“No, at home,” Hangman tells you. “Unlike Rooster, I don’t like people looking at what’s mine.”

You roll your eyes, but shake his offered hand. Like you were going to say no to a night between your favorite men.

“Great. We have a deal. Now shut the fuck up,” Rooster dismisses, grasping the back of your neck to draw you back down to his aching cock. “Can’t you see the lady’s busy?”

You start again by teasing the head of his cock, tonguing at his slit while you twist his length in your hand. He’s achingly close and normally you’d let him come down your throat but tonight you have something else in mind. You keep just the tip between your lips, sucking and teasing him until he lifts his hips and fills your mouth with his hot, salty spend. You swallow some, savoring the taste and moaning deeply. Then you rise up on your knees and beckon Hangman closer.

He seems aware of your plan, licking his lips before kissing you deeply. You open your mouth to share Rooster’s taste with him, loving how your tongues tangle together, and Hangman swallows without hesitation. He rubs your arms and continues to kiss you until air becomes necessary and you pull away.

“Well shit, honey,” he begins, reaching down to adjust himself. “That was fucking something. I think you sucked Rooster’s brains out.”

You glance down at your boyfriend who looks absolutely spent. He’s panting heavily, his cheeks flushed. His cock is still half hard, shiny from your spit and his cum. He groans when you swipe your thumb over his head to gather whatever your mouth missed. One eye snaps open to watch you lick your finger clean.

“Fuck,” he mutters, laying his head back.

“If you’re not up for it Bradshaw, I can handle her all on my own,” Hangman taunts.

“Fuck off,” your boyfriend grumbles. “Give me two minutes and I’m good to go.”

“You better be,” you warn him, leaning down to kiss him sweetly. “I was promised quite the trip and we both know Hangman can’t get me there on his own.”

"Better watch that smart mouth," Hangman warns.

"Make me," you shoot back, grinning.

“You two are going to kill me,” Rooster sighs.

♡

I no longer have a tag list, please follow @hg-library and turn on notifications.

#rooster x reader #hangman x reader #rooster x reader x hangman #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman x you #hangman x you #rooster x you #jake seresin x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin

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clangenrising · 1 month

Text

Month 13 - Newleaf

Russetfrond scarfed down his morning meal and went over his responsibilities in his head. Sparrowpaw and the others were due for an assessment in their hunting and survival skills that he needed to design with Goldenstar and Yarrowshade. Patrols were mostly in order except for Mystique. He still didn’t like putting her into his schedule but Goldenstar had been clear that she needed daily exercise. At least she had agreed not to send the kittypet on any kind of Border Patrol, at his request.

It took him a while to balance out the patrols to accommodate her, shuffling duties around here and there, but eventually he had a solid plan. He stood, stretched, and sighed. Deciding to get the most unpleasant task out of the way first, he turned towards the elders’ den where a sleepy Ospreymask was sitting watch. If he hurried and took Mystique out now, they would hopefully get back before the dawn patrol returned.

He stepped up to the den and flicked his ear in Ospreymask’s direction, saying, “I’ll take over.”

“Thanks,” she yawned and slinked off towards the warriors’ den.

Mystique stirred inside the den. Curled up in the back corner, she lifted her head and pursed her lips. She seemed to have been awake for some time although she still seemed tired and hollow eyed. Her thick fur was starting to tangle as her winter shed came out poorly. He wondered absently if she even knew how to properly groom herself or if she let her twolegs do everything for her.

“Hey,” she said, “What’s up?”

“We’re going out,” he said. “I want to get your exercise out of the way before it gets too late.”

“Oh, alright,” she stood, ears brushing the top of the den, and slipped up beside him with a soft jingle. He stepped out of the way and let her arch her back and stretch her legs.

“I figured we’d go to the river and you could swim for a bit or something.”

“Wait, really?” she brightened.

“Yes,” he scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Just as long as you agree to come back when I say we’re done.”

“Yeah, of course,” she nodded.

“Good.” He set off out of camp, confident that she would follow. The morning was still young. The sun had just started to banish the chill of night from the air and birds were singing to each other from the distant trees. He and Mystique walked in silence for a while, simply basking in the beauty of morning.

Mystique eventually ruined it by speaking. “Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Oh?” He raised his brows skeptically. Hopefully it wasn’t another rendition of her ‘why does everyone hate me’ act. He’d heard from Branchbark all about her little incident during the Gathering and he wasn’t happy about it.

“Yeah, um,” Mystique said, looking at the ground, “I’ve been thinking - About my brother and everything - and… I want to try and help you guys.”

“Pardon?” he nearly laughed.

“I want to help,” she said, a little bolder. “Scorch is right, I’ve been way too passive. I may not fully understand what’s going on yet, but clearly you cats have a lot to lose and I want to help you. I was thinking maybe I could teach some combat drills or something? Y’know, help you hold your own.”

This time Russetfrond really did laugh. “Yeah, right! We don’t need fighting tips from a kittypet.” The idea was completely absurd! Insulting, even!

Mystique frowned. “I’ll have you know, I’m better than most cats back in the city!”

“That’s not saying much,” he shook his head at the comedy of the situation.

“I’m almost as good as Razor!” she insisted. “I bet I’m better than you! Hell, I know I am.” His shoulders tightened in offense.

“Is that so?” he growled, puffing up his fur a bit.

“Yeah,” she smirked and leaned down a bit to be more evenly on his level. “Try me and see.”

“Fine,” he said, slowing to a stop. “Show me what you’ve got and I’ll see if your offer is worth anything.” They had stopped in the dip between two hills where pooling snowmelt had caused the grass to grow in thick and towering. It swayed above their heads gently, blocking out the rest of the world and nearly obscuring them from each other in its density.

Russetfrond took a defensive stance. Mystique wiggled down into a crouch, tail tip twitching with eagerness. Russetfrond could already tell that she wasn’t taking this seriously - her smile was too bright, her gaze too scattered. This would be over quickly.

She moved in, tested his guard with a few swipes, and he danced easily to the side. He swiped at her ears with claws sheathed. Mystique ducked under the blow with surprising grace for her size and slipped into the opening he had given her. Her paws wrapped around his torso and her weight carried him off his feet and into the grass.

They rolled for a beat, Russetfrond hissing and Mystique purring, and landed with him on his back looking up at her. He kicked out with his hind legs and she took the blow without a flinch, then whacked him sharply on the head causing his vision to swim. She snapped at one of his paws as he tried to swat her, twisted so the other swipe struck the back of her head, and rolled onto her side to avoid another strike of his hind paws.

He rolled with her, onto his paws, and swatted her face twice, confident that, had this been a real fight, she would have been struggling to see through the blood. Mystiquer let out a mrrp of enjoyment and lunged. Her forepaws hooked around his neck and pulled his face into her chest before he knew what was happening. He struggled in the suffocating volume of her fur, unable to stop her as she rolled and flipped him over her body onto his side. Her hindpaws slammed into him, rabbit kicking over and over into his side. He hissed furiously and tucked his head to slam it up into her chin. She reeled, let him go, and he tumbled away. If this were real, he would be bleeding profusely from his flank, but for now he was simply panting heavily, struggling for breath.

“That was-” he didn’t get to finish. Somehow she was on her paws again and barreling into him. His surprise let her take him to the ground again and she quickly pressed his face into the dirt with one paw. Tail bristling, he tried to rise but suddenly her teeth were in his scruff, causing his legs to seize instinctively. His cheeks flushed hotly at the predicament.

“Alright!” he hissed quickly, “You win!” He needed her to let him go.

“Told you I was better than you.” He could feel the shape of her grin against his fur. He forced his body to move and tried to wiggle out from under her but she shifted to put a hindpaw on his haunches, pressing him flat into the ground. His stomach fluttered, only serving to make him even more embarrassed.

“You proved your point,” he growled, “let me up.” They were both breathing hard, her fur brushing his back every time she inhaled.

“Say please,” she ordered smugly between breaths.

“No,” he growled, his skin buzzing uncomfortably with some kind of energy. He felt dizzy.

“Aww, come on,” she said, her teeth thankfully letting go of his scruff. He summoned his strength and rolled onto his back, paws ready to swipe at her if she tried anything else, but she just smiled at him and tilted her head, one paw raised as if they were playing a game. He found it hard to swallow.

“You put up a pretty good fight,” she panted, flopping down next to him.

“You too,” Russetfrond admitted begrudgingly, letting his arms go slack. The grass swayed above and around them, a world of lush green with a small glimpse of cloudless, blue sky. It muted the birdsong and the sound of the wind, leaving them alone with only their slowing breaths to listen to.

“I won!” she purred, “I’d say I was more than pretty good.” He didn’t want to say it but he was inclined to agree. Neither of them spoke again until they had mostly regained control of their breathing. Russetfrond still felt dizzy though, dizzy and warm and hungry for something he couldn’t explain.

“Wanna go again?” she whispered, like it was a secret. He knew he needed to say no. He knew that he was standing on the precipice of something very big and very exciting and very dangerous and that if he didn’t leave now he wouldn’t be able to fight the hold it had on him.

“Alright,” he breathed, the edge of a smile daring to pull at his lips. He swallowed hard again. Mystique grinned wider than he’d ever seen, looking like she was hungry too.

“Hell yeah,” she said. “Maybe you can try and pin me this time.” Russetfrond thought he would like that very much.

“Don’t go easy on me,” he said, getting back to his paws.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she chuckled, swishing her silky tail around herself as she huddled into an eager crouch.

“Good,” said Russetfrond. He jumped.

#clan gen #clangen #warrior cats #warriors #warrior cats oc #warriors oc #clangen oc #clan gen oc #clangenrising #Mystique #Russetfrond #Newleaf

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iamasaddie · 9 months

Text

hard to be soft, tough to be tender

paring: Joel Miller x fem!afab!Reader rating: explicit (eventually) word count: 2,8k (a fucking lot for a fucking prologue but whatevs) summary: desperation was never a good advisor, and yours led you to find yourself as a wery special person among Joel Miller's Birds. You'd have to see for yourself if you had what it takes to live up to the status, and in the meantime Joel'd take care of you. // Joel Miller is a pimp and you need money, that's it. No intrigue. a/n: I am a clown and that's fine. I swore off writing a series and here I am. Writing a series. We'll see how it goes. Make sure to tell me what you think about this little thing I banged out after work! Humongous thanks to @lumoverheaven for proofreading it <3 and a shout out to my discord birds for supporting my silly ideas, I love y'all! warnings (for the series): dub-con(ish); explicit sexual content; Reader is described as bony and malnurished (hungry, duh); sex work; fingering; both protected and unprotected PinV; 69; FMF; oral sex (for everybody); ass play; unprotected anal sex; sex toys; dirty talking; might be something else who knows; NO USE OF Y/N warnings (for the chapter): nothing explicit, it's just a prologue PIMP!Joel masterlist

ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴏꜰ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ. ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ɪʀʟ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ, ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴏʀɢᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴡᴀʏ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴏᴄᴇꜱꜱɪɴɢ ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀ ꜰᴏʀ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ᴅɪᴄᴛᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘᴏʟɪᴄᴇ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴅᴏ ɪᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʏᴘᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄʜᴏᴏꜱᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴜᴍᴇ. ꜱᴛᴀʏ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ, ᴘʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴄᴇ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴇɴꜱᴜᴀʟ ꜱᴇx ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴘʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇ.

3, 7, 13.

You counted the ration cards in your hands for what felt like a thousandth time but the amount hasn’t changed. What the fuck were you supposed to do with thirteen ration cards? It was barely enough to get a hot plate for tonight, not nearly close to the amount you needed to pay for the shitty room in the rat-infested apartment you’ve been renting. The words of your landlord, a bulky man with bad skin and foul breath, flashed in your mind. “You get me a hundred by the end of the day or don’t bother to come back. I mean it.”

A hundred. You would have to work every job you could get, doing the nastiest tasks imaginable, to get that amount. Unsurprisingly, there weren’t enough people to give you a job as they gave your bony, malnourished body a once over. Most of the tasks would need some sort of strength, or skill. You had neither.

As the tears slipped from your tired eyes you thought that crying was the only thing you were good at. You wiped your cheeks with anger, counting crumpled papers again.

3, 7, 13.

Fuck.

“Not enough, huh?”

A voice above you made you shiver. You hadn’t noticed a towering figure of a man behind you looking over your shoulder. You were surprised he even was there. ‘There’ being a dimly lit narrow alleyway where you occupied a perfectly dirty wet sidewalk which you had thought you’d have to call your home for the foreseeable future.

“I’m sorry, what?”

You didn’t hear what the man said, and when you looked up at him your fingers continued the counting movement.

“I said it’s not enough, right? Never enough rations no matter how hard you work.”

A broken street light flickered, lighting up the face of your unlikely companion as he took a seat next to you on the pavement. You looked closely at the person in front of you. In the new world, it was pointless to guess the age, all people looked older. Already at twenty, you had forty-year-old eyes. But the man in front of you could be a little over forty, maybe 45. He was tall, even when he was sitting on the same level as you. His figure seemed massive, intimidating, even despite the relaxed shoulders covered with a simple denim shirt. You sucked in a breath as you finally realized who the man was. Normally, you wouldn't want to meet someone like him in a dark alley. No one would want to. Knowing what kind of name this body belonged to made you uneasy. Joel Miller. The infamous man was sort of a celebrity in your QZ. Well, not a celebrity, per se, but people always knew who he was if his name was mentioned. Hardened ruthless man who found his calling in selling other people’s bodies. You heard your older neighbors calling him a pimp, and you didn’t need to find the word in a vocabulary to know that’s exactly what he was.

The world has gone to shit and so did the laws, the morals, and any type of condemnation that might’ve followed him in the Old World. Joel never took anyone unwillingly, his birds, as he called his workers with perverted gentleness, flew to him themselves and he was only happy to “take care of them and help them take care of others”.

As helpless and in need as you were, you never thought of becoming one of his ‘birdies’. Your skin tightened at the thought. One unlucky and utterly unsatisfying sexual experience years back never made you excited at the prospect of sex. Quite the opposite.

Was it why he was here? Was it how he…

“You’re a quiet thing, ain’tcha?”

“Sorry, I’m not… I don’t… Whatever you want, I don’t think I’m..”

“Whoa there, hold up,” he raised his hands in defense, chuckling a little, “I'm just making conversation. Saw a poor thing on the streets, wondered what happened.”

“Didn’t work enough this month, now I’m facing the consequences, I guess.”

“And those being...?”

“Umm,” you didn’t understand why he was so interested in your troubles, but couldn’t stop yourself from talking. “Well, I got thrown out of my place, hadn’t eaten in a couple of days, and apparently I’m sleeping on the street tonight. Maybe FEDRA will find me and execute me and put me out of my misery.”

“That ain’t the way a young thing like you should think.”

“What? Are you a fuckin’ firefly preacher? Gonna tell me to look for the light?”

“Hell no, sugar. I just think it’s a shame. You look like a good kid, hard-working,” he pointed at your hands, dirty and bleeding from calluses. “Let me offer you dinner and a place to stay, hm?”

Here it was.

“I… I know who you are.”

“Do you now?”

“Yes, and,” you cringed, eyes falling back to the rations in your hands, “I’m not going to be one of your birdies.”

Joel let out a hearty laugh, shaking his head.

“Now who told you that I’d want you to be?”

You felt stupid. The situation looked pretty simple in your head: a desperate young thing was found by a man with a certain amount of power and a ‘simple work’ proposition. You were the perfect birdie, weren’t you?

And then you remembered what you saw in the dirty cracked mirror this morning: bones, dry skin, and dark circles under your eyes that at this point looked like they were there forever. Who’d pay to fuck that? Damn, you’d have to pay men yourself. Embarrassment heated your cheeks and brought a new wave of tears to your eyes.

“Look, I’m just being generous here, okay? I’ve been in your shoes, so I’m offering last time, come with me and I’ll give you a good dinner and a decent couch to crash on. Nothing you don’t want to do and you can leave at any moment.”

“Why?” Your whisper was defeated, your grumbling stomach has already made a decision.

“Because I can.”

He got up and went in the direction of the main road. You didn’t see his smile as he heard you shuffling and running after him.

Your walk to his place stayed quiet, he only acknowledged your presence by looking over his shoulder to check if you were still following him. You were.

You were so entranced with your thoughts that the sound of him turning the key and opening the door startled you. Joel let you in first. You didn’t know what you expected from Joel’s apartment. Dim lights, red sheets, the smell of sex and sweat? Anyway, whatever you expected was not what you saw. His place was closer to the outskirts of the QZ, it was a relatively small apartment with yellow wallpapers and sparse furniture. The first thing you noticed, though, was that it was clean. Not sparkling, but still way better than any place you’ve stayed the night since… ever. The air wasn’t stiff with the smell of old cotton or mold, the wooden table didn’t have stains of spilled drinks, and there was a couch in the adjacent living room. It was so normal that it felt weird.

“Home sweet home, huh?” The man’s voice was calm and quiet, his lips decorated with a half smile. You nodded and pointed at the table. “Go sit down, rabbit. I promised you dinner.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at the nickname he gave you but you said nothing, crouching to take off your shoes, wincing at the thought of letting him see your ripped socks that might’ve been dirtier than your shoes. He followed behind, ignoring your unfortunate garment of clothing and going straight to the mini-fridge.

The wooden chair felt like a throne when you lowered yourself onto it, it was big and sturdy underneath you and you felt your muscles relax as you breathed out.

“Nothin’ fancy, I’m afraid. Just some good ol’ potatoes and a rabbit.” He said it as he pulled out a pan filled with enough food to last you for three full days and not feel hungry once. You felt saliva overflowing your mouth and gulped it down. “Ha, a rabbit for a rabbit, guess that makes you a cannibal.”

He laughed at his joke, but your stomach growled so loudly you could barely hear him.

“Okay, one servin’ of mash and rabbit comin’ right up. Just let me heat it first.”

“You don’t have to..” You started to protest, not out of modesty but because you felt like you might faint or even attack him if he didn’t put that food in front of you. Hunger made even saints violent.

“You must’ve frozen your ass off sitting on that pavement, rabbit. Better give you something hot.”

His movements were quick, not a moment later the smell of food accompanied by the sound of crackling fat made you dizzy. He was fast enough to finally put a plate in front of you.

“Dig in,” he nodded when he saw your hesitation.

His words unleashed the hunger within you that you were barely able to tame all this time. The food - just plain mash and some rabbit, as he promised - looked like a three-course meal. Nothing has looked as appealing to you ever before. This type of food was a luxury, something you had never been able to afford. You remembered the pathetic scraps of jerky and a soup made of God knows what. This in front of you not only made your mouth water but also brought tears to your eyes. With an animalistic growl you didn't know you were capable of you did what Joel said, you dug in, fork in your hands scraping the bottom of the plate as you shoved food down your throat.

“Whoa, whoa. Slow down! That rabbit is already cooked, he’s not running anywhere, sweet Lord.”

Embarrassment washed over you. You imagined yourself looking like a hungry, mad dog, devouring the food in front of you with almost violence, barely chewing before it dropped into your stomach.

You looked at your almost empty plate and then at Joel’s, his was still half full.

“Sorry.”

“No need to be sorry, rabbit, I know what hunger feels like.” He clenched his jaw too tight, chewing on the piece of meat. “Just don’t wan’cha to feel sick, ‘s all.”

You forced yourself to slow down, counting to twenty every time you took another bite, and Joel seemed pleased. You cleaned your plates in silence, the sound of nothing becoming usual between the both of you. When he got up to take your plate you squeezed the fork in your hand, as if you thought the man would attack you even if he didn’t give any indication of that whatsoever. His hand then lowered on yours, skin contact made you jump and squeeze the weapon harder.

“Can I have my fork back? I only have two of ‘em.”

Your grip relaxed and you nodded, something in his honey-smooth voice entrancing you, making you do whatever he says. It would’ve scared you if your alertness wasn’t blunted by a belly full of food and the warmness of his apartment.

After throwing everything in the sink, he came back to you, this time moving his chair closer and putting his hands on the table. You did the opposite, hiding your hands on your lap under the table.

“So,” he started quietly, not taking his eyes from you while you stared at the edge of the table, not daring to lift yours. “You know who I am.”

“Yes,” you nodded, your voice barely a whisper.

“And you, what, don’t like me? Afraid of me?”

“It’s hard to not like you after you fed me better than I have been my whole life,” you shrugged your shoulders. “I just don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand what?”

“Why…?” You tried to find the right words, but they all slipped your mind. “Why would somebody choose to do something they do? Why would you choose something you do?”

“Ah, I see,” he brought his right hand to his face, scratching his patchy beard. “Do you believe in love, rabbit?”

That was your first laugh of the day. The absurdity of his question caught you off guard and you couldn’t stop the merry sound rippling through your lips. When you lifted your eyes to him, your chapped lips were still stretched with a smile. He looked serious.

“Wait, are you serious? You gonna bullshit me into believing you’re selling fucking love or something?”

“Nah,” the shaking of his head made a few strands of his hair fall to his forehead and he swiped them back with a quick unconscious movement. “I provide people with the things they want but can’t get. With affection, with closeness. And you can’t get closer than sex.”

“Bullshit.” You huffed. The man sounded like a porn brochure if you had ever seen one. Disguising something dirty and wrong under fake metaphors. Caramel coating a rotten apple.

“I’m sorry?” He sounded irritated, something dangerous lingering in his intonation but you couldn’t hear your voice of reason.

“You take desperate girls from the streets and make them sell their bodies!” What started as a frustrated whispering ended up in a loud accusation. You didn’t know where all your bravery came from and was that even bravery? You must’ve eaten too much food and now it was cutting your blood circulation so your brain didn’t work properly. The man was more than twice your size, he could snap you in half with his one hand, and not a single prison in the world would go looking for a poor soul that had too many problems and too few solvings.

“I take desperate girls from the streets, yes.” He agreed and tilted his head to the left, his hands in a lock on the table. “And then I make them food, give them a place to stay. And afterward, I offer them my help in the only way I can give it. If they don’t want it, they’re free to go.”

“So you’re telling me that if I wanted to get up now and leave and never talk to you again I could?”

“That was our deal, wasn’t it?”

“And I do not owe you anything?”

“For a plate of mashed potatoes? No.”

You nodded, pushing the chair back with the back of your thighs you got up. Joel calmly watched you push the stool forward to the table as you stood behind it, your hands not leaving its wooden back. There were still questions. The main one was why? You couldn’t get it through your skull to understand it. To understand those girls.

“Why would they choose to stay? Why won’t they choose to do something else?”

Joel looked at you incredulously, as if you asked the dumbest question in the world and he was left finding an answer to it. His sigh was deep, broad chest inflating in front of you and you thought the denim shirt might not make it. “Because they can’t do anything else, because they don’t want to do anything else. Because I take care of them. Because they haven’t gone hungry ever since. Because they can afford new socks every week.” You clenched your feet, bare toe grazing his floor as he continued, “and because they’re free to go whenever they want.”

“I still don’t…��

He interrupted you, clearly being done with your infantility. “Have you ever had sex, rabbit?”

“What?!” You squealed, the question making your eyes pop out of your sockets, but Joel brushed off your theatrical reaction.

“So, no?”

“I did.” There weren’t reasons for you to tell him that there was only one guy, only one time.

“That bad, huh?” The man chuckled as if you just proved his thoughts right and he knew that all along. It was like he could read your mind. Terrifying, but you got defensive.

“No, it wasn’t…” You stammered, but he interrupted you once again.

“Sex is good. It’s warm, sticky, and wet. It is not like anything else. That’s why it sells so well.”

“It can’t always be good. Especially when you can’t choose your… clients.”

You tried to contradict every word he said, your desperate attempts to catch him in a lie, in deception, proved to be a failure. He knew what he was talking about, you could only guess.

“No, it’s not always mind-blowing orgasms and shaking legs, but for my girls, it’s always good. You learn to take care not only about your date,” you huffed at Joel’s choice of words, “but about yourself as well. You learn about the beauty of the process, without caring only about the result. My birds, they help people. Hell, this QZ would’ve been a much uglier place if not for them.”

He made it sound reverent like he was describing godly beings that graced the ugly undeserving world with their presence. His voice was soft, his eyes warm. You’d never seen someone talk so gently about such a crass subject. Joel looked like he loved them. Loved his birds, and actually cared about them. You wondered what it felt like to be taken care of, and was your body worth such a high price.

“Aren’t you going to ask me?”

“I thought you were leaving.” Joel raised his left eyebrow, and the dark abysses of his eyes stared right through you.

“I…” Were you even good enough? What were you asking for? He answered those questions for you with his own, that put a finality to your doubts.

“Do you want to stay?” You knew he didn’t mean just the night. You knew your answer would change your life. It would change you.

“Yes.”

#joel miller x reader #iamasaddie fic #thou x reader #thou fanfiction

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sentientfunfetti · 7 months

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What if reader gave dollhouse!Wally a cute little box with a clay heart inside it? Like, "here's my heart, for you" kinda thing.

“giving you my heart” a dollhouse! wally/reader drabble

(dollhouse!wally and his au belongs to @/itskorrychang on twitter! go support them!)

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED!

it had been a few weeks since you and wally had been seeing each other. time seemed to move a bit slower in the neighborhood, but you associated that with the bliss of being utterly comfortable where you were. when you had moved to the neighborhood, you were off-put by how quiet it was. from what you were told it was a bustling community full of games, jokes being told, pies and other baked good being baked and other types of fun…

but, when you arrived it was quiet. too quiet. it was unnerving say the least.

then you met the only resident. wally darling. as eerie as he was there was always a level of endearment to it. wally seemed harmless, just a tad socially inept. on your first day he invited you over for tea in his home, and you couldn’t help but marvel at the rows after rows of dolls he had.

“oh…those? i made them myself…”

he said it as if it wasn’t a big deal. his level of craftsmanship wasn’t lost on even you, who had no idea how to make anything like that. they were so pretty…and he seemed to appreciate your enthusiasm and compliments, even going as far as to make one of you. most people would have found that creepy…especially with how many details of you he had captures on such a small base, even going as far as to point out his favorite ones.

least to say, you were swooned. head over heels for him, and you wanted to show your appreciation for both his hospitality and for you to express you feelings for him. your crafting skills were…limited least to say. the only thing you could wrap your head around besides from drawing was clay, and so you spent all night making a heart shaped…object…for wally, even going out to find a cute box to paint over for the heart shaped ‘thing’ to be held in.

looking down at the box in your hands as you make your trek to wally’s house, you couldn’t help but feel a bit anxious about how he’d feel about it. there was no doubt about it; wally’s skill level was leaps and bounds above your’s, so that left one question: would he even accept your gift? you could only hope not.

…you weren’t even able to get your fingerprints off of it like most people are able to.

pushing all of that aside, you were already at his doorstep seemingly within a blink of an eye, and now all there was to do was knock. you lifted your arm up stiffly and knocked.

“coming.” he announced through the door, and you heard his footsteps approaching. you jumped when he opened the door, his usual lax smile on his face. you quickly hid his present behind your back without thinking. “ah, neighbor. you’re a bit early today…” you smile the best smile you could muster and giggled. “well, i wanted to come and see you early this time! i hope that’s okay…” you watch his lazy grin grow and your face warms. despite you at first being apprehensive to him, you quickly found out that he was just as kind as any other person.

“oh, neighbor. you know that my doors are always open. all you need to do is call or knock and if i’m able, and available, then you’re always welcome…” he responded lowly, standing in his doorway. his words were sweet, but they did nothing to soothe your already growing anxiety. it bubbled up in you just like before. “…thank you, wally…i really appreciate that.”

he responded with a nod, before stepping aside and motioning for you to come in. “anything for you, lovely.”

the pet name made your heart swell, as you stepped inside, making sure to angle yourself so that he wouldn’t be able to see the box you had in your hands. you hear the door click closed, the lock following. he turned to you with an eyebrow raised. “…neighbor…” he put a hand on his face, amused with the fact you were so obviously hiding something behind your back. “what’s that you’ve got there…?” he inquired, pointing, and you felt yourself shrink, your eyes shifting to the floor.

“o-oh…well…uhm…” his gaze was intense now. he was looking for your answer in your body language due to the now lack of eye contact between the both of you. “yes, precious?” he urged you to continue, leaning down a tad to be eye level with you. your eyes were glued to the floor, however. after a bit of silence, you suck in a breath and tap your foot on the floorboards underneath your feet. you stay silent for a moment, the only thing filling the silence is the sound of wally’s large grandfather clock ticking away every second you weren’t speaking. “i…i uhm…made you something…” you finally mumbled under your breath, your eyes flicking up to him for a moment.

“what was that, dear? i couldn’t quite hear you. you were mumbling.” you couldn’t tell if wally was teasing you or being serious. he did have a tendency to do that accidentally…only occasionally doing it on purpose when he realized what he said had affected you. he stood back to his original height and waited for your response, his intense gaze still on you, making you feel just a bit smaller than usual. you repeat yourself, a bit louder. “i made you something, wally.”

“is that so?” his smile widened, and he outstretched his arms. “can i see what you’ve made me? if you made it i’m sure it’s lovely.” you shake your head, and take a step back, chewing on your bottom lip. eyes back on the floor. “it’s not that good, really. it’s really not as good as the stuff you make so…”

“…so…what, precious…?” there was a dangerous edge to his voice you couldn’t quite place a finger on. you knew he probably didn’t mean for it to startle you, but you felt yourself shrink into yourself just a bit more at it. wally seemed to notice, and you watched his shoulders lax. he quickly corrects. you forget that he had an edge to him at times. that’s what being alone for so long will do to people, you think.

“it’s alright. really. i’m sure whatever you’ve made me is just as nice as you are. as nice as you have been.”

you look up and into at his red orbs and let out a bitter chuckle. “you’re only saying that because you’re curious.” you respond, raising an eyebrow at him. he shrugs off your accusation with the same smile as before. “can you blame me? my favorite neighbor—“ only neighbor. you don’t correct. you don’t dare. “— visits me with a gift, and now doesn’t want me to see it? who wouldn’t be curious?” dammit. he had a good point. you were stumped, and running out of energy to fight, so with a sigh you revealed the small box from behind your back. your face burned as soon as you saw wally’s eyes train on the small box in your hands. he hummed, before taking it away from you, your arms falling limply to your sides as you counted away the seconds until doomsday.

…okay…maybe doomsday was a bit overdramatic…but if he didn’t like it you would most definitely be thinking about that for the next few weeks. definitely. you mentally crossed your fingers, and let out a weak ‘surprise’ as you watched him open the box, his intense gaze fixing onto the smaller object inside.

he was silent. dead silent. so silent in fact that you were sure you didn’t even see him take another breath in. his chest stopped rising and falling as his intense gaze softened for a moment. “…see? i told you it wasn’t as good as the stuff you make—“ your hand clamps around your forearm for comfort as your shift.

“gods, i’m sorry wally—“

“…oh…neighbor it’s…this is…!” he looked up at you from the box in his hands with glazed over eyes. tears threatening to spill. he looked back down and plucked the small heart shaped clay piece out of the confines of the box and let out a shaky breath. “…it’s…it’s perfect…” he moved over to the table next to the front door and deposited the box in order to hold the heart in the palms of his hands, as if it was the most precious gem. as if it was made of glass and one drop would threaten to break it. you stood there…confused…almost shocked.

“…it is…? i mean i just like—“ you immediately begin to backpedal. you had never seen wally so passionate before except a few times, so this was almost scary. you weren’t even able to get your fingerprints off the damn thing, much less make the shape look uniform.

“yes. yes. it’s…it’s so cute…and…you made it for me? did you really, neighbor…?” wally asked, looking at you with a warm smile. “it’s wonderful. thank you. you even put my initials on it…” he outstretched a palm and pointed to the small detail, utterly infatuated. sometimes you forgot his eye for small details. you felt like a ant under a magnifying glass. studied.

you laugh and blush, rubbing the back of your neck. “oh…well. ya know…didn’t want it to get lost…!” at that, wally let out a warm chuckle, and a sniffle, regaining his composure as he continued on. “well, i assure you neighbor, the detail is appreciated…and i won’t be losing this anytime soon.” he took a step closer.

“…no…in fact…i’ll be keeping it close. as close as i can…” his voice was hushed, his grin wide and his eyes narrowing with it. you swallow thickly, face red. was he talking about you…or the gift? stars, which one was less likely to make you explode? “i’m…i’m glad.” was all you were able to muster out. wally didn’t miss a beat, however, leaning a bit again to catch your gaze, gift still in his hands. his hand went to cup your cheek, and you swore you could see a glint in his eye. “why are you so red, precious? aren’t i supposed to be the flustered one here?” his thumb stroked your cheek. yep. he was definitely doing it on purpose this time. you huff and put your hands on your hips. “listen here, if this is how you’re gonna react every time i give you a gift, this may be your last one, buster.” you turn your back to him and begin to walk towards the dining room to have a seat, pulling away from his touch, but the ghost of it was still there.

“precious.”

he called out, and you turned to see him now holding the heart in-between his thumb and forefinger to where you could see it; a mischievous glint in his red eyes. you shuddered and narrowed your eyes at him. “…what…?” you spat playfully.

“…was this you giving me your heart?”

author’s note ⊹˚. ♡

thank you for the request, neighbor! it was such a sweet one. i really enjoyed writing this one.

i also have a few things to go over, actually:

firstly, i’d like to thank you all for the requests and the likes and the follows! i’m really surprised i’ve been getting the attention i’ve been getting. thank you all for that.

secondly, i’d like to ask for a few things if that’s alright.

1) reblogs. self explanatory. likes don’t really do anything for me traction-wise as you may or may not know and i’d like for more people to be able to see my things!

2) can you all pretty please be more specific with the things you’d like for me to write? if you just send me a prompt and not specifically state that you’d like headcanons, or a drabble then i have no idea what you’d like.

3) more feedback. i want to grow as an author so criticism is of course encouraged and welcomed.

besides from that, ill be working on my reboot wally fanfiction over on ao3 and the requests i have lined up for me at the moment. thank you guys for the support. it means a bunch./gen

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maxwell-grant · 4 months

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hi. you've mentioned Donald Duck a few times in your posts, with scrooge being one step removed from pulp heroes, Donalds Paparinik (Italian superhero identity which I love, the new PK Adventures where lovely) in terms of their relation to the Diabolik line of European superheroes and Donalds general tendency to run head first down slippery slopes. so I'm wondering if you have any further thoughts on his comics and weird place in the superhero/pulp world

Oh God, do I. I mostly wanna talk about the superhero side of things but I feel like it's worth mentioning I grew up with Donald Duck comics, specifically the Carl Barks ones. The picture above wasn't taken by me but I own and recognize like 7 of the books in it, my mom always bought these that collected several of his stories and had these beautiful painting covers so we could read them together, and I still flip through them on occasion and love them very much (I really wanna buy a translated edition of Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck to read with her but those cost a liver). Donald Duck was one of my childhood hyperfixations and I got my hands on all the comics and movies and cartoons I could find with him, and I actually did read several of the Italian comics, I could go down the stationery right now and grab 5. I first stumbled on Paperinik via those, and for long I didn't think much of it, because Donald Duck moonlighting as a superhero for decades isn't the kind of thing that comes up often. I just thought Paperinik was a weird but funny idea for the longest time and always liked rereading a story where he puts on the costume to scare a rich jerk into leaving his granny's farm alone. And THEN I stumbled onto PKNA, Paperinik New Adventures, and oh my god this rules so much.

Actually one of the best superhero comics I've ever read, it's just constantly and consistently doing these wild absurd stories and swings into genre territory and quality storytelling. It's famous for opening it's first issue with aliens genociding an entire planet and I thought that was kinda overselled, and it's not frequently this dark (sometimes it actually gets darker though, and I probably stopped before it could really get there), but it is a very weird comic. It's more akin to Fantastic Four's serialized consistency than any kind of graphic novel prestige storyline but it is frequently so good at what it does, even the lamer issues are still worth reading. I like describing it as Donald Duck falling headfirst into Batman-level resources, forced to deal with Superman problems (on both the "huge sci-fi horrors" and "people being really, really irresponsible dicks" ends), while trying to stay Ditko's Spider-Man and failing. These do not feel quite like any Donald Duck comics I'd read before and while they would hold up with a different character, I do think they deserve credit for how they make it still always feel like you're reading a Donald Duck story, if a slightly different one. In fact I'd even say PKNA actually makes the concept feel more suited for Donald Duck in a way that brought the idea full circle.

To those of you that don't know, Paperinik started as a villain, or more of a revenge fantasy. By that point there was a tradition of doing a lot of parody stories with Donald that started in 1953. By the late 60s, readers were dissatisfied with Donald Duck always constantly being mistreated by the rest of the supporting cast and losing unfairly, so it was decided to have one of those parodies feature Donald Duck as uncovering the fortune and resources of "Fantomius" and becoming a masked rogue able to get back at them by achieving the impossible, in that he both steals from Scrooge and defeats Gladstone's luck by framing him for it.

He had a stint as a master thief until it was decided it made him too mean, so he morphed into a superhero trying to overcome his prior bad reputation and using his new skills and gadgets (still prone to malfunctioning) to deal with his typical rogues and new ones, and having the admiration of his nephews who don't know that Unca Donald and Paperinik are the same. PKNA, in turn, was sort of a reboot, shedding the previous history and pretty much getting rid of Donald's traditional supporting cast and having Donald stumble onto a different set of resources and means to fight crime, but keeping the idea of Donald Duck having a superhero alter-ego that nobody suspects. The scale and menace of the threats he's up against DRASTICALLY increases, and if anything that fact is crucial to what allows these to still feel like Donald Duck stories, even with Paperinik being a genuinely impressive and cool hero able to save the world. Nobody believes Donald Duck could be a cool and impressive person if he tried, and so Paperinik becomes not just a power fantasy, or a call to something better or be someone better, but it becomes a key component of Donald Duck stories: a thankless job he's expected to do that he doesn't want to do until his pride or something crucial is on the line. These are still parables about human failures and what can be learned from them.

I'd even say a big part of why they succeed is because they introduce a character who can pick up Donald's slack as a comically unpleasant ill-tempered grouch in need of a lesson protagonist in Angus Fangus, a character who's sort of J Jonah Jameson meets Harvey Bullock. Angus has it out for Paperinik and gets up to a lot of the antics you would traditionally expect Donald to be doing if this was a classic Donald Duck comic (and even has a Gladstone-esque rival of his own in another reporter), and getting to learn lessons and be humbled and even have his own set of impressive moments. The choice to give an entirely new cast around Donald greatly added to the comic's ability to experiment and do new things while still keeping the core of Donald.

I actually like a lot of these new dynamics better than the ones he traditionally has, I love The Raider and Lyla and One and oh god Xadhoom, Xadhoom is so fucking cool, such a cool design and name, this powerful roaring supernova stickbug alien person in a crusade of murderous vengeance who names herself her language's equivalent of creditor because the death of her entire planet is the DEBT SHE WILL COLLECT IN BLOOD ENERGY and she is just the most 90s anti-hero ever made except she's stuck in a Donald Duck comic getting into comedic situations and learning to laugh and feel emotions and learn from her mistakes again whether she likes it or not. These two are so good together.

Even with a superhero lair and supercomputer and gadgetry handed to him, Donald Duck is so comically outmatched against his opponents he still winds up winning through guile and will and comedic trickery. Donald desperately wishes he could go on self-serving ventures or just sit at home and enjoy tv, and not get dragged into dealing with murderous alien invasions, or cyberpunk revenge stories, or collapsing future timelines, and still having to solve those problems so there's a world to come back. The stories are frequently fun and they are prevailingly comedic and very good at it too, but they also get a lot out of taking weird turns into unexpected territory.

I haven't finished it because I wasn't able to find it in full or keep track of what's the og series and what's the reboot, still trying to sort that out, but god what a find this series is. What a great strange turn in the history of this great strange character.

#replies tag #donald duck #disney #pkna #paperinik #paperinik new adventures #xadhoom #disney ducks #duck comics

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stromuprisahat · 9 days

Text

Second Army disorganization

Siege and Storm- Chapter 14

One of the most frustrating and famously nonsensical passages of Grisha trilogy, easily explained through doylist approach- the author's inability to write strategy or politics and demands of the genre, requiring a weak, unfit heroine to defeat immensely powerful opponent way out of her league:

Alina: Oh no, they dare to oppose me again! :(

Isn't that why would you want to establish a council in the first place? So you get constructive criticism and suggestions to do things better?!

My objections to the notion Alina came up with representation of Grisha can't be more obvious:

Army is a structured organization. There are ranks and councils by default. No amount of ignorant teens will persuade me calling it "Second" makes it otherwise.

Any big organization has a structure. Even if Second Army were only about education, there would be councils and posts on different levels. Hell, school system works that way.

Alina: I'm gonna have the useless ones represented, because we're not doing things like the Darkling, but that doesn't mean I'll respect them myself or abandon my prejudices. Fucking nerds. Weidos...

Another YA nonsense- you cannot put people into categories based on their physical predispositions, and expect the mental ones to fit accordingly. You can have a huge, muscled guy, skilled in delicate handiwork. You can have a tiny wisp of a girl beating the living shit out of you (popular trope by itself).

Now why should sensitivity to metals get you a spot in labs, if you're a strategic genius? Or incredibly skilled, witty rhetorician? Isn't it more likely you'd be required to complete basic training to stay healthy and prevent accidentally endangering others, while being assigned to whatever you're most useful at?

And what about those weak or less intelligent ones? Are they bringing coffee and arranging entertainment?!

It also fits this fan interpretation, that Materialki are often neuro-divegent, so they are tend to be kept away from battle for their own sake.

Alina wasn't involved in practical running of Second Army before. Just because she doesn't know about something, it's not a totally fresh idea.

I'd be afraid of a girl, who almost murdered a bunch of people for asking questions, too.

At this point, I'm gonna run with the idea that all the older Grisha are torn between face-palming and silently laughing their assess off (so Alina doesn't overhear and her clique doesn't resort to violence).

“But what do they do in there?” I asked, not entirely sure I wanted to hear the answer. “Only the Corporalki know. But there are rumors that they’ve been working with the Fabrikators on new … experiments.”

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 8

... and that says nothing about the field, or the little groups in noble houses. People tend to stick together with their own, when in strange enviroment. I'm sure such bonds dissolve immediately after their return "home".

I've also delved a little into the sitting order here.

A few lines earlier, Alina noted Materialki didn't show up to complain. Who is so horrified then?! Not them, for sure.

Ironically, this fits into Fabricator-brain theory linked above AND the most logical explanation- Materialki have basic self-defense training, but only those, who are able to, continue. Alina isn't particularly friendly with any of them, so how would she know no one had EVER bothered to teach them? Alright, there are none in her class, but as far as we know, it consists of a Squaller, an Inferni and a Heartrender. Not the most saying sample.

Having a third of all Grisha helpless doesn't fit into the picture of Aleksander's leadership:

“That’s what Botkin always says. ‘Not showy, just to make pain,’” I said, imitating the mercenary’s heavy accent. “Smart guy.” “The Darkling doesn’t think Grisha should rely on their powers for defense.”

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 17

You don't have to become another Bruce Lee, you only need a chance, when they drag you out of bed in the middle of the night.

What tradition?

This is rather well-written group of angry, disorganized people. It might start with a reasonable goal, but soon everyone talks about something else than others, and the message gets lost in the noise.

Tradition doesn't equal "the way things are done". Neither of them is the same as "the need for structure and people knowing their places". The third one is a legitimate concern, although one could argue it's exactly what Alina's attempting.

This whole scene very much reads like:

The author is desperate to prove the Heroine isn't quite useless- she has good ideas! Look! *whacks a hundreds of years old stategist and survivor par excellence with stupid stick*

#Grishaverse #S&S Chapter 14 #The Darkling #Alina Starkov #Second Army #Materialki #grishanalyticritical #Second pseudoArmy #S&B Chapter 8 #S&B Chapter 17 #meme #V #Siege and Storm #Grisha trilogy #books #quotes #Leigh Bardugo #anti Leigh Bardugo

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auphelia · 2 months

Text

Restock day in Dottore's lab

A/N: Listen, I'm sorry but this idea has been rattling around in my mind for so long now and I'm afraid I will not know peace before it's been evicted in the form of writing. It was planned out as a chapter of the long fic I've started working on, but it'll be a long time before that catches up to where I want this. My english is bad and my writing skills are even worse so yeah, proceed at your own risk… Big mention to @/boundinparchment and @/surveyycorps whose amazing Dottore works have most certainly influenced my subconscious and this by extension. Warnings/tags: Alludes to mental breakdown, no comfort, very brief gore, fem!oc x dottore, reader x dottore but reader will get personality and backstory, isn't really an x anything since assistant oc doesn't show up until very last bit (and doesn't do much) but it's part of a long fic I've started writing which will be oc x dottore. Minors do not interact

It was by no means an imposing door. Made from worn fir planks it had an almost domestic feeling to it. The more he looked at it, the more out of place something felt. Although it was currently impossible to determine whether that 'something' was him or the door. It was ridiculous how much a simple piece of wood could annoy anyone, but compared to the otherwise sterile and metallic surroundings this stuck out like a sore thumb. His brow furrowed as he caught his mind slipping, it had been doing so more often as of late, and the mere thought of such ineffectiveness was enough to make his fingers twitch at his sides. This would be a quick in and out, simply grab what he needed urgently and get back to work.

He could still recall the conversations he'd had with Pantalone when the lower levels of the Palace had been refurbished to house his primary base of operations. The banker had been stingy, insisting that he would not pay a single mora for something so frivolous as the storage rooms being remodeled to fit the appearance of the laboratories. At the time, Dottore had written it off as some ridiculous principle and complied. After all, he'd been more than content to forego aesthetics and instead funnel his attention into making his workspace functionally perfect. But right now, accompanied by already frayed nerves and the dull thudding in his head, it felt like a blatant attempt at establishing control.

So that's what Pantalone had been trying to do all along, limit and influence him? Just as narrow-minded and afraid of change as the rest of those miserable fools Dottore had dealt with during his long life. Years of bitter resentment flared to life, cradling his body in it's warm embrace as bile rose in his throat. No doubt a scheming leech like the damned banker wouldn't be above weaponizing something as trivial as interior design to subtly nudge him. A willingness to make small sacrifices was the first step towards being manipulated. What else had he agreed to over the years? His thoughts were jumbled and disorganized, a consequence of Omega's little stunt no doubt, and just sorting through all the memories made him queasy. He felt his pulse pounding behind his eyes, the capillaries no doubt on the verge of bursting. His mind barely registered it as his body took two unsteady steps forward, a calloused hand instinctively reaching for the wall to steady his weight. The cool stone against his skin didn't serve to quell the embers of his anger even half as much as he'd hoped.

There were the constant squabbles for funding. Was he being spied on? The compromises on subject sourcing. One of his notebooks were missing. It had been too long since he'd had something sweet. He needed to get rid of the contamination in lab four. When had he last checked on Haeresys? Having to settle for parts and-

A faint laugh escaped his lips, the sound lost between the cracks in the walls. He'd done it again, forgotten his intentions and drifted into a string of preposterous thoughts. Being away from his work wasn't doing his mind any favors. A hand made its way towards the gleaming earring, the movement subconscious as he sought to disconnect from the network. For a moment placebo kicked in as he deposited the jewelry into his back pocket and all fell quiet around him. But ever the fast mind, it soon occurred that the voices, his voices dammit, weren't something that could simply be turned off anymore. They all- No, he just needed some time to assimilate and he would endure as he always had. With a renewed sense of determination, and a small shake of his head to clear his mind, he pushed open the door. Forcing himself not to wince as it creaked on its hinges, his jaw tensed. Another thing he'd need to get fixed. Not bothering to close the door behind him he stepped inside, hands clasped behind his back as he let his gaze scan across the shelves and stacks of equipment. Dust lingered atop the surfaces, a testament to how long it had been since he'd last had to restock he mused. The younger segments, not quite mature enough where he'd trust them, trust himself, to be in charge of any real research took care of such menial work as restocking the labs. Following the incident the laboratory had been stocked for a while, with material turnover naturally slowing down to match the available workforce.

He pushed down the intrusive thoughts reminding him that he'd been cutting corners and compromising on various things the past couple of days, actively avoiding having to leave his experiments to pick up new pipettes, tubes, plates, glassware, spare mechanic parts… He'd need some of the chemicals as well, unwieldy containers that took more time moving than what it was worth. He wanted to curse at himself, he should've written a note of what he needed. A glance over his shoulder and across the corridor was all it took to remind him how close his laboratory was, it would be easy to do a quick check. The thought had barely formed before a scowl settled on his face, going back and forth was hardly a necessity, he should know what he needed to bring over.

As his focus returned to the dimly lit room, a feeling of unease seeped into his bones. Nothing was placed as he remembered it. Granted, it had most likely been more than a century since this body had last been in here. The shelves were lined from floor to ceiling with various necessities, and he had to stop himself from swearing as he realized none of the boxes were labelled with anything save for some seemingly random assortment of letters and numbers. No doubt they had meaning, but the symbols refused to part with their secrets as his eyes roamed over them. He'd recognize his own handwriting anywhere, this version a little more legible than average. One of the youngsters had made the system then, that would only make figuring it harder. His hand ran through his hair, a small voice briefly reminding him how long it had been since he'd last washed it properly. Every box had a letter and between one to three numbers, the digits appearing random in their placement along the shelves. So they didn't indicate position in the room, meaning it must pertain to the content of the box. In that case, they were likely numbered so the things most often used had the lowest numbers, a simple yet relatively clever system. Perhaps the letters were some sort of category indicator, it could be based on the type of work it was required for? It wasn't a system without fault of course, the value having needed to be assigned based on subjective opinion. The youngest segments had likely never looked through any documents that could indicate how much or how often everything was ordered.

His headache was pushed back at the satisfaction of having cracked the code, now he'd just find the box with the lowest value and use that as a reference to grasp what things had been ranked as 'important'. A small smile tugged at the corner of his chapped lips as he perused the shelves, crimson eyes systematically skimming across the stocks. The heels of his boots clicked against the flooring with every step he took into the maze of shelves and loose containers lining the floor. Incredible how much had been shoved into the modest room. An accident in here could set his research months back, the thought in and of himself bringing some odd semblance of comfort which should by no means be there. A small hum of approval left him as his eyes found what they'd been looking for, bringing his scattered thoughts back to the present. Reaching out with gloved hands he grabbed a box, the container surprisingly light in his hold. Labelled as 'G-3' he'd expected it to contain something like glassware, but the feeling of it in his hands suggested it must then be largely empty. He set it down on the ground, kneeling to get a better look as he impatiently pried it open.

"Cotton?" The word had left his lips before he could stop it, the sound grating his ears. He could already hear the mocking laughter in his head, wanting nothing more than to rip whatever nerve cells were responsible for it out. Too distracted to put the crate back, he simply stood up and gave it a small push with the tip of his shoe, having already forgotten it as his mind ran rampant. If cotton was labeled so high, surely it couldn't be based on importance. What did he even use cotton for? Could it have been of use to one of the others in case a subject was bleeding? His stomach churned involuntarily, shoving aside memories of mangled bodies, picked apart for nothing in particular. It had been a disgusting endeavor, spearheaded by his worst perspective. But why should they have bothered with first aid when most of those subjects weren't even reused? An utter waste of materials.

He grasped another box, desperate to find what he needed and get out. The air weighed heavily on him as he kept pulling out crates and containers, all of them landing unceremoniously on the floor. Within just five minutes his movements had become erratic, almost desperate in the need to find something, anything he could use right now. This was his creation, fostered by his mind and realized by his hands. Another perspective, but ultimately him. The Doctor. A Fatui Harbinger. There was nothing he couldn't solve if given the tools and time, and he most certainly would not let something as inconsequential as… Glass crashed to the ground, the sound rattling his bones and pulling him back to the present as hundreds of delicate glass pipettes shattered. The fragments spilling from the crate he'd so carelessly tossed on the ground. He'd needed those. The realization made his movements falter, the jumbled voices in his head screaming for him to continue, stop, cry, anything and everything really. His finger tapped against his thigh in a quick rhythm, counting the taps in the back of his mind. A shaky hand reached up to unclasp the mask as he found himself desperate for anything to cool his burning skin. This was too much.

At least he didn't see any shattered or broken chemical containers meaning this was still only a disgraceful inconvenience, not a health hazard. Laughter erupted from his throat, the sound foreign and intrusive as he felt it worm its way inside his skull. His knees hit the hard stone before his mind could catch up. His head lowered, eyes widening as he saw a few unfamiliar droplets wetting the ground in front of him. The laughter died down to a faint chuckle as his throat constricted, only serving to make the sound of his gloved finger tapping more prominent in the ravaged room. His entire body stiffened as something not of his making reached his ears, the breathing pattern recognizable enough by now that it made him want to sink into the cracks beneath him. Instead, scarred hands moved by themselves to clip the mask back on before he straightened his back. "How. Long?" the words were by no means rude, a faint voice in the back of his mind praising him for not lashing out. If nothing else, he could cling to that small display of control to remind himself that all was well. "Long enough," she sounded like she'd wanted to say more but refrained, at least it seemed his technician was learning to control that damnable tongue of hers. The relief at her lack of further questioning had barely manifested when her next words washed over him like a bucket of cold water. "But pray tell, Doctor, how am I supposed to prepare the new solutes and buffers when you've seemingly decided to break all the clean glassware?" His fists tightened at the accusatory tone in her voice, making him feel like a scolded child. Making no effort to tread lightly, he got to his feet, hard heels slamming into the ground hard enough that the thought of looking for additional cracks in the ground briefly flashed through his mind. Within seconds he'd crossed the distance, no thoughts spared for the mess of items that cracked and broke beneath his feet. Towering over the young woman, he bit into the inside of his cheek to keep himself from doing anything rash. She had proven too useful for his research, especially with the segments gone. He only had to endure until they were rebuilt. He leaned forward, hands clasped behind his back as he brought the beak of his mask uncomfortably close. A thin smile stretched across his lips as he saw her resolve crumble just enough for her to take half a step back. "As resourceful as you are, surely you can think something up, hm?" His voice was laden with derision as he straightened back up, fingers itching to dig into her skin hard enough to draw blood. Once more he found himself grateful for the mask that covered half his face, letting him close his eyes unnoticed for a brief moment of respite before striding past her. He had half a mind to grasp the door handle and slam the door behind him as he stepped into the hallway. "Ah, one moment Doctor. There's no system to it really, Xi simply had it memorized. I made an overview of sorts for my own convenience, it's on the back of the door," he swore there was a smug sort of satisfaction to her words as she continued, "in case you need it in the future." His hands had tightened into fists while she spoke. Of course it had been nothing but wishful thinking that such a foolish child would've created anything as worthwhile as a storage system. Despite his wounded pride, curiosity plucked at the edges of his thoughts and spurred him on. He'd already sunk low enough for a subordinate to see him in such a disgraceful state, satisfying the question on his mind would hardly make matters worse. "The codes. What is their purpose?" The words came out more clipped than he'd have liked, but just the act of forming a coherent sentence proved troublesome. He wanted to roll his eyes as he heard her sigh softly, it was a bad habit on her part, six even breaths followed by a sigh. Another miserable tool to fix.

Her words were drowned out by the ringing in his ears, vision blurred at the edges as he marched across the hallway and into his laboratory. The lock clicked into place as he shut the door behind him before ripping the mask off and tossing it aside, gloves following soon after. Fingers swiftly tangled in his locks, massaging at his scalp in an attempt to ease the tension. If he was lucky, his technician would get the message. Even if she had a key this was no time to intrude. His body slumped onto the nearest chair, his forehead almost immediately making contact with the table. Raspy chuckles mixed with quiet sobs as his nails scraped off the bloody scabs that had recently made themselves at home on his skin. His thoughts raged, mute voices mocking him for not having predicted this outcome. 'The codes? Oh, they're for Pantalone's convenience. It's how he prefers the materials we order to appear in the expense reports. Something about product codes.'

#dottore x oc #dottore x reader #lab technician reader #il dottore #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #il dottore x reader #dottore x female reader #auph writes #memento mori #magspy look away lmao

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