#found this is in an old magazine that I don't want but I wanted to at least preserve anything magical girl related :P

[canirove]

Friends, lovers… and an orange | Chapter 4

Previous chapter | Next chapter (coming out on Tuesday)

Masterlist

"It was so weird, mum... Like, the moment I mentioned his agency, he went all serious and then avoided my question. And before that, he didn't smile like he usually does."

"Since when do you pay attention to the way Mason smiles?" Elizabeth chuckled.

"That's a really good question" Adele thought. "Anyway, do you think... Could an agency do that? Call the paps on one of their clients as some kind of revenge?"

After the chaos at the airport, she and Mason had talked about who could have tipped off the photographers. The only people who knew they were flying that day were their brothers, Jourdan and his agency, and the first three would never say anything. The others... 

"That's too twisted" Elizabeth said. "But I know they've called them without letting their client know because it made the photos look more natural, like actual candids."

"Did that ever happen to you and dad?"

"Never. We were stalked, followed everywhere, harassed... But my agency always protected me."

Adele's parents hadn't had it easy. Her father was the heir of a very important family in the US and was considered one of the most eligible bachelors in the country, and when the press had found out that they were dating, they had gone crazy. Both had been followed everywhere they went, their faces being on all the magazines. The supermodel and the heir, most headlines would say. And his family didn't like it. 

They considered Elizabeth not enough for their son, and had done everything in their power to make them break up. When they got engaged after years of dating, his family hadn't met her yet, and when Adele's dad took Elizabeth's last name instead of being the other way around, they even threatened him with disinheriting him. But they fought for their love despite everything and everyone, and they still were together, happier than ever.   

"So you don't think Mason's agency could have done it?" 

"I don't, no" Elizabeth said. "But less talking about pretty boys and annoying paparazzis, and more about this!" she said, gesturing towards their car's window.

Between Jourdan, Mason and her mum constantly sending her photos of their old trips together, Adele had finally said yes to going to Paris. She would be joining her backstage at the couple of shows she was walking, attending one as a guest with her, and a couple of parties too. Would she end up regretting it? Probably. 

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"I am so glad you accepted our invitation, Adele" said Maria Grazia Chiuri, Dior's creative director, when she met them for their fitting. 

"Thank you for inviting me" she smiled.

"I myself have picked some looks for you that I think will be perfect."

"Oh, wow. That's so kind."

"Anything for you, girls."

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"Red or black?" Elizabeth asked while looking at herself in the mirror.

"Black" Adele and Maria Grazia said at the same time. 

"Black it is."

"Adele, now that I have you here, I have to ask again. Are you sure you wouldn't like to join your mum for our mother's day campaign? It would be just a one time thing."

"I'm sorry, Maria Grazia. But being in front of the camera isn't my thing."

"Then what about behind the camera?"

"What?" Adele said.

"Oh, that's an amazing idea! You could take my photos!" Elizabeth said while getting changed.

"Mum, I'm not a professional photographer. There are better people for that than me."

"It wouldn't be as special, tho. And a daughter taking photos of her mother would also work for our campaign" Maria Grazia said.

"I don't think it is a good idea. What would the photographer you hired say?"

"If I explain it to him, he'll understand. Why don't I ask someone from my team to send you the mood board for the campaign so you can get an idea of what we want?"

"And Addie could send your photographer some of her photos so you know what she can do" Elizabeth added.

"Perfect!" Maria Grazia said, not allowing Adele to protest.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"I think someone fancies you."

"What?" Adele said. She and Elizabeth had been in Paris for a few days already, everything going pretty well keeping in mind what had been going on back home and in New York. Paparazzis bothered them the usual during fashion week, and all the headlines were about her and her mum, their outfits, and how much they were loving that they were finally doing fashion stuff together.

That night, they were attending a Vogue party where they were joined by people she only saw on Instagram. Models, musicians, actors... Even a couple of football players too. 

"That cute guy over there" Elizabeth said, nodding towards her left. "He can't stop looking at you."

"Who... What..." she said, slowly turning around to look at him. When they eyes met, he smiled at her, and Adele heard herself giggling. He had a dimple on his left cheek, just like Mason did. Mason...

"Go talk to him."

"What?"

"C'mon" her mum said, pushing her towards him.

"But I don't know who he is.”

"An actor from one of those superhero movies. Now go."

"But..."

"Hello there" the cute guy said, his dimple showing in all its glory once again.

"Hi."

"You are Adele Turlington, right?"

"Yep. And you are... Sorry, I'm really bad with names" she smiled, hoping her lie would work.

"Nico Evans."

"Nico, yes, of course! I was thinking about your character's name and I didn't want to say something stupid."

"Nah, it's ok. I'm used to it" he smiled again. God, he was cute. "Would you like to grab a drink?"

"I would love that." 

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"What time is it?" Adele yawned.

"Too early. Go back to sleep" Nico whispered.

"Then why are you leaving?"

"Because I am attending a show in an hour, and I haven't showered or got changed" he chuckled.

"Oh..."

"Would you like to meet again?" Nico said after finishing tying up his shoes. "Maybe for lunch? I'm leaving tonight."

"I... I can't. My mum and I are meeting some friends of hers that we haven't seen in ages and..."

"Oh, it's ok. Don't worry" Nico smiled, that dimple he shared with Mason showing up again. Why was she thinking about him again? "Maybe another time."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Thank you for last night, Adele. That was... That was amazing. Definitely a highlight of my fashion week" he smirked.

"You're welcome" she giggled, feeling her cheeks get warm.

"Good bye, Miss Turlington. See you soon" he said, giving her a peck.

"Good bye, Mr. Evans" she replied.

#mason mount #mason mount fanfic #mason mount imagine #football fanfic #football imagine

[ducktoonsfanart]

Mickey Mouse and Oswald the Lucky Rabbit as Romulus and Remus, as the founders of Rome - Toon History - History in Duckverse and Mouseverse - Happy Birthday to the Best City!

Yes, it's time to change my plans now with my new project called Toon Historia, also History in Duckverse and Mouseverse in which our famous cartoon and comic characters play famous historical figures and will play in important historical events . And first I drew Oswald the Lucky Rabbit and Mickey Mouse as the founders of Rome, as Romulus and Remus. Romulus and Remus, according to Roman mythology and Roman tradition, were the sons of Rhea Sylvia and the god Mars and grandsons of King Numitor. Numitor's brother Amulius overthrew his brother and ordered the execution of his children, including the sons of Sylvia who were thrown into the Tiber River. However, according to legend, a she-wolf found them and raised them until the shepherd Faustulus came along and adopted them. Afterwards they grew up and when they heard the truth, they went to overthrow Amulius and succeeded and restored their grandfather Numitor to be king of the city of Alba. Afterwards, Romulus and Remus went to seven hills in the valley of the Tiber River and there on April 21, 753 BC they founded the eternal city, which will be called Rome. Yes, there was a conflict between the two in which Romulus killed his brother (a tragic event) and thus took the title of the first king of Rome.

Oswald and Mickey who were created by Ub Iwerks and Walt Disney in 1927 and 1928 also became the first Disney icons, however the conflict between Iwerks and Disney resulted in Oswald being part of Universal, until in 2006 Disney bought the rights to Oswald. Yes, that's why I drew Mickey and Oswald as Romulus and Remus, because of that parallel, but don't worry, Mickey won't kill his brother, even though mice and rabbits are not the same species, they are still considered brothers because of Epic Mickey. As Romulus and Remus were the founders of Rome, so Oswald and Mickey were the founders of the new world.

I drew this last year, but I waited for this moment to publish now and I drew it as a redraw from an illustration by Tancredi Scarpelli (1866–1937) for Storia d'Italia by Paolo Giudici (Nerbini, 1929). I drew Mickey in my own style, while I left the old look for Oswald, because I still like him better with dot eyes. And yes, I drew this on the occasion of the 100th anniversary of the creation of Disney as well as the 75th anniversary of Topolino magazine, which is published in Italy, and the capital of Italy is definitely Rome. Yes, Rome, the eternal city and capital of one of the greatest empires and greatest civilizations of all time. As well as related to the birthday of the City of Rome, which is celebrated on April 21 every year. Happy Rome Day! Roma Aeterna!

I hope you like this drawing and this idea and if you want to support feel free to like and reblog this! I just ask that you don't copy my same ideas without mentioning me and without my permission. Thank you! Happy Rome Day, my favorite city in the world!

#my fanart #mickey mouse #oswald the lucky rabbit #topolino #disney #artists on tumblr #my redraw #romulus and remus #rome #history #ancient rome #mouseverse #comics #cartoons #epic mickey #mickey and oswald #toon history #duckverse in history #mouseverse in history #753 BC #21th April #disney mouse #disney rabbit #fanart #my style #my art #art #disney fanart #roma aeterna #classic disney universe

[bunnymajo]

Winx Club - Game Boy Advance Game Ad (2005)

#winx club #my scans #game boy advance #video games #winx #found this is in an old magazine that I don't want but I wanted to at least preserve anything magical girl related :P

[underwhelmingalchemist]

So apparently the version of the "Isn't It Bromantic" interview that gets passed around isn't the full thing

So after seeing a tumblr post I can't find, about two and half hours of intensive internet digging, and one purchase from a sketchy second-hand site later (full story under the cut, I promise it's interesting, but also long), I got the physical magazine and scanned it

So here you go: the full "Isn't It Bromantic?" TV guide interview with Robert Sean Leonard and Hugh Laurie

Feel free to repost wherever you want- I want people to be able to find the full thing

SO, as for how I found it:

I saw this tumblr post forever ago that I can't find anymore because tumblr is just Like That with a cropped screenshot of an interview with Hugh Laurie and Robert Sean Leonard. In the interview, they're asked about the "bromance" between their two characters. Leonard makes an annoyed comment about how "everyone [is] obsessed with homosexuality", followed by the interview apologizing and Laurie immediately jumping in with, "No, no, let's talk about it. Wilson and House have an unusual relationship so you have to explore…" and the screenshot cuts off there. Cue funny comment from the OP about the interaction, roll credits.

Except, as these things tend to do, it ended up becoming a bit of a brain worm, and I wanted to find it again. But I couldn't find the tumblr post. I looked absolutely everywhere, and in the process of looking everywhere, I found what I thought was the original interview- a blog post with the full quote from the actor. I didn't think too much about it, I figured it was just a short quote given to a popular blog in 2008. There's a magazine cover above it, but I don't think too much about it, because I'm focusing on the quotes in the article instead of the rest of it.

So I send screenshots to a couple friends to make jokes, and it probably should have died there.

However, late at night I end up thinking about that interview again, because of course I did. I start to think about how it's weirdly formatted for, what I assumed at first reading, was just an entertainment news blog reaching out for comment and getting a response. So I pull up the screenshots of the article (because weirdly enough, the old-ass blog only loads on mobile) and look at it again.

This is when I realize that this isn't an original piece from a blog interviewing these two after reaching out for comment. This is a blog post quoting and commenting on a full interview from a magazine, which I had originally thought had just been the inspiration for the piece.

So naturally, I go looking for the magazine.

Luckily, the name of the magazine is displayed on the cover, and so is the title of its main piece. This should be easy to find, right?

Wrong.

This is an interview in a physical magazine. From 2008. October 13th, 2008, to be exact.

I know this exact date because searching the article title and magazine name leads me to an archive on the TV Guide website.

Of covers.

And nothing but covers.

I spend like forty-five minutes searching everywhere I can think of on the web. Internet Archive, the TV Guide website, any search result that comes up when I search any combination of the words "House" "Interview" "Bromantic" "Bromance" "TV Guide" "Archive" etc. Over and over, all that's coming up are that original blog post and the cover from the official gallery.

The only things I could find online were:

The cover and date of the issue on the TV Guide website

The original blog post that was screenshotted in the original tumblr post

Another blog post that had a much shorter version of the quote, references something Leonard says from later in the article, and makes a comment on the nature of his reaction to the term "bromance"

An entry on Leonard's IMDB page's "interview" list mentioning it in title only

And:

5. A single listing for the issue on what seemed to be a second-hand site that looked like it hadn't had its UI updated since the mid 2000's, with a listing with no date or additional information besides what issue it is.

This is the only listing anywhere. I checked every other second-hand site I could think of, and then some that only came up through google searches. There's not a single listing for that issue on any of them. There were plenty of listings of TV guide magazines, including one that seemed promising because it included issues from that year, but it was missing all of October.

It seemed like the only listing for this issue on the entire internet was this one copy on this one obscure website. For all I know, this was listed in 2008 and abandoned, and just never got marked inactive. It could also be a complete scam.

A few quick google searches show that that website seemed to be legit, albeit a bit loose on quality control (which makes sense, this website seemed like the kind of thing you'd have to use the Way Back Machine to access). It also had an option to pay via PayPal, which meant I could file a chargeback if need be.

It was $11.50 when you include shipping.

So at about half past midnight, I bought the listing.

Naturally, about an hour later, I manage to actually find a scan of the interview. I had to follow a link in the comments of a post on FanPop, taking me to an old wordpress blog, and I'm sitting in front of the damn interview at last.

But something doesn't make sense. Why would their cover story only be two pages of text that aren't even full pages, and why would it cut off so strangely? There was no concluding sentence or paragraph, even though it started with a fairly long lead-in. It also led right up to the edge of the page, which felt like there should be more to it. There were more images in the interview than text, and the fact that there are so many of them and they clearly did a whole photoshoot indicated that they had them on hand for a while. The silly string one, for instance, I imagine probably had to require a couple takes, which means cleaning off Wilson's hair and face, adjusting makeup, etc. for it. Meanwhile, the conversation itself seems like it could have taken ten minutes total. I could have been totally wrong and that was where the article ended, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there might be more.

So I hold tight. A couple days pass with no update, and then the PayPal purchase gets updated with a tracking number. Promising, but it could still be a scam. Whether or not I get the actual magazine becomes a source of anxiety for the next week.

Until today, when I get told it was delivered. And when I opened the envelope it was sent in: there it was.

When I tell you I was happy stimming in my bedroom just holding the damn issue in my own hands... And then opening it and finding out that I was right, there was a missing page... I was elated. I still am, just typing this.

So I spent half an hour getting my scanner to work, and I give you the above issues.

Like I said above, feel free to repost however and wherever you want. I want all this to mean something.

In the meantime, I have two more House-themed TV Guide magazines coming to try and get articles from.

#i am so psyched to have found this you have no idea #house #house md #hatecrimes md #malpractice md #gregory house #james wilson #hugh laurie #robert sean leonard #tv guide #magazine #interview #house interview #isn't it bromantic #hilson

[yellowsweater-bluevest]

“I don’t think I’m straight.”

Steve had reached that conclusion exactly ten seconds before saying it out loud. Laying upside down on the couch of his house with his best friend draping her legs on top of him.

“Is that what you were thinking about?” Robin asked, not lifting her eyes from her book.

“Yeah, it just makes sense.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Steve hummed thoughtfully. Did he want to talk about it? Was it important enough? Did it change anything?

“I feel the same,” he said. “I thought being gay would feel different.” For a second, Steve was sure Robin would tell him that was a stupid thing to think.

“Are you gay?” Robin asked instead, because she is Robin. She was able to ask something in a judgemental tone without being judgy.

“I'm not straight.” he repeated.

“Pretty sure there are more than two options.” She explained with a joking tone. It was lucky, she thought, that she found a zine hidden in a library when she visited her aunt in Indianapolis.

“How do I know what I am?”

“I don't know, actually,” she said, putting her book down. “I've never seen what the big deal with men is.” Robin explained, crossing her arms. “That's how I knew.”

“I definitely see the big deal with women,” Steve responded simply.

“What about men?”

“I think I always saw the big deal, I just pretended it did not exist.” Steve explained.

“Oh, sweet old denial.” She teased. “How do you feel about this?”

“I would feel better if I had better taste.” Steve deadpanned, causing Robin to laugh and kick him. He slid out of the sofa dramatically to the floor. “Kicking me while I'm most vulnerable, Buckley? I see your game.”

“I have been bidding my time to find your weak spot, Harrington.” Robin joked lightly, jabbing Steve’s legs with her foot. “You will fall, Steven!”

Steve retaliated by pulling her into the floor.

“Look who's falling now?”

“Whatever,” Robin pushed herself to sit upward, sitting on the floor with her back against the sofa. Steve mimicked her with his back against the coffee table. “Who is the guy?” she asked.

“I don't wanna tell you,” Steve whispered, more out of respect for their tradition than anything else. “You’ll make fun of me.”

“Of course I will,” she whispered back. Steve reached for her hand to intertwine their fingers and she held him without batting an eye. “That’s kinda my job as your soulmate.” Steve chuckled. “I have to make sure whoever it is doesn’t mess up our vibe, you know?” He didn’t.

“I’m sure he won’t."

"Are you really gonna make me guess?" Steve lit up at the suggestion. Before he could speak, Robin continued "I'm not gonna guess, just tell me."

"Are you afraid of getting it wrong and looking like a fool?" He teased.

"It's Eddie." She answered less than a second later.

Steve did not respond, shocked at her quick response.

"Who's the fool now, Steve?" The smile on her face was infectious to Steve, who poker her with his foot.

"How did you do that?"

"By having eyes."

"What do you think?" She closed her eyes and hummed as Steve waited for her response.

"I think he looks at you the same way you look at him."

"I should ask him out."

"I can be your wingman!" She exclaimed.

"Oh, my god, yes!"

"We have to make a plan," Robin yelled. She jumped to her feet, letting go of Steve's hand, and dashed up the stairs. "I'm going to get some paper."

Steve stayed behind, sitting more comfortably on the floor, and removing the magazines they had on the coffee table off.

They made a plan, that ended in more of a disaster which is a story for another time. There is only one thing that is important.

Eddie said yes.

#stranger things #steve harrington #steddie #st eddie munson #st steve #st4 #stranger things 4 #fanfic #st fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #arin writes #platonic soulmates stobin #platonic stobin #stobin friendship #stranger things robin #st robin #robin buckley

[jewishvitya]

I remembered this essay from years ago when I was unlearning what I knew of Israel and zionism and I couldn't find it again, and now I see it in a Shaun video, with the source.

Ze'ev Jabotinsky, "The Iron Wall." I downloaded it from the Jabotinsky Institute.

These are the titles he gave this essay:

I said that Zionist leaders explicitly talked about Zionism as a colonialist movement. This is an example of what I was talking about.

Some quotes:

There can be no voluntary agreement between ourselves and the Palestine Arabs. Not now, nor in the prospective future. I say this with such conviction, not because I want to hurt the moderate Zionists. I do not believe that they will be hurt. Except for those who were born blind, they realised long ago that it is utterly impossible to obtain the voluntary consent of the Palestine Arabs for converting "Palestine" from an Arab country into a country with a Jewish majority.

My readers have a general idea of the history of colonisation in other countries. I suggest that they consider all the precedents with which they are acquainted, and see whether there is one solitary instance of any colonisation being carried on with the consent of the native population. There is no such precedent.

He's saying openly: no land was colonized with the consent of its indigenous population. So we have to do it without that consent.

Every native population in the world resists colonists as long as it has the slightest hope of being able to rid itself of the danger of being colonised.

That is what the Arabs in Palestine are doing, and what they will persist in doing as long as there remains a solitary spark of hope that they will be able to prevent the transformation of "Palestine" into the "Land of Israel."

He said that any zionist who depends on the Arab population accepting a Jewish state on their lands, might as well withdraw from zionism because that's impossible.

Zionist colonisation must either stop, or else proceed regardless of the native population. Which means that it can proceed and develop only under the protection of a power that is independent of the native population – behind an iron wall, which the native population cannot breach.

And then he says that this Iron Wall is the British Mandate and the Balfour Declaration - they're the power that stops Palestinians from resisting us.

He says that despite this, zionism is moral and just, so justice must be done, zionism must move forward. He just wants to be honest about what it takes. He wants to discourage talks of an agreement to avoid signaling to the British that they must try to reach one between us and Palestinians. Just stop them from fighting us, we'll colonize the place.

Zionism was openly colonialist until this language was no longer politically useful.

Editing because I was kinda shocked by the response this got, in several moments. When the slavery of US founders was brought up to dismiss this whole thing. When First Nations reservations were brought up on the same list as the United States as equivalent to Israel, because I said I oppose the existence of a country that prioritizes one ethnic group at the expense of others, and I support democracy that protects everyone equally.

But another thing that's still nagging at me is the idea that this whole essay can be dismissed based on semantic arguments, like sure this uses the word colonialism, but is it actually the colonialism that we talk about and oppose? And what if this word is only used to appeal to the British for support?

This isn't the the first time that prominent zionist thinkers talk about zionism as a colonialist movement. I saw it in old publications, things like magazines, I'd be posting them too if I found them again. I did my own deconstructing years ago, I don't remember where I found all my sources.

I do remember that they talked about the two concepts together - the idea that we're here to colonize, and that we're here to come home. So nowadays there's the arguement that people can't colonize their own homeland, but to them there was no contradiction. I saw it again looking at Herzl's diary last night.

I say I define colonialism through actions and tactics, through the harm that's done to the victims of colonization. Because if we knowingly repeated the actions of colonizers and used the help of an imperial force to conquer a land, having a historic connection to it shouldn't absolve us.

Jabotinsky didn't write to the British in this essay. He wrote to other zionists who wanted to aim for something more collaborative with Palestinian Arabs. And it's true that word choice can mean different things in the context of the time, but there's a reason I chose those quotes. What is he actually saying in this essay?

Consider colonization throughout history - the native population never agreed, so we must do the as colonizers did in the past.

Palestinians will never agree to a Jewish state - so we must do it by force. We should use an imperial force as an "iron wall" to prevent them from resisting. Stop talking about an agreement because then the British will try to reach one instead of holding them back and letting us do our thing.

He's comparing the zionist movement to other efforts of colonization, to talk about emulating them.

This isn't a game of semantics. I'm not just bringing this up just because he used the words.

What he's describing - conquest by force, preventing a Palestinian state, forcibly creating a Jewish majority - is what happened. And it's still what's happening.

This is the branch of zionism that went into practice and founded Israel.

#riki babbles

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Brigitte Bardot (Contempt, And God Created Woman)—unbelievable charisma off the charts, post-war France could barely handle her because she just radiates sexuality in the deepest, hottest way. i've never seen a woman who fit so clearly in my head the "beautiful woman" category. also i'm including her little suit number because why not [pic below]

Vanessa Redgrave (Camelot)—Partially submitted as justice for her father, and you should all know her birth was announced to a theatre audience by Laurence Olivier. But for herself, she is a wild untameable beauty who was in some of the best avant garde cinema of the period.

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Brigitte Bardot:

"Los Angeles Times in 2011 ranked her as the second most beautiful woman in film, she won a David di Donatello award and was nominated for a BAFTA. Literally nicknamed a sex kitten, she used her fame to promote animal rights. And God Created Woman was so scandalous to US audiences that some theater managers were arrested for screening it"

"She was a sex symbol and her style is influential even today"

"She's just so iconic! Wikipedia extracts because why not : "In 2011, Los Angeles Times Magazine's list of "50 Most Beautiful Women in Film" ranked her number two" "The Guardian named Bardot "one of the most iconic faces, models, and actors of the 1950s and 1960s" "According to the liner notes of his first (self-titled) album, musician Bob Dylan dedicated the first song he ever wrote to Bardot. " I mean of course she is iconic in France, but she inspired many women outside of France"

"She wasn't just a sex symbol because men found her attractive and then that imagine of her was further promoted. But she was actually one of (if not) the first women to stand for emancipated women in a sexual way in a time when women were considered to mainly exist to please their man. She was famous for portraying women who lived their sexuality for their own pleasure and knew what they wanted. Very important! And also what's hotter than a woman driving men wild because they don't even know how to handle a woman with her own ideas and needs lol"

Vanessa Redgrave propaganda:

#vanessa redgrave #brigitte bardot #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 2

[shadesoflsk]

EVERY STEP YOU TAKE !

ft. Leon Kennedy.

summary: just some headcanons about watching Leon age!

a/n: This came to me in a revelation. i just noticed that in some scenes, Leon's wrinkles would be even more noticeable. let it be his tough job or the fact that he's indeed "growing old", i wanted to write about Leon realizing the fact that time spares no one. Also, i had in mind re4 Leon turning into id leon ?? I know neither of them are really old, but yeah...

Can you actually read what's written in there? It all started as simple jokes and innocent teasing. You would often poke fun at your boyfriend for the way he's squinting his eyes while reading. He's still very young – 27 years got nothing on him – yet you found it so endearing to observe him while he pouted. Getting mad as your teasing words started.

He can't, thank you very much. He needs glasses, even though he keeps on denying it. He first noticed his little problem when he was reading a document, too focused on the tiny letters to even acknowledge the real meaning behind those words. Is that an a or an e? Dear God, this can't be happening, he thought. The world wasn't prepared to see him wearing glasses. Nor was he prepared for your endless teasing if he admitted it.

Baby blue eyes, Leon S. Kennedy! Or at least that's what you used to call him in the past. As years went on, some pet names were long forgotten. He has grown more serious and more cold but not less romantic. Yet he wasn't his past self who would blush if you called him baby. He likes reminiscing about the past – how he had a bright future. He still has, right? It is not like life is over.

However, life seemed so ridiculous as you stated that there were some faint wrinkles on his forehead. His hand unconsciously reaching for the skin there, feeling some lines. He just needs to moisturize or buy some serum for his skin. Life as an agent was tough – this was just dry skin you don't understand. Too many excuses for a man who is so sure that those lines are just a product of his exhausting job.

Don't look so mad! you often told him when you found his eyebrows doing the exact same thing during and after a gruesome mission. Being lowered and pulled together. He always had a resting bitch face that didn't match his own personality. He would try and not furrow his eyebrows as soon as you told him that expression would cause even more wrinkles to form.

After a year or so, he reluctantly admitted that yes, those were wrinkles. But that's not something bad. In fact, it was more than okay to age. He once read in a magazine that wrinkles served as a map of every journey and challenge he had faced. No, it isn't sappy. You're just jealous that his faint wrinkles look better on him than you.

But even though you kept on joking, he was grateful for growing old with you. You met him when he was a bright and young cop. Full of life and love to give. Now, you were standing next to him. Kissing his forehead and whispering sweet nothings, you promised him that you would always love him, even though he could barely walk in the future and even though their romantic dates would consist of feeding some pigeons and fighting nurses because you guys don't want to take your meds.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy headcanons #leon kennedy drabble #leon kennedy fluff

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (1/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it's his apartment.

Chapter Summary: The best tactic to defend yourself from a stranger? Being dressed only in a towel and having a newspaper in hand, of course.

Warnings: google translated French (I didn't put the translations in the story, but there's a reason to it! maybe you'll figure it out through the series!)

Word Count: 3.1k

series masterlist

A/N: here it is my friends! the first chapter! I'm not sure about tagging people. bad experience and stuff. I still hope you like it! feedback is appreciated! love ya.

The apartment is dead quiet when you get home. Tired, you flick on the kitchen light and toss your gym bag into your small bedroom before grabbing a wine glass from the shelf. You twist the cap off the cheap white wine sitting on the bottom shelf of the small fridge with your teeth, and spit it away. You wouldn't need the cap anymore. You would drink the bottle empty today. 

The whole last week had been unbelievably lousy. Your boss had fired you for a mistake you weren't responsible for, and even though you didn't like working there, you were on the money. 

A few months ago, you had moved to Monaco for that very job. You left your family behind. Built a new life here. Only to find yourself without a job, without opportunities, without prospects. 

You sit down on one of the two chairs at the dining table and open your laptop. Since you were kicked out, the home page of your Internet browser has been searching for suitable job offers, but you haven't found anything yet. You're glad that you've put aside enough money every month to be able to keep this apartment for a few more weeks. And after that, it's either take the next best job, no matter how underpaid it is and no matter how unhappy it would make you, or move back in with your parents.

You'd rather live under a bridge than back with your parents.

Frustrated, you close the laptop. It's hard to find a job in Monaco unless you're already a big shot or born into a good family. And as a former, small-time magazine photographer, you're neither. 

You leave the laptop and your sweaty gym clothes in the bedroom as you head to the bathroom for a shower. The warm water feels good on your skin and tense muscles. The lavender shampoo calms your senses and nerves a bit, but you can't flush that nagging lingering thought - what happens if you don't find a new job? - down the drain, unfortunately.

Ideally, you'd like to stay here, in Monaco. Why not? Life here is great and the people are so friendly that you don't even want to think about leaving it all behind. But the possibilities are limited. And time is running against you. 

You step out of the shower, wrap your hair and body in soft towels, and walk out of the bathroom. 

And just at that moment, the apartment door opens. 

"What the hell?"

The young man suddenly standing in the hallway wrenches his eyes open at your words and winces. Apparently, he wasn't expecting anyone either.

"What the heck are you doing in my apartment?" you yell at him, grabbing the nearest object you could use to defend yourself from the intruder. Unfortunately, it's just a magazine from your old job. You roll it up and point it at him.

"In your apartment?" he asks, confused, dropping the large bag hanging around his shoulder to the floor. He doesn't take his eyes off you. It's like you're the crazy one standing in his apartment all of a sudden. "What do you mean?" He raises his hands placatingly as you take a small step toward him on bare feet with the newspaper.

"Are you stupid? What don't you understand about 'my apartment'?" Your voice sounds a little shrill. You roll the newspaper up tighter in your hands. Not that you can particularly do anything about the man. Just wrapped in a towel and with that little bit of paper. Besides, he's at least a whole head taller. And definitely stronger, judging by his stature. 

The young man lowers his hand to let it disappear into his left pants pocket. You wave your arms behind your head - like Rapunzel with her frying pan. If he tried anything, you'd have enough momentum to maybe hurt him.

"Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you." He fishes something out of his back pocket and holds it up. Dangling from his finger is a jingling silver key. "This is my key. For my apartment. The one I bought." He enunciates each word one at a time, as if you're a child who must somehow be made to understand why two plus two does not equal five. Step by step.

You narrow your eyes. The newspaper stays in place behind your head. "I rented the apartment. A few months ago." You shift your feet apart a little to get a firmer footing. "If it really is your apartment, where have you been for the last few months?"

Confused, he looks at you as if you must know where he'd been. Then he rubs his forehead with his free hand. "Can I sit down? My day has been incredibly tiring and I'm exhausted." He takes a step toward the dining room table, where your wine glass still sits.

"If you take one more step, I'm going to scream."

He rolls his eyes, but stops anyway. "I'm too tired for this shit," he retorts, annoyed, running a hand through his brown hair. "This is my place. I don't know how you got in here or who's supposed to have rented it to you, but you pack your shit now and get out. Before I call the police."

"Why do you want to call the police? You're standing in my apartment!"

"This is not your apartment!"

Like two lions about to go for each other's throats, you stare at each other.

"You leave my apartment now before I call Joris and he throws you out," you threaten him. When he starts in with the cops, you continue with your landlord. If suddenly the cops are in your apartment, he would be informed either way. At least then you could give him a heads up if he really did call the cops. 

Apparently your words triggered something in him, because he lowers his arms and his shoulders relax a little. "Joris? Joris Trouche?"

The fact that he knows your landlord's last name unnerves you enough that you lower your arms as well. The newspaper, however, you still hold in one hand. "How do you know Joris?"

The man no longer looks annoyed, but seriously confused. "Joris is one of my closest friends," he explains. "I bought the apartment in his name. Did he rent it to you?"

Friends? Bought it in his name?

"He did. A few months ago," you answer him. You're not facing each other like lions now, but rather like two deer who don't know exactly how to act. You chew on your lower lip, undecided about what to do.

"I'll call him." As the man pulls his cell phone from his back pants pocket, you can only stare at him in disbelief. If his Joris is really your Joris - what happens next? If he bought the apartment, will you have to move out? You have a valid rental contract. Will it be terminated then? Will you have to move under the next best bridge sooner than expected? Does Monte Carlo have any bridges?

"Good evening, Joris." You didn't even notice that he had already dialed the number. He's not holding the phone to his ear, but in front of his mouth, and you can see he's activated the speaker.

"Hi, buddy. Did you have a good flight?", Joris voice actually rings out.

Your heart stops for a moment and the newspaper falls out of your hand. The man takes one look at the paper and then at your face. "I did, thanks." He licks his lower lip once with his tongue. "I just arrived at my apartment. You know, my second apartment. The one that's in your name."

On the other side of the phone, it's suspiciously quiet. As if transfixed, you stare at the cell phone in his hand, hoping it's all a big mistake. That this already shitty week isn't about to get even shittier. 

"I can explain." Fuck.

While Joris explains to his "buddy" what's going on - "I had rented out the apartment so that it wouldn't get miserably dusty. Besides, it would be completely stupid not to rent out a great apartment and let the money slip through your fingers. I couldn't have known you'd go there. I thought the apartment was only for emergencies." - you sit down at the dining table, still wrapped in your towel, and drink the rest of your wine in one go.

"C'est une urgence!" The man turns off the speaker and holds the phone to his ear. "Je ne peux pas et ne veux pas aller dans l'autre appartement! Tu sais pourquoi! Et maintenant, tu loues ma retraite sans m'en parler? Qu'est-ce que je vais faire maintenant, Joris?" His French is too fast for you to understand in the least. Judging by the wild flailing of his hand, he can't be saying anything good. He raises his hand, touches his thumb to his other fingertips, then holds it to his forehead. His face is flushed as he nags stressedly into the receiver, and you can even see the vein on his neck. "Je ne vais certainement pas à l'hôtel! Comme "pourquoi pas"? Parce que j'ai une résidence secondaire, espèce de crétin! Je peux difficilement l'expulser maintenant de l'appartment que tu lui as loué! Alors je suis le connard qui a jeté une jeune femme à la rue! Comment crois-tu que le gros titres vont suivre?"

While you understand a few words like hotel, idiot, woman - almost certainly meaning you - and headlines, your French is not so good, even after months in Monaco, that you could easily understand him.

"Je me fiche qu'elle soit sexy. Tu ne peux quand même pas laisser quelqu'un vivre dans mon appartement!" He puts his thumb and forefinger to his nose bone. "I'm really too tired for this, Joris. We'll talk tomorrow," he ends the conversation back in English and sits down in the chair across from you. He places the cell phone on the table before drumming his fingertips on the tabletop. "We'll summarize. You have a valid lease on my apartment. I have nowhere else to go. So I have to stay here. What's the plan?" He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms in front of his chest. 

You stare at him. "I should put some clothes on first." Wordlessly, you get up and disappear into the bedroom before he can say anything back. You quickly change, slipping into a dark green Adidas sweater and comfortable yoga pants, and quickly comb your hair. When you leave the room, the man is no longer sitting at the table, but stands in the small kitchen and - cooks?

"I haven't eaten anything today," the man says without glancing in your direction. "And you still had some stuff in the fridge."

You reach for the wine bottle and pour some more into the glass before taking a big gulp. "And you think you could just grab my groceries and cook yourself something?" you ask snarkily. He acts like he's at home. Like this is his apartment.

Well, it is, in theory. 

"I'm making two servings. For you and for me. I'm not a monster." He glances at you out of the corner of his eye as you lean against the fridge to watch him. "Maybe we should start over. Completely new." He turns the piece of chicken in the pan. "What's your name?"

"Y/N" You tilt your head. "And you?"

He furrows his eyebrows in confusion before giving the noodles in the pot a single stir. But as suddenly as the confusion was on his face, it's gone just as quickly. "Charles."

Scharl. The French pronunciation of Charles. And you have to admit, it suits him. As he cooks, you watch him, racking your brains on how to proceed now.

The apartment is small, but living with two people in it could work. One would sleep in the bed, the other on the couch. There would have to be a bathroom plan. And a cleaning schedule. And-

"Can you pour me a drink, too, please?" asks Charles, spreading the food on two plates. He sets them on the table and pulls two forks out of a drawer. 

"What would you like? Wine?" When he nods, you take a second wine glass and pour him the last of your wine. As he sits down, you look at him skeptically. 

Charles raises his eyebrows. "What is it?"

You tighten your mouth into a thin line. "That's my seat."

"Well, there's another chair. Why don't you take that one?"

Uncertainly, you teeter from one foot to the other. You don't want to seem like a crazy person, but in the few months you've lived here, you've always sat in the same chair. You want to keep it that way.

When you don't move, he rolls his eyes, but then sits down in the chair across from you. "Better?"

His food tastes better than expected. To be honest, it tastes better than anything you've ever cooked. But you don't tell him that, of course.

"I don't know how much you overheard of my conversation with Joris" - you overheard everything, you just didn't understand anything - "but I'm afraid I have nowhere else to go. Personal reasons." He pokes at his chicken for a moment. "And I don't want to put you out on the street, either, of course. I can't at all. After all, you have a valid lease and I can't just kick you out, even if it is my apartment." He looks up from his food and looks at you. His eyes are an impossibly beautiful green.

"What do you say we live here together? Just until my situation eases up," he suggests. Before you can say anything, he continues speaking. "I know the apartment is small and there's only one bed, but if we agree on cleaning and shopping and everything, I'm sure we can work it out."

There's a sparkle in his eye. You'd like to know why he can't go to his other apartment. Why he can't go to a hotel. Why he absolutely has to go to his second apartment. But he said himself it was an emergency. And you've known each other for what? An hour? Even if you asked, he certainly wouldn't tell you. 

Private is private.

And maybe it's not permanent. True, you could say on your own that you could go to a hotel, but on what money? For sure you could negotiate with Joris. You move out and stop paying rent. But what if you happen to find a job after all? Then you'd have to look for a new apartment again, because hotels in Monaco aren't exactly cheap. And you certainly won't get a cheaper apartment than this one.

"All right."

Charles doesn't seem particularly surprised, but relieved nonetheless. More like his suggestion wasn't a suggestion, but a fact you'd have to agree to. Which makes you very uneasy.

Maybe he's the kind of guy who takes advantage of his looks to trick young women like you and then murder them in their sleep. Or maybe he'll drug you and sell you to the nearest human trafficker. Or-

"Then maybe we should talk about the sleeping arrangement." He takes a sip of wine and screws up his face. "I thought this was dry wine."

"Dry wine is gross."

Charles exhales audibly. "That's debatable. Whatever." He puts the glass back, but a little farther away than you had put it earlier. "You can sleep in the bed for all I care. I'll sleep on the couch. It shouldn't be that uncomfortable. Except - if it's okay with you - sometimes I'd like to sleep in the bedroom to save my back." His offer sounds reasonable. Once you fell asleep on the couch from fatigue. You could have saved yourself the backache the next day.

"No problem." You smile kindly at him. "Thanks. For letting me have the bed, I mean." And for not kicking me out.

He nods before standing up, taking the two empty plates and placing them in the sink. Charles turns around, hands braced on the ledge behind him. "We can wash this tomorrow, if you like. I'm too tired for that now. And you don't seem like you're particularly up for it right now, either."

He's right. Although your fingers are itching to wash the dishes and put everything in its place, you're so exhausted from the day and the terror of suddenly having a stranger in your apartment that you could fall asleep standing up. So you just nod. 

"I'll just go brush my teeth. Then you can go to the bathroom."

Charles sticks his thumb up before you disappear into the bathroom and quickly get ready for bed. Thank goodness you cleaned the whole apartment yesterday, so you don't have to worry about things lying around or dirt. 

As you exit the bathroom, Charles is settling into the couch. "I grabbed the second set of bedding from the closet in the hallway. You certainly don't need that, do you?" he asks. You shake your head. "Great. I sleep without an alarm clock until 9 most nights. So would be great if you could keep it down until then. The walls aren't very thick, I'm afraid." He spreads out the comforter while you stand in the room, still unsure, watching him. "Do you have to go to work tomorrow? No? Great. Then we can talk about the rest tomorrow. About cleaning and stuff. We'll figure it out." His smile is almost infectious as he pushes past you to go to the bathroom. "Good night, Y/N."

Just before he closes the bathroom door behind him, you see him pull his shirt over his head and his back muscles move under his tanned skin. 

Just at that moment, your cell phone rings. Without looking to see who's calling, you push the caller away. There is only one person who could be calling at such a late hour. And you definitely don't want to talk to that person. 

A few minutes later, you're lying in bed with the covers pulled up to your chin and the door locked for safety - you never know - and you're racking your brains about what needs to be sorted out tomorrow. And whether the whole thing might not have been a stupid idea after all. 

Living with a complete stranger? Who could possibly kill you in the night? Or worse - could put you out on the street from one moment to the next?

You turn on your side, one hand tucked under your cheek, the other between your knees.

Maybe Charles is nice enough and living together works out great. Maybe you'll even become friends. Anything is possible. 

And apart from that - you don't have any other choice. 

Neither of you can go anywhere else. You both need this apartment.

That you both also need each other, you don't know at this point.

next part

#Charles Leclerc #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc #f1 #charles leclerc fluff #Carlos sainz #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x reader #Charles Leclerc fanfiction

[sacchiri]

Old Hellsing concept art found in a free space section in one of Hirano’s old doujins.

From top to bottom, left to right it reads:

"HELLSING" by Young King OURs Glasses-chan will appear again. Both the man and woman. I plan to have the 'Section 13' I drew for the magazine Comic Master appear as enemies. It's a vampire-hunting occult story... In other words, lots of guns firing nonstop. Yup. Libido at full throttle. I'm completely running with my personal tastes. I definitely want to put in the priest character I drew for the magazine Papipo. This is the only space where I get to draw about my (non-personal) work so I might as well. Right now this is one of the projects I'm putting my everything into. I want to do my best. Please don't give up on me～

#hellsing #integra hellsing #alucard #seras victoria #kouta hirano #my translation #i like how he says lots of guns will appear but then draws alucard with a machete for some reason lmao #integra seems to gradually become more masculine as the manga progresses while alucard gradually becomes more feminine #perfectly balanced as they should be

[strangeshoepatrolbandit]

Brother's best friend

Summary: You go to spend the summer at your grandparents, along with your family and the Wayne's. Will something rise between you and Damian?

Warnings: Reader is half kryptonian, meaning they can hear heartbeats.

Gender Neutral

Series Masterlist

~☆~

It was quiet. There was no sound of cars in a busy street, voices of pedestrians that became too much as they all overlapped, no musty smell of used up air. It was quiet, only the sound of the TV, animals outside, and the heartbeats of your loved ones could he heard.

Your grandparent's farm was your escape. It was where you could go when you wanted to get away from the city that you and your family lived in. Apparently, everyone agreed, because now you're spending the summer on the farm, along with your mother, father, and brothers.

Your mother was helping your grandmother clean up after breakfast. Your father was helping your grandfather with the animals, you and Jon were watching a cartoon, and Kon was still sleeping.

Despite your grandparents being two lonely farmers, more people were still going to be joining you. Everyone had decided that it would be nice to invite Bruce Wayne and his children to join in on your short vacation. You had barely gotten Jon to sleep the night he found out that they said yes, he was far too excited about what was to come. Eventually, your mother had to come in and scold him for still being up.

If you listened close enough, you could hear their plane, and if you listened even closer, you could hear their hearts and words. Which Jon had been doing the entire time he had been awake, anxiously waiting for his best friend and his family to arrive, your father and Kon doing the same. Was it a little weird that Clark, Kon, and Jon were all best friends with members of the Wayne family? Yeah, a little bit. But did you care? No.

Jon had been going on for years now about his best friend, Damian Wayne. Apparently, the two of them met due to being Robin and Superboy. Jon had told you about the many adventures the two of them had, the times they would hang out at Wayne Manor, and how much he adored Damian. You've heard similar stories about Bruce, and Tim aswell, your father and Kon sharing the same excitement as Jon over their best-friends.

Almost all of the Wayne family has heard about you, too, but not as much as Damian has. Jon is always talking about his older sibling, born just two years before himself, and a year after Damian. Jon is always talking about the things the two of you have done, what you like, any new changes you've made to your appearance. To some extent, Damian feels as if he already knows you. You also feel the same.

"I can't wait for you to meet him." Jon excitedly tells you, taking his eyes away from the small TV and looking at you. You turn to meet his gaze and offer a small smile, hoping it will get him to stop gushing about this family you've never met. Maybe you're excited about meeting a certain older brother, one that your family said came back from the dead. It's not that you don't want to meet them, it's just that you don't want to spend your summer with some strangers.

~☆~

It was about lunchtime when you could hear the plane getting closer to the farm, your family raced outside to greet their friends.

A grown man was the first to jump out of the plane, his hair wavy and black, eyes blue and skin tan. He had one of those Hollywood smiles that instantly got you plastered on a magazine. He ran up to your father and welcomed him into an embrace. He was far too young to be Bruce Wayne, but also too old to be Damian.

Another boy hopped out and jogged over to Kon. Obviously, that's Tim. His pale skin and shaggy black hair gave it away.

Who you assume was Bruce emerged next, the wrinkle between his eyebrows and his strong physique being a sign. You could hear your father whisper his name as he went up to hug the man.

An even younger boy walked out, instantly earning a yell from Jon. He looked almost identical to Bruce. Only his skin was tan, and his nose was stronger. His eyes were green, a strong contrast from the three blue-eyed men that he had traveled with. His hair was black and clean cut, styled upwards. He was gorgeous. His description could only mean that he was the one and only Damian.

Another man walked into the light. He was tall and muscular. His wavy hair was black with a stripe of white and out of his face. He was wearing sunglasses, blocking his eyes from your view. Even from the distance, you could see the scars that adorned the side of his face. Jason Todd.

You watched as your family exchanged their hellos, obviously excited about the entire situation. Just as you were about to turn and go back inside, you heard your father introducing your grandparents. That could only mean that you were next.

His arms gestured around your family before finally landing on you, "And that's, Y/N." He spoke.

The first man(whom you overheard the name of) started walking towards you, his flashy smile on display.

"Hi, I'm Dick!" He introduced himself, offering you a handshake. After you reciprocated the gesture, he put his arm over your shoulders, holding you to his side. His hand rose up to point at the other people he arrived with. "That's Bruce," he stated, pointing at the man next to your father. "That's Jason," His finger was now pointed at the man with the white streak in his hair, "Tim" was all he said as he gestured to the boy conversing with Kon. "And that's Damian." He said, pointing at the boy that was being bombarded with questions by Jon. To your surprise, he was staring right at you. His gaze was sharp and felt like he was seeing right through you.

Your eye contact was interrupted as your grandmother came rushing past you with a pitcher of tea and some cups.

~☆~

New series alert!!!

Update's will be slow.

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #damian al ghul #superboy #kon el superboy #superman #x reader #jon kent x reader #jonathan kent #lois lane #superman and lois #kon el #konner kent #kon kent #conner kent #conner luthor #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #jason todd x reader #tim drake #dick grayson x reader #bruce wayne x reader #tim drake x reader #batsiblings #batboys #batbros #batman #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader

[queenimmadolla]

For the blurb thing

Eddie

Bath

Fluff

𝐝𝐚𝐝!𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞, 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 '𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 ─ because i don't want to keep track of a bunch of different dad!eddies

“This is fucking gross.” 

“Well, you smell gross. So.”

Eddie huffed, brows furrowed in irritation as he leaned his back against the shower tile. The baby in his arms slapped her palms furiously against the red mixture of water and tomato juice filling your small tub, the splashback splattering across Eddie’s face.

He looked ridiculous. You’d already taken the pictures. 

The trailer was lucky enough to be equipped with a small…tub of sorts. Really, it seemed to be only suitable for children, no grown adult could bath comfortably in one of these. 

Yet, here Eddie found himself, folded up in it with his knees poking out, no leg room, no back room–his ‘lean’ put him at a 92 degree angle, if he was lucky– holding a one year old, who had most definitely already peed in the mixture.

So, now he was sitting in tomato juice, water and piss.

Eddie was not happy.

“There we go,” You sang, as you poured the last can, tapping the bottom of it for good measure.

“Is that necessary?” He snapped. 

You took no offense, eyes wary as you eyed him from top to knee before locking eyes again, “You need every drop.”

Then you pinched your nose and Eddie rolled his eyes.

What had been a promising start to family day at the park–picnic basket, copy of a new book you’d picked out at the bookstore in town with a couple of penny’s favorite blocks to beat into the ground, in hand–quickly turned disastrous when Eddie had taken Penny over to a tree she’d been pointing towards and babbling at while you set up the blanket, and the two of them had promptly been sprayed by a skunk hiding behind the tree trunk.

You’d heard a lot of screaming and squealing. Penny even yelled out once.

The car ride back was agony, having the front windows rolled down and the back ones propped open didn’t help, you’d had to stick your head out the window, uncaring about other people in passing cars. If being compared to a dog meant you didn’t have to smell your husband and baby, you’d bark.

Eddie had to stand outside the trailer holding Penny while you rummaged around for a Wellness magazine you’d seen the measurements for a tomato juice bath in once. When you appeared in the doorway, magazine clutched in your hands and held in the air victoriously, Eddie and Penny got to go inside while you took your car–and not his stinky van–to the market to pick up some tomato juice.

Eddie hadn’t been willing to sit in it. If it weren’t for Penny, you would have had to chase him around the trailer but you'd been able to gaslight him into thinking Penny wouldn’t like this particular bath since it wasn’t just water. A low blow since you knew how distressed he got when she cried.

So he’d gotten in. And Penny was having the freaking time of her young life.

“Do you like your bath, baby?” You cooed, leaning forward as she beamed up at you, toothless mouth open wide with her smile and those big brown eyes of hers sparkling. All because it was you talking to her, she loved you so much, “Yeah, awww, such a good stinky girl, huh?”

Penny squealed in agreement, hands slapping down against the water again, making Eddie flinch. Then she wiggled, chubby arms reaching out to you, asking you to pick her up and hold her but you quickly ran out of the breath you were holding so you yanked yourself back for a breather. The car ride might have got you a little familiar with their scent but you weren’t nose blind. 

Eddie took offense, “How long do we have to sit in this?”

“Until you don’t stink.” You scooped some of the mixture up in a plastic cup and poured it over his head, trying not to laugh at the frenzied look on his face.

Penny didn’t hide it, she laughed openly, turning so she could be sure to make eye contact with her daddy. She got the same hair treatment, but she was used to having her hair washed this way, she loved it. 

“And exactly how long is that, dearest?” That had been the closest he’d been to calling you a bitch.

“Uhm,” You gave Penny the cup to play with while you wiped your hand off and picked up the magazine resting on the small sink counter. It had been open, you scanned past the measurements until you reached the set time, “twenty minutes.”

Eddie was about to launch into complaints when he noticed your slight frown and the furrow in your brows.

“Huh.” Is all you said, head cocking to the side

“What?”

You were silent for a moment, reading the sentence over again in your head before you read aloud, “Does not eliminate or neutralize odor.”

“WHAT!?”

“I know right? Why would they provide the measurements for the tomato juice and water ratio if it doesn’t even work? Is this an amateur? Some sucker is walking around, thousands of dollars in debt with a degree in journalism, only to write about myt–”

“GET ME OUT!”

#last of the baby blurbs from the first round are gonna start going out #vivi's baby blurbs #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #pennyverse #dad!eddie #girl dad!eddie munson #dad!eddie munson x reader #dad!eddie munson x mom!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader fluff #stranger things #eddie munson blurb

[cordspaghetti]

feeling nuts ok so i was looking at the full page of that High School Drag interview after um going thru the 5 stages of decomposition over it and i recognized one of gerard’s other answers (about people grabbing their package) as identical to something they said in a much older interview so i was like oh are we pulling quotes from other things here? can i Search the Web and find the og source for what he said about doing drag? so i DID and i found each sentence of his answer, which i bolded, within larger quotes from completely different places, like:

“I like to think of it as a cry for help trapped in a pop song...When I was writing it, I was remembering how hard it was to be a 16-year-old in high school. I always wanted to be an artist, so I was this loner kid who just got drunk all the time. I only had one real friend. There was a girl I really liked, and she ended up taking really sleazy photographs with her boyfriend, and that really crushed me...I was just swimming in this pit of despair, jealousy and alcoholism.” (June 23, 2004 from mtv archive)

“I went to school in drag, in art school and my day was completely different because everybody thought I was a chick.” (we all know this one, earliest place i found it was here from 2003ish but i think the site’s broken now)

“You’re going to come across shitty bands and a lot of shitty people. And if any one of those people call you names because of what you look like or they don’t accept you for who you are, I want you to look right at that motherfucker, stick up your middle finger, and scream ‘Fuck you!’” (found this in a bunch of places, the earliest so far being Oct 22, 2006 on imnotokay.net where it’s listed as an “old article”)

for reference again the lad mag interview goes like:

“How did you find high school? Hard. I always wanted to be an artist, so I was this loner kid who just got drunk all the time. I only had one real friend. 

In what ways were you a loner? I went to school in drag. People call you names because of what you look like, because they don't accept who you are.”

so this has me thinking that at least this portion of the interview is entirely collaged together, with the context abt high school for the second answer basically fabricated? idk how common a practice this is in like. music journalism but LAD Mag (which this is from) was a magazine that came with copies of Sugar for free, so maybe the standards were different OR SOMETHING. idk maybe gerard just happened to repeat himself here. i want to believe in high school drag. but also their history with gender is important to meeeee and i want to make sure i am not consuming Fake Info about it !!!! 

#im going to go for a walk in nature now #this is so long sorry #i just saw 'lots of people grab my ass' and i was like i know she did not say that in october 2006 and it sent me down a rabbit hole

[the-au-thor]

Bestfriend Blurb #5 | Spencer Reid

This one's for the beautiful creature who kindly asked me for another blurb and gave me ideas for it. I know is not exactly what you asked for but this is the first part of your request. Hope you can enjoy it!

This is part of a series of blurbs that you can find down below:

#1

#2

#3

#4

#5

#6

Summary: Spencer and Reader are bestfriends who are in love with each other but they don't know it yet. Let's see how they find out.

Words: 1.5 k

Warnings: Go to this link!

"Are you okay?" you asked casually from your seat to Spencer, who was enjoying a glass of iced tonic water with lemon slices and mint. "Want to leave? We can go."

He smiled playfully and shook his head. "Of course not. Enjoy your margaritas, and we can leave when everyone else does."

That night marked the end of your exhibition. A photography magazine even interviewed you, which you found utterly crazy. The whole team attended the gallery, including a couple of other FBI agents and your old friends from college. After the gallery, Penelope and Emily insisted on celebrating at one of their favorite karaoke bars. When you arrived at the bar, Spencer extended his arm in front of you, palm open, asking for the keys to your car and officially declaring himself your designated driver. "You don't like driving," you argued, but he flashed one of his childlike smiles and shook his head, "It's your night, and I know you want to enjoy your margaritas. I'll drive us home."

Home.

Spencer's apartment had been infested with mold a couple of months ago, requiring urgent renovations. You couldn't resist pointing out it was due to lack of ventilation and his habit of keeping the curtains constantly closed. His landlord promptly announced that Spencer needed to leave the apartment for him to repair the whole mess before the mold spread to other units. That was the day Spencer became homeless and the day he started calling your home his own. It wasn't strange for him to bring his things to your apartment and take up the guest room. You got used to his quirks, like his clinical cleaning sprees when anxiety hit. Being roommates with Spencer was great, but what you never got used to was the warm and terrifying feeling whenever Spencer called your place "home."

"It's been a very long day," you murmured. "I'll have this last margarita, and then we can go," you promised, relaxing back into your seat, watching Derek and Savannah share a drink while following the music of a song Penelope and Emily were singing—or rather, destroying.

Lizzie, by your side, sipped her gin and tonic with a somewhat strange look. She seemed miles away inside her mind.

"What's wrong?" you asked.

She snapped out of her reverie, momentarily startled.

"Nothing."

"If something's bothering you—"

"No" she quickly answered.

"Yes," you insisted confidently.

She furrowed her brow. "No."

"Yes," you retorted, imitating her gaze until she finally rolled her eyes.

"Oh, you're a pain in my ass. I'm just tired; it's been a long night," she admitted, then smiled, nudging your shoulder. "But I'm proud of you; you stepped out of your comfort zone and succeeded."

Your cheeks blushed slightly, but you couldn't deny it. You were happy to have done it, and finally, the photos you had taken over the years saw the light. You took the last sip of your margarita and hopped off your chair with a light skip. Amir and Emma, your old college friends, convinced you to join them for one last song before leaving—a karaoke favorite: "I Want You Back" by the Jackson 5, full with choreography.

"That was amazing. It's always so much fun when you guys do that," Spencer exclaimed with a smile as he put on his jacket.

You had introduced Amir and Emma to the team years ago, and they occasionally met up in a bar to catch up and sing. Karaoke had become a tradition, and it wasn't the first time Emma, Amir and you pulled off such a performance you had prepared during your college years.

"It is fun. Maybe we'll convince you to join us someday," Amir replied with a smile, not expecting an immediate response from Spencer. He planted a kiss on each of your cheeks and cradled your face affectionately. "I'm so proud and jealous of you. The exhibition was fantastic. If you weren't doing such a wonderful job at the FBI, I'd try to persuade you to leave it for photography," he said, bidding you farewell and hugging Spencer.

You said your goodbyes, knowing that Emily, Penelope, and Lizzie would stay a bit longer that night. You and Spencer left the bar, facing the cool night as you crossed the street toward your car parked on the edge of an alley.

"Oh no," Spencer whispered, searching for something in his bag before getting into the car.You looked at him, furrowing your brow as he stepped into the passenger seat. "What happened?"

"I left the notebook you gave me at the gallery... do you think we can go get it now?"

You patted the inside pocket of your jacket where the keys to the gallery were, keys you would return tomorrow when picking up the photo frames you left hanging. You nodded, getting into the car.

"With all that eidetic memory, and you forget your notebook at a gallery," you teased, laughing, and then nodded again, making the keys jingle outside your pocket. "Let's go."

"It'll only take a moment," he promised quickly.

You knew how important that notebook was to him. You had given it to him as a kind gesture a few years ago. You didn't know him well then, having recently joined the BAU, and you had made an effort to get along with everyone by giving them a small gift to break the ice. It had worked wonderfully with Spencer. You still didn't know why that little notebook had made him so happy or why it was imperative for him to carry it everywhere, but the thought that he liked it so much pleased you.

"I hate that these things have so many locks," you complained, unlocking the last latch and pushing the door open for Spencer and you to enter the gallery. You turned to the entrance to switch on the lights. "Do you remember where you left it, or do we have to comb through the whole pla—?" Your sentence cut off because suddenly, you were breathless.

The walls were no longer adorned with your photographs (the ones you had left there just two hours ago). You silently took a step forward to scrutinize the first large canvas. You looked at Spencer, who was studying you attentively with a mischievous smile trying to hide.

"What is this?" you asked with an excited smile, not really knowing what to make of the photo that had immortalized the day when everyone decided to go for a long walk and picnic. On the way back, Penelope had twisted her ankle, and you and J.J. had decided to carry her in turns. In the photo, you were holding Pen in your arms, both smiling tiredly at the camera. "Spencer?" you looked at him again, waiting for an answer.

He smiled at you again, this time slightly moved, and took your shoulders to guide you to the next photograph. "You always portray us so we won't forget the good times we spend together," he explained, stopping you in front of a picture where you were painting Henry's face while wearing raccoon ears and having your face covered in makeup. You were sitting in front of him looking concentrated, while the little guy smiled with his eyes closed. "I don't want you to forget that you, too, are worthy of being photographed, and these moments are important."

Moved, you looked at him with teary eyes and turned back to hug him.

"That's why Lizzie was acting strange. She knew," you said when you ended the hug.

Spencer smiled."Yeah"

"Did you come up with this? Only you?" And he nodded "why?"

He furrowed his brow, looking at the photograph and then at you. "I don't know," he honestly admitted. "I just wanted to make you happy."

Your heart skipped so strongly that you couldn't stay near him without doing something foolish.

You looked around, distancing yourself from Spencer to explore the gallery at a safe distance, seeing all those photos he had compiled. Then you answered back.

"Just look at me, Spence," you pointed to the photos. "I'm already happy."

And you were. You were happy with him. For him. You were happy with your work and your friends. Right now, if allowed to exaggerate, you were the happiest person on earth.

You walked a couple more times, remembering those moments with Spencer, laughing at the anecdotes encapsulated in each photo. Occasionally, in silence, you wondered why you could hear your heart pounding in your ears. You were calm, though, as if you had been anesthetized by that emotion you felt when seeing Spencer's surprise. In the silence of the place that accompanied you and Spencer, it would never feel forced or uncomfortable.

Peace.

Happiness and peace.

On the way home, you carried with you the trunk full of photographs that Spencer had taken the trouble to print and hang in the gallery. You didn't know where to put them in the apartment you shared, but you couldn't leave them lying in the gallery, not with everything they meant to you. They weren't special because you were in them; they were special because they were Spencer's gift, because he had taken them.

You brushed your teeth after taking a bath and changed into a loose and comfortable pajama. You walked down the hall to Spencer's room and tapped on his door gently. When he opened it, he was, like you, with wet hair and ready for bed.

"I just wanted to thank you for today," you murmured, then gave him a broad and honest smile. "It's been the best day I've had in a long time."

Spencer's eyes did that thing they usually did; they smiled, rising with appreciation and something more, a kind of intimacy that cut through the air in your lungs and made you feel dizzy.

"It's nothing," he replied. "I'm glad you liked it," he said, embarrassed.

"Goodnight, Spencer. Tomorrow, I'll make gratitude waffles."

Spencer accepted without hesitation; he couldn't refuse your traditional mountain of waffles with melted chocolate in the middle and small bacon muffins decorating the plate.

"Goodnight," he bid you farewell. "See you in the morning"

You hurried your steps to your room and locked yourself in as if you were escaping something dangerous. Your heart started pounding again.

He was so special, Spence. You just couldn't live without him. He was just....

Panic ran through your veins with adrenaline. You threw yourself onto your bed, typing quickly in your chat with Lizzie.

"I like Spencer."

Three simple words, and three dots that moved hyperactively on Lizzie's side of the chat.

"Okay, good. Now try again." She finally wrote back.

You bit your lips until they hurt.

"I love Spencer."

Another three simple words, but now they were the right ones because just writing them made you feel like a heavy burden had left your body. Your lungs filled with air again, and tears welled up in your eyes without you realizing they had been waiting a long time to be released.

"I mean I'm also in love with him" you clarified.

"Ding, ding, ding!!" She wrote back as you locked the screen and let out a tiny scream.

You stretched out on your bed with this new realization knocking you out, and you looked at the ceiling completely relieved. Many things now made sense, and at the same time, everything looked terrifying. You were in love with your bestfriend. The man who was in his room sharing home with you.

Spencer, on the other hand, stood behind his bedroom door, where he hung the only photograph he decided not to show you in the gallery because it was too accusatory. Derek had taken it when they went for coffee in Utah during a challenging case investigation. Derek waited for them in the table while you and Spencer decided what to order at the counter. You were studying the menu written on a huge blackboard with concentration while Spencer smiled at you, playing with your hair, unbeknownst to you.

That photograph made him think about all the times he had done that without realizing it. He became even more aware that he didn't touch people, but certainly he didn't have that problem with you. He felt vulnerable but also free. And as he looked at the photo with a smile, he wondered why the hell, when you asked why he had bothered to prepare that surprise, he didn't answer that it was because he had recently discovered that he loved you.

He was in love with you.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid bestfriend blurb #bestfriend blurb #spencer reid x bestfriend!reader #bestfriend!spenced reid × reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid friends to lovers #emily prentiss #derek morgan #penelope garcia #criminal minds fanfiction

[mostlysignssomeportents]

A year in illustration, 2023 edition (part two)

(This is part two; part one is here.)

The West Midlands Police were kind enough to upload a high-rez of their surveillance camera control room to Flickr under a CC license (they've since deleted it), and it was the perfect frame for dozens of repeating clown images with HAL9000 red noses. This worked out great. The clown face is from a 1940s ad for novelty masks.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/23/automation-blindness/#humans-in-the-loop

I spent an absurd amount of time transforming a photo I took of three pinball machines into union-busting themed tables, pulling in a bunch of images from old Soviet propaganda art. An editorial cartoon of Teddy Roosevelt with his big stick takes center stage, while a NLRB General Counsel Jennifer Abruzzo's official portrait presides over the scene. I hand-made the eight-segment TILT displays.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/06/goons-ginks-and-company-finks/#if-blood-be-the-price-of-your-cursed-wealth

Working with the highest-possible rez sources makes all the difference in the world. Syvwlch's extremely high-rez paint-scraper is a gift to people writing about web-scraping, and the Matrix code waterfall mapped onto it like butter.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/17/how-to-think-about-scraping/

This old TWA ad depicting a young man eagerly pitching an older man has incredible body-language – so much so that when I replaced their heads with raw meat, the intent and character remained intact. I often struggle for background to put behind images like this, but high-rez currency imagery, with the blown up intaglio, crushes it.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/04/dont-let-your-meat-loaf/#meaty-beaty-big-and-bouncy

I transposed Photoshop instructions for turning a face into a zombie into Gimp instructions to make Zombie Uncle Sam. The guy looking at his watch kills me. He's from an old magazine illustration about radio broadcasting. What a face!

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/18/the-people-no/#tell-ya-what-i-want-what-i-really-really-want

The mansplaining guy from the TWA ad is back, but this time he's telling a whopper. It took so much work to give him that Pinnocchio nose. Clearly, he's lying about capitalism, hence the Atlas Shrugged cover. Bosch's "Garden of Earthly Delights" makes for an excellent, public domain hellscape fit for a nonconensual pitch about the miracle of capitalism.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/27/six-sells/#youre-holding-it-wrong

There's no better image for stories about techbros scamming rubes than Bosch's 'The Conjurer.' Throw in Jeff Bezos's head and an Amazon logo and you're off to the races. I boobytrapped this image by adding as many fingers as I could fit onto each of these figures in the hopes that someone could falsely accuse me of AI-generating this. No one did.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

Once again, it's Bosch to the rescue. Slap a different smiley-face emoji on each of the tormented figures in 'Garden of Earthly Delights' and you've got a perfect metaphor for the 'brand safety' problem of hard news dying online because brands don't want to be associated with unpleasant things, and the news is very unpleasant indeed.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/11/ad-jacency/#brand-safety

I really struggle to come up with images for my linkdump posts. I'm running out of ways to illustrate assortments and varieties. I got to noodling with a Kellogg's mini-cereal variety pack and I realized it was the perfect place for a vicious gorilla image I'd just found online in a WWI propaganda poster headed 'Destroy This Mad Brute.' I put so many fake AI tells in this one – extra pupils, extra fingers, a super-AI-esque Kellogg's logo.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/05/variegated/#nein

Bloodletting is the perfect metaphor for using rate-hikes to fight inflation. A vintage image of the Treasury, spattered with blood, makes a great backdrop. For the foreground, a medieval woodcut of bloodletting quacks – give one the head of Larry Summers, the other, Jerome Powell. For the patient, use Uncle Sam's head.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/20/bloodletting/#inflated-ego

I killed a long videoconference call slicing up an old pulp cover showing a killer robot zapping a couple of shrunken people in bell-jars. It was the ideal image to illustrate Big Tech's enshittification, especially when it was decorated with some classic tech slogans.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/22/who-wins-the-argument/#corporations-are-people-my-friend

There's something meditative about manually cutting out Tenniel engravings from Alice – the Jabberwock was insane. But it was worth it for this Tron-inflected illustration using a distorted Cartesian grid to display the enormous difference between e/acc and AI doomers, and everyone else in the world.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/27/10-types-of-people/#taking-up-a-lot-of-space

Multilayer source images for your remixing pleasure:

Scientist in chemlabhttps://craphound.com/images/scientist-in-chem-lab.psd

Humpty Dumpty and the millionaires https://craphound.com/images/humpty-dumpty-and-the-millionaires.psd

Demon summoning https://craphound.com/images/demon-summoning.psd

Killer Robot and People in Bell Jars https://craphound.com/images/killer-robot-and-bell-jars.psd

TWA mansplainer https://craphound.com/images/twa-mansplainer.psd

Impatient boss https://craphound.com/images/impatient-boss.psd

Destroy This Mad Brute https://craphound.com/images/destroy-this-mad-brute.psd

(Images: Heinz Bunse, West Midlands Police, Christopher Sessums, CC BY-SA 2.0; Mike Mozart, Jesse Wagstaff, Stephen Drake, Steve Jurvetson, syvwlch, Doc Searls, https://www.flickr.com/photos/mosaic36/14231376315, Chatham House, CC BY 2.0; Cryteria, CC BY 3.0; Mr. Kjetil Ree, Trevor Parscal, Rama, “Soldiers of Russia” Cultural Center, Russian Airborne Troops Press Service, CC BY-SA 3.0; Raimond Spekking, CC BY 4.0; Drahtlos, CC BY-SA 4.0; Eugen Rochko, Affero; modified)

#pluralistic #illustration #collage #fair use #creative commons

[thursdaygxrls]

Seeing Him (‘Seeing Her’ Part Three)

summary — george weasley is very bad at getting a girlfriend.

paring — george weasley x fem!bookworm!reader

disclaimer — i do not own harry potter or its characters.

warnings — i didn’t edit, my bad lol. also i inserted wuthering heights a little too much (by the way you should read wuthering heights)

read part one and part two!

“You are repulsive.” The words left her mouth bitterly as she stared at him, her eyes narrowed.

“Woah!” He exclaimed, his eyes widening, “I’m sorry—it just wasn’t my thing!”

“Frankenstein is everyone’s thing!” She fired back, though, a small grin cracked on her face, “You are a waste of perfectly good eyes, you know that?”

“You like my eyes?” He wiggled his eyebrows, a smirk lighting up on his face.

When George Weasley had taken out the girl he’d long been staring at, a stroll through the book store turned to hours of talking, and one date turned to three. It was so natural, and yet, so odd. A girl who’s presence was only marked by the books she read and a boy who’s troublemaking reputation surpassed that of many fictional characters had somehow found harmony between fantasy and reality. Well, most of the time.

“I meant that your eyes are perfectly capable of seeing and consuming beautiful literature, yet you’re squandering it.” She huffed at him, though, the smile on her lips was obvious.

“Beautiful literature and beautiful ladies,” George spoke, still smirking, “And I’m using up all that eyesight power by staring at you.”

“Horrible boy,” she scoffed, the grin still on her lips.

“Beautiful girl,” George replied, his eyes dancing across her face.

Whatever had bloomed between the two had proved strange to almost every other student at Hogwarts. It wasn't as if people shouted or stared when they saw them walking together in the halls, but there was the occasionally lingering look that said 'huh, I wouldn't have put those two together.' It was especially odd that a known flirt had seemed to retire his previous career. George, who'd always been one to chat up a new girl each week, was now only seen with the same girl day after day. If that hadn't been enough to set off a few social alarms throughout the school, a few students had even seen George reading — and not just dirty magazines.

"Things seem to be getting pretty serious," Fred chuckled as he talked. He and George had just gotten out of detention and were headed through the halls towards the Gryffindor common room.

"I'd say that was rather normal." George shrugged, "Flitwick snored just as much as usual."

"Not detention, you git." Fred couldn't help it when another laugh left his lips, "Things are getting serious with your girl."

"Oh," George shook his head, a smile lighting up on his face, "Yeah, I guess."

"D'you make it official?" Fred nudged him, "Tie the noose around your neck? Connect the ball and chain?"

"Shove off," George groaned, nudging him back with a bit more force.

"Oh, come on, did you?" Fred sighed, relenting his antics for a moment. George looked at him, a sudden frown curling on his lips. He shook his head.

"No." He shrugged as though it didn't matter, "It's only been a couple dates."

"What?" Fred's eyes seemed to widen to the size of planets, "Only a couple dates? I've never seen you this gross and lovesick! She's got you reading those old muggle books for Merlin's sake!"

"I like to read," George spoke, lying straight through his teeth, "I'm a big reader."

"Yeah? And I think hours long Transfiguration lectures are riveting," Fred let out a dry laugh, "Listen, even if I find the puppy-eyes you give her disgusting, it's obvious you're head over arse for her."

Even if George wanted to retaliate, it was true. He walked her to class, insisted on carrying her things for her. He even read Pride and Prejudice to understand a joke she made once. He was enamored with her in a way only dead old ladies like Emily Brontë could describe.

"Yeah, I know," George let out a sigh, "Trust me, I know."

"Don't tell me you're nervous." Fred chuckled, a smile spreading on his lips, "I may be the more attractive twin, but you've still got a nice face on you. Give it a shot, alright?"

George groaned, but as they pushed past the portrait of the fat lady, he couldn't help but feel that Fred was right. Not about being the most attractive, of course; he was right about giving it a shot. And so he planned.

Plan A seemed nearly impossible to screw up. It was simple, really; he'd catch up with her on the way to breakfast like he always did, and ask her to be his girlfriend. No pomp and circumstance, no fanfare, just a quick question and a sweet smile. When the time finally came the next morning, he was so confident in himself that his toes were barely touching the ground. He left the common room with a skip in his step, ready to meet with her near the stairs where they always did. His eyes met hers.

She was lovely. She'd done nothing different; her hair was how it always had been, her smile was the same. Yet, when George saw her, it took all his willpower not keep his jaw from dropping to the ground.

"Ready for breakfast?" She asked, her voice like a serenade in his ears. His face reddened as he nodded, and he knew then that Plan A was impossible.

Plan B was much more exciting, yet, still simple. This time, he made sure that he'd have his words prepared for him so he didn't have to do any talking. Over the weekend, he'd picked up a rather nice copy of Wuthering Heights at the muggle book store in Hogsmeade. She'd been eyeing it for a while; he'd noticed her staring at it while telling him about another book. Along with the book, he wrote her a sweet (albeit grammatically poor and rather cheesy) note that ended with the question 'will you be my girlfriend?' He was going to slip it into the novel before he gave it to her. While walking from Charms to lunch, George couldn't quite contain his smile.

"Hey," he said as they exited the classroom, "I've got a surprise for you." "Oh?" She raised an eyebrow, her eyes glowing with anticipation. Without any further teasing, George slipped the novel out from between his stack of books and handed it to her, a proud grin on his face.

"Merlin!" She exclaimed as she exchanged her things for the book, "George, this is wonderful! I've been wanting to get this copy."

"I know," George spoke, trying not to look too adoring of her as he took her books into his hands, "Flip through, it might have an introduction or something." With a smile, she did as told, thumbing through the pages eagerly. George craned his neck, trying to see if she'd found the note nestled within the pages.

"Find anything good?" He sounded almost smug.

"Yeah," she said excitedly. Looking to George, the smile on her lips only spread wider. This was it. She was smiling, she was happy, she was going to say--

"There's a biographical notice of Ellis and Acton Bell in the front." Her gaze moved back to the book, "I told you about that, right? How the Brontes wrote under male pseudonyms? Well, Emily used Ellis. It looks quite interesting."

"Oh, yeah," George's face fell a bit, but he tried to hide it, "Is there, uh, anything else?"

"There's an editors note, too." She shrugged, but grinned at him, "Thanks, George, this is really incredible."

His mouth opened, the words on the tip of his tongue, when he froze. He'd woken up so excited that when he left his dorm, he'd snatched the book off his desk and ran down to the Great Hall. He'd never put the note in — it was still on his desk.

"No problem," he responded, a bit stunted, as he tried to swallow the frustration he felt with himself, "No problem at all."

Plan C had to work — it had to. The second he returned to his dorm later that afternoon, he threw the note in the trash and got right to work. If there was one thing George knew how to do, it was to go big. He could write out a sign in the sky using fireworks, or maybe hang a banner over the astronomy tower. Maybe a thousand flowers in her dorm would do. A giant cake that he pops out of could work.

As he collected his ideas, he couldn't help but feel that everything he thought of just wasn't right. He went through Plan C, Plan D, Plan E. Eventually, he had to start numbering his plans. As the sun dropped lower outside the castle, a huff left George's lips, catching the attention of Fred, who was laying against his bed, playing with some sort of puzzle contraption.

"What's got your knickers bunched?" Fred chuckled, sitting up to look at his brother.

"Every plan I try doesn't work," George shook his head, "I've been trying to ask her to be my girlfriend for days now."

"Fireworks?" Was Fred's immediate reaction.

"Thought about it. Not sure how much she'd like it." George shrugged in response.

"Oh, come on, everyone likes a bit of dramatics sometimes." Fred moved, sliding his legs off the bed to sit down on the edge.

"Yeah, I know, but this just feels different." George's nose scrunched, "I want to do something personal, y'know?" "Fireworks spelling out her name is personal." A smile crept onto Fred's lips.

"That's not what I mean." George slumped against his desk chair, letting out a dramatic groan. At that, Fred relented with a sigh.

"Did you ever try just asking her?" He asked, cocking his head.

"That was Plan A." George let out a long breath.

"Well, maybe just retry Plan A," Fred suggested with a shrug, "And just don't screw up whatever you screwed up before."

"I didn't screw anything up." George stuck his tongue out at his brother.

"Whatever you say." Fred grinned, and with that, he returned his attention to the contraption in his hands.

Retry Plan A. The thought stuck in George's head as he looked down at his desk. He had given up on it fairly quickly. She made him nervous — sure, he could flirt with her, but when it came to fessing up his actual feelings, he was at a loss. He ran a hand through his hair as he thought it over. Looking out the window, the near absence of the sun reminded him that it was time for dinner. She would be at dinner.

Without even a goodbye from Fred, George shot up, scrambling from the dorm, through the common room, and down the stairs. He hastily tried to fix his rushed appearance: he redid a few of the buttons on his shirt and combed his fingers through his hair (the mess was untamable). When he finally made it to the Great Hall, he was nearly out of breath. His eyes scanned the tables for her, and when he finally found her (laughing her head off about something with a boy that George was easily ten times more attractive than, in his opinion), he set off. His steps were heavy and confident, and when he reached her, he sat down right next to her, not even bothering to introduce his presence.

"Oh, hey!" Her eyes immediately lit up at the sight of him, "I was wondering where you've been."

"I'm right here." He grinned at her. Once more, his lips parted, ready to ask her the question. Will you be my girlfriend? Would you mind being my girlfriend? Please, my Queen, I will beg on my hands and knees for you to even consider being my—

"This is my boyfriend, George, the one I was talking about." She smiled kindly at the boy across from her, gesturing to the redhead next to her.

Boyfriend.

George's brain nearly short circuited at the word, his eyes going wide and lips curling into the largest grin anyone had ever seen.

"Boyfriend?" He repeated the word as though he'd just imagined it.

"Oh!" Her face twisted in horror, "I'm sorry, I guess I never really asked. It was an assumption, I guess." Before she could continue her apologies, George grabbed her by the shoulders, trying not to squeeze her to death.

"I have been trying to ask you to ask you to be my girlfriend for a week," He said, the smile never leaving his lips, "I tried to ask you in the morning, but you were too pretty, and then the book I gave you, I wrote this note that I was going to put in it but forgot—” The words rushed from his lips in quick succession, his cheeks rosy enough to match his hair.

"So," She cut him off, a small giggle leaving her lips, "You want to be my boyfriend?"

"For Merlin's sake, yes, yes I do!" He couldn't help the excited laugh that escaped him.

"Could I have my notes back now?" A voice spoke up, causing George to whip his head to its source.

"Oh, sorry Theo." She chuckled as she slid the boy his book, and he nodded, giving a quick wave as he stood and left.

"Well he's grumpy," George mused, turning back to her with the same smile he'd been wearing.

"Oh, that's just Theo." She shrugged, "He's always like that."

"Well, enough about him, we haven't talked about me nearly enough." George's eyes sparkled as he spoke.

"I feel like we talk about you far too much." She laughed back.

"Ah, but being your boyfriend obligates you to talk only about me for about ninety-eight percent of your time," he beamed.

"Does that mean I reserve ninety-eight percent of your thoughts, being your girlfriend and all?" She tilted her head.

"You reserve a lot more than ninety-eight percent of my thoughts, darling," he chuckled. When each of their laughter subsided, they stared at each other for a moment, content but unsure. Tentatively, George reached forward, his hand gently making contact with her cheek.

"So," his voice was a low whisper, "Since I'm your boyfriend, can I kiss you?" An even brighter smile lit up on her face, and she let out another small laugh.

"That can be arranged." She grinned. When George leaned in, so did she, and their lips met in gentle kiss. It was light and sweet, yet the undertone of excitement lingered as they pressed against each other. When they separated, a bit breathless, they gazed at each other a moment more. It was a tender stare that held something strong. Maybe it wasn't love just yet, but it was close. After all, he was seeing her, and she was seeing him.

Taglist — @noncorrected @dreary-daffodils @skivingsnackbox @ironnightnight @quionnia @superduckmilkshake @emilykolchivans @adhdduckie @aree-you-sirius-rn @anotherbookreader10235 @withered-rxse @eyebagsanonymous @wannabe-goblin-king @willowcho25518 @laryfairy @superstaarrs @cillshot @pirate-with-internet-connection @ireallywannasleep127

hope you guys liked the last part!! i’ll probably be doing some more george soon bc he’s 🤭🤭🤭 but besides that i’m working on an enemies to friends to lovers remus fic with a bit of angst and such. also i’m DEF making some sirius stuff soon bc he’s my number 1 🤭🤭

oh and btdubz, i’m gonna make a google thingy for my tag list. everyone who’s currently on it, you’ll still be there, but you can specify what type of content you’d like to read from me. okay, toodles!!

#george weasley x y/n #George weasley x reader #George weasley x you #George weasley #George weasley fluff #George weasley Drabble #Harry Potter lightning era #fred weasley #x reader #hogwarts #fluff #bookworm #reading #classic lit #Thursday writes