#he did say to some magazine that in the beginning it was easier to get modeling jobs than acting ones

[nottrusttworthy]

Twenty-one year old Callum Turner modeling for Burberry's 2011 fall campaign

Callum talking about his modeling years:

Back when the British actor Callum Turner was working as a model in Japan, he earned himself a nickname. “Maguro man,” Turner says, with a hint of pride. Excuse me? “It means tuna man! I had this one sushi place I went to everyday, I’d walk in and the chef would say, ‘maguro man’, because all I’d have for lunch is six pieces of tuna.” The diet wasn’t born out of a love of raw fish, but of occupational necessity. “I had to lose loads of weight,” Turner says. His natural waist is a trim 34 inches; designers wanted 28. “It was hard, but I did it. I can be very militant with my mind.”

#he did say to some magazine that in the beginning it was easier to get modeling jobs than acting ones #too pretty for his own good #callum turner #male model #british man #burberry #actor #hes so babygirl #specially here #he looks sooo thin tho #Callum's lore

[seresinhangmanjake]

The One I Want: Part 15

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You’re new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Notes/Warnings: cursing, emotional stuff and vulnerability, fluff, angst, inaccurate navy stuff, typos for sure (fr didn't proofread tonight)

Words: 3537

The One I Want Masterlist

---

“He really didn’t call last night?” Millie finally asks. She’s been watching you out of the corner of her eye for the better half of an hour, sitting in a plastic chair on the opposite side of the gift shop’s counter as she unconvincingly flips through the pages of a bridal magazine.

The stack Millie brought to your work was an attempt to distract you so you would have something to think about other than Jake, but you’ve done nothing other than stare at the same wedding dress on the same page since Millie arrived. You can’t even say it’s a nice dress that would compliment your friend’s figure, so you’re about as useless as they come for a Maid of Honor. Dresses, flowers, bachelorette parties—it all sits nestled in the back of your mind, and you’d feel horrible for not taking the details of the wedding more seriously, but right now you’re not alone in using it as a distraction from missing the men in your lives. 

At least Millie has received some reassurance. Rooster has taken every opportunity to call her, to comfort her, to express his love. But Jake? Nothing. The most you’ve gotten is a “He’s fine, just a bit drawn into himself lately. Got a lot on his mind,” from Millie who reported that information secondhand from her fiance. 

That Jake has put you in a place of questioning is a blow to your heart, but in an effort to stay sane, you haven’t allowed yourself to create potential explanations for him in your head. He’ll reach out eventually, and when he does, you trust he’ll give you all the answers you need. 

But for now, you shake your head. 

“What is wrong with that boy?” Millie huffs, leaning back in her chair. “I was hopin’ he’d make up for his lack of calls with a beautiful handwritten letter confessin’ his love, but good lord.”

“He already told me he loves me.”

The magazine drops onto her lap. Her jaw practically unhinges. “How are you just tellin’ me this now?” she asks. “What did you say?”

Running your fingers through your hair, you close your magazine and shove it aside. “He didn’t let me say anything,” you tell her, relief washing over you at finally letting it out. “It was over the phone as they were leaving, and he hung up before I could get two words in.”

Millie sighs. “Oh, Honey.” She sits up and scoots the chair as close to the counter as possible so she can easier wrap your hand in hers. 

“You know–” she begins, but then pauses as she rethinks, “Or, well, maybe you don’t know—but you should know Jake doesn’t throw that word around lightly. I haven’t known him as long as the others, but I do know that you were a total game-changer. He told all of us that from the moment he saw you he was a goner.”

Heat floods your cheeks at hearing the words he once told you. You’ve believed him to be genuine for a long time, but it’s incredibly fulfilling to know he felt strongly enough to tell his friends before you were willing to consider your own feelings for him.

Being honest with yourself, you weren’t in the same place the first time you saw Jake. You thought he was beautiful and magnetic, and being that beautiful and magnetic, you were convinced he was going to be just as troublesome. There was no room in your mind to consider yourself a goner. Your shields were unbreakable. But now, when you replay the last few months of your life—replay the first time you really took him in, the first time his fingers touched yours—you can acknowledge that in choosing to stay here, the feelings you’ve developed for him were inevitable. Goner for goner—it just took you a moment to catch up.

Millie grins at the red tinge you can’t conceal. “He’s been Mr. Game Changer himself, hmm?”

Shooting her a look before playfully rolling your eyes, you say, “Don’t tease me about things you already know, Millie.”

“The next time he calls, do you want me to tell Bradley to knock some sense back into that pretty, blond head?”

You chuckle. “No, it’s ok,” you say. “Jake was patient with me. It’s my turn to be patient with him. He’ll come through.”

“I’m sure it'll be soon. For you, he’d–” Millie’s eyes flick just past your head. “Oh, fuck no,” she mutters as the store’s door swings open and closes from behind you. “We don’t accept trash here. Please take yourself out,” Millie sasses, making you turn in your chair. 

Brit doesn’t acknowledge the tiny redhead. Her dark eyes are darts, so focused on you she hardly blinks. For some reason, though, you don’t sense the animosity you did the last time she brought herself around. 

“It’s been a while,” she says to you.

Millie scoffs. “Not long enough.”

As much as you want to, you don’t feed into your friend’s comments. Defending you is appreciated, but you have a feeling that poking at the blonde will delay her departure, and Brit doesn’t need to be in your life and space any longer than you desire to be in hers. 

“What can I do for you?” you ask.

“I came here to say something.”

“We don’t have a good track record there.”

With arms crossed, Brit rolls her eyes. “Right, well…I was pissed.”

Millie mimics Brit’s behavior; arm-crossing, eye-rolling, and attitude included. “Award-winnin’ excuse, honey.”

“Can't you scram?”

“Can and will are two different things.”

Your eyes move to Millie. The fire within her is too powerful to die out against the challenge before her, and you’re positive the two could go on for hours if you let them, neither willing to back down. But you want Brit to get on with it. Surely she knows after her last failure that she’s unable to affect you or Jake and the plans you have with one another, all of which do not include her. So what else is there for her to bother you with?

“Millie, it’s ok,” you say, snapping the tense band of their stare-off.

Her face softens when she looks at you. Words don’t have to be exchanged for her to understand what you’re asking of her. She stands and walks to Brit with a pointed finger. “I’m gonna be watchin’ you through the window like a stalker the entire time.”

After stepping outside, she immediately turns to face the window, just as promised. 

You stand as well and brace yourself against the wall, keeping the barrier of the counter between you. “I’d love to get this over with, so what do you want to say?”

Brit takes her time, running her fingernail over the packets of gum in their display before she decides to take a seat in the vacant chair. With her legs crossed, her hands clasp in her lap. “I don’t know if you are aware, but Jake dropped by for a nice little visit a couple of days before he left,” she shares with you. Then she sighs as if bored. “He said some things. A lot of things. Bared his soul and all that shit. It was rather dramatic.” 

While shocked, you suppose you don’t need a million guesses to figure out why he would go to her before leaving you. He expressed his concerns weeks ago, and no matter how fiercely you tried to reassure him, you couldn’t snuff it out completely. You could always see it in his eyes—a dimmed but persistent flickering of worry. 

Brit yanks you from your thoughts. “You’re not ever going to let him go, are you,” she says. 

“No.”

“Yea…” She runs her tongue over her teeth, making that squelching sound you had hoped to never hear again. “He’s not going to let you go, either. He made that clear.”

You get that feeling again—that deep fulfillment from being with Jake. You could’ve lived your whole life and the adventures that come with it—from marriage to children to grandchildren, if that is what you and Jake choose—completely unaware of him working behind the scenes to protect and defend and love you. 

It seems silly to not have realized before, but you’re so new to this kind of love that inexperience has you approaching it in a fairly straightforward manner. You don’t hide your emotions or actions from Jake anymore. You’re sad, you cry, he comforts you. You’re mad, you yell, he calms you. You’re happy, you smile, and he smiles right with you. And you’ve done the same for him. Open and honest and, as you once agreed, hearts bare. 

You would do anything for Jake, and he for you, but you never considered that his affection extended past what you see. Not because it shouldn’t; that’s what love is, you know that. But the love of your past was hollow, very out of sight out of mind on their end; a disconnection that those men used to boost their egos by making fun of you to their friends or flirting with other women when you weren’t around. 

Unless taught differently, a person only knows what they've known. So the idea of Jake going above and beyond in that way simply never crossed your mind. 

“At first, I hated him for it,” Brit says, suspiciously even-toned. “Showing up at my door, desperately trying to appeal to god knows what while he repeatedly reminds me that he won’t be with me because he’s in love with you. I mean, can you believe the fucking audacity of a man to do that to a woman?”

You can, because you know hurt and embarrassment inside and out, and up and down. Without the context of their situation—were it any other man spouting off to any other woman—you could find it in yourself to feel sympathy as easily as you find your next breath. But Brit deserves the treatment she’s describing; not for the sake of cruelly getting even after the harassment she doled out, but because she needs to hear the truth of the matter from Jake’s lips. She’s in the wrong, what she has done is unacceptable, and perhaps most importantly: you are not the reason Jake doesn’t want to be with her. Whether she eventually accepts that truth or not is another thing entirely. 

“I’ve spent these weeks hating him more than I thought possible,” she says.

You shake your head. “Brit, I don’t understand where this is going, and to be honest, I’m–”

“You once asked me if I was tired,” she interrupts you, her tone raising to overlap yours. It succeeds in silencing you. “Well, I’m tired.” 

If you could find your voice, you don’t know what you would do with it. When she cornered you in the Hard Deck’s bathroom with a plethora of insults and threats, you shot back at her with few words and a final question. But considering her lack of self-reflection, it wasn’t a question you imagined she might one day reassess. 

Brit rises and straightens out her top. She gives you one final look. “So, now you know.”

Then she exits the store and disappears around the other side of the building where the sidewalk meets the street. 

“What the actual fuck was that about?” Millie asks, returning to your side.

You’re still staring at the spot where she vanished. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” you start, then swallow, “But I think she’s done with us.”

—

You love all of the things that still smell like Jake. The sheets, the pillow, the interior of his truck, the kitchen because that’s the first place he’d go after putting cologne on in the morning. He lingers everywhere, and when you close your eyes, you can trick yourself into believing he’s right beside you. But after a while of sitting around the scent with your eyes closed, the illusion dissipates. If Jake was actually near you, only so much time would pass before he’d begin touching and kissing and whispering sweet things in your ear. 

“You know I can’t help myself,” he’d say. And without him here, you can’t convince the scene to play out.

It’s like a bad dream that doesn’t lose its power over you even after you wake. It’s still in your brain, in the race of your heart, in the heavy gasps from your lungs. Dreams you often have that, even when sweet and beautiful, aren’t. If they’re not full of horrible images that leave you shaking in bed, they’re reminders of good times with Jake, and it’s the good times that ache the most when they’re over.

Tonight, though, it’s not the dreams that shoot you awake. It’s the ring of your phone from an unknown number. 

When Jake first left, every unknown number that popped up on your screen jolted an electric shock through your body. But after so many telemarketers and automated calls from the apartment building updating you on temporary changes to office hours, you stopped expecting anything else. 

Grabbing your phone, you slam the tip of your finger onto the little green circle and lift it to your ear. “Seriously, calling in the middle of the night is so messed up! I told you to take me off your list!”

“What list?”

Your eyes widen, and every scrap of half-asleep grumpiness falls away at the sound of his voice. “J-Jake?”

“Hey, beautiful…”

He sounds as tired as you are, but you can practically feel the smile on his face. You’re sure it’s a weak smile, all he can muster due to the exhaustion, but it’s there and it’s for you. 

Your vision blurs and you blink and fat droplets soak into his comforter. You rub your thumb over the damp circles. “I should slap you,” you say, your nose already becoming stuffy from your tears. 

“Oh, you should do much worse than that,” he replies. You lightly chuckle, so he lightly chuckles, then silence holds until he sighs. “I’m so sorry. I miss you so damn much.”

“So much you didn’t want to call before now? It's been a long time, Jake.”

“I did want to call,” he tells you. “And I could have—I should have—but I just…I freaked out a bit.”

“Why?”

Jake sighs again, and he must’ve pulled the phone away from his face because there’s a muttering so faint you can barely hear it. But then loudly and clearly, he says, “Because I fucked up, beautiful, and I’m embarrassed. You deserved better.”

Your mouth goes dry. 

Fucked up. Fucked. Up. 

Before you can stop yourself, you catch a glimpse of what the next few moments could turn your life into. 

Fucked up. Slept with someone. Sorry. Thought I loved you. Not your fault. You can stay at the apartment until I get back. 

Pain, and heartbreak, and tears fatter than the ones you’re currently shedding. Lost trust that will never be found for anyone else. No more confidence. No more self-love. No more vulnerability. 

Twelfth new place. 

But then he says, “That’s not how I should have told you I love you.”

One sentence. A snap of the fingers and every invading thought is shoved out of your head. You breathe. Shake your head. Swipe your fingers across your cheek to wipe away the first tear brought on by what you thought was about to break your heart. 

“It’s not how I wanted to do it,” he continues. “I was going to tell you so many times in the week before I left, but I didn’t know how you were going to react. Then I thought I’d say it at the dock, but Rooster was next to me and Millie was next to you, and no way in hell was I going to have them there the first time I said that to you.

“Before I knew it, we were on the ship and it hit me that I ran out of chances. But I couldn’t go without you knowing, so I didn’t think, I just did it,” he says. “I didn’t realize how fucking lame it was until the next day. I mean, Rooster told Millie on a damn ferris wheel, and Bob…” There's a pause. “Actually, I shouldn't tell you what Bob did for his girl; it shames us all.”

Finally, he takes a breath. “Anyway, after we were gone, whenever I wanted to call you I froze up because I had no idea what you would say and how you would feel. The thought of you being disappointed with me or with something I did–”

“Jake–”

“Especially something like this—it makes me–”

“Jake, I don't care that you told me over the phone,” you manage to slip in between his words. 

“Y-You don’t?”

“No, of course not,” you snicker, running the back of your hand under your nose to clear away any snot. “What I care about is that you didn't let me respond,” you tell him. “I care that the only way I've known you're safe has been through Millie.”

This time, Jake’s sigh sounds different; one more of relief than anything. Minutes of talking has anxiety lifting off of both of your shoulders by the pounds. Jake is okay, Jake is safe, Jake still loves you. You’re okay, you’re safe, you’re not so disappointed in him that you didn’t hang up the second you heard his voice. 

“Beautiful, if I could kick myself I would.”

“I’m sure you could ask one of the others to do it.”

“Anyone in particular you’d prefer to do the honors?”

You hum. “Javy never skips leg day. I’m sure he’s got a strong swing.”

Jake laughs loud enough for you to jerk your ear away from the speaker. “I’ll surprise him with the good news in the morning,” he says.

There’s a handful of things you could say in response. Cute things. Witty things. Sassy things, like requesting pictures of said kick in the ass as proof. But you don’t say those things. While you’d love to continue on the lighter path of conversation, you have more questions.

“Why didn’t you let me respond?” you ask. 

It’s amazing that you can’t see him yet you can feel his shift in attitude. As if in slow motion, you picture each phase of the bright smile disintegrating off his face.

Jake clears his throat. “You want the selfish or the less selfish reason first?”

“In that order is fine.”

“Ok. Selfishly, I didn’t want to hear you say you don’t love me,” he says. “But that wasn’t my first thought. My first thought was that I just needed you to know. I didn’t care if you loved me too, I cared that you knew you were loved. 

“It was after it was out of my mouth that I realized you might feel pressured to give me a response, which I also didn’t want for you. Then the selfish part came into play because what if you responded with anything other than that you love me too? Would it have made me stop loving you? No. But it would’ve hurt…badly.”

“You honestly think that I don’t?”

“I don’t know, beautiful.”

You can see his weak smile again, and you can picture how this conversation would go if he were in front of you rather than a thousand miles away. With that smile, he’d hold your hand and brush your hair behind your ear. He’d smooth your tears back into your cheeks with his thumb because he’d hate that they’re there before he pulls you into him to kiss you. 

“You’ve been through so much,” he says. “I don’t expect you to be in love with me, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn't hurt to hear you confirm it.”

You cry a little harder for the tears that shouldn’t be shedding; for the uncertainty he’s been feeling; for the questions you’ve been asking yourself over the last couple of months. All unnecessary. All of which could’ve been solved had he given you a chance to respond or called you at his first opportunity. 

You empathize with why he didn’t. Jake may be a man who doesn’t throw the ‘love’ word around often, but you’re a woman who has refused to throw it out at all. You protect yourself that way. You maintain some semblance of power by never speaking it aloud to someone who would not reciprocate. You understand what it means to tell someone you love them when you’ve lost those you love, and you’ve refused to do it for that purpose. It’s a risk of facing more loss.

But it’s a risk Jake took that would have instantly proved worth it. You only wish he could have known that at the time.

“Jake, I–”

“Please don’t,” he stops you. “I don’t want you to say anything until I get back. Either way, I mean. If you feel how I do, or, you know…if you don’t. I’d rather not know until I’m with you again.”

“You would rather wait months to know how I feel?”

“Well, that’s the thing, beautiful,” he says. “We might be coming home sooner than expected.”

---

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @rosiahills22 @oliviah-25 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @penguin876 @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @crowsreadsarahjmaas @mamachasesmayhem @sky2nd @jessicab1991 @rosedurin @averyhotchner @horseshoegirl @roosteraloha @b-bradshaw @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @tngrace @mamaskillerqueen @emma8895eb @benedictsvestcollection @blackwidownat2814 @himbos-on-ice @hookslove1592 @alwaysclassyeagle

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #top gun #jake hangman seresin fic #jake hangman seresin x y/n #top gun hangman #tgm #tgm fic #jake seresin x plus size!reader #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin fanfiction

[folklorebae]

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞

Cast(s)/Genre: Guardian!Fem!Reader & Guardian!Nanami Kento, Son!Itadori Yuuji/Fluff

Wc: 0.4k

A/n: My first jjk work omg. I hope it’s not weird to make Yuuji a toddler in this fic. I’ve seen too much fanarts:')

“Darling, you can't really enjoy the show if you focus on recording like that.”

“You're right,” You whisper, tearing your gaze away from your phone’s screen to look at your husband “you record it for me.”

You could hear his sigh before taking your phone from your hand. A smile forms on your pretty face for two reasons. One, because your non-biological son looks adorable, acting and singing in his firefighter costume. Two, because you just successfully annoyed your beloved husband. Who can you blame? He was the one who got down on one knee, essentially pleading with you to annoy him forever.

Sadly, in the blink of an eye, the show has come to an end. You find yourself and your husband standing outside the school’s auditorium, along with other parents and guardians.

You anxiously grip the sling of your bag, tiptoeing and looking around just in case Yuuji is looking for you too. Ten years of knowing each other, Nanami could easily read you like a magazine, it’s not hard for him to notice your uneasiness.

Slowly but surely, he brings his hand up to rub your back, hoping to give you all the comfort you need. “Nothing to worry, he’s five now.”

Your eyes widen at the sudden touch of affection. You try your best not to scream as golden warmth spreads through your chest and calms you down.

“I… I know. That’s why I’m worried, Ken. He’s only fi–”

“Papamin! Mamamin!” Yuuji’s euphoric voice echoes in your eardrums, gaining all of you and Nanami’s attention. It is easier for him now to move and run among the crowd, as he’s no longer dressed in his baggy firefighter costume.

“Yuuji!” You lower your upper body before picking the pink-haired boy up from the ground, your walls of apprehensiveness and uneasiness vanish when you could finally hold your pride and joy in your arms. “I’m so proud of you! You’re my talented baby!”

Yuuji beams at your compliment, a rose-tinted flush spreading all over his chubby cheeks. “Thank you, Mamamin! I will be a firefighter one day!”

Nanami's lips curl into a small smile, watching how your and Yuuji's eyes gleam as you both look at each other.

“You did great, Yuuji.” Nanami pats the boy's head, making him giggle. “Let’s go home.”

Your soft smile begins to look like a smirk. “Or… maybe we could get some ice cream first?”

In a second, Yuuji's brown eyes glistened with excitement. “Ice cream! Yes! Ice cream!”

Nanami couldn't help but let out a single breathless chuckle as he shakes his head. He places his calloused palm on the small of your back, guiding you to the parking lot.

“By the way, why haven't I seen Gojo? isn’t he–”

“Let’s not say his name.”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x female reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen drabbles #jujutsu kaisen fic #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk drabbles #jjk fic #jjk fluff #nanami x reader #nanami x fem!reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #nanami drabbles #nanami fluff

[cherries-jubileee]

loose laced and camera ready

pairing : choi seungcheol x stylist!reader

summary : trying to be professional while working with a long-distance partner can be difficult under the best conditions; the situation changes a little when your partner happens to be the choi seungcheol

cw : suggestive language/actions, idiots in love, long-distance relationships, reader is a stylist for marie claire magazine, reader and coups don't know how to act in public, jubilee has no idea how magazine photoshoots work cheers

wc : 2.2k

choi seungcheol was going to be the death of you.

the feelings you were trying to wrestle with were new as of that morning; you were absolutely over the moon when cheol told you that he was going to be shooting for marie claire at the studio you worked for, after not seeing him for months. going long-distance had been a decision you made mutually, between his hectic schedule and your hesitation at passing up a job opportunity so good despite it being in another country, but that didn’t mean you liked it. if anything, you despised being away from cheol; you hated that there was only a few hours within the day that you were both free to talk if you both had the time; hated that the time difference between you was still so disorienting after two and a half years; you especially hated it when he insisted on video-calling you despite being exhausted from work, forcing himself to stay awake for even just a few minutes to look at your face.

you’d always tell him right away to go to bed, and he’d always give you that sappy, tired smile, before eventually caving with no real fuss. honestly, if it wasn’t for cheol insisting you take the job, you probably would have refused just to avoid the stress of an overseas relationship.

and yet, here he is now, not fifteen feet away, standing there in an outfit you styled for him, practically glowing because for once – for once, maybe the only time ever – the makeup artist did him up right, and you’re standing there like a fool, staring. the corset fits him so well, sits snug against the outline of his body – when was the last time you’d seen him from the shoulders down? three months? four? even before that, maybe, when they were still in the beginning stages of preparing for their comeback?

do you think he’d sign your album if you brought it to him? you picked it up from the post office earlier that morning – it doesn't matter that he’d sent it already signed, right?

fuck. breathe. 

you’re trying, really – and yet, breathing is easier said than done, however, when seungcheol finally glances your way, away from the crowd of hairstylists and coordinators surrounding him and fidgeting with his clothes, and offers you a warm, giddy smile that says i love you, i miss you in every language you know. your heart does something in your chest that you aren’t quite sure is healthy, and you press your lips together, trying very hard not to giggle and blush like a high schooler with a crush.

it seems like an impossible feat to approach him, and you wonder briefly if even being in the same room as him meant everyone knew about your relationship, but at the end of the day, you were the main stylist for this photoshoot – it was your job to make sure he looked good. you always tried to be so meticulous at your job, and you’d never before shied away from getting a little personal with other models; realistically, it shouldn’t be any different now. all of your assistants had already finished fiddling with his outfit, there was only you left to give the all clear for the shoot to continue.

there’s only a few moments when there’s some semblance of silence as you cross the floor to stand in front of him, reaching up to adjust the knot of his tie. without you having to say a word, seungcheol tilts his chin up ever so slightly, exposing the column of his throat so you can fix the placement of his collar – you question your own faith in your resolve for the nth time in the same hour, but fumbling in front of cheol would be infinitely more embarrassing than anything else in the universe. you have to pull through, if only for your own dignity.

it fits so snug against his neck, your fingers brushing against the warm, smooth expanse of skin with every miniscule movement. though you try your best not to stare too hard at him – try being the operative term – you can’t help the way your eyes zero in on his throat, watching the way his adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. you can feel his heart beating furiously as your thumb rests against his carotid artery; cheol looks as if he’s trying not to breathe too deeply, and you’re sure you aren’t doing much better than him. still, it’s nice to know he’s just as nervous as you are, if not more.

it isn’t long before you’re satisfied with the look of his collar, though you continue to fuss over it just to draw out this interaction together. “i’m going to adjust the placement of the corset next,” you say, just as much for your sake as it is for his. maybe you aren’t mentally prepared to be placing your hands on him in such an intimate way – least of all in public – a fact that still doesn’t stop you when seungcheol nods infinitesimally in your direction, and it’s such a small motion that you almost don’t register it in your mind.

your hands tremble a little bit, two fingers on both hands tucked between the soft, white button-up and the dense fabric of the corset. his chest expands faintly beneath your fingers – now you’re sure he’s holding his breath. calming your nerves is at the forefront of your mind, and even though you’re sure it’s not going to work, you still tell yourself ‘you’re just the stylist that’s clocked in for this shoot, it’s not like he’s your boyfriend or anything.’

the last part has you fighting for your life to suppress a panicked smile. you really aren’t prepared to be doing this, at all.

what do they always say about relationships? absence makes the heart grow fonder?

“how’s the fit?” you manage to ask, voice soft, too afraid of drawing attention to the two of you to chance anything above a whisper, “it’s not too tight, is it?” asking such a question is inconsequential at best, because you already know the answer; you were the one to tailor all the outfits, after all, and you would have bet the house if it were ever up for debate that you somehow managed to get seungcheol’s measurements wrong – especially when he was your mannequin for the two years you were dating him while you were still in design school.

it’s still a relief to see that miniscule shake of his head, to hear the thoughtful hum that comes with it. “it’s perfect,” he murmurs, and you wonder if it would be too weird if you had to take a lap around the studio before finishing up. you’re suddenly very aware – and very thankful – of the fact that nobody else is touching cheol now; you don’t exactly want anyone else putting their hands on him when he looks good enough to devour. you don’t want to be labeled as the jealous girlfriend – your relationship isn’t even public – but you can’t help but think that you’d try to throw someone out of a window if they got cozy with him right now.

this contact alone isn’t enough for you. you wish you could drag him back to his dressing room, lock the door or have cheol shove you up against it and have you in a way you could never confess in church. it’s been so long since you’ve seen him in person, and you think he’s been going to the gym more since then; you’d like to test that theory, if you could. and yet you still have to wonder if your job would be worth twenty minutes of bliss, because it’s too much to ask for half an hour instead.

as much as you’d like to stay standing like this forever, trading knowing glances with cheol and studying the more subtle details of his person with your hands alone. you want to tell him everything that’s happened since the last time you two had the chance to speak – you especially want to tell the story of how you almost got on your hands and knees and begged your boss to give you this shift, nearly fought off half of your department for it. except you know that this entire photoshoot is still on a time limit, and you’d like to not be known as a stylist who can’t keep their hands to themselves.

so you let go, as herculean as that feat is, and pat your hands awkwardly on your shirt.

“just let me know if you have any trouble with the corset,” you tell him, eyeing the black fabric warily, “if it’s too tight, i can rebutton it right now.”

cheol smiles. there are butterflies battering against your ribcage. “it’s perfect,” he says again, “you did a good job. thank you.”

if you weren’t flustered before, you’re sure you look seconds away from hysterical now.

“i swear, i’m never working with you ever again.”

“oh, come on! i was just as nervous as you were!”

you sip the beer clenched in your hand, fixing cheol with a moody stare over the grill between you. in exchange, you receive a very familiar pout and a set of glossy, pleading eyes that make you unsure of why you were ever upset – fake irritation or not – in the first place.

truthfully, you hadn’t been expecting more time with cheol after the photoshoot. you knew he had a busy schedule, that he would probably have to fly back to korea immediately after, and you had accepted that and tried to make the most of what little time and privacy you had with him. even just seeing him did wonders for you and your waning morale.

so having him show up at your door just as the sun began to set, clad in a comfortable set of clothes and a conspicuous blaze-orange beanie, claiming that he was taking you to dinner, was almost more than your poor heart could take.

“i know,” you grumble, watching him tend to the grill, resting your head on your hand, “i’m just embarrassed. i swear i thought i was going to have a stroke.”

“you were blushing that hard just from seeing me?” you don’t have to look up to see cheol’s teasing grin reflected on your eyelids, “aww, princess, you could have told me you missed me that much. i would have bought you a plane ticket. you could have come home for a few days.”

it’s your turn to pout now – though it doesn’t have the same immediate effect that cheol’s does. “neither of us has enough time for that,” you mumble, watching as your boyfriend starts piling thin cuts of beef onto a plate, reaching over the grill to pass it to you. this restaurant is one of your favorites in the city, but the wait-list is long and just paying for one person costs more than you can afford on your current salary. you never go – not without good reason, which comes few and far between.

cheol knows this, you know he does. it’s the whole reason he brought you here specifically, when there are a dozen restaurants closer to your apartment than this one. you’ll have to think of some way to thank him for this.

“i would have made time,” he tells you, “i can always make time. the universe doesn’t revolve around when the next album is coming out.” and he sounds so sure of that statement that you can’t find it in yourself to refute him.

maybe because you know it’s true – very little will stop seungcheol when he’s set his mind to it.

so instead of arguing, you say, “i know,” and busy your hands with sauces and side dishes. “i know but, you know, it’s not much longer until my contract ends.”

cheol nods, ever understanding.

“and six months really isn’t a long time when you think about it. i mean, it’s half a year, which sounds like a long time, but after that it’ll be over, and i’ll be on the first flight back home.”

“and then you’ll be working with us. now that i’m thinking about it, chan has been asking when his ‘stylist noona’ is going to be coming back.”

a smile spreads across your lips. “i miss them too. i miss you, mostly. i don’t know how i did this while i was in university. living alone in a foreign country is…it’s not pleasant.”

cheol reaches over the grill for him, and you meet him halfway, as he clasps your hand gently in his. there’s a twinge in your stomach when you don’t instantly recognise the planes of his palm with your fingers; there are calluses there that you don’t remember, and it pains you sincerely that you don’t yet have enough time to memorize them again.

“six months,” he repeats back, leveling you with a familiar, loving smile, “that’s it. we can do six more months.”

you think, while your fingers trace delicately over his nails and your anxieties melt into the floor, that you believe him.

#jubilee.txt #seventeen #svt #scoups #choi seungcheol #choi seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #remember that marie claire photoshoot scoups did #blonde corset scoups moment #literally have not stopped thinking about it since then #say the name seventeen

[cacoetheswriting]

pearl: may / june 1984

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: 2.7k summary: eddie comes to terms with his feelings, pushing you away in the process.

content warnings: best friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, suggestive & mature themes, adult language, use of pet names, oblivious idiots in love, emotional hurt / comfort, self-doubt / insecurities, mentions of recreational drug use, physical violence / blood / description of injuries (eddie gets into a fight) - if i missed anything, pls let me know!

& psa: images used in the header don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also described vaguely, if at all, in the story.

pearl masterlist

“Are you decent? I’ve got something very important to discuss with you,” you call through Eddie’s bedroom door, hoping he can sense the urgency in your voice, then wait patiently for him to let you in. 

There’s shuffling inside, slight thuds and clattering of random objects, followed by Eddie cursing. A smirk escapes your lips as you picture him, hair wild, scrambling through his mess of a bedroom. When he eventually opens the door, he leans against the frame quite breathless.

“Hey, princess.”

“What the hell were you doing in here?” You ask with a raised brow and squeeze past him, ignoring the nickname he swore he’d never use again.

The metalhead nervously clears his throat, running a hand through his already messy curls. He closes the door slowly as your eyes dart across the space, landing on a stack of what you can only deduct to be pornographic magazines hastily hidden under his Hellfire t-shirt. Oh, you swallow your breath.

Hovering over the edge of his bed, not really wanting to sit as the realisation for his awkward behaviour dawns on you, you glance in your best friend's direction. It’s not like you’ve never talked about sex and stuff together, Eddie was your best friend after all and no topic was off the table. But the thought of you interrupting him mid… act, was frankly a little unsettling. Especially since lately, your stupid mind has been running wild when it came to Eddie. It felt a little pervy. And now you are doing your best to stop the not-so-speculatory image of what he was doing here just seconds ago from formulating in your brain.

The boy turns on his heel, facing you, and plasters a smile on his face, also trying to act as nonchalant as possible. 

“So, what brings you to my humble abode?” Eddie wonders, “What did you want to discuss with me?”

“Graduation,” you say simply, because a) there’s no point in beating around the bush any longer, and b) it seems much easier than having an awkward conversation around Eddie masturbating before you interfered.

Your best friend sighs and walks towards his desk, slumping down in the chair with a dramatic huff. There is a rather unsettling moment of silence during which Eddie reaches for a box with his stash and begins to roll a joint as you observe him closely.

“The actual thing is next Saturday afternoon, which you already know,” you eventually continue, fidgeting with the edge of your skirt, “And my parents want you and Wayne to come to dinner after. We’re just doing it at the house, it’s not going to be anything big so no need to fret.”

He stays silent, focused on what he’s doing.

You exhale softly.

“Then our summer of fun begins. You remember that silly bucket list we made when we first got high together? I’m thinking it could be fun to cross some things off of it before… you know…”

“Before you leave,” he finishes your sentence while looking up at you, a sad expression circling his features.

“Right,” you concur, “And that’s actually why I’m here.”

“Yeah?” Eddie’s tense. He’s trying his best to hide it, but you can tell he’s on edge. Probably trying to anticipate what the next words to come out of your mouth will be. 

“Yeah. I wanted to ask if you’d be up for helping me move. We can have a little road trip, doesn’t that sound like fun?” The sound of your voice is hopeful. His response isn’t quite what you had expected though.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, princess.”

“Why?” You probe, stringing your brows together.

Eddie exhales.

He usually doesn’t think before he speaks, but this time it seems important that he does. He’s sure he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings with the way he phrases his explanation ‘cause that would be even worse than saying no to you.

And while he’s thinking, you’re borderline bouncing in your spot with anticipation.

“Because saying goodbye to you is going to be hard enough,” Eddie finally admits, “I don’t think I can handle leaving you in the place you’re going to call home for the next four years and then drive back to Hawkins all by myself.” 

Your face falls. He’s quick to notice your reaction because he drops the half-finished joint and pushes the chair in your direction. He stands and rests his hands on your shoulders, but dips his head slightly so that the two of you would be at the same eye level.

“Look, I know it’s selfish of me—”

“No, no,” you interrupt, hands reaching for where he’s holding you, “I get it. Don’t worry about it.”

You're disappointed. He’s upset. Totally not how you saw this conversation going. 

The last couple of weeks have been hard enough as the two of you navigated around the topic of your impending departure and you were foolish enough to think him being the one to see you last, help you get settled and maybe even stay with you a couple of days, would be a good idea. A way of making things a little more normal.

Eddie gently grabs your chin, essentially forcing you to meet his pretty perfect chocolate gaze. And you're desperately trying not to show how much all of this is affecting you. Honestly, you're just trying not to cry, hating the effect his doe-eyes have on you, but the metalhead makes it just that little bit tougher when he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours and sighing softly.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, his breath hitting against your skin, “You deserve better.”

You shake your head against him and brush some of the loose brown curls behind his ear before placing the palm of your hand against his cheek. Eddie leans into your touch instinctively, feeling better if only for a split-second. He continues to stare at you, waiting for you to say whatever it is that got you to shake your head, but you stay silent. 

For the longest time, you simply look at him like you want to say something, anything to make both of you feel better, but you can’t seem to find the right words. He’s none the wiser either. The only thing that springs to mind is a sentence that is bound to make the situation worse: “Don’t leave me, princess.”.

And then you know. A timid smile circling your lips as you pull away slightly, reaching for his hands ‘cause that’s exactly how friends behave, right?

“Through all kinds of weather, through everything we done,” your voice is a mere whisper and for a split-second, you're not even sure Eddie hears you.

Then he huffs out a laugh. He knows exactly what you're quoting.

“Are you trying to say I’m your Bobby McGee?”

“Perhaps.”

The metalhead chuckles. His arm makes way around your neck and he pulls you into a warm embrace. You instantly bury your face in his dark locks, inhaling the smell of his cheap shampoo. And for a moment, all is good in the world. Until Eddie does something unexpected. He places a quick yet tender kiss onto your shoulder and the feeling of his lips on your skin sends a shiver down your spine. 

Unexpectedly, a large part of you is hoping he’d do that again, perhaps do something more, but you bite the inside of your cheek, forcing the thoughts to dissipate ‘cause this wasn’t the time or place to explore the sudden tingle you felt as his lips brushed against your skin.

Although, as always, Eddie makes things difficult.

“You know the lyrics insinuate the protagonists of the song were lovers,” he teases while pulling away from your hug. He reaches for the joint he was working on moments before and continues, “Do you think of me as your lover, princess? Can’t say I wasn’t expecting this turn of events and I also can't say I’m not flattered.”

You roll your eyes, giggling. 

“The nudie magazines aren’t doin’ it for you anymore, hot shot?”

His gaze follows yours to the stack you noticed earlier and his face flushes red as you continue to laugh light-heartedly.

“Well, nothing beats human contact, princess.” Eddie tries to brush off your comment while also taking control of the conversation and extends his arm into your field of vision. “Lick this for me, why don’t ya.”

You oblige him although hesitantly. Partially because you're a little intimidated by the way he’s looking at you now, an inkling in his eyes that you haven’t seen before — the pretty brown now darker around the edges. However, mainly because recently there’s something about him asking to lick down the paper of a joint you're going to share together that makes your stomach flutter and you’re certain that’s not a good sign.

And every time you do this, you can feel Eddie watching your every move. Watching as your tongue slides along the thin card, fingers brushing against his and zapping him with such intensity he swears he could survive being electrocuted, (if that ever happened). Totally platonic behaviour.

But it’s not though. He knows that, even if unfortunately you’re currently none the wiser. And Eddie feels wrong for manipulating situations, making them end up in his favour. He just can’t help himself because at the end of the day, it’s easier than admitting how his feelings towards you have changed over the last number of weeks.

He once again thinks you deserve better, though this time, already knowing the outcome, he doesn’t say the words out loud. Instead, as you pull back and sit on the edge of his bed, eyes never leaving him for a second, he offers you a smile.

“I hope you know I’ll always be your Bobby,” Eddie says while delicately rolling over the thin paper, “Even if you make other friends in college and forget all about me, I’ll always be your Bobby.”

He means it. You can tell.

“I could never forget about you, Eds.”

You mean it. He can tell.

-

Unfortunately, at some point in time between that one afternoon in May and the graduation which he only got to attend as a guest, Eddie started to spiral. Even worse, he began to neglect his friendship with you, mere days after promising he was always going to be there for you.

And at some point in time between him rejecting your road trip offer and the graduation dinner he dipped from early, without saying goodbye, you stopped trying to figure out why. 

Not like Eddie could blame you. He was acting pretty lousy for someone that was supposed to be your best friend. Which, if he was being honest with himself, that was precisely the issue. Between the end of May and beginning of June, Eddie realised he perhaps didn’t want to be that anymore. Perhaps, he wanted more. He just knew he couldn’t have more. For one, saying anything to you now would be seriously bad timing and also have potentially terrible consequences. So instead, he distanced himself like a jackass. 

Days without contact. The longest of his life. And Eddie thought the pattern of avoidance would continue for the remainder of the summer. That was until he overheard some lousy jock talking about a date he went on with the girl of his dreams, jealousy ignited itself inside him and he couldn’t just stand on the sidelines anymore.

Normally, Eddie wasn’t one for physical confrontation with Hawkins’ most popular, but the dude was being all sorts of crude and misogynistic. Talking about how dope you looked in the mini skirt you apparently wore, and how he really just wanted to take you down to Lovers Lake and— Well, the rest doesn’t really matter. The guy didn’t get to utter the words anyway because Eddie's fist collided with his face in a flash. 

3 against 1. An unfair fight, if you asked for the metalhead’s opinion.

There was swelling above Eddie's right eye and his nose was most likely broken. Clothes ripped and torn in various places, knuckles bruised. His side hurt, as did his abdomen. Blood was slowly dripping down his face. In short, he was a gory mess.

“Hey,” Eddie manages to mumble as you open your front door. 

A gasp escapes your lips, undoubtedly at the sight before you, but also ‘cause the metalhead stumbles forwards, falling into your arms and you barely manage to support his body weight.

One arm made its way around the curly-haired teen and he winced in pain. You guide him to the couch and help him sit before disappearing without a single word. While you're gone, Eddie slowly takes off his vest and jacket, throwing them to the side while doing his best to contain the groans that formed at the back of his throat.

Within a few minutes, you're back by his side with a first aid kit. You remain silent, avoiding his wandering gaze. Instead, with a rather shaky hand, you proceed to wipe his face and Eddie's eyeing you from under his locks, heart hammering inside his chest since this is the first time you have seen each other in over a week and it’s clearly not under the best of circumstances.

The bleeding had slowed to barely a trickle. You disregard the cloth and finally meet his gaze.

“What the hell happened, Eddie?”

He sighs but can’t seem to come up with a coherent answer. When after a moment he doesn't say anything, you grab the distilled water. 

“This is going to sting,” you warn and begin to gently dab around his eye. Eddie could feel the swelling had only gotten worse and judging by the concerned look on your face, he knew it was an inevitable black eye. Not to mention his nose and the other parts of his body that throbbed in pain.

“I should probably take you to the hospital.”

Chewing down on your bottom lip, you lightly brush the loose strands of his hair away from his face, the pieces which aren't stuck to his skin due to the blood anyway. Eddie doesn't really think, just grabs your hands and kisses your fingers.

“I’m sorry, princess.”

“Don’t be sorry. Tell me what happened.”

“I’m not proud of it.” 

You exhale, freeing yourself from his grasp, and Eddie's frozen in place, instantly missing the feeling of your soft skin against his lips. He swears they’re on fire, not from being battered and bruised, but from the delicate sensation that were the kisses he just placed along your joints.

“Did I do something wrong?”

That’s when he’s forced to discard his current thoughts, eyes jolting from the ground to meet yours once again. You stand, flattening your top before nervously crossing and uncrossing your arms, waiting for him to answer and hoping he wasn’t going to break your heart — which was already aching from his lack of contact over the last week.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve just been so distant, not acting like yourself, and the only rational explanation is that I did something to upset you.”

Eddie's on his feet in a flash. He rests the palms of his hands on your shoulders and dip his head, forcing you to continue holding his gaze.

“This is all on me, princess. I’ve just had a lot on my mind and I don’t really know how to talk to you about it so I—. Look, those assholes today were asking for it. That’s all.”

He half expects you to say something along the lines of: “But we talk about everything.”. You don't and he's grateful, not ready to tell you how he’s been feeling about you. Instead, you reach out to hold his face then force a weak smile.

“Blood looks good on you,” you tease to lighten the mood and Eddie's heart does a somersault. “Just do me a favour and don’t get into any more fights this summer, okay? I don’t want to spend my last few weeks with you constantly visiting the E.R.”

He chuckles. “Promise, princess.”

“Good,” you say and drop your hold on him. “Now let me grab your jacket and let’s go to the hospital. I definitely think your nose is broken and judging by the way you winced earlier, we should also ask the doctors to check if your ribs are intact.”

“At least we can listen to Pearl in the car.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you sigh, rolling your eyes at him, though unable to conceal a smile.

Eddie’s grinning now. “But you love me.”

pearl masterlist

& tagging some cool people that expressed interest in a part two / this lil series: @cactusangie , @spenciesprincess , @capitanostella

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female character #eddie munson x reader #bestfriend!eddie #bestfriend!eddie x reader #pearl (eddies version) #eddie munson story

[givemea-dam-break]

ephemeral - chapter two

a/n: part 2 of my 'ephemeral' series for anthony lockwood!

warnings: language gn reader

full collection: here

You really shouldn't do this.

Every fibre of your being is screaming at you to stop, to turn round and walk away, to keep on walking until you reach the furthest place away from Anthony Lockwood that you can get, but you don't.

Instead, you knock on his front door and wait.

Lucy Carlyle, the Listener, and once your best friend, is the one to open the door. She grins when she sees you and it ignites a feeling of warmth in your chest. Sure, you've got friends, but none so close as Lucy once was. It feels good to see her again.

She ushers you into the all-too-familiar house. Masks from all sorts of countries still hang on the walls alongside ornate tapestries and other pieces of memorabilia. The hall is bright, and the scent of strong tea hangs in the air. A small clock ticks on the wall, one you bought, and, next to a bench where Lockwood usually sits to shove his shoes on when he's in a rush is the umbrella stand that holds all of the rapiers. There are a few new, fancy-looking ones which look extremely out of place next to the simple ones usually used, especially in comparison to the rest of the house and its vintage theme.

Just like you remember it.

Lockwood and George are sitting in the living room already, discussing some of the notes scribbled in George's notebook, but stop short when they see you. George nods in acknowledgement, and a small, distracted smile is sent your way before he begins to consult his notes again. Lockwood, on the other hand, looks shocked, but he masks the expression well with a grin.

"(name)," he says. "I was thinking you wouldn't show."

You shrug, gesturing to your work clothes. "I only just finished my shift. We shut later during summer."

"Either way, you're here now. Let's discuss this case."

The four of you sit in the mismatched sofas and armchairs, and you can almost believe the past eight months never happened. No, you were never fired, you never fought with Lockwood. You've been here, taking on case after case, playing board games with Lucy in your free time or lounging in the library with Lockwood, enjoying his company. Everything in the room remains unchanged, which makes it easier to believe that you never left, but there's an uncomfortable coil in your gut reminding you. You can still hear the argument in your head.

"So, like I told you, (name), there are some documents we need that are stashed in the archives at the Rotwell building. You know the layout from when you worked there, and you're able to get the codes for the lifts and doors if I remember correctly."

You nod. "I remember a few, but they've most likely changed. I'll be able to get them from the system. But, can I ask, why do you need these documents so badly?"

George leans forward, eyes sparkling. "We had a client come in yesterday - very high-profile, but she wants us to keep this case on the down-low. Do you know who Yvette Jeffries is?"

"Of course I do," you say. "She's that opera singer, right? The one that Lockwood practically drooled over in that one magazine."

"I did not drool over her -"

"Actually," Lucy interrupts, "you did. Said you hated opera, but you'd go to a show to see her. We all remember."

"Anyways," George says, cutting Lockwood off before he can come up with some excuse, "she has a mansion just out of London that she's been having some trouble with. She means to hold a party there in two days, but some of her maids have reported things. Chills, a growing sense of fear, the feeling of being hunted down. Typical clues of a haunting."

"What's the catch?"

"All documents regarding the mansion are being held by Rotwell." George pushes his glasses up his nose. "One of his teams attempted a case there a decade or so ago - possibly the same haunting - and thought they'd completed it, but one of their agents was killed from ghost touch at the end of the night. Then, another was driven mad. Only two, including the supervisor, some guy named Elliot Jamieson, escaped with their minds intact, and they were ordered to keep quiet about the case. The deaths were recorded but marked under an entirely different case. The mansion was never filled into their case log.

"Ms Jeffires bought the mansion under the impression it was ghost-free," he continues. "She organised this party and then was informed about the ghosts. It took a lot of digging for me to find this info."

You frown. "So why doesn't she just cancel?"

"A lot of wealthy, upper-class people are going to be there," Lockwood says. "She apparently can't risk letting them down, lest her career be ruined or something. Problem is, we can get the documents regarding the case tonight if we move quickly enough, but that gives us one night to get rid of these ghosts."

"I suppose you want me to come along to help with that, too?"

"If you wouldn't mind. We need as many helping hands as we can get with this case, and I'm sure as hell not asking Kipps and his team for help."

Thinking on it for a second, you pluck a biscuit from the coffee table before leaning back into the armchair you've occupied. It's so comfy you could sleep, especially after having such a long day.

"I'll call Arif tomorrow, let him know I can't go in for work. But, as far as getting into the Rotwell building, I'm stumped. I hope you guys have a plan."

--

Lockwood has a plan, alright. A completely insane one, but a plan nonetheless.

"You're sure about this?" you ask, staring up at the tall row of windows.

"Not really," Lockwood says.

You want to turn around and strangle him, but you take a deep breath. "That open window up there is my old supervisor's office. She always keeps it open - something about the room being too stuffy when she arrives in the morning - but it makes for a good entrance. Once we're in, I can use her computer to get some codes, but that's Plan B. In one of her drawers, she has a spare access card. As a supervisor, she's got access to the archives."

"I knew getting your help was a good idea."

"Don't pat yourself on the back just yet. The archives are three floors up from the office, which means we've got a long corridor to go down to get to the lifts, then up three floors without anyone joining us, and then get into the archives, where there will be some staff still cleaning up. All of that has to be done without being seen."

Lockwood grins. "Which is why you've only brought me along."

"Truthfully, I would've rather had Lucy, or even George, but you'll do. Now, give me a leg up. I'm not tall enough to reach that drainpipe."

After a lot of shimmying up the drainpipe, which was Lockwood's master plan, and accidentally kicking him in the face a few times - okay, maybe it wasn't accidental - you reach the open window. You cling to the windowsill, feet perched on the thin lip above the window just below, heart pounding. You're high up enough now that if you fall, it'll mean a broken neck and probably an early grave, but you try not to think about that.

With a slightly shaky hand, you gently pry the window open further until it's wide enough for you to pull yourself through. Soon enough, you're standing in the carpeted office, watching Lockwood struggle to pull himself in.

"Can't you open the window any further?"

"Probably," you say with a shrug. You don't move.

When he's in, brushing some dirt from his dark hoodie, a change from his usual attire, you turn to the modest desk in the centre of the room. It's made of oak and cluttered to the high heavens, but that's how your supervisor liked her things.

"Look in those drawers," you order Lockwood. "I'm going to look on the computer for the codes, just in case access gets denied."

And you do so. Thankfully, in the three years since you left, your supervisor's passwords never changed, so it's easy enough to log into the system. There's an email from a few weeks ago, informing higher-ups of the new access codes for around the building. You write the important ones down on your hand.

"Got it," Lockwood says, holding up the spare access card. "You never told me your supervisor was Hanna Reid."

"Never came up in conversation." You log out of the computer and go to the door, peering out of the glass and into the dark hall. "I can't hear or see anyone coming. Let's go."

You sneak out into the hallway, clinging to the wall as you quietly creep through. Lockwood is just behind and, though you wouldn't be able to see him if you turned around, you can feel his presence as acutely as if he were holding your hand or breathing down your neck.

"This feels like old times," Lockwood whispers, closer than you thought he'd be.

"We've stolen from an agency once," you whisper back. "Nothing about this feels like old times."

"Oh, tomato, tomato. It feels good to be back on a case together."

"Well, you're the reason why I haven't been on them for the past few months. Only yourself to blame."

He doesn't reply, and though you want to feel good about it, you almost regret saying it.

"Here's the lift," you say as you enter a slightly brighter part of the hallway.

The controls are lit up, meaning they're still being powered, and you breathe a sigh of relief. You don't have to climb a million stairs. Swiping the card in the panel, you stay on guard, glancing back down the hall and along the intersecting ones, keeping your ears open for any sounds. Lockwood does the same.

In the dim light, he almost looks like a ghost. His cheekbones look more hollow, and his pale face glows hauntingly, but there's something about it that freezes your gaze in place.

You jump when his eyes catch yours. "Lift's here."

Hurrying inside, you press the number of the floor where the archives are and keep your mouth shut, keeping to the corner of the lift. Lockwood's smile is a little too cocky.

"So, tell me, why'd you decide to work at Arif's?"

"Now's not the time for that conversation."

"We'll be in here for a little bit. If I remember correctly, you said the lifts here are awfully slow. So, go on."

You groan. "I like baking. My grandma and I used to bake together when I was little, so it felt right being at Arif's. In fact, he'd offered me a job a few weeks before you fired me, and the space was still free when you did, so I took it. It helped me forget."

"Forget?"

Cursing the slowly changing numbers, you tuck yourself further into the corner and cross your arms.

"You, mostly. I was - and am - so mad at you that sometimes it helped me to imagine that bread dough was your face when I punched it."

"I hope you're joking." Your silence has him shifting his weight from foot to foot. "You're joking, right?"

"Baking reminds me of my family, well, the family that didn't willingly abandon me, so it was only really good memories I ever thought of. Plus, Arif was there for me when I needed him and found me a place to stay until I was able to get on my feet."

That's when the lift dings, and the doors open. Before Lockwood can say anything, you step out into the dimly lit room, eyeing the rows of bookshelves and tables carefully. By the sounds of it, the few people in the archives are on the other side, so you'll have free reign down this end.

"Be quiet," you murmur, "and find the documents quickly. We'll split up."

"No, we stay together."

You give him a sharp look. "We split up. If we're not done in twenty minutes, we meet up in that corner over there, all right? We can't afford to get caught. Steve Rotwell is not a man you want to get on the bad side of."

Then you're off, quietly sneaking down the rows of bookshelves until you reach a section that might hold the documents you need.

As you look, you're completely conscious of the Rotwell-approved scholars roaming the place like ghosts, making sure each book or magazine or article is exactly where it needs to be, down to the code on the spines. When one passes nearby, you flatten yourself against the dark shelves, covering your mouth and nose to quiet your breathing. The scholars may be sore and hunching from their hours upon hours of research, but many of them are also ex-agents with the capability of holding a fight and running to set off the alarms.

You can never be too careful.

You're also sure to stay aware of the time, glancing down at your watch at random intervals.

When you've only five minutes left until your rendezvous with Lockwood, you finally find something. It's a thick manilla folder, marked only with a date and two initials - ninth of October a decade and a half ago, and E. J. If what George told you earlier was right, the supervisor of the team was named Elliot Jamieson, and this date roughly matches.

Risking a glance around, you pull the folder from the shelf, opening it to take a peek at the contents: an image of a large mansion, surrounded by elm trees, a standard supervisor's report, among many other things.

This is it.

"Hey! What are you doing? This area is off limits."

You look down the row of shelves, finding a middle-aged man standing at the bottom. He looks pretty unassuming in his beige sweater vest and brown dress pants, and his red hair is thinning, but you know better than to underestimate any of the people in this room.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," you say. "My supervisor wanted me to collect some last-minute information on a case we have coming up. Look, I have her card -"

Shit. You pat your pockets only to remember that Lockwood has the card.

The man takes a step forward, and you spin on your heel, darting into the labyrinth of shelves.

"Stop!"

Unfortunately for the man, you don't stop. You keep running as fast as you can risk with these twisting and turning rows, clutching the folder to your chest. Instead of heading for the lift, you run in the opposite direction, turning this way and that to try and lose the scholar, but he's constantly on your heels.

You pray you'll find Lockwood soon. Until you do, you can't leave, no matter how much you'd like to.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Lockwood appears in the midst of a few shelves, looking mildly surprised to find you sprinting straight for him.

"(name) -"

Grabbing his wrist, you drag him through the rows in the direction of the exit as more voices begin to shout. Soon enough, an alarm starts blaring, and red lights flood the large room.

"What did you do?" Lockwood asks, sprinting alongside you.

"Got spotted," you reply, breaths becoming painful. "You had my prop."

Footsteps pound behind you as you reach the exit.

"Not enough time to wait for the lift," Lockwood says. "We'll have to take the stairs."

And so you do. You have to admit, running down the stairs isn't as bad as it would've been going up, but it's still not as preferable as the lift. Each step is jarring.

"Tell me you at least got what we needed."

You shift the folder in your grasp, saving your words and instead using the time to try and regulate your breathing. It's hard when you're trying to make an escape.

"Don't let them escape!" a voice shouts. This one's female.

"We can't go back out the way we came," you say. "But there are some back corridors we can use. They'll take us out onto the other side of the building."

"Lead the way."

The two of you burst through the doors into the second floor, sprinting down the dark corridor. The alarms haven't spread this far yet. When you reach a pair of double doors, sealed and accessible only by a code, Lockwood stands with his back to them, grasping his rapier tightly as you figure out which code to use.

"Can I suggest that you speed things up a bit?"

"I'm trying!"

"Yes, well, it's just because I can see five people right down the hall. For old people, they're fast runners."

"Don't let them see your face. Rotwell will destroy you if he figures out you've been here. There! I've got it."

You push the doors open just enough for you both to slip through before slamming them shut again and sticking your rapier in the code pad on this side. It sparks and pops, but the door won't work now.

"Good idea."

And then you're both running again.

Banging sounds on the doors and, although your pursuers can't get through them, they aren't the only way to get into this corridor.

You've been in this hall once before, running an errand for your supervisor. In the daytime, it's filled with high-ranking staff carrying out experiments that Steve Rotwell wants to profit from - salt guns to replace salt bombs, lavender-infused uniforms. But now it's quiet, void of any human presence beyond yours and Lockwood's. It's uncomfortably eerie.

"Not far now," you manage. Your side is tearing itself apart with the pain of a stitch.

"I'd hope not."

Just as you near the end, doors slam open, and half a dozen people pour in, all middle-aged and dressed like the English teachers you'd see in old movies, but they're fast. They don't want anything leaving the archives.

Once again, Lockwood stands with his back to the door, this time a single one, as you hurriedly type in a code. When the door swings open, you can barely drag him through and shut the door quickly enough to stop the pursuit. Once more, you drive your rapier into the pad, this time feeling a little shock up your fingers.

"Come on," you say. "There's a night cab station not far."

As you run now, slower than before, you find yourself almost laughing. Something about the chase was exhilarating. Whether it was the excitement and risk of it all or the fact you're back in the game again or even because it was Lockwood beside you as you ran, you're not sure. But you smile nonetheless.

Lockwood does, too, and his grin retains all the way back to 35 Portland Row. The familiarity of it is comforting despite your stance with Lockwood.

"Well," he says as he opens the front door, "that was an exciting evening."

<- part 1 part 3 ->

#anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george karim #x reader #fanfiction #givemea-dam-break

[randoimago]

Hi! I saw some of your imagines in the Mitsuru tag and I quite like them, they're very enjoyable reads :D

If you're still taking requests rn, could I get some headcanons for Mitsuru Kirijo with an S/O who joins SEES (probably like, relatively early on, you can start at whatever exact point you think would work best tho) and they fall in love and start dating over the course of working and fighting together? (If requests are closed feel free to ignore this, that'd be my bad lol)

Tysm, I'd rly appreciate it! (Also ngl this is my first time asking for an imagine so pls lmk if I need to elaborate on anything or smth!)

Fandom: Persona 3

Character(s): Mitsuru

Note(s): You did good! I hope you enjoy what I wrote!!

Mitsuru

Things do feel a lot easier with four of you in SEES. She also likes how close you and her are as friends. It's obvious Akihiko and Shinjiro are close friends but sometimes she feels left out from them so she's happy to have you.

Mitsuru has sat with you and talked late in the night about different strategies to use your powers. She's also been the one to help you study too since she believes you should all still strive for good grades too.

She was close to you originally but after Shinjiro left, you became like an anchor to her. It was a horrible night and she needed someone to cry with since Akihiko wanted to go on a jog or punch some punching bags to get his feelings out.

She doesn't even know when her feelings towards you go from friendly to crushing. She has read magazines and books with that sort of thing and found it silly. When she realizes her feelings, she finds it silly too. Mitsuru doesn't say anything though, thinking it will be just a crush and fade.

Except it doesn't and only grows stronger. It's only after she's at school and a classmate asks her about her relationship status that her eyes drift over to you to see if you're listening. Mitsuru does ask if you could join her in her dorm after school.

It goes a lot smoother than she thought. She was prepared for it to be nerve-wracking or lead to heartbreak like the books and magazines list out. Instead, it feels nice and comfortable to rest her head on your shoulder and lean on you after you both agree to begin dating.

Akihiko is the first to learn of your relationship and he is happy for you two. He was worried he'd need to be a protective older brother for when you both did seek a partner, so it's a relief that you choose each other. (he later fills Shinjiro in and Shinji is also happy for you both).

Taglist:

@reo-the-leo @abellaheart-blog

#persona 3 x reader #mitsuru x reader #mitsuru kirijo x reader

[blowflyfag]

World Wrestling Federation Magazine : August 1989

Transcript Below!!!

The Rockers Sing

“The Rougeaus Are Gonna Roll” 

By Keith Elliot Greenberg

The Fabulous Rougeau Brothers did it for a song. What was supposed to be a match between two of the World Wrestling Federation’s quickest teams never made it into the ring–all because of a disagreement over the music blaring over the public address system. Instead, Jacques and Raymond Rougeau–egged on by their manager Jimmy “Mouth of the South” Hart-put on one of the most shocking spectacles in recent memory at ringside. When they were done, Rocker Shawn Michaels was battered and bleeding, lying on the arena floor, as his concerned partner, Marty Jannetty, bent over him calling for a doctor–and vowing vengeance on the brothers from Memphis, Tennessee.

“Did you see what my All American Boys did tonight?” shrieked Hart. “To show what patriots they are, they beat that wimp Michaels red, white and blue like the flag. Some people might say we went a little bit overboard, but the Rougeaus believer you can’t go far enough ||Above: The Rougeaus and Jimmy Hart insult the Rockers. Left: Shawn Michaels was so badly injured during the attack that he needed medical assistance. Inset: Marty Jannetty helps his partner.|| when you’re fighting for Old Glory.” 

Raymond Rougeau drew a parallel between Michaels’ condition and the Rockers’ new entrance song, The Rockers.

“The word ‘suffer’ comes to mind first,” Raymond giggled. “The song is so bad it makes you suffer–but not as badly as Michaels did. The Fabulous Rougeau Brothers really care about all our fans in the United States, and we couldn’t stand the thought of that song giving them an earache. So we made Michaels ache, and now hopefully the Rockersknowto be kinder to our fellow citizens.” 

In the Dressing room, the Rockers were not in a laughing mood. As the doctor tended to his partner, Jannetty briefly spoke to WWF Magazine: “The Rougeaus have done themselves in. Those snickering idiots think they can do anything they want and get away with it. They’ve gone too far this time. Shawn and I have always prided ourselves on being gentlemen. Well, now we’ve been pushed over the limit. The next time we meet the Rougeaus, we're going to be twice as vicious as they are. Next time, Jacques and Raymond are going to be the ones who need the doctor!” Hart claimed that the Rockers’ anger will make the meeting easier for his team. “Those two rock ‘n’ roll burnouts are so blind with rage they can’t even see the bright colors on their tights. They’re dumb to begin with, but now it will be impossible for them to come up with a strategy to wrestle my Fabulous Rougeau Brothers . Jacques and Raymond wont even have to get into the ring. The Rockers are so out of whack they’ll be bouncing into each other.” 

He added, “If they hadn’t disrespected the Rougeaus so blatantly, this whole episode never would have happened.”

The episode began with the Rougeaus’ coming down the aisle to the tune of their theme song, All–American Boys. With Jimmy Hart leading them, they made faces at spectators and a WWF camera crew, while waving small American flags.

Suddenly their music stopped mid-beat . The Rougeaus, standing at ringside, looked confused as The Rockers boomed over the sound system and Micahels and Jannetty soared into the ring. Fans cheered while the Rockers bounced off the ropes, anticipating the match-up, but their opponents refused to leave the arena floor. 

Commentator Tony Schiavone approached Hart’s Squad to inquire about their reluctance to climb between the ropes. The irate manager lashed out at the Rockers’ music, which was still playing. 

“That sounds horrible!” Hart wailed, his voice cracking. “Who has the right and the nerve to take off the Fabulous Rougeau Brothers’ music and put that garbage on there? These guys can’t sing! They’re off-key! They’re horrible, man! Horrible!” 

The microphone was handed to Raymond Rouageau, who alleged that The Rockers was recorded to || The brawl was vicious. While Jannetty chased Hart, Jacques and Raymond brutalized Michaels. The self-proclaimed Fabulous Brothers did not let up. Using Hart’s megaphone, the Rougeaus battered Shawn’s throat repeatedly. All the while, Hart looked on, satisfied.||  imitate and mock All-American Boys. He called Michaels and Jannetty “copycats,” continuing, “You are a disgrace to all these people here, and you’re also a disgrace to all the people in our United States of America!”

After a round of boos subsided, he went on, “You do not deserve to get into the ring with us. So we have decided that we’re not going to wrestle you tonight.”

To further demean the Rockers, Jacques and Raymond turned their backs on them, arms raised triumphantly. Unwilling to endure this humiliation, the Rockers flew out of the ring, engaging their tormentors in a slugfest. While Michaels and Raymond rolled on the floor exchanging punches, Hart smacked Jannetty from the rear. Incensed, the Rocker turned around and lumbered toward the sneaky manager. Jannetty did not realize that he was playing into Hart’s hand until Jacques snuck behind the Rocker and kneed him into the ring post. Holding his head, Jannetty fell onto the ground. 

In the meantime, Raymond and Michaels were continuing their struggle. Michaels was behind his adversary, gripping him around the chin when Jacques tipped the odds to two-on-one. He ax-handled Michaels from behind, then grabbed his arms and opened him up for Raymond's punches. Both Rougeaus pummeled the Rocker before executing a maneuver that would turn a competition into a war. 

Michaels was draped across the ring apron, with his head hanging toward the floor. Raymond held him in place, while Jacques climbed onto the apron, holding Hart’s megaphone. When Michaels was properly positioned, Jacques jumped from the apron, crashing the object into the Rocker’s neck. To Add to the torture, Raymond took the megaphone and also smashed it into Michaels’ throat. 

The Rougeaus insist that the Rockers will never recoup from the incident. “It just shows what amateurs they are,” Jacques said. “No wrestler with any skill would allow himself to be blasted like that–not once, but two times! Now the Rockers want to wrestle us in a full match? Ha, ha, it will be over in 30 seconds.” Strangely, Jannetty predicts a bout of similar length. “I’ve never been so angry in my life. Once I get into the ring with the Rougeaus, I’ll annihilate the two cowards myself. And I won’t take a long time doing it. They’ll be finished before they can say ‘All-American Boys.’”

In all probability, a future confrontation between the two squads will be more lengthy. The Rockers and Rougeaus are evenly matched on paper,  and it would be difficult for either duo to score a lightning-fast victory. 

The aftershock of the attack on Micheals can go in either team’s favor. Despite bold promises, the Rocker may not be 1000 percent in fighting form, and memories of the episode could cause him to be hesitant in the ring. Even if the Rockers are willing to hold nothing back, their fury may cause them to rush the ring without a solid game plan–a necessity against a team as well-coordinated as the Rougeaus. On the other hand, the incident could serve as motivation for the Rockers to train harder and battle fiercer than ever before, not letting up until the Rougeaus are literally ready to be carted out of the arena. 

The team that can work better as a unit will likely come out ahead. Although the Rougeaus claim that, being brothers, their teamwork is impeccable, the Rockers are one squad just as finely tuned. Each pair is known for double shoulder-blocks, double backflips, double drop-kicks and synchronized moves off the ropes. Whichever man becomes separated from his partner long enough may be victimized by these tactics may well be responsible for his team’s loss.

Finally, there's the question of experience. The Rougeaus could have the advantage here, as they’ve been battling in WWF rings longer than have their adversaries. Plus, they recently went up against the Bushwackers, expanding an almost scholarly knowledge of the art of brawling. However the Rockers not long ago fared well against the Brain Busters, a team combining rulebreaking, scientific finesse and psychological tactics. And at WrestleMania V, Michaels and Jannetty unequivocally proved their toughness against the mountainous Twin Towers.

Perhaps it is best to take Jannetty’s advice and not analysis and theory to calculate the outcome of the conflict. “Hey, baby,I’m running on pure emotion and pure energy,” Jannetty said. “And that energy’s going to  rock the Rougeaus so bad they’re never going to be able to find their way back to a wrestling ring.”

#magazine transcript #wwf magazine #phew ok what a night lol #the rockers #midnight rockers #shawn michaels #marty jannetty #raymond rougeau #jacques rougeau #jimmy hart #transcribing while tedious.. is very rewarding in the end #im happy i get to put this stuff out on the internet teehee #wwf #world wrestling federation

[madmeef]

Luffy X Reader - Luffy The Hairdresser

Synopsis: In which Luffy volunteers to do your hair after you admit to struggling with it.

Reader: Female

Word Count: 2.1K

Content Warning: N/A

A/N: Italics are your inner thoughts.

“Thanks for letting me do this, Nami. The practice really helps.” 

You gently brushed through a long strand of the navigator’s hair, letting the bristles of your old hairbrush untangle any pesky knots hiding where you couldn’t see them. Though you doubted there were any knots, to begin with. You rarely ever saw the woman have a bad hair day. 

“As I said, it’s not a problem. I’m happy to help.” Nami flipped a page in her magazine, making sure not to move her head too much.

The two of you would often get together like this; residing on an outdoor lounge chair while the rest of the crew went about their business and you practiced various hairstyles on the orange-haired woman. Ever since you confessed that you never learned how to manage your hair properly, or how to perform an easy updo by yourself, Nami had insisted on helping you. It was embarrassing at first, to say the least. It seemed like every girl you came across knew how to do such exotic and complicated hairstyles, and you struggled to do a measly ponytail. But she took your insecurities and threw them overboard, insisting that it wasn’t a big deal.

So here you were again, on the deck of The Thousand Sunny, braiding a large piece of Nami’s hair just like how she showed you. Gently laying silky strands to the side, you sectioned off pieces of her hair for later and focused on making the bigger braid perfect.

As you worked, Nami inched her foot to subtly kick the mirror by the leg of the chair so it was facing you. She smiled cheekily when she saw your face completely zeroed in on the one braid. Your eyebrows were creased down and your tongue poked the inside of your cheek. It was quite a sight.

She chuckled to herself.

“What’s so funny?” You asked.

“Oh, nothing. Just something I read in the magazine.” The cat-burglar lied with ease.

Too busy to care, you kept chipping away at the braid. Once you finished tying the end, you held down the center of the braid and wrapped it around the base, creating a small bun. You grabbed a clip beside you and clipped it down, securing it. 

Going back to the other sectioned-off pieces, you braided two smaller braids on both sides of Nami’s head, leaving strands in the front to frame the woman’s face. Finally, you repeated the process of your first braid until all stray hairs were accounted for. With a satisfactory sigh, you clapped your hands together. “All done!”

You rose from behind her and Nami excitedly put down her fashion magazine. You picked up the mirror and promptly held it out, waiting in anticipation. She took the mirror and angled her head to the side, witnessing the beautiful triple-braided bun, courtesy of your handiwork.

She smirked. “Not too shabby, (Y/n)! A little more practice and you’ll be better than me.”

Your heart swelled. “Really?”

“Really.” She nodded.

Usopp, who was carrying some boxes to the lower decks, peered overhearing the chatter. “Hey that looks pretty good, (Y/n)!” 

“Thanks, Usopp.” You smiled bashfully. You timidly stared down at your feet, some of the happiness fading away. “Now if only I could do it on myself too.”

“Hey, don’t fret. You’ll get there.”

Nami planted a hand on her hip. “What did I say about talking down on yourself?” 

You exhaled through your nostrils. “To not do it?”

“Exactly. So don’t. There’s nothing to worry about.” She scolded.

Easier said than done. You murmured.

“Hey!”

You turned around. Was that…? 

No one was there.

“What are you guys doing?” The familiar voice of your captain rang heavily in the atmosphere echoing against the ship. The three of you looked around, confused. 

Where is he?

“Luffy?” You called out. 

All of a sudden, he shouted in glee and his voice began getting louder and louder. A lightbulb went off. The Crow’s Nest.

“Watch out!” Nami screamed and the both of you ducked out of the way of an oncoming Luffy. Sadly, Usopp got the memo too little too late and became your captain’s landing point. The boxes went flying out of Usopps hands as the duo collided in a heap, tumbling across the deck. A sleeping Zoro was rudely awakened by the ruckus. 

“What the-?” Zoro exclaimed, though it was heavily drowned out by their crash.

That’s gonna hurt later. Well, maybe more for Usopp. You cringed. “Are you guys okay?” 

“Yeah, we’re fine!” Luffy responded cheerfully from the ground.

“SPEAK FOR YOURSELF! I was nearly killed!” Usopp snapped from under him. Luffy merely laughed and stood to his feet, tugging a dazed Sniper with him. “Sorry.”

You sighed at the interaction and you could hear Nami huff from her seat. “Idiot.”

Luffy carelessly brushed himself off and walked over to you, his happy mood never wavering. “What are you guys doing? Anything fun?”

You blinked. “Oh, uh, I was just doing Nami’s hair. She’s helping me practice.”

He cocked his head. “Practice? For what?”

“Nothing, it’s just for my own personal benefit.”

“Oh.” He said, pursing his lips. It was clear he didn’t get what you meant. “Is it hard?”

You nodded, skeptically. “For me, it is. I’m not that good at it, even though I should be. What I did on Nami, I can barely do on my own hair.” You didn’t need to see her to know the orange-haired woman had a pointed gaze, reminding you of your earlier conversation. “She’s been coaching me. I’ve gotten a little better-” 

“Much better.” The navigator corrected. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. You’ve come so far from where you first started, don’t be so hard on yourself.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, dejectedly. “Thanks, Nami.”

Luffy leaned to the side, getting a look at Nami’s new hairstyle. He squinted his eyes, pondering something with a frown. They flickered to you and then back again.

“Hm.” He put a hand to his chin, his thumb pressing against his cheek, thinking. Yes, thinking. Then he nodded confidently. “I can do it.”

Your forehead crinkled. “You can…do what?” 

“I can do your hair!”

Your lips parted in shock. “What?” 

“Here we go…” Nami muttered.

“I can do it.” He repeated, fixing his hat. “(Y/n), can I try it?”

Your ears had to be playing tricks on you. There’s no way. It almost seems comedic how unlike him it was to ask. He has to be joking, he’s always joking around. So why doesn’t it look like he’s joking now? 

“You said you were having trouble, so I wanna help.” He grinned a toothy grin. 

He actually…wants to help me?

“Help?” Nami butted in, standing up. “What do you know about styling hair?” 

“Not much- but I can figure it out!” 

“You don’t even brush your hair!”

“Do too!”

“Oh, please, Luffy I-”

“Okay.”

The words were out of your mouth before your brain had any time to think about them. Their attention quickly averted to your nervous smile; one happy, the other mortified.

“What?” Nami craned her neck. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I mean, why not?” You shrugged.

“Alright!” Luffy beamed, fist bumping the air. He immediately went to the lounge chair, scanning the many different hair supplies sprawled on the cushion. He childishly pulled out some hair ties from a paper bag and started fiddling with them, cackling the entire time. 

“Unbelievable.” Nami sighed. “I’m gonna ask Sanji to make me a drink, you want anything?”

“I’ll be okay.” You reassured.

“Well, if you need me, you know where I am.” She tiredly turned around, grabbing her magazine and sauntered off.

“(Y/n)!” You felt a hand grasp your wrist and yank you into oblivion. Before you knew it, you were sitting on the ground with your back facing Luffy, who resided on the edge of the lounge chair. He casually draped his legs over your shoulders so he could sit comfortably while he worked.

You felt fire burn your cheeks to a crisp. Were you flustered? Yes, very much so. Were you most definitely making a big deal out of nothing? Yes again. But did that stop your brain from malfunctioning? Absolutely not.

Luffy grabbed a part of your hair, holding it up (rather painfully). “Hm, how did Nami’s look again?” 

“It had a braid in the middle-” You winced.

“Oh, yeah, right.” You heard him mumble. 

Oh, geez he has no clue what that is.

As he started moving your hair in all sorts of directions, you desperately held your tongue biting back a series of yelps. Unlike when Nami did your hair, Luffy’s way was…to put it mildly, rough around the edges. 

“Luffy, maybe it would be easier if you used the hairbrush.” You tapped his leg.

“Hairbrush? Where’s that?”

“It should be on the seat somewhere.”

“Got it!”

You heard your old brush clank against the lounge chair, then you felt a rigid pressure on your scalp. 

“Ow, that hurts!” Your hands shot up.

“I’m hurting you?!” The pressure of sharp claws dragging against your skin instantly vanished. 

You took a breath of relief and let your arms fall. I can feel a headache forming.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Luffy’s voice deflated. His lack of enthusiasm made you turn to him and lay a comforting hand on his knee. 

“It’s okay, just…go easier, yeah? Not so hard.”

Luffy slowly nodded. “Okay.” 

You patted his knee, shooting him a smile (which he thankfully returned) before adjusting back to your original position.

He started again, this time much gentler. There weren’t any more sudden sharp pains or tight pulls. You were able to relax your shoulders and sink into the lull of Luffy running his fingers through your hair. That, plus the faint rocking of the ship sent your mind to tranquility.

“That should do it!” Luffy’s cheery voice brought you back to reality. He stretched his arm to snatch the mirror and hold it out to you. “Whaddya think?”

You rubbed your eyes, fumbling for the mirror.

Holy-

Gravity allowed this?! Your pupils shrunk, seeming to flee from the white of your eyes. You weren’t breathing. You forgot how. 

It was so…off. There were parts of your hair where you could tell Luffy tried to replicate the braids; though he gave up halfway through and instead attempted to tie them like shoelaces. However, there were no explanations for the other parts of your hair that you were quite positive weren’t included in the original look.

“Wow.” A forceful sound came out of your mouth.

“I think it looks great!” He laughed triumphantly. “Hey, Zoro, what do you think of (Y/n)’s new look?”

The aspiring master swordsman lazily lying down against the wall of the main deck, cracked an eye open, grumbling something under his breath. His face quickly resembled something similar to yours. 

“What is that?” The man choked out.

“It’s my masterpiece! Right (Y/n)?” 

 You couldn’t stop staring into the mirror. “Yep, that definitely sums it up.” 

Just then, you heard a door creak open and spotted Sanji and Nami walking out of the kitchen. The navigator held her new drink to her lips, sipping it. Her eyes landed on you. The drink splattered to the floor.

“Gah-!” She covered her mouth.

“Nami darling, are you alright?” Sanji immediately sped to her side. He followed the woman’s gaze and saw you, shyly standing up from your spot. It was his turn to cry out. “Luffy! What did you do to my poor, sweet (Y/n)?”

“What are you talking about? She looks great!”

“Uh,” Usopp joined in. “It looks like there’s a propeller on her head.” 

“No, it doesn’t!”

“I see more of a porcupine.” Zoro chimed in.

“It’s obviously an octopus.” The cook wailed.

“I leave for five minutes…” Nami squeezed the bridge of her nose. “(Y/n), don’t worry, I’ll fix it.”

Your ears perked up and you finally tore your gaze away from the mirror. “You don’t have to. I’m good!”

Ignoring the flabbergasted navigator, you pivoted on your heels giving Luffy a grateful smile. “Thank you, Luffy. I’m touched.”

Jaws dropped to the floor and said Captain energetically bounced to his feet, putting his hand on his hat. “No problem!”

The crew members spewed into outrage and confusion; but in that moment, it didn’t matter to you how hideous your hair looked. Luffy had tried his best to help cheer you up, even if he had no clue what he was doing. The attempt alone was enough to make you realize how lucky you were to have a captain- no, a person like him in your life. So instead of changing it back to the way it was, you wore it with dignity for the rest of the day.

(Though you have to admit, you were not letting Luffy near your hair ever again).

#luffy #luffy x reader #luffy x you #luffy x y/n #monkey d. luffy #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #nami #usopp #zoro

[surprisingmarch]

Welcome to Patience: It's raining men (Chapter 6)

Joseph Rainier x F!Human Reader x Harry Vanderspeigle Rating: 16+

Fandom: Resident Alien

Story Type: Fluff / Thriller / Romance / Drama

3,672 Words

-Y/N = Your name- -L/N = Last name-

Music I listened to as I wrote: - Nothing! :)

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You flip through a magazine as you wait for someone to check into the clinic or to call and schedule an appointment. This job was a lot easier than you expected, it only took you around an hour and a half to organize the mess of folders the previous secretary called a filing cabinet and another hour to clean up the front desk and make it your own with some pretty colourful paper clips you found in the second drawer. There were.. chip crumbs absolutely every where and some suspicious stains you don't even want to begin to try to identify. You flip to the page… you flip it again upon discovering the next page was chalk full of sex tips. Maybe another time, magazine, but certainly not at work. There's too many people around and you're one hundred percent sure you would flush redder than a fire hydrant if you read them in public… or period, for that matter. You examine every detail of the beautiful sweaters and dresses on each page, but none seem to be to your liking. You close the magazine and lay it on your desk for someone else to read. You look down the hallway towards the break room, waiting for something… anything.. to happen. Asta Twelvetrees rushes down the hallway and to the filing cabinet behind you, she smiles politely at you before switching out the file she has with another then she rushes back down the hallway and into the examination room.

You sigh deeply, not much happens in small towns, eh? So far you've only had two phone calls, and one was a wrong number looking for the pizza joint around the corner.. Good thing you have that police station secretary job too, maybe that one will be a bit more exciting. Either way, it's nice to be able to experience two different job atmospheres anyway, even if it was just to keep the boys in check. You look back down the hallway and see Harry rush out of the examination room and into his office and an old woman slowly creep down the hallway and out of the building. You look behind you at the giant brown wall clock that looks like it wants to be wooden but clearly isn't. "11:04.. He finished just in time." You think to yourself as you stand and stretch big and wide before walking over to Harry's office and knocking on the open door.

Harry gazes up at you, his expression changes from melancholy to a small smile, he places the pen he was writing with back down onto the counter and gestures to the light brown leather chairs in front of his desk. "Come in, come in! Do not be shy! And, close the door behind you, if you wouldn't mind." Harry says cheerfully. You quietly close the door and sit in the right chair in front of his desk. His expression brightens even more upon you sitting down. "My, you look lovely today! Now, what did you want, y/n? A check up?" Harry says then chuckles to himself. You look at Harry's black eye, it's almost healed as well. It looks like whatever alien species Harry is also heals extremely fast like the greys do. You sigh in relief. "At least it doesn't look like it hurts that bad.." You think to yourself. "Your eye is almost healed, that's good.. Did you get hurt any where else?" You ask softly, Harry pauses before answering. "Oh, yes it is. Do not worry, I was not very hurt in the fight. Barely a scratch." Harry shifts his position in his chair slightly, he leans to the right towards you and twiddles his thumbs energetically. "Good… good.. And just so you know.." You lean forward, his eyes widen at the close proximity. "Joseph admitted to me he was an alien, I know you are too, he just didn't go into specifics with you. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone… not to mention, I don't have anyone to tell." You whisper. You lean back into the comfy leather chair. Harry blinks a few times, his expression unchanging before responding. "He admitted it to you? Just like that?" Harry asks, rather bewildered. You nod. "Yep. Well, I have proven to be a pretty trust worthy person I suppose.. Not to mention I kind of called him out on the very quick unhuman like movements, the lack of social skills, the fact you two had a full on brawl in less than forty seconds… I called out many things, is my point. It was, INCREDIBLY obvious. Not to mention, the first day I came here as I was unloading all my shit I saw a UFO hover over his side of the apartment complex so… it wasn't too hard to put the pieces together." You admit. Harry smiles widely before chuckling loudly at you. "You are an incredible woman! No one has ever found me out except for in emergency circumstances where I was almost dying! You figured all this out in less than a week? Incredible! Marvelous! You are the perfect woman!" Harry says loudly as he chuckles some more. After he finally calms down, he leans forward toward you. "You know the nurse, Asta Twelevetrees?" Harry asks in a hushed tone. You nod hesitantly. "She got caught with me in a avalanche accident.. we got caught in a crevasse and I was bleeding out, I did not have enough energy to keep this molecular form so I slowly reverted back to my original.. We'll just say she took it as well as you'd imagine she would. I thought about erasing her memory, but I decided it was a wiser decision to keep her around in case I needed her. She had proven useful to me and my mission, so I'd say I made the correct call. Her roommate D'arcy also recently found out and.. she thought I was a dinosaur.." Harry admits. You burst out laughing. "I know, ridiculous, isn't it? A dinosaur, of all things." Harry says in dismay. "A dinosaur? Are you shitting me? What are you, a reptilian?" You ask breathlessly. Harry shakes his head. "No… I am a Indiscernible noises.. Actually.. you can just call me an alien." Harry replies softly.

"Do you look like a dinosaur?" You ask sheepishly. "No! I do not look like a dinosaur! I am purple, not green and scaly!" Harry replies frustratedly. He rubs in between his brows, you giggle at him. "Just making sure, D'arcy sounds like a hoot." You say. "She is no "hoot", she is a pestering degenerate and I hate her." Harry states with a huff. "I think you view most people that way, Harry." You tease. "I do not see you that way…" Harry admits. "I don't see you that way either." You confess quietly. A few moments of silence pass before Harry speaks once again. "I must say.. I do have very.. peculiar feelings for you. Some that I have never felt for any other, ones that symptoms only correlate with love.. or a stomach parasite. I fear I may be in love with you.. which is against my entire species genetic code, we are not supposed to feel anything. Stop making me feel things, it is uncomfortable." You chuckle at Harry's genuine frustration with emotions. Your face flushes and your palms get sweaty. "You act as if I'm purposely making you to feel these things." You reply, Harry reaches across the desk and touches your cheek softly. "But you are.." He says softly before he returns his hand back onto his side of the desk. You sit there, flabbergasted. How are you supposed to go about doing this.. You don't know how you feel, so how will you explain that to him without breaking his spirit? Your throat becomes dry and you start to have a mild little panic attack. Suddenly you feel an uncanny feeling that Joseph is very close by and is INSANELY jealous and quite frankly, furious. You recall his words from earlier and take a deep breath. The feeling of him being near by gives you enough courage to admit your feelings to Harry. "Look I… I don't know how I feel about you yet. It's just so soon.. Though I do appreciate you loving me, and I don't mind it.. I just.. don't know how I feel about you yet. It will probably take at least a few months to truly discern my emotions." You say coyly.

Harry nods approvingly. "I do not mind a wait, I am very old and have been alive since way before you were conceived, I can wait forever if I have to. I've already waited this long for love, I can wait longer. But know, I will not give up on you.. ever. I will always love you and I will fight for you if need be. After all, that is what my species does, we fight to the death over potential mates." Harry says way too calmly. You nod softly. Quite frankly, you don't think you want to even ask about what he just said. You start to calm down a lot, now that everything's out in the open you feel a lot more at ease with the whole situation. You sink into your chair.. suddenly you remember the whole reason why you came in here to begin with. It's amazing how just being in his presence makes you forget every worry you've ever had and makes time stand still. "Oh yeah! I came in here to tell you to…" You reach into your wallet and throw his money back at him. "STOP THROWING YOUR MONEY AROUND IN PUBLIC! ARE YOU INSANE!? You're going to get shot or stabbed or mugged or something! People will kill over that amount of money, in fact, people will kill over any amount of money! So stop throwing it at me, capeesh?" You finish. Harry nods. "You do not want me to get injured?" Harry asks calmly, a small smug smile stretches across his lips. You shake your head. "Of course not.. I DO care about you.." You respond softly. Harry smiles widely before he stands up and walks over to your chair. "Come, it is lunch time, go eat. I do not want you to be hungry. I would be a bad potential mate if I did." Harry says as he lightly taps your shoulder, signaling you to get up. You stand and stretch slightly, trying to make the drowsy feeling in your limbs disappear, to no avail. You start to walk out of the room, Harry keeps his hand soothingly on your back the whole way to the door. Without you realizing, Harry slips the money into your back pocket. If he cannot throw the money at you, he will simply sneak it into your various compartments. Harry opens the door for you and once you're out of his office you feel his hand fall off of you. You turn back to look at him, missing his soothing touch. He smiles down at you with that familiar soft look in his eyes.. the same look Joseph gives you every time he sees you.. before he quietly shuts the door. You slump over in disappointment before slowly meandering into the break room across the hall.

You look around the break room for snacks as you wait for your future hubby to appear with the food as he promised. You waddle over to the coffee maker and consider drinking a cup of joe but decide not to as that'll probably make the growing drowsiness worse later on. You lean on the counter for a minute before you notice some chips propped up against the fridge, you walk over and open clamped the bag and start noming. You don't even take notice of the brand name. You eventually end up stopping and checking, lays cheddar? Nice! You hear a dramatic knock on the door behind you, you look over with a mouth chalk full of chips. Joseph covers his mouth slightly as he snickers at you. "Hungry, love?" He asks calmly as he walks over to the round table and places down a bag full of food. You quickly put the chips back and rush over to a seat at the table. You peer at the bag like a cat as he takes each container out. "Did you make it yourself?" You ask excitedly. Joseph hums with a nod. You giggle happily, you notice he seems a bit off which you assume is from him eavesdropping in on you and Harry's conversation. "I love your food, give me." You say as you paw on a container. "Nu uh uh! Wait your turn.. Bad kitty…" Joseph points a finger at you and stops unloading, obviously waiting for you to behave before he'll start again. You slowly place your hands neatly on top of one another and frown at him. "Thank you.~" Joseph says chipperly before he starts to unload the rest of the containers. After that he places the bag neatly into the floor and starts to open each container, revealing various meal options. Your eyes widen, you weren't expecting a feast. "Oh y/n I-" You quickly look over at the room's entrance, Harry's standing there glaring at Joseph. You look over at Joseph who is seemingly glaring back at Harry, you can't exactly tell because you can't see his face, but you can feel the tension so you assume he is. "Joseph." Harry states in a harsh tone. "Harry." Joseph says his name like a threat. A moment of silence fills the room before Harry slowly turns and leaves, making sure to eye Joseph down the whole way out. Joseph stares out of the room's doorway for a while before turning back around to face you.

You hear a soft deep rumble come from Joseph's throat, you assume it's a growl considering the giant scowl on his face. You reach over and pet his hair, he leans into your touch immediately, he shuts his eyes as he enjoys your attention. You pull away after a few moments, he opens his eyes and looks at you, you can tell he's deeply troubled. "Hey…" You begin as you get out of your seat and walk over to him, you gesture for him to scoot out some and he does just that. You look down at his face one more time, he's frowning deeply and he seems to be pouting slightly. You sit in his lap facing towards him and start to kiss all over his face and neck. Eventually Joseph starts to laugh and kiss you back and the rumbling almost ceases. After a while you pull away and look deep into his eyes, he seems much calmer but you can still sense that fiery rage deep within him. "You were near by and could hear everything, couldn't you, baby?" You ask softly. Joseph nods very slowly, that rage clearly rising within him once more. "I'm proud of you for not starting another fight.." You plant a soft kiss on his jawline then pull away again. "It's okay, everything is out in the open now, so there's no need for all that anger. It's for the better, he knows I don't know how I feel about him and he's okay with it. What's there to be angry about?" You say softly. "He should have stayed the fuck away. He knows you're mine." Joseph quickly spits back. The growl starts rolling within him once more, getting louder and louder by the second. "Honey, someone is going to hear that.." You warn quietly. "They won't, I stopped time. I have the ability to pause time for humans and the animals on earth for short periods of time." Joseph responds blatantly. You both stare at each other for a solid 10 seconds before you finally respond. "And you failed to tell me yesterday? Why on earth would you keep that from me?" You ask, mildly annoyed and offended that he didn't trust you enough to have that information. "I forgot I could.. I just had sex, I was loopy.." Joseph confesses shyly. You sigh and lean your head on top of his. "I guess that's fair.." You mumble. "But is there anything else I need to know about?" You ask, your tone seemed to make him perk up. He panics slightly. "I have a small hand held device that will portal me to most any where, as long as it's in range and has been added into the database. Otherwise, that's all I can think of. I promise I trust you." Joseph says quickly. He grabs your hands and holds them in his as he looks deep into your eyes, making sure you aren't mad at him. The growling calms slightly and his brows furrow in fear. You nod and sigh. "Okay… I'm sorry I got frustrated and scared you honey.. I didn't mean to.." You rub his hands with yours, he sighs deeply and leans back into his chair. "It's okay, I understand." He responds quietly. "Hey.." You start as you massage Joseph's scalp, he closes his eyes for a while then opens them. "I love you Joseph… I love you. I don't know if I love Harry.. I just know he makes me feel safe. For all I know that could be platonic. I haven't felt sexually attracted to him like I have you, okay? I love you, Joseph Rainier. I love you. And I'll stay with you no matter what." You reassure him. Joseph gets teary eyed, he nods and leans his face into your shoulder. The rumbling comes to a halt, finally.

"Thank you for being there for me, Joseph.. I probably wouldn't have been able to confess how I feel too him if you weren't.. It was so nerve wracking.. I didn't want to hurt him.." You say softly. ""Confess"…?" Joseph repeats hatefully. "Oh- I mean explain my feelings." You correct. Joseph sighs deeply and calms himself down. "Thank you for the food too.. It all looks so good." You mumble softly. "You're welcome." He says proudly, he's starting to sound like his old goofy self again. Suddenly, you fly into the air, you're flipped to face the table then sat back down onto Joseph's lap. You giggle, Joseph presses a kiss into the crook of your neck before he uses telekinesis to pick up a spoon and bring a piece of tasty looking steak to your mouth. You chop down and quickly chew. "Slow, darling… slow.. You don't have to scarf down your food, you're going to choke." Joseph warns. You chew slower and furrow your brows at him. You huff poutily and turn away from him, Joseph chuckles at you. You pick up a spoon and shovel a hunk of mashed potatoes into his mouth. Joseph points to his face as he chews. "See, slow." He says in your mind. You huff again and turn to bite down on your next spoonful of food from the little spoon that could. "You know.." You begin as you chew "slowly". "You seem to really like it when I'm in your lap.." You say quietly, you look up at Joseph and bat your eyelashes at him. He glares down at you with that sex glare of his. "Dirty dirty.. tisk tisk.." You tease before eating the spoonful of perfectly seasoned peas he brought to your mouth.

After being feisty and flirting the whole time you two were eating, Joseph he finally gives into his temptation. Joseph swiftly and gracefully picks you up from his lap and starts to walk. "Oh!- Joseph?-" He plops you against the break room's counter, he grabs your chin and french kisses you passionately. Your tongues twirl around each other's in a frenzy. He claws at your shirt and about rips the damn thing, but luckily manages to control himself enough to where he doesn't. You both moan loudly in between breathes, you gasp for air as he starts to grab at your breasts. Suddenly, he parts away from the kiss. You pant breathlessly, hopelessly looking up at your boyfriend in a hot daze. Joseph smirks down at you before he walks over to the round table and starts to pack up all the food into his white tout. "B-but Joseph-" You begin, Joseph looks over at you and smiles widely. "You're mine." He states blatantly before he throws the bag's handles over his shoulder and starts to walk out. The glare he just sent you was full of something primal… it just turns you on even more. "But-" You start once more, Joseph stops at the doorway and looks back at you with that delicious smile of his. "But I can see how badly you want me.." You say and point to his crotch. "And I can see how badly you want me." He says as he points back at you, you have a sudden moment of clarity and quickly fix your hair and your clothes. "I'll see you later, sweetheart.." Joseph says softly before he walks away. "Damn.." You mumble with a smile. He knows how to leave you wanting more, that's for sure.. You start to hear chattering in the halls, you quickly hop off the counter and adjust your clothes some more. As Asta and D'arcy enter the room you slip past them and return to the desk. You can still feel Joseph some where nearby, observing you some how. You're starting to wonder if his "errands" was just code for stalking you. Honestly, you wouldn't mind if it was… but you trust that he does genuinely have some alien stuff to do. You look up at the clock, 11:45? You start to pack up and head to the police station. Wouldn't want to be late for your first day, now would you? Who knows, maybe Joseph is already there waiting for you.

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Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

#resident alien #resident alien x reader #resident alien x yn #harry vanderspeigle #harry vanderspeigle x reader #female reader x harry vanderspeigle #harry vanderspeigle x yn #harry vanderspeigle x y/n #resident alien x y/n #reader #self insert #reader insert #alien x human #alien x reader #grey alien x reader #grey alien x human #Welcome to Patience #chapter story #female reader #y/n #female y/n #my stories #joseph rainier #joseph rainier x reader #joseph rainier x y/n #joseph rainier x yn #female reader x joseph rainier #female y/n x joseph rainier #harry vanderspeigle x female y/n #asta twelvetrees

[downwiththeficness]

Shadow and Veil-Chapter Thirteen

Summary: Eva Moore’s life was a carefully constructed fiction.  Every day, she did exactly what her mother in law, her husband, and his  best friend expected of her. No mistakes. And, that was going pretty  well for Eva right up until a huge complication literally tried to run  her over. Now, she’s faced with trying to keep the pieces of her life  from falling apart while attempting (and failing) to keep her feelings  for her husband’s new business partner at bay.

A/N: This fic is a sister-fic to A Need So Great and A Need Unleashed.  You do not need to have read ANSG or ANU to read this fic, but there  are Easter eggs from those fics in Shadow and Veil for readers with keen  eyes.  This fic is explicit for canon-compliant blood, gore, violence,  and sex. As such, it is intended for an adult audience, only. A/B/O  dynamics come with their own warning. Anyone under the age of 18 should  not interact with this work. I do not consent to reposting this work to  other platforms. Reblog only to Tumblr.  

Word Count:~3,200

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Eva was late.

She slept through the night so deeply that she didn’t hear the alarm go off. Her whole morning routine was nothing more than a mad dash to get out the door and into her car. It wasn’t until she pulled to a stop at the bakery that Eva’s brain caught up with the fact that she was meeting Horacio for what could be considered a date.

It couldn’t be a date. Eva wasn’t allowed to date. She was married, for Christ’s sake. It was, at its core, a meeting with the man leading an investigation into her husband. Which, to be fair, wasn’t much better. Eva couldn’t think of a single thing to call it that wasn’t a betrayal in some way shape or form.

“Its not a date,” she said to herself. “Its not a date.”

Horacio was leaning against the wall of the building near the door. He was wearing a polo shirt and khaki slacks that should not have looked as good as it did. His hair was tousled, curling over his brow in the same way it had in his apartment. With his head turned away from her, she could follow the column of his neck down to a spark of gold that glinted from behind his open collar.

From where she was sitting, the sight of him could be pulled right from the pages of one of the magazines she pretended not to look at in the grocery aisle. She suddenly wished she had put a little more effort into her appearance. In her rush to get to the bakery, she’d thrown on a pair of linen slacks and a Saint Laurent blouse that was meant more for comfort than style.

Eva’s eyes locked with his through the windshield and he smiled wide.

“Ah, fuck,” she breathed, “Even his dimples are cute.”

Why did he have to be gorgeous? Why did he have to be wrapped in thick muscle that made her think he could take a hit and remain standing? And, why was that such a turn on? It would be so much easier to walk away if Eva didn’t find herself wondering what it would feel like to have all that weight resting on her hips and thighs.

Since their conversation in his apartment, Eva had even more of a reason to push him away. They were deeply entrenched in a very dangerous game and the odds of either of them winning were slim. But, that didn’t stop Eva from climbing out of her car and walking towards him with an eagerness in her belly that she just barely tamped down.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” he said in way of greeting.

Eva’s smile was tight, “I overslept. I’m sorry.”

Dark eyes looked her over, “Good. You needed to sleep.”

“Are you saying that I looked tired?” she replied with a tease in her tone.

Horacio opened the door for her, “You did.” He followed her into the bakery, “The shadows under your eyes are gone.”

Her hand touched her face self consciously. She wondered if she needed to invest in a new concealer to better hide the way she tossed and turned most nights. Myra’s voice echoed in her head, ‘no one wants to see how tired you are, they only want to see you looking pretty’.

Horacio moved around her, catching her hand on the way. He led Eva further into the bakery and offered a confident ‘hello’ to the woman standing behind the counter. Woman might be a bit of an overstatement. She looked about fifteen. Soft auburn curtain bangs hid eyes that were too heavily lined with kohl. She waved them forward wordlessly, almost bored. Completely nonplussed to have a couple, one of them a stranger, past the counter.

Eva shuffled along behind him, unable to take her eyes off their entwined hands. His palm was warm, his fingers wrapped gently around hers. Eva’s chest tightened with a kind of anxious excitement that was entirely new to her. She’d never held a man’s hand that wasn’t Josh’s.

As they moved, her anxiety began to overtake any pleasure she might feel at his touch. Every step forward reminded her that she was doing something she shouldn’t and that someone might see her. Someone who might tell Josh.

Horacio walked past the counter and into the back. Hand tugging her along, he made a sharp turn into what looked like a break room for the staff. Eva walked with him and sat in a chair at a circular table. Purse in her lap, she stared at his back as he eyed the freshly made inventory.

Several cakes sat out on the counter, covered with a plastic dome to keep the bugs away.  One by one, he lifted the domes until he found the one he wanted. Then, he searched the drawers for a knife, followed by the cabinets for plates.

Eva watched him silently, thinking that he was awfully familiar with the place. There wasn’t a hint of hesitation in his movements. He just...acted. As if he’d done this very thing a hundred times before.

When he returned to the table, Horacio was carrying a slice of chocolate cake with him. Eva eyed him as he sat next to her and slid the plate and a fork in her direction.

“At the restaurant,” he said by way of explanation, “you didn’t finish your dessert.”

She stared at him, stunned that he’d even noticed—further stunned that he cared. Eva went from stunned, to faintly nauseous, to suspicious in about six seconds.

“Is this to try to convince me to testify?” she asked.

Horacio processed the question first with confusion, then with annoyance, “No, Eva. I’m just trying to be nice to you.”

“Why?”

Expression slipping into something genuinely amused, he replied, “Because I like you.”

Because I like you.

Because I like you.

Because I like you.

Eva shot from her chair, “I have to go.”

She could not be here. She could not be doing this, could not hear that he liked her, that he wanted to do nice things for her. It was one thing to suspect it—an entirely different thing to know it without a shadow of a doubt.

Horacio rose, hands reaching, “Calm down.”

Breath stilted, Eva bit out, “When in the history of calming down has telling someone to calm down ever worked?”

She paced, hands on her face, unable to keep still. Her breath was audible, the sound of it only surpassed by the blood roaring through her veins. From somewhere far away, her brain was yelling at her that she was overreacting—that Birdie was creating yet another unnecessary scene.

He caught her mid-step, holding her by the shoulders, “Its okay. You’re okay.”

“I am not okay. I am so far from okay right now.”

“Eva, if you don’t start taking deeper breaths, you’re going to pass out. I’m not sure I’m smart enough to come up with a good lie to explain why I’m bringing you to the hospital.”

She was hyperventilating. She knew it. But, she couldn’t make herself stop. All the feelings, the stress, the fear from the last few months broke through every wall she’d hid them behind. It welled up uncontrollably until her body began to shake with the force of her emotions.

God, why couldn’t she control it?

Cursing, Horacio wrapped both arms around her and squeezed. The hold pushed her face into his chest. Eva’s every breath was now Horacio-scented, which had an unexpectedly calming effect. Surrounded by him, the tremors in her body faded very slowly away.

“There,” he said in a low voice. “There you go.”

His hand traced the length of her spine, up and down. Eva relaxed into him, lulled by the way he held her steady. She turned her head and tilted her chin up, breathing deep. This close, she could pick apart all the information carried by his scent.

He was a healthy unmated alpha. He was worried. His worry was tinged with both confusion and anger.

Eva didn’t want him to be angry at her, “I’m sorry.”

His head tilted down to lay a cheek against her temple, “Don’t be sorry. You’re afraid, and that’s okay.”

Eva was afraid. She was afraid of her husband. She was afraid of Alexei. And, probably more than anything, she was afraid of how she was feeling at that very moment.

Safe. Cared for. Protected.

Those kinds of feelings could get her killed.

Pulling back a bit, Horacio touched his fingers to her jaw, urging her to look at him, “We’re going to get through this. You and me.”

As reassuring as that was to hear, it was also a pipe dream.

Eva smiled, “I’m not going to testify.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Then, what do you need me for?”

Thumb rubbing over her cheekbone, he answered, “I need you to make sure you stay out of the line of fire, understand?”

She nodded.

“Good. Now, sit down and eat.”

It wasn’t a direct order, not the words of an alpha commanding an omega. Eva had the choice to turn on her heel and walk away. For a moment, she considered doing just that. But, something about the way he was smiling softly at her made Eva nod.

His arm around her shoulders, Horacio guided her back to the table. He didn’t let go until she sat down. Dropping into the chair beside her, he rested his forearms on the tabletop and watched her as she picked up the fork and took a bite.

Eva couldn’t remember the last time she’d been allowed to have cake outside of her luncheons at the tea house. Those little confections of neatly divided sugar and vanilla were nothing compared to what Eva was currently chewing. Decadent was the only word she could think of to describe it. The icing melted on her tongue, lighting up her taste buds. The cake, itself, was just the right level of sweet.

“Is there cherry in this?”

Horacio’s eyes shone with pride, “There is. Its one of Mary’s best recipes.”

Cutting another bite from the slice, Eva asked, “Do you know the baker?”

He shrugged, “Not especially.”

Eva made a kind of ‘and?’ gesture as she forked another bite into her mouth.

To his credit, Horacio answered directly, “Your husband stops here about two or three days a week for coffee and a muffin.”

She paused, swallowed, and thought about it, “Its on the way to the office.”

“Yes.”

She thought about it more, “You made friends with the baker?”

He smiled a bit self-consciously, “In a way.”

Eva’s eyes narrowed as she worked through what that might mean, “You either threatened her or bribed her.”

Horacio huffed a breath that was almost a laugh, “A little bit of both, actually.”

Turning her attention back to the cake, Eva probed a bit further, “Why?”

“You would be surprised what people in the service industry know about the habits of their regular customers.”

The man had a point.

“Good to know,” Eva drawled, “Are you going to tell me which of my regular stops are in your pocket?”

“Not my pocket,” he said, “In the Feds’ pocket.”

She waved a dismissive hand, “Tomato, To-mah-to.”

Horacio hesitated, tongue touching the back of his teeth, “I really shouldn’t share that kind of information with you.”

“Because you think I’ll jeopardize your case?”

He hummed in confirmation.

Eva supposed he was right. One word from her and their entire operation could be dismantled. Every witness could be dealt with, every officer made to disappear.

“Alright,” she said, eventually, “I’ll trade with you.”

He stared at her with intrigue in his expression, “What’s your offer?”

“I’ll tell you a secret if you tell me one.”

Horacio took a moment to consider it, “That seems fair.”

“I think so,” Eva replied primly, “Should I go first?”

“Please,” he said, making a small, sweeping gesture with his hand.

Setting the fork down, Eva folded her hands in her lap and regarded Horacio levelly, “I want you to succeed more than you do. It would be the most devastating blow to his pride to occur in his lifetime. And, I would probably enjoy the short stint he spent away in prison.”

Horacio lifted his brows a bit, absorbing, “But, you are also a target of the case. You could be arrested, too.”

Eva’s lips pulled up into a wry smile, “You’ve already promised me that won’t happen. Was that a lie?”

“No.”

“Alright, then,” she said, “Your turn.”

He licked his lips and Eva found herself following the path of his tongue, “You don’t go out for coffee and muffins.” When Eva rolled her eyes, he clarified, “Not ever. I’ve never once seen you spend money at a restaurant unless you’re socializing. The only place you’ve ever bought anything for yourself is at two clothing shops that you frequent about once a month. Even then, you only buy one item at a time and always with a credit card.”

She shrugged, “So what? I’m frugal.”

Horacio shook his head, “Its not frugal to buy a five thousand dollar handbag. Even once a month.”

Eva shrugged again, “I like nice things.”

That seemed to rile him, “I would believe that a lot more if you showed off a bit. Threw your money around so that people would notice. But, you don’t. I’ve never seen you brag about the cost of your shoes, or your jewelry. None of my colleagues have a single report of that kind of behavior, either.”

“Bragging about money is tacky.”

His answering grunt was almost derisive, “You have a point. Nothing I’ve said would point you out as anything other than a rich suburban housewife.”

Eva bristled at the way he described her. He wasn’t exactly wrong, but she didn’t like the idea that he’d so thoroughly understood the image she was trying to project. It made her feel seen as much as it made her feel vulnerable.

“Here’s what doesn’t make as much sense,” Horacio continued, “You tip with cash, which means that you do carry money. Lots of it, by the way the girls at the shops talk.”

She made a mental note to monitor what she did in front of them from now on. Eva didn’t need a loose tongue throwing a wrench in her plans.

“You’ve only used cash one other time that I know of.”

“And, when was that?”

“At the cafe across from my apartment,” he said.

Eva’s stomach dropped. She thought she’d been careful about being seen, that she’d done a good job of concealing herself.

He reached out and touched her arm gently, “I would never have known if you hadn’t confronted me. It made me think about how you figured it out. I started asking questions.”

The place where his hand covered her skin tingled, but Eva made no move to pull away. His touch lingered for a long moment before he leaned back into his chair.

“So, that leads me to think that you only use cash when you don’t want to be tracked through bank statements. Which then leads me to a question I haven’t been able to answer: Where does it all go?”

Eva blinked, “Where does what all go?”

“The money.”

“How do you know I don’t use it all on tips?”

“You spend three thousand dollars a month on tips?”

Her mouth opened. Closed. Then, opened again, “How do you know how much he gives me?”

Horacio’s mouth thinned, “Because he complained about it for ten minutes during one of our meetings.”

That tracked.

“I guess it is a lot of money,” Eva admitted, feeling somewhat chastened.

“You’re not answering my question.”

“Sorry,” she replied reflexively, followed by, “What was the question?”

“Where does it go?”

“Um,” Eva struggled to find a response that would both answer the question and keep her semi-annual visits to Bobbi Lynn a secret. “Its, uh, kind of private.”

He leaned forward, “If anyone else had given me that kind of answer I would have accused them of having a lover—which you clearly don’t.”

Unable to look at him, Eva shook her head.

Horacio paused, “Is it an inside thought?”

Surprised by the question, Eva barked out a laugh, “No, no. God, I wish it were.”

Her life would be so much easier if it were something like a bikini wax or hiding the errant gray hair. What Eva was hiding was too sensitive to be shared, even with him—especially with him.

“Now you have to tell me,” he said with a wry smile, “Otherwise, I’ll be thinking about it while I try to fall asleep at night.”

There was something about the way he was looking at her that made it incredibly difficult not to answer him. Despite the fact that he could absolutely put her on her ass, Horacio looked as nonthreatening as the cake sitting inches away. Eva had to glance away to keep her mouth shut.

He clocked her reluctance, “Alright. You have a right to your privacy.”

“Thank you,” Eva replied. Then, because she definitely needed a change of subject, “In all that prying into my life, all you’ve discovered is my unusual shopping habits?”

Horacio inhaled, as if he was going to answer, but stopped just short of saying anything.

“What?”

He ran his hand over his hair, “Ah, I don’t want to offend you.”

Eva shot him an annoyed glance, “You’re literally trying to destroy my husband’s business and throw him in jail. I doubt anything you have to say is going to be more offensive than that.”

Agreeing non-verbally with her, Horacio’s gaze dropped to his hands as he said, “You’re afraid.”

“No shit.”

He shook his head, “No, I mean really afraid. Of your husband.”

Eva swallowed, considering her response, “He’s running a complex opiate ring funded by an even more complex money laundering scheme. I would be stupid not to fear him.”

Mouth curling, Horacio replied, “You’re afraid right now. I can smell it.” His voice was pitched low as he added, “All because I pointed out that he scares you.”

There was no sense in denying it. Eva knew better than that. It didn’t make it any easier to keep looking him the eye.

Reaching out, Horacio took her hand, “If you want, we can get you out.”

It was the second time someone made that offer to Eva. When she sat in Bobbi Lynn’s living room, it was easy to refuse. Here, now, she struggled against the hope that he might be able to pull it off.

“I appreciate the offer,” she croaked, “but that’s not possible.”

He smirked, “You’d be surprised what governments can do with the right motivation.”

“You think you can give them the right motivation?”

“I can probably think of something.”

Eva scoffed, disbelieving of his persistence, “I’m not worth that kind of effort.”

Without missing a beat, Horacio said, “I think you are.”

With an angry sigh, Eva leaned back in her chair, “You have to stop saying that kind of thing to me.”

“Its the truth.”

“Its not fair,” she replied. “This can’t be anything.” And then, because she couldn’t stand for him to correct her, “We can’t be friends.”

“No,” he pronounced resolutely, “we can’t.”

Eva’s heart dropped as she realized she’d completely misread the situation. Of course, he didn’t want to be friends. He was just a man trying to do his job and she was a potential witness. It was stupid of her to think otherwise. Eva knew better than that.

A hand snapped out and grabbed the seat of her chair, pulling her half a foot towards him. Eva’s hands lifted defensively, her eyes going wide at the unexpected movement.

“No, don’t do that,” he said, “That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

Eva’s voice was soft, tentative. His expression was so focused that she didn’t want to move, didn’t want to break the fragile thing that always seemed to bloom between them whenever they were close.

The hand that wasn’t holding onto her chair lifted and touched her cheek, “I meant that if I’m in a room with you, I’m going to want to do this.”

The kiss was just a brush of skin against skin, but that didn’t seem to matter to Eva. Her breath caught as the heat of him sank into her body. Hands that had been immobile just a moment ago lifted and curled over his shoulders. He was warm and solid beneath her fingers. It anchored her into the moment so that she could feel instead of think.

He caught her lips again. And again. Each kiss more confident than the last. Eva clung to him, riding the waves of sensation that came with each touch. Horacio broke the kiss, but didn’t pull away from her. He dropped his forehead to hers as his breaths steadied.

“That’s why we can’t be friends.”

Eva hadn’t quite gotten full functioning of her brain back on line, but she managed to reply, “That’s a pretty good reason.”

He laughed softly, “I could get into a lot of trouble for kissing you.”

“Me, too,” she joked, “At least you’re not married.” Mid-sentence, Eva realized that she might have made an assumption, “You’re not married, right?”

She’d asked before, but that was when he was playing at being Diego.

Another laugh, “No, I’m not married.”

“Great,” Eva said, “Not married, just the guy trying to take down my family. Cool.”

This time he didn’t laugh, “Its my job, Eva.”

“I know. I’m not blaming you for it. I’m honestly impressed you’ve made it this far without Josh or Alexei noticing.”

One shoulder lifted, “We’ve been giving him plenty of distractions.”

Intrigued, Eva gave him a look that asked for more detail.

He shifted in his chair, “The girl—the band, really. They’re ours.”

“Stag Nation?” Eva asked, incredulous.

“Yeah. Dr. Moore has a habit of seeking out people who lead alternative lifestyles.”

“Hippies, you mean.”

“You could call them that.”

“And, you planted the band knowing Josh would want to hang out with them.”

“Yes.”

Eva sighed, passing a hand over her face, “Anything else I need to be aware of? Is there going to be another orgy in The Lounge?”

His brows dropped in confusion, “You went to an orgy?”

“God no,” Eva said, “I just had to clean up after it. Believe me, that’s something you only want to do once.”

Horacio was silent for a while, studying her face, “I can’t tell if you’re being serious.”

“Unfortunately, I am,” Eva replied in a droll tone. “Josh went through a phase about three years into our marriage. He figured out that I wasn’t going to be the kind of wife he wanted and decided to go out and find someone else. That turned into several someones, which actually kept him pretty busy. That is, until Myra found out.”

“His mother.”

She nodded, “She had what you might call a ‘come to Jesus’ talk with him. He never brought them to the house again.”

Horacio’s expression was somber as he said, “You don’t care that he’s sleeping with other people?”

Eva shrugged, “Means that he doesn’t expect me to sleep with him.” She paused, “I’d only care if actually liked them. Josh and I have an understanding in our relationship. I don’t need a mistress coming to screw that up.”

“You’re okay with that?”

She shrugged again, “I have to be. I don’t have a choice if I want to keep living.”

“Because he’d kill you if you left.”

“I’ve been telling you that, Horacio.”

He looked away, “I don’t like it.”

Anger rose in her chest, “You don’t have to.”

Horacio looked at her, “I’m going to get you out.”

Eva shook her head as she touched his knee, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

He grasped her hand and raised it to his mouth to place a kiss on her skin, “I can do it.”

Her breath stuttered in her lungs as he pressed her hand to his cheek. She could feel the stubble on his skin and, beneath it, heat warmed her palm. The look in his eyes was so sincere that Eva felt the unmistakable urge to lean forward and kiss him, to climb into his lap and let him take away all her troubles and fears.

It was dangerous to trust him that much.

“I should go,” she whispered, “I’ve been here too long already.”

Horacio rose with her, hands falling to her hips. Eva let her fingers linger on his cheek for a moment longer before she turned and picked up her purse. He followed her closely all the way out of the bakery and to her car.

“If I wanted to meet with you again, how would I get word to you?”

Eva thought about it as she keyed into her car, “I’m sure you already know I go to the library a couple times a month. You can probably figure it out from there.”

He nodded, watching as she dropped into the driver’s seat and closed the door. As she drove away, Eva could see him standing there in her rear view mirror. He remained rooted to that spot until she turned the corner towards the house.

#Shadow and Veil #Narcos #Horacio Carrillo #carrillo #AU #maurice compte #A/B/O dynamics

[nickmaghighlights]

Nick Mag Highlights - #43 August 1998

We now return to our regularly scheduled programming! Spring is in the air, but can’t it just be summer already? Let’s get a head start by checking out Issue #43 from August, 1998.

First let me say, I love this cover! It really surprises me that they didn’t feature more Nicktoons crossovers for cover art, it’s a fun idea. Dare I say it might be the only Nickelodeon Magazine cover featuring a crossover between different Nick shows? With original art, I mean. (The Jimmy-Timmy Power Hour and its sequels got their own dedicated issue covers but that's different, it doesn't count.)

Before we begin, just letting you know you can read the magazine along with me here.

Well, can you find which flavors are fake and which are real? 

Yep, the ones that sound fake… are fake! 

It’s a bit obvious isn’t it? If Gatorade had played their cards right they could have tripped everyone up and taken this as an opportunity to announce a new “Trout” flavor. Missed opportunity indeed.

I’d say we’ve got the makings of another winner issue here. There’s nothing like the excitement of an impending summer vacation! Although, if you were alive when this magazine was released, chances are summer vacation stopped being a thing for you a while ago. But hey, I say you're never too old to have fun! So grab your sunscreen, beach towels, and feel free to take any notes for when you’re making your summer plans. Let’s dive in!

A three foot long poster? Well I’ll be, I’m surprised there’s any space left in the box to fit the cereal! 

Little history lesson here for those unfamiliar: If you check the bottom right of the page, you’ll find mention of nickelOzone. nickelOzone was a short-lived hour-long programming block that ran on Nickelodeon from 1998 to 2000. Suppose this little cereal stunt was a means of promoting their new block? That might be even easier to figure out than the Gatorade puzzle.

Online sources say that nickelOzone played from Sunday to Friday (sorry, Saturday fans) from 8 PM to 9 PM, and was aimed towards an older, preteen audience. I’m not really sure about that though, since it seemed to just play shows from Nick’s usual lineup anyway, like Hey Arnold! for example.

Maybe checking out the bumper that would play to start off the block will shed some light on things.

… Nope, guess not.

Also no, I'm not going to say anything about the three-legged freak boy in the ad. Stop asking.

Gotta say, they’re already really selling me on the summer vibes. I appreciate using stuff like kayaking and carnivals to represent summer fun as opposed to the usual beach iconography. I don’t appreciate the closeup dog mouth picture as much.

That one question about the interviews Nick Magazine conducts is a bit interesting though, because I’ve also wondered how they get all their short responses, like for these kinds of sections:

Kudos to R.L. Stine for looking exactly like you expect he would.

Did they just send out questions en masse via email or letters, and publish whatever responses they got in time? I wonder if some of the actors’ agents or PR people ever answered on behalf of their client with on-brand responses because the actors themselves were busy. I know they’re just one or two sentences, but I wouldn’t be surprised if big actors have people to take care of little promotional stuff like this, even if they’re about answering personal questions. What do you think?

Alright, here’s a better question: Am I overthinking this?

I would really love to speak to someone who won or went to the same school as someone who won one of these kinds of giveaways. Y’know, one of these types where you win a party for your class or have a popular band come and do a concert in the gymnasium. That kind of thing. I wonder how they go about planning and executing that sort of operation. What if the school just says no? Maybe they just dump the prizes at your house.

I can’t say I expected something quite so pleasant out of a Nickelodeon Magazine, but I like it! I’d also like to give some appreciation to the late Joan Steiner and her series of Look-Alikes books for giving me my next aesthetic to obsess over. Oh, to be a little guy living in a world made of snacks and knick-knacks without a care in the world…

If you find the world of Look-Alikes as lovely as I do and want to see more, you can borrow it from the Internet Archive.

Now even if it is just a s’more turned green, this still is a cute way to personalize a famous summer snack. I mean, just take a look at these satisfied customers! 

(Ask your doctor if you think soggy green marshmallows are the right choice for your summer camping trips.)

Some of you might be familiar with this ad’s TV commercial counterpart, but Nick Mag readers were also obliged to find Banjo-Kazooie’s magic puzzle piece hiding in their grocery store’s usual Keebler goods. I find the choice to portray Banjo & Kazooie as mute, 3D freaks in a 2D world a little odd. Did they think kids wouldn’t understand the game was 3D if Banjo was illustrated, or something?

If you were even thinking about becoming your school’s #1 cool kid, you better do your research in amassing the components necessary to complete the Rugrats style. This is so crucial, Nickelodeon was even kind enough to give 500 kids the chance to snag chic baby merchandise to secure their high-end societal status. Oh yeah, the $10,000 grand prize is neat too, I guess. 

Excuse the weird aspect ratio, I had to edit the page slightly to make everything look neat for the picture.

In addition to gag product labels, Nick Magazine also used to be in the business of gag postcards. Ain’t that just the bee’s knees? I don’t recall Nick printing many of these back when I started reading in the 2000’s (I mean c’mon, postcards? Instant message me when they start printing gag emails, grandpa), which is unfortunate. I might’ve gotten more use out of these than a fake label for dental floss. There were very few times as a child where my friends were in close vicinity to dental floss, but they definitely all had mailboxes!

Jeez, what is this, the giveaway issue? Sorry Arnold, but I already just spent hours convincing my Mom to search for Banjo-Kazooie's magic puzzle piece and apply for a lifetime's supply of Rugrats pencils. Just be happy I bought your 3-foot long poster and move along!

Ah, is there any other activity more tried-and-true than the ever-popular maze? Between activity books and restaurant kids’ menus I think they may be more common than the word search at this point.

Interestingly, when also considering the Look-Alikes pages, I’m surprised by how straightforward this magazine is when it comes to crediting the artists of these activities (and with big, bold, differently-colored text, no less). Back when I was checking out issue #115 I had to head to the back of the book just to find some proper attributions! I wonder what changed between 1998 and 2005?

Speaking of which, Rodica Prato is still active in the industry to this day! You can find a lot of her works on her Instagram. She does tons of large, natural landscapes in a style very similar to this page here, give her a look!

Another Comic Book, coming up! I’ve actually got a lot to say about this one cause-

Oh, uh, I’m sorry! It seems I accidentally skipped an interview. Usually they don't make 'em as small as this… Hm, this is awkward…

Seriously, what's with the shortchange? Did they want to get Chevy Chase and when that fell through interviewing Beverly D'Angelo was Plan B? Sorry you weren't deemed full page material, Mrs. Griswold.

Alright, sorry, where were we? Right, let’s take a look at the Comic Book for this issue.

Starting us off, I actually got a lot of laughs out of the “Prankvertisement” on the left page, maybe the most I’ve laughed at any Nick Mag content since starting this blog! Convincing someone they mathematically don’t exist and having them immediately fade away, unable to even find a hole in the formula is so funny in such a ridiculous way to me. 

Also, I tried the activity on the right page. It’s kind of a fun idea, but it made me dizzy. I recommend it to anyone reading who might be deserving of such a fate.

Finally, another history lesson opportunity! The Southern Fried Fugitives was one of Nick Magazine’s first ongoing comics, and was pretty synonymous with the mag’s brand during their publication. It had been canceled sometime before the 2000’s, and while it's personally not the most appealing to me, I can see how its art and wacky premise factored into its longevity.

Eagle-eyed readers might have already spotted these strips underneath some of the pages. Like the similarly formatted Impy & Wormer, these are short gags slotted in the bottom of each page of the Comic Book in what’s probably the most effective use of empty space since that ship that got stuck in the Suez Canal. There’s more than what’s in my picture, but they all also follow the “[Thing] who is always stuck 10 seconds in the future” setup, so take a look if you’re really dying for more of those. 

These strips come from famous American illustrator Tony Millionaire, who’s probably most well-known for his Sock Monkey series of children’s books and the comic strip Maakies. He’s worked with DC & Marvel, done art for a They Might Be Giants album, and has produced a veritable mountain of independent work. On the Nickelodeon side of things, he recently did work on Boom! Studios’ Rocko’s Modern Life series of comic books. You can find him and his stunning work on Instagram.

So, after passing another edition of Scene but Not Heard and a short n’ sweet CatDog comic I haven’t got much to say on, we come across… Hey, I remember these guys! Funky & Miriam’s House of Random Words was a sort of comic/activity hybrid where readers were challenged to guess the right definition of the word the characters were using. These are fun! And they make a vocabulary virtuoso such as myself feel smart, in spite of the fact I’m reading a magazine for children.

Odd thing to end off the Comic Book with, don’t you think? Unless it ended earlier? I can never tell since they don’t actually say when the Comic Book is over, exactly. Anyway, I know how this sounds, but I would really appreciate some citations here! How can we be so sure that “monster obstacles” in minigolf only really started in the 1950s? 

Hm?

Really making kids put the work in here, huh? I feel like this might be one too many mazes above the average reader’s paygrade. Good thing kids can just turn the page or you would've severely handicapped your marketing.

Pages edited to show both the back and front.

This is a pretty fun idea for a prank, and I know as a kid I would’ve appreciated some way to liven up the road trip experience. A gag newspaper would’ve done the trick! Well, it sounds good on paper, but maybe not magazine paper. Yeah I feel like the crinkly texture of plastic-y paper might give away this one-page periodical as a phony before the prankee gets the chance to read it. Unfortunate, but what can you do? Statistically this prank must’ve worked at least one time.

Alright, I can usually handle Nickelodeon’s slime-based image and all the drippings that have come with it, but this actually makes me want to gag. The idea of cracking through the cold, hard exterior of a popsicle and unearthing a filling of thick, syrupy slop underneath is not really my idea of a good time. A quick look-up shows that these things do indeed have their fans, so maybe I’m missing grout- er, uh, missing out.

We’ve got our calendar for the issue here, and while I’m still not impressed by the calendar’s comedy, I do appreciate the wide variety of fun facts and celebrity birthdays. This is just another way for kids to gain little random pieces of knowledge, and I’m all for it! Kids love finding out random facts, it's like the fun version of learning.

This is a pretty good tutorial, and it actually teaches some important drawing tips, like breaking down figures into shapes and making outlines and temporary lines for guidance. Yeah it’s basic, but for a young audience, I give it a thumbs-up. Just like Arnold.

Oh, wow. This is genuinely some history in the making! It’s interesting to see the likes of The Fairly Oddparents and ChalkZone being mentioned before they and their creators became such hot topics. For those unfamiliar or forgetful, Oh Yeah! Cartoons was a Nickelodeon show that premiered in 1998. It was an anthology of sorts, with each episode featuring a couple of short cartoons created by various filmmakers in the industry. It ran for three years, spanning a total of 34 episodes, and like those other two shows I mentioned, it was where My Life as a Teenage Robot got its start. Cartoon Network had tried a similar format a couple years before Oh Yeah! Cartoons, with its own anthology show What a Cartoon!. That show gave us Dexter’s Laboratory, The Powerpuff Girls, Johnny Bravo, among others. Both shows were fantastic means of creating tons of new, varied content and spawning shows that are still beloved to this day. 

So yeah, needless to say, can we get another one of these kinds of shows, please? There’s only so many more reboots you can make, right? Right?

Time to wrap things up, and we’ve got the usual last-minute ads and gags, but I do want to talk about Hey, Herb!. This was a section where readers could write in to then-Nickelodeon president Herb Scannell and ask their burning questions. As you can probably tell though, the audience of elementary school kids reading Nickelodeon Magazine usually weren’t very sure on what to ask. So these sections tend to be pretty small. As Nickelodeon’s fourth president, Scannell oversaw the release of some of Nick’s most popular shows, including Spongebob Squarepants, Danny Phantom, and Avatar: The Last Airbender during his ten-year long stint. I’d love to ask him what that was like, but seeing as how this was before all that, I guess these are pretty good questions too. (He does kind of look like Jimmy Smits).

And with that, we put a lid on another rip-roaring edition of Nickelodeon Magazine. As per usual, I didn’t get to everything in the issue, just the stuff I had things to say about. Honorable mentions for this issue include some gag flyers for fake tourists traps (to go along with the gag truckstop newspaper), and the previously mentioned CatDog and Scene but Not Heard comics. KABLAM! fans might also be interested in checking out page #58 which includes an interview with Stephen Holman, the creator of the show’s recurring Life with Loopy segment.

In other news, Nickelodeon just celebrated its 44th anniversary two days ago! So, why didn’t I post this NMH then instead of today? Well… it was April Fool’s Day too, wasn’t it? Uh, April Fool’s?

That’s all the fun in the sun we've got for now. Enjoy spring while you've still got it, 'cause summer will be here before you know it! Have fun, and until next time, keep on reading!

#nmh post #90s #1998 #nickelodeon #magazine #hey arnold

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Michael After Midnight: Gordy’s Home

[Here’s the beginning of my journey (backstory here). The first Michael blog I accessed hails from what I have designated Earth-2211979, and it seems like this is the world where Jordan Peele’s film Nope takes place. This Michael seems to review a lot of old TV shows for his blog, especially weird, obscure, and even lost media. This right here is the last review on his blog, and it seems like he’s been inactive for several months.]

The 90s was an utter wasteland of either incredibly insipid or outright insane sitcoms, but tonight’s review is about one that landed somewhere in the middle. Gordy’s Home is exactly the sort of bonkers concept you’d see coming out of the chimp-obsessed 90s scene while at the same time being incredibly predictable. But, of course, you know that I didn’t decide to review this because of that. You know what the elephant in the room is.

Or maybe you don’t! So let’s set that shit aside and talk about the actual show before we get into the dark underbelly of this seemingly saccharine slice of 90s nostalgia.

The cast is a very mixed bag. Ricky “Jupe” Parkin definitely the weak link here. Look, we all loved him in Kid Sherrif, but we were like toddlers. He’s just not a good child actor, he just got a stroke of luck. At least his fist bumps with Gordy are pretty fun, but watching a kid do a fist bump with a chimp is hard to fuck up. The other human actors are all giving corny performances, but they seem a bit more self-aware and tongue in cheek, so it’s easier to stomach them. The MVP of the humans is definitely Mary Jo Elliot, who clearly is trying her best with this silly material. It’s such a damn shame we never got to see her go further in her career, especially when she managed to make a “drugs are bad” PSA episode palatable.

Then we have Gordy. Oh, sweet Gordy. Is it even okay to say he was the best part of the show? Because it’s undeniable, he was. But it feels so fucking dirty saying that, all things considered, and keep in mind—this show had an episode guest starring Bill Cosby! How the Hell did THAT age less poorly than the chimp? I look at it like this: He was an animal. I can’t really hold the poor chimp to human standards, can I?

…God, I guess I can’t really beat around the bush. Can’t I talk about the cringey tween romance episodes? The corny episode where Gordy keeps messing up the family vacation? The weird way this show seems to think adopting a chimp and an Asian is something you should think is wacky and whimsical (boy am I glad we left weird racist undertones in the 90s, never to be seen again)?

No. I’ve gotta talk about the incident.

This show is remarkably hard to watch. Like, the only version of the opening theme on YouTube is a poorly recorded VHS rip, and there are at least three episodes that have yet to be found despite lost media aficionados doing their damndest to hunt them down. And the reason for this is because of a tragic incident that happened on set in 1998, where Gordy went berserk and maimed or murdered his costars save for Park.

I remember seeing it on the news when I was a kid and just not understanding it. I remember seeing the magazine covers, the parodies, that fucking godawful SNL sketch… No, seriously, was SNL ever fucking funny? I rewatched that sketch for this review and it is the most tasteless, unfunny shit I’ve ever seen. Gilbert Gottfried’s 9/11 jokes right after the attack were funnier. Who okayed that? Who okayed any of that shit after the incident? A kid had her face ripped off, for Christ’s sake!

There were so many weird rumors and urban legends about the incident. I remember seeing one a lot, that there was some insane fan who’d wandered on set with a gun and that’s what set Gordy off, but that sounds really outlandish and ridiculous. There’s also a rumor that there’s footage of the incident floating around online, and you can see just where Gordy bites Elliot’s face off. I’d honestly rather watch that video where the dude with the ice pick eats that other guy again than see that, so if it does exist I hope it stays lost. Some things aren’t meant to be seen, and this is one of them.

Really, it’s a shame that THIS is what the show is remembered for: An awful, totally avoidable tragedy that has hung a dark cloud over everything. We never got a really clear answer over what happened on that set, but I’m guessing this is the same shit that happens every time an animal mauls someone. They ignored warnings, didn’t treat Gordy with respect, and honestly? Wouldn’t surprise me if they abused him too. Apparently Park has some theme park out in the place I’m going hiking with my buddies soon, maybe I could just drop in and ask him what the truth is. Bet he’d just love to talk about that.

Gordy’s Home is an unremarkable, corny, harmless 90s show forever tainted by a senseless tragedy. Like, I spent more time talking about the chimp attack than the actual show here, that’s how much Gordy’s rampage looms over it. Really, I think what sums it all up for me is how the show uses Gowan’s “(You’re a) Strange Animal” as its theme song, seemingly to imply fun and monkey business… but conveniently leaves out verses like this, ones that tragically foreshadow the ineptitude that led to the carnage on set:

Well, they say I should approach you with caution But not to let you be aware of my fear Never know what you'll find Don't understand your kind round here

They still used the song better than Crowder did, at least.

#Gordy's home #review #tv show review #multiverse

[listentothelittlebird]

thoughts (and scene comparisons) after watching Across The Spiderverse for a second time:

- Gwen’s beginning drumming scene has a lot happening in it, so I only noticed this time that Miguel and the Spot actually make appearances in her drumming montage. Also even some scenes from later on in the movie I think? 

- Lyla fistbump (saw last time too)

- Miguel says “that’s classified”

- Saw the build-up of Miguel’s bite this time during Vulture scene, last time there was no build-up and just the shadow of his fangs shown

- Gwen’s ballet shoes in the starting sequence are swapped out later for sneakers of the same colour (that are Hobie’s as he points out). Her hair also gets longer

- This time when the Spot visits the Venom universe there wasn’t a pan around of the location (+ the Earth __ text) before he appears and Mrs Chen actually interacts with him? First time I saw it she just kind of looked at him unimpressed

-  Spot says “oh what the heck” during mini collider scene

- Miles says “sorry! I’m sorry” during the chai tea scene

- The text “hobie!” doesn’t pop up above Miles’ head when he first appears

- I like how Miles catches Gwen first and then glitches out and the web breaks, then later on Gwen catches Miles in the same way but he chooses to break the web

- I also like how Miguel’s musical motif isn’t over-used, I think it’s only used two of three times? (Once when he first appears, once or twice during the Miles chase scene) It makes the impact of the motif stronger every time it appears, like he’s dangerous when the motif plays 

- I’m not sure if it’s the same song but the starting scene (Gwen talking) and ending scene (also Gwen talking) sound similar? But where the first scene has everything fade out until only she’s left with the drums in the end scene everything cuts at the same time (so she found her band!)

- When Pavitr sees that his police captian is in danger while he’s holding up the bus he says “I can do both” (and it links to Miles as well like having two cakes, trying to be both a son and be Spiderman...yeah)

- Spidermen getting Boo’ed by captured villains scene was included, as well as where the spider-people all fall down during the tightrope scene (both seen last time)

- I’m glad I had english subtitles this time because the dialogue was way easier to follow (e.g. “Do you think Spider-people use comedy as a crutch? Get it, crutch?”)

- Both Earth 42 Rio and Aaron comment on Miles’ hair (”did you change your hair” and “you took out the braids?”) which is not something I caught the last time because I did not process he was in the wrong place until Miles glitched

- The dimension portals from Hobie’s self-made watch look different, it has his kind of chaotic colourful magazine clippings style while Miguel’s watches were more plain solid colours

Yeah. Good movie is good. Will edit if I think of more

#spiderverse #across the spiderverse #atsv spoilers #atsv

[halfeviltotty]

Osomatsu X Erina/OC/Self Insert

Disclaimer: These are personalized fics for @girlymatsu and use some of his personal details such as parts of his background. So this isn’t one size fit all and isn’t intended to be.

There is sexual content or suggestive themes but no other triggers that I can think of.

“Say, doctor.” Osomatsu announces into the room to Choromatsu’s turnt back. “Put your dick away, I need advice.” Osomatsu rolls his eyes and digs the wax out of his ear while Choromatsu gets all of his shrieking insults out of his system. “I mean it, I need advice!” Choromatsu’s cursing his name and bloodline and all of that bullshit but Osomatsu doesn’t care because he’s in a serious dilemma!

“You’re disgusting, Osomatsu! Did you know that?! You’re the worst – we all hope you die.” Osomatsu waves his little brother off. “That’s the thing I wanted to talk to you about!” Osomatsu drags his body past Choromatsu who’s just beginning to put up those magazines and pull his pants up. “What? That we all want you dead? It’s true, we’re all counting the days down until you slip on a banana peel off a cliff. Hurry up, bastard.”

That makes sense. Osomatsu knows that’s probably the truth so he’s not even going to dispute it or think about the implications on how that’s going to affect his fragile psyche. At the moment only one thing is on his mind and it’s your smile as he lies down on his back. The cushions don’t feel as soft without Osomatsu’s head on your lap and it doesn’t feel as nice when he stares up to the ceiling without making eye contact. You wouldn’t have said something like that to Osomatsu, in fact in the back of his head Osomatsu can hear your voice, “I’m not.” And Osomatsu would ask you to clarify what you mean. To repeat those words because in his mind they’d be a confession. “I’m not waiting for you to die, I want live with you as long as possible.”

Osomatsu sighs heavily as the blood rushes to his cheeks and the world goes pastel. Everything about you is cute, you’re smart, your comedic timing is one of the best Osomatsu’s ever seen before and he works with some real professionals, and…Osomatsu lets his mind drift just for a moment about your body but his mind immediately jumps back to the memory of your laughter. “Choromatsu-sensei I have a problem.” Osomatsu announces once more with both of his hands gripping the pine symbol on this red hoodie. Right where his heart is. “What’s wrong?” Choromatsu’s heaving a sigh, “I think I might be broken.” Osomatsu begins.

“Yes, you definitely are a broken person but we’ve been over that. What’s wrong?” Osomatsu wishes his brother would be kinder but he swallows down the comment. “Well I’ve been hanging out with Erina-chan a lot lately.” Choromatsu groans and nods, “Yeah?”

“Well…” Osomatsu fidgets more with his hoodie because it’s hard to put these emotions into words. His heart is beating so rapidly as he imagines what kind of things you’d say right now. What are you doing? Where are you? Can Osomatsu join you when he’s finished getting advice? Would you smile and accept him? Will you eventually leave? What is he going to do if you go? These are things that worry him a lot, in fact more than they probably should but aren’t you so cute? Is he being selfish because Osomatsu wants to keep you all to himself forever? That he wants to be the only one you think about? When you hear a funny joke could it be Osomatsu you think to repeat it to first? When you hear good news or bad news can Osomatsu be the one you turn to first? The one you wake up next to in the morning, the one you show your tamagotchi grin to, the one who holds your hand, who kisses you?

“When I’m with Erina I feel really different – sometimes in a good way. It’s like a crush but kind of painful? With Totoko-chan I always knew none of us had a real shot but this is different.” Osomatsu begins after a long period of thought. “It’s easier to deal with fake rejection than real rejection…and that scares me? But I don’t know, I get so happy when I see her so I kind of want to ask her out even though I’m afraid?”

Choromatsu glares at his brother and plops onto the floor loudly. “And you’re looking for advice, right?” Osomatsu turns over to Choromatsu and nods with puppy dog eyes. “I like her.”

“You’re an idiot, you know that Osomatsu-niisan?” Choromatsu says with pseudo aggression. “Everyone can see you love her, so why not go confess?” Osomatsu’s surprised just how adorable his little brother can be, wow that guy really does have some redeemable qualities to him. “Should I?” Choromatsu nods excitedly, “Yeah! You definitely should!”

“Do you mean it?!” Choromatsu continues nodding.

“For real?!” Osomatsu sits up and Choromatsu keeps bobbing his head in agreement.

“Like, right now?!”

“Yes!” Choromatsu’s patience is waning but Osomatsu’s too excited and too much of a bully to let up.

“Seriously?!”

“Get the fuck outta here!”  Choromatsu uppercuts Osomatsu and storms out of the room. “Thanks Chorofappsky-sensei!”

“Die!”

#osomatsu matsuno x reader #osomatsu matsuno x oc #roros fics #roros requests #we got minifics at the house #mr osomatsu #and look viri choromatsu is here too!

[quismetarc]

@sociofame feat. wendy carr

my husband is in jail and i should be happy.   i’m not.   i’m fucking miserable and this was not part of the plan.    the plan had been simple to begin with.    a crucial part of being a wife was knowing all your husband’s dirty little secrets.    with most men,   those secrets ranged from a tall collection of porn magazines to a secret love affair with a girl always ten years younger than the woman who waited patiently at home.    let’s just say,   joe was no average man and we were far from the typical next-door-couple.    our secrets were a little more complicated.    i was always a liability and my husband knew that well.    maybe that’s why my husband tried to kill me or maybe that was just in his nature.   maybe some people were just born a little fucked up despite what psychologists will tell you   —    nature won when there was never any nuture to begin with.   regardless of the excuse he would have ready from behind bars,   my husband needed to be taught a lesson.

so i got careless.   my lies no longer aligned with one another and i would let small truths slip past the lies every now and then.    plant the seed in a nosy neighbour’s head that we were the last to see natalie engler.   i don’t think it’s fair to put the entire blame on me.   in my defence,   i often used the terms “we” and “our” and anything else that would indicate a team,   a unit,    partners.   it’s not my fault that the husband is statistically the threat.    blame humanity as a whole for that, joe.    so i got off scott free when evidence was found and charges were laid.    and then they started snooping.    there were gaps in the story and joe no longer took the liberty of filling them in for me.    my husband couldn’t kill me so instead,   he yearned to see me rot.

but i was smarter than that and god,   was i relieved when a woman walked in through those doors.    women were so trusting,   so kind,    so much easier to fall victim to the crocodile tears that welled up in my eyes.    ❝   did you see him recently ?   ❞   i ask with a shaky breath as if i can barely keep myself together.   because you see,  wendy,   was it ?    i still love my husband,   and always will despite his crimes.    only a woman blinded by love would miss the red flags he so wildly waved.   i’m willing to play the fool,   the jester,   the entire circus,   if it meant the authorities would get off my case.    i’m harmless.   ❝   sorry,   ❞   i quickly add in feigning embarrassment.   ❝   i probably shouldn’t be the one asking questions,   sorry.   ❞

#sociofame #after two whole years......here we finally go bestie HAJSKFA #very fitting timing whn you have a joe in jail thread too #call it kismet <3 #[ 𝓛 : v. woman scorned ] ❦ 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐧𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐲 .