#Happy Hour Bar Kendall

[venicebitch00]

shiv roy x reader pls!! like i was thinking maybe angsty jealous shiv and then fluff at the end? i dont mind anything honestly i just want shiv x reader content

dress

shiv roy x reader

a/n: omg i was so worried that nobody would request shiv so i was so happy when i saw these!! i hope you don’t mind i combined the two!! kinda ended angstier than i intended too

1.4 k

Shiv Roy had a meticulous morning routine that she followed every day without fail. She woke up at 5:00 (exactly half an hour before Tom), got changed, brushed her teeth, and went on a run. After about 3 miles, and when she knew Tom had left for work, she returned home and ate breakfast while scrolling through work emails and current headlines. This morning, however, her usually peaceful routine was interrupted. By you. 

As the woman ate her breakfast bar and scrolled through various news articles she couldn't help but notice your name-making and appearance. At first, it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, your family owned one of the biggest fashion houses in the country so it wasn’t a surprise that some blog would write an occasional fluff piece about the outfit you wore to fashion week or speculations about your relationship with some model or actor. And although she would never dare admit it, she would secretly save everyone to read later. But it wasn’t until she saw your name plastered on an article headline written by her very own family’s news company that her attention was caught. The article detailed that your father had announced his anticipated retirement and you would be inheriting the family company and sole CEO. 

You had met Shiv and college, you wish you could say the two of you hit it off instantly, but you both knew it was from the truth. You both came from wealthy families and were used to having to fight viciously to get a spot at the table, so naturally, an unspoken rivalry formed between you, and the constant need to outdo and impress the other grew. However as your professors began to notice this competition, the more they would pair up the two of you, and eventually over the four years, your rivalry melted into something some might call a friendship. However the passion and intensity remained and it wasn’t easy to forget the late nights spent together fueled by wine and lust, the exam that you were supposed to be helping each other study for long forgotten. 

But as graduation approached and the simplicity of the days on your college campus came to an end, so did your and Shiv’s complicated relationship. She met her prince charming, a wealthy boy from Minnesota named Tom, or as you liked to call him “farmer fuckface”. But Tom was doting, he put Shiv before everything and promised a life of stability. One that her father might be proud of. Tom was safe. Tom was everything you were not. This, however, still did not stop the twinge of hurt she felt reading about this news. She fucking the fact that she had to hear about your life in a newspaper instead of listening to you ramble and giggle endlessly while tangled in your sheets. 

And just like clockwork, as she was fighting the urge to call you your name appeared on her home screen. 

Hey, know it’s been a while but it would mean a lot if you came tonight. I miss you. 

Shiv tried not to read into the last sentence of the message and instead clicked on the attached link you sent. It was an invitation to some party your company was throwing to celebrate your new position as CEO. If it was anyone else, she would of already politely rejected the invitation and made other plans for the evening. But it wasn’t. It was you. So she began to draft her text back. 

I’ll check my calendar. 

Much to Shiv’s dismay Kendall and Roman had also received invitations and insisted on coming with her. Shiv knew of her two brothers' motivations, both had been wanting to get into your pants since she first introduced you to them all those years ago and despite all the rejections they still seemed persistent. 

Shiv Roy was not a naturally anxious person. You can’t be, not when you go into countless business meetings every day filled with dozens of perverted old men just waiting for you to screw up and more focused on your tits that the words coming out of your mouth. But tonight her stomach was erupting in butterflies. 

Right as they walked in, Roman b-lined to the open bar, and Kendall mumbled something about finding Stewy, which left Shiv standing in the middle of your party all by herself. 

“What’s a gorgeous lady like yourself standing here all alone?” 

she could recognize your teasing voice from miles away. Shiv practically snapped her head around to see you, looking as gorgeous as ever, except now more mature and adult than she remember. 

“Bonnie,” you breathed, Shiv’s heart surged at the nickname you gave her years ago after finding out her full name, Sibohan, “fuck I missed you”. You engaged the redhead in a tight hug, one that Shiv hesitantly accepted. 

Once you released, Shiv cleared her throat, “Yeah I..Fuck yeah I missed you too” 

“Come on let’s get you a drink” 

At the bar, Shiv was impressed when you still remembered her order.

“So, I’m surprised you came” 

“Oh yeah, why’s that?”

“You’ve been avoiding me”

Shiv scoffed “I have not been avoiding you”

“Come on, you have to, ever since the wedding” you, of course, referencing Shiv’s wedding to Tom. “Speak of the devil, where is farmer fuckface” 

Shiv chucked at your endearing nickname for her husband, “He’s you know, working” 

“I see” you took a sip from your martini “I’m surprised he let you come here by yourself” 

“What do you mean?”

“I think you know exactly what I mean” You peered up at her from your martini glass with a smirk. “Right well, I think I should make rounds” You fixed your hair and chugged the last bit of your drink. 

“Ah right you’re a busy CEO now aren't you” Shiv smiled, “I’ll see you later”.

Shiv watched you as you made your way around the room, greeting your guests and graciously thanking them for coming to your party. She couldn’t help a twinge of jealousy watching a bunch of strangers receiving your attention and loving praise. Her final straw was when she watched Kendall march up to you. You of course greeted him with a kind hug, one that lasted a bit too long for Shiv’s taste. She watched as he made you laugh and grazed your arm with his own. It used to be amusing to watch her brothers pathetically flirt with you all those years ago because she knew you were hers. But now it just made a pit form at the bottom of her stomach. 

Shiv chugged the last bit of the champagne she had been nursing and made her way to you. She abruptly grabbed your hand, muttering some lame excuse to Kendall about needing you for some “girl emergency” and dragged you to the nearest bathroom. 

Her lips were on yours the moment she locked the door, and your hands wasted no time getting lost in her short hair. 

“Aw what’s a matter Shivy, got a little jealous out there” you pouted her lip at her

“Oh fuck off” she murmured as you began to leave kissing down her neck, to her collarbone. 

“Missed this, missed you”. You felt Shiv’s hands begin to trail down your back, slowly unzipping your dress “Wait, fuck” you mumbled against her lips “What about Tom?”

“I’ve talked to him”

“About us?” you raised a brow.

“No, well, no not exactly. I’ve told him I want a more open relationship,” she stated matter-of-factly. 

“Wow, who knew Shiv Roy was so progressive” You started to kiss her again “What’s next, buying a van and starting a nomadic life?” 

“Oh shut up” you could practically feel her eyes rolling, “and since when did you ever care about Tom?” 

You looked up at her once more, “I just-” you paused, “Fuck, never mind”. You caved and reunited her lips with yours.

You realized this was a battle you were not going to win anytime soon. Before Shiv was your “Bonnie”, she was always going to be “Shiv Roy of Waystar Royco”, and your relationship just didn’t fit into that part of her life. Neither of you was ready to admit how much you meant to one another, so you would just pretend that it didn’t matter. And you figured if you got burned, at least you were electrified. 

#shiv roy x reader #shiv roy #sucession #kendall roy #roman roy #sarah snook #jeremy strong

[pynkhues]

Can you explain your thoughts on each sibling’s relationship with logan? I love your analysis and I’m so curious! Especially interested in a little shiv and logan since she’s the only daughter

This is not a proper answer to your ask at all, anon, and I definitely can/could answer it properly, but I hope you're okay with having this weird hallf-headcanon/half-fic thing instead <3

Connor + Logan

Connor is born and Logan is 24, Logan is 25, Logan’s on the cusp of something that feels real, but he’s not made yet. Logan’s just starting to know what it looks like when ends meet, just starting to know what it means to run a show instead of man it, Logan’s grieving long gone parents, a lost sister and a brother trying to play hero with the Vietnam War. Logan is ink-stained fingers and long hours and deals in smoky bars and dark rooms with people who turn their nose up at him, people who think he’s a joke, people who think he’s a flash in the pan, his uncle’s nephew, his almost-father’s-almost-son.

But Logan is also in love.

Logan is enamoured, he’s swept up, he’s caught in the crosshairs of a woman who could love him back.

She reminds him of his sister, sometimes.

That matters, he thinks, because he couldn’t save his sister, but maybe - -

Maybe it’s not the point.

The point is Bonnie’s warm and she’s bright and she’s smart and she’s funny and she loves him back and she’s just had his son.

She’s given him a family all of his own.

And he feels young with Connor. Feels hamfisted and awkward, but she steadies his grip, rests her head on his shoulder, pulls him to her somehow like a moth to a flame, and he thinks his son is tiny, he thinks his son is twisted up, he thinks his son looks like her, more than he looks like him.

He doesn’t - -

(His chest is tight, big, full).

He doesn’t know what he feels.

So he grunts, pushes him off, feels the loss, tries to take him back, rejects Bonnie trying to give him back, feels - - confused. Scared, no, that’s not - - he’s not - - Unsure, maybe. Better word. This is a distraction. He’s unsure because his thoughts should be on work, not on this, and the doctor strides past him and Logan has meetings, Logan’s trying to make life real, Logan’s trying to build something for a son to inherit, and what’s he got to give him now? A few stories and broken heirlooms and a lot of maybe?

Bah.

So he goes to work.

And it’s good for a while. With her permanent and cosy in houses that only get bigger, nicer, staffed, Connor with her bright eyed, eager, every time Logan funnels through with gifts and promises and a life on the horizon any family of his will be worthy of. The picture of them is everything Logan wanted, a powdered sugar fantasy run on the silent film in his head.

But then things get - -

Confusing.

Because she’s not happy, because she asks him where he’s gone, where he’s going, she asks who’s perfume she can smell on him, who’s lipstick’s on his fly, and he doesn’t want to answer, and so she yells and Noah taught him yelling only started arguments, a clean fist ended them, and he’s not sure.

The first time he realised Connor was there.

And the thing is, the picture collapses quickly.

She’s unhappy, she’s unwell, he gets called into Connor’s school so they can tell him as much, and he sends him somewhere that’ll take care of him, incubate him, whatever, while he deals with her, but it’s impossible because it’s his sister all over again, and what the fuck does he do with that?

She’s not her, she’s her own person, but the lines are blurred and Logan doesn’t want to deal with any of them. He’s getting made, he’s going well, so maybe he just leaves, maybe he just goes, maybe he fucks around, pretends he’s young again, single again, childless again, at least until he meets Caroline.

Kendall + Logan

Kendall is born and Logan is 40, Logan is 41. Logan’s on the cusp of closing a cable news deal with a wife who doesn’t give a fuck.

A wife with a name.

Caroline is not Bonnie. Caroline is a Collingwood, Caroline is the sort of woman who can trace her family line back to cousin-fucking royalty, and she is not warm, but she is smart and she fucks and she tears into life like a letter opener, like if she gets the right angle it’ll find something she hasn’t heard before, and Logan thinks this is it. Logan thinks this is a fresh start, Logan thinks Bonnie was just another lump in the custard, Connor too, only he’s something to be smoothed in down the track, because right now Logan thinks this is it.

The start of the real family, a real son for his real man, but Kendall is born and Caroline won’t even hold him, so Logan can’t ask her to adjust his hands like Bonnie knew how to do. Can’t ask her to move him so he doesn’t embarrass himself, because Caroline is a Collingwood and he’s some new money nobody, so he doesn’t hold him either, and it’s not what he expected, is all.

And it doesn’t matter anyway, because this real son, he just - -

He cries a lot.

Open mouthed mewing, constant, but the nannies hold him right and Logan loses himself to work, because Logan’s always known how to do that, and he tells himself it’s the same as it was with Connor. He’s done this before – he’s no different, Kendall’s no different than his brother, whatever’s wrong is Caroline. She’s the outlier, she’s inexperienced, she’s cold, small hands and an accent Kendall will never have, and Logan promises himself this over Kendall’s crib, and it’s sudden, is all.

The way one night, home for an evening between Paris and Prague, the nanny asks if he wants her to show him how to hold him.

Realises, then, three months in, that he hasn’t.

“Yeah, okay,” he says.

And it’s the nanny who guides his hands, who shows him how to pick Kendall up, shows him how to nestle him in to stop him from crying so loud, and Kendall is small, Kendall is pink-faced and wet-eyed and long-lashed, and all his, and Logan’s throat is so tight he can’t breathe.

“Good,” Logan says, patting Kendall on the back, his hand enough to engulf him.

A window inside him unlatches.

A thought, a memory.

A different sort of outlook.  

“Hey,” he asks the nanny. “Can you send for Connor? I don’t like that thing with his school these days, you know, could we maybe get him one here. Ask Baird, he might - - you know. He’ll figure something out. That wife of his could recommend something.”

Roman + Shiv + Logan (because I’m dying on the twin hill apparently)

Still, he and Caroline, they go again.

Just once more, but two come out of it, and Logan is 44, he’s 45, and Ewan tells him he’s too old for this shit at the same time he’s remembering the way Bonnie helped him to hold Connor, the way the nanny showed him how to hold Kendall. Knows how to get his grip right, under the head, beneath the bottom, to get Roman – his Romulus – to his chest, and he wonders which of them is him, which of them is Ewan.

Is Connor first born or is Kendall?

Is Kendall him or Roman?

Who’s his true second born, he wonders, below hospital fluorescents, feeling his youngest son squirm near his heart. Smaller still than he’s sure the others ever were (normal with twins, so the doctors have said), but he doesn’t cry like Kendall did, his body somehow surer, and it surprises him. When Caroline moves to hold him.

“Well, we’ll have to take one each, won’t we?” she tells him, and Logan starts, Logan shifts, lets her take him as he eyes the other bassinet.

A daughter is new. A daughter wasn’t supposed to happen, he thinks, approaching the bassinet, catching a glimpse of red hair and a little red-tipped nose, a daughter - -

Fuck.

Rose had red hair, Rose had a little red-tipped nose, Rose was the click-click-spark of a lighter in the darkest nights, she was a sharp-tongue, she was salt in the wound, she was a balled fist and a held hand and a steady, unsteady gaze, and she was stuff and nonsense, and she was a promise wrapped in a lie.

Logan feels young.

Logan feels 24, he feels 25.

He feels like he’s staring down the barrel of the future, but he looks at her and he just sees - - her.

His daughter.

He swallows thick.

“Think that means its you and me, pinky,” he tells her, and when he holds her, it feels like coming home.

#hbo succession #succession headcanons #welcome to my ama #logan roy

[from-the-clouds]

Thinking of a Place (Part VIII) - Kendall Roy x Reader

gif by @televisionchronicles

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Fic Playlist | Masterlist

Summary: The final chapter.

Words: 5.1k

Warnings: Angst, alcohol consumption, brief mentions/discussions of sex.

A/N: When I tell you that I rewrote this chapter 3 different times, rewrote those rewrites, and then left literally thousands of words on the cutting room floor, I’m not dramatizing. I don’t know why I fought so much with this last part, perhaps because I have invested so much into this story and it's sort of sad to see it come to an end. Also because I couldn't seem to be satisfied with any ending that I wrote -- even this one I'm not fully in love with! But I’ve kept everyone waiting long enough. I really appreciate all the love I've received on this story, I've written for so many other fandoms and despite how small I feel like we are on here, the Succession fandom has by far been the most kind and supportive. I hope you all enjoy this, and who knows, this might not even be the last you see of these two. :)

Of all the places to be angry, this was not one of them. You knew that, looking out the windows at the end of the bar, at the palm trees swaying in the breeze and the waves creeping up along the white sand. An old Eagles song played lowly over the speakers, weaving underneath the chatter of the bar's patrons. The whole environment was manufactured happiness. But it didn’t matter. You were still angry. 

It had been a series of unfortunate events that led up to that moment. To you, slumped over a bar at one of the most expensive resorts in Hawaii, wrought with frustration. Continuing to mull it over, to wallow, wasn’t doing you any good – and you knew it.

As you finished off another round of well tequila on the rocks – a drink you were punishing yourself with – a new beverage was placed down in front of you, one you hadn’t even ordered. 

“Thanks,” you smiled weakly at the bartender. At least he understood to keep them coming. 

“Actually, I’m supposed to tell you that this one’s on the gentleman sitting over there,” he jerked his head towards the other end of the bar. 

Eyes nearly rolling back into your head, you refused to look right away. The last thing you wanted was to entertain conversation with some silver-tongued suitor who couldn’t read a room. Wasn’t it obvious to all the other patrons you were upset, that you wanted to be left alone? You’d assumed your sour mood would be deterrent enough on its own, let alone that after a nine hour flight and a tearful argument with the front desk staff you were looking rather haggard.

“Great,” you said sarcastically, but you weren’t in any position to say no to a free drink, taking a swig and welcoming the sting of the liquor. Funnily enough, it never came. Whatever had been ordered for you was an upgrade from whatever cheap brand you’d settled for when you sat down.

The nagging feeling of being watched didn’t let you hold out very long. You would have to give some type of acknowledgement or it wouldn’t go away. Preparing your best bitchy glare, you hoped whoever sent the drink would get the hint that you weren’t in the mood. Maybe it was ungrateful to snub the stranger who bought it for you, but you couldn’t be bothered to feign flirtatiousness at a time like this. 

But the glare didn’t make it very far at all, because when you saw the stranger across the bar, you realized he was no stranger at all. Hands clasped together as he leaned over the counter, aviators tucked into the collar of his linen button down, sat Kendall. His mouth was curved into a coy smile, eyes sparkling, and a person at the booth behind him was not-so-subtly trying to take his photo. You wondered if it was because they were simply shocked to see Kendall Roy fratnerizing at a hotel bar, or if it was because he looked so fucking good. Disgustingly good, seemingly better than the last time you’d seen him in person, salt-and-pepper stubble across his jawline, sunkissed along his cheekbones. 

Warmth flooded your cheeks at the sight of him, a reaction so automatic that you weren’t even able to save face by feigning annoyance. Not to mention the fact that you knew you looked like shit. Slowly, he rose from his spot and approached you. 

“Drowning your sorrows?” he asked, leaning against the bar, and while you badly wanted to play coy, you felt so ashamed of your current state all you could do was shrug bashfully, looking down at the rocks in the bottom of your glass.

“I guess you could say that.” 

“Want company?” 

You gave a small nod, and tilted your head towards the seat next to you. Kendall sat, taking a sip of what looked to be soda water and lime.

“How are you? It’s been awhile.” 

“It has.” He was right, two months had passed since last you’d spoken.

It hadn’t been for nothing, though. Because from the beginning of your fragile reconciliation, you’d been expecting Kendall to fuck you over. It would be a textbook. Grieving the loss of his dad would run its course. In the meantime, you were easy to cling to, something familiar, but disposable – he’d made that much clear time and time again. Eventually he’d find something– someone– better, and you would be left brokenhearted…again.

But after the night of his fathers funeral, Kendall didn’t reach out to you for emotional support like you were expecting. He did still reach out to you though. A handful of times, you’d met up with him for coffee or lunch. The absence of Logan’s malevolent presence in his life seemed a positive change, though that came as no surprise. He divulged to you he’d been seeing a therapist and he was working through the steps of a recovery program – actual healthy outlets for all his trauma.

Not to mention that Kendall’s whole demeanor had changed. It was like he was a different man – you couldn’t help but notice how he stood a little straighter, walked with a little more confidence, smiled more easily. Of course, he still had plenty of demons, and you still saw them slipping in and out of hazel eyes. Even then, it was probably the happiest you’d ever seen him.

Your instinct was still to keep your distance. All your meetups had been civil. Calculated. You didn’t talk about much else besides work, or what you’d been up to lately. And maybe sometimes, you’d reminisce about your days together at Waystar – conveniently avoiding any discussion of all the fighting and feelings. So it was very careful. Kendall was courteous, respectful of your personal space, of your boundaries and your time. After the time you’d spent apart, too, it was clear he moved on. With all the progress he’d made, you didn’t know why that last part was so disappointing. You’d moved on, too. It was for the better, after all.

“How’s Con?”

“Oh, just over the moon,” Kendall said. “His bachelor party is tomorrow. Roman’s planned it.”

“Oh god,” you raised your eyebrows, and snorted despite yourself. You couldn’t imagine what a bachelor party planned by Roman would entail. “Good luck with that.”

Kendall chuckled. “Yeah, I still have no idea what he’s getting us into.”

You’d been shocked to have snagged an invite to Connor and Willa’s wedding. Of the Roy siblings, Connor was the least familiar to you. In fact, of the couple, you were probably closer with Willa than anyone else – you’d spent many a Roy family gathering with her, shivering on a balcony, sharing a joint, and watching the circus from outside through floor to ceiling windows. 

“You’re here early,” Kendall observed. “The wedding’s not until the weekend.”

“Yeah,” you answered. “I was hoping to get out of town, take a break for a couple days, work’s been pretty crazy.”

“I seem to recall the last time we were together, you were bragging about how chill it was,” Kendall smirked. His whole body had turned to face you, knees slotted between your own as he rested his elbow on the countertop, fingers tracing the rim of his glass. You had to make a conscious effort not to stare at his hands. “Don’t tell me there’s trouble in paradise.”

“Ha-ha,” you said sarcastically. “It was. We’re just growing and understaffed. Good problems to have, I suppose.”

“Well, it can’t be as bad as the shitshow at Waystar, right?”

You felt a smile tug along the corners of your lips, feeling suddenly nostalgic. “No, it’s not that bad.”

Kendall grinned along with you. “Do you remember that time when I had to give that presentation, to…oh fuck, I can’t even remember the client’s name…..And in the middle of the presentation my dad called and made us put him on speakerphone so he could tell them to fuck off?”

“Oh god, yeah. That was fucking embarassing,” you said, straightening up, leaning in. “But he had some beef with the CEO, right?”

“Maybe,” Kendall’s face fell slightly. “That was probably just an excuse to fuck me over.”

The clear hurt in his expression nagged at your gut.  In the beginning, you’d been so naive when it came to Logan’s abuse. “I think I didn’t sleep for like 48 hours preparing for that pitch. And then it was all for nothing.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Oh, I was so fucking pissed,” you raised your eyebrows. “Shit like that was always happening.”

“Uh-huh,” he turned away, and now he was looking at his feet. You took another drink. “Yeah….I still don’t know why you stuck around for so long.”

“Why do you think, Kendall?” scoffing, you looked over at him, knowingly. “I loved you.” 

The words slipped out before you could really process what they meant, the truth revealing itself so easily under the spell of alcohol. His head popped up quickly, his eyes were on yours, doing that thing they always did, searching, yearning, trying to find some sort of validation. But you weren’t going to give it to him. Couldn’t. You cleared your throat and spoke again. “Working with you, I mean. I loved working with you. It wasn’t all bad.”

It was a poor recovery, and Kendall nodded like he understood. In the awkward silence that followed, you scolded yourself for the slip-up. Good god, what the fuck is wrong with you? Get a fucking grip, how many things can you fuck up in one day?

“So, work, then? Is that what’s going on?” Kendall looked pointedly towards your half-finished drink and the empties alongside it.

For a moment, you’d forgotten why you were getting drunk at a hotel bar alone. And you couldn’t believe that it was Kendall who had a front row seat to the shitshow. Why did he always seem to show up at the most inconvenient times? And even worse, right now he seemed determined to get an honest answer. Coming into this trip, you had known you were probably going to bump into him, but you imagined that it’d be in much different circumstances. 

You hadn’t thought about it much, but maybe it’d be at the wedding, after a few days of decompression from work. You’d be wearing the expensive, new dress you’d bought for the occasion, the one that fit you just right. Okay, actually, you’d apparently been thinking about it alot, but no one needed to know that. You’d be put together, competent, he’d be able to see for himself. Look! I’m fine! Look! I have every beautiful thing anyone could want! Look! What you did hasn’t affected me at all! 

It was pointless, fabricated bullshit. And none of it would happen, anyways, because in reality he was here while you were unkempt, dejected, and halfway to blacked out before the bar had stopped serving their brunch menu. Oh, and apparently letting your tongue slip enough to confess old feelings you’d hardly ever acknowledged, not even to yourself. 

When Kendall said your name, you realized you’d never even answered his question.

“Uh, yeah,” you shrugged. It wasn’t a lie…well, it kind of was. If you were someone who considered omitting information a lie. 

“What is it?” you made the mistake of glancing at him, and his gaze was fixated on you again. Not so brooding, but wide, intent. And pretty….no. That was not helpful. 

“Nothing, it’s stupid.”

“What’s going on?” he asked, leaning a little closer, voice soft. 

“You’re going to laugh,” you said, shaking your head. 

“I’m not going to laugh.” 

There was no use in going back and forth all day. You gestured towards the bartender to bring you another round, finishing off the last in your glass before sighing in defeat.

“I uh….I forgot to book a room,” you said flatly. “I mean, I did, or at least, I thought I did. I wanted to come out early and have a few days to myself because work has been so crazy. But apparently it’s been so crazy that it must have slipped my mind. I get here, and the hotel is all booked up, as are all the fucking hotels around here. Now, I’m on one of the most remote islands in the world, and don’t have a place to stay. I’m probably going to have to sleep in the lobby tonight, that is, if they don’t kick me out. So I came here.”

To punctuate the ending of your story, the bartender set your next round down in front of you, and as you reached for it, Kendall caught your hand. “Hey,” he said. “Maybe you should slow down.”

The last thing you were expecting was to have Kendall of all people reprimanding you about substance use. You were in worse shape than you thought. Everything was going to shit. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you entertained the possibility that you were being melodramatic. It was too late to turn back now, though. The anger you’d been feeling shifted to something else entirely, embarrassment surging to the forefront, so strongly that heat was rising up your neck. No, no, no, no, no, don’t cry. Don’t you dare fucking cry. 

Because you were now thinking just a little too hard, you were realizing. Maybe this wasn’t melodrama. Maybe this wasn’t about the hotel room, or your wedding date that had ghosted you last minute and showed up Instagram engaged the next day, or the crying baby that had kept you from sleeping a wink on your flight here. It could’ve been a little, but it wasn’t everything. There was more. You’d spent over a year now at a new job, creating a new life for yourself, determined to find happiness after everything you’d known was destroyed, through some fault of your own. You’d worked so hard to build it all, to convince yourself that it was the right path. But you had no other option at that moment than to face the truth. The truth being that after everything you’d worked for, you couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” your voice cracked, despite the venom you’d attempted to lace through it. Kendall didn’t miss it, even though he loosened his grip and you reached towards the drink.

“Hey.” his voice was stern, a tone you hadn’t heard from him since your days at Waystar. He wasn’t your boss anymore, but muscle memory kicked in, and you paused, just long enough to look him in the eye. “Trust me, I don’t think this is the solution to your problem.” Voice soft, his thumb ran over the back of your hand. You shivered.

“I’ve, uh, I’ve got a whole villa to myself…and the kids aren’t flying in for a few days. Why don’t you stay in one of the guest bedrooms? The hotel might have some openings in a few days.”

You shook your head. “Ken, I can’t put you out like-”

“It’s fine. It’s nothing. How many fucking times have I put you out? I uh…probably owe you one.”

You snorted. He was right. “You probably do.” 

“Uh-huh,” he nodded. “Then don’t argue.”

“.....Okay,” you agreed hesitantly. This was definitely a bad idea, the worst case scenario you didn’t even consider when it came to options. But you had nothing else. You’d keep your head down, keep to yourself. It’d be fine. 

“Okay,” Kendall said. “Let me get the tab, we’ll get you out of here.” 

Considerably drunk, you stood, wavering slightly, and Kendall steadied you with an arm around your waist. You couldn’t help but lean into him, and you could’ve sworn on your walk to his suite he was etching soft circles into your hip with his fingers. 

The villa was huge. You didn’t know why all that space was necessary for one person. Four bedrooms, four bathrooms, multiple balconies, and a giant back patio with a private pool and spa that overlooked the ocean. 

“Feel free to make yourself at home,” Kendall said, hands tucked into his pockets as he leaned against the doorway to what was now your room, seemingly scared to cross the threshold while you put your luggage in the closet and snooped around. You turned to him, away from the floor to ceiling window with an ocean view. “I won’t be around much this afternoon, I told Shiv and Roman I’d meet them for lunch and it sounds like we have to help out Con with some last minute stuff.” 

You nodded. “Okay, sounds good.”

“And do me a favor…” 

“What?”

“Drink some water.” 

“Okay, dad.” 

Kendall’s laugh sounded a little pinched, but he stepped away, footsteps retreating down the hallway. Your shoulders sagged in relief once you were finally alone.

After a long nap that lasted a few hours, you woke up somewhere between still tipsy and hungover. Exhausted from the travel, the time change, and the tequila, you gulped down some water, and beelined for the shower, hoping that hot water and the two Advil you popped before getting in would quell the throb between your temples, and your turning stomach.

It was late afternoon now, and the sun would be setting soon. It felt somehow sinful that you hadn’t even stepped on the beach yet, and there was a good chance that a walk with your toes in the sand would clear your mind. After scoring a snack from the fully-stocked fridge, you donned a sundress and sunglasses, and set out.

The water was warm, crystal clear, and you waded ankle deep as you made your way down the secluded shoreline, focusing on nothing but the sound of the waves, the heat of the sun on your exposed skin. It didn’t take long for the problems that earlier had you slumped over a bar to shift into perspective, the tension and stress slinking off your body with each turn of the tide. It wasn’t until the sun began to dip below the horizon you decided to head back.

“Hey.”

You were slinking past the pool on your way to the bedroom when his voice started you. Kendall sat on an oversized lounger that had an impossibly picaresque view of the ocean, and the sunset, thumbing the pages of a book on his lap.

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t see you,” you said, sheepishly. 

“That’s okay,” he answered. “Are you uh…are you feeling better?”

“Yeah,” you offered a stiff smile, laughing it off. “I’m sorry about all that. Guess that’s what nine hours on Spirit Airlines can do to your psyche.”

“Spirit Airlines?” Kendall cocked his head. “Can’t say I’ve heard of it.”

“Of course not,” you couldn’t help but giggle at his joke.

“It’s uh, it’s okay, though. To be honest, it was kind of refreshing to not be the one breaking down for once,” he grinned.

“Well, in that case I’m glad I could be of service.”

Kendall laughed, fully this time. “Want to sit?” 

“Only if you promise to change the subject,” you weren’t interested in dwelling on what had happened earlier. 

“Deal.”

Normally you’d say no, but after your walk, you were convinced that it was a little irrational to be so afraid of him, of spending time with him. Things didn’t feel nearly as natural as they once had, but had they ever been that natural to begin with? You still derived a strange amount of comfort from his presence, even if the anxious part in your brain found that displeasing.

Kendall’s shirt lay open, unbuttoned, most of his torso bare, and a few water droplets clung to his exposed skin, probably from a recent dip in the pool. He looked a fair bit more muscular than you remembered him to be, not that you’d had any issue with how he had looked before. In fact, the issue now was that he seemed to be looking better and better every time you were together. You weren’t sure how long you spent checking him out, but you were thankful for your sunglasses when you finally snapped out of it. 

If he noticed, he didn’t say anything, seemingly content, one of his arms slung over the back of the couch. You wished you could feel that, too. With the exception of the odd fling here and there, it’d been awhile since anyone offered you any affection. After the stress of the day, you wondered what it might feel like to rest your head on his lap, to have his fingers running through your hair absentmindedly. Even during your brief time together, you hadn’t really been allowed that sort of domesticity. 

“What are you reading?” you asked. He closed the book and shifted over so you could sit next to him, and he showed you the cover.

“Something my NA sponsor recommended. So far, it’s not great.”

“That’s the worst,” you sympathized. “How’s that going, anyways?”

“What, sobriety?”

You nodded. 

“Honestly, it uh….it fucking sucks,” Kendall said, then shook his head, offering a short exhale a weak laugh. “I’m kidding…uh, you know…it’s not so bad. Better than where I was before.” 

You nodded, leaning against the back of the couch and tucking your legs underneath you. “So when you were at the bar today, it was only to pick up women?” you teased. 

Kendall tilted his head, warmth glowing in his eyes. “Just one.”

Your stomach flipped, and you tried to play it off. “Uh-huh.”

Thankfully, Kendall moved on. “So, are you here alone, then?” he asked. “For the wedding?”

“Yeah,” you said. Your on-again, off-again fuck buddy and go-to wedding date, Ron, had bailed on you last minute. Then, right before boarding your flight, your friend had sent you a photo of him cuddled up with a perfect, blonde model, who was proudly displaying a diamond ring to the camera. It was part-hilarious, part humiliating, since the last time you were over at his apartment, he’d made a big show of gifting you a bottle of your favorite Rye ‘to keep on hand’ for whenever you came over. There had always been an expiration date, you weren’t disappointed it was over, but realizing you were the other woman was unsettling, you felt dirty somehow. “Why?” 

Kendall shrugged. “Well, you know….you were at uh, my dad’s funeral with Stewy.” 

You frowned. “....And?” 

“I don’t know, you just….you seemed….close.” He paused. “I thought maybe….”

It clicked for you. “Oh my god. You’re joking.”

“Uh-huh, look, I uh, I just got a vibe.” 

“Oh, you ‘got a vibe’? What kind of ‘vibe’?” 

“Forget it. I’m just saying,” Kendall raised his hands. “I’ve known him for awhile, we used to party together in college, and he’s not exactly the most loyal-”

“Oh my god, stop, I already booked the wedding venue, what am I gonna do?” It was laughable. Stewy had texted you after the funeral to apologize for dipping out, and that was the last time you’d heard from him. 

“Fuck off,” Kendall’s voice sounded pinched, even though his shoulders had relaxed slightly. “I just had to say it.” 

“I appreciate the warning.” Was he….jealous? There was no way. Gerri had already told you a little while back that Kendall had been linked to some former anchor at ATN, and things seemed pretty serious. You had been a little puzzled as to why she thought you should know, and found yourself wishing she would’ve kept it to herself. But this was probably just his guilt talking, some cheap attempt to prove that he actually cared about your well-being, you rationalized. 

You had to bite your tongue to keep from pointing out that between himself and Stewy, only one of them had ever broken your heart, and it wasn’t Stewy. But you figured it best to stay quiet. “What about you?” you asked. “I assume you’re here alone?”

Kendall nodded.

“Finding a wedding date,” you mused. “It's way harder than you’d think. I mean, the date part is easy, but actually having a good time with the date is always what gets me.”

“Uh-huh, is that right?”

“Yeah,” you continued. “You’re not only a guest at a party, you’re also playing host for someone. You gotta make sure the date is having a good time with all these people they don’t know. It’s so much effort.” 

“You know,” Kendall cocked his head. “You’re making a really good case for us to just go together.” 

“Very funny.”

“What? I’m serious,” he said. “It might not be such a bad idea. And uh…lately, I think that you and I, we’ve been really good. Fucking nice and professional. Haven’t we? ” 

“Mmm, I guess.” 

“I think we’d have fun.”

“Mmmmmmmm,” you wrinkled your nose. “Would we?”

“Come on,” he said your name. “At the very least, we know there’s chemistry.” 

“Oh, is there?”

Kendall leaned forward, slightly, and the lounger seemed a lot smaller than it originally had, his face was only inches from yours. “Do you need a reminder? We used to-”

“Yeah, I know,” you cut him off. 

“I think about it all the time. Don’t you?” One of his hands settled on your knee. Your skin burned where he touched you.  

You bit your lower lip, squirming in your seat, thinking about a few days prior when you’d spent the evening writhing in bed, imagining his head between your thighs. Or the week before, when you’d zoned out during a business meeting, because the only thing ping-ponging around in your brain had been the sound of his voice, low and sultry. Good girl, you look so pretty with your mouth full. 

If for nothing else other than spite, you were determined to keep your wits about you. “Maybe, sometimes….” Even if it was difficult to maintain your composure, you closed the space between you even further, your hand on the armrest by his side, across his body. Kendall smelt of sun, of saltwater and cigars, and the cologne he wore that you’d never been able to place, maybe because he wore something different for every occasion, always equally intoxicating. And you were reminded how easy it was to flirt with him, to render him speechless with his breath caught in his throat. His eyes were half closed in anticipation, until you spoke again. “And then I remember that you’re bad news.” 

Being cruel hadn’t been your intention. You had only wanted to beat him at his own game. But when you pulled away, the ornery sparkle had left his eyes, and they were vacant. Actually, you might as well have slapped him. He tried to save face, swallowing hard, the fake smile he forced looked more like a grimace, and he shifted away from you and brought his legs closer to his chest, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re probably right, I was uh…just kidding.”

You pulled away too, a little ashamed of yourself. But you decided to pretend you didn’t notice his reaction, for his sake and your own. So you changed the subject. “How was your lunch?”

“It was….good,” Kendall answered, but avoided your gaze. “Shiv and Roman are good. Connor is so happy….which is good, too, I guess.

“I would hope so.”

He didn’t answer, just turned to look at the ocean, and you followed his gaze, the last evidence of the sunset just a fading orange glow on the horizon. After a moment of silence, he laughed to himself, bitterly. “Yeah, fuck, I’m uh….I’m trying to think about the last time I was that excited about someone.”

“Oh yeah? Rava?”

“No.”

You knew what he was saying without him even having to say it, when he pivoted back towards you. The attraction you felt towards him – had always felt towards him, was impossible to deny, especially now, with his features basked in waning sunlight. He really was so handsome, you didn’t want to admit how good it felt to have all of his attention, to know what he was saying without having him say it. 

You gave him a weak grin. “I know the feeling.” However short-lived it had been, you just couldn’t bring yourself to lie.

“You’re right, you know?” he answered. “I’m bad. I really fucked it up. I’m sorry.” 

“Kendall, don’t-You’ve already apologized. It’s in the past now.”

At that sentence, he looked back at you, sitting up straight, though the forlorn gaze you were used to seeing had returned to his eyes. It was the most tortured you’d seen him since Logan died. “I loved you, too, you know that? I still-” he began, but paused, shook his head. “I hope you know I’d do anything for you, whether you want me or not.” 

“It’s okay, Ken.” You frowned, wrapping your arms around yourself in a tight hug. “You don’t have to worry about me, anymore.”

“I want to,” he said your name, and reached up to push a loose piece of hair off your face, thumb lingering on your cheek.

He was so close, getting closer, and you were so aware of the proximity between you both. Warmth bloomed in the pit of your stomach, rose like smoke up your neck and settled in your cheeks. And worse, it was prickling at the corners of your eyes.

Almost as if to demonstrate, Kendall’s palm left your face, and he took your hands gingerly, moving them away from your chest so he could pull you closer to him, an arm around your waist. You couldn’t resist the embrace, letting him tuck your head beneath his chin, body pressed against the sun-kissed skin of his torso.

You stayed like that a moment, listening to the steady thump of his heart, his fingertips grazing up and down your arms, skin tingling in their wake. It wasn’t enough. Pulling away slightly, you spoke. “You’ve always had me,” you said softly.

His mouth curved slightly, and he leaned in, his mouth finally connected with your own. Years worth of pining, of fighting, of misunderstanding and miscommunication all seemed to dissipate in that single press of his lips. It was soft, gentle, and he pulled away slightly at one point, to let his forehead rest against your own, his thumb swiping along your bottom lip, his free hand drawing your body somehow closer.

You’d remember the night for the rest of your life, even just if it was in snippets, his mouth on the inside of your thighs, how full, complete you felt when he finally gave himself over to you, the sweet nothings he whispered when you came undone beneath him. And you’d always remember afterward, as you laid in his arms, mapping out constellations in the sky stretched above you, how it felt like everything had finally clicked into place.

#kendall roy #kendall roy x reader #succession #succession writing #kendall roy x you #succession fanfiction #ken x reader alliance please rise #i wanted to write smut for this part but i just wasnt feeling it #maybe at some point i will go back and write their makeup smut in more detail

[desertdollranch]

A Day at the Pumpkin Patch

Last week, Canyon Creek Guest Ranch opened its October pumpkin patch! There’s no better way to celebrate the joys of autumn than to be outside, appreciating the harvest and all that the land gives to us.

Admission to the ranch is free, so that everyone who wants to can enjoy it. You only pay for what you pick, eat, or take home as a souvenir. 

Grannie has been putting up signs along the roadsides directing visitors to the ranch. Will your doll stop by?

Grannie, her daughter Kendra, and Kendra’s five daughters Jillian, Sierra, Leanne, Willa, and Evelyn have been planning this for two years, since the last time they hosted a pumpkin patch. That occasion wasn’t nearly as big and full of activities as it is this year!

Although the children loved helping the pumpkins grow and counting down the days until the patch opened, there is so much to do here besides visiting the fields.....

.... But that’s definitely a good place to start!

Leanne drives the old-fashioned wooden horse-drawn wagon (a family heirloom) that takes visitors to the pumpkin patch. 

It’s not too far away to walk, but if you’re carrying a lot of pumpkins, it’s much easier to hop in the wagon with them and catch a ride back to have them weighed and priced.

If you do want to walk, like Katie and Ashlyn did, you can borrow one of the little red wagons parked at the edge of the field. 

Katie imagines what it would be like if she had to roll her pumpkin out of the patch--it would take hours! She has her heart set on this big one. 

Tally also fell in love with a big pumpkin. 

Cara hasn’t decided yet which one is her favorite. 

She loves the strange appearance of this big one, but that would take a long time to carve.

Maybe she’ll try a smaller one?

This one is perfect!

Ellen and her little sisters Kendall and Frida picked so many, that the wagon is almost too heavy to pull! Ellen hasn’t noticed yet that Frida got in the wagon and is making it a little heavier.

The pumpkin patch is only the first stop on the hayride. It will also transport you to the apple orchards to pick apples off the trees. 

Mari, Emerson, and Geraldine are stopping for apples first before getting their pumpkins.

Iris is already at the orchard, filling her bucket with Granny Smith apples.

She tries one right off the tree. 

It tastes like sunshine, rain, and woodsmoke. 

She can’t bear to take home only a few...... she needs a bigger bucket!

Fernanda has her crate full of beautiful Gala and Golden Delicious apples.

When you’re done picking pumpkins or apples, you can hop back onto the wagon and let it take you back to the ranch, where you’re sure to find something else fun to do! 

You can stop by the snack bar, where Layla is offering lots of homemade goodies: kettle corn, caramel apples, fresh cider, and apple cider donuts.

Kendall got a caramel apple.

There are also lots of yummy things to take home with you. Pumpkin pies, pumpkin bread, green chile tamales, or fresh produce grown right there on the ranch. 

Jane takes her donut into the corn maze, so that if she gets lost at least she won’t be hungry. 

Kendra is overseeing the roasting station. 

She’s roasting red chiles, corn on the cob, and piñon nuts in a traditional adobe oven called a horno (pronounced OR-no).

Nearby, Mosi is checking out the petting zoo, with its many friendly baby animals. All of them are adoptable from several local animal rescues! 

You can get your picture taken at this photo stand-in as a souvenir!

Or get a souvenir photo posing with some pumpkins.

What grand finale could possibly make this day at the pumpkin patch even better? 

Naturally...

A performance by the Dusty Mountain Dollies! They’re only the best all-girl bluegrass band in town, AND they’re always happy to perform for special events!  

#pumpkin patch #grannie #the dusty mountain dollies

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Meet-Cute (4) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three

A Good Sharp Edge Is A Man's Best Hedge (ao3) - chickenfree

Summary: "He looks – slightly unhinged, Dan decides. Obviously unhinged, since he’s making eye contact with strangers on the tube. That’s the only explanation for why the seat next to him is still empty."

Are you playing with Dan? (ao3) - sierraadeux

Summary: of meeting in among us lobbies and the logistics of throwing a game.

bend a little (ao3) - sierraadeux

Summary: Phil is left with probably the very last seat mate anyone would ever want on a nine hour flight.

Captive Audience - callofthecurlew

Summary: It feels silly to actually be glad about airline delays. It’s definitely silly for him to be thankful there was a blizzard, but Dan doesn’t have that many friends to begin with. There’s never been much opportunity for friendship in his line of work, so if latching onto the first person who has shown common interests with him is desperate, well maybe he doesn’t mind being desperate.

give me toothaches just from kissin' me (ao3) - robertmontauk

Summary: “Hey- sorry to bother you, but is it okay if I sit here?”

Dan didn’t bother looking up from the chemistry textbook splayed in front of them, choosing instead to grab a piece of paper on the table and study it intensely. “Not interested,” they muttered with a quirk of their lips and a short head shake.

A pause, and then - “Oh. I mean? I-I didn’t think you were? But, uh, I’ll just. Find another place to sit, I guess. That’s-that’s fine.”

(alternatively: assumptions are dumb and love is dumber)

Hearts On Fire (ao3) - xoPrincessKayxo

Summary:

Written for Prompt #9- Closet "I trapped myself in the closet and the you're the cute firefighter that got sent to rescue me" AU

i've just gotta go (ao3) - jestbee

Summary: Dan wants VIP tickets to see Muse, but he might just want the boy in front of him in the queue a little bit more

lemon man (ao3) - waveydnp

Summary: prompt: Phan AU based on the song Night Like This by Hilary Duff feat. Kendall Schmidt (not angsty pls)

must love dogs (ao3) - sierraadeux

Summary: So, Phil is almost pressed chest to chest with a hot stranger, in the middle of the street, because their dogs got so excited to play that they tangled them up together. Just a normal Friday night.

no te de miedo vivir algo diferente (ao3) - witchpersephone (newaddress1997)

Summary: VFX artist Phil likes company parties, but an expensive tequila bar is so far from his usual scene that he has no idea what’s going on. Luckily, bartender Dan is happy to educate.

only your invention (ao3) - jestbee

Summary: Phil doesn't have time for fuckboy Dan so why can't he stop texting him?

Phil Lester Saved Me (ao3) - EvaSage

Summary: Dan Howell is a sad lawyer. Phil Lester is a weatherman who brings sunshine wherever he goes. Dan has had a crush on him ever since he ambled into his office, looking for advice on a parking ticket. Now Phil has been hit by a car and he needs representation in court. Will Dan be able to overcome his anxiety to win both the case and the other man's heart?

SOS (ao3) - thatsmistertoyou

Summary: Dan’s actual job is working at Louise’s diner, but he could make a career out of saving cute dark-haired strangers from dates with assholes.

Wrapped Up In Books (ao3) - plinth_of_life

Summary: A rainy day at his family's bookstore turns out to be more eventful than Phil could have ever anticipated.

Three Tattoos (ao3) - greensweater

Summary: When a talkative, blue-eyed boy named Phil Lester walks into Dan Howell's tattoo parlor one dusky autumn afternoon, Dan isn't sure what to make of him. But when Phil keeps coming back, their one-time connection grows into friendship, and eventually, something more.

You’re A Roller Coaster - botanistlester

Summary: Phil goes to an amusement park with his friends but ends up having to ride a roller coaster with a stranger because he’s the third wheel.

#phanfictioncatalogue #phanfiction #phanfic #phan #masterlists #meetcute #meetcute masterlist

[kcnnedys]

(  logan  lerman  ,  29  ,  cisman  ,  he  /  him  )  *  hey  ,  i’m  looking  for  the  office  of  KENNEDY  CRAWFORD  .  they’re  the  EMPLOYEE  who’s  known  around  the  office  as  THE  PEOPLE  -  PLEASER  ,  if  that  helps  ?  not  to  be  a  gossip  ,  but  i’ve  heard  that  they’re  CHARISMATIC  but  RUTHLESS  ,  is  that  true  ?  i  also  heard  that  they’re  the  one  who  STAYS  UP  ALL  NIGHT  AND  ENDS  UP  FALLING  ASLEEP  ON  MR  .  MASTERS'  OFFICE  .  anyways  ,  here’s  the  coffee  they  ordered  .

hellooo  everyone  !!  this  is  fleur  (  gmt  -3  ,  she  /  her  ,  23  )  bringing  you  a  new  muse  :  mr  .  kennedy  crawford  .  he  is  one  of  masters  international’s  in  -  house  lawyers  and  i  can’t  wait  to  see  him  interact  with  everyone  here  &  develop  him  .  under  the  cut  ,  you’ll  find  all  the  info  you  need  while  i  fix  his  pages  .  if  you  wanna  plot  ,  hit  the  like  button  here  or  hmu  on  discord  !!

*     ⸻     𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑  𝐎𝐍𝐄  .

name  :  kennedy  thomas  crawford  . nickname  (  s  )  :  ken  ,  kenny  ,  kt  ,  kc  . date  of  birth  :  april  7  ,  1993  (  28  years  old  )  . zodiac  sign  :  aries  sun  ,  virgo  rising  ,  saggitarius  moon  . place  of  birth  :  new  york  city  ,  new  york  ,  usa  . occupation  :  masters  international’s  in  -  house  lawyer  . education  :  columbia  university  . sexuality  :  heterosexual  . relationship  status  :  single  ,  not  interested  . social  status  :  upper  -  middle  class . living  condition  :  studio  apartment  in  brooklyn  . height  :  180  cm  /  6  ft  . weight  :  74  kg  .

*     ⸻     𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑  𝐓𝐖𝐎  .

positive  traits  :  charismatic  ,  good  listener  ,  friendly  ,  easygoing  ,  adaptable  . neutral  traits  :  observant  ,  quick  -  witted  ,  flirtatious  . negative  traits  :  ruthless  ,  jealous  ,  manipulative  ,  easily  upset  ,  greedy  . labels  :  the  people  -  pleaser  ,  the  seducer  ,  the  know  -  it  -  all  . likes  :  parties  and  clubs  ,  walking  in  manhattan  late  at  night  ,  chai  latte  ,  white  shirts  ,  playing  the  guitar  ,  late  night  drives  ,  cats  ,  crime  shows  and  documentaries  . dislikes  :  rainy  days  ,  new  york’s  traffic  ,  crowded  places  ,  cold  coffee  ,  long  phone  calls  ,  babies  ,  small  elevator  talk  ,  romantic  movies  . music  :  indie  rock  ,  rock  ,  hip  -  hop  and  r&b  . food  :  nathan’s  hot  dogs  ,  sushi  ,  pasta  (  aka  instant  noodles  are  lifesavers  )  ,  steak  /  barbecue  . drinks  :  negronis  ,  vodka  ,  soju  ,  black  unsweetened  coffee  ,  cranberry  juice  ,  black  tea  with  almond  milk  . habits  :  running  almost  late  ,  clicking  his  tongue  ,  smirking  ,  tapping  his  foot  . alcohol  ?  cigarettes  ?  drugs  ?  yes .  sometimes  .  sometimes  (  weed  ,  cocaine  )  . character  inspirations  :  frank  vernon  ,  roman  roy  and  kendall  roy  (  succession  )  ,  robert  spearing  (  industry  )  ,  nate  archibald  (  gossip  girl  )  ,  harvey specter  (  suits  )  ,  bobby  axelrod  (  billions  )  ,  fleabag  (  fleabag  )  ,  can’t  think  of  others  right  now  lmao  .

*     ⸻     𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘  .

kennedy  was  born  the  oldest  son  of  a  greedy  couple  who  was  rising  in  their  career  .  his  father  was  also  an  in  -  house  lawyer  for  a  big  corporation  while  his  mother  worked  in  an  investment  bank  .  growing  up  in  such  an  environment  ,  he  has  always  been  encouraged  to  chase  his  dreams  and  not  let  anyone  or  anything  stop  him  from  getting  what  he  wants  .  from  a  very  young  age  ,  he  developed  skills  such  as  public  speaking  ,  strategizing  and  arguing  /  convincing  people  around  him  .  of  course  becoming  manipulative  also  came  in  that  package  .  he’s  always  been  ruthless  .

a  very  bright  student  ,  kennedy  attended  columbia  university  and  specialized  in  corporate  law  .  he  was  an  intern  in  a  top  law  firm  before  he  applied  to  masters  .  after  he  got  in  ,  his  goal  is  now  to  become  general  counsel  .  although  it  is  a  challenge  ,  he  is  confident  he  will  make  it  ,  no  matter  what  is  needed  to  get  there  .

*     ⸻     𝐓𝐈𝐃𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒  .

very  much  of  a  night  owl  ,  he  struggles  to  get  up  in  the  morning  .

he  takes  the  public  transportation  to  work  ,  which  surprises  a  lot  of  people  ,  considering  he  sounds  like  a  spoiled  asshole  sometimes  .

his  friendliness  doesn’t  always  mean  he  wants  something  from  you  .  he  loves  socializing  and  considers  himself  someone  who  has  many  friends  but  also  many  enemies  .

his  favorite  color  is  green  .  it  matches  his  eyes  ,  he  says  .  when  it  comes  to  clothes  ,  he  prefers  neutral  tones  .

although  he  is  a  lawyer  ,  there  is  a  very  “  indie  ”  side  to  him  when  he’s  out  of  the  office  .  he  likes  playing  the  guitar  and  going  to  underground  parties  and  bars  .

a  massive  flirt  ,  it’s  a  form  of  cheap  entertainment  .  he  doesn’t  care  for  a  romantic  relationship  and  avoids  that  at  all  costs  .

*     ⸻     𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃  𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒  .

IN  -  HOUSE  LAWYERS  :  they  could  be  friends  ,  rivals  ,  frenemies  .  .  .  i  love  some unhealthy  competition  among  lawyers  in  this  firm  .

FLIRTATIONSHIP  :  well  ,  he  hits  on  every  pretty  girl  in  the  firm  basically  .  this  can  be  kind  of  a  game  for  them  .

UNLIKELY  FRIENDS  :  they  belong  to  different  worlds  but  still  get  along  pretty  well  .  maybe  they  meet  outside  master  at  first  and  then  realize  they  work  for  the  same  company  .

SECRET  RELATIONSHIP  :  they’re  supposed  to  hate  each  other  but  still  are  drawn  to  each  other  (  can  be  romantic  or  not  )  .

BEST  FRIENDS  :  kennedy’s  go  -  to  people  at  the  company  ,  the  ones  that  he  gossips  to  and  shares  secrets  with  .

DRINKING  /  PARTY  BUDDIES  :  happy  hour  means  these  two  are  gonna  meet  and  make  one  hell  of  a  mess  .  and  have  the  time  of  their  lives  ,  of  course  .

ONE  NIGHT  STAND  :  they  probably  hooked  up  and  it  was  good  ,  but  it’s  all  a  blur  when  they  wake  up  the  next  morning  at  one  of  their  apartments  .  oh  ,  and  they’re  late  for  work  .

OTHER  DESIRED  RELATIONSHIPS  :  frenemies  ,  enemies  with  benefits  ,  wingman  /  wingwoman  ,  someone  he  is  manipulating  or  vice  -  versa  ,  leading  on  ,  crush  (  one  -  sided  or  not  )  ,  someone  he  shares  a  secret  with  .  or  anything  ,  really  !!

#* ⸻ 𝐛𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢 𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭 : character study . #masters.intro

[ibelieveinharrystyles]

Chapter One: Something New

this is the first part of my new series i hope you enjoy it :)

Forever? Masterlist

31st October 2015

Somehow Ashley was late, well she wasn’t late late, just later than she had said she’d be, who knew getting two trains from Holmes Chapel to Sheffield could be so time consuming. She panted heavily as she approached the security at the back entrance to the arena, showing them her driver’s license, and they checked her name off of the guest list, Paul led her down the corridors and through the arena to catering where Harry was sat eating food from the buffet, they hadn’t seen each other in almost a month, but they still managed to speak pretty much everyday. She quietly approached her best friend who was sitting across the table from Niall, clearly involved in a heated debate. “Guess who?” she chimed, covering his eyes with her hands.

“Susan Boyle?” he joked, before Ashley lightly slapped him round the back of the head.

“You’re a little shit, you know that don’t you?” she told him as she placed her bag and jacket on the chair beside Harry.

“But you wouldn’t have me any other way would you?” he replied, standing up and hugging her from behind, his arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders, his exquisitely decorated arms holding her tightly. “I’ve missed being your little shit.” Harry told her, “Food! Do you want some food? I told Sarah to make your favourite because I knew you were coming.”

“You’re a soft bugger aren’t you?”

“I think I prefered little shit.” Harry chuckled, his cheeky grin stretching from ear to ear.

“So how’ve you been?” Harry asked eagerly as the two of them found a space at a spare table, Ashley tucking into her plate of cheesy pasta and salad.

“Not bad, It’s weird not being in education, when I decided to take a gap year I thought I’d be buzzing, but I’m so bored.” She explained, twirling the pasta on her fork.

“Well I’m just happy to have you here love, I missed you.” he smiled, picking at Ashley’s pasta.

“I missed you too H, do you reckon you’ll come back home when the break begins?”

“For a little bit, I’m back at Christmas, but it looks like I’ll be in LA for New Years this year.”

“Oh I bet you will,” Ashley teased.

“What do you mean by that?” Harry smirked.

“You know exactly what I mean Styles! I do use social media you know, I’ve seen the pictures of you and Kendall, as long as you’re happy I’m happy, you are happy aren’t you?” she replied.

“I am Ash, I think I am.” Harry replied, sitting back in his plastic chair.

“What do you mean you think?”

“Alright Ashley? How’s tricks?” Louis asked as he took a seat beside her.

“Not bad, not bad, I hear congratulations are in order though, dad! that’s pretty crazy.”

“Yeah it’s mad innit, I’m excited though, lookin’ forward to it.”

“I’ve seen you with your Doris and Ernie, you’ll be a great dad.” she assured him.

“Cheers darling that means a lot,” Louis replied.

“I’ll see you two later.” Harry stood you, prepared to slip away before the topic of conversation turned back to him.

“Hey Styles! You didn’t answer my question.” Ashley called after him.

“Forget what I said, I’m happy. Promise.”

The final show was less than an hour away, the boys and their respective family and friends were all sat in catering together, the mood was different, everyone would always be so hyped up for a show, but today they were mellow, there was the same laughter there had always been, that was unmistakable, but it was different, everyone was reminiscent, talking about their favourite memories of the band that had been such a massive part of their lives. Ashley could sense Harry was quieter, he sat next to her twiddling with his thumbs and fiddling with his hair that Lou had only just fixed. “You wanna go for a walk?” She whispered, nudging his arm, he nodded.

The pair found themselves sitting on some steps behind the stage, the shrieks and chatter of the fans surrounded them as they did, “What’s eating you up H? I don’t think I’ve seen you like this before.” She rubbed her hand up and down his back, letting him know she was there if he needed her.

“Do you think we’re making a mistake?” Harry asked, looking at the floor.

“I think you’re making the right decision for you, look at it this way, you wouldn’t drive a car from London to Scotland without stopping off in Liverpool for petrol on the way, and you ,might decide not to stay in Liverpool too long, but on the other hand you might like Liverpool a lot, and you might decide to stay in Liverpool longer then you’d planned. What I’m trying to say is H, the last five years have burnt you all out, you wouldn’t be human if they hadn’t, no one would blame you Harry, how could they?” Before the band Ashley had always looked to Harry for advice, like she would an older brother, but ever since the X Factor final the tables turned, Y/N would always assure Harry that somehow everything was going to be alright.

“I’ve been offered a solo record deal.” Harry told her quickly, like it was a plaster he’d been meaning to rip off of his skin.

“That’s good isn’t it?”

“It’s three albums, no time scale, no pressure.”

“Looks like you’ll be stopping off in Liverpool a little longer than originally planned.” She told him, causing Harry to let out a loud chuckle, he rested his head on her shoulder and let out a relieved sigh, “Do you remember what I told you that night at the X Factor Final? when you were a skinny sixteen year old in baggy jeans, and I was a little fourteen year old with a terrible fringe.”

“No I don’t, that whole night is a massive blur.” he replied.

“You were anxious about the future, I told you that moment was just the beginning but you weren’t sure, and I said to you, tell me that in five years when you’ve got number one albums, won awards and sold out arenas, and frankly Harry my sentiments remain the same, you are going to do amazing things in the next few years, and the world will get to see the real Harry Edward Styles.”

The final show had drawn to an end, there were tears, before, during and after the show, mostly from the mums, tears of joy that their sons had accomplished so much, but also tears of sorrow, the feeling of uncertainty, not knowing what the next few years would hold. “You alright?” Ashley asked Harry whilst they were standing at the bar in the midst of the after party.

“Yeah, just about, come here,” he wrapped his arms around her, swaying from side to side as the music changed, “I’m so lucky I get to call you my best friend.”

“It's that song H, the one that Gemma had on that day we first met.” Ashley told him, gazing up at her best friend.

“We best go dance to our song then.” He replied, taking her by the hand and leading her to the dancefloor, the two of them dancing how you would expect two slightly drunk people to dance “But you don’t pull my strings cause I’m a better man moving on to better things!” Harry shouted, as they continued to dance together, laughing hysterically as Ashley held onto Harry’s hands.

“Strong dance moves Ash.” Niall chuckled as she returned to the bar, “Oh this is Matt, he’s been part of our tour crew for the UK leg, Matt this is Ashley.”

“Nice to meet you.” His Geordie accent thicker than any she’d heard before, his hair was combed back on top, and short at the sides, leading her to infer he was a peaky blinders fan. “Those were some impressive dance moves.”

“I’ll leave you two to it.” Niall announced taking his beer from the bar, “don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” He whispered to Ashley, sparking a small grin on her face.

“What are you drinking?” Matt asked as she took a seat on the barstool beside him.

“Heineken.” She told him, he raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised, “Were you expecting me to say white wine or something?”

“Usually I can tell what sort of drink someone would go for, how about you grab us a table and I’ll bring your drinks over.”

Ashley had no clue what possessed her to invite Matt back to her hotel room, he said he fancied a chilled one where it was quieter, and she quite agreed, the music was intense and the chance of having a proper conversation was slim to none. “So how long have you known Harry?” he asked, taking a swig from his beer bottle.

“Ten years, we were neighbours when we were kids, and I guess we’ve just been best friends since then.” She explained.

“So you’re not together?” He asked.

“God no, Harry’s like my brother, he’s always looked out for me, I’ve always looked out for him.” She explained.

“And what does your boyfriend think of how close you two are?”

“I haven’t got one.”

“There’s no way someone as fit as you doesn’t have a boyfriend,” he told her, edging closer to where she was sitting on the bed, placing his hand on the bare skin of her thigh, gradually sliding it up, under her skirt.

“You’ve got protection haven’t you?” she asked, reciprocating his kisses.

“Of course I do.” He told her, unbuckling his belt, his kisses became more intense as he hovered over her, there was no connection, not on Ashley’s part anyway.

“Rise and shine sleepyhead.” Ashley stirred from her sleep to see Harry knelt beside her bed, “I bought you some food petal,” He told her, stroking the hair from her face, before passing her a face wipe to remove last night’s makeup from her face.

“What did I do to deserve a friend as good as you?” She asked, sitting up in bed as she took a croissant from the plate Harry had placed beside her bed to nibble on.

“You’re clearly just born lucky.” He told her, “So tell me, where did you and Matt get to last night?”

“Oh shit.” she fell back against the pillow, hiding her embarrassed face from Harry, “We slept together,” she whispered.

“And he’s not here now? He’s literally just left you here? If I weren’t the calm person I am I’d be out of here looking for him.” Harry exclaimed, the anger in his voice apparent.

“If I’m honest H, I’m not bothered whether I see him again or not, he wasn’t the best I’ve had.”

“Who was?” Harry asked, clearly intrigued who his best friend had been with.

“Luke.” She shot him a knowing look, waiting for him to figure it out.

“As in Australian Luke? When did that happen?” He asked.

“The Take Me Home Tour Show in London, it was only one night Haz.”

“How come you never told me?”

“Do you tell me about every aspect of your sex life?” She replied quickly.

“I best leave you to get ready,” he stood up, making his way towards the door, “Quick one love, if you are going to have sex next door to me in the middle of the night could you keep it down a bit, these walls are paper thin.” He turned on his heel, smirking cheekily as he strolled out of her room.

“You’re a little shit Harry!” Ashley shouted after him.

“Love you too!” Harry shouted back, sighing to himself as he left the room.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #lockscreen #niall horan #harry styles #thoughts #one direction #one direction memes #solo harry #fanfiction #harry styles best friend fic #best friend harry #choose love #stay home stay safe #treat people with kindness #timothee aesthetic

[argylemnwrites]

Thicker Than Water

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x MC (Cassie Vanderfield)

Book: Open Heart (just under 5 years after the end of Book 1)

Word Count: ~1100

Rating: G

Summary: The stresses of new parenthood are made much worse when certain grandparents come to visit.

Author’s Note: Happy Valentine’s Day/Singles Awareness Day! This is the last week of Fluffy Fridays (for now). This one is a request of 15. Family Visit on the Domestic Fluff Prompt List as requested by both @jamesashtonisbae and @fortunatelywaywardsandwich​

Cassie’s head jolted up off the arm of the couch as the latch of the front door of the loft woke her up. She glanced down, breathing out a sigh of relief as she saw Kendall sleeping comfortably on her chest. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen asleep with her. That could have turned out so badly.

Cassie couldn’t say that the exhaustion of motherhood was better or worse than the worst rotations on residency. It was just different. However, the last few days had probably been the most exhausting week of her life. 

Bryce’s parents had come out to meet Kendall. It was the first time they’d ever visited her and Bryce at the loft. To call it stressful was an understatement. Not only was she trying to socialize and be friendly with Bryce’s parents barely four weeks postpartum, but she also found herself frequently soothing Bryce.

Bryce had been great with taking care of Kendall and things around the loft since they’d come home from the hospital, but starting about 24 hours before his parents were due to land at Boston Logan, he’d been a wreck. Gone was affectionate, caring Bryce, replaced instead with a tense, defensive Bryce, clearly on edge about everything. 

Cassie had known that this visit was going to be a rough one for them. She obviously didn’t feel close to the Lahelas, given Bryce’s very strained relationship, and it’s not like they were coming out to Boston for regular visits or that she and Bryce ever spent the holidays in Hawaii. But when Bryce had tried to blow off his parent’s request to come out and meet their granddaughter, she’d practically forced him not to burn that bridge. It was one thing to have a cold connection with his parents. It was another thing entirely to basically bar them from meeting their grandchild.

Cassie knew she had made the right decision, even when Bryce’s father attempted to relegate her and Bryce to the couches in the living room, wanting to commandeer their bed for him and his wife instead of staying at a hotel. Even when Bryce’s mother had told Cassie that she was doing Kendall a disservice by supplementing breast milk with formula. Even when both of them had implied that she and Bryce were negligent parents for having reserved a spot for Kendall in daycare when Cassie’s maternity leave was over instead of hiring a nanny - his mother’s recommendation - or that Cassie should just become a stay at home mother - an idea from his father that nearly had both Bryce and her kicking them out.

Letting them at least meet Kendall was a necessity, though. Cassie knew that as a fact. She just hoped that Bryce could understand that. His initial tension with their arrival had grown, with him and his parents frequently snapping at each other starting by the afternoon of their second day in Boston, and Bryce acting very tense with Cassie herself by day three. The five days they’d been in town had worn everyone very thin and ragged. All Cassie could hope was that Bryce would be ready to move past the whole visit and that he wouldn’t choose to hang onto resentment about the whole thing.

Cassie blinked the last remnants of her impromptu nap from her eyes, watching Bryce drop his keys on the counter. He was back from taking his parents to the airport, and he looked exhausted and dejected, his shoulders slumped forward and his head thrown back as he let out a massive sigh. After a moment, he walked over slowly, flopping down on the other end of the couch.

“Well, at least that’s over with,” he said, rolling his head over to look Cassie in her eyes, his hand dropping down to her legs, massaging her calves gently. “Sorry you had to deal with all of… that.”

“How are you doing?” she asked, happy to see that Bryce at least appeared calmer than he had since his parents had stepped into the loft.

“Alright. A little drained. Possibly still in shock.”

“Well, you got through it.”

“Nah, we got through it. I know this had to be really stressful for you, too.”

Cassie nodded. He wasn’t wrong. 

He just watched her for a moment. He didn’t seem to be looking for reassurances that everything was fine or that it was no problem, which Cassie appreciated. “I’m sorry for the ways I inevitably added to that stress.”

“I know, Bryce. I know.”

“I think we deserve a break,” Bryce said after a moment. It was almost directed more to the universe than it was to Cassie.

“Well, a break might be about 18 years away,” Cassie quipped, nodding her chin towards the baby still resting on her chest.

“Or, we could take Danny and Sienna up on their babysitting offer.”

“I don’t know, Bryce. She’s still so little.” Cassie trusted Danny and Sienna completely, but it still felt wrong to think about letting someone else care for her daughter. She supposed she was going to have to get over that feeling before she went back to work, but Kendall was barely a month old. She just was nervous about not being right there with her.

“Do you know how many nieces and nephews Danny has?”

“No. I’m guessing a lot?”

“Nine, all of them under six years old. And obviously Sienna is one of the most caring, attentive people on the planet.”

“I get that. I’m still just anxious about you and me not being there.”

Bryce nodded slightly, “Okay, well how about they come over here? Maybe tomorrow afternoon for a few hours? We would be right here, just behind that door, but we’d actually get a little bit of uninterrupted sleep.”

The thought of being allowed to sleep for more than two hours in a row sounded better than anything had in Cassie’s life. She gave Bryce a little nod, because he was right. This was a great idea. “Is this to make up for me having to play mediator for you and your parents?”

Bryce smiled, a slightly embarrassed look settling onto his face, “Maybe a bit.”

“Well, I appreciate it. I know being with your family is far from pleasant for you as well.”

He shook his head. “Nah, my family’s right here,” he said, giving Cassie’s calf a little squeeze.

Permatag: @speedyoperarascalparty​ @mfackenthal​  @lilyofchoices​  @thequeenofcronuts​  @jamesashtonisbae​

Open Heart: @omgjasminesimone​  @octobereighth​

Bryce x MC only:  @thequeenchoices​   @feartheendlesssummer​  @tallulahshh​    @fortunatelywaywardsandwich​   @dreaming-of-movies​  @choicesarehard​   @universallypizzataco​  @srta-give-me-my-jax-rl​  @maria-soederberg​   @sunnyxdazed​

#bryce lahela #bryce x mc #open heart fanfiction #choices open heart #open heart #choices fanfiction #choices #playchoices #choices stories you play #fluffy friday

[zeckarin-blaise]

Poisoned

Here is my (tardy) contribution to lovermrjokerr challenge!!

It’s a story I wrote a while ago about Crowley being poisoned and Aziraphale coming to the rescue. I hope you’ll like it!!

Aziraphale sighed, carefully settling his book on his knee, a gloved finger marking his page, and picked up the phone. Only one being in the entire universe would have the nerve to call at four in the morning.

“Hello, dear.”

An enthusiastic voice answered him.

“Annnnnngell !!! Mlost, angel… dunno wh… whot place I am…” A deep inhaling sound echoed in the receiver, followed by an enthusiastic yell “Come pick me up ! Drinks at the bookshh… bookz… at the thingy with books inside !”

Aziraphale frowned.

“Crowley, are you drunk ?”

“Noooo… notatall ! M’not drunk ! Only drink… drunk… drank ? Only had two glassses ! Or... you know, five… Let’s drink more !”

“For the love of…” Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose, summoning all the patience he could muster, which wasn’t a lot when he just got interrupted in the middle of a delightful novel.

“I’m coming, don’t move.” His tone was clipped, but he just couldn’t be sorry about it. The undue hour, the book he had to abandon so unceremoniously, and for what ? A demon so sloshed he didn’t even know where he was.

A demon who just got wasted without him.

He huffed, took his coat, quickly searched for Crowley’s demonic energy, and disappeared.

He just had the time to notice his surroundings (an awfully disgusting alley) when something shoved him hard and he landed painfully on a bunch of dumpsters. Aziraphale hated to be touched, but the hand crushing his forearm didn’t make him want to jerk away, so it could only be Crowley’s.

“Don’t move” said the demon’s voice in a hush. “They’re here.”

The angel swallowed the complaint he was about to (loudly) deliver about his coat being wasted. Crowley was very tense, crouched next to him like he was about to bolt, fangs bared and eyes luminous. He looked like a tiger about to defend his territory. That was certainly a beautiful sight, but not a welcome one.

“Who ? Who are they, Crowley ?”

He scanned the alley with his angelic spirit. Crowley, madly gathering strength next to him, humans a little farther, dancing and drinking… nothing else.

“I can’t sense anything. What is it ?”

“Hellhounds, angel. Big ones.”

The angel scrambled desperately to his feet, an ice cold feeling running along his spine. They had to RUN.

“Crowley, quick, we have to take cover ! Come ! What are you doing ?”

He tried to pull his friend, grabbing his shoulder, but the demon seemed hypnotised.

“Too late. They’ve got me. Go, angel !”

He was shaking his left leg manically, pain written all over his face. Aziraphale let go of his shoulder and leapt, ready to smite anything he could get his hands on...

He landed on dust and mud, Crowley’s foot hitting him hard on the ribs as he tried to get up. He sat on his knees, watching his friend crawl backwards in terror, looking straight at… nothing.

Aziraphale shook his hand in front of the demon.

“Crowley ?

“They’ll kill me ! They’ll destroy me !”

His friend was obviously not even aware of his presence any more. He’d just talk to him seconds ago ! The demon cowered against a wall and started to whimper.

Aziraphale knew he should have been afraid. He should have, seeing the one being he cared the most about (and the only one to care for him in return, with one exception) in such a state. But he just couldn’t feel fear.

He felt anger. He felt wrath. He felt rage. And he would find whoever made Crowley look that wretched and he would…

But later. He slowly approached the keening figure and crouched in front of it.

“Crowley” he murmured, so softly a human wouldn’t have heard a thing. “Crowley, it’s me. It’s Aziraphale. Can you hear me ?”

He laid his hand on the demon’s knee. Crowley’s breath hitched.

“Angel ?”

“Yes, I’m here, Crowley.”

“They’re here, they came for me ! They’ll take me back, angel !”

“They will do no such thing, dear. I will not let them.” And he said that with all the assurance his Angelic Voice could force upon a demonic mind. Crowley blinked. He had lost his glasses some minutes ago and his pupils were so dilated his eyes were almost black.

“You’ll stop them ?”

“I will.”

“You promess?”

“Of course I promise, Crowley. I will not let anyone take you anywhere.”

Slowly, Aziraphale started to reach to his friend’s mind, laying his hand on the back of his neck to make him feel his presence. It was really difficult, erasing fear from a demon’s mind. It would be very easy to destroy some of the demon himself without noticing. A little like trying to destroy a sudden day to day happy feeling from an angel’s mind and erasing some of his inherent hopefulness in the process, crippling him forever. It was almost impossible to make out one from the other.

Aziraphale didn’t hesitate one second, though. He knew his demon’s mind like any of his beloved books, and he would always be able to tell the difference betwixt his core, the essence of his being, and… anything else, really.

He carefully peeled the terror away, tugging inch by inch, his grace slowly working a delicate but strong miracle. Crowley’s heartbeat was calming down against his hand, and the demon’s forehead came resting against the angel’s shoulder. Crowley would hate to be seen in such a fragile state. Aziraphale greeted his teeth. Somebody was going to pay for this. He expanded his wings, folded them around them both, and made they appeared in the back room of the bookshop.

For several minutes, he just stayed there, head spinning a little, holding on to Crowley like an anchor. He ended up slapping himself mentaly and got up to lay his friend on the couch with some difficulty.

He was bone tired. But he had something else to do before being able to rest. He gently took Crowley’s head between his hands and assured that his sleep will be deep and free of any nightmare for some hours.

Time to go.

Following Crowley’s path was not very difficult. The demon was flashy in every possible way, and his ethereal trace was easy to track back. It led him in front of a nightclub. Of course.

The barman recognised the description instantly.

“Lanky, red haired, sunglasses ? Yeah, he was there 'till the fight started.”

The angel sighed.

“Big fight ? Half of the bar against the other because of something stupid someone said, but nobody actually remembers who said it ?”

“No ! It wasn’t stupid, it was football !”

He sighed again. Lord, give me strength.

“Alright. Did you see him discuss with anyone before that… totally accidental and unpredictable brawl ?”

“Nah. Just stayed there, had a drink and smirked a lot.”

“One drink only ?” That couldn't be right. There must have been something else.

“Yeah. A beer. Oh, and the shot.”

“Somebody SHOOT him ?” Cried Aziraphale, devastated. He didn’t noticed ! What if it was a mortal wound ? Crowley couldn’t discorporate now, it was too dangerous !

The barman laughed.

“You had a few yourself, eh ? A shot ! Like, the drink. I made a few for regulars, offered him one.”

Oh. Really. A drink with a killing name. How human.

“What is that exactly ? Are there drugs in that ?”

“Hey, man ! No ! Don’t say things like this here ! T’was just a little thing I invented. Really popular here ya know ! Wanna try ?”

Well. One drink wouldn’t hurt. And he had a dreadful night, after all. He noded. Liquid courage would help pursuing his enquiries.

“Thank you, that would be nice.”

The bartender started mixing funny looking liquids from several bottles. It was quite agreable to watch.

“That’s a lovely green. What is it ?”

“Cactus. That’s real good.”

“Is that salt ? In a drink ?”

“Yep, gives it a little kick. That’s the secret ingredient, y’a know.”

“What about the yellow one ?”

“Sage alcohol. Not good alone, but a few drops in the cactus syrup just...”

The bartender suddenly stopped talking. The entire nightclub felt silent under an ominous pressure coming from... everywhere.

“You mixed salt. With sage. And gave it to him.”

Everyone suddenly felt like going home really quick, and soon there were just an angel and a bartender in an empty building.

“What… what happened ?” the young man blinked furiously, feeling like something was choking him. He gasped, starting to panic without a reason.

A hand grabbed him hard by the collar.

Aziraphale’s eyes were cold as ice as he gathered divine power in his fist. Much more than needed to eradicate an insignificant human existence.

He opened his mouth, trembling with rage.

“You, Josh Kendal, will forget that bloody recipe and never remember it for the rest of you life !”

Then he let him go. He just couldn’t smite the poor boy. He never intended to hurt. He just offered a drink to a lonely man in sunglasses.

He straightened his jacket, feeling quite put out. There was no one to punish, and that was unfair after all that stress. He walked with a dissatisfied air towards the door. Then stopped and turned.

“Oh. And you will go home and propose to Ashley. Really, it’s been seven years and you love each other, stop hesitating, you are ridiculous !”

There was a snap. Josh blinked. He was alone. He felt like he should have remembered something, but couldn’t put his finger on it.

Were they closed already ? Everything was neat and tidy. Much more so than most closing times, to be honest.

Well… no point in staying. Ashley would be thrilled to have him home so early.

#lovermrjokerr8kchallenge #good omens #lovermrjokerr

[from-the-clouds]

Thinking of a Place (Part VI) - Kendall Roy x Reader

gif by @televisionchronicles

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Fic Playlist | Masterlist

Summary: You adjust to life after leaving Waystar.

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, mentions of addiction/drug abuse.

A/N: All flashbacks are in italics. Thank you for your kind words on the depressing last part. I know I left a few of you standing in the rain waiting for an update so here it is! Kind of uneventful, but shit is about to get real! As always, I appreciate feedback and comments of any kind. Thanks for all your support <3

The news about Kendall got much, much worse. For weeks the cycle went on, and despite your attempts to avoid the coverage it seemed inescapable. From what you saw, he was in a worse place than you’d ever seen him before. It was possible the media was just sensationalizing it. Maybe it was Logan, ensuring his downward spiral got so blown out of proportion that Kendall’s reputation would become forever tarnished, and he’d have trouble finding any semblance of success. But you weren’t in the inner circle anymore, so you had no idea what was real.

The sight of him so downtrodden and lost in his addiction should’ve made you feel vindicated after what he’d done to you. But it didn’t. It only made things worse. You still wanted to help him. You still wanted to see him happy, see him do good things.

In a moment of weakness, you contemplated calling Shiv. You needed to know how Kendall was, how he really was. But as your finger hovered over her contact, you snapped out of it, clicking away and putting your phone down. She was too smart, and would flag it as weird. Plus, in order to move on, you couldn’t do things like that.

You muted his name on all your socials, all the websites you frequented, and kept your head down passing newspaper stands. After about a month had passed, you stole a glance up, and the stories were gone. The news cycle decided to exploit someone else, and you heard nothing of Kendall anymore.

It helped you quite a bit, and you began working to create a life away from Waystar. Stewy reached out to you, put you in touch with the right people, and before you knew it, you had a new job, doing in-house legal services for an advertising firm. It required much less time and energy, and no emotional labor at all, which was the real selling point. You went to work, looked at contracts, flagged potential issues and pointed them out to executives and creative directors. You would work through the problems and then go home for the day. Then you went home.

You actually had time to yourself, to sit and think. You weren’t so sure about it at first. It gave you a lot of time to think about Kendall. So you had to find ways to fill the time with other things. You started cooking yourself dinner more often, rather than eating leftovers while hovering over the sink. You went to yoga classes and read books in a hammock at the park by your house. You let new friends invite you to parties, to see bands play in seedy bars, to stumble into a club well after midnight on your way to get drunk food, only to find they were hosting a drag show. It was a side to the city you’d never gotten to see, you actually felt like a normal person. This job never made you cancel plans to stay in the office until the early hours of the morning, or suddenly pack your bags for a last-minute business trip to another country.

All the distractions worked. It was enough to convince yourself you were moving on. With that came the guilt….it felt a little bad to move on. Were you supposed to? The impulse to reach out to Kendall, while diminished, was still there. Even if it was something as simple as sending him a trailer for a ridiculous new reality show you might’ve made fun of together, or the menu to a restaurant that specializes in handmade ravioli, one of his favorite foods. How could someone mean so much to you, and then nothing at all?

— — — — —

You opened the door into the small room, in the bowels of some news studio in eastern Europe. Hell, the past few days had been such a blur, you weren’t entirely sure what country you were even in. You’d simply been following orders, though you had no idea what you were walking into. Or how you were even here and why. After sticking next to Kendall through the bear hug, you’d been prepared to be fired from Waystar.

But instead, Gerri had called with orders from Logan. You’d been asked to escort Kendall home to New York. Maybe you had just been demoted back to his glorified babysitter.

“Hey,” you said, closing the door behind you.

At the sound of your voice, Kendall perked up. His back was facing you, but he peered over his shoulder, still slouched over the table in front of him.

The room itself was small, windowless. It felt more like a jail cell than a green room, but for some reason played a perfect backdrop for the situation at hand. Kendall had vanished sometime the morning after the bear hug. According to Gerri he had been sent back to rehab. Everyone knew he’d been using again, but you didn’t realize how dire the situation was. And maybe that wasn’t even the entire truth, considering he’d been pulled out of the facility less than 48 hours after he’d arrived.

Kendall didn’t answer you, just turned his head back towards the wall in front of him, lowering it down again to return to the position you’d found him in.

“I’m here to get us back to New York,” you said, stepping forward tentatively.

“Uh-huh,” Kendall answered, nodding after you gesture to the empty chair across from him.

Facing him, you had direct exposure. Dread rolled off the man in front of you, you could feel it even though you could barely see his face, hanging low towards the table in the dim light.

Wearily, you glanced over at the door to ensure once more it had been shut, and that you were alone. Brewing in the air was a tension so thick it was suffocating, words laid dead on your tongue as you studied him carefully. And still, he didn’t meet your eyes.

Finally, you speak up. “So…..what happened?”

Kendall didn’t answer. Instead, he continued to stare at the table in front of him, his hands clasped with one another.

“Ken?” you asked him, leaning in slightly, and his eyes flickered towards you for a split second. “Did you hear me?”

He nodded after a moment, sniffing, wiping his nose and clearing his throat, tilting his head upwards. He looked tired, so tired, dark rings hanging around his eyes, cheeks sunken, skin pale and pasty. Whatever had happened, he was clearly going through it. “Yeah, I uh, saw my dad’s plan, and, uh…it was better,” he stuttered.

You weren’t even sure if that was the answer to the question you were asking. Karolina had made you watch a recording of the broadcast before you could even get to him, so you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the sound of the sentence he’s repeated over and over to any news outlet that’s asked him. The Roy’s were never ones to be honest with the public. But to you? He should’ve known better.

“Yeah right, but like….what really happened?” you answered. He remained silent.

You waited another beat before speaking again. “What’s going on, Ken?” Slightly paranoid, you leaned in further, lowering your voice. Your hands worried about the edge of the table. “We had everything planned out.”

“I told you,” he repeated. “Dad’s plan is better.”

“Okay,” you said, sitting up, genuinely curious. “How is it better?”

“Will you just fucking leave it?” His voice was loud, the most gruff you’ve possibly heard it, one of his hands smacked against the table to punctuate the sentence. But finally, he looked up to meet your gaze. All the venom was in his words, but on his face was nothing but dejection. A failed attempt to try and convince you he was angry even though his absent eyes couldn’t seem to decide where to land, flitting away from yours almost instantly, terrified to connect with anything. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m sorry,” you flinched, nodding. He clearly didn’t trust you enough to be honest. Maybe it was better if you didn’t know. If this was what he wanted, you had no skin in the game and would conform. But for his sake, you knew the bear hug was his best shot to get what he wanted, and now it was gone. Didn’t he understand that?

You had to get out of this room. It was suffocating. “Well, let’s get going, then.”

Kendall shrugged, but moved to stand slowly. You remembered something. “Oh,” you said, rifling through your messenger bag. “You forgot this.”

Unceremoniously, you toss the slightly crumpled navy blue baseball cap in front of him. He’d left it behind in the room you Stewy, and Jess had been holed up in during the wedding. And even though he could probably buy a thousand new ones, perhaps even someone as rich as him might understand what sentimental value was.

Kendall sighed, and exhaled sharply through his nose, the weakest chuckle you might have ever heard, trying desperately to sound alive. But then, he was on his feet, grabbing the cap and standing alongside you.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

— — — — —

Mail tucked under your arms, briefcase slung over your shoulder, you stepped over the threshold of your apartment and hung your coat on the hook behind your front door, dumping all the stuff in your arms on the kitchen table.

It had been a late night. A solid five months since you had left Waystar, and your life had changed drastically. After work that day, you’d gone straight to a small showing of your paintings at an art gallery. Not that many people showed up for you, as there was a bigger artist being spotlighted, and you didn’t even really have a great collection considering the chaos of your life the past few years. But you were finding time for it more recently.

It had felt good to pick a brush back up, one of the things you’d decided to do in your new age of self-discovery. At first all the paintings were all grim, muddy landscapes in hues of grays, and browns. Deep rivers and pools, waves rippling and foaming, swirling into sorrowful eyes. You were in your dark period, you joked to yourself in hindsight. Over time, they began to brighten up. Pink, the color of the neon lights in the dim hallway where the guitarist of some band pressed her lips to your jaw, hand around your waist. Orange, the color of the sunset peeking around the harsh lines of the scrapers jutting up outside the windows of your apartment.

In the course of your life, you’d mastered none of all the little hobbies you tried to pick up. But painting you had always come back to. And it felt good to share what you were feeling with the handful of people who had shown up that night, even if it wasn’t perfect.

Shuffling through your mail, separating them into a pile of trash and a pile of bills, you paused when you saw your name written on one of the letters in neat script. Despite being momentarily excited to receive a piece of mail from an actual human, you noticed the penmanship was vaguely familiar. When you saw the return address, you realized why.

The sight of his name made you drop the letter instantly, like it would burn you if you touched it too long. It was a no-brainer to sweep it in the trash alongside the other junkmail, so you did. And then you stood there a moment, staring at the corner of the soft white envelope sticking out from behind the brightly colored flier full of coupons.

“No,” you said to yourself, turning on your heel and walking towards the kitchen, uncorking the bottle of Chardonnay you’d opened last week while listening to a new album of one of your favorite artists. Since you blocked his number, you hadn’t heard from him. That wasn’t going to change. It shouldn’t.

Why the fuck would Kendall be sending you a letter?

You didn’t want to, or need to hear anything he had to say. He was an asshole. He had hurt you on a level deeper than you thought he was even capable of, and showed no remorse. And remorse wasn’t drunken, high phone calls at 2am. You were better off without him.

But you had spent a better portion of the last few years by his side. He had been a huge part of your life, whether you wanted to admit it or not. You took a sip of the wine, trying to savor it, but you weren’t really processing anything, your own brain wouldn’t even let you distract yourself. The offending piece of mail would taunt you for the rest of the foreseeable future, until you took your trash out.

Who were you kidding? You had to see what it was, or it was going to drive you mad.

“Fuck,” you groaned out loud to yourself, pitching over the counter and putting your head in your hands.

Digging it out of the trash, you sat at your kitchen table and stared at it for a minute. It wasn’t particularly heavy or thick, so there couldn’t be much inside. When you tore it open, you pulled out two pieces of folded paper scrawled in ink. Your lips quirked in a sad smile at the sight of his neat handwriting.

When you’d worked together, Kendall was always jotting down his thoughts on things with his expensive Montblanc pens. He would steal pages from your moleskine, or lean towards you during meetings to scribble in the margins of the contracts sitting in front of you, asking to see them afterwards. At first it had annoyed you, he never learned to bring his own notepad anywhere. Then somewhere along the way you’d found it endearing, evidence he left behind after leaving each conference. That felt like a lifetime ago.

Dated only a few days prior, you glanced at your name at the top, the standard greeting.

I have reached the time in my recovery where I am ready to write this letter to you. Over the past few months, I have had plenty of time to reflect on my actions and treatment of you, and I need to take responsibility for my actions. I am sorry.

He went on. It wasn’t a particularly long or poetic letter. You winced when you read the parts where he detailed all the specifics of what he’d done, and reliving those moments affirmed your decision to cut him off to begin with. But it was the most self-aware and frank he’d ever been about his behavior, and you had to begrudgingly appreciate how straightforward and earnest he was in his writing.

I take full and complete responsibility for all of my actions, and am so sorry for the distress I have caused you. I don’t expect your forgiveness, or any type of response, as I understand our relationship was likely a painful part of your life, but I couldn’t move forward in my recovery without letting you know. I hope you are doing well.

Sincerely,

Kendall

Despite owning up to all his actions, it all felt so….calculated, like he was filling out a form. But then again, maybe that was just Kendall. One of your hands clutched at your opposite shoulder.

The first thing you felt was relief. He was okay. He was in recovery. You wondered when that began, if he’d been to rehab, what triggered him to get help. You wished you could know more. But, he was getting it together. If he was still in your life, you would’ve been proud. Maybe you still were.

Then, bitterness stirred in your heart. Anger broiled inside you at the reminder of what he had done, all the ways he hurt you. You should tear up the letter, burn it. You should flush it down the toilet or put it through a shredder or toss it out the window. But for some reason, you just couldn’t.

The idea of reaching out, of calling him, seemed foreign. Seemed like turning the wrong way at a fork in the road, even though some deeper impulse wanted you to. You owed him nothing, he said so himself. And at least now, you had a little closure.

So instead of destroying the papers in your hands, or calling him in a moment of desperation, you folded the letter back up. Placing it back in the envelope, you stood and shoved it in the bottom of your junk drawer, hoping to forget it entirely.

— — — — —

You stared at Kendall for a minute from over your book. You were an hour into your flight to New York. He hadn’t spoken once, and was sitting across from you, dead silent, staring at nothing. No headphones in to entertain himself, no screens, he wasn’t even looking out the window. His hands kneaded into the cushions of the couch he sat on.

He swallowed hard. He always had a certain sadness about him but this….this was the worst you’ve ever seen. This wasn’t normal behavior, even though the past few months there had been quite a bit of turmoil. At this point, you didn’t care about the bear hug. You just needed to make sure that something terrible wasn’t going to happen, because at this rate, it seemed like things were trending that way, if they hadn’t already. It almost seemed like they had, even if he wasn’t telling you.

You made a decision.

Standing up, you crossed the relatively small space and sat down next to him. He didn’t even move, didn’t even look as you settled into the loveseat.

“Hey,” you murmured quietly. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded, squeezing the cushion beneath him again, jaw set. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I promise this is all gonna work out in our favor-“ He spoke like someone was feeding him lines from an earpiece, not even convincing himself.

“Ken,“ you cut him off, and he turned his head slightly, surprised by your stern tone. “That’s not-” you shook your head. “I don’t care about any of that. Are you okay?”

He sat up slightly, to look into your eyes wearily. You met his gaze, but it wasn’t easy. The impulse to look away, to shield yourself from the overwhelming sorrow they held was strong, but you held out. Kendall must have found something there, his face softening as he nodded. He was lying.

“Are you sure?” you asked. You knew better than to poke the bear. This was a very fragile thing, he could snap at any moment, push you away, embarrass you for expressing any type of support. “Do you want to talk?”

Kendall shook his head, looking back at the ground. “I…I c-can’t.”

Without even really thinking about it, you lifted your hand, carefully placing it on his shoulder. You watched his eyes flutter shut. One of his hands reached out to squeeze your knee, feeble and desperate as he hunched forward.

“I’m sorry.” He said, so quietly you could barely make out what he was saying, whispering your name. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you answered, squeezing his shoulder, gently rubbing his back. “It’s gonna be okay. Everything will work out.”

At the time, you didn’t know the real reason for his actions. One day, it would all make sense. But if you hadn’t reached out to him, hadn’t supported him, would he ever have crossed that boundary with you? Trusted you the way he had? You couldn’t be sure.

His voice shook when he answered. “I hope you’re right.”

— — — — —

“Thanks David, I’ll make those revisions right away,” you chirped, tucking the folder you held under your arm and leaving your boss's office alongside the manager of the account, Liz.

“You don’t need anything from me?” Liz asked as you stepped out of the office.

“No, not at all, it should be ready to distro by the end of the day. I’ll email you,” you said absentmindedly, pausing outside the door of the office and pulling your phone out of your pocket. It had been vibrating in a barrage of text messages for the last few minutes of the meeting. You assumed it was your group chat with a few of your friends acting up, as you’d forgotten to silence it.

The TV in the creative lounge was blaring, so loud you couldn’t even read the names of the various texts on your phone screen, making out one missed call from Stewy, which wasn’t normal.

“....Nearly four years ago, he suffered a stroke and stepped down from his position as CEO for a brief period of time before returning. Many of Waystar’s shareholders-”

Your attention was pulled away from your phone when you heard the name of the previous company that had employed you.

“Holy shit, have you been following this?” David stepped out of his office, finding you and Liz staring at the news broadcast.

“Following what?” you asked absentmindedly, still trying to figure out what the reporter was talking about.

“Logan Roy.” David answered, pointing at the TV screen.

“You used to work for him, didn’t you?,” said Liz.

“I didn’t really work for him, I worked for….” you trailed off when you saw the chyron at the bottom of the newscast. “....Kendall.”

Logan Roy, media mogul and former CEO of Waystar Royco, dead at 85.

“Shit, what was that like?” David asked. “He always seemed like a mess. I haven’t heard about him in forever.”

“It was….” you couldn’t seem to find words, too distracted. And you certainly weren’t going to answer honestly about your time with Kendall. It had been a year ago at this point, and you’d blocked most of the unpleasant parts from memory. “...Fine.”

“Damn, I thought that piece of shit would never croak. Good riddance,” you overheard one of the creative directors say from the bullpen. The others sitting around hummed in agreement.

David chuckled, stepping back into his office to attend to the more important matters at hand, Liz’s heels clicking off down the hallway.

You were left standing alone, trying to catch your breath, invisible behind everyone else still half-paying attention to the TV, your mind spinning, trying to process everything this meant.

Logan Roy was dead.

Part VII

#kendall roy #kendall roy x reader #succession writing #succession fic #succession #succession fanfic #succession hbo #shiv roy #stewy hosseini #logan roy #i do imply in this chapter that reader is a lil gay #but this is the succession universe so like i think she has to be because EVERYone is a little gay in this world #MUAHAHAHA #i am doing the impossible #what jesse armstrong is TOO AFRAID to do #kendall x reader writer alliance pls RISEEEEEE

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Oblivious

Characters: Spencer Reid x Reader, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan

Word Count: 1,464

Warnings: just fluff, drunk!reader, caring!spencer

Request by anon: Cinco de Mayo challenge request is Reid and Reader have margaritas after work.

Summary: You and Spencer go get drinks after work on Cinco De Mayo.

Squares Filled: fireman carry for @fluffbingo // opposites attract for @cmbingo

Author’s Note: Pretend that Cinco De Mayo fell on a Friday this year instead of a Tuesday. If you have any requests, please send them in! this is unbeta’d and every mistake is all on me.

Feedback the glue that holds my writing together

Tags at the bottom

“So, who’s ready to party?” you ask as soon as you step foot into the office.

It’s been a long and grueling case, so the best thing for you and your mental health is to head to the bar and have a few drinks to unwind. The rest of the team groans in response, but you just chuckle and head straight to your desk.

“Sorry, guys, but Will and the boys need me. The kids have been sick all week, so I’m going to see if I can’t take over for the weekend,” JJ explains as she heads to her office.

“Send my love!” you call out.

“All I can think about is my bed, sweet cheeks,” Penelope apologizes.

The rest of the group rejects going out with you to a bar, and your spirit died down just a little. You don’t want to go alone, but you do need this outlet right now. The only person who hasn’t said anything is Spencer, and you look at him to see him staring at you. You quickly look away with a shake of your head.

“That’s fine. I’ll just go home then,” you chuckle, but it’s hollow.

“I’ll join you,” Spencer blurts out, and a few heads turn his way.

“You will?” you ask, your eyes lighting up just a bit.

“Yeah, it will be fun. Just let me get my stuff.”

“You’re whipped,” Derek whispers as he passes by the young doctor.

“Shut up,” Spencer mumbles back.

Everyone knows how big of a crush Spencer has on you. When he first started out in the BAU, he was so naive and oblivious. Everything went over his head, when girls made passes at him, he wouldn’t think anything of it until someone explicitly told him that they were flirting with him. Even then, he’d still deny it as something that isn’t true.

You’re like that but much worse.

You can’t tell the difference between someone flirting with you and someone being nice to you. There were boys in the past that have come up and flirt with you, but you never pursued them because you thought they were just being nice and friendly. Because of this, you haven’t really had many boyfriends. The only boyfriend you had was because your best friend practically threw you onto him and told you he was into you.

Spencer isn’t good with the emotions and the words as much as Derek or Penelope is, so he doesn’t know how to tell you how much he loves you. The whole team has a bet going to see when you two are going to get together as well as another bet as to how it’s going to happen. Will you finally confess your hidden feelings for him, or is Spencer going to man up and do it himself?

“Spencer, happy hour is almost over. It’s Cinco De Mayo, we have to get the good drinks!” you say to him once you sling your purse over your shoulder.

“Alright, I’m coming,” he chuckles and approaches you just as he throws the strap to his satchel over his neck and shoulder.

“See you guys on Monday!” you exclaim to everyone before leaving with Spencer.

Luckily, the bar you want to go to is a couple of blocks across the street from yours and Spencer’s apartment complex. You two met when you practically fell down the stairs in your apartment complex trying to move in. He caught you, and you invited him over for lunch to thank him. When you showed up at work the following Monday and say him, it was like it was meant to be.

The bar is alive with chatter and buzz from the excited patrons from having drinks after work. TVs are playing baseball, hockey, and basketball games that people are just living for. There shouldn’t be any bar space since it’s a Friday night, but you manage to snag two of them by the bar counter.

“Two margaritas please,” you state to the bartender who came over to tend to the new customers.

“And one beer please,” Spencer says before he can walk away.

“Not a fan of margaritas?” you chuckle.

“Not a fan of tequila in general,” Spencer smiles.

“It’s happy hour! And because it’s a holiday, it’s 50 cent drinks! Hell yeah!” you laugh.

The bartender comes back with your drinks, and you don’t waste time downing the margarita even though it’s freezing your throat.

“So this is going to be a long night, right?”

“Good thing we walked because I plan to get fucked up tonight! What are you doing this weekend?”

“I plan to go to the local bookstore and get new books. I have a deal with the owner that if I bring my old books, they’ll exchange it for ones I want. I’m thinking of getting twenty-five new books to read.”

“Fuck, Reid, your brain is amazing. To read that fast is a gift. You’re amazing,” you laugh.

“You’re drunk,” he dismisses.

“Spencer, it takes a lot to get me drunk. Trust me, you don’t want to see that,” you snort and finish your margarita.

The bartender keeps your tab open, putting all of your drinks on it along with Spencer’s. It’s best if they don’t bother you until the end of the night. By the time Spencer gets through his second beer, you’re already on your fifth margarita. He should stop you, but he knows you’ll be safe with him. He wants to stay sober so he can make sure you’re not going to fall when you walk or flash anybody on your way to the bathroom.

“Oh, Spencer I love this song! Dance with me!” you grin and get up from your spot at the bar.

“Go without me. I’ll watch,” he says politely.

You’re only going without him because you really want to dance. Alcohol makes you dance. The more you drink, the crazier you get with your dancing. Spencer watches as you move your body with the other customers, and he smiles at how much fun you’re having. You’ve always been a free-spirited person, and this proves it. Everyone else disappears, and you’re the only one in the crowd.

A few songs pass before you need to take a break, and you head back over to Spencer who saved your seat the entire time.

“You should have danced with me,” you laugh. “I would not have resisted that body.”

“Okay now you’re drunk,” he laughs. “Do you think you’ll be okay if I go to the bathroom? Can you handle being by yourself?”

“Yes, Doctor, I’m not a child,” you pout.

“Behave.”

“Is that an order?” you smirk.

“Yes.”

“Kinky,” you tease as he gets up and walks away.

Spencer wants to pee as fast as he can so he can get back to you. While he knows you’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, you’re not the most careful person when you’re drunk. He finishes up in the bathroom as quickly as he can before booking it out of there and heading back to the bar.

He hears you before he sees you, and he knows you’re doing something crazy. When he rounds the corner, you’re on top of the bar dancing your ass off. Your shirt is unbuttoned so that you’re only showing your bra-covered chest. The men around you whistle and holler, and that makes Spencer’s blood boil. It’s time to go now.

“Spencer! Hi!” you giggle.

“Okay we’re done here,” he says and takes out a wad of cash. He hands it to the bartender and motions to you. “Keep the change. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah,” he nods and pockets the money.

“Come on, we’re leaving,” Spencer says to you.

“I want to stay!” you shout.

“No, we’re leaving now. Get down or I’m going to make you.”

“Oh, you’re going to make me? I’d like to see you--whoa! Spencer!” you laugh.

He grabs your legs and throws you over his shoulder fireman style. The men boo him for taking away their entertainment, but he doesn’t care about them. Spencer’s ass is right in front of your face, and you lean forward to nip it a bit.

“Y/N, what the hell are you doing?”

“What? You have a delicious ass,” you laugh.

Your apartment is not that far, so he’s not worried about getting tired or anything. You’re definitely not going to remember this, but it’s seared into Spencer’s brain for all of eternity. He doesn’t know what this means for you two, but he has to man up and tell you how he feels. He wants to be there for you, and he can’t do that if he doesn’t let you into his life the way you let him into yours.

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#fluffbingo #cmbingo #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fan fic #spencer reid fiction #reid x reader #reid fanfic #reid fic #reid fanfiction #reid fan fiction #reid fan fic #reid fiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #cm #cm fanfiction

[dvp95]

quiet on widow’s peak (11)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, mystery, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.1k (this chapter), 35.5k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

Phil hates taking public transit anywhere that he hasn't memorized a route and the inevitable issues with it, but he's not about to ask his parents for a ride to the city. In fact, he ducks out of the house with nothing but a 'be back later' tossed over his shoulder. His stomach is making unhappy noises the entire ride to the Rusholme area, and he regrets not putting a cereal bar or something in his bag after his parents went to sleep. He supposes that he could have braved breakfast and his parents' disappointment, but he desperately did not want to deal with that so early in the morning.

He's grumpy from lack of caffeine and food by the time he tumbles into the coffee shop, but he can't help his mouth from curving upwards when he sees Dan behind the counter. They're handling a customer, but their face lights up when they make eye contact with him, like they thought he wouldn't show. Phil gives them a little wave and drops his stuff on an armchair by the cozy fireplace. He's planning on being here for a while, he might as well stake his claim on the good seat now.

The fact that the chair has an unobstructed view of the counter isn't on purpose, but Phil can't pretend he isn't happy about it. He takes his jacket and scarf off, waiting for the stranger to go away so he doesn't have to hem and haw over his breakfast choice with an audience.

Phil should probably be using this time to look at the drinks on the chalkboard menu or the fresh pastries in the case, but he's too distracted.

It's been a day. A single day. Less, even, since it hasn't been a full 24 hours. And yet his eyes keep drifting back to Dan like it's been ages since he's seen them. Their eyes are lined thickly with what looks like black ink and their lips are shiny, but their face is otherwise bare. Phil wouldn't be able to clock the lack of makeup at all if he hadn't woken up beside Dan's clean face and accidentally memorized it.

Finally, the customer leaves, and Phil is free to approach the bar without feeling like an idiot. He gives Dan a sheepish sort of grin as he sidles up, only now looking at his options.

"Morning," says Dan, in that vaguely cheerful customer service voice. They push their sleeves up to their elbows like they need to be doing something with their hands, and Phil gets distracted again by the new shade on their nails and the shape of their forearms. "What can I get you?"

"Uh," Phil says eloquently. "Coffee. And food?"

Dan's smile twists into a smirk and they look like they're barely holding back laughter. "Funnily enough, we do those things here. Do you know what kind of, uh, coffee and food you want?"

It takes all of Phil's self control not to flip Dan off or tease them right back. He wouldn't bother holding back, normally, but there's a man with a 'manager' nametag working the espresso machine and the last thing he wants is to get Dan in trouble. Phil turns his attention to the menu again. He's retaining just as much nothing as he was before. "Uh," he says again. After a moment of thought that lasts far too long, Phil ends up shrugging. "Surprise me?"

"Sure," says Dan. Their eyes are sparkling, and Phil finds that just as hard to look away from as the glitter that had been on their face before.

"I'm kinda lactose intolerant," Phil informs them, just for something to say that he doesn't have to think too hard about. "And I like sugar. Like a lot."

"I can work with that." Dan shoos him away with their big hands, still smirking. "Go on, go sit down. If we get busy back here I'll call for you, but I can probably just bring it over."

Phil glances at the manager. "You sure?"

Dan follows his gaze, brow furrowed in slight confusion, and then rolls their eyes. "Yes, I'm sure. Gabe doesn't give a shit if we talk to our friends as long as we get our work done. Right, Gabe?"

"Whatever," Gabe says, almost monotone in how little he seems to care.

"It's fine," says Dan. "Go. Sit."

Phil doesn't have much of a choice but to go take up camp by the fireplace. He takes out his phone and checks in with his friends to make sure they got home alright and to subtly see if any of them are mad at him. He doesn't like the idea of them feeling like the whole weekend was a bust - even if it kind of was - and he likes the idea of them being irritated with him even less. He's having enough trouble with the reality of his parents being unhappy with his choices.

The last thing he needs is for the other important people in his life to be feeling the same way. He fields PJ's concern and Chris' flirting and Sophie's helpful links to sleep paralysis theories with relative ease. He doesn't care about his own problems with the Wilkins place or the situation he's put himself in as much as he cares about what his best friends think.

The fact of the matter is, Phil knows he can't do this forever. He doesn't need his parents telling him that. He likes what he does, more often than not, but it's getting harder and harder to keep pushing himself into a routine that he might have outgrown by now.

He has so many ideas. There are so many stories he wants to tell and far too many different ways he could be telling them. He wonders if he keeps going back to other peoples' ghost stories because it's easier, safer, than putting innermost parts of himself out there for public consumption. Luckily, his friends aren't pushing him yet. He imagines it's only a matter of time before they notice that he's just going through the motions.

Even so, he doesn't like hearing things from his parents about his wasted potential. He doesn't need them to say what he's already thinking about all the time.

"Hey, you still on Earth?"

Phil starts a bit and almost drops his phone. Dan is standing there, setting a steaming mug and a cinnamon roll on the rickety end table at Phil's elbow. They smile at him and he smiles back, just a little embarrassed about zoning out so drastically.

"Sorry," he says, immediately reaching for the mug. "Haven't had coffee yet."

"What a tragedy," says Dan.

"It is," Phil insists. He takes a big gulp of the drink, ignoring Dan's protests that it's too hot. The mix of chocolate and cocoa hit his tongue and probably scald it, but Phil isn't about to start waiting for his drinks to cool down now. He hums happily and fits both hands around the mug to leech its warmth. "Oh, this is good."

He doesn't think he's imagining how pleased Dan looks by the compliment, but he manages to half convince himself that they're just proud of their barista-ing skills.

"Thanks," Dan says happily. They shift their weight from one foot to the other and pull their sleeves back down. Phil wonders if they're actually getting warm and then cold again, or if they just don't know how to act when their hands aren't busy with something. Phil notices that the shop is more or less dead - there's a trio of students with earphones in and textbooks open by the window and Gabe obviously continues to exist behind the counter, but it's not at all the same vibe as spending a late morning in a Brighton Starbucks. Phil has done that many times, and all it ever manages to do is make his anxiety worse.

He doesn't feel like that here, like he's taking up space and not moving fast enough. He feels like he's allowed to loiter here as long as he wants to, as long as he keeps buying coffee and doesn't distract Dan too much. It's nice.

"Are you just gonna stand there?" Phil asks.

Dan's cheeks flush a bit, more obvious without the glitter and skin-like paste - Sophie might have called it foundation, once, but Phil thinks that's probably a house term and not a face term and he hadn't actually been listening closely.

"Well, yeah," they say with a tiny shrug. "I can only sit down for a bit at a time until my breaks, but Gabe doesn't care if I hang out over here. I just gotta look busy."

"Okay," says Phil. He waits for another couple of seconds before he gently adds, "You don't look busy."

Something in Phil's stomach twists when Dan blushes deeper and starts pretending to organize the trinkets on the mantle. He wonders how much of Dan's insistence on moving around is because of where they are and how much of it is their inability to sit still. It's unfortunate how cute Phil finds them. He really shouldn't.

He decides to put off this line of thought, again, because he's got a cinnamon roll and an unfortunately-cute person to focus on. He's not going to think about how many times he's already procrastinated this budding crush. He eats and drinks and makes idle comments about where certain things should be and generally winds Dan up a bit. They only manage to sit still for a couple minutes at a time, even though they need to help a total of customers twice more before Phil needs a refill.

The drink Dan brings over this time is a different colour than the mocha, and Phil sniffs at it suspiciously before taking a sip. He was raised well, so he doesn't spit it out, but it's a close call. Dan seems to see something on his face, because they throw back their head and cackle a bit.

"Okay, not a dark roast guy," they tease, reaching for the mug like they intend to give Phil something else entirely. Phil pulls it out of their reach and shakes his head.

"No, hey, I'll drink it," he huffs. "Just point me to the sugar. I need a gallon of it."

--

Phil doesn't actually get much opportunity to talk to Dan in the handful of hours he sits around the coffee shop, but that doesn't surprise him very much. He gets comfortable with his laptop, legs tucked up under him in increasingly pretzel-like ways, and passes the time by editing the footage they do have. It isn't much, and that almost frustrates him enough to walk out and get the soonest train south, but every time he reaches that point, Dan is there with their big smile and another experimental drink in hand.

He's never really considered himself picky when it comes to hot drinks, since he likes his coffee instant and his tea weak, but Dan is quickly changing his mind about that. Most of the things Dan brings him are gross or just not something Phil would ever voluntarily order again, and Phil starts to think that he's probably the problem here.

"No more," Phil whines when he sees Dan making another mug of something indistinguishable.

The students in the corner have left, although Phil can't remember when, and Gabe is in the back doing... something, so he doesn't feel self-conscious talking across the small shop. At this point in the day, it's just him and Dan.

Dan laughs loudly and shakes their head. "This is for me, you big baby," they say. "My shift is done. I figured I could have a drink, if that's quite alright with you."

"I suppose that's fine," Phil grins. He saves all his work and shuts down his laptop, stretching his legs out for the first time in ages. He's gotten up to pee enough times that Dan probably thinks there's something wrong with him, but he's been in a bit of a research vortex. "Thanks. For, y'know, letting me come hang out here."

"Sure, anytime," Dan says. They sound sincere about it, not like they're just saying so.

"What do I owe you?" Phil asks, digging around in his bag for his wallet. He doesn't have all his equipment with him or anything, but his laptop bag is still cluttered with a bunch of nonsense he doesn't actually need to carry around.

Dan rattles off a number that doesn't sound correct at all, so Phil adds another bill to the pile before heading to the counter. Dan opens their mouth like they're going to protest. Phil isn't exactly in the mood to argue, so he just walks back to his chair without a word. He hears a loud, exasperated sort of sigh behind him, but then the sound of the cash drawer opening. Dan ducks into the back room for a couple of minutes and when they come back they're out of uniform and holding a travel mug with Pokémon all over it.

They're dressed more comfortably than Phil has seen them before. A dark hoodie that's clearly a couple sizes too big is hanging off their frame, falling somewhere around their thighs. It's a different shade of black than their leggings, but Phil doesn't think it matters to them. Their curls are a bit ruffled from being under a cap - still looking as soft as Phil remembers, though.

"Hi," Dan says, grinning a bit hesitantly as they sit in the armchair across from Phil. They hold their travel mug close to their face like it's a shield, but it's no use. Phil already saw the pink tinge of their cheeks and won't be fooled into thinking it's from the heat.

"Hey," Phil says, resisting the urge to hide his own smile behind his hand. "That hoodie looks so comfy."

Dan looks down, as if they'd already forgotten what they threw on. "Oh, yeah, it really is. I basically need pyjamas for this lecture or I'll be grouchy all day."

"What class was it?" Phil asks. He realises that he doesn't actually know what Dan is studying. Then his brain tumbles further down that rabbithole, because there's a lot he doesn't actually know about Dan. They've spent so much of their new friendship just talking about Phil's job and all the nonsense that comes with it.

"Human Impacts on the Biosphere," Dan says with a wry smile, like they know exactly how little Phil knows about the topic.

"You're studying biology?" Phil asks. Dan shakes their head, but they don't laugh or anything like Phil's question is a stupid one. He feels like it probably was.

"Environmental science," Dan corrects him. "But it's a biology class, so you're not far off."

"That's really cool," Phil says sincerely.

Dan blinks a few times in quick succession, and the fluttering of their long lashes is hypnotizing. They seem surprised that Phil is taking an interest, or maybe that Phil finds science cool. He doesn't know anything about it, really, but that's never stopped him from being interested in a topic. Especially when someone who actually knows what they're talking about is walking him through it - like Sophie with her experiments or PJ with his junkyard sculptures. Phil doesn't have to have a working knowledge of something to enjoy talking about it.

"Really?" Dan says, that familiar skepticism behind their sparkling eyes.

"Save the planet and all that, right?" Phil guesses. He must have guessed right, because Dan gives him a smile brighter than the fire beside them. "Yeah, I don't know much about it, but it sounds cool. What year are you in?"

"Third year, ready to be done with it."

Phil remembers what that was like. He also remembers all over again that Dan is twenty-one, like the fact had been simmering just under the surface until now. It isn't that Phil is drastically older than them or anything - more like he's nostalgic for an age he didn't even like all that much when he was experiencing it.

Things were their own kind of screwed up in Phil's third year of uni, but at least he still had... hope. Hope that his parents would come around to the hobby that was slowly starting to make him money, hope that he'd find a guy who liked his particular brand of weirdness, hope that he'd be able to do something with his life that he enjoyed. One by one, those hopes started to feel further and further away until he was here, turning twenty-six in two months and with nothing but a moderate-to-severe anxiety disorder and a couple thousand quid in his savings to show for it. He never even found a guy who'd put up with him for longer than two dates. He wonders what sort of hopes Dan has right now. He tries not to wonder how long it's going to be before they, too, start to feel like it's useless.

"Are you okay?"

Phil shakes himself out of his own thoughts, meeting Dan's eyes again. They're so warm and lovely that Phil feels a bit better just looking at them.

"Yeah," he lies, starting to pack up his stuff. "Just hungry, y'know. Teatime."

"Oh, right," says Dan. They look a bit startled, but whether that's from Phil's abruptness or the time of day, Phil has no way of knowing. "That makes sense. Want me to walk you to the bus stop?"

That sounds nice. Then Phil remembers what's waiting for him at the other end of the bus ride, and he shakes his head. "No, uh. I was thinking about getting dinner in town." He looks down so he doesn't have to see whatever Dan's expression does when he adds, "And I'd love company, if you... want."

"Do I want to have dinner with you?" Dan repeats, like they aren't quite sure if that's what Phil actually said. Before Phil can answer, though, they're already talking again. "Obviously, yes. There's a great sushi place down the street if you like sushi, and if you don't like sushi there's other good restaurants all over the place, like there's -"

"I love sushi," Phil interrupts before Dan settles into yet another ramble. He's too nervous to look Dan in the eye again, even with the positive reaction. "Let's go. My treat."

#it is wednesday my dudes #we're back on a schedule babeyyyyy #quiet on widow's peak #words words words

[mayegalinea]

Enron, The Fyre Festival, and the Wall Street Journal Walk Into a Bar

In December of 2016, Kendall Jenner updated her Instagram with the a picture of a bright orange square. Then so did Bella Hadid, then Emily Ratajkowski. Then a video dropped - supermodels hanging out, having fun in the Bahamas on a private island that used to be owned by Pablo Escobar. Fyre Festival, it claimed, was the place to be. Fyre was going to be THE festival of the year and for the low, low price of $250,000 a ticket, you too can party with a Kardashian. Then in April 2017, the Wall Street Journal published an article – Fyre Festival was on the way to becoming a disaster. Weird. Maybe not the first place you think of when you hear “hard-hitting musical festival expose”, but it was all downhill from there. It started with heavy rain. The first batch of festival goers arrived on the island soaked to the bone, but that’s okay, they were on their way to luxury in their exclusive, one-of-a-kind transportation - a yellow school bus. They were treated to the especially prestigious, luxury boxed meal of cheese on bread. Their high-class accommodations were an open tent and soaking mattresses. The next day, the planes meant for the next batch of attendees were redirected to rescue the ones already on the island. The festival of the year was indefinitely postponed, and in 2018, the courts discovered that the festival founders had scammed investors to the tune of $26 million dollars and in 2018, Fyre Festival Billy McFarland was found guilty of wire fraud. Now I was and still am a self-proclaimed nerd. I wasn’t exactly updated on the social media landscape. I barely recognize those names I mentioned at the beginning of this blog. While all this was going on, I was in school, studying the debits and credits. In fact, the closest comparison I could probably think of for Fyre, would be an urban legend in our department that there used to be a class that specialized in “creative accounting”. They said you would learn how to play with the numbers, hide the losses in vague account titles, find out exactly how much a shell corporation can do without getting caught. That was the luxury music festival of my college days (citation needed). Of course, this legend turned out to be fiction created by bored accounting students waiting for the next 3-hour class on finding out the many ways to define the word payable. Eventually, we even found out where the legend started - a little, old energy company all the way in the United States by the name of Enron. You see, all the way back in the 1980s, Enron hired a man named Jeffrey Skilling, who persuaded his bosses to use an accounting method called “mark-to-market”, or MTM, accounting. Now, to an outsider, these three words can mean essentially anything (there’s a reason that there’s no TV show about accountants - yet), but to an investor, this practically meant gold. MTM basically meant you could indicate that the value of your property is equal to how much the market thinks it is, and the more optimistic you are, the higher your property value. So Enron decided it was going to be the most optimistic company there is. If to be successful meant getting more stock traders to think they were profitable, it didn’t matter if they were actually making money. They curated their public image, had exclusive contracts with an entire network of companies, and invested in technology that was considered futuristic even near the turn of the millennium. They were blue-chip stocks - everyone knew they were the cool kids, the good guys, the influencers. They could only ever go up.  Then a reporter at the Wall Street Journal wrote an article. Investors should look out for this new trend in accounting practices. Mark-to-market accounting, they said. It was like hyping the public and earning the value of a luxury gourmet dish when all you had was a cheese sandwich. Now why does that sound familiar? That’s right - like the Fyre Festival, Enron stocks were all hype. Their share prices had never been higher, but behind the veil, they were nearing bankruptcy. The exclusive contracts were to shell companies. Their technology never fully materialized. And all the proof literally in shreds.

Looking back, though, the people involved must have seen it. Whoever was making the calls knew what they were doing was wrong, but in the heat of the moment, when they were faced with a suddenly extremely profitable portfolio and a fortune at their disposal, I doubt you’d be in the mood to wonder if what you’re doing is going to ruin the economy for decades to come. The stockholders are happy and they checked all the auditor’s boxes. What more do they owe society? Why did that matter? Jeffrey Skilling had cashed in his one million Enron shares and earned $67 million dollars.

Oh right, because laws. In October 2006, Jeffrey Skilling was convicted for 19 counts of securities and wire fraud.

You can’t just hobble the entire energy industry and obliterate millions in pension funds, and get away with it. The Enron disaster brought a whole new era to the business world. US companies had to become more transparent. Audit firms had to become more accountable. Already bureaucratic corporations become even stricter with their internal controls. Power plants, once known for stable investments, earned paranoid side-eyes from creditors. It’s been two decades since, but Enron’s imprint still lingers. Your decisions now, matter. Your ethics now, matters. Take a step back, look through the veil, and realize that society deserves more than just a cheese sandwich. Maybe even get a copy of the Wall Street Journal on the way.