#you need to be so careful what you put in a portfolio

[hezuart]

Why did you switch from animation to reviews? Also, do you still plan on doing CGI like you mentioned multiple times?

oH BOY..... you may need to sit down for this one

So it all started back in 2012. I was around 14 years old and just saw Rise of the Guardians and Wreck it Ralph. The stories, the characters, the world-building, the animation... now I never really went to movie theaters as a kid, but as a teen I started going and I instantly fell in love.

I went to community college for a few years and made some amazing friends. Loved some of my teachers and we participated in fun events like the 24-hour challenge and Campus Movie Fest. I had gotten in the top picks for Campus Movie Fest at some point and was supposed to go to the Cannes Film Festival in France to showcase my short film, but then the pandemic hit and it got canceled indefinitely.

So get this, for community college, I got a certification in 3D Animation and Video Game development. It's basically an AA degree but without general ed. (Why do you need general ed to get a degree in something? Math and PE have nothing to do with Animation. College is ridiculous. People have to pay you more simply because you were forced to spend more money in college. Wild.) Out of the 20 classes I had taken to get this certification, only 3 of those courses were hands-on 3D animation. And only one of those courses was hands-on video game development and I dropped out of that class because it was PC only and I only had a Mac at the time. I applied to the class without realizing it was accommodating only to PCs. So even my certification is barely reaching the basics for the title of it, but I did take another online course or two for 3D animation which I have a different certification for.

Now even with my 3D animation, I was never taught the physics engine. I was never taught hair or cloth simulation, but I do have modeling, rigging, animating, and texturing experience. For gaming, I have very little experience. I've only modeled things and found my way around Unity, but otherwise, I suck at coding. I hate coding with a passion. Making a video game without coding isn't really possible.

Now, when the pandemic hit, a lot of things were shutting down. I had no idea where I wanted to go next. People kept asking me where I was going for my higher education, but I kept getting warned not to waste money on college if you're trying to become an artist, especially at University. It's a money pit, and competition is so high, you're not guaranteed a job, you're just gonna be in debt. Even colleges like Cal Arts, who charge over $1K per class, I've been told are a "Pay to get in" kind of place. Where the money is used to nab professionals from their work to teach students or talk about their company or programs, and through that, you get a bigger chance to get your foot in the door because you know someone. I've unfortunately been told that's the more realistic way to get into animation: networking. If you're a shy introvert who doesn't know any famous people, you need to be extremely talented and unique to stand out to get the chance of being noticed. I don't really want to suck up to people nor do I want to waste thousands of dollars and 5 more years on college that I may not even need (let alone be able to afford) especially if there are online classes that may be even more valuable.

Now after I got out of college and started applying a few places, I discovered a LOT of unfortunate information.

Most animation these days is done overseas. South Korea, India, Japan, and Canada are the big ones.

Invader Zim, Steven Universe, Miraculous Ladybug, The Simpsons, OK KO, Star vs the Forces of Evil, Kipo and the Age of the Wonder Beasts, Adventure Time, Twelve Forever, and the Powerpuff Girls Reboot were animated in South Korea. The Ghost and Molly Mcgee is animated in Canada.

(The first four seasons of the Simpsons were animated in America until it switched to South Korea and India.)

2D traditional animation is no longer viable. Puppetry is the industry standard because it's the cheapest. Luckily, Toon Boom Harmony has allowed us to push the boundaries of 2D puppetry. Puppetry these days, if done well, can look really great, like Tangled the Series, but if you don't have Toon Boom Harmony, you're probably not gonna be hired.

Not even all 3D is made in the USA. If it's Disney, Dreamworks, or Pixar, then it's usually USA. But streaming service movies, like Sea Beast, Kid Cosmic, The Willoughbys, and Klaus, while they claim to be a "Netflix Original" that "Netflix Animation" animated, that's a lie. Klaus was animated by Yowza! Animation in Canada. The Willoughbys: Bron Animation, Canada. Kid Cosmic: Mercury Filmworks, Canada. Sea Beast: Sony Pictures Image Works, Canada. (X)

Go Go Cory Carson is written and storyboarded in America, but the animation is shipped out to be done in France. Sonic Boom is also French Animated.

Even Sony Pictures? Open Season, Surf's Up, Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse, Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, SMurfs, Hotel Transylvania, Over the Moon, The Angry Birds Movie, Sea Beast? Sony Pictures Imageworks is based in Canada. They're doing all the animation for them. It's not animated in America, it's merely funded by them.

I should also clarify: I only want to participate in stylized animated media. I don't want to do CGI for hyper-realistic films, which eliminates most of the animation jobs out there these days. It's just not my thing. The insane amount of details and uncanny valley are just so unappealing, I can't do it.

The closest animation studios are still far away. Most companies are located in LA. I'm over 7+ hours away from there. LA also has a high poverty rate, terrible air quality, is overcrowded, and is just generally not a good place to live, especially if you're low middle class. You're not gonna survive there.

Pixar is located in Emeryville, a few minutes north of San Fransisco city. Emeryville is the most crime-ridden city in that area. They tell you not to walk home alone at night. You're more likely to get robbed there than anywhere else according to the population ratio there. There are a lot of gangs that hide up there, and there's a lot of poverty there, even outside of San Fransisco. It's basically a trash pit. Not an ideal place to live, and commuting through 3-hour SF city traffic is also not gonna work. (X)

I have also been informed some people who work at Pixar are petty that the interns use their facility. Pixar has a heated pool, soccer field, gymnasium, and a few other nice things on their property. I was informed there was a person or two who got mad that an intern was using their basketball court.... when the intern was on break. As though they weren't part of Pixar, as though they had no right to touch the property. Apparently, they also used to make the interns push around little tea carts to serve refreshments as a way to "talk to the fellow animators" to probably get them interacting, but hearing that the interns were basically chored with butler duty to bother the animators hard at work seems like such a forced thing. That makes me uncomfortable. Of course, the person who told me these stories has been working with Pixar for over a decade or two now, so things could be very different as the years went on. Pixar itself on the inside of the animator building is gorgeous. They all decorate their office spaces in crazy ways, it looks like a movie set. But they have a bar and "whiskey club". They're apparently allowed to drink at work and have often had parties that got a little out of hand. There's also an old chain smoker room where the founders used to play poker and spy on people outside of their room with hidden cameras; I've even been inside. I don't think they use it anymore, though I'm not totally sure. Some of this info was fascinating, but the drinking made me uncomfortable. I kinda want to work with sober people here.

The sex ratio in the animation industry is also interesting and unfavorable. 70% of the animation and art school ratio is women, but only 34% of the actual animation workforce is women. 34% female to 66% male. More women study animation than men, but more men get hired and hold positions than women. Animation, ironically, has always been a male-dominated workplace. This unfortunately contributes to the "you have to know someone" or "be rich" to get-in situation. Men know a lot more men and not as many women. So the 30 to 40-year-old guys hire the other guys they know rather than a young poor girl with a passion. This makes it even more difficult for me to get in. (X)

20th Century, Netflix Animation, Nickelodeon, Cartoon Network, Bento Box, Vanguard Animation, Universal Studios, Titmouse, 6 Point Harness, ShadowMachine- all LA / South California.

There are a few places I could apply to, but what they do, I just don't care for. Niantic(Pokemon Go), Lucasfilm(Effects), Whiteboard Animation(Marketing), Sharpeyeanimation (Marketing), EA games (Mass Effect, Battlefield, Dragon Age 2, all those hyper-realistic war, sports, or fantasy games.)

So whether it's outside of the USA or within the USA, I need to move. I don't have the money for that yet.

Just find a company that does remote work, right? It should be easy, especially in pandemic times! Wrong. Most animation companies don't permit remote work. It's probably a security issue. But I've done research on this. The only big animation company I've found (so far) that allows remote work (or is HIRING for remote work) is Mainframe Studios in Canada. They have a 3D animation job list, and I guess they focus on animating Barbie movies(???). (X) But that's about it. And even if you're a remote worker, there's a high likely hood you still need a Visa to be allowed to work for a company belonging to another country. So that's a whole other legal process to deal with.

Disney is becoming a huge corporate monopoly over American animation. They bought Blue Sky only to kill them off. (Disney also just recently laid off 7,000 people due to their stock price drop and failed movies they released the past year with deliberately bad marketing for political reasons. (X) Disney also bought Pixar and is pushing for sequels because weird or bad, sequels and terrible live actions make them a LOT of money. Did you know Disney's terrible Lion King CGI remake is amongst the top 10 highest-grossing movies ever made? It's criminal. (X)

Because Disney is such a big name in the USA, there's a huge association of animation = children's media, which is not true. Animation at the Oscars also has its own category, when it's not a genre, is a medium. Disney often wins at the Oscars too because no one sees the other animations. Granted, Disney has an insane marketing budget in comparison, but it's clear no one cares to seek out animation outside of heavy CGI live-action these days. No small-time studios, no limited releases, no anime. The fact that Disney also now OWNS the Oscars is SUS as hell. (The fact that Disney-owned ABC threatened the Oscars, forcing them to cut 8 categories or else there wouldn't be a show that year is wild. There isn't even an oscar for stuntmen. What the fuck, Hollywood?) (X)

Dreamworks nearly went bankrupt and sold itself to Comcast back in 2013. Comcast also owns Illumination. Dreamworks has been focusing on making bad tv show adaptions of their IPs. So yes people, Jack would sooner meet the Minions than meet Elsa. Disney is the biggest corporate monopoly, but it's definitely not the only one. The animation industry in America is snuffing out its competition by buying it out for itself. It's insane the kind of power they have.

Competition is HIGH. Because of this, the only ways to get in? If you're rich or you know someone. Pixar gets over 3,000 intern applications every summer. Less than 100 are seen by actual hiring managers. The most interns Pixar has ever taken in a single year were 12. The least they ever took in a single year was two. A 12 to 3,000 ratio is not favorable. That's a 3% chance to get into a big-shot animation company.

And again, because remote work isn't permissible to new hires, you need to live in the area to commute to the campuses. This is one of the reasons why LA is so crowded.

If you get into an animation company purely remote and maybe even for a different country? You are the luckiest person alive.

Programs are expensive. The animation industry is very strict on what programs they use. The industry standard for 2D puppetry is Toon Boom Harmony; the industry standard for 3D animation is Maya, and the industry standard for video game development isn't as clear but Unity is one of them.

Some of these programs are free, as long as you are a student. If you are attending college or a certain online program, you can use your school-issued email through them to apply to get the program for free for about a year. Otherwise, if you're using it to make your own animations solo?

Autodesk Maya: $225 a month or $1,785 a year (X)

and guess what? Maya removed its free render service. Arnold is now built in by default, however, if you want to BATCH render (Meaning render a full scene or several slides) it will slap it's ugly watermark over it.

Fun fact, this very rendered watermark can be seen accidentally in a single frame for the Kingdom Hearts Frozen cutscene

Well, you need to batch render if you're trying to animate so let's see what Arnold costs- $50 monthly to $380 annually.... are you kidding me?! The rendering PLUG-IN BUNDLED TO MAYA COSTS MORE TO USE THAN THE OWN PROGRAM?! (X)

Now, there are other rendering plug-ins you can probably use with Maya. But they all have their ups and downs and their own costs as well. (X) Pixar's Renderman is $595 per license. I can't seem to get info on Octane. V-ray solo is $39 monthly while premium is around $60 monthly.

Now there IS Blender, an alternative to Maya. It is free and I have it. That is ideal to work in for people like me. I tried it a while back, but I hated the interface windows. It was hard to work on it when you can't close them properly. It's possible they've fixed this in an update, but I haven't touched the program in over three years so I wouldn't know. It's different from Maya a little, so it has ups and downs in comparison too. But Blender is a savior to 3D artists everywhere.

Toon Boom Harmony isn't as bad but still high: Lowest price is $27 monthly / $220 annual and the highest is $124 monthly / $1,100 annual (X)

Unity has a basic version that is free, but Unity Plus is $399 yearly while Unity Pro is $2,040 (X)

So some programs are clearly more viable than others. But imagine you're trying to model, texture, rig, animate, simulate, and render a short film all by yourself in Maya. That's gonna take you over a year or two, and you'll have several thousand dollars out of your pocket by the time your free trial ends. And might I say, for an industry-standard program, Maya sucks. It's almost unusable without those plug-ins for not only rendering but also for the models to even be able to SELECT their BONE rigs.

Do you want to practice on your own when school is out of session? Fuck you! Fuck subscription services! Welcome to capitalist hell, baby!

Again, using Blender is more viable, but you're still going to be basically doing everything yourself. That's gonna take years. Do you have the patience for that? Do I?

Because of the pandemic, movies aren't even hitting theaters anymore. They're going straight to streaming services. Streaming services of which, gain sole rights to and can take media off their platforms at any time without warning. Thanks, Discovery+ ! Does everyone remember the HBO Max Animation & DC purge? It could happen to other streaming services too. Piracy will save the future of animation at this point. (X)

And again, Streaming services like Netflix will purchase films and claim they made them by slapping their logo over it; but no, they either bought the distribution rights or produced them through funding and maybe storyboarding. Often times from a Canadian film studio. (Link again X)

Even stop motion companies like LAIKA are losing money and may have to shut down or be bought out in the future, especially considering how much work and money they put into their films vs. how much money they actually make. (X)

All of this? Naturally made me fall into a depression. My god, the layers of hopelessness. My animation and modeling is pretty average too. I'm decent. I can maybe make a good shot. But I can't blow people away like James Baxter can. I mean, I shouldn't compare myself to people. If I worked really hard, maybe I could get into a good company. But again, I have to move! A part of me gave up. I don't really do 3D animation anymore, though part of me misses it.

I still 2D animate. I'm trying to make a short film and though my college friends who were working on it with me have given up, I have done my best to keep going. Even if it has been produced at a snail's pace for the past three years, I still intend to finish this animation. It's gonna be beautiful when it comes out, and it will be a wonderful portfolio piece regardless.

So with nothing else to do and no other kind of job experience really under my belt(plus my family is prone to covid so getting a job in the pandemic was just kind of out of the question) I decided to go to youtube. I heard some people can make a little money on there, but the truth is I had actually wanted to become a youtuber for a few years prior. I've always looked up to animators and reviewers on youtube, I've loved the stories they tell and their incredibly detailed analysis essays on movies, tv series, books, etc. I wanted to be one of them. I wasn't sure exactly what I'd do, so I just followed the Youtube Partnership program set up which took a few months, and then jumped in! I found I only had the time to upload once every month or two. I had a ton of audio issues and I'm not outputting at the proper 1920 x 1080 quality that I should be doing either. It's a huge learning process that I still haven't perfected, but I'm taking notes to try and get better.

Even though Youtube is fun, I only make $300 a month, and that isn't even consistent. With patreon, I make maybe another $80 or $100 on top of that, so overall $400 a month average. That's really nice and pretty cool! But it's not enough to survive.

Now I work part-time at a coffee shop. My mental health is a lot better and I love my coworkers. I make roughly $400 a week in comparison to the $400 a month. It's still not enough to live off of (the cheapest rent around is over $1,000 a month, not ) and it's still a temporary job in the long run. I intend to work here for maybe another two years to save up money.

But what do I do now?

Am I welcome in animation spaces anymore?

As a critic of popular media, it could be likely that they could fire me or deny my application because of my critique of their past films or tv series. They could see my youtube persona and assume I'm a raging untrustworthy nitpick instead of a passionate, kind person.

Vivziepop's Spindlehorse company? What Viv was doing was a dream. I was so inspired by her. She made her own company, made a super successful pilot, and was even creating more jobs for traditional, high-quality animation. However, for Hazbin Hotel, she required more funding, which is why she sold it off to A24, who now has corporate say in the show. A24 is known for letting creators be more lenient, but otherwise, Viv won't have full control over it anymore unless she managed to get them to sign something over to her; but with the rumors of her being kicked off season 1? I don't know anymore.

Her own company Spindlehorse; they rely on youtube revenue and/or merch sales to fund Helluva Boss. That's a tricky business practice, but it's kept them afloat so far.

However, Spindlehorse is hiring a lot of people as of late. This could be a bad sign; that people might be leaving the company due to potential mistreatment or unhappiness. With the way the show is going, I don't really want to be part of that company regardless, but maybe before season 2 of Helluva Boss, I would have considered applying. Had I made any critique videos prior, there's no way they'd accept me. "Aren't you that one YouTuber that said my writing is bad for season 2 episode 2?" And you expect me to hire you?" Like yeah, that application process would go down well. Not. By critiquing artists' work, some of them are very sensitive. I'd be kicked out for a lot of things, when really, we artists should be critiquing each other all the time, trying to improve. That's how the writer's room always is, ahaha... hours of fighting goes down in those meetings. It's intense, but fun.

But yeah, it's such a shame. Even small companies need to sell out to corporate to survive. Either that or be HEAVILY crowd-funded, which again, can be a slippery slope.

I see a ton of small projects on Twitter looking to hire people, or looking to become a big studio to release a pilot or game. I've joined a few of them, but most are unpaid because of COURSE they are, and then these projects?? Just don't go anywhere. Because it's unpaid. Because we can't afford to work on a project for free. IRL comes first. Some of these projects seem so great but they don't go anywhere, and it's hard to have faith in start-up studios anymore. (Game creators might have a chance, but tv series or films? Good luck, folks.)

At that point, should I just make my own company? I don't have the money or knowledge for such a thing! It's insanely expensive to start a business and get licensing. So much paperwork, so much everything! And the USA Government is so behind in understanding technology. If you want to create a remote business and/or copyright something, you're still required to put an advertisement in a local newspaper about it, even if your business isn't selling to locals. 💀 The number of fees and ridiculous legal hoops you need to jump through... it's a ridiculous waste of time and money. But you need to do it. The question is, am I willing to do it? Am I willing to tackle such an insane thing by myself?

I want to keep my internet persona and IRL persona separate, but can I? I value having a private, quieter life away from the screen. I worry about getting doxxed one day because of the nature of the internet. I worry about people finding my IRL resumes or profiles for work I want to do outside of youtube for security's sake. My art style is unique and very recognizable. I don't have a lot of private art that is worthy of being in a portfolio. But for absolute safety, I'd need to password-protect my websites or portfolios so the public doesn't have free access to them; only companies I'm applying to. But at that point, does password-protecting my resume and portfolio make it less likely I'd be hired due to the inconvenience? Due to the private, hard-to-find nature of my work? Being a YouTuber with great story skills and art skills with a fanbase could be a big plus to getting hired somewhere, but it could also be a horrible disadvantage that would get me fired. It's a double-edged sword that I cannot work around and I don't know what to do.

I've considered the video game industry, but even that isn't ideal. A lot of the indie ones I adore aren't made in the USA. Gris and Monster Camp were made in Spain. Ori and the Blind Forest: Austria. Hollow Knight: Australia. Little Nightmares and Raft: Sweden. LIMBO & INSIDE: Denmark. Outlast, Don't Starve, Spirit Farer, Bendy and the Ink Machine: Canada.

SuperGiant Games did Hades, Transistor and Bastion and is located in SF, but they're not hiring. Janimation, a multi-media company located in Texas isn't hiring. Frederator in New York isn't hiring.

I don't want to work for a studio that does nothing but first-person shooters or sports games. If I want to get into the gaming industry, I probably need to crowdfund and make a company to make a game myself.

If I make my own game, which I've wanted to do for a long time now and still want to... I can't code. I guess I could try to hire someone that could? But a game to the extent I want... I'd need to start small. I'd need to practice. It's several years of work. Will it even be worth it? I don't think I can do it alone. I'd need crowdfunding and workers; which again, here comes the "make my own studio" issue...

Do I even want to animate anymore? I prefer traditional animation in comparison to puppetry. I prefer 2D animation to 3D animation simply because it is more accessible. But even then, I'm finding myself drawn more and more to writing, storyboarding, and character design. If I were a 3D animator, this is mostly what I'd be working with all day: Naked models in an empty room. I'd do none of the physics simulation or texturing or lighting.

Animating naked & bald people all day... I don't know... 3D Animation kind of lost its appeal. You only work on such a small portion of a film, you almost never have the bigger picture. You won't see the final result until the film is done. As an animator, you're almost kept in the dark. Maybe that's how they want it anyway, since leaks are a huge issue they keep quiet under strict NDA.

But yeah, anyway... I'm an artistic digital generalist. I can do almost anything. 3D animation, storyboarding, writing, photo editing, illustration, rendering, modeling and so much more. It's hard to choose what you really want to be in this industry. I feel like Barry Benson dfklgjdflkjg

I don't know what I'm gonna do anymore. There's gotta be a solution to this but I just can't figure it out. I don't want to give up my youtube channel so I can be an animator. I don't want to give up a safer, quiet countryside house to be able to survive financially. Am I even willing or able to move countries? Is my career more important than friends and family?

I think I'm thinking too much about everything. I should start small. Move less than an hour away first and move in with roommates to get a feel for independence instead of jumping into it immediately. Get a job at a small time company, maybe not for what I want at first, but it'll get me some experience and maybe I'll learn some things along the way to understand where I can go next. Take it slow and don't panic too much over trying to be a young big shot. Take things one day at a time? That's my current goal, I suppose.

So you know... to answer your question... why did I switch to youtube for a current career? Because of a classic existential & career crisis in my 20s. Will I ever go back to 3D animation? Maybe. Maybe one day.

#ask #personal #3D animation #career #youtube #long post #i should also say because im a fan artist #i dont have a lot of original work to add to a portfolio which is a HUGE issue #Pixar doesnt even want to look at a portfolio if it has copyrighted material #they want to avoid lawsuits if they see material owned by a different company #you need to be so careful what you put in a portfolio #i mean especially if i use my 2D stuff or illustrations #my illustrations especially #animation #the animation industry #CGI #rant

[semiweirdshipper]

Slashers as fathers with a (teenage) reader.

Notes: 100% NON-ROMANTIC. Platonic love only. Non-binary reader. The reader is a young teenager (you decide the age). Freddy is alive and NOT a pedophile.

Summary: The slasher fathers feeling guilty after hurting their child's feelings. PART TWO. Hurt/comfort addition.

Folks who wanted to be tagged. @hope4rain19, @minaxcarter, @brooke-stinson, @urminebutidontwantyou, @gaipplrhot, @gyarukitti, @raphydude, @thelxapeia, @ant1d3pre55ant5add1ct, @decentsoupperson, @kawaistrawberry21.

Freddy Krueger

Freddy sighed as he stomped to your room in search of his laptop. You had been in such a rush this morning to get to school that you had accidentally left it in there. And while he always respected your wishes for him to never enter your room, he really needed his laptop. Sacrifices need be made some times.

However, as Freddy wandered into your room, he was met with a sight that literally stole his breath. Your bed was completely littered with folders and painted canvas boards. There was a large portfolio bag laying on the ground with its contents scattered everywhere. Painting and drawing utensils alike sat scattered over a table with a still wet painting taped atop.

Eyes ridiculously wide, Freddy looked around and deeply observed the area. He didn't know you owned any of this stuff. Paintings, oil canvases, drawings and sketches, and all of them were yours. And each piece looked really, really good. Freddy couldn't believe what was happening right now.

He thought you gave up on art.

Delicately picking up multiple art pieces, a happiness and sense of pride rushed through Freddy's heart, and he found himself grinning big in a mixture of relief and utter joy. You still loved art, and you were so good at it. He hadn't destroyed your passion after all. That being said though... Why would you hide this from him?

Later that day when you came home, Freddy asked you to go to the kitchen. When you went inside, you froze right on the spot. There, scattered all across the kitchen table, were multiple art projects of yours.

"Dad..." You choked, your heart racing in fear, your words stolen from you, "I..."

"I needed my laptop and uh... Accidentally found these," Freddy explained, a happy smile covering his face as he went to grab your shoulders, "Sweetie, why would you hide this from-"

"I told you not to go in there." You almost shouted, tears blurring your eyes as you pulled away from him.

"Sweetie," Freddy took a step back, hurt by your defensive attitude.

You went to the table and quickly began to gather up your art work. Freddy chased after you to try and get you to stop, "No, stop it. Don't do that- just-just wait a sec, I-"

"I get it, dad, you hate it. You've always hated my art. You-just... J-just leave me alone. Don't touch it, ok," You avoided eye contact while scurrying to protect your work, "I'll put it away."

"No, that's not what I want. (y/n). (y/n), will you please look at me. Hey," Freddy placed a hand on your shoulder and kept you from stomping off, "(y/n), look at me."

With a tense body and watery eyes, you looked at him, art work clutched to your chest and a glare covering your face.

Freddy sighed and said in earnest, "That's not what I want. Your art, I love it. I think it's beautiful an-and amazing! I-I mean, all this time? Really? I thought you gave up on it, I... I thought that I..."

Relaxing, you lowered your arms and looked him straight in the eyes. It felt like your heart had just done a summersault in your chest. "You... You mean it? You... You really like my art?"

"I love it!" Freddy exclaimed almost too quickly, "I love it so much, you have no idea. You have no idea how happy this makes me, (y/n). I thought that I ruined art for you. I... I never stopped feeling guilty about what I did. And I always hoped that one day you would start again, but..."

"Dad," You bit your lip hard in an attempt not to cry. He cared. He actually cared, and he loved your art. He was happy for you.

"Here," Freddy went to grab an old folder off the table.

Suspicious, you set down your art and went to take the folder. When you opened it, you saw dozens of old, un-crumpled papers with very distinct, familiar drawings on them. It took a minute, but you soon realized that these were the very drawings you had thrown away when you were little.

"You... Kept them?" You gaped at your dad, your heart aching in a happy/sad way.

"Of course I did," Freddy's smile wobbled a bit, "I love you and I love everything you do, and I'm so, so sorry for making you feel bad, f-for making you feel like you had to hide this from me."

Lowering the folder, you felt your lips wobble as your heart clenched in great happiness and relief. All this time you believed your dad hated your passion. He had hurt you so badly, but he regretted it. He had always regretted it, and he loved your work.

In a desperate attempt to hide your tears, you rush up to your dad and give him a big hug. Freddy held you as tightly as he could, his arms fierce and protective as he said, "Don't ever give up on your art, (y/n). No matter what, please. I love you so much."

Michael Myers

Michael had wandered out of the garage a few minutes after your friend's dad dropped you off. "Me and (friend's name) are gonna grab a snack real quick, k dad?" You had hollered while rushing into the house.

Rolling his eyes a bit, Michael approached the other man who casually got out of the car. He was grinning big at you and his own kid, seemingly proud and full of joy. "My god, man," He said mindlessly, smiling at Michael, "I tell ya, that was one hell of a game today. Whoo, and (y/n)? My god, they were great."

Puzzled and confused, Michael could only tilt his head in wonder. Game? What game?

The man shook his head and gave Michael an even more puzzled look than he himself sported, "Hey, how come I never see you at any of their games? Rough job or something?"

Michael's silence and confused expression urged the man to explain more.

"You know, the (sport) game? Just had one today- what a show I tell ya. But, I just- I never see you there, you know?"

At that, Michael's eyes went unspeakably wide. (sport)? You were playing (sport)? What? For how long? Why didn't he know about this? He thought you quit playing that when you were little. What was going on?

A week later and Michael was sitting amongst the crowd that was watching your (sport) game. You didn't know he was there. You didn't even know that he knew all your secrets like the fact that you had been playing (sport) for years, how you had won two trophies, the fact that this is where you spent most of your time at, and so on and so forth.

While watching the game, Michael couldn't help but to feel a deep sense of pride, relief and great joy at seeing how passionately you played and how much fun you were having. And you were so talented at it. The other team didn't stand a chance. You had grown so much since you were little. To this day his own actions still haunted him.

He hurt you. He 'scarred' you. And, although you continued doing what you loved, you had still felt the need to hide it from him, for years. He did that. He had made you feel so anxious and insecure that you felt the need to hide your greatest passion from him.

What kind of father does that to their child?

Unsurprisingly, your team won the game, and Michael couldn't be more proud or excited. Once the crowd and commotion calmed down, he patiently waited on you to exit the changing rooms. The way you hid yourself...

Michael gazed around at all the happy families congratulating and/or comforting their kids. It crushed his heart thinking about the sheer loneliness you expressed after the game ended and you had no one to celebrate with aside from your team mates.

When you came out of the changing room, Michael straightened his posture and faced you. It took you a minute, but eventually you looked up, saw him, and froze. A gasp escaped your mouth while your backpack fell from your shoulder to your shaken hand.

Michael's chest ached at the sight of your frightened, horrified face as you frantically looked around as if for an escape. Quickly he approached you and said in sign language, "That was a good game."

"Dad," You stepped away from him, panicked, "I-it's not what you think-I... I-I was just-I'm..."

You were scared, Michael realized, guilt beating on him like a hundred hammers. He waved his hand at you to get your attention, "Why didn't you tell me you were playing (sport)?"

"I..." You stare at him in great panic that melted into sadness and fear. You dropped your backpack and covered your face, saying brokenly, "I'm sorry, dad. I... I didn't mean to. Don't be mad, please, I-I... I'll stop playing it."

What? Micheal rushed to you and went to gently pull your hands away from your flushed face. What had he done? "No, I'm not mad. Please stop panicking. I'm not mad. Not at all."

Confused, you look at him through tear colored vision.

"I just found out you were playing (sport). You even have trophies. (y/n), why did you keep this from me?"

"Because," You winced, "You said I wasn't good at it. You... You hate me for it. I... I just wanted to be happy. I... I didn't mean to..."

He couldn't believe how upset you were, and all because he found out that you were doing what you loved. Marching up to you, Michael pulled you into a big hug that lasted for several minutes. When he noticed you calm down, he moved back a bit and explained.

"I was an idiot back then. I never should have said those things to you, (y/n). I've always felt bad for how I made you feel. You're not bad at (sport) and I never wanted you to stop playing. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I made you feel this way."

You were shocked speechless, so Michael pulled you into another hug. You hugged back, relieved. He wasn't mad at you. He apologized. Everything was going to be alright.

Bo Sinclair

Bo lived in a very, very small town. Everyone knew each other and every piece of information that existed on the surface. Rumors spread and gossip filled the air like pollen. So it didn't take very long for Bo to learn that you had been practicing engineering with the car shop just down the road.

At first Bo had been ecstatic. You were still interested in engineering? He thought you didn't want to do that anymore; you said so yourself. Ever since the incident when you were little, you hadn't helped him with anything physically constructive- not even stuff as simple as hanging a picture on the wall.

Pretty much everyone praised you and said that you were doing a tremendous job. Your skill towards fixing vehicles was a natural, golden talent. You were an impressive, fast learner and everyone loved and appreciated you.

But when Bo tried to approach you about this exciting news, he was confused to hear you deny all of it. You shut his exclamations off and said that the towns people were lying. You claimed to have nothing to do with engineering. Yes, you hung around the car shop, but nothing was going on, you were just bored.

Bo didn't understand it. Why would you lie to him about this? He knew that the towns people weren't making this up- just ask the guy who took a picture of you and your buddies covered in grease while working on a truck engine. You looked so happy. Why was that something to lie about?

For the life of him, Bo could not figure out what was going on with you. Obviously you were lying to him, but he couldn't get you to explain why. It was as if you were completely and utterly avoiding him now, and it was driving him crazy.

So Bo reached out for help.

"Well," Your engineering teacher said in a tense tone, "I talked to em an' they said it's 'cause they don't wanna make ya mad."

"Huh?" Bo shook his head in exaggeration. What did that even mean?

Your teacher gave him a wearisome look, "I think they're afraid you're gonna blow a gasket on em if they do somethin' wrong. I take it that... you got a short temp?"

At that question, Bo was immediately rushed with memories of the past, and he found himself feeling overwhelmed with guilt and dread. That time he got mad at you when you were little, you didn't just give up on engineering. You gave up on everything that had to do with him. Was this why? Because you were afraid that he would get mad at you if you messed up or made a mistake?

You were afraid of his temper.

Coming to realization, Bo spent quite a while trying to figure out how he should approach you. He wasn't the best at emotions or having deep conversations. If he tried to explain himself he feared he would just say something stupid and cause you to be more upset with him.

So he waited for the perfect moment.

A couple weeks later, Bo dragged you to his shop to show you something that caused your mouth to fall open in awe. "Ram 3500, 2018. An' look at'er license plate."

Gasping the name of the state the enormous truck was from, you faced your dad with absolute excitement and disbelief, "Why's it here?"

"Ah, a little transmission trouble on the road," Bo smiled and slung an arm around your shoulder, "Nice huh? She's a beauty. Needs lotta' work, fast, an' I want 'you' to help me."

"What?" Your behavior changed drastically, "Dad-"

"Look, I've already heard all the gossip. I've seen ya work at the shop. I know you know what you're doin', (y/n)," Bo went to stand in front of you. "But what I don't understand is why ya don't wanna work with me."

"It's not... I just..." You sighed and looked at the ground, lost on what to say. A pain filled your chest as you admitted quietly, "I ain't perfect, dad, I... I make mistakes."

"And?" Bo pushed for a better answer.

His impatience and lack of understanding made you snap, "An' you can't handle that. Every time I mess up even the tiniest bit, you get mad at me. What do you expect me to do, huh? I'm only (age)."

Going silent, Bo relaxed upon learning what exactly your insecurity was. You were avoiding him because you were afraid of him getting mad at you for making mistakes. He did this. He put this fear in you, made you this way. And because of that, you were both teetering on the edge of complete life separation.

"(y/n)," Bo reached out and put a hand on your shoulder, "I'm sorry."

Your entire body froze.

"I... never meant to make ya feel this way. I know ya ain't perfect. You're still learnin' an' you've got a long ways to go, but... I wanna be there for you, (y/n). I wanna help you. I wanna watch ya grow, an' I can't do that if ya ain't around... I'm better than I used to be. So if you mess up, I ain't gettin' mad. I'm helping you, because that's what fathers do."

Shot by your dad's moving words, you find yourself staring at him for a long moment before a large smile bloomed across your face. "Right dad," You say, "Let's take a look at her."

With his heart skipping over the moon, Bo grinned and thanked the very stars themselves for this moment, and he lead you to your first shared project since you were a mere, little kid.

Hannibal Lecter

One night Hannibal got bored and lonely and decided to go to Will's house which was where you liked to spend lots of time at. He didn't mind you staying with Will, but some times he himself felt a little bit left out.

When he arrived at Will's house, he quietly made way up the stairs of the porch and temporarily paused just outside of the window. Casually peeking in, Hannibal spotted Will sitting at the dining table reading a newspaper while you stood in front of the stove in the kitchen. Your sleeves were clumsily rolled up and you had a apron on.

The motions of your arms and the state of the kitchen did not lie. You were cooking. You were quite literally cooking food right in front of him. Hannibal couldn't help but to release a small shudder of mixed emotions. It had been years since he last saw you cook- years since he demolished your feelings and forced you away from the passion you both once shared.

To see you cooking now? It made Hannibal erupt with questions and emotions. How long had this been going on? What were you cooking? Why were you cooking? How come he didn't know? Were you happy? Was this why you always spent so much time with Will?

Speaking oh whom, Hannibal watched as you handed out a spoon to which Will stood up to receive. Taking a taste of the spoon, Will made a bright face and reached out for a container of spice. You smiled, laughed and nodded, happily going to add some of the recommended spice to your dish.

Grinning, Hannibal couldn't help but to feel great pride. So, you could handle personal opinions and constructive criticism? What an astounding chef you turned out to be, and you looked so happy too.

Regaining his composure, Hannibal straightened his hair and went to knock on the door.

It took over five minutes for Will to answer.

By that time, things had grown to be rather chaotic. Now only did Will claim that you had gone to bed, but that he also was the one responsible for the late night meal.

Hannibal knew better though.

Whilst you pretended to sleep in the guest bedroom, Will and Hannibal stood in the kitchen gazing around at all your hard work.

"They told me what happened when they were little," Will said, a disappointed look on his face, "How could you say that to them, doc?"

Hannibal stared down at your unfinished dish, his heart clenching in memory of the past. "I spoke out of impulse. I didn't mean to cause them this much insecurity." To think you would go out of your way to lie to him. "How long has this affair been going on?"

"I don't know. Few years?" Will shrugged, "I was cooking macaroni one day, they asked to help and... The ship set sail, I guess."

"You reignited their flame," Hannibal huffed and smiled, "I'm grateful."

"Ever thought about apologizing?" Will asked.

"I have," Hannibal said softly, "However, they refuse to have anything to do with cooking."

"You told them that they were a horrible cook and a waste of time in the kitchen. What did you expect would happen?"

Hannibal bowed his head in shame. He hurt you, more than he had ever imagined. After all these years he believed that you had moved on and found different passions, but instead you clung to cooking and desperately sought hiding it from him because of fear. What kind of father was he to do that to you?

The next morning after the drive home, Hannibal kept you in the car to say, "(y/n). I know it was you who cooked at Wills the other night. I saw."

Having been dreading this exact conversation, you flushed darkly and turned your head away in great shame, sadness and fear. "I'm sorry."

"Please do not apologize," Hannibal cursed at himself for how anxious he made you feel, "I am more grateful than you could ever know."

That stirred a confused reaction from you.

"(y/n), you do not have to accept my apology, but I want you to promise me that you will continue to do what you enjoy, especially if it is cooking." Hannibal looked to you hopefully. "Seeing how happy you were... You have no idea how much joy it brought me. I thought I had destroyed your passion, but..."

Now completely facing your dad, your mouth was agape and your heart pounding furiously with emotions.

"I've always regretted what I said to you that day. It was rude and improper, and most certainly untrue. You are an astounding cook and I'm proud of you. I'm sorry that I hurt you, but, even if you do not wish to forgive me, I hope that you will always continue to do what you love."

Looking at your dad with watery eyes, you blinked and fought for the right words to respond with. All these years you had been terrified of your dad's wrath and disapproval when it came to cooking. He was right, he did hurt you, and the pain was still lingering inside you.

Even though what he said now brought you some form of relief and comfort, you couldn't help but to still feel a little bit of lingering hurt. "I... I need time." You reply quietly.

Hannibal nodded in understanding, "And time you shall have. I will always be here to support you."

-

If I made a part three, it could be about the reader still suffering some anxiety while doing their passion around their dad. And the slasher dads' will be nothing but happy, supportive and proud. You know, just casual comfort and fluff.

#slashers #dead by daylight #fanfiction #reader insert #father and child relationship #Teenage reader #platonic love only #slashers as dads #freddy krueger x reader #michael myers x reader #bo sinclair x reader #reader x hannibal lecter #lester sinclair #vincent sinclair #father figure

[ferrstappen]

loving him is red l Charles Leclerc Imagine

a/n: it’s been YEARS since I've written something but I have too many ideas and time so I'll give it a try again <3 any feedback is appreciated and than you for reading <3

also, of course the only song I could think of is Red by Taylor Swift (taylor’s version ofc)... I mean... how could I not?

genre: fluff.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x female singer!reader.

summary: Charles’ girlfriend receives her first Grammy for Song of the Year, sadly enough the inspiration behind the song isn’t able to make it to the ceremony.

“This feels so wrong, I should be there to support you... You’re always here for races and shit” Charles said while watching her get ready on a fancy hotel room, meanwhile he was stuck in Maranello. 

“Please don’t, it’s pre-season and all that, you know they needed you there today. Plus, I'll be home by tomorrow so we can celebrate... or you can console me since I'm probably losing anyway.” (Y/N) quietly said the last part while sipping some expensive sparkling wine her assistant brought to the room. 

“You are not losing! Babe, how many times do I need to tell you that?” Charles sounded truly exasperated with his girlfriend, like he truly had told her many many times. 

Truth be told, she never thought she would be considerate at all. Yes, her label had submitted her second album and the first single of the record, but they were almost obligated to do so, it was an unspoken rule in the music industry that you just had to do the entire “for your Grammy consideration” portfolio if you wanted to be taken seriously, but (Y/N) never really thought the song she first released from her album would be such a hit. 

Honestly, they just were words her heart could think of whenever she saw Charles, because he truly was red... In the way he wore the color so proudly, from the way his car was always a shiny red even when he was driving it in the driest of the deserts, to the way he loved her so passionately, fearlessly and undoubtedly... He was red. 

It never made sense to her that millions around the world would mix her lyrics on Ferrari t-shirts or that fans would wait for Charles on the stands with bright red lyrics of the song. 

He loved it, by the way. He would flush a bright red whenever someone on the grid teased him about it, pretended he was shy about everyone knowing those words were for him, but his heart would sing a little every single time he listened or read the verses meant for him, just as he would make sure the camera would capture your cute face over FaceTime when he got a podium and you couldn’t be here, or how he made sure to tell you his best joke when you’d arrive to the paddock holding hands, loving the way the photographers captured your laugh and the glint in his eyes just by being the reason of your smile. 

He had the superior relationship and he just knew it, and he made sure the rest of the word knew it as well. 

“So, are you finally going to show me the dress?” Charles said while putting his headphones on to ignore the world outside of his driver’s room.

She cheekily smiled. “No, not really” She told him, earning a dissatisfied groan from him.

“Then when do you want me to see it? On TV like the rest of the world?” He argued, his accent getting thicker.

“Actually yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking.” (Y/N) was going to keep talking, but her assistant let her know the dress had just arrived and they needed her full attention. 

“No, I heard that! You can mute me and I’ll just watch over here!” Charles pleaded, earning a heartily laugh from her girlfriend. 

“I’m so sorry, bebé. I have to go, but you can watch me on TV though!”

Charles sighed, unable to hide his grin. “You know I'll be glued, I don’t care about the time or anything,” even through his noise-cancelling headphones he could hear a big commotion outside his room, meaning someone would come knocking on his door soon. He took a deep breath before focusing his eyes on his muse again. “I love you so much, chérie. I’m so proud of you and whatever happens tonight doesn’t change that. Please whatever you need I'll have my phone at all times, I’m capable of stoping the car in the middle of nowhere and you know it,” they both laughed. “I’m right there with you, I love you.”

She repeated the same words over and over again, feeling a bit numb as several people helped her fitting the red Maison Valentino dress to perfection. It was a whirlwind from there, the last glance she took of herself in the mirror was to make sure the small prancing horse shaped stud earrings, a nod to her man watching on tv.

As if writing a Grammy nominated song and almost an entire album about him wasn’t enough...

Her hands couldn’t help the tingling on the palm of her hands, her body knowing she was missing her other half; he always needed to fix his tie or style a stubborn strand of hair, and it always calmed her nerves to take care of him. 

Back in Italy, Charles was anxiously watching the TV in front of him, some friends, including Carlos, were sitting around the living room, mindlessly chatting about some of the artists performing on the Grammys, what were the plans for the night, the next Real Madrid game...

But Charles eyes were trained on his girl smiling in front of the TV, feeling giddy as she gracefully walked down the carpet on her silky red dress, eyes shining and smile intoxicating. 

The night flew by and Charles swore he could feel your hand squeezing his as they announced the category he had been waiting for. Harry Styles was on the stage with the envelope.

Everything went by so quickly, Charles didn’t notice his friends had shut up and were with their eyes trained on the TV. They all collectively gasped when the brit announced Red by (Y/N) as the song of the year. 

Then it was just noise; from the TV, from people cheering on the theatre as she hid her face on the palm on her hands, to the living room where Charles had rose to his feet hugging everyone around him.

To anyone on the outside it would’ve seemed like their country had won the World Cup. 

“God, I don’t know how to begin,” She shakily said while holding the gramophone. “I know I’m supposed to say that this is for my fans and my label and everyone who believed in me, and it is but...” She smiled to herself. “This is for you, the inspiration behind every word, every verse, every note. My incredible boyfriend who makes my heart sing and my life happy. They haven’t invented the words to tell you how much I love you,” She could feel tears building on the corner of her eyes, until she saw a stage producer informing she only had ten seconds left to wrap up her speech. “God, just ten seconds? Thank you so much to everyone, Char I love you with my entire heart, and thank you to everyone for this I’ll always have this moment in my heart, even after I’m gone I’m sure this is gonna be engraved. Thank you!”

The camera captured her glistening eyes as she smiled through the lens. Charles had unshed tears as his heart was beating loudly. Only seconds passed until his phone was vibrating with an incoming FaceTime call. 

“So... Did you like the red dress?” She joked and he laughed through the unshed proud tears. He never knew he could feel so much pride and love for another person. 

He chuckled. “I loved it, and I love you so much words cannot explain. Fuck, how come I wasn’t there?”

Their love was red.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc au #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x you

[lees-chaotic-brain]

JJK Men Getting Jealous

Feat. Gojo and Megumi

CW: Random guys being creeps, harassment, attempted kidnapping (or so he thinks), reader has female pronouns and anatomy, light swearing

Part Two | JJK Masterlist | Blog Navigation

Gojo Satoru

The two of you were enjoying your date at the park when Gojo received a phone call. Normally, he would have ignored it, but you forced him to, telling that he needs to take care of his responsibilities. After all, you loved Satoru as he was, but the man needed to grow up a little.

Stepping away, he turned his back and answered the phone, immediately trying to weasel his way out of whatever assignment he was needed on.

Meanwhile, you were seated on a bench and scrolling through your phone when a street photographer approached you.

"Excuse me?" A young man was looking at you hopefully as he held up his camera.

"I'm a street photographer, and well, when I noticed you sitting here I just knew I had to capture your stunning looks for my portfolio. So would it be okay if I took your picture?"

Flattered, but a little uncertain, you replied.

"Well, thank you, but actually I'm just waiting for my boyfriend-"

He cut you off.

"Oh don't worry! This will only take a second!"

Stepping up to you, he reached out and brushed your hair back with his fingers.

"What-what are you doing?" You ask nervously, leaning away from his touch.

"Just brushing your hair back from your face! Can't have it covering those stunning features of yours now can we darling?"

He winked cheekily.

Finally finished with his call (he had managed to dump the assignment onto the three first years), Gojo turned around, ready to bask in your presence and affection.

Instead he witnessed an unfamiliar man moving his hands to your chest brushing off your shirt and smoothing the fabric.

Pausing, he took a moment to try and comprehend what he was seeing.

Then he saw you flinch and swat his hands away.

He was by your side in an instant.

"Please stop." You said firmly. "My boyfriend-"

"Is right here!"

Gojo interjected cheerfully, swinging an arm around your shoulders and using his other arm to push the photographer away as he sat next to you.

"Why don't you take a picture of me and my girlfriend?"

He suggested menacingly, looking at the man over his glasses.

"After all, don't you think we make an absolutely stunning couple?"

Needless to say, the photographer snapped a couple quick pictures of the two of you before speeding away.

"Thanks 'Toru."

You said, sighing in relief once the man was finally out of sight.

"No problem! After all, he was touching my boobies."

To emphasize what he was saying, he turned and buried his head in your chest.

He peeked up at you with puppy eyes.

"These are all mine, right?"

"Of course babe."

You laughed, and stroked his hair.

"They're all yours."

Megumi Fushiguro

While the two of you were shopping with Nobara and Yuji, you saw something that interested you and you wandered off.

Noticing that you were missing, Megumi split off from the others, and went to search for you.

Finally finding you, he couldn't help but to smile a little, because you were just so damn cute.

You were happily wandering around a manga store quietly humming to yourself as you browsed.

Moving to join you, he was shocked when a guy around the same age as you guys snuck up behind you and put you into a chokehold.

Were you getting kidnapped in front of him? He was speeding up, ready to give the guy a beatdown he wouldn't soon forget, when you flipped the guy over your shoulder.

The guy twisted gracefully midair to avoid being slammed on his back, and landed smoothly on his feet in front of you. You shot your arm up, ready to strike, but the guy easily caught your wrist.

"I told you to stop using that move, it's too predictable."

The guy said, shaking his head at you.

Pausing, you looked up at the guys face for the first time.

"TAKESHI?!"

You shrieked his name, and launched yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"You big dummy! What was that for?! You scared the shit out of me! But never mind that, I missed you! What's going on? Why are you here?!"

Laughing he spun you around.

"Whoa. Slow down. I missed you too idiot. I missed my sparring partner and was just checking to make sure that you were keeping up with your training!"

He batted his eyes innocently as he set you on your feet.

"After all, my mom would kill me if I left her beloved unofficial daughter unable to defend herself in the big city! What if you got mugged?!"

Unable to suppress your smile you pinched his cheek.

"You just did that because you wanted to scare me. Jerk."

"Aw, you know you love me."

"Ahem."

You both turned to find your unimpressed boyfriend staring at the two of you with his arms crossed over his chest.

Striding over to you, Megumi wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you into his side, giving the other guy an once over.

"I'm Fushiguro Megumi. Her boyfriend. Who are you?"

Takeshi gave you a fake wounded look.

"What? But I'M her boyfriend!"

Blinking at him, Megumi frowned.

"What?"

Stepping out of Megumi's grasp, you walked over to Takeshi and cuffed him over the head.

"STOP TELLING PEOPLE I'M DATING THAT YOU ARE MY BOYFRIEND!!"

"BUT I AM!!"

"YOU ARE LITERALLY GAY!"

"AND!?"

"AND YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND OF YOUR OWN!!"

Poor Megumi just stood there in shock. After the two of you worked it out with a quick wrestling match (you won) and stopped screaming at each other. You and this "Takeshi" explained that you were childhood best friends, and that Takeshi was just a jerk who liked to mess with your love life.

Needless to say, Megumi spent the rest of the day pouting, and needed lots of reassurance cuddles that he was way better than Takeshi, and you would never leave him for him.

"You would never leave me for him, right?"

"Of, course baby. He's just a friend. I love you so much more than him."

"But you love him a little bit?!"

"GUMI. HE IS LITERALLY GAY AND HAS A BOYFRIEND."

Thanks for reading! Should I make a part two with Toge and Yuji? Let me know!!

#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x female reader #jealousy #drabbles #jjk men #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x female reader #gojo satoru x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #fusiguro megumi x female reader #megumi x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #crack fic #lee's brain writes

[sgiandubh]

Context, always the context

After we had gagging fun - and some, a small and unjustified heartbreak, too - with the newest 🎪 pic, let's put it a bit in context. I confess I am more and more immune to these: they are aimed at this fandom, of course - just to fuel further web wars and talks: never forget Xmas is round the corner, too. But they are also aimed at the Casuals, who still can't place McIdiot on her map and do not really care, to be honest.

So, what exactly do we have, here?

This:

After more than ten years in showbiz, our C still needs a pointer to tell ignoramuses like me where exactly she is, on that picture?

How odd. How unfair. But let's imagine I am from Mars. I have no idea who these people are, including to each other. The legend tells me nothing: just C and T and zero details. They could very well be co-workers, acquaintances, friends...? Oh, she's married to him. Oh. Ok. For sure, they ooze bliss and happiness. For sure. I've seen broomsticks act more convincingly than this.

Also, the photographer. As a very trusted friend pointed out (thank you, forever indebted to you), this Bennett guy was all over the place, yesterday. According to Getty Images (https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/search/photographer?photographer=Dave%20Benett&assettype=image&sort=best&license=rf%2Crm), he attended at least seven other high profile London events yesterday and was paid to cover them, too.

Their list immediately places this minor happening in its right context and at its right place:

"Leave The World Behind" - UK Special Screening and afterparty. The one she attended with McIdiot.

Hackett London x David Gandy Wellwear Launch Party - Savile Row tailors, established in 1983. Huge success story from a humble Portobello Road clothes stall to a 160 shops global network and a part of LVMH group (remember? LOL). The one she did not attend with McIdiot.

"Femme" - Gala Screening - After Party - UK thriller, premiered at the Berlinale last spring. Will be released tomorrow in the UK and IE. 95% approval rate on Rotten Tomatoes. The one she did not attend with McIdiot.

Skye McAlpine Celebrates The Opening Of Tavola's Christmas Pop-Up Shop, in Knightsbridge (along with Fitzrovia, my favorite London spot). Tavola is a high end tableware collection, carefully curated by Skye McAlpine - celebrated British cookbook author and an expert in Italian cuisine and fine dining. You should think two gin entrepreneurs would be thrilled to meet her, at another event she did not attend with McIdiot.

A Reception By The All Party Parliamentary Group Honouring Elton John For His Dedication To The Global Fight Against HIV AIDS. No further comments needed for this very, very posh event she did not attend with McIdiot. I doubt she has this type of connections.

The Anti Slavery Collective Inaugural Winter Gala at the Battersea Arts Center in London. Attended by royalty (yeah, ok: Fergie - but also, her two Princess daughters!), aristocrats (Count Nikolai von Bismarck comes to mind), showbiz people (Ed Sheeran - hello?) and of course, the press. But this is another very high profile event she did not attend with McIdiot.

Longines Dolce Vita Exhibition and after party - aimed at the high end luxury crowd. Another event she did not attend with McIdiot.

Smirnoff Celebrates New 'We Do Us' Initiative In Partnership With Tilting The Lens And Sink The Pink. Smirnoff, that legendary vodka which story started in Tsarist Moscow and now continues as part of the behemoth Diageo spirits group. Mhm. Now with an event tailored for the well-heeled LGBT+ and Generation Z crowds, organized in partnership with Tilting the Lens,  Sinéad Burke's consultancy firm with an absolutely spectacular client portfolio, featuring Gucci, Starbucks and -hey, nice to see you! - Soho House. LOL. You would think they could have grabbed a black cab and do anything to at least drop in and say hi. You would think they would be interested to meet with the other, less obvious, partner of this event, Stonegate, a major player on UK's hospitality scene. What a pity this was another event she did not attend with McIdiot!

Make no mistake. London is a real global metropolis. Une ville-monde (a World City), a notion coined by one of my masters, the wonderful French historian Fernand Braudel. As such, it currently stands at the epicenter of all that is trendy, new, exciting and expensive and it offers an endless array of opportunities for the brave and the bold. That was but a very incomplete sample of a Wednesday night on the London scene, busier than usually with all those end of year events. Out of the other seven of this sample, she had a profitable and realistic choice between at least two or three other events. She could have even coupled that after party with at least another one of those, if she had the right network to attract an invitation.

It is also plain to see, by now, TMcG is by no conceivable means the successful, multimillionaire businessman and entrepreneur. He is nowhere to be placed on this very rich, very diverse event scene. He does not attend any events by himself, whereas she carefully attends events all alone and does it very well - wouldn't that be because she has a name in her own right, too? He apparently does nothing, he apparently is Nobody. You should think a successful, multimillionaire, ambitious businessman would be proud to be seen just about everywhere with his up-and-coming actress wife, isn't it?

The sad truth is this clown only makes it to a cursory mention in a Daily Fail picture gallery when dragged along by C. At an event she most probably managed to get an invitation via Rami Malek, her co-star in The Amateur:

That, my friends, is not C playing her Greta Garbo. That is C squandering every shred of sympathy capital she ever managed to acquire, with absurd determination.

But sure, keep on screeching, Stans. Keep on screeching. All of the above are cold, hard FACTS your queens carefully keep out of your reach. God forbid you come to the realization.

[oftenderweapons]

London Calling | KNJ

Pairing: Namjoon x Vixen

Wordcount: 3.1k

Genre: Fluff, smut, pwp, established relationship!AU, idol!Au, Married!AU

Rating: 18+; minors, please do not interact

Synopsis: Vixen has decided to distract herself from Namjoon's incumbent enlistment by focusing on her job. She has accepted adding more international works to her portfolio and is currently in London; too bad Namjoon can't help but post risqué pictures on his Instagram, and it really seems he's doing so to try and get her attention.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, Swearing, Fear of infidelity, Nostalgia. Extremely mild DDLG dynamics, Babygirl!Vixen, Brat!Vixen, Phone sex, Masturbation, Dirty talking. Mentions of: Oral sex (both male and female receiving), Lingerie kink, Sex toys, Spanking. Oh, and one of Joon's friends simps for Vixen.

As usual, you can find my masterlist right here! I wouldn't mind if you took a few seconds to leave a comment or reblog my fic 🥰 Also, my requests are always open!!!

Enjoy 💜✨

“Been hearing someone’s on their worst behaviour.”

Namjoon’s chuckle on the opposite end of the line is everything you need to know. “What can I say, my last moral anchor is busy girlbossing around the world.” He licks his lips and sits down on the sofa, his friends messing around his kitchen, beers and liquors spread around your marble counter. “I’m missing my lucky star.”

“Your guardian angel.”

“My only angel,” he flirts. 

The game is back on between you and Namjoon. Ever since you decided to stop waiting around for his enlistment and have started accepting international projects on your portfolio, it’s like no matter where either of you are, it’s always time to flirt on the phone. 

Or mess around even more. 

He’s touched down in London for you about two weeks ago, showing up at your hotel room with an Agent Provocateur bag dangling from his pretty fingers and the kind of smile that always gets you shimmying out of your panties. 

“What are you up to, love? What time is it over there?”

“Uh-huh. I’m the one doing the asking here, mister.” 

He puts his glass back on the coffee table, and leans over with his elbows on his knees. “I’m just trying to feed my imagination, little fox. What’s a boy to do, with an empty bed and a sexy wife on the other side of the world?”

“I don’t know, maybe be more careful before talking talks he can’t walk?” you suggest. 

He lowers his voice before saying, “You’d be over my knee right now, you know?”

You decide to talk back, just to mess him up further. Your voice is like midnight fog when you tell him, “you’d have to catch me first.”

He steals a glance towards the kitchen. This feels an awful lot like when the two of you began hanging out — the secrecy, the craving, the distance, and the pining. Except this time you have rings on your hands and there’s no doubting loyalty, not on his nor your behalf. 

He toys with his own ring, tracing it with his thumb, twisting it a little to the left, then to the right, back and forth. 

“It seems you appreciated that quick leak…” 

You click your tongue. “One of these days you’re gonna end up naked in those pics and I’ll have to come home to do damage control.”

“Is that all it takes to have you back home? I miss my territorial little vixen.” He stares at your stash of books in the bookshelf, standing tall right next to his, but looking twice more put together. 

“I’ve noticed you’ve been acting sluttier lately.”

“At least I haven’t gone entirely shirtless yet.” He picks up the glass again and you hear him swallowing through the line. “Unlike some of my friends. You should consider yourself lucky.”

“Lucky, you say?” 

He hears the sound of a glass being put down. “Are you drinking, babygirl?”

You cock an eyebrow and stare at your glass of red wine. “I’m dined and wined. You know which bit is missing. But it seems you’re not that deserving.”

“What did you eat?” He doesn’t grant you the courtesy of winning this sensual verbal sparring. That tiny comment about being dined and wined was a trap, he can tell. Looking so casual and half-hearted can only mean you expected him to go there, and if he does, he’ll probably end up right where you wanted him. 

He can do better. 

“I had a steak. With a lovely truffle cream. I’ll have to make it for you next time you’re around.” Your reply comes off beat, and he smiles, happy that he caught you off guard. 

If this were a match of martial arts, you’d be dwindling a little, your balance compromised. “I’d love to. Miss your tiramisu. Your cheesecake. Your aglio e olio. Your sweet little ass working around the kitchen.”

You laugh, the sound as bright and heartstopping as ever. Blood rushes to his cheeks. He loves making you laugh. “You got the guys over, I assume? Four in the morning?”

“We just finished working. Like maybe an hour ago or so.” He can’t keep calm anymore. Everytime you call him when he’s home, his gaze keeps wandering to every piece of it that belongs to you. 

Sometimes it’s suffocating. Sometimes he sleeps back at the studio. Sometimes he stays over at other people’s places. 

Now it’s the portrait of your orchids that you had commissioned for him. It sits next to his bonsais, so he can think of your collection each time he’s watering his own. 

Sometimes he wonders who is whose subtext, because at times he thinks you’re the one who picked up habits from him, other times he thinks it’s him who accidentally got into certain hobbies through the years so he could be your exact shadow once the two of you finally met and aligned. 

“Also, you’re calling at four in the morning,” he observes. “Oh…” He rubs the back of his head, then plops back on the sofa, as if he were deflating slowly. “Right. I’m your booty call.” He chuckles. “Almost forgot.”

“I can find someone else in a more suitable time zone, if that sits well with you,” you reply, your tone just a tiny bit annoyed. His nonchalance irks you just a little. 

“That your sneaky link, man?” you hear someone holler on his side. 

“So now I’m miss sneaky link, huh? Not bad, mister booty call.” You click your tongue. “I’ll leave you to your friends. I thought you were alone, didn’t mean to disturb.” This could be your chance to win this match. 

“No, don’t go because they’re about to. Kind of right now,” he says, looking towards the kitchen and nodding towards the door. “Sorry guys. Vixen’s rule.”

“He don’t deserve you, honey,” one of his friends calls. “Just one chance, miss. Kindly.”

“We’re literally married,” he tells the guy, then to you, “Bum says hi.”

“Oh, hi sweetie. What are your thoughts on the London timezone?” you ask, coquettishly.

“Careful, fox.” Namjoon’s voice is stern when it comes on. It makes you sit taller on your seat, redirecting the pressure in between your thighs. “And you’d better not reply, Bum.”

The guy stares at Namjoon as he says. “For you, anything, my queen. Though, from personal experience, it’s excellent for your late nights and our early mornings. If you know you know,” Bum suggests. 

Namjoon slaps the guy’s back with the most sarcastic smile on his face. “Time to go, dude.” 

“Starcrossed lovers, that’s our fate, my queen.”

You laugh loudly and Namjoon is a little annoyed. “All the great loves are those that never happened, Bum.”

“Guys, I’m literally right here!?” Namjoon says, embarrassed and just a tad annoyed. “You, get out of my house. And stop trying to seduce my wife.”

“Bum, can you keep an eye on him? Kinda worried I might not be the only sneaky link of his.” You joke about it, but deep down, there’s always a sliver of worry in it. You wouldn’t be surprised if some of his friends were encouraging him to be unloyal to you just because you decided to push forward with your career. 

“He’s too busy panting for you to even begin thinking about someone else.” Bum’s putting on his shoes by the door, hushered by Namjoon. His three other friends are similarly getting dressed, laughing at the exchange. 

“Literally, Vixen—”

Namjoon looks like he’s baring his teeth at Bum using his nickname for you. 

“He’s whipped. We keep him in check, but it’s like guarding a leashed little puppy.”

You giggle, sweet and endeared. “Good. That’s the way I like him.” You lick your lips. “Make sure he doesn’t bare his ass on Instagram.”

“So you’re falling for his little thirst traps?” Bum’s laugh booms in the room and Namjoon wacks him on the head, worried about the neighbours. Also, he doesn’t like admitting that when he posts, he’s thinking about the way you would react when seeing him. 

“You know how I am, Bum. I’m always falling for him,” you confess, cheesy and utterly honest at the same time.

Namjoon smiles like the cat who got the cream. “That’s sweet, babygirl. The guys are leaving now. Bye guys,” he says quickly, finally kicking them out. 

You try to say bye in return, but you hear the door close and Namjoon is immediately all over you. “Always falling for me, huh?” He heads back towards the sofa. “That’s new.”

“That’s actually so, so old.” You roll your eyes but smile through it anyways. 

“You’re my only sneaky link, Vixen. Still got your claw marks all over my back, by the way. Lovely touch.”

“Gotta mark my territory,” you state matter-of-factly.

“Wanna switch this over to a video call?” he suggests, already undoing the first button of his shirt.

“Just so I can be reminded I’m not over there fucking you right?” You snort bitterly. “No way.”

“We could make this our own personal porno,” he suggests, grateful that his trousers are baggy enough to give him extra space around the crotch. “Just a little visual aid.”

“You’re telling me you don’t remember how I rode you last time?” You undo the little bow at the waistband of your pyjama pants, your fingertips tiptoeing around the elastic of your panties. 

“Let’s say I wouldn’t mind having a bit more than a memory to hold on to.” As if telepathically connected, he’s also undoing the button and zip of his denim cargos. 

“Fair. You usually hold on to my hips while I fuck you.”

He hisses, head thrown back. “And you hold on to my throat when I’ve been an exceptionally good boy.” 

A shiver screeches down your torso, then spreads through your midriff and settles somewhere at the small of your back, as if recalling the phantom touch of his hand, of his thumbs imprinting themselves in the twin dimples at the base of your spine. He likes resting his fingers there when he’s taking you from behind. It’s like the little dips were designed for his digits to rest there. 

“You’re such a lucky little fucker,” you tease him and he one-ups you, 

“I fucking am, but last time I checked you usually sort of profit from it.” 

Your sultry laugh is his favourite form of payment — right now he’s richer than he’s ever been. 

“Are your hands free, love?”

You let him hang there for a couple long seconds, your breathing heavy. “They’d be freer if you were here,” you tell him. “Maybe not.”

“They’d be all over me, and you know it, little fox.” He purrs as his hand finds a good spot. He’s not yet actually touching himself, but he’s definitely teasing. “Got on a fucking plane for those hands.”

“You flew for twelve hours for these hands.”

“And for that ass,” he adds, quick-witted. 

Your laugh is more of a snort. “And that too.”

His zipper is undone, he dips his hand under the waistband of his briefs, shifting it downwards. “For that smart mouth of yours,” he whispers. “Just to kiss it for a bunch of hours.”

“It was very grateful,” you remind him, trying to bluff the fact that your middle finger is now circling your clitoris. 

“I remember that.” His heartbeat is starting to accelerate. “I had to stop it from being a little bit too grateful.” He remembers the silky feeling of your hair in between his fingers, the tension in your hand on his thigh as you tried to take more of him. “My birthday girl,” he hums. “And yet, I was the lucky bastard who got presents.” The sight of you in that powder pink corset, with the delicate ruffles, and the feather trims tracing the top of your breasts, palpitating with every single excited breath you took. 

It had been like seeing a map of your arousal, goosebumps rising on any inch of skin he had dared lay his eyes on. 

“You were so responsive,” he whispered. “You were so fucking wet.”

“You teased me for almost an hour,” you object.

“I’ll have to make it two hours next time then.” He’s throbbing in his own palm, circling his tip, hissing when he hits a too-sensitive spot. “Maybe with the tickler still.”

“It was delightful, I will admit that.” You’re leaning on your hand now, cupped between your thighs. “Wish your face was between my legs.”

“Wish you were sitting on it, baby.” He bites his lip, as if he could recall the feel, the taste of you on his mouth. “Can’t believe it’s been two weeks already.”

“I can’t wait to be home,” you moan.

He can tell you’re touching yourself, from your ragged breathing, and from the way your voice has become more vulnerable, and more impatient too. “I’ll make sure to clear my schedule when you do. We can do that ‘seven days a week’ type of shit.”

You moan and he laughs to himself. 

“Are you gonna come for me, my love?” he asks fondly, his voice like a dark caress. “Are you thinking about my mouth fucking you? About my tongue stroking you, feeling how wet and warm and sweet you are?”

“Joon, please,” you beg, a desperate little laugh.

“No need to beg, babygirl. You can have everything you want when you’re with me,” he continues, with his calm, direct voice. “You can take it, love. You can have me deep inside you, and you can suck on my fingers if you’re struggling to keep your voice down.” He’s quickened his own pace, trying to climb as fast as you do. “Or you can be loud, and tell the neighbours who’s making you feel this good.”

“When I get home I want you to mess me up for days. You’re gonna mark me, and make love to me and fuck me and feed me. You’re gonna cuddle me to sleep, then wake me up with your hand between my legs.”

You’re holding your breath as you speak, your high approaching like an incumbent, massive wave. 

“I promise, love.”

“Are you coming too?” you ask, and he hums simply. 

“I’m close.”

“I want you to fuck me while I sit on your lap.”

“On the sofa?”

“On the sofa, on the floor, in bed, I don’t care.” You gasp, then chuckle as you hit an indecently good angle with your fingers. “I want to hold you as we make love.”

“You will, baby.”

“I wanna whisper in your ear that you’re my one and only. That you’re the only one in the whole world who can get me this good.” 

He loves when you get emotional during sex. He loves when you start to ramble and you tell him all those things you usually keep to yourself. “I can’t wait either. I miss you in bed. I miss you at every meal, I miss going to our galleries. I miss every fucking thing.” He’s getting desperate. “And most of all, I miss those eyes on me.”

“I’m coming,” you gasp, out of the blue, the idea of sitting on his lap, naked, making love to him, your mouth clamped around the crook of his shoulder to keep quiet, his hands tracing your back, his eyes looking for yours, for confirmation, for loyalty, for reassurance, for companionship. 

“That’s my darling.” He can let go now, and he fucks his hand with intention, with neat powerful jerks. He helps himself with strong thrusts of his pelvis, and precise tugs of his hand too. He grunts when he hears your sweet whimpers on your side of the call, and finally he follows you into pleasure, with the image of your head thrown back, your plump lips agape, your hair tumbling wild behind you as you bounce on him. 

He can almost feel the aftertaste of your perspiration on the tip of his tongue. 

“Wow,” you say as soon as you manage to recollect yourself. 

He’s still sort of numb, his orgasm spilled on his stomach and happy trail. Just a glimpse down and he’s already envisioned the phantom of you studying his semen, lowering yourself to his navel and tracing it with your digit, only to bring it to your mouth to have a taste. He clicks his tongue in disappointment. 

“Damn, I wanna cuddle the fuck out of you and you’re too far away.” He reaches for a tissue to clean himself quickly. “I guess that’s why we don’t do this more often. I miss the aftercare.” He pulls himself back in his briefs, then blocks his phone between his shoulder and ear and stands to get rid of the tissue. “How are you feeling, love?”

“Hunting for chocolate.”

“Oh, baby…” He giggles, endeared. “Should I order something for you?”

“No… it’s okay.” You’re a little bit sad, but you try your best not to let it show.”

“Not even those glass beads you’d seen on our favourite website?”

You widen your eyes. “Let’s not make say things we don’t mean now...”

Namjoon laughs fondly. “Thought so.” He waits a little. “We can just talk, by the way. Or you can go grab a toy and we can keep going with this. We could discuss in great details what you intend to do to me once you’re back.”

“We could do that. Or we could video call and you could watch me hump this little thing you got me.”

He grins. “Then let me get comfy. We’ve got quite the night coming up.”

You smile. “We do.”

He hesitates. “We don’t have to, you know? If you don’t want to video call. I’m okay with just hearing you.”

You pause. Your love for him multiplies exponentially in your chest. “Sure we don’t have to. But I want to.”

Namjoon smiles. “Okay.”

“Get comfy, lucky boy,” you tease him.

“I’ll be right there.”

It’s almost six in the morning when you fall asleep. He’s propped the phone right beside him on the pillow and though he’s found himself dropping it a couple times, he’s refused to let go until he was sure you were asleep. 

Now he closes the video call and locks his phone, putting it back on the nightstand. He pulls your pillow close, hugging it to his chest, then throws a leg on top of it. He places another pillow in between his legs, where your thighs would normally tangle with his. 

He breathes in the vague scent of you left on the bed — not much since the sheets have been changed and he can only smell the laundry scent you normally use, of sandalwood and cedar, warm and spicy. 

Twenty-three days. 

He can handle it. 

He falls asleep with the memory of your body like ivy against his own. Even this far apart, he is and will always be covered in you.

#kim namjoon #namjoon scenario #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x yn #namjoon fanfiction #bts fanfiction #52 hertz #btswritersclub #bangtansorciere #houseofddaeng #namjoon x vixen #kim namjoon married au #namjoon imagine #namjoon idol au #bts blog

[siriuslysmoking]

Friends

Part 2 of Meddle About

Series Masterlist

A/N: Next chapter is a time skip. Kinda in a Chase Atlantic Era tbh. Also I can’t think of anyone who doesn’t look good in green.

Pairing: Fem!college student x sugar daddy!steve

Warnings: fem!reader, she/her pronouns, alcohol consumption, age gap (R:21, S:29), Reader has a memory about her grandpa (literally sum my grandpa used to do for me), Mention of bad family experience/relationships, No mention of race or body shape (except a hint at reader with big boobs)

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Working and being a student is tough, you never seem to have a moment to yourself, so when one of you co-workers needs a shift and offers to take your saturday night double, you take it. Finally going out with your friends you encounter a strange man with a strange proposition.

-Heart on your sleeve like you've never been loved Running in circles, now look what you've done (woo) Give you my word as you take it and run Wish you'd let me stay, I'm ready now (woo)-

Steve picks you up two days later. He's sitting in his Red BMW outside your cheap apartment and you feel a little self conscious about your home as he sits in his freshly cleaned expensive car.

The two of you had been messaging for a couple days and he has decided that instead of taking your measurements to the seamstress that it would be better to go in person.

You are worried, you haven't been alone with Steve, you didn't know what to expect.

Before you left your apartment you sent your friend your active location and Steve's whole name. You had asked for his entire name and he gave it willingly, understanding the need for safety.

He sits patiently in the front seat as you walk out your building's front door. He beams as he notices you, your appearance is nothing special, you are wearing a summer dress with converse and your normal jewelry and simple makeup.

You adjust the straps of your cross body bag as he exits the car and rounds the side to open your door. He looks like he wanted to give you a hug, but he seemingly thinks better of it.

Once you enter the car, he goes around and sits himself into the driver's seat. "Hi, how are you?"

"Good." You nod with a smile, meeting his eyes.

"How was your classes?"

"They were fine, I'm finishing up an Art History portfolio."

"That's good." He nods, adjusting the radio's volume for it to be a small ambiance music. "So, I wanted to talk more about this event with you."

"Okay," You adjust your body to face him. He puts the car in drive as he continues to talk.

"So, I work for this big company that my father used to run and we host a yearly charity event where we auction off art and different things for different charities." You nod along as he turns a corner, "I've never taken a date before and I've always been given shit for it. I don't want people's attention on my dating life when there is an auction for the homeless going on."

You nod not knowing what to really say to that.

He looks to you, not for an answer but for some sort of confirmation of your comfortability of the situation. "Are you still wanting to do this? I can turn around and lose your number if you prefer."

"No it's not that." You start to fidget with your hands, meeting his eyes at a red light. "It's just the only nice event I've ever been to is a wedding, so I don't know how to go about this. I mean- the nicest thing I own is my bridesmaid dress from my cousin's wedding."

"That's fine. I didn't assume that you would have a ball gown just handy- no sane person does." He laughs, "And just be yourself, no one else's opinion matters, you're coming so I don't go insane."

You laugh along with him, "I don't think I'll have a problem conversing with you, It's just I assume we'll be sitting next to people, what do you want me to tell them? That I'm a college student barely making ends meet as a waitress."

"Sure, I don't care." He shrugs, you give him a are you serious? look. "Tell them your plans after college, avoid questions you don't want to answer."

"You make it sound easy."

"Must be the years of practice." He smiles, adding to your comfort. "We're here."

You didn't even notice that you had shifted into park. Outside of a white dress shop with a black sign and matching window frames. It was a modern rustic feel. "Ready?"

You nod unbuckling and opening your door. When you stand on the pavement he gives you a playful scoff, "I'm supposed to get your door."

"My bad." You raise your hands in surrender, "I'll remember that."

He points a light-hearted accusatory finger at her and he utters with a smile, "You better."

You both enter the shop and he talks to the lady and the counter, talking about the appointment he made. "I wanted to ask, what's your favorite color? or what you look good in."

"I like blue and green and red." You huff out a laugh, "I'm not really against any color."

"Good, I told them that any color would probably work but you can talk to her about the different cuts and types of dresses you like."

"Okay."

He looks you in your eyes like he's searching for the answer that he hasn't even asked yet. "Are you sure about this? You can tell me to fuck off."

"You already asked me this, Steve." He rubs the back of his neck.

"Right, sorry."

"Don't be." You shake your head, following the lady that guides you behind a silk curtain.

"Hello, you must be Steve." The seamstress looks to you, "and you?"

You give her your name and she smiles as she asks for your regular dress size. You give it to her and she nods, grabbing the measuring tape that is wrapped around her neck like a scarf.

"Alright, let's start from the bottom." She motions you to step on an elevated platform. "arms up, hips and waist first."

You look to Steve who smiles as he sits down in the loveseat in the corner.

Four days later you get home from your day shift at work and see a car sitting out front.

The newly familiar BMW sits outside your apartment. He gets out as soon as he sees you walking down the street. "Hi."

You smile at him, "hey, what are you doing here?"

"Your dress is done and I thought that I would hand deliver it to you and if you feel comfortable I would love to see you try it on."

"Yeah! Sure, come on in." You wave him over as he grabs a big white box from his backseat.

He follows you up to your apartment while asking you about your day. You answer happily, asking him about his.

"Would you like something to drink or a snack?"

"I'm okay."

"Wanna get straight to the show?" You ask, his smiling as he makes himself comfortable on the beaten-up couch. He hums in agreement, motioning for you to grab the box. "Alright I will be right back, feel free to snoop, but I must say whatever you find that might in the slightest be embarrassing, just assume it's my roommate’s."

"Will do." He laughs as you turn to look back at him before closing your door.

Once you unfold it you let out a soft gasp. It is utterly breathtaking, it has a deep v-neck cut, spaghetti straps that don't seem very trustworthy to support you throughout the night. It has a slit in the side to give you more movement. It looks silk but has some stretch to it.

You strip down, pulling the deep green fabric over your body.

As you start to pull up the zipper in the back it suddenly gets stuck. You try to zip it three times before sighing and moving to your door. "Hey Steve, would you help me zip it up? I think it's stuck."

He looks up, meeting your eyes quickly. "Yeah of course."

You smile and turn around in the doorway as he comes up from behind you.

The fingers on your back make you shiver, you silently hope he doesn't notice the goosebumps growing on your arms. "There, just needed a little tug."

You turn facing him and realize that you are only inches away from him, you can feel his breath on your cheeks. You both meet each other's eyes, locking into his hazel eyes. You don't want to break this little trans that you're both put in, but if it goes on any longer it might get awkward. You lightly whisper, "Thank you."

He clears his throat, taking a step back, and looks you up and down. "You look beautiful." He pauses, before clearing his throat again, "T-The dress fits great."

"It does fit, very well actually." You look down at yourself, "Nothing has ever fit me this well before, thank you."

"You're welcome." He smiles at you.

"You look like a fucking goddess." Mia whispers as she finishes up applying your lipstick. "I can't get over it. God, I need a Steve in my life."

Over the past two weeks Steve has taken you to a dress shop, out to lunch, out to dinner, and just regular shopping. It feels so surreal, you feel so weird saying this but this does not feel like something that would happen to you.

"He's so sweet." You sigh, "and it's not even because he buys me things, like he refuses for me to open any door."

That hit a little too close to home. Growing up your grandpa used to yell at you if you would open the car door before he could come around the car and open the door for you. He would tell you that only a man worth keeping would open your door for you.

You smile at the memory.

You hear the doorbell and Mia seems to fucking giggle. She's truly living vicariously through you.

You walk to the door and open it to Steve who is wearing a black suit with a black button up underneath, he looked good.

"Woah-You look breathtaking, angel." He smiles.

"Thank you," You slightly whisper, "You don't look so bad yourself."

His smile seems to widen. Then his eyes drift to something behind you, you follow his gaze. "You don't have to hide, Mia."

You were surprised he remembered her name from the one time you mentioned it in a story, usually saying 'my roommate'.

"Hey, Steve." She walks out of the doorway she was hiding in, "'m not hiding, just watching from a distance."

He gives her a playful look and she just retreats to her room with her head down. "Oh, before I forget, here."

He shoves a black card into your hand. "It has twelve thousand on it, after tonight it might be closer to twenty."

"W-what?" You laugh nervously, "I thought you were joking about that whole thing."

"I'm a man of my word." He thrusts the card closer to you and you slowly take it with slightly shaky hands, "Shall we go?"

You smile and nod after shoving the card into your crossbody bag. He grabs a hold of your hand, guiding you down the stairs in your heels.

The drive was silent underneath the low sound of music from the stereo.

You travel downtown in no time and Steve drives the care into the line of the valet.

"Alright, I will be bombarded with work questions. Feel free to have as many drinks as you require, I will take you home tonight, so if it's just that painful, feel free drink your annoyance away."

"It's okay, Steve." You place your hand on his thigh, calling his rant to a stop. "I'm sure I'll be okay, you should meet my family, If I can deal with them I can deal with anything."

"Alright then." Steve nods and he looks down to his lap, that's when you pull away your hand, realizing that you had left it there.

You two join hands after he rounds the car, he helps you out and guides you up the stairs into the ballroom. The ballroom… It looked ancient, golden and white, sculptures and paintings on the ceiling. The white tiles floor is covered in circular tables.

“Let’s dance, so we can avoid the grating voices of others for just a few more minutes.” Steve speaks into your ear, guiding you onto the dance floor. 

“Uh-Steve, I don’t know how to dance.”

“We must’ve gone over this, yes?”

“No.”

“Okay, that’s okay, close your eyes and let me guide you. Put your hand on my shoulder and in my hand and I’ll help you.”

You close your eyes and his warm arm settles on your waist, pulling you closer into him. The both of you dance in silence, you feel his body heat against your front, oddly comforting you.

Once the song comes to a close he guides you to your table that’s in the middle of the dinning section of the ballroom. There is a stage up ahead, with the ballroom behind, and the tables in the middle section.

You sat next to him and he called over a waiter, there were a few people that arrived before you. “This is Billy… and his date,”

Steve kind of leaves the question up in the air, not knowing her name. “Charisa.” She smiles, leaning over the table to shake your head, you see the way she pulls her shoulders together to accentuate her cleavage, but you try to ignore that, getting it, she’s a pretty woman.

“And Tommy and his wife Melanie.” He pointed to the next group, Tommy looked at you with a smirk, he was the man from the other night who refused to call you your name and you recognize Billy as the one who is seemingly allergic to scallops.

“We’ve met you before.” Billy points at you.

“Um, yes, I believe we have.” You smile with a nod, he gives you a smirk, like he knows all of your secrets, Steve rested a supporting hand on top of your thigh that is peaking out from the slit in your dress. “I think you came to the restaurant that I work at, one day.”

The table goes quiet, but Mealanie smiles, “Is this the restaurant that you went to that you said that they had the most delicious Steak? Because I want to have a group there some night, but it’s awfully full recently with the holidays coming up.”

“Yes, I do believe that that was that restaurant.” Tommy says, not breaking eye contact with you.

“I would love some help getting a reservation for it, I could do you a favor of course or repay you in some way, but I would be so appreciative.”

“Of course! I’d be happy to help.” You smile.

“Wonderful! I’d love to get your number or something so we can hookup!”

“Perfect.” You smile wider, it’s starting to hurt, you’re not quite sure how you feel about this interaction, but Steve calms your nerves by rubbing his thumb up and down your thigh.

“The waitress, Steve?” Billy laughs, shaking his head. You furrow your eyebrows, looking at Steve, he just rolls his eyes, squeezing onto your thigh.

“We’re gonna go make our rounds, okay?” Steve announced, standing up and taking ahold of your hand.

You and Steve make your rounds and you stay quietly at his side while he says hello to his business friends.

The next few hours were nothing but ‘hello’, ‘how is the family’, ‘my mom’s good, how are the kids?’. That when both you and Steve get back to the table, the auction starts.

“So since we’re not bidding on anything we’ll just sit here.” He leans back against his chair, swishing around his liquor in his glass. “Need a refill?”

“No, I don’t think I need to drink until I drop.” You smile at him, also relaxing in your chair. “I’m having a nice time with you.”

“I am too, sweetheart, It’s much less painful with you here.” He looks to you, giving you a lazy smile, his eyes seem to sparkle and you’re not sure if it’s the lighting or the alcohol.

“This is nice, Steve.” You send the lazy smile back.

“Yeah…” He trails off quietly, his eyes looking down for a moment, glancing at your lips, you thought you had imagined it but when he does it again, you know that you didn’t.

He leans in closer and when you feel like he’s about to give in and close the gap between you the man on stage loudly says, “I’ve got four hundred thousand, do I hear five hundred?”

You hear Steve sigh from next to you, looking toward the stage.

-

-

Taglist:

@glamourbabe17 @eddiesguitarskills @paradise-summertime @taeteddybear @strangerparks @ali-r3n @sunmoonandstars2000 @rvllybllply2014

(I tagged anyone that showed an interest in a part 2)

comment if you want to be added to the taglist or removed

likes and reblogs appreciated

#He is literally the loml #Live Laugh Love Steve #Spotify #steve harrington #steve harrigton x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x plus size!reader #steve harrington x plus sized reader #steve harrington x reader #stranger things s4 #stranger things 4 #stranger things #steve harrington x you #Meddle About

[milknhonies]

The Negatives of Shooting People

Chapter 2 || MasterList || Chapter 4

Chapter Summary: A new job creates a new problem for August who decides he needs to remind you of his power. You let Lloyd inside, and he has an offer to make.

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Masturbation, Referenced Non-Con Events, Implied Illegal Weapon Arms Trading, Threats, Manipulation, Stalking Journalism.

Pairing: Kingpin!August Walker X F!reader

Word Count: 9.4k

Author Notes: in my mind and casting, Jude Driver is played by Adam Driver. Wesley Gibson is played by James McAvoy. Brandon Sullivan is played by Michael Fassbender. Katarina Vikander is played by Alicia Vikander.

Inspiring Song: "Woman." by Ke$ha.

10:23am Thursday 8th August 2024, Brisbane CBD.

“These photos Miss Y/L/N, they’re magnificent. I haven’t seen quality this good since…well…never really…When can you start?”

You grinned, sitting across from the head editor of one of the smaller local newpapers.

You knew you had to find a job quickly…you were sick of the employment agency and their unhelpful attitude. You knew if you were going to remain safe and take down the billionaire asshole, you needed to be the best version of yourself.

It had been a three days since you first met that monster... August Walker. And he had seemingly invaded your every thought. He was there in the back and front of your mind haunting and taunting you with his smirking lips and roguishly deep voice.

The gentleman who sat in front of you had no idea. That was something you were okay with, how could anyone know? No one knew. You hadn’t called or replied to any text messages Lloyd had sent.

You made a resume portfolio of your best photos you’d taken since your first camera your dad ever bought you. Both Polaroid and electronic. You still hadn’t forgotten that August had stolen one of your father’s cameras from the day he forced you to cum on the recliner chair.

You knew you were inexperienced in journalism…but your photography was a master skill unlike any other.

Your successful interview, you put it up to a great sense of confidence, as well.

“Right now if you’ll have me,” you winked. He was an older man of an older generation. Clearly he knew and was a deep fan of Australian banter that borderlines the aesthetics of flirtation. You were a young woman and he was an older man, the math was simple. Bat your lashes, pretend to be coy and then slide in with a sarcastic remark or sexual innuendo.

He laughed and leant over his desk. You shook your new bosses hand.

He liked that very much. ‘Of course he would, he’s practically old enough to be someone’s perverted uncle.’

“Oh most definitely…” he said biting his bottom lip, he was milking the banter.

He was a handsome even for a classic perverted elder fellow. John Luther was a grey fox so the ladies might say. You were sure that from now on never to truly trust a man…so when he winked back and looked down your shirt- at your chest, you smiled wider, ‘predictable men…he is going to be easy to manipulate…’

You had to thank August one day…if he hadn’t hurt and humiliated you the way he did…you would never have felt the rage of all women and the desire to use your assets to get what you wanted in this Man’s World.

You sat back a lit and lifted your chest as you gave a big happy sigh while watching Mr Luther continuously ogle your chest.

It sent a shiver even down your spine thinking about it…entering a villainess era…a femme fatale story….a tale of revenge and justice.

“I admire a woman with confidence,” he said sucking his teeth, his right hand slide down beneath his desk out of view. You had half a mind to assume he was palming his dick in his trousers.

“So how about I assign you your first assignment? See how you go? I’ll even let you choose…”

“Choose?” you asked with a faux coyness, fluttering your lashes.

“Well, we have a very interesting story idea in regards to the Woolloongabba Doggy Day care that just moved to East Brisbane, rumour has it that the business is understaffed for the amount of dogs they keep in care. And they only use half of the required sanitization required. A spread of kennel cough and many dogs having their ears ripped off by other larger dogs belonging to rich clients the owner of the doggy day care refuses to lose business towards.”

Oh dear, you noted, that sounded tragic….it’s a good thing you never had a pet as a kid. It would hurt too much to be in that position. Hearing a pet dog had its ear ripped off by savage untrained dogs.

“...And the other case?” You sweetly chirped.

His smile fell, “There’s a certain gentleman that’s running around allegedly smuggling drugs and arm deals…” he repeated, “’Allegedly’…”

He rolled back in his chair to reach for a folder on his bookshelf, flicking through it.

Your craning neck had time to catch the outline of his prick beneath his pants. ‘Oh yes...this man is putty in my hands.’ When he swivelled back, you dashed your eyes back to his desk trinkets and smiled at him.

“A bloke named August Walker selling to or buying from an old money American philanthropist Brandon Sullivan…”

‘No fucking way’….just your luck…

You were going to fucking take it no matter what….

Luther grimaced, “It’s a big task so I won’t judge you for not taking it. I’m just hoping to catch the sons of bitches at it. It would be a huge story for media not even those wankers at seven, nine or ten news could think to report.”

You reached over his desk to steal his pen and stick note pad. You took down the name he mentioned on a sticky note- Brandon Sullivan...you made sure to memorise it well.

“How about we even make those conniving morons at sky news jealous, sir?” You smirked and watched as the rockets soared in his eyes with his white tooth grin.

He laughed hard.

He wiped his hand down his chin, “I love a girl with ambition Miss Y/L/N. I’m sure you won’t disappoint me! The dead line for photos is in a week, he’s having some soiree on next Friday or something so it’s got to be before then because you’re never gonna be able to enter those clubs, chicky. Respectfully.”

You smile and shake his hand again, “Mr Luther, I swear…I’ll give you the best goddamn shots you’ve ever seen of that criminal.”

Now your man hunt had truly commenced, you smiled to yourself. Who knew that revenge could come so easily and quickly…

Luther gave you your own cubicle to work in. A place to hang and edit your photos. A place to file your evidence. He may have mentioned that the work they did in his agency was on par with the police but by no means legally police work. So if the cops arrived, you stayed hidden and kept your fucking mouth shut....

You had a job and began researching the bastards name again on your laptop, compiling the sources from Google and the notes from Luther’s folder files.

You discovered the following about August J. Walker.

He was born in New Jersey. He was twice your age and almost as old as your father. He had a plethora of connections in businesses from alcohol distillery to Chinese restaurant vendings. Actually you were confident that a restaurant he help partnership over had a familiar logo. You tapped your lip and wondered briefly if your father ever delivered there as a truck driver.

August was a fan of European and Asian based foods and sold it at his clubs. He owned over fifteen around the world. One of his biggest in Australia was The Lions Lounge, it was on the edge of Fortitude Valley. It was for the richest social elites of the country. The price of food alone was almost your weeks rent.

On the website of his club you could see information regarding the tightship of his security. It seemed supreme so there wasn’t a chance of you going to his club without a fat purse and invitation.

A party was coming up, a celebration for the ten year anniversary of its opening. A soiree with a “The roaring 1920s.” Theme. You scoffed at the cliché.

It was exclusively invite only, it was only on the website so that those who received a invitation could reply a rsvp. And with you fresh out of luck of an invite like Luther even said, there was little to no chance of clawing your way inside.

So...that’s when you had to resort to extra creativity. You held up the sticky note and smiled.

09:07am Wednesday 14th August 2024, Robertson Brisbane.

August Walker was a man with a craving to remain in power. He had fought tooth and nail to get where he was and for now he felt incredibly comfortable…he had enough money to buy the fucking country...he had the power to make politicians kneel and kiss his shoes if he demanded it. To the police, with his legal team, he was currently untouchable.

He could literally have any woman he wanted…but he wanted you. Since that night he first saw your photo, he starved. He had given you time to mourn. Now you were alone and he righteously believed you needed him.

Yet to his surprised pleasure, he liked the fight and push you tried to dish out on him. Your guts to go to the police sent blood to his cock. He hadn’t expected it. He believed you’d roll over and cry only. He never predicted you’d immediately leave the apartment before he could wish you a good morning or afternoon after leaving you drugged up. He snooped for hours in your father’s bedroom and yours. He’d flicked through your old school reports and photos. He tried tidying your mess and clutter, washing your vomit covered duvet and even had cigarette to pass the time.

So when he received that call from the police requesting his presence, instead of anger, he felt surprise. Not many could surprise him. But you did...

He pushed away from his desk and rubbed his eyes chuckling,  you were definitely a tasty little thing.

It made his dick hard when he remembered you crying beneath him. He loved to fantasise your pathetic excuses and spitfire words. He only wished you’d push the boundary more. The more you fought, the sweeter the submission.

He pulled out his ‘other’ phone. His ‘business’ phone. The phone no police would ever know or see. He swiped his thumb across the screen and groaned at the sweet nude thing he took photos of the night you’d both met. Oh how pitifully adorable you were with your desperate pleas and confusion as the pill quickly broke down into your blood stream.

He wished he had a video of it. How he teased your phone away from you. How he mocked you. Half of it he imagined you probably didn’t remember. After all it wasn’t long that you were totally out of it, limp and softly snoring.

He liked how much control he had over you. Laying the strips over your hairy body and tearing it away to be baby smooth as he liked it. How delicate you looked as he rubbed the baby oil into your skin to settle any potential irritation. Perhaps it was sick of him to prefer you like this. He sighed, licking his bottom lip, staring at the photo he took of your freshly waxed pussy.

He had done sicker things to other people. But you were someone who didn’t deserve this. That is where the guilt lied. You didn’t deserve this and August Walker fucking new it deep in his bones.

He wasn’t shy of hurting innocence but your situation was different. This was personal.

So really could he hold it against you for going to the police? No... And besides...his false alibi had been solid... especially after the rape kit evidence had been tampered with, concluding as inconclusive...

Something about the thought of making you submit but never fully breaking, constantly challenging him- turned him on so much, he found it impossible to work. He slapped his phone down and chewed the inside of his cheek while he considered calling up Natalie, one of his go to escorts. His payable whores. She was expensive but she knew how to suck him off to completion quickly and he wanted to focus on work and finalising the details of his party in two days, not on you.

As fate would have it….he wouldn’t have a choice…the phone rang on his desk.

He pressed the reviewer to his ear and turned to look out the window.

“Walker.”

“It’s Gibson.”

He smiled and leaned back in his rolling chair, “Ah Wesley, yes, how are you mate?”

“You’ve got a little problem, sir,” he heard his public relation specialist sigh, “A tail.”

“Oh?”

“I’m sending the email now,” the click clack typing of the keyboard echoed in the headset Wesley wore,” It seems the paper has started to find better journalists…”

The email notification came in quickly. The ping from his monitor forced August to spin around in his chair. He pursed his lips and scrolled to click the link.

He hovered the mouse arrow down and noticed the collection of photos taken of him in the high class restaurants talking with a old underworld buddy of his. Some of the images however were incredibly exposing. His hand was shaking Brandons in one when he made a export deal with him, another photo showed August’s fingers touching a contract, his eyes looking at a phone Brandon was holding with images of guns. This was not good at all…

“What the fuck…” his hand pressed to his lips, he mused, “The photographer was smart, he knows how to pick a decent angle, Jesus what camera took this?” He clicked another photo, “These details…you can practically see every pore on Brandon’s bloody face…”

His mouth felt dry. He knew he needed to hire Natalie’s services now, the stressed building up had him tense. His erection had vanished, now it was a matter of pain in his shoulders and back.

He scrolled further and stared at the headlines jumping out. “Playboy or Pathological Criminal.”, “Party King or King Pin.”, “Australia’s own insider terrorist.”

His eyes widened at seeing the publishing office. John Fucking Luther & Co. News.

His jaw cracked with the tightness he clenched. No. He didn’t have time for this shit.

“She, sir,” The lackey corrected, “Newest of Luther’s flock. His word usually isn’t credible but this? This is going to be hard, expensive press to erase or cover up. Other news outlets are fighting over the rites.”

She...

He picked up a pen and clicked the button. Why was it even that important.

She...

She? His eyes sharpened. He looked closer at the photos on his screen. Something about the photo style reminded him of something earlier he had seen the previous week. So many….on a wall…beside a bed…filled with a captivating woman he defiled…but surely not you? Surely not you...

“What did you say?”

“Sir the cost to-”

He shook his head and sighed into the phone, cutting of the agent, “No, no, I meant the photographer. You said ‘she’? Luther? Are you sure this is real? His lot are the worst, always blurry or grainy if they’re lucky…who the fuck is this new photographer or editor or whoever the fuck is getting these images.”

“We can only assume,” Wesley mumbled, “You’ve had this little thing on your tail for the passed few days, she tries to be sneaky we’ve noted. We didn’t expect her to release decent pictures…we followed her back to the Luther office. The angles fit the locations we have caught her in.”

His thumb pressed hard against the pen.

“Show me this bitch,” he growled under his breath.

Another email ping and a link later, your face filled the computer screen. Your eyes burned him right back…you were in a few photos. Some where you hid among a roof top, another you were hiding in a corner at the restaurant, and finally one where you were just in a park looking down at your camera probably going over the shots you’d taken.

“Want us to deal with her, sir?” he suddenly heard Wesley ask. Deal with her...Destroy her reputation...beat her up…sell her…or kill her....no…no...not his new puppy.

He blinked with bewilderment and hummed, “No...” He cleared his throat, “No, no thankyou, Wesley. I know this kid; don’t worry…” he smirked, “This is just a simple misunderstanding…bit of…play. Trust me.”

Oh how he could’ve whipped the skin from your back raw for this if you were anyone else...

“Sir, if you can’t get her to stop, if she’s going to keep doing this…” Gibson warned, “Anything more in depth- you’ll wind up in court or prison at the worst, the pigs aren’t taking the pay like they used to…”

August shook his head and sighed, “It wouldn’t be the first time Wesley. Ignore her. I’ll deal with it. She’s my responsibility.”

His public relations officer seemed to pause for a moment. As if he had something else to say but he knew better than to total talk back to August Walker.

“Alright sir, have a good evening,” August heard before he slapped the phone, hanging up.

He scooted closer to the screen and scrolled back at the photos you’d taken. He bit his lip and chuckled, shaking his head at your profiling photo, “You little-...you want to play this game? Fine, now it’s my turn.”

He began dialling up a new phone number. He held it back up to his ear and waited for the receiver to pick up.

“Jude mate, I’m gonna need you to develop some photos for me...oh yes,” he replied pinching the pen in his hand, “Red room style.”

06:19pm Wednesday 14th August 2024, Woolloongabba, Brisbane.

“Who needs a man? Huh!” You said to yourself testing out the new bolts and chain locks you installed on the front door. They rattled and locked. They didn’t budge when you jiggled the handle and pulled. You still had three more you planned to drill in.

You wiped the sweat off your forehead and grinned proudly. This is something your dad should have taught you how to do. Thankfully with the help of a YouTube tutorial and a bit of bravery you managed to take full control and ownership of your front door.

If your new landlord wanted to charge you for damages to his door, so be it, as long as this kept you protected from him while you slept at night that was all that mattered. He’d either have to pick every complicated lock, guess or, he’d have to hire the damn firefighting crew to use a battering ram.

When you opened the door again to test it a second time, a squeak of surprised popped from your lips. You clenched your dad’s power tool tightly.

A man in a black suit and black sunglasses stood outside the door with an large yellow envelope in his hand. He held it out to you silently. He looked ominous and familiar, he wore leather gloves…your eye widened, he was August’s driver.

You glanced between him and his hands. Every second was a risk you weren’t sure you could keep taking. You hesitantly pinched the bottom of his flat package and he let go. He pulled the edge of his sunglasses down his face, looking at the plethora of door locks.

‘What was his name again? Judea, Judas?’

He said quietly, “It might be better if you open it inside...” his eyes glanced at the door again before smirking, “Nice locks...pretty crappy if you think it’s going to stop him though.”

‘Him...August Walker...’

You stood still in shock. He gracefully spun on his heel and left. Your tongue caught in your throat…what the fuck was this?

The package was as thick as your hand.

You had to know it was from August…I mean who else could it be from? Especially since you speculated it was his driver that delivered it…especially since there was a massive cursive ‘A.J.W’ on the tab of the envelope.

You held your breath and walked hurriedly backwards inside.

Your teeth caught your upper lip. You slammed the door shut and locked all the locks before going to the couch, disposing the drill on the coffee table, and tearing open the envelope.

You pinched the top wide open and hovered your eyes inside. There was a white papery page ripped out from a note book. You pulled it out and unfolded it to read his handwritten warning.

“Careful Puppy, you’re lucky my men didn’t bite when they sniffed you out, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. I think you need a break from your little hobby. So I’m going to remind you...I have copies of these. Scratch me again and I’ll bite back. Stay down or I will put you down.”

Your mouth became dry as your eyes raced over that one last line again.

‘Stay down or I will put you down.’

When you ‘put down’ an animal, it usually means death…your insides grew cold. You were confident this was a strict warning, not a threat but a promise, August walker was telling you to stop investigating or he would kill you…

Your hands shook uncontrollably. You wanted them to stop. Your body felt the reeling anxiety. You dumped the rest of the envelope over the counter. All the content spilled across the entire floor. A camera came clattering out. Your father’s camera in fact.

Inside were photos of you. A photo of you working in the editor office. A photo of you walking in the deli section at the underground Woolworths grocery store and photos of you sitting at the Queen street bus station, even the bus numbers showed up. The bus 200 via Carindale. Then at the bottom of the spread out deck of photos were the shots from the night he forced you to cum on the recliner and the night he had drugged you, naked on his bed.

Your teeth clenched hard.

You felt your eyes grow hot quickly with tears. You didn’t like how pathetic and helpless you appeared, covered in tape, and totally lost in the bliss of his sexual torture. You didn’t realise how sweaty it had made you until noticing the intense wet shimmer over your body in the photo, the hot light of the camera shone reflectively from your skin.

You closed your eyes and choked on a sob. He made his point loud and clear but it wasn’t fair. Why could he get away with all of this? You wanted to tear all the photos up one by one until they were tiny papers the size of your pinky nail.

But they sat in a piled collection on your coffee table.

Your hand cupped your mouth as you fought your wails. You clenched your teeth and stomped your foot.

You kept rereading his note. Memorising his handwriting. His Y’s had a straight tail that didn’t curve upward. It made you hate him twice as much as irrational that detail was.

August hadn’t come back since then. He had not made any personal contact since he cornered you in your father’s bedroom. It wasn’t the last time you saw him though…you saw him almost daily, but you confidently were sure he never saw you until now. You were gathering all the evidence possible to put him in the doghouse...

You pressed yourself against the wall and slid down it on your back until your bottom hit the floor.

Now what would you do? Take photos and write about abused animals instead? Always worrying about August coming into your home to take his revenge for the humiliation and defamation you brought to his name?

You settled your hands into your lap. Your heart was pounding. You could hear every awful thud.

Your phone came to life. Lloyds number ran across your screen.

‘Oh god, Lloyd. Sweet, wonderful Lloyd. Maybe he could help me.’

Hitting the green button, you picked up the phone and cleared your throat, “Hey, how are you?”

His voice was a cool balm, “I’m getting on alright. I thought I’d call and check up on you. You haven’t been very chatty over text is all. I still think you should move Y/N.”

Lloyd kept you as updated as he could. He said he interviewed August a few days ago and the excuse was laughable. August had lied about being at his club during the time he had been with you. He had staff members who could vouch for him, Lloyd suggested they’d been paid off and supposedly security footage, all which Lloyd assured must’ve been edited. It was comforting knowing out of everyone, Lloyd stayed true in his belief that you were a victim.

Another tear rolled down your face, your voice became shaky, “Yea...I think you’re right. Lloyd...things have been happening...and...can you- can you just come over please?”

You were breaking down hard and couldn’t stop the wave of anguish coming over you. The detective was compassionate and said softly, “Of course. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

When the phone disconnected you rubbed your face and flared your nostrils. Seeing the photos made you feel dirty, unclean. You decided a quick shower before Lloyd arrived might help you relax and calm down from the absolute panic attack creeping under your skin. You stood under the hot spray and tried to control your breathing.

And under the water your thoughts persisted to race. A particular question shot through you.

‘Why would he even send those to me?’ Your eyes shut. ‘Why’? If you were just some women, he liked to fuck and humiliate... ‘Then why didn’t he just come in and do it in person?’

It was like a pin had dropped. Your eyes flashed wide open, and you turned off the water. You scrubbed your face and got out of the shower, rushing to put your pyjamas on. You almost slipped on the tiles and hard wood.

You crashed to your knees at the coffee table and spread the photos around trying to find that one.

The one where you were sitting inside the editor building at your cubicle. It had been taken from a low angle on the street. A small laugh escaped you. If he sent you an image of you at the office he knew where you worked, and who you worked for…he had read your articles...a light laugh escaped your parting lips. Tears dripped from your eyes, not from grief or fear, oh no, it was relief. Now it made sense.

'Of course!' August had read your articles...and they- you chuckled; they frightened him!!! Yes, maybe not to the extent of full fear, but enough that he felt it fit and necessary to send these too you. He felt threatened. The articles were piling up on speculation against him now in the paper. You were walking a thin line between defamation and creative liberties in alleged speculations, but Mr Luther assured it was legal in the laws of journalism and gossip.

If August had copies of your lewd rape photos, if he published them…you didn’t care...what was the point in caring about that?

You knew humans could be animals. It didn’t matter what was seen. Anyone can masturbate to anything, even just a selfie – so an image of you cumming on the recliner chair was really nothing at the end of the day…sure you might lose your job but the confidence to get you there would be used in the future again. And it would be all worth it just to watch the cuffs slap over August’s wrist. Because even if he’d never go away, locked up for your abuse, you could at least drag him further down with as many criminal activity charges as possible.

You glanced at the note he wrote…maybe he didn’t even write this. If he really wanted you dead, you were sure you would be. This wasn’t a threat, this was a game. He was toying with you, clearly trying to scare you into stopping any investigations of his hidden underground work.

Little did he know, he had no idea that your rage and hunger for revenge was greater than your fear of him.

You pinched a photo to the light and smirked. If only a week ago, this poor defenceless girl knew how her life would change for good...her eyes the mirror of yours. You slapped it flat in the table and pinched your eyes. August was definitely no talent in taking photos.

You smiled recalling how Luther reacted to the first photo you brought him the third day of working...

02:36pm Thursday 8th August 2024, Brisbane CBD.

On the sticky note you’d written down a name Mr Luther had shared. You looked up that name, Brandon Sullivan, with deep dive searches and found very little of him…however he did have a single photo up on his Facebook, he was holding a gorgeous woman.

Once you had reversed search the woman’s face, Katarina Vikander, you could have peed with excitement. She was some Swedish ballet dancer and super model. She was Brandons girlfriend. And she was happy to share a dozen photos over all her social media platforms…and yes, Brandon clearly wasn’t a fan of his personal paparazzi, but there were hiccups in his cover ups.

Katarina had taken a selfie on a balcony; her sunglasses reflected her phone and Brandon coming out of their hotel bathroom.

Behind Katarina was a marina in the background. That area was very rich and popular and easy to find. You recognised the area only by chance. The were staying at the JW Marriot Gold Coast Resort and Spa. You could see the JW Marriot logo on a bath robe in a previous photo while she wore a creamy face mask with cucumber slices over her eyes.

Katarina seemed to have this obsession with a Americana aesthetic, her favourite artist was in her saved Instagram stories, Lana del Rey.

The caption of her post with Brandon hidden in the background under a broad brim hat said, “Sunny and happy with my love, he doesn’t like the seafood here, he wants ‘real truffles.’ **eyeroll emoji**”

You remembered how you sat back after seeing that and searched every restaurant in the area of the Gold Coast region and only one sold authentic truffle dishes…men are fickle and usually won’t try new things…he was clearly a man set in his ways if he wouldn’t let her post photos of him. or at least that was your theory and assumption about the almost non-existent Brandon Sullivan.

You went back and searched August. He had a decent amount of information, he was very private however, no named girlfriends or family. He was very business oriented….and what did you know? Two years ago on his LinkedIn profile you could see August had been at the opening of the same little truffle restaurant nearby where Katrina and Brandon were staying. You scrolled.

‘Looks like he was or still is an investor.’

It wasn’t solid evidence, and you didn’t know if August would be there to meet with them…so all it took, was a simple phone call…and the great skill of confidence with a stride of lying.

As the phone dialed, you selected a fake name. Your co-worker had a F.R.I.E.N.D.S coffee mug, and you stared at the dark drink stain…it’s dark colour making a perfect name.

When a staff member of the restaurant answered you hurriedly got through your plotted lie, “Hello? Yes, my name is…Jennifer Brown, I’m Mr August Walkers new assistant…listen his last employee was quite begrudged and threw out all the known appointments Mr Walker was to attend in the next three months. I’m pretty sure he has a table booked for your restaurant?”

The administrator paused. You hoped he wouldn’t ask you to repeat yourself or question you further, so you sarcastically joked, “He will murder me if I can’t find out, it’s very important.”

You prayed he’d bite the banter.

The administration clerk had a boyish tone, “Of course! Would you like me to look up the time and date of his reservation?”

You smirked and held back a cackle, you feigned a sweet joyful cry, “I would be grateful if you could be a dear, thank you so much!”

And that was how you found out the schedule and exact location of August Walker and his criminal associate.

09:45am Friday 9th August 2024, Coomera, Gold Coast.

Getting inside the restaurant wasn’t too hard. It had an open-door area with French doors. You made sure to wear a large sun hat and a plain dress. Your dad owned a small camera, about the size of an apple. You put it on a timer and leant to the floor, aiming the view finder at their table.

The entire time you swore you were sweating bullets. If August had seen you and confronted you, you probably would be chained to a pipe laying naked on a dirty mattress…maybe with those missing women you heard about on the news, Rachel, Stephanie, and Alison.

‘Why didn’t he keep me then? We did he return me back home? Did he kill those other girls?’ the more you thought too deeply on the topic, it made your skin crawl.

You clenched one of the forks, staring at the kingpin in the reflection. He looked to smug for a man that got off on harming women. You wished you could stab out his eyes with the prongs. And when the waiter came around to ask what you wanted to order, you held up the fork and requested a new one, apologising for “dropping it”.

You determined the camera had taken enough footage. You knew you’d need to make your escape when the waiter left to find you a new fork. Afterall- who can afford to pay for a cut of salmon with rocket leaves and white sauce for a hundred and thirteen fucking dollars?

You went straight home on the train and bus. You developed the photos in the bathroom sink. Hanging it up on the shower rails to set.

Those were the first photos you gave Mr. Luther.

The other times you took photos of Brandon and August were harder, a little more risky.

06:23am Saturday 10th August 2024, Coomera, Gold Coast.

You had staked outside of the hotel where Brandon stayed. Waiting across the street in a side street. It was cold and miserable. But you knew August would be down here. Darling Katarina had posted a photo of her shoes in an elevator, beside her feet were Brandons shoes, but his had a shine. You could see the blur of Augusts moustached face. Maybe it was a reach, except when the caption said, “Lions Lounge anyone? Don’t my heels look incredible! **love heart eyes emoji**”

You were dressed in rags, you clenched a juul stick you bought that morning, gagging on the watermelon flavour while you practiced your “Eshay” accent. You stared up at the windows trying to guess which room the three were in with the help of the ex-ballerinas photos.

A month ago, you would’ve thought doing something like this was insane and frankly unhealthy. But you a month ago had not been humiliated and manipulated, God knows what a woman will do once you’ve pissed her off…was it obsession? Most definitely, for revenge, for justice, for all the girls who fell for August and harmed by his reputation.

You waited…and you were right. Brandon and August walking out together. The sweet young woman was clinging to Brandon’s side with a wide girlish smile and love heart shaped sunglasses. Funnily enough, the car that picked them up just so happened to be driven by the same dark headed driver in the same black car that August took you in. You took a snapshot of the license plate and watched it drive through the somewhat slow traffic down the street. You walked and walked, keeping your eyes set on the license plate. While traffic rolled, you turned and noted there were a few empty taxis.

You took off the jumper that you cut a bunch of holes in and dumped it in a garbage bin before bending down and tapping on one of the taxi windows.

“Hey! Are you available to drive me?” You called to one of the taxi drivers that hadn’t noticed you until that second...his eyes widened with surprise before nodding, “quickly, traffic is slow, hop in!”

You slid directly into the passenger side, which on a normal day you’d never dare.

But today wasn’t a normal day. You sat up in your seat and scrolled the area with your eyes.

“So where are we headed today, ma’am?” The driver asked.

You pointed ahead with a cheeky smile, “See that black car? The fancy one.”

“The tesla?” He asked.

“My friends are in that car, so please follow it. They know the way.”

He peered at you curiously, you knew it was stupid. If you had friends rich enough for a tesla, they’d never leave you to find a taxi. But hey…money is money, the driver wouldn’t argue. He started the timer and to your satisfaction traffic picked up. When they zoomed through the street the taxi tried to keep up. They were driving to a quieter street with Western Europeanised cafe’s.

As they stopped and hoped out you quickly requested to the driver, “Do you mind going around the corner? I’m a little embarrassed.”

God, you hated to say it but you had to play the suddenly snobby cunt.

He didn’t care either way to your relief and parked around the corner, metres away from the two men.

You paid the driver handsomely with cash you managed to find in your old piggy bank back home and slid out of the cab. Your face carefully looked around the corner and you skirted back. August, Brandon and Katarina had decided to sit outside in the warm morning sunlight. It was just your luck! Quickly, you crossed the street away from the cafe. The more distance the better.

To your luck it was a block of units across from the cafe. You walked around the building and kept your head down. You came up behind in an alley and smiled at the long spiral stairs that went up to the roof top. The adrenaline extinguished all fear of heights and pushed you up until you stood out on a flat roof. You crossed the way and looked over the side.

‘Fuck’, you thought to yourself. ‘Would a police officer ever do this? Would Lloyd ever have the guts to do this?’

Probably not, there was lots of red tape involved in police investigations...but you were just a reporter...You were a photographic investigator and you amazed yourself at the lengths you were taking. You were eager to get these shots. This evidence.

You saw the pair of businessmen receiving a cup of tea and breakfast meals from the waitress. Getting down onto your tummy, you grabbed your camera and leant over the ledge to zoom in on the two.

The pumping blood roaring in your vein filled you with a mixture of fear, excitement and surprisingly…arousal.

Those were the photos that made it to the papers first.

06:35pm Wednesday 14th August 2024, Woolloongabba Brisbane.

As you reminisced on the evidential demise of August Walker, a knock at the door designed a bigger grin across your face. Lloyd had arrived. And no longer standing in a fit of sobs you welcome him cheerfully at the door.

He was wearing a black turtleneck and black slacks, totally out of uniform. Below his eye was a reddish spot. It was shining against his pale face. It wouldn’t surprise you if it was a bruise.

‘Many police are brutal and cruel but there’s no way Lloyd is one. He isn’t one of those cops...he must’ve been attacked by some bogan eshay or crackhead.’

His smile turned your knees to warm jelly. You felt shy like some first year highschooler being noticed by the seniors. He just had this glow around him.

“Hi Lloyd.”

“Hello there,” he said softly, his head cocked to the side, “Do you mind letting me in?” He asked.

‘Oh right.’

“Come- come in.”

You felt your face grow warm. You opened the door wider and looked out and down the hall. You held your breath and stood aside. The tall man slid passed you inside to your lounge room.

You took a massive breath in and exhaled. No one was waiting behind a corner or ready to catch you with the officer. You knew there were no security cameras and you doubted August would ever add any with his reputation.

Lloyd removed his leather shoes and placed them beside the door. His black socks glided over the hardwood.

You bit your lip…you looked back at the coffee table and quickly shut the door, bolting the locks after the detective entered your flat.

If August knew you were letting a detective inside, continuing to talk to one he could-…’Well, hold on...how would he know? He wouldn’t.’

“Woah, locked me in, what are you doing?” Lloyd gasped as he glanced over the metal mechanisms of your door. His eyes widened when you twisted the locks and shifted the small chains.

“I just...um. August Walker.... he’s kinda now...my new landlord and he probably will be getting keys soon and I....” your breath wavered. You paused and took a deep breath, “I needed to talk to you privately in person I think....”

His eyes didn’t grow any wider, but his pupils shrank. He pinched his dark pink lips. Sucking his teeth loudly he nodded slowly.

“That’s definitely a pickle you’ve been put into then, huh?”

You nodded back, pressing yourself against the door, sighing softly, “That’s not even the half of it Lloyd...”

His eyes raked up and down your body in surprise. You weren’t wearing your bra and your nipples were rock hard. Your pyjama bottoms were very short and little did you realise how much they were riding up your thighs.

You walked around him timidly to the coffee table.

“I got a new job, as a photographer journalist, no real experience required just my luck honestly,” you awkwardly laughed, “August um, he’s supposedly up to no good and I thought I could have a jab at him from a professional angle…”

You sat yourself in the recliner, while you invited him to sit opposite of you on the couch where he’d be able to properly look at all the photos.

He looked frightfully tired. His hair was dishevelled, and his shirt was stain with sweat. He had a nasty purple bruise on his knuckles that also matched the one under his eye.

You lifted your knees to your chest and worried about how much trouble this man was getting into as well as you. You wondered if it was like television shows where detectives mostly focus on the darkside of the force.

You gestured to the photos. You weren’t sure how he would react. He sat on the couch and peered across the coffee table, glancing over the images. It took him a few seconds before a gasp of shock ripped from his throat.

You tapped on the photos where you’d been stalked and seen taking photos of August, “Well, it shows he’s not one to have his photos taken...”

He was shaking his head. He couldn’t stop staring at the nude photos. And for a few seconds you relived that feeling of embarrassed humiliation.

You could see how his throat bobbed and his eyes flutter.

He leant forward on his knees and licked his lips.

“I...and here I had called you to check up on you and I was going to ask you for help Y/N, but god I don’t know if that’s gonna work now,” he sighed.

The detective ran a finger across your face in the lewd photos.

Your eyes narrowed, “Wh-what do you mean?”

There was a lengthy pause.

He chewed the inside of his cheek before asking, “How much do you hate what August did to you?”

You didn’t hesitate, “I’d kill him for what he’s done if I knew I wouldn’t go to prison…” you briefly looked down, “He…he came back like you said...”

Lloyd eyes glanced down too and he sighed, “Thought as much…let me guess…he threatened you?”

Your eyes fluttered closed, August had done more than just threaten you.

You nodded slowly, “He…he did…but he…is possessive, he kept saying I was his and I belong to him.” You pointed to the photo of you taped up on the recliner.

His brows pressed together, his eyes saddened. He clear his throat, “How long ago was that?”

Your mouth grew dry. You felt embarrassed telling Lloyd.

“The day of the report, after you brought me home.”

His eyes widened, his hand rubbed his parted lips, “So he ugh…he was here already?”

You nodded again, “The call you made… he was standing right here with a knife in his hand.”

“That’s why you have those deadbolts huh?” The officer rubbed his eyes and groaned, “Fuck. I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you call me after he left? I could’ve moved you, you could’ve stayed with me at least until I could put you into witness protection. Fuck!”

His swearing sent a shiver down your spine.

Your looked at your feet, you knew he wasn’t victim blaming, he just didn’t understand. You told Lloyd everything…confessed like he was your priest. You told him what August did with the vibrator despite it bringing you to tears again. You told him he was the new landlord and that’s why you installed the extra locks. You told him about your new job and you told him about the photos and how you were going to help however you could to put the bastard away.

You sat off the recliner and slid the photos back into the envelope.

“You’re very brave Y/N,” Lloyd whispered, he reached out and laid his warm hand on top of yours.

Your belly felt warm at the praise. You let him hold your fingers in his and rubbed his thumb over your skin. You stared at his blonde moustache and those bright clue eyes of his. You imagined his mouth scratching your lip if you only leant in closer...he was still as handsome as the day he patiently listened to you in the report.

Lloyd smiled softly.

God if you were a cat you would’ve been feral and in heat with how creative your imagination was getting.

Your eyes fluttered as your entire body warmed up.

“Y-You said you needed help with something?”

He smirked, letting go of your hand.

He claimed, “After what you’ve told me I’m confident you can do it...but you might not like it…”

“Try me,” you huffed, falling victim to his contagious grin.

“I have two tickets to August’s little Soiree at his club The Lions Lounge,” He started off, “My other sources have confirmed there is going to be some form of arms deal with some unsavoury company, illegal, unregistered weapons. August Walker is very good at knowing the law and requesting a warrant… but the sources I have are not substantial to the board to guarantee a warrant by that night and by that time Walker would’ve moved the weapons and sold them in a different location.”

You pieced it bit by bit.

“So you need to get inside the party, find the deal going down and bust them?”

“Exactly, that’s right! However the moment a single man waltzes to the front door it looks suspicious. I need a lady on the arm…and better yet…I need a distraction for Walker, if he sees me head on, I could be as good a shark chow.”

Your eyes lit up, it didn’t take a genius to realise he meant you. You would be the distraction. And you’d be damned before you put yourself in real danger again especially after the threat August had given you...your photos were taken in public, this would be in private. Anything could happen to you.

“No… that is too dangerous, Lloyd,” You stood up and paced the floor in front of Lloyd who was now also rising to follow you in your pacing. You walked around your kitchen and Lloyd put his hands on the bench beside you.

“Y/N…” he bent close in a whisper. You wouldn’t look at the detective. Fear was buzzing inside of you. You felt stupid about saying you’d do anything to take August Walker down now. You really wanted to just humiliate the man and call him up in prison one day and rub it in his face. But this? This was a game of cat and mouse and you didn’t want to be backed up into a corner again.

“I wouldn’t be asking you if this unless I had to...”

You bit back the whimper in your throat as Lloyd touched your shoulder gently.

“He let you live…he has a soft spot for you.”

‘He threatened to put me down.’

He turned you around and squeezed your arms while he pitched the plan, “What’ll happen is we enter the club, I find the dealers and you find Walker because he will be hosting the party, he will want to know why you’re there and you are going to tell him that…you wanted to see him.”

You rubbed your eyes angrily, “Why the fuck would I want to see him?!” your fingers felt moist, you’d been compelled to tears.

The kind eyed detective sucked his teeth, “I don’t know, make it up. Kiss him. Men don’t care about a thing once a pretty thing is kissing them.”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head. No, this wasn’t the Lloyd you had imagined.

“Oh,” you chuckled sourly, “So you’re pimping me out then?”

He gave you a dumbfounded look, “Call it whatever you want…you’ll be paid good money for your service and he’ll be arrested, in prison, unable to touch you. You can run away and move to wherever you want then.”

Your breath was shaky as you dared to ask, “How much?”

His left brow rose.

“How much would I be paid by the Queensland police or Australian defence department or whoever this is through?”

He sighed and gently laid a hand on your shoulder, “Around fifteen grand.”

Your breath escaped you. From near negatives to fifteen grand overnight? That much? For this job?! You were stunned…not sure if it was worth your life…but if it meant he only humiliate you one more time and you walked away with that much money…you’d do it.

You shook your head, “Fine, it’s this Friday night yea? His club is high-class and I don’t have clothes for that type of event.”

The tall man stood back and chuckled as he tug into his back pocket and retrieved his wallet. He pinched a wad of cash and slapped it in the benchtop. Your eyes widened, holy fuck it was a month or two in rent alone…

“Go buy some. But you have got to be ready. At Seven o’clock I’ll pick you up an hour before the event and we can refresh what we know before we line up.”

You glanced between him and the money and nodded….”Alright, let’s…let’s do this.”

He laughed and clapped his hand excitedly, he leant in and gave you a fat kiss on the cheek. Nothing romantic, just pure joy.

“Thankyou so much Y/N you are going to be hailed a hero, a legend in my books!” He marched back to the couch and grabbed his blazer.

“You are a special person and I’m honoured to have met you! Really honoured!” He said as he unlocked all your bolts. He swung the door open and slammed it behind him.

You sighed and fell back against your cold fridge.

You weren’t sure you could pull this off….but as your eyes looked over the cash, the corner of your lips lifted.

You shut your eyes and sighed…all that money, it made your blood pulse. You returned to the lounge room and sat in the recliner. You laid back, staring at the ceiling. Your hands crawled down, passed the waist band of your pyjama shorts and underwear. You touched yourself and sighed.

Your fingers rubbed delicately against your clit while you leant against the kitchen bench.

You tried to imagine someone...Lloyd…the detective. He had a warmth his face. Lloyd would never rape you though, he was good, he was honest…

You moaned softly, imagining his warm hands groping your skin and his lips kissing your skin.

Fingering yourself, in and out, in and out.

You were imagining Lloyd speaking to you. He was currently the most attractive man you’d made contact with in weeks...other than August who essentially raped you.

What kind words would Lloyd say? “I washed our clothes, finished the dishes, now come here and let me fuck you.” ‘Oh yea that’s fucking hot.’

You imagined he would be gentle and soft before using more strength in his hips. His lips would be soft and hot. He would protect you and play sexy policeman. You might not have been a fan of the justice system but you were confident Lloyd would fill in a police uniform very well.

So why did your body start to dry up?

You didn’t know what you were doing wrong. You were riding your fingers and teasing your clit…why couldn’t you cum? You felt weird doing this now. It was strange to think before you met August you could cum very easily, after your dad- well you hadn’t touched yourself because you weren’t thinking about sex for a while until the millionaire stepped into your life.

After the third time of unsuccessful release, you punched the arm of the chair and started searching sex toys on your phone.

You weren’t totally sure if the prices were worth it for a piece of painted pink silicone. And there were strange shapes you were amazed were even designed to fit into a human….‘a whole fist? Surely that’s satire,’ you thought, ‘it shouldn’t be possible. It would be like reverse birth?’

You settled on buying a “rabbit dildo with thrusting pleasure.” You rolled your eyes at the name. You slapped your phone down and sighed, rubbing your eyes.

The hour was late.

Your first paycheck would be coming in soon. It was the smell of a small victory.

10:33am Friday 16th August 2024, Queen Street Westfield Shopping centre, Brisbane.

“What should I wear…” you hummed as you flipped through the dresses. Some of these dresses cost the amount of a new iPhone. You bit your lip. ‘Maybe I can return them tomorrow and give Lloyd his money back?’

A sales clerk came up, “Need some help?” She was blonde, curvy and tall. A supermodel compared to your body. You blushed.

“I’m looking to wear something to one of the high end clubs like The Lion Lounge, he’s having a nineteen twenties theme soiree this evening?”

Her lips widened, “Well, we do have many suitable gowns and even pantsuits for that social class, what designer were you thinking?”

You balked and worried that she would see you sweat, “Oh…I um…I’ll be super frank…I have not a clue what I’m doing…it is my first time to something so spectacular.”

The clerk’s eyes softened, her lips pursed, “Well! Let me help you then! These gowns you’re looking at are definitely not old twenties glam worthy! Right this way!”

Your cheeks buzzed as you were led into a dressing room and made to try on multiple styles, designers and colours of dresses.

She asked if you were getting your nails done and gasped when you said you hadn’t thought about it.

She was like a fairy godmother. She went the extra mile to call up the other stores in the mall to book appointments. You hadn’t felt so pretty ever in your life until then

She appeared stunned by the cash you laid on her counter.

Your nails were french tips with a holographic clear coat. You received a quick arm and leg wax and eyebrow shaping. The makeup matched the entire outfit. Your dress clung to your best assets and shaped your body with a clutch purse and low heels to match. Your hair was gelled and hairsprayed down into finger waves. And a lather of pearls circled around your throat and wrists.

The long finger of your dress tickled your calfs down to your small kitten heels.

You looked incredible, it took your breath away to see the glow up….

Lloyd thought so too.

HELPLINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers. .

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

#Kingpin!August Walker X F!reader #august walker x black!reader #august walker x ofc #august walker x you #august walker x reader #August Walker x f!reader #august walker fic #tnosp #dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #milky fics #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fic #dark!august walker #dark!henry cavill #Spotify

[koboldfactory]

Howdy! I know giving strangers advice unsolicited is like getting teeth pulled online, but I've got a friend who has actually done a fair bit of paying work on games as a concept/asset artist, and I asked them what they did to do it- the answer is both kinda disappointing, but also heartening- they were either recommended by friends, or answered calls for submissions on twitter. I know too from what little game dev I've done, a lot of the indie stuff really did boil down to "I was the right person in the right place at the right time," so like- while there's no magic bullet, if you keep putting yourself out there, keep forming connections, it can absolutely happen! In a way, you're on the right track already, so keep up the good fight!

I will do my best! I am surrounded by so many amazingly talented artists and developers and it's incredible to see everyone's resolve, but we're all kinda going through it in one way or another haha. It's hard for anyone to stay financially afloat when we barely have enough money to support ourselves, much less all of the people around us that we care about. I just wish I could get a somewhat stable job at a studio that doesn't want to kill me, doing work for more than like. a week lol.

also since I keep personal dms closed on all of my socials due to scams and trolls I will just say, hey if you're a game developer looking for a paid concept, character or sprite artist/animator I have plenty of experience and just updated my portfolio yesterday! the formatting sucks but the art is mostly up to date (except the pixel art ironically, but I will gladly supply more recent examples if needed). My business contact is on there as well.

Thanks for the kind words and sorry for tacking my personal stuff on the end of this response!

#koboldasks

[miamochi-writes]

hihi! can you write vash being with an artist and them needing to finish a commission since they're running low on money and ends up pulling multiple all-nighters, not really taking care of themselves and vash like forces them to take a break? (college is killing me rn :,)) thanks !!

A/n: Ooo I can sort of relate to this, just mainly the all-nighters :’) Also hope you don't mind Vash giving the reader some much needed TLC ❤️Enjoy!

A Break from Perfectionism

“Ugh, why does the chin look weird?”

“Now the eyes aren’t leveled,”

“Hands are the worst to draw!"

"Why do they still look wonky? They shouldn't look like this!"

You kept muttering to yourself as you tried to sketch on your drawing pad. You were limited on supplies, so this drawing had to be perfect. You already used up most of your supplies at the last town with your previous commissions. You already spent most of your double dollars to restock on the set of charcoal sticks and sketch paper you used. Just like clothes, art supplies were expensive to buy in No Man's Land.

However, you managed to get one commission that would cover all your future expenses. One of the townsfolk noticed your portfolio and wanted a portrait of themselves. When they told you how much they were willing to pay, you nearly passed out from the amount of double dollars they held out in front of you. Of course, you couldn't say no to this commission and promised to work on it immediately. Usually, you would have finished this commission quickly since it was your only one. The only problem is, your perfectionism was getting in the way of making any progress. You needed this commission to be perfect. One second it would look great at a glance, but after five seconds, you would find a flaw upon closer inspection. Thus, you would fix the mistake with some erasing, sketching, or shading until you were satisfied. This process would repeat itself until you lost track of time. You were currently working on the face until you heard someone come inside your room.

“Y/n, you there?” A familiar voice asked. You didn’t need to look up. You recognized that voice from a mile away. You couldn’t afford to look away from your sketch as you were shading in the shadows of the person you drew.

“Yeah I’m here, what’s up Vash?” You asked as you started finishing up the last shade of the cheek. It wasn’t good, nor terrible, but it would do for now. After all, you were going to fix it again for the umpteenth time.

“I’m just checking in on you. How's it going with the artwork?” Vash asked as you could hear him walk closer to you. When Vash first asked about seeing your drawings, you were such a nervous wreck about him seeing your work. Now, you've grown used to him seeing your portfolio after you started dating each other. He was your muse whenever you had an art block. The way Vash expressed himself and his little mannerisms were perfect for you to draw.

"Wow, that looks amazing Y/n! This is probably your best one yet!" Vash complimented as you sighed.

"Thanks, I wish I could see this the way you do. It's not nearly finished. There are so many things wrong with this piece that I need to fix. The shading is all wrong on this part, and the face looks wonky at certain angles," you whined as you looked at the sketch again and started zoning in on all the flaws. The more you looked at the piece, the more you felt the urge to crumple up the paper and start over.

"Hey, don't be so harsh on yourself. You're a great artist, and everyone knows it. Why don't we take a break from this and work on it later?" he suggested, putting his hands on your tense shoulders.

"Vash I can't! I have to keep working on this. I need to finish this soon. I promised this person I would have it ready before we leave in a few days!" you argued.

"Y/n, you need a break. This isn't healthy for you. Besides, when was the last time you took a break? Did you even eat?" Vash persisted as you thought about how to answer those questions without worrying him.

"Uhhh...I took a mini break when Meryl checked in on me sometime ago. And I had a snack not too long ago," you answered vaguely. Before any of you could answer, your stomach growled loud enough for five seconds. Long and loud enough for Vash to hear. You immediately turned red at that moment, cursing your stomach and its terrible timing.

"Y/n, when exactly did you last eat something filling?" Vash asked. When you looked at him, you saw his glasses were glinting at you. This was not a good sign, as you knew he was dead serious if you couldn't see his pretty blue eyes anymore.

"When we all ate together?" you answered quietly. You then felt two strong hands on your waist. Next thing you knew, your feet were no longer touching the ground. Vash was carrying you over his shoulder with his prosthetic hand. It was at this moment, you knew there was no escaping your boyfriend if he had you in his prosthetic grip. You knew how strong he was with that arm in particular as he adjusted his grip on you.

"Vash please! I promise to take a break and eat later! Just please put me down!" you begged.

"Y/n, I can't believe you haven't eaten a proper meal in days! You're not leaving my sight until you eat and rest," Vash argued as you whined in defeat. Vash took you out from your room as you were covering your face in shame. You felt embarrassed being carried like this, and it didn't help people were going to see you and Vash like this.

"Wolfwood, make sure Y/n doesn't go in this room unless I say so. We'll be back later," Vash requested. You then saw Wolfwood waiting outside your room and placed his weapon in front of your room. He told Vash he'd watch over the place as you were in complete shock. Now there was no way you could sneak back into your room and continue working.

~*~

Vash brought you down to the hotel's dining room. You were a blushing mess when you saw a couple of people lounging there. It wasn't every day that Vash carried you over his shoulder, let alone in a public space where people could see. He finally set you down at a table for two where Meryl and Roberto sat. They then left once they saw Vash as the both of you took a seat. You could see two plates of freshly cooked Thomas meat in front of the two of you.

"Vash, is this for me?" you asked as he nodded.

"How? This must have cost a good chunk of our funds!" you added, feeling bad just looking at this meal.

"Y/n, you deserve to eat a warm meal. Plus, I don't mind spending money on you if it means sharing a meal with you like this. I haven't seen you in days since you started working on that piece," Vash explained. Oh how a wave of shame washed over you. You didn't realize how much time and energy you spent working on this commission. When you thought back to how Vash checked in on you earlier, you didn't even bother to look at him.

"I'm sorry Vash, I didn't mean to ignore you like that. I got so invested in working, I didn't realize how much time passed. I'll make it up to you somehow," you apologized.

"No I understand, just promise me to take breaks every now and then okay?" he replied with those sweet blue eyes that held so much love and kindness for you every day. You nodded your head and began to dig into your meal. The meat was succulent and tender with each bite you took. Your mouth was overwhelmed with flavor as your stomach was finally getting fed actual food.

"Vash this is so good! Thank you for getting this," you chimed as Vash smiled at how content you were.

"I'm glad you like it! Eat as much as you can, you need all the energy you can get for later," he replied before taking a bite of his meal. You didn't realize how hungry you were until you finished everything on your plate. Even Vash managed to wipe his plate clean as there were no scraps left behind. Once you were finished, Vash led you to his room while holding your hand with his warm cybernetic arm. Once you entered, he locked the room and led you to his bed.

"Y/n, when was the last time you slept? Be honest," Vash asked. Guilt-ridden, you averted your e/c eyes from your boyfriend. You already knew you didn't get a wink of sleep when you saw your dark circles in the reflection of your silverware earlier. Vash exhaled as he knew more or less the answer to his question. He then pulled you over to him as he held you close. Vash then caressed your cheek as his blue eyes locked on to yours. His eyebrows were furrowed with a small frown apparent on his beautiful face.

"Please take better care of yourself next time. I know I'm not great at taking care of myself, but I don't want you catching my habits too," Vash spoke. Your heart sunk as you rested your hand on his right cheek.

"I'm so sorry Vash, I will. The last thing I want to do was worry you. But you better take care of yourself too. We both can't be neglecting ourselves or each other. Promise me we'll both take better care of ourselves and each other?" you offered as Vash nodded with a smile growing on his face. His eyes gleamed as they crinkled from his smile that you loved ever so much.

You then kissed Vash gently on the lips as he pulled you closer to him. He rubbed small circles on your back as you melted into the kiss. Once you pulled away for air, Vash stared at you in such adoration as he slowly brushed his thumb on your cheek.

"I missed you so much Mayfly," he said as he laid down and pulled you with him. You loved it when he called you by your nickname. That name never failed to warm your heart as you showered Vash with butterfly kisses.

"Aw I missed you too my angel. I wished I was commissioned to draw you instead. I love to draw your beautiful face any chance I get," you cooed. Afterwards, Vash's cheeks were turning slightly pink as he wore a shy smile on his face before covering his face with both hands. He was a blubbering red mess the first time he heard you call him that. When you explained why you called him that, Vash nearly passed out from the overwhelming love and compliments you showered him with. When you first met him, you mistook him for an angel, because there was no way a human could look that pretty 24/7. When he saw your portraits of him in your sketchbook, he was in awe of how you drew him. How you perceived him in all your work was how Vash wanted to see himself in the mirror. Whether it was him smiling, laughing, or gazing, you always drew Vash in all his beauty. Plus, you always left little comments about how ethereal he was in your work that he practically melted. That nickname always turned Vash into absolute putty in your hands.

Vash then snuck a peak at you with his beautiful eyes as you chuckled at how childlike he was. He then grabbed your wrists and started massaging them slowly. All the pain building up from all the late night sketches and awkward positioning of your wrists was finally alleviated.

"How's that Mayfly?" he asked as he continued massaging you from your wrists to your hands and lastly to your fingers. Every little rub and massage he did brought so much relief to you. Your muscles and joints were slowly relaxing with each touch. You had no idea you were so tense earlier. If it wasn't for Vash, you probably would have gotten carpal tunnel syndrome much earlier. Once Vash finished, he planted kisses on both hands.

"How did you know?" you asked him.

"You were stiff when I first saw you today. Plus, your movements were rigid when we were eating earlier. Did my massage help?" he asked as you kissed him once more.

"More than you know," you replied as Vash brought you to his chest and kissed your lips and cheeks.

"Good, you deserve it after working so hard," Vash added. He then caressed the back of your head. He then slowly and gently ran his fingers through your hair. Furthermore, he rested his other arm on your back as you rested your head on top of his right chest. You loved hearing his heartbeat as it always calmed you down.

"Can we stay like this for awhile Angel?" you asked him.

"As long as you want Mayfly," he answered.

"Good, I think I'll take a quick nap on you if you don't mind," you added.

"Go ahead. I'll be right here. Sweet dreams my Mayfly," Vash wished as he planted one soft kiss on your head. Your eyes slowly got heavy as you drifted off to the sweet bliss of sleep. Once Vash made sure you were asleep, he slowly rested both his arms on top of your back and stared fondly at you. Oh how he missed having you in his arms these past few days. Vash loved and adored you every second. He knew how much this commission was stressing you out when he realized how important it was to you. Vash isn't the type to bother you while you work, but after not seeing you for days, he mustered up all the courage he had to knock on your door. The blonde was touch starved for days and missed seeing his favorite person. After all, you were his safe haven in this cruel world.

~*~

You woke up to see the sun setting. You looked to see Vash sleeping next to you as he held you by the waist. The minute you moved, Vash slowly stirred since he was such a light sleeper. Then those beautiful eyes slowly blinked at you as a smile crept on his lips.

"Sleep well?" he asked as you nodded.

"Good," he replied as he pecked your lips. Vash looked at the window and realized the time. He then walked you back to your room and allowed you to go back to work. Except, you would have to sleep with him later tonight, which you happily obliged. Wolfwood moved his weapon away as you walked inside. Once you settled in, you looked at the sketch you did and started redrawing the areas that bothered you. Once that was done, you started shading and outlining the prominent features with your charcoal sticks. Then, you started adding little touchups to the smaller details. Finally, you looked at the outcome of your work. You couldn't spot any mistakes after giving it a good look. Finally, you were done with this piece!

You immediately grabbed your things and ran to Vash's room. He was excited to see you once you knocked at his door. Once you changed clothes, showered, and brushed your teeth, the both of you got comfortable in each other's arms in bed. Despite how stressful the past few days were on you, you were grateful to have Vash intervene and take care of you. After today, you were not afraid to take a couple of much needed breaks. Especially if it meant Vash would be spending time with you during those said breaks.

@daschstuff @bunnigrimm

#vash x reader #vash x y/n #vash x you #vash the stampede #vash the stampede x y/n #vash the stampede x you #vash the stampede x reader #vash reboot #trigun stampede #trigun fic #trigun x you #trigun x y/n #trigun x reader #trigun #miamochi writes

[spadesolace]

the idea of yoo - 1.5. confrontations (half-written)

previous | next

it had been a few months since the whole ordeal. your trip to seoul was a success and before leaving everything behind, there was one thing left on your list. make things right with jimin. that’s why you’re outside of the restaurant she worked at, her friends waving her goodbye as she hesitated to approach you. who wouldn’t when you deceived her for months?

“i haven’t seen you in church in a while.”

“i’ve been busy.” a bit cold, it’s the best she could give after everything.

“yeah?”

“... you need quite the portfolio for korea national university of arts.”

“art school?! That’s- that’s great!” jimin brushes the comment off, as you continue walking with her to who knows where.

“nothing’s great just yet, but let’s see… what’s going on with you?” it took you a bit of surprise that she’s curious about your current state and future plans.

“i’m headed to seoul. they accepted my late application, so-”

“good for you, y/n. take care.” she walked faster, leaving you slightly behind.

“jimin. i’m sorry.” she stops, back still facing you.

“it was supposed to be one letter. just one. then you replied - i just kept going because you were the closest thing i’ve ever come to being… heard… i never meant to hurt you nor deceive you.” you don’t know what her expression is but you heard a heavy sigh, slowly raising her head up.

“you know, sometimes i wish you existed.”

“i know. i’m sorry.” she finally turns around and you see the tears flowing down her cheeks.

“deep down, i probably knew the truth and simply chose to deny it… you didn’t really put emojis in his texts.” you raise your hands up, flabbergasted, that made her smile alone.

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT THEY MEAN?!” she chuckles at your reaction, enough to make you forget that you were here to apologize and make things right.

“maybe a cat or i don’t know some ice cream.”

“I SHOULD HAVE SENT YOU AN ICE CREAM EMOJI?!”

“fair point.”

the tension is gone, changed by genuine smiles and you were still a bit frustrated from what you had learned. jimin looks down, playing with the small pebble between her feet.

“... it did crossed my mind if things were different. or i was different.”

“you could never be different.” jimin looks back sharply, wasn’t your whole speech about love being no different from the rest? “am i sure? how do you know i’m sure.”

“i can be.”  you nod, now standing in front of her, hands in your pocket and in a teasing way tilt your head.

“i mean, what does god think?”

“oh my-”

“just on and on…”

“just you wait, naoi y/n, in a couple of years, i’m gonna be sure.”

“mhm.. good luck with that.” you walk past her, turning around and walking backwards as she shakes her head with a smile.

“find something good in seoul to believe in.” you wave goodbye and turn your back at her, with a flicker of something unspoken. some good distance between you two. is this how it ends? you leave and hope to whatever metaphysical being that she is sure of herself? to hell with it.

stopping in your tracks, jimin is still looking at you as you turn back around, almost running towards her. maybe she is sure about herself as she holds onto your cheeks as you wrap your arms around her waist. you kiss her. a bit startled but she does kiss you back. breaking away from it, both breathless and flushed but you’re both happy.

“i’ll see you in seoul then?” jimin nods and kisses you one last time till you see each other again in a month.

taglist [CLOSED]:

@1luvkarina @beawolfbealionbeyou @pandafuriosa60 @txtbrainrot @rinapomu @limbforalimb @yoontoonwhs @noascats @thefckghost @petruchiosstuff

#aespa x fem reader #karina aespa #aespa smau #aespa x reader #aespa karina #aespa #karina smau #karina x reader #karina imagines #karina #yoo jimin x reader #yu jimin #yoo jimin #the idea of yoo smau

[ludi-ling]

Maison Romy

So last summer I was hanging out with @narwhallove in Seattle, and she challenged me to write something that married my love of Romy with my love of historical fashion. She seemed to be really into it, and I was like, nah, it's not possible, but then she started throwing ideas -ahemdemandsahem - at me, and somehow something took hold and started sprouting.

This is as far as I got.

Will it ever be finished? I don't know. It's such a niche interest, I might continue writing it just for me. 😉

______________________________________________________________

               Maison Hoareau was in decline.

               For more than fifty years it had dressed queens and princesses and duchesses and debutantes, and they had done so with flair and panache. Now, in 1910, they still dressed the wealthy and the famous; but their clientele had grown as old and distinguished as they had. Very rarely did a pretty and winsome young lady cross their threshold.

               Across the busy New York city street that separated them was the House of Burford. The House of Burford was only five years old, and had no distinguished lineage at all; but it was there that the pretty and winsome young ladies entered, and left with dainty parcels and smiles on their faces.

               “What do they have that we do not?” Monsieur Hoareau asked from the head of his boardroom table. “We have beauty and taste and the finest fabrics from across the world; and what’s more, we have pedigree! Three generations at the forefront of fashion! How could they possibly compete?”

               There were murmurings of assent around the table.

               Remy LeBeau, however, stood at the window, and looked silently across the street to their rival.

               A pretty young redhead was alighting from a motorcar, dressed in a startingly avantgarde concoction of furs and elegantly-arranged silk drapery. A returning customer – he had seen her before. With the exuberant stride of every fashionable young woman about to shop, she stepped past the very officious doorman and into the as-yet uncharted stronghold of the House of Burford.

               “Young women do not care for pedigree,” he muttered to himself. “They only care to look beautiful, and more beautiful than anyone else around them.”

               “What do you say, LeBeau?” Monsieur Hoareau demanded waspishly. “Speak louder, man!”

               LeBeau turned away from the window.

               “I say that if we want to appeal to young women, we must move with the times.”

               He walked back over to the table, opened his portfolio, and pulled out his latest designs.

               “If we want to expand our clientele again,” he said, handing out the drawings around the table, “we need to be bold, innovative, forward-thinking. But most of all, we need to be unique.”

               There were hmm-ings and hah-ings as they took in his designs; but Monsieur Hoareau was shaking his head, saying:

               “Monsieur LeBeau, this will not do!” He looked at one drawing, then another. “No, indeed, it will not! These are… why, they are tubes! Women do not like to wear tubes! They like tiny waists! And the drape of this one is quite ugly! Women like to show how slender they are! This coat swathes the figure, and does not show it off to advantage at all!”

               LeBeau was used to this. He merely raised an eyebrow.

               “I thought it quite fetching,” he noted. “And modern.”

               Monsieur Hoareau drew his eyebrows together disapprovingly.

               “Monsieur LeBeau,” he began testily, “can you imagine Lady Carruthers wearing such a garment? Or our dear First Lady?”

               LeBeau said nothing. Far better to say nothing, than to confess he could not.

               “Of course, our most esteemed clientele could not bear to be seen in such clothing,” M. Hoareau declared as if to put an end to the matter. “We would lose their custom, and that would be insupportable to Le Maison Hoareau! And so, Monsieur LeBeau, you will go back to the drawing board, and re-design these veritable monstrosities!”

               LeBeau did as he was told, picked up the drawings, and walked back to his studio.

               He sat at his desk, and laid out his designs. He stared at them a very long time.

               Monsieur Hoareau, you see, was a businessman, and not a fashion designer.

               Unlike his father and grandfather before him, he had no interest in the creative aspects of Maison Hoareau. He left that to LeBeau; and LeBeau had willingly and enthusiastically taken on the thankless task of being the creative lead of the world’s foremost fashion house. Thankless, as Monsieur Hoareau the Third had made it his life’s work to thwart every idea LeBeau had to turn the waning fortunes of his employer. Indeed, some of his best work had seen rejection after rejection. Today was no exception.

               With a sigh, he ripped up his designs, one by one, screwed them up into a ball, and pitched them into the nearby wastepaper basket.

               He lounged in his swing chair for a bit and stared at the ceiling, his eyes tracing the graceful Victorian plasterwork, intricate whorls and loops that were now thoroughly out of fashion.

               An idea was forming in his head.

               He got up and walked over to the window.

               Across the road he saw the pretty redhead leaving the House of Burford, a pile of parcels precariously positioned in the arms of her driver, a broad smile on her pink lips. This was rarely a scene one saw at the Maison Hoareau.

               What was their secret, he wondered? What was their magic? It had scarcely been a year since the House of Burford had set up shop across the way, yet the beached whale called Mr. Burford (which was what M. Hoareau insisted on calling him) had managed to exert some sort of magnetic pull on any young woman worth her salt throughout the neighbourhood. And, LeBeau thought with a lop-sided grimace, Mr. Burford was as much a businessman as his dear M. Hoareau was. There was not a creative bone in the man’s body, none at all.

               He was out on the steps now, waving off his latest customer with an avuncular officiousness.

               No – there was certainly no mysterious magic about Mr. Burford. Whatever the source of his house’s mystique, it did not lie in him.

               A little smile crossed LeBeau’s face.

               He walked back to his chair and began to grin.

               Yes.

               A little idea was forming in his head.

-oOo-

               Sometime over the past hundred years or so men’s fashion had become dull, almost utilitarian. Rich fabrics, scintillating colours, and any flamboyance of form, had died under the mighty shadow Beau Brummel had cast. Taste could no longer compel a man to wear frills or ruffles, nor any shade of pink.

               No – female dress had continued to hold the torch of glorious ostentation. Sometimes it seemed that no outrageous look was off limits – from crinolines to bustles, from panniers to the now thoroughly modish hobble skirt – women could indulge without abandon, and men like LeBeau were quite happy to do the service of indulging. Others, like M. Hoareau and his rival, Mr. Burford, were quite happy to make money out of said impulse to indulge. Women played; and men felt fortunate to referee. They could admire, but never wear.

               They were not, however, immune to the desire to look good; and Remy LeBeau was no exception. Unlike most, he had the power to design and tailor his own personal clothing to best effect, and he did not skimp on this fact. Of course, Mr. LeBeau had been known to turn a head or two in his time.

               The motorcar stopped outside Maison Hoareau; and LeBeau, dressed in his sharp grey suit and double-breasted overcoat, clattered down the front steps to meet its occupant. Out stepped a beautiful blonde wearing a vertically striped hobble skirt, and an impossibly wide-brimmed hat festooned with feathers. She, of course, did not shop at Maison Hoareau.

               “Monsieur LeBeau,” she greeted him as he greeted her – with a kiss; one planted, featherlight, on each cheek.

               “Mam’selle Boudreaux,” he replied, with a sparkle in his eye. He offered her his arm and she took it.

               “I got your call. You said you wanted my acting skills,” she said in French, as the car pulled away.

               “That I do,” he responded, also in French, “but only if you don’t mind a little improvisation.”

               Contrary to expectation, he was leading her away from the building, and towards the street. She stopped before they could cross.

               “Well, you do know how I like to hone my skills, mon cher,” she replied, “but you must at least give me something to work with.”

               “Oh, well, that is quite easy,” he smiled complacently. “You are my wife; and I am buying you a suitable gift.”

               He cast his eye at the House of Burford across the road; and, following his gaze, she instantly got an idea of what he had in mind.

               “Monsieur LeBeau, am I to be an accomplice in your corporate espionage?”

               “Ma chere,” he answered breezily, “scruples are not quite your style.”

               “No indeed!” she half-laughed. “But I thought this kind of perfidy rather below you!”

               “Mam’selle,” he said, serious now, “will you play at being my wife? You almost were once, if you remember.”

               “Good grief!” She pushed him slightly away with affectionate ire. “You only say such things because you know I hate arranged marriages as much as you do! Otherwise, your words would have severely wounded me.”

               “Ma chere, Belle,” he murmured gallantly. “You were always my friend before all else. If it doesn’t pain you to pretend at something we almost were, please would you humour me, at least for the hour?”

               She scoffed and pushed him away again – but she was fonder of him than she was bitter at the impromptu dissolution of their betrothal – and so she said:

               “Well, all right. But only for the hour!”

               It was half-past five, and far too late for any shop to be anything but closed; but Mr. Burford could hardly ignore a visit from the beautiful and freshly-feted young actress named Belladonna Boudreaux. The portly fashion designer was thrilled to have such an eminent guest enter his establishment, and took every pain to be exuberantly officious.

               “This is quite the surprise!” he greeted them in the hallway. “If I had known you were coming, I would have arranged a private viewing for you, Mademoiselle Boudreaux. Alas, all but myself and a few of my staff have already gone home for the day.”

               “Oh, please don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Burford,” she waved him off imperiously. “I had only just heard of your glittering reputation from a friend of mine, and I was curious to see for myself what all the fuss is about. But no matter – I can come again another day.”

               LeBeau knew what working with Maison Hoareau had long taught him, and that was that a customer in your doors during inconvenient hours was better than a customer who might never come back – especially one as eminent as a newly-famous actress. It was generally advisable that a man in the business of fashion kept a lady preoccupied with silks and satins and velvets for as long as it took for their spell to be cast upon her, if at all possible.

               “Oh no, no, no,” Mr. Burford insisted firmly. “It is no trouble to give you a quick little tour of our workrooms, Mademoiselle! Your friend is quite in the right – and I would be honoured to prove it to you, if I may. Perhaps there is a bolt of fabric, a fragment of lace, a pretty button that you might fancy for your next ensemble?”

               Belle pretended to think about it a moment.

               “Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt. We do have an hour before we must arrive at the Goodwin’s; and it would never do to be on time anyhow!” She tugged at LeBeau’s arm. “Come, dearest, let us see whether Mercy is right!”

               For the first time Mr. Burford cast Remy a look – the kind of bemused yet comradely look only a man can pass to another man in the presence of a powerful woman. LeBeau smiled back, faintly, pleased that his former-fiancée’s force of character had bypassed any need for introduction on his part.

               He let himself be led hither and thither throughout the building’s salons, where this or that garment, or bolt of fabric, had been left out for previous clients, and were in the process of being packed away. Where Maison Hoareau’s interior decorations were staid and sedate and imminently dignified, the House of Burford’s were light and fresh and bright – and mirrors were everywhere, mirrors that women of a certain age preferred not to see.

               As for Mr. Burford – well, he was impressive, though not out of the common way for a businessman. The more LeBeau listened to him, the more he felt certain that this was not a man of great creative taste or impulses.

               He picked up a piece of finely-wrought lace from a side table and examined it for a moment or two. Fine work, indeed! Fastidious in execution, if not at all in style. He put it back where he had found it, and noticed that Belle and Mr. Burford had moved on to the next room without him, their animated conversation already trailing behind them.

               Taking this as his cue, LeBeau turned and went back into the hallway. From experience he knew exactly where the workrooms were likely to be, and that was where he went.

               The embroiderer’s workroom was quiet, empty apart from the glow of a single electric light. LeBeau stepped up between the frames, peering down now and then to see what was being worked on. There were no floral sprays or pretty little bows. Arabesque spirals and orientalist clouds unfolded across the fabric with seemingly effortless grace. Here was a little Hokusai; and here a little Greek Geometric; and there a little Alhambra.

               His innate eye for beauty could only appreciate such artistry.

               He turned when he reached the end of the row; and that was when he saw her.

               She was sitting quietly in a corner, engrossed in her embroidery; and as soon as he had become aware of her presence, it seemed that she had become aware of his; and both started and stared, one at the other.

               “Apologies, mam’selle,” he murmured. “I didn’t know you were here.”

               Her eyes were green. They were greener than any woman’s he’d yet seen, than any emerald he’d had the pleasure of handling.

               “No offence taken, sir,” she replied, after a moment. Her accent was at some intersection between New York and the deep South. She dipped her head and turned back to her work.

               He’d often done this – wandered through the workrooms, watching the girls go about the business of bringing his creations to life. It was this force of routine that allowed him to walk so freely to her side, to look over her shoulder to see what she was doing.

               He was unconsciously certain this was a position she had encountered a thousand times before in her daily life; so he was a little surprised when she stiffened slightly, as if acutely aware of his proximity to her, and her to him. Defensiveness oozed from her pores.

               He stared at her a moment, then at her work. She was putting the finishing touches to a cascading border of peacock feathers, her fingers moving deftly back and forth, leaving sparkling gold flourishes in their wake. Her movements held an almost careless rhythm that belied the talent inherent in them.

               “That is very fine work,” he praised her, pitching his tone low and inoffensive, knowing instinctively that she would not tolerate anything more enthusiastic.

               “Thank you,” she said. The words were standoffish.

               She would offer nothing more; and so, he turned away.

               He stopped.

               He was standing before a dress form, on which was mounted a nearly-finished evening dress. Almost translucent white silk shimmered under the lamplight, shot through with tiny beads of teal and turquoise and gold which, by some almost magical sleight of hand, had come together to coalesce into peacock feathers. He held his breath a little at the mastery of it; and he knew this was the work of the little seamstress behind him.

               “Do you like it?” he heard her ask behind him.

               He turned and saw her swivelled in her chair to face him, her fingers now still in her lap.

               “This is all your work?” he asked her, pointing to the embroidery.

               She nodded.

               “Yes, sir.”  

               He looked back at her work, then at her.

               “It’s some of the best work I’ve ever seen.”

               It was no lie.

               The girl gave a modest though pleased little smile. She had the complexion of a redhead, with pale skin and a sprinkling of very unfashionable freckles; and of course, there were those brilliant green eyes of hers. But she was a brunette, her long, wavy locks tied up in a silk kerchief that was chicer than her simple white shirtwaist and plaid skirt implied.  A single lock of pure white hair had come free of the kerchief and had fallen to her shoulder.

               “I didn’t do it all myself,” she admitted, her smile becoming a little more genuine. She picked up the piece she had been working on, and stood. When she moved to join him at the dress form, he was surprised to see that what he had first thought she was wearing was a skirt was actually trousers.

               “This section is for the sleeves,” she explained to him. “Here.” She held up the piece of embroidery to the appropriate place. “I wanted to have it done for tomorrow – it was so close to being finished.”

               She admired her handiwork for a moment, a self-satisfied smile on her face.

               “The cut is very simple,” he noted, half to himself. The waistline was high, and the lines were almost Grecian. He was used to nipped-in waists and structured bodices, the kind of look that was Maison Hoareau’s bread and butter.

               She looked at him a moment, perhaps surprised that a man should know anything about the cut of a woman’s dress.           

               “Yes,” she said at last. “Very simple. And liberating.”

               “Such a cut promotes freedom of movement,” he agreed.

               “And no need for a corset,” she finished. She smiled a little slyly at him. “Do you generally approve of the woman’s right to free and untrammelled movement, sir?”

               There was something a little impish in the question, something that he hadn’t yet had the pleasure of encountering from a woman so below his current social standing. He smiled.

               “Miss, I have a keen eye for things of beauty. If free and untrammelled movement can promote beauty, I can only approve of it.”

               She screwed up her freckled nose, half-amused, half-offended.

               “That is a thought only a man could express!” she declared in a strange blend of Southern and New York. He laughed.

               “Alas! I am but a man. But if you will permit me, Miss? This piece you have embroidered for the sleeves? I think it would also do very well here – coming up from the skirt’s hem, up towards the waist, to draw one’s attention back up the dress.”

               She looked startled at the suggestion, and he realised, stupidly, how much he had given away. He cleared his throat added.

               “But of course, Mr. Burford would not agree to having his design altered, especially not at the suggestion of a stranger whose only qualification is as a connoisseur of beauty.”

               He did not know what she would have said, for at that very moment they were interrupted by Belle and Mr. Burford stepping into the room.

               “There you are, darling,” Belle declared in that flippant way she did so well. “Mr. Burford was worried you’d gotten lost!”

               Burford looked none too pleased that one of his private workshops had been invaded. With an eagle eye he glanced over the place, as if to make certain that nothing was stolen or had been left out of place.

               “My apologies,” LeBeau said with a polite smile. “I became distracted and lost you. I found myself here somehow.” He turned a little, intending to indicate that he had been left in the capable hands of Burford’s seamstress; but she had gone back to her table, and was once again busying herself with her work as if nothing had happened.

               “I am afraid,” Burford was saying in a rather harassed tone, “that it is getting rather late Miss. Boudreaux. My staff should really be leaving. Perhaps, with all the little samples I have given you, you will be tempted to return in the coming days?”

               “But of course,” Belle was all smiles. “Perhaps at the end of the week, when I am not engaged.”

               LeBeau knew when to retreat. He let Belle do the business of thanking their host, and of taking their leave; and when he looked back at the seamstress, he saw her eyeing his beautiful companion out of the corner of her eye; though her fingers were busily working as she did so.

#Romy fic #Romy #Rogue #Gambit #Rogue and Gambit #Remy LeBeau #Anna Marie LeBeau #writing process

[cacoetheswriting]

Hello! I hope all is well. I had a fluffy request if that’s ok? Eddie x fem!reader where reader is an art nerd that likes to draw for their campaigns. One day, they’re hanging out preparing for the campaign and maybe Eddie had a run in with Jason earlier and was feeling a little down that day so then reader just starts aggressivley complimenting him out if nowhere. I really love your work! ❤️

thank youuu for this request & for your sweet words, makes my heart happy that you like my little fics ❤️ hope i did your vision justice!

-

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: 2.6k content warnings: adult language, use of pet names, a little mutual pining, insecurities / self-doubt, mentions of bullying, mainly just fluff - very much unedited - pls let me know if i missed anything!

Your friendship with Eddie was an odd one — if you could even call it that. More colleagues than friends, to be honest. Or better yet, acquaintances by association.

Freaks. Geeks. Social outcasts.

There was however, one big difference.

Your status at Hawkins High was by design. A strategic decision you put into play long before you even stepped through the building doors. Growing up in a busy house with a younger brother too loud for his own good, solitude was your best friend. Art was your escape. Often you only found time for both at school. So no, you didn’t wanna socialise or try out for the cheerleading team. You were quite content being left alone.

Being neighbours with Nancy Wheeler, and your younger brothers being practically attached at the hip, helped with staying invisible ‘cause who’s gonna bully the girl that sometimes hung out with Nancy and King Steve.

Eddie unfortunately was not as lucky. His label wasn’t his choice — not at first anyway. It followed him through the years from an age arguably too young. No kid deserved to be treated the way he was simply ‘cause of how/where he was brought up. The curly-haired boy couldn’t escape the names, the teasing, the dirty looks. He couldn’t change his fate. So eventually he stopped trying. The Freak.

And perhaps that’s why he’s never fully warmed up to you. You were a fraud, not actually understanding what it’s like to be an outcast.

But it’s not like you cared what Eddie Munson thought of you or if the metalhead liked you in any way. Hanging around him was simply a means to an end. He needed someone to immortalise his D&D campaigns and you needed continuous inspiration as well as material for your portfolio.

Most of your meet-ups were surrounded by quiet.

Thinking back, that was the first mistake since it was in that congenial silence, you noticed how he sucked his lip between his teeth whenever he was deep in thought, and how he’d scrunch his brows together if what he came up with didn’t quite make sense. He was undoubtedly pretty. The faded freckles on his face are reminiscent of a million stars. The dips in his cheeks, appearing whenever he smiled, comparable to picturesque valleys. Those big brown of his eyes were like chocolate buttons and the more time you spent together, the more you thought you caught him glancing in your direction with that cocoa gaze, but that would be insane. Right?

It was also in those moments, as you drew the monsters he described in grave detail, you got to see the Eddie he so desperately tried to hide away from the rest of the world. The real Eddie. He was ridiculously smart. Not many people in Hawkins, if any at all aside from your silly little brother with his band of friends, could come up with such intricate ideas. Funny too, making you snort a laugh one too many times with practically zero effort. And he was kind. Asking you how your day was, seeming genuinely interested in your answer.

The small talk was kept to a minimum in the hours you two spent working on the campaigns, but whenever you did have a short conversation, Eddie always made sure his attention was focused solely on you. The second mistake was letting him, because being his priority, if only in the moment, made your stomach flutter.

But today Eddie hasn't uttered a single word aside from a measly hello when you opened your front door earlier that afternoon to let him in.

Normally the silence doesn’t bother you. If anything, you welcome it as it helps you concentrate on the details of any piece you’re currently working on. There was just something about the way Eddie was sitting that made you feel uneasy. He didn’t seem present. Leaning against your dresser, legs sprawled out in front of him, gaze focused on something out the window as he fidgeted with the pencil in his hand.

At first you thought maybe he was planning the next move in his new campaign and just needed a minute, but then fifteen minutes passed and the metalhead still hadn’t moved. If you didn’t know any better, you’d doubt he was even breathing. As still as a rock.

A sudden wave of concern rushes through you and without taking a second to consider what you were doing, you grab one of the pillows from your bed and throw it in his direction.

“Shit, what the—”

“Are you okay?”

Eddie’s not sure how to answer that question, especially when he looks at you. Eyes wider than normal, accompanied by delicate worry lines that he's never really been on the receiving end of — aside from Wayne's constant frown. Eddie first thinks you're clearly faking the concern 'cause why would you actually care? But the longer his gaze remains connected with yours, the more he wants to believe your sincerity is genuine. And that's fucking scary.

“Yeah,” he says eventually. “Just a lot on my mind. Nothin' you need to worry about.”

But you don't give up as easily as he hoped you would.

“Wanna talk about it?”

His lips twitch though he never actually smiles and you are certain then something definitely happened because it's as if he really wants to offer you a glimpse of happiness, but his body is refusing.

Dropping his gaze to the pencil in his hands, Eddie sighs. “You don't have to do that.”

“Do what?” You ask, stringing your brows together.

“Pretend like you actually give a shit,” he replies with a little more disdain than intended while once again catching your eyes with his own.

You don't mean to scoff, but you do. “Look, Eddie, I know we're not like best of friends or anything,”  you begin, hopping off the bed with an elegant bounce. “But considering lately I spend more time with you than Nancy or Steve, I feel like we can at least talk about shit, no? Like when something is bothering us, we can talk about that.”

He's slightly surprised at your words. The admission that you hang out with him more than your actual friends didn't seem right to him. In his mind, you and Wheeler are inseparable. He sees you two together all the time, sharing a ride to school, having lunch at the same table. And in the evenings or at the weekends, you're always around Harrington and that other girl, Buckley. Not like Eddie seeks you wherever he goes... He's just... observant.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Eddie rolls his eyes, tone full of disbelief. “You don't gotta lie to make me feel better.”

“I'm not,” you defend and sit cross-legged at his feet, knees brushing against the soles of his dirty Converse in the process. You know you don't owe him an explanation or reasoning, but it seems Eddie won't let up about what's on his mind without one. 

“Nancy and I have drifted apart since I kinda took Steve's side in their breakup. Sure we carpool and sit at the same table in the cafeteria, and our idiotic brothers are good friends, but that's pretty much it.”

Eddie starts to feel like a jerk for assuming shit when he clearly had no clue, but you don't give him a chance to interject. 

“And yeah, I see Steve often, but it's not like we're all buddy-buddy. He likes it when I stop by the video store to literally sit on the counter and draw his stupid head of hair just so he can make other girls jealous.”

“Jesus, that's shitty.”

You shrug, a small smile circling your lips. “I don't mind. Free film rental and peaceful sketching time.”

The lighthearted tone of your voice makes the corners of Eddie's mouth curl upwards, matching the expression currently present on your face. There's a semi-second of quiet. He's no longer feeling bad 'cause you've taken those worries away with one simple look. And when you knock your knee against his shoe again, Eddie's completely relaxed.

Lost in the way the sun reflects in your eyes, the metalhead doesn't really think when he asks, “So how come you've never invited me over for movie night, huh?”

You smirk. “Horrors aren't really my thing. I actually like to enjoy what I'm watching,” you tease, “Even if the shit is free. Don't wanna see any decapitations, thank you very much.”

Eddie huffs a laugh. He pulls his legs up before sliding along the carpeted floor of your bedroom until he's about a reach away from you. Closer than he's ever been. His arms make way around his legs, ring-clad fingers hanging low, poking at your calf.

Surprisingly, you don't flinch at Eddie's sudden proximity or the delicate touch.

“Quite presumptuous of you, sweetheart.” He affirms, gaze focused on where his skin brushes against the denim of your jeans.

“So you don't only watch gruesome things?” You challenge, your own fingers hesitantly reaching towards him, stopping before you can actually graze him in any way.

Eddie's smirking. “Not the point.”

“Sounds like I'm right,” you muse, your smile growing wider. “But I'll make you a deal.”

He looks up to meet your eyes then, hiking a brow. “Oh, yeah?”

You nod. “If you tell me what you were thinking about earlier, I'll let you pick a movie we can watch together. Even something horrific.”

This was uncharted territory — (and also your third mistake). The two of you have never hung out outside of working on D&D campaigns, but since Eddie asked a mere minute ago, even if he was just teasing, you figured why the fuck not. What's the worst that could happen? Plus this seemed the only way to get him to open up.

Eddie tugs his bottom lip between his teeth as he mewls over your proposal. On the one hand, talking about feelings or problems isn't something he's necessarily into. And when it comes to spending time with you, part of the allure is congenial silence, unless he's the one fishing for information. On the other hand, his heart rate has increased tenfold at the thought of you hiding in his embrace during a particularly gross scene or before any jump scare.

In the end, the physical urge to be close to you, an unmistakable desire he's been experiencing for far longer than Eddie would care to admit out loud, wins.

“Carver just got in my head.”

The instant frown on your face, and how your fingers are suddenly reaching for his, looping together, make Eddie want to elaborate.

“Called me talentless. Usually the shit that douche and his gang of imbeciles spewer doesn't bother me 'cause I've been called many things throughout my life and whatever they come up with is more idiotic than hurtful, but I dunno, that comment just rubbed me the wrong way.”

He drops his gaze, focusing instead on your hands now perfectly intertwined. He began to rub gentle circles into your soft flesh and although this was completely odd behaviour for the two of you, it felt more than right.

“Because it's not true, Eddie.”

The metalhead's heart flips at your words and the encouraging tone behind them. Although he didn’t let it show, focusing instead on the dips between your knuckles and every single crease in your skin as he squeezed your hand just a little tighter.

“You're not talentless,” you affirm, dipping your head lower in hopes of catching his brown eyes. “If anything, you're one of the most talented people I've ever met.”

“Bullshit,” he mutters, still refusing to look up.

“Eddie, you can't let those idiots make you feel worthless. You've got more talent in your left pinky than Carver and his band of bullies have put together.” You declare, rather passionately at that. “These campaigns you come up with, do you know the imagination that takes? I-I also know you play the guitar a-and sing too. Plus those extra curricular activities of yours require a mathematical brain. That's already also more talent than I have.”

He glances up at you then. “Shut up. As if you actually think I'm more talented than you?” he disputes and jerks his head towards some of the drawings covering the walls. “No one I know could do that and I know I never told you, but my campaigns would be nothin' without your art, sweetheart.”

Although heat rushes to your face at the unexpected compliment, you don't let Eddie's kind words steer you off course. This wasn't about what he thought of you, this was about what you thought of him and, as it turns out, how badly you wanted him to know.

“My stupid brother won't shut up about how fucking cool you are,” you reveal, chewing briefly on the inside of your cheek. “He's never said anything remotely as nice about me.”

Eddie lets out an airy chuckle. He drops his hold on you, but he doesn't give you a moment to even register how you instantly miss his touch, how your hands are burning with invisible imprints of where his skin brushed yours. No, because he's pushing your legs apart with little to no effort and sliding in-between them.

“Well, I happen to think you're cooler than me.”

It's your turn to laugh while again choosing not to comment on his closeness and ignoring how it made you feel. Ignoring how your stomach fluttered as he pressed his legs to your sides, hands hovering near your face as if he debated whether he was crossing some sort of line.

“Right. Don't fuck with me, Munson.”

“Cross my heart,” the metalhead promises. “Why do you think I asked you to help me out in the first place? Why do you think I willingly spend most of my afternoons with you? Like, there's no need for us to do this together. I can come up with the campaigns on my own then share the concepts so you can draw them out.”

You swallow 'cause the thought has never crossed your mind.

Before Eddie approached you with the offer, your knowledge of Dungeons and Dragons was definitely limited, only privy to whatever your brother and his friends shared. When Eddie asked you to draw something that very first time, and every time after that, you didn't stop and think if it was really necessary for you two to sit together for hours on end, crafting and creating on opposite ends of the room. Now that he's mentioned it, you really didn't need to.

“I-I don't—”

“There's no cooler chick than you, sweetheart.” Eddie interrupts, hands now cupping your face, no longer hesitant, and you're left wondering when the topic shifted from a conversation about his talents to whatever this was shaping up to be.

“Eddie...”

“How Harrington can use you to make other girls jealous instead of realising he should just ask you out, I-I don't understand.” The sentence fades with each word until his voice is a low muffle and you're not entirely sure you heard him correctly.

But every fibre of your being is screaming, so you know he definitely said it. And the way his doe-eyes are glimmering, your own reflection prominent in the pretty brown, only cinches that feeling.

Your final mistake is not asking then and there what Eddie meant.

He stands shortly after and extends a hand to also help you up.

“Speaking of, is the King of Hawkins working right now?” Eddie asks and when you nod slowly, still recovering from the small bomb he's after dropping, he claps his hands together. “Let's go then. I'm thinking we can start with My Bloody Valentine and because you're providing the entertainment, I'll get us some snacks.”

thank you for reading!

eddie munson masterlist | main masterlist

#gosh this is a lot longer than i intended it to be #twas only supposed to be a drabble eek #but I hope you enjoy <3 #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x female!reader

[cantsomeoneelsedoit]

Ch 59: Tetsuzanko

Little Shen negotiating his demands with his teacher is just so wholesome and pure. Here's this kid who is wearing rags and robbing adults for money all while telling his sister that he's the strongest in the world, and he enters a tournament and gets beat, thus proving he's not the strongest, but it doesn't affect his self-confidence at all.

He's still so confident that he proposes conditions for allowing someone to teach him, and it's not that he's being egotistical or delusional, because he admits he got beat at the tournament.

His leverage in this negotiation is offering the opportunity to train the boy who will become the world's strongest. That's how sure he is that he'll achieve his dream!

Shen: "Do it for the exposure! It'll look great in your portfolio!"

It's still not clear what kind of person Shen's teacher is at this point. We know he's interested in strong students and that he's smiling at Shen, but he seems eager to push Shen to his limits.

FENG?! That Feng?! It all makes sense now!

Feng is waiting on his student to surpass him and needs him to get as strong as possible so that he can have a fitting opponent someday. You know, like a certain other "Best in the World" from another series:

Each of them promises to wait as long as it takes for their student to reach their level, too! Feng has an even more Mihawk-ish quote later in the story, one that almost matches word for word.

But unlike my beloved Mihawk, Feng specifically promised not to age, which is a bit of an odd thing to say unless it's related to his negation ability.

Back to the battle, Shen immediately uses Untruth as he and Feng charge at each other with the sun shining over both of them as in the panels from the previous chapter.

Oho.

Feng is surprised, but Untruth doesn't seem to throw him off his game too badly. Narration boxes explain how Shen's ability isn't foolproof. He has to keep in mind everything he knows about his opponent's skills, tendencies, mood, and the chances of his ability backfiring--all in real time during a fight. He basically has to think for two people during a battle.

That last panel is so pretty!

Shen realizes that this guy is going to be more trouble than he'd thought! He begins to put the puzzle together:

Andy and Fuuko hadn't had a chance to tell Shen about Life Is Strange and its anti-aging abilities because the battle started almost as soon as they arrived.

Feng's style name is written on his outfit. It has the Under symbol and then 八极 "baji" in simplified Mandarin.

Baji is short for Bajiquan, a Chinese martial arts style. Feng has his own variant style of baji, but we haven't yet learned its name. When Feng uses the Zhen Jiao step-in, Shen recognizes it as one of the fundamental moves of baji and it adds to his suspicions that this mystery opponent has the same fighting style as his old master.

It's a quick, explosive, close-quarters kind of combat that's honestly terrifying:

After escaping with the step-in, Feng soars high above and shields himself with one of the jiangshi. Shen remarks that using a "human" shield to block attacks is something his old master would do--we're slowly learning more and more that Feng might not have been a very caring teacher...

Feng, wearing a hooded robe the entire time and concealing his identity from almost everyone in the series: "Heh, I suppose it's no wonder you don't know who I am!" Yeah, no shit. That's how disguises work!

Shen proves once again that he has no sentimental reservations about punching the zombified corpse of his former rival, but Feng spins away from the punch and lines up for his next wicked sick move.

Bajiquan's most famous move is the tetsuzanko 鉄山靠, "iron mountain lean," a kind of shoulder check/throw/battering ram. Feng's version is called hakkaizanko 捌廻山靠 "eight cycle mountain strike/lean."

It's a well-known baji move with Feng's own spin on it. He hits Shen so hard that he has a flashback!

"Aren't schools supposed to be free of dummies" is hilarious, but in just a few pages, Shen says that he can't go to school because he's a dummy. Poor kid! He doesn't even think he belongs in school! He has a lot of confidence in his strength, but not in his smarts. It's especially sad because we know that Shen's actually not dumb at all! T.T

Was Feng really joking though? He's so hard to read!

The siblings go outside to train under the full moon. Mei learns the tetsuzanko and appears to master it in a short time-- but the sfx covers up her joyful moment in the last panel, and it continues across each panel of the flashback as Feng's true nature is revealed.

"Rather than having three disciples, what if I just have one extremely traumatized disciple?"

Feng was never interested in training Shen for Shen's sake. He wasn't trying to get all the glory for himself, either. I mean, he could've won that tournament hands-down if he wanted to, but he didn't even try (and we see here that he could easily beat the current champion). All that Feng wanted was to train someone who could get strong enough to give him a good fight, and he was willing to hurt that person as much as he could in order to make them into a meaner, stronger version of themselves.

The story cuts back to the present and we FINALLY see Feng's face! Noooooo, he's handsome! How can I hate him now?!?!

I don't think we've ever seen Shen look like this before. He has the same wild look in his eyes as he did when Feng first recruited him! Now Feng is hoping to use that wild side of Shen to create his ideal opponent. Is Shen just taking the bait?

Masterpost

#overreading undead unluck #undead unluck #undead unluck spoilers

[thatlethalsoul]

New Users: How to view a custom blog theme (on desktop)

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On desktop you can quickly find a user's blog by typing their tumblr name into the above template, including your own!

I don't have one of these! How do I make a custom blog?

Simple! You just need to meet a few account privacy parameters and you're ready to go!

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Scroll down and activate "Enable custom theme"

MAKE SURE YOUR BLOG IS NOT HIDDEN. - If your blog is "Hidden from people without an account" and/or "hidden from search results", you can edit your blog's code all you want but you will be unable to visit it on desktop. - If these visibility requirements are not met, your blog will only be accessible through the dashboard to all tumblr users.

Why do I need to know this?

You don't! But it's worth knowing for those that care.

HTML custom blogs have been a staple of the tumblr ecosphere since the beginning of the website. Many users (especially legacy users, artists, and roleplay blogs) put a lot of time, effort, and care into their custom blogs to either express their individuality and creativity, make their portfolios easier to navigate, or both!

Part of what makes tumblr, well, tumblr, is and always has been the ability to create a custom blog that expresses who you are. Tumblr's one of the last bastions of social media that allows for this form of creativity, and there's an entire market of prefab blog themes made by tumblr both for free and purchase, as well as a whole community of users that make their own code for tumblr blogs if you search for it either in the tumblr search or on a search engine.

You don't even have to know HTML or CSS in order to get started because of how many people already make custom blog codes, free to use! But if you want to learn how to do it yourself, you can use it as a playground to spread your wings. If your code doesn't work, tumblr users can always still access your blog through the dashboard anyway, so there's little to no risk involved!

TLDR; Tumblr is one of the only places left on the internet that allows you freedom of individuality, so express yourself! Join the thousands of other tumblr bloggers that already have their own custom themes, and take a look around to see what others have made!

#new users #how to use tumblr #custom themes #tumblr custom theme #html theme #I just care a lot about tumblr custom blogs #there's a rumor staff might try and phase this feature out in the near future #show them how important this is to our ecosystem #make a custom blog today!

[seramilla]

God I love the idea of velvette & Odette bonding, like Velvette starts to see Odette as a female figure that she could go to whenever she feels lost or confused or she just simply needs comfort that only an older sister can give.

Odette has interests in things that Velvette would have never considered interesting back then but now, they are simply fascinating to her. (Hc:) Odette likes to do photography sometimes in her free time. It’s not professional or commercial but it’s something, that she enjoys—and Velvette finds it so fascinating that something so simple could be so enjoyable, yet she finds it comforting and interesting to watch as Odette takes photo’s of the blinding lights of the other cities in the pride ring or the animals in the wrath ring.

It’s something that’s so simple yet— Velvette doesn’t want to give it up, and she doesn’t want to give this dynamic she’s built up with the carmine family.

Velvette has no shortage of women in the Carmine household to go to when she has trouble. If she's tired, or needs a snuggle, Clara or Kiki will fit that bill nicely. If she needs to talk fashion, or run over some ideas in her head, Verosika is only a few texts away, or down the hall in Odette's room. She's not quite comfortable going to Carmilla and Sera yet. The older couple will often seek her out if they sense she needs an ear, but she's not yet brave enough to set those types of interactions in motion on her own.

Odette, until recently, was simply the...other sister. Not that Velvette had disliked her, mind you; she just never knew how to approach the stoic woman without being awkward about it. Odette is the biggest introvert Velvette thinks she's ever met -- she's trying to get better at not saying the wrong thing, which unfortunately leads to her not saying much at all, and giving the wrong impression that Velvette doesn't care for her.

The one thing Velvette can appreciate about her, she thinks, is Odette's eye for little details. That includes the talent she recently discovered the older Carmine sister has, which is photography; a skill she herself can greatly appreciate, because she's always trying to learn how to get better at posing and lighting her subjects in her studio. Things like that take her a lot of time, effort, and hard work; for Odette, it's almost effortless. Velvette can choose the picture-perfect outfit and put it on the picture-perfect model, but posing and lighting a scene perfectly in a matter of seconds? That's all Odette. It isn't long until Velvette's curiosity gets the better of her, and she nonchalantly tries to start a conversation about it with her girlfriend's sister.

Odette doesn't go looking for the perfect subjects, but finds that candid moments of people and creatures just existing in their lives provide the best results for her. She tells Velvette to see more with her mind, than simply trying to create the best artificial setting for her portfolio. Velvette starts doing more outdoor shoots after this advice, and is less demanding that her models always strike specific poses. She starts letting them do what feels natural, to let art imitate life, instead of trying to force it on them.

Velvette values Odette's advice, even if her work will never have the perfect composition that Odette's has. That's fine with her, though; even the little things can vastly improve the canvas of her work, and for that, her outfits have never looked better on her models, and they've never appeared more natural and life-like in her clothes. She might not be able to admit it to anyone else, but perhaps Velvette has more she can learn from the elder Carmine sister than she once thought. It couldn't hurt to find out more, at any rate.

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