#a proper schedule??? sounds fake

[doydoune]

random aa doodles totally in order pt 2

[witchy-scribblings]

your annoying roommate gojo satoru (mdni)…

❀ roommate gojo who had flirted with you on your first meeting during the tenant screening that your actual landlord had entrusted to you and who, against all odds, had turned out to be the best option among the applicants.

❀ roommate gojo who keeps everything tidy around the flat while his room is a mess of clothes carelessly strewn about and a perpetually unmade bed.

❀ roomate gojo whose designated fridge shelves (and, sometimes, some of yours) are always bursting with sweets, energy drinks and takeout leftovers.

❀ roommate gojo who leaves his room in the morning without caring to throw proper clothes on, parading his perfect body around and having the audacity to tease you for staring.

❀ roommate gojo whose sleep schedule is so messed up you will sometimes wake up when the hour is unholy and hear the muffled sound of tv through your bedroom door. despite this, he’s usually up before you are, and rarely takes any naps that you know of.

❀ roommate gojo who, when he’s done showering, leaves the warm and addicting scent of his body wash and aftershave in the bathroom. his hair always drips water on the floor, but you’ve long given up bringing it up to him.

❀ roommate gojo who honestly doesn’t spend a lot of time in the apartment, being the busy and mysterious man he is, but, when he does, he makes it his unpaid job to be noticed.

❀ roommate gojo who always fake moans when you’re on call with literally anyone (especially if he knows it’s a relative), to the point where no one is surprised by his antics anymore.

❀ roommate gojo who always brings his one-night-stands to your shared place. sometimes it’s women, others, men, but it’s always goddamn loud. you wonder whether he does this because he fucks most comfortably in his own bed or to spite you somehow. you get the feeling it’s the latter, because the next morning he always replies to your murderous glare with that shit-eating grin of his.

❀ roommate gojo who interrupts you when you’re busy studying or working, and as annoying as it is, you know it’s his way of making sure you take your breaks.

❀ roommate gojo who has heard you masturbate late at night through the thin walls separating your respective bedrooms, and who has jerked off to it way more than once. you don’t know that he knows that you own and thoroughly enjoy using a ridiculously loud vibrator.

❀ roommate gojo who refuses to admit that he comes the hardest when he catches the breathy sound of his name on your lips, and that the notion of you touching yourself to the thought of him fills his stomach with butterflies and keeps him up at night more than he already does.

❀ roommate gojo who tops his breakfast pancakes with absurd amounts of syrup and berries.

❀ roommate gojo who hogs almost all the popcorn and snacks when you watch a movie together, and who doesn’t care that you flinch closer to him when jumpscares come on, or that you sometimes fall asleep on his shoulder and he has to take you back to your bed.

❀ roommate gojo who is so infuriatingly childish and petty, yet so thoughtful and distant at the same time, and you wish he’d stop teasing and flirting jokingly with you because you don’t know how much longer your heart can take being just his roommate.

[mothdruid]

Concerned Neighbor

pairing: bradley “rooster” bradshaw x fem!reader

summary: Bradley and you are neighbors, sharing a duplex owned by Mav. But Bradley never realized how paper thin the walls really were until one night. He learned the difference between your moans, from true pleasure and fake pleasure. He makes it a point to show you true pleasure when with someone.

wc: 4.5k

warnings: 18+, smut, mdni, protected sex, penetrative sex (p in v), oral sex (male and female), vaginal fingering, jealousy, listening through the walls, possessive!Bradley, degradation and praise kinks

a/n: this idea was brought to you by @emerald-chaos and it's also unbeta'd, so don't mind my mistakes pls. and yes, I'm using the same Bradley gif I use for all my Bradley fics.

When Mav first brought up renting out the other half of the duplex, Bradley was hesitant. He had been reminded that it was Mav’s decision and to 'play nice' with the other tenant. And how could Bradley not 'play nice' when you were the person he was sharing a wall with. He would never forget the first time he met you, your smile bright as you awkwardly tried to open your door while carrying a box. That's where Bradley came in, offering to help carry the box. And that was where your friendship began.

Bradley did admit it was nice having you there. You watched his cat while he went on leave, making you its mother practically. Him mowing your side of the lawn, you collecting his mail while he was gone. It created this odd relationship, which created your now bi-weekly dinner date the two of you had. Sharing your company for a little while every so often made him not feel as lonely. Reminding him he still had the proper skills to interact with more than just fellow aviators.

Everything was just going swimmingly until he heard it one night. That's when he started to curse the fact your bedroom was next to his. Only a thin wall separating the two rooms. Bradley assumed that his room lined yours, but this was a confirmation. At first he wasn’t sure if it was all just in his head. He hadn’t been physical with anyone for a long time, so maybe it was his brains way of saying he needed to get a fuck in. But then he heard it again. And again.

It was the sound of you, moaning in pleasure. Bradley wasn't quite sure when his hand had drifted down to his grey sweatpants, palming his growing erection. He hadn't realized how paper thin the walls were, your breathing was almost audible to him. Hearing every moan and gasp you had to offer.

The thought of you touching yourself, vibrator on your clit, or maybe even a dildo inside of you had Bradley biting back groans. It wasn't like he never thought of you as attractive, cause God you were to him. The image of you laid out for him, touching yourself or eagerly taking his cock had him fisting his dick. Your mouth would be hanging open, those moans he was hearing falling past your lips.

It was obvious when you crept closer to your orgasm, moans getting louder and more frequent. So he timed it perfectly, thrusting into his hand and groaning when eventually he heard you hit your climax. He followed suit shortly afterwards, hot spurts of cum covering his stomach. Bradley laid there staring at the ceiling with his hand still wrapped around his cock, wondering how he would ever face you again.

A few days passed and he didn't see you, not really leaving the house in all honesty. Even though he wasn't seeing you, he was still hearing you. Every night he would hear your moans. Bradley couldn't help but take advantage of them every night, fucking his hand and wishing it was you instead. Then one day, he was greeted by a new car in your driveway. He assumed it was a friend, until later that night.

It was almost like a schedule. He would get in bed at 8pm every night, wait about ten minutes, then hear your moans, signaling it was time for him to shuck off his sweatpants. But tonight wasn't like that. He didn't hear anything from your side of the wall until about 8:40pm. He knows because he checked his phone. And the noises he heard tonight weren't the same.

The sounds he heard tonight were a different pitch, not sounding like you. They sounded forced, fake. Bradley even got out of bed to check the driveway, still seeing that unfamiliar car in your driveway. He honestly couldn't bear the thought of it. You fucking someone was fine, but not being pleased and full of pleasure? Hell no, you deserved more than subpar sex. He hadn't even heard the usual climax ending you had every night.

Bradley didn't know how to approach the situation though. It's not like he could just bring it up to you, explaining that he could hear you through the walls. You would definitely move out after that confession he figured. So, Bradley decided not to ignore you anymore. He would come over daily and ask how you were and if you needed my help around the house. Hell, he even mowed your half of the yard. But it got him nowhere.

Bradley was yearning for your bi-weekly dinner, only a week away. He wanted something to happen that night, hoping you'd give him some form of opening. He saw that same unfamiliar car five days before your dinner, making him irritated. Bradley knew he wouldn't be able to take another night of your fake moans, so he left and went to the local bar for a few hours.

When he came home the car was gone and the lights on your side of the duplex were still on. Bradley slipped into his own side, finding his way into bed quickly. He laid there for a few moments, ruminating on the idea of you getting fucked by some random man that didn't even know how to please you properly. After a few more moments he heard it though. Heard you.

It was those soft and pleasure filled moans he loved to hear. They immediately went to his cock. His hand palmed at the front of his boxers, as he listened. Every moan was something angelic yet sinful. Bradley craved to hear them without the barrier of the wall so bad. His hand pumped his cock as he heard your moans pick up.

A heat was rising in his chest and cheeks, his mind thinking about how good you would look splayed out. Legs spread wide, one set of fingers working your clit, while your other hand pumped a dildo in and out of your greedy hole. Bradley bit back a groan, thinking about what it'd feel like to be inside of you. Bradley paced himself with your moans, waiting until the last moment to follow you over the edge. As he laid there on his bed with his spent cock resting against his abdomen, he wondered how he was going to face you at dinner.

The bi-weekly dinner came faster than what Bradley expected. Five days passed in the blink of an eye. But he had heard you every night, and that car never showed back up. He hoped that the car would never show back up again. He wanted you to be taken care of, hoping he would be the one to do it.

You were currently on his living room floor, twirling a stick with ribbons attached to it across the floor for his cat. His cat, Twix, aggressively chased the blue curled up ribbons back and forth on the floor. Twix was a stray that Bradley had found, the short haired tabby keeping him company and not completely lonely. Bradley watched the two of you play as he continued with dinner. He wasn't sure when you noticed him watching, but he couldn't help but smile when he caught your gaze.

God, you were going to be the death of him.

Bradley got out a can of cat food, distracting Twix from the toy you had. After Bradley plated Twix's canned food, he made up both of your plates and took them to the table. There was just small talk through the entire dinner, Bradley not wanting to ruin it with the main topic on his mind.

"You okay, B?" Bradley nodded with a small smile.

"Yeah, I think so." You tilted your head.

"Think so?" You shot him a questioning look. "You know you can tell me." Both of your plates were empty, signaling to Bradley he could finally bring up the subject.

"Who did you have over this week?" Bradley didn't mean for it to come out so demanding. But it did, and there was no way of taking it back.

"What do you mean?" You narrowed your eyes at him.

"There was a car in the driveway."

"Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't matter."

"I can see who I want to see."

"I know you ju-"

"Sorry, I'm not like you." Bradley's eyebrows knitted together, his hazel eyes staring at you intensely.

"I'm sorry, what?" You knew you ticked a nerve.

"Bradley, you know what I mean."

"No, not sure I do. Explain. Now." The tone in his voice sent a chill down your spine. You straighten your posture, interlacing your fingers and placing your hands on the table.

"Well you just. All because you don't bring anyone home doesn't mean I don't have to." You thought it'd be awkward, but it wasn't. Something in his stare had changed, it wasn't intimidating anymore. It was something more playful. A smirk pulled at one side of his mouth.

"Even if he can't get you off." Your eyes grew wide.

"Wha-"

"You think I don't hear you?" You stared at him. A heat started to rise in your cheeks, as well as between your thighs. Bradley had been listening to you? The thought of him fisting his cock while listening to you fuck someone else plagued your mind. "Hear your little moans every night?" That's when it dawned on you. Your room shared a wall with Bradley's.

Bradley took notice of the way your face changed. It wasn’t shocking, more akin to something else. He watched as you took your lower lip between your teeth, gaze looking away from him for a moment. You took your hands from the table, placing them in your lap. Your thighs squeezed tightly as you felt his eyes crawl over you. You had always found Bradley attractive, but never considered the possibility of him coming on to you. The thought of him jerking off to your sounds plagued your mind, showing you just how desperate he actually was for you. Your eyes flicked up to meet his blazing hazel orbs. A surge of courage ran through your veins.

“How many times did you hear me?”

“All of them.” A heat blazed through your body like a forest fire. “You should fuck someone who actually makes you feel good.” Bradley leaned across the table, playful smirk on his lips. “Someone that has you moaning like when you finger fuck yourself.” Your insides clenched at his words, thighs squeezing together once more.

“Is that what you want?” A tension was swirling between the two of you now. The both of you knew exactly what each other wanted.

“Just a concerned neighbor is all.”

“If you’re so concerned about this problem, then fix it.” You emphasized the T at the end of the sentence. Bradley quirked an eyebrow. The two of you stared at each other for a while, only the small bell on Twix’s collar filling the silence.

“You sure you want that?” Bradley asked. “Want me to ruin you for anyone else? Make you come crawling back?” Bradley stood up, taking a few steps until he was standing next to you. You turned and looked up at him, eyes unwavering as you answered him.

“Show me what a ‘concerned neighbor’ can do.” Bradley’s hand moved to your chin, taking it between his thumb and pointer finger. A smirk adorned his face, eyes scanning your face.

“God, you’re so fucking pretty.” Bradley’s fingers started pulling on your chin, hinting at you to stand up. You made your way to your feet, a fire surging underneath your skin. His fingers drifted down your jaw, hand moving to cup the back of your neck. Bradley leaned down, lips barely touching your earlobe. “I can’t wait to hear those pretty moans. The ones you make while you touch yourself.”

Teeth and lips clashed together, neither of you sure who kissed the other first. Bradley’s fingers tightened around the nape of your neck, pulling you closer towards him. His hand grabbed at your hip, kneading the flesh underneath your t-shirt. One of your hands threaded into his honey locks, tugging lightly. They were softer than you had ever imagined.

“Fuck.” Bradley whispered, his hot lips traveling down your jawline to your neck. The hand on the back of your neck disappeared, ghosting down your side to your hips. Rough hands grappled with your waist, kneading at the flesh under your shirt. The tiny hairs of his mustache prodded at your skin, urging you to keep up with him. It was as if Bradley wanted to consume you, know everything your body had to offer.

Bradley needed to know the exact things that made you moan. One of his hands grabbed your ass, pulling you flush against him. A hardness pressed against your abdomen and pelvis, letting you know Bradley was enjoying this. Your hips rocked against his, the hand on your ass trailing to the small of your back. He kept you pressed against him like that as he backed you up towards the wall.

A hand was now pressing on your core, rubbing you over your pants. Bradley pulled back to watch you, listening to your gasps and moans while he provided you with minimal pleasure.

“Must have thought about this for a while, with the way you’re moaning.” Bradley sneered. It wasn’t a lie, ever since you had moved in he plagued your mind. He was your main source of masturbation material, the idea of him being more than just your neighbor.

“What if I have? Thought about this before.” The words were like honey to Bradley, sweet and just what he wanted. Both of his hands went to the front of your body, one moving to work at the button of your pants while the other kneaded your breast.

“Is that what you thought about when you fucked yourself? Wishing it was me deep inside of you?” His hand slipped down the front of your pants and panties, fingers slipping between your folds. A groan tore through Bradley’s throat. “Fuck, how are you this wet already? This wet and we still have our clothes on.”

“It’s been a serious problem.” He covers your neck with hot and wet kisses, fingers circling your clit. They were tight and quick circles, ones that made your abdomen tense up. You knew you would last long, especially at this pace. It’s like Bradley already had a map of your body, with each sensitive spot marked with an ‘x’.

“Should have let me fix it sooner. Not have those useless dudes try to fix it.” Bradley’s tone had your insides melting. All you could do was stare at him, lips parted while moans fell from them. Without warning he removed his hand from your pants, turning you around and pressing you against the wall. His hands hooked into your pants and panties and pushed them down to your knees. His hand returned, this time his fingers tracing your entrance.

“God, this hole is so needy for me.” Bradley pressed two fingers into you, filling you up just the way you needed. He draped his body over yours, pressing your chest to the wall. His mouth nursed at your neck, nipping at the tender spot below your earlobe.

“Only for you, Bradley.” A soft growl came from him, his fingers thrusting in and out of you, stretching you open. A wave of pleasure ran over you as his fingers brushed that special spot inside of you. “Fuck! Ri-right there.”

Bradley added another finger at your words, zeroing in on that one spot inside of you. He could feel your walls clenching, tightening around his digits. He knew you were close and so did you. The tightness in your abdomen was almost unbearable, waiting for the tension to snap. A mix of swears and his name were pouring out of your mouth.

“You sound so fucking good moaning my name.” Bradley’s cock twitched every time you moaned his name. He never realized how much of an effect it would have on him. “Only my name, nobody else's. Nobody can make you feel like this, only me.” Bradley whispered in your ear.

“Only you, Br-Bradley!” You stuttered at his name as you came. The tension in your abdomen finally snapped. Your walls tightened around his digits and he helped you ride out your high. A groan came from him, his forehead pressing tightly to your shoulder as he just felt and listened to you.

A shaky breath passed your lips when he removed his fingers from you. Bradley’s hands found your pants and panties that were still around your knees, pushing them down and helping you fully remove them. He pressed kisses all the way up the back of your legs, biting at the meat of your ass eventually. As your legs regained consciousness, he gestured for the two of you to go to his bedroom.

“If I’m fucking you right, I’m fucking you in my bed.” You nodded, still a little blissed out from your first orgasm. You took the hand he had held out and followed him.

You immediately climbed onto his bed, not waiting for him to direct you. He shucked his shirt off once reaching the bedroom, just in time to watch you. Bradley stood at the foot of the bed, watching you put on a show for him. The skin of your back slowly became more exposed and you dragged your shirt up your body. His eyes scanned your skin, taking it all in as territory that he finally was able to claim. He couldn't help his hand drifting towards his pants, rubbing at the strained fabric covering his cock. He saw the bubblegum pink bralette, making him wonder if your panties were matching. He didn’t pay much attention to them when he took them off you. Your hand trailed up your sides, grabbing at the band of your bralette and tossing it to his floor.

Bradley bit his lower lip, coming around the side of the bed to see you. You turned to him, letting him see you completely bare. Bradley started to kneel at the edge of the bed, his hands moving out to grab your legs. He pulled you closer to the edge, pushing your legs apart and putting your cunt on full view for him.

“Look at you.” Bradley said as he dove between your thighs. He drug his tongue up and down your slit, flicking it against your clit. He brought a hand around your thigh, using his fingers to open your folds even more. You propped yourself up on your elbows, moaning and whining as he feasted on your cunt.

It was as if he was a mad man and this was his only purpose. His mustache rubbed against your clit as he licked lower, your hips stuttering at the sensation. Your back arched when you felt his fingers prod at your entrance again, pushing inside of you while his tongue worked over your clit. Shivers ran through you as the tension in your abdomen returned. Bradley groaned against you, the vibrations making your legs shake. You brought a hand to his locks, threading your fingers through them.

“You taste so fucking good.” Bradley groaned as you tugged at his hair. The tension in your abdomen was tight, threatening to snap at any moment. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking just enough to push you over the edge. His tongue never left your clit, flicking as your body shook with pleasure.

“Bradley! Fuck!” Your legs went to squeeze shut, the sensation becoming too much. But Bradley stopped them, grabbing the inside of your thighs and forcing them open. Your entire body was tight, your orgasm feeling like it was never going to end. “It’s too much! Bradley, please!”

Bradley pulled back after you begged him to stop, letting you finally catch your breath. You laid on the bed, chest heaving from each breath. This was the first time you had ever felt like this, this blissed out from a man. You had enough trouble getting off once during sex with most men, let alone twice. But here was your neighbor, easily pulling to orgasms out of you because he was jealous. That’s when you heard the sound of a zipper, pulling you back from your post-orgasmic thoughts.

Bradley was standing up now, jeans low and open on his hips. His hand was pushed down past his waistband, working his cock through the fabric of his boxer briefs. Steadily you sat up, legs draping down off the side of the bed. You reached out, pulling at the waistband of his jeans. You pushed them down his legs, him kicking them off to the side. Next your fingers trailed around the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“Don’t get all shy on me now.” Bradley joked as he watched your fingers slip into the waistband. You flicked him a glare as you pushed them down his legs. His cock was red and angry, standing at full attention. You had always assumed he was big, but this just confirmed your suspicions. You wrapped a hand around the base stroking lightly. Bradley watched with his mouth agape, tongue running over his lips.

You pressed your lips to the tip, licking softly before taking the tip into your mouth. Bradley let out a deep groan as he watched your lips part, taking him into your mouth. He let his head fall back, trying to focus on the feeling of your hot mouth wrapped around his cock. This was a moment he had dreamed of since hearing your moans. But he didn’t know if it was enough. He wanted to be in you, fucking you until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“I can’t.” You gave him a curious look, pulling off of him. Before you could ask him he spoke, “I need to be in you now.”

Bradley pushed you up the bed, draping his body over yours. He reached over into his bedside table, grabbing for a condom. You watched as he tore the wrapper with his teeth, tossing the wrapper to the floor. He rolled the condom down his cock, running his cock between your folds. Every time his head rubbed your clit you quaked, shocks of pleasure rolling through you.

“God, you’re gonna look so good taking me. Letting me ruin you for everyone else, making sure you only want me.” Bradley settled between your legs and lined up, pressing the head of his cock in your entrance.

A moan fell from you as he pushed in you, stretching you with only the head of his cock. Inch by inch he eased into you, rocking his hips slowly. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, kissing at your clavicle. When he was fully seated inside of you he paused, listening to your breaths. He pulled back to look at you, a look asking for permission on his face.

“Fuck me, Bradley. Make me yours.” Bradley groaned. His hips pulled back, slamming back into you in an instant. He set a brutal pace, heavy deep thrusts as he filled you. He kissed down your neck and chest, kissing at your breasts before taking a nipple into his mouth.

“You’re so fucking dirty, fucking other men while wishing they were me.” His words were intoxicating, speaking truth that you didn’t know he knew. You clenched around him at his words, letting him know he was right. “What a fucking slut. But that’s okay, I have you now. Gonna fuck you so good.” Bradley continued to babble on, talking about how you were made for him and that he was made for you.

“Bradley, you- fuck!” Bradley adjusted, changing the position slightly. He sat back on his heels, grabbing the underneath of your knees and holding your legs out. He thrusted inside of you, immediately hitting that spot inside of you. Your back arched hard, walls clenching around him. Bradley didn’t like to be a two minute man, but the way you were squeezing around his cock was making it hard.

“You feel so fucking good! Fuck! It’s like you’re sucking me in.” Bradley pushed your legs together, leaning over you. He practically had you folded in half as he pounded into you. “Say it, please say my name.” It was almost like a plea when he asked.

“Bradley! Please!” Bradley knew you were close, he could feel how close you were. He was close too, had been close for awhile but was trying to hold out for you. It was all becoming too much for you. You were on the edge of your third orgasm, the spot inside of you being hit over and over again. Bradley let your legs fall apart, finding your clit with his fingers and rubbing it. That was it.

His name was all you said as you came, clenching his cock impossibly tight. Bradley held out for a bit longer, helping you ride out your orgasm. He leaned down and captured your lips with his, a small taste of you still noticeable. You moaned as he pounded into you a little bit more, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.

A groan ripped through him as he came, his thrusts stuttered as he unloaded into the condom. He rested his head on your chest, the both of you trying to catch your own breath. You started tracing small circles on the expanse of his back. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you for a moment. Bradley was the one to break it as he shifted, pulling out of you.

“So, problem fixed?” He asked. You rolled your eyes and rolled onto your side.

“I think so.” You responded while yawning. “But I would like to keep it fixed.” Bradley smiled as he stood up, taking the condom off and tying it. He leaned over, placing a kiss on your temple.

“Good, cause I don’t think I can give you up now. Plus, I think Twix would be mad if you stopped coming around.” He helped you stand, the both of you making your way to the bathroom. You sat on the toilet as he cleaned himself with a wet washcloth, leaving it sitting in the sink when he was finished. Twix mingled in between your feet, meowing at the both of you. You gave him a small scratch on the head before leaving the bathroom. You went back to Bradley’s bedroom, crawling into the bed and under the covers. Bradley followed shortly afterwards, cuddling you from behind.

The next thing you knew you were waking up, a heavy weight on your chest. You looked up to find a cat on you, Twix specifically. You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you and Bradley must have. Which made you look over, seeing your neighbor in bed next to you. His eyes were closed, mouth slightly open as he slept. A warmth spread in you, knowing that all your problems were fixed.

[freak-accident419]

playing cards

Derek Danforth x GN!Reader

(gif by @joshfutturman) Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | More parts coming soon

Summary: When his mother hosts a party and expects him to bring a proper date, Derek is obligated to comply. Not wanting to disappoint her any further (mainly driven by the rumor of her cutting him off), Derek recruits his best friend to pose as his fake partner. However, the two have to keep up this lie when a series of constant, luxurious events are held, causing several shenanigans to ensue.

Word Count: 3.7k

Content: gender-neutral reader, swearing, reader is his best friend, Derek’s mommy issues, fake dating

Ao3 Link

(A/n: this is my first miniseries!! I will also be posting this on Ao3, so please show your support there as well. Thank you to everybody who showed me love and support. Special thanks to Skye especially :) enjoy!!)

-

“Uh, yeah, I’ll have a flat white with oat milk. You know, the usual.”

For the most part, Derek would go about his usual schedule, which deprived of responsibility and stress. In fact, his recent routine invariably consisted of privileged luxuries, little to no work tasks, and drunken parties every night.

Phone in hand, Derek skated through the office on his skateboard as he waited for the drink that he ordered at the coffee bar. He checked for any texts until he swiped out of the Messages app to surf through his social media. And as he tapped through his friends’ stories on Instagram, video footage that caused Derek to reminisce the events of last night’s party took over his screen.

It was a typical night out for him, actually. He would invite his group of friends to clubs or venues and indulge in the colorful strobe lights, bass-boosted music, and alcoholic drinks. You had always tagged along with him, as you were his best friend, getting drunk and partying together. Every night, he would get abysmally wasted and driven home by his employees. Ultimately, “reckless” was nearly an understatement to describe Derek Danforth—alongside irresponsible and hedonistic.

He smirked at the Instagram stories that his friends had posted of him taking a body shot off of a skimpy stripper. Ultimately, you took the best video of the scene because unlike the other posted videos, the camera was much clearer and barely shaking. Chuckling to himself as he hears your voice chanting for him in the video, he tucked his phone back in his pocket and skated back to the counter to retrieve his coffee.

“Flat white with oa—”

“Beautiful, thank you,” he replies dismissively, grabbing the cup that the worker handed him and continued to skate along the hallway, past several other employees.

Expecting the next hour to be full of pampering and Tibetan singing bowls, a stern, yet familiarly lavish voice suddenly stops him in his tracks.

“Derek.” The young billionaire stiffens at the sound of his name being called. “May I have a word?”

An irritated sigh left Derek’s lips as he stood still on his skateboard, neglecting to turn his head around to face the older man. He then rolls his eyes and finally got off of his skateboard, kicking it up in his hand.

***

“You have to clean up your act, young man,” Westwyld states as Derek slouches pettishly in his chair.

Great. It was just another one of his needless lectures again. Why did he even bother? From the moment Derek walked into Westwyld’s dreadful office, he already sensed that he would be given another ‘serious talk’ from the man who tries to act like his father after having a romantic past with his mom.

In response to his useless demand, Derek scoffs with a smug curl on his lips, taking a short drag from his vape pen. It was almost amusing to him that Wallace believed his lectures would give him the slightest motivation to “do better.”

“Isn’t your job covering up my ‘fuckups’? Keeping me out of the tabloids and the headlines, keeping my reputation clean?” He sneered, impatient with the predictable redundancy that Westwyld brought onto him. “Isn’t that all you’re good for?”

Westwyld sighs, not very keen on having to explain himself for the thousandth time. “Derek, my job is to keep Danforth Enterprises safe, to keep your mother safe. Her reputation, her name. For thirty-five years, I worked as the director of the world’s intelligence agency, but I chose this job as a favor to your mother.”

Derek rolled his eyes carelessly. It was the same, bothersome routine when Wallace would scold him and then run his mouth about how he could have had any other job, but chose security for Danforth Enterprises for the sake of President Jessica Danforth.

“Yeah, I’ve heard you tell me this for, like, a billion fucking times,” Derek retorts with a harsh scoff, “You know what, I don’t have the fucking time for this.”

He stood up instantly, storming off until Wallace’s next words made him freeze, bringing a chill up his spine.

“Your mother’s thinking of cutting you off, you know that?”

Derek processed Westwyld’s words for a second, sensing the threat behind it. His own mother wouldn’t do that to him. She completely adores him. Right? It was just another empty threat—everything had always worked out for Derek in the long run. So he kept his cool as always, scoffing in disbelief with a breathy chuckle. “Um, no. No, she’s not. She wouldn’t.” He turned around to face Wallace, walking back up to him.

“Everybody’s talking about it, Derek. A rumor, you would call it, but she spoke to her advisers. Money may play a big role in the grand scheme of things, but public image as well. I cannot keep covering for you, Derek. The endless social media posts of your immature, juvenile actions, the soirées, the strippers, it’s getting out of control,” Wallace spat sourly, evidently sick of Derek’s shenanigans and recklessness. “Even the tiniest information can spill, and your reputation will grow rotten. And your reputation is your mother’s. I won’t let you take this risk, Derek, you need to clean up your act now.”

***

Derek left Westwyld’s office slightly pissed, sipping his coffee as he rode through the hallway once again in his skateboard. Suddenly he felt his phone buzzing, so he grabbed it out of his pocket to look who was calling him.

Well, shit. Speak of the fucking devil.

It was his mother.

Taking a deep breath, Derek stared at the contact name and gulped nervously before finally clicking ‘accept’.

“Hi, Mom… What’s, um… What’s up?”

For the first time ever in Derek’s life, one of Westwyld’s lectures actually intimidated him.

Jessica Danforth was an incredibly busy woman. Hell, she was the President of the United States for fuck’s sake, there was no way she would call up her son for something casual. It had to be for something urgent, which inevitably provoked fear in him—all he could think about was getting disinherited. “Hi, Derek,” she says into the phone, sort of in a disappointed sigh. “I was just checking in, making sure you are able to attend the party on Saturday evening. You are able to come, yes?”

Derek let out a soft, gratified breath, relieved that his mother wasn’t calling him to discuss his reputation and financial situation. But either way, it seemed that he was still in deep shit; Derek forgot all about that party.

His mother spoke about it several times in the past, inviting him almost an entire month ago. She made it very clear about how important it was to her, but Derek was completey oblivious to it. It was either some kind of gala or charity event, but he’d been too baked recently to even remember.

“O-oh, um, party, right, that party…” he replies dubiously, the information barely coming back to his mind. “Yeah, um, yeah, of course.” He blinks for a moment, trying to remember the information about the party. Right. It was some kind of charity auction. Raising money for a good cause. Extremely tasteful and elegant, the kind of boring parties that Derek was never a fan of.

“Alright. Good,” she says briefly. Jessica bit her bottom lip hesitantly. “Derek, there’s something I also need to mention.”

Oh shit, here it is. The slight panic returned to him once again. He wasn’t sure how he was going to take it.

“Oh, and, um, what’s—what’s that, Mom?” He asks, raising an eyebrow and trying to sound calm.

“Your… your public image has been in a very rough state lately, especially with all of the partying posts that your friends shared online. The hard drinking and the strippers, Derek, it’s just… It’s affecting how your investors and all these businessmen perceive you. They won’t take you seriously with all of your recklessness. Just… Settle down or something. Find a really nice girl, or boy, or whoever, and take them out to dinner,” she urges. “I want you to stop partying and… hooking up with strangers so much. Please be presentable at the party, Derek. I’d—I’d even be pleased if you were able to bring a date.”

Derek didn’t process the words the moment they left his mouth abruptly, blurting out a blatant lie. “Actually, that’s what I was going to bring up. I actually have a date to the party.” Shit. No. No, you don’t, you fucking idiot.

“What?” She asks curiously, completely taken aback. “Are you serious, Derek?”

“Yeah! And, um, we’ve been serious for a long time, but uh… yeah, they are helping me become a better, uh, man, and I will no longer be reckless. My reputation will be restored, so no drastic measures have to be done,” he says, digging himself in a deeper hole as he tries to indirectly convince his mother that she shouldn’t cut him off. If those rumors were to be true, at least.

“Well… Derek, if you’ve been seeing them for a long time already, then what was that scandalous video clip of you and that… that stripper, posted everywhere online?” She questions, thinking to herself about the logistics of Derek’s situation.

“Oh yeah, that was—see, that was an old video. People have just been reposting it recently, you know the algorithm. I—Actually, I, uh, I met my partner on the day after that video was taken, and they, uh, yeah, they convinced me to be a better man, donate to charity, all that… philanthropy shit—uh, stuff.” Derek had attempted to simultaneously make his mother believe he had a respectable date to the party, as well as being a much better person than he was before.

“Which was when?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Uh, like.. gotta be a few months ago, give or take,” he answers briefly.

“Alright, and who is this date of yours?” She finally asks.

“Oh, right, that would, um, that would be my partner,” he answers in a mumble, nodding to himself with clarity.

“Derek,” she sighs exasperatedly.

“Oh. Their name? Their name, you mean? Their name is, uhh, umm… Actually, I would love to surprise you, Mom!” He answers immediately.

“Seriously?” She scoffs with a disappointed sigh. Jessica knew her son like the back of her hand. Hell, she birthed the kid, having to push out his dumb, big head out of her snatch. The point was, she could always sense when he was lying, or at least when there was something fishy. Sadly, she frequently expected very less of him, unbeknownst to Derek.

“Yeah, Mom! Trust me, they’re really kind and they’re a good person, and I am—I am just thrilled to introduce the two of you,” he exaggerates pridefully, hoping to eventually sell it.

“I worry about you, Derek,” she sighs softly. “Fine… Fine, whatever, Derek, I’ll see them at the party. Please promise me that. Just… Just be good, okay?”

Derek smiled to himself. “I will. And I promise. I won’t disappoint you. I love you, Ma.”

“I love you too.”

***

“I am so royally fucked,” Derek states bluntly.

Later on in the evening, Derek was hanging out with you as always, at the club you two would habitually meet up at. You were his best friend for many years already and earned the position of being his right-hand man ever since you first met in college.

“Why? What did you do this time?” You reply lazily, sipping your drink. You always expected bullshit from Derek. He always got himself into trouble that he would make other people fix. It wasn’t very bothersome to you, personally. You enjoyed hanging out with him and his privilege was just a big bonus.

“Well… So, I was speaking with Wallace—”

“Ew—”

“Yeah, I know,” he scoffs. “As I was saying… The guy pulled me into his office and, get this? There’s a whole fuckin’ rumor that my mom is going to cut me off.”

“What?” You perked up, sitting up from your previous slouching position and looked at Derek seriously. “No way. That—No, that’s not true. You’re—You’re a full-time Mama’s Boy, the fucking suck-up of the century, there’s no way she would do that to you!”

Derek shrugged as he sipped his bourbon, the blue lights in the bar beginning to give him a headache. “Yeah, well… Remember that… that super dope video of me drinking a shot from that one stripper’s belly button? What was her name?”

You bit the inside of your cheek in deep thought. “Vixen?”

“No, she was last week’s. Was it Trixie?”

“No, that was way back during the New Year’s Eve party,” you recalled.

“Candy? No…”

Enthusiastically, you slapped the wooden surface of the counter with your palm. “Tiffany!”

“Yes, fuck, it was Tiffany!” Derek exclaimed. “Okay, well, you recall all those videos of her and me posted everywhere, right?”

“Hell, yeah! I had the best fucking recording, man,” you chuckle softly, thinking about the wild night before.

“Yeah, you did,” he slightly smiled, “but, uh… It’s getting viral and well… I don’t fuckin’ know why Wallace can’t do more cover-up shit for me, but because I’m ‘ruining my reputation’ with this, it’s gonna give my mom a bad reputation too? So, like… Wallace said there was talk about her… cutting me off the inheritance or whatever.”

“Shit…” you blew a low whistle, raising an eyebrow. “That’s… That’s really tough, man. Look, I’m sure that there’s a reason why it was solely a rumor and she’s not actually thinking of that. She loves you, you’re the last physical form of proof of your dad, and ultimately, you’re a manipulative suck-up. You’re not getting cut off anytime soon, dude.”

Derek scoffs, pinching his eyebrows together. “Well, its too late because I sorta fucked up a bit more.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Really? How?”

“My mom was so insistent about me getting a date to the party this weekend and I think she believes that me being in an exclusive, healthy relationship or whatever would improve my reputation,” he explains, humming a small mutter of gratitude as a bartender walked over to refill his drink. “So… I lied and told her that I had a date already. And that I’ve been dating them for a few months already and they’re helping me improve so that she would have no reason to cut me off.”

“But like… the video of you and Tiff—”

“I know the video of me and Tiff!” He exclaims in frustration. “I told her that video was filmed a long time ago and people are just reposting it, or something.”

“Okay, right,” you nod, trying to get a sense of his train of lies. “So, what, did she believe you?”

“I don’t… I don’t fuckin’ know,” he mumbles, “I can’t tell. But I told her I would bring them to the party as a surprise and I couldn’t even come up with a name or anything.”

You groan, putting your head in your hands before taking another sip of your alcohol. “Derek, you are a total idiot. What are… So—so, who are you gonna pull up to the party with? A fuckin’ cardboard cutout of fuckin’… Margot Robbie and call it a night?”

“No, I’m not a dumbass, Y/n. I’ll just tell her that they couldn’t make it because they were sick or something. Better yet—they were doing some kind of modeling job in Europe,” he replies, wanting to give the impression that if he would have a romantic partner, they would be incredibly successful and beautiful. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

“That’s rich,” you scoff, wiping an eye with your finger. You were absolutely done with him. “You really think she’s going to believe that? Seriously? She’s your mom, Derek, I’m sure she can tell when you’re lying. And—and at one point, she’s going to ask for proof of photos and to actually meet them in person, and I’m sure that when she gets the news that you lied to her, she’d want to cut you off even more! Derek, you’re just digging yourself in an even deeper hole than before. You’re practically digging your own grave,” you argue.

“Fine, fine, then if she asks again, I’ll just say that they broke up with me,” he shrugged dismissively, leaning back and drinking from his glass.

“I thought the whole point was to improve your reputation, make you seem like a goddamn saint?” You retort, wiping your hand over your face in exhaustion.

He frowns. “Okay, you do have a point. Fuck. Then what do you suggest I do?”

“Why’re you asking me?” You whine with a frown.

“Because you keep correcting me on shit, clearly you must have better ideas than me,” he shrugs, looking at you expectantly.

“Well, I don’t. If I were you, I’d just cut your losses and accept that your fucking consequences have actions!” You reason fairly. “Might as well just get kicked out to the streets, having to con people for their money—oh wait, that’s exactly what you’ve been doing for the past few years! That’s all you do, man, I’m sorry, I can’t back you up! All you do is trick and deceive with all your lies, using people as pawns, it’s ridiculous!”

And after all that calling out, there was only one thing that the arrogant bastard got out from your outburst. His eyes lit up and you could tell that he had another stupid idea.

“Wait, Y/n, that’s it!” He exclaims brightly. “Using people!”

“Dude, I really fucking can’t with you—”

“I can get someone to pose as my fake partner for the night!” He grins.

“Yeah, I am really not liking the sound of this—”

“And get this,” he began eagerly. “You can do it.”

You feel your eyes widen as you hear Derek’s proposal. “Oh, no. No. Hell no. No, no, no, not in a million fucking years.”

“Y/n, come on,” he whines childishly. “It’ll only be for a day. You can pose as my partner at the party, impress my mom, deceive the press for a bit, and boom, I won’t even be considered getting cut off.”

You let out a prolonged groan, rolling your eyes and gulped much more of your drink than a regular sip. “Derek, she knows me. She knows I’m your best friend, she’s met me, there is no way—”

“That’s the point! I can pull some strings and shit, saying that we were friends until we, like, fell for each other or some other cheesy fuckass story. And if we want this entire charade to end after the party, a few days later I could just say that we broke up because we were more compatible as friends! No bitterness so that neither of us seem like the bad guy in the breakup. It’s the perfect fucking plan,” he explains, somehow more intricately than you would expect from him.

You pause, pondering deeply about his plan.

“Hell no.” You finally say, drinking more of your beer.

“Aw—come on, Y/n. Please. It’s only for a day. Look, my life is at fucking stake! I could lose all my fucking money, and—look—you won’t get to take advantage of my rich, privileged ass anymore. No more luxuries, no more rich parties. Come on, Y/n. Please.” His voice was pleading and you could tell he was heavily desperate. He wasn’t wrong. If the rumors were true and his mother was going to cut him off due to his recklessness and immaturity, he would lose so much money that you can’t leech off on. And of course you cared about him more than the money, he’s been your friend for years. But this whole thing seemed so complicated.

However, you were his right-hand man. His best friend since college. He relied on you. But hell, if you had to humiliate yourself for one night as Derek’s romantic partner, you should at least get something out of it.

“I wanna get paid,” you blurted.

He looked at you with an almost offended expression. “What?”

“Look, if I have to spend a night at a boring ass party, shaking the wrinkly, sweaty hands of old, ancient fucks, and having to pretend I’m your partner, I expect to be paid,” you reason, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re fuckin’ kidding,” he scoffs distastefully, rolling his eyes. God, you wanted to stab a fork in them.

“No! This whole plan is so complicated and I hate you for involving me in it!” You growl, pointing at him accusingly. “What am I getting out of this? Nothing! So you might as well just pay me to do this stupid acting job.”

“You’re—You’re not serious—” he glances at your obstinate expression. “You’re fucking serious. Well, okay! Fuck, fine. How much are we talking?”

“How long is the event?” You ask, grabbing your glass up to your lips to indulge in another sip.

“Probably a few hours, I don’t know, it’s a whole fancy live charity auction event,” he shrugs carelessly, grabbing his vape from his pocket and taking a quick drag.

“Okay, then. I won’t burden you too much. Two hundred dollars,” you answer confidently.

“That’s it? Oka—”

“However,” you began with a small smirk. “If we have to be all couple-y and gross and romantic with each other, I may consider raising the price. Like, if we have to hold hands or I have to look into your eyes for more than five seconds.”

“Fine, that seems fair,” he sighs softly. “Do we have a deal?” Derek, like he always would when he’d negotiate, took out his hand in front of you.

You grimaced at it. “I really don’t wanna shake to that,” you whine, groaning to yourself. “Just one night, right?”

“One night,” he confirms.

“Staging a break up right after?”

“Yup.”

“Little to no PDA?”

“Hopefully.”

“And you’re gonna pay me five hundred bucks?”

“Yes. Wait, wh—”

Before he could protest, you shook his hand immediately, completely sealing the deal.

Having to pretend to be Derek Danforth’s romantic partner for a whole night?

Yeah, there was no way in hell that this was going to end well.

[justali-anne]

Come to think of it, Sans and Papyrus are both TERRIBLE sleepers!

Papyrus never truly sleeps, definitely an insomniac. He even calls sleeping "NAPPING ALL NIGHT". The dork. I worry about him, though. (Come to think of it, do skeletons even need sleep?)

Since Papyrus seems just fine with his lack of sleep, I tend to just headcanon him as having Short Sleeper Syndrome, just a weird kind of insomnia edition. Like, he said that he "CRUISE(S) WHILE (HE) SNOOZE(S)", so I'm guessing he does at least take short naps, enough to dream, anyway. Maybe that's what the bedtime stories are for?

What does he even have to do during the night anyway? Everyone else is asleep! All the shops are most likely closed! Seriously, what does he have to do? Does he have some sort of secret double life or something? Does he just clean the whole house? Go on his social media platform? Work on his puzzles?? WHAT DOES HE EVEN DO??? (I swear, Papyrus is just as enigmatic as Sans is, if not more so.)

And it seems like skeletons ARE capable of getting tired, because, well, Sans exists. So what even is Papyrus??? Why can he fly, why can he break the laws of physics, why doesn't he sleep??? (Wow, this is a weird rant, I'm gonna pause right here.)

Speaking of Sans, he's... not really much better when it comes to sleep. Papyrus mentions in a phone call that Sans "TIRES EASILY", and we see him napping during the Undyne fight too... And then he falls asleep at the end of his own boss fight (who does that???), but even then it's kind of strange because I don't know if he's faking it or not. Like the few times we see him asleep, he's up literally in the very next moment (in genocide, it's justified because we do try to slash him, but he disappears straight after the Undyne fight too). So it's either he's a very light sleeper or he was faking it.

Papyrus mentions that Sans "naps all night", so at least Sans doesn't stay up all night like Papyrus does... But there's also the many, many midnight snacks that Undyne mentions during a phone call. I think she said that he keeps getting up in the middle of the night to get snacks? That doesn't sound like a healthy sleep schedule. And if Sans keeps getting up in the middle of the night to get snacks, and Papyrus apparently doesn't know how to sleep, then that means that the Skelebro household is still very active at night! If you want to have a sleepover at their house, you better prepare for a sleepless night.

Side note - Sans doesn't have a real bed, it's just a mattress on the floor. Without sheets. That doesn't look very comfortable. Papyrus has a cool race car bed, but Sans just has a lumpy old mattress. Something's not quite right there. Like, shouldn't a lazybones like him have a super comfortable bed? Or is he just too lazy to get a proper bed? So many questions.

[deancaspinefest]

Faking It?

Author: GhoulsnHalos | Artist: king-of-moose

Posting on Saturday April 13 

Actor Dean Winchester's career has hit a roadblock and the offers for a juicy lead or series regular role have dried up. In contrast, Castiel Novak's acting career is struggling to get off the ground. Despite critical acclaim for his latest part as the angelic lead in an upcoming urban fantasy show, offers aren't flooding in. What happens when the pair agree to their managers' scheme of a three-month fake relationship to push them both further into the media spotlight? It is only three months of public appearances together pretending to fall in love in front of the cameras, right? They’re both actors. They play at make-believe for a living. It can’t be that hard to pull off, can it? Besides, what could possibly go wrong?

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

“Speaking of the next three months, have you seen the schedule the Sasquatch and the Demon made?”

“It appears designed to put as in front of as many cameras and gossip columnists as possible, while subtly making use of those times when one or other of us already has something scheduled. It’s well-researched.” Dean lifts his eyes skyward.

“That’ll be my brother—the king of research and best-prepared boy scout that never was. Has its uses, so I shouldn’t complain. Don’t tell him that.”

“Why would I? There are parties on there,” Castiel says unable to keep the unease out of his voice as he makes the non sequitur. “Beginning next week.”

“Right. Not a fan. Cozy nights on the couch in pjs, I got it. Don’t worry, I’ll be with you, Sunshine. I’m certain I can show you a good time.”

For a second, Castiel thinks the million-dollar, boxer-dropping grin that follows is for him. Then reality hits again.

“Thank you.”

He doesn’t know what else to say without making an even bigger assbutt of himself than he already has.

An unrecognizable emotion flashes across Dean’s features.

“Besides, we don’t have to do what they’ve scheduled all the time. We’re big boys, we can do whatever we like.”

“True. But they’ve gone to so much trouble pulling—”

Dean holds his hand up to stop Castiel talking.

“Maybe my offer isn’t so altruistic as it came across. Look, if either of is uncomfortable with what’s been planned, then chances are that’s going to come across in our, um, performance?” Dean sounds hesitant about using that word, eyes darting around the room. “We won’t have a second, third, or fourth take at any of these things, unlike in our day-job.” Castiel has barely registered that he’s had the thought before he’s blurting it out. “We could meet up for breakfast early next week before I start the promotional tour, go through the list and iron out any kinks, so to speak.” Dean stares at him. “You asking me out on a proper date, eh, Cas?”

(continue reading on Ao3 on Saturday April 13)

[shubblelive]

— LIVING ROOM

summary : you and wilbur can’t afford to buy each other big gifts this year, but you’ll be damned if he goes without.

genre : holiday fluff!!

warnings : none!! happy holidays <3

pairing : wilbur soot x reader

pronouns : none (you/yours)

featuring : wilbur soot, tommyinnit (mentioned), philza (mentioned) (none of them are streamers in this)

word count : 1.8k

note : last fic of 2022!!! thank you guys for making this year so so wonderful! i’ll see you all in 2023, love love love you <3333

The package was on his doorstep when he got home from work, and he picked it up with one hand and pulled his gloves off with the other. He put it on the kitchen table, not thinking much of it. He ordered things online occasionally; it was probably something he’d forgotten about.

He collapsed on his bed, completely exhausted. With the holidays coming up, work had been completely hectic, and all he wanted to do was sleep all weekend. He toed his shoes off and dug into his pocket to find his phone, dialling the most recent contact.

He put you on speaker and placed the phone on his chest so he could sink into his sheets. You picked up almost immediately and he felt the tension start to ease out of his bones.

“Hi, Will,” your voice was soft and he smiled.

“Hello, darling. Sleep well?” It was difficult, when you had first started dating. You’d just be waking up when he got home from work, and when your shift ended he was fast asleep. But you’d managed to wrap your schedules around each other, knowing those few precious hours during the week when you could make time for each other, until the weekend when you were both free.

You hummed in agreement, and he could imagine the adorable way you yawned, tongue out like a cat. “How was work?” you sounded so soft and sleepy he wanted nothing more than to pull you into him and lull you back to sleep.

“Shit,” he chuckled. “I missed you. Was counting down the hours till I could come home to you.”

You awed, and for the next hour you chatted as you got ready for work. It felt like you were there, your voice drifting from beside the stove while he searched for something to eat. He’d need to go grocery shopping soon.

And then, that hour was up, and you were saying goodbye. When you hung up Wilbur was reminded that you weren’t there. He was alone in his shitty apartment, the sound of cars echoing in through the kitchen window that didn’t fully shut all the way.

He found leftover pizza from the night before and didn’t even bother reheating it. Yeah, his job was pretty shit, and his flat didn’t have proper heating but he was happy. He had you, however far away you were, and Tommy and Phil.

He told himself he’d do the dishes after he showered, and he was just about to start when he remembered the box. It wasn’t overly large, but it had a substantial weight to it.

The label was unmistakably your handwriting, and he softened. There was a card inside and he sat down to read it, eyes watering. He knew you struggled with money, you both did. He already had your gift ready, and he felt a wave of guilt at how much yours must have cost.

Will,

I know what you’re thinking. This gift cost me about $50 all up. I made most of it myself. You ARE going to wait until I say you can open open each bit. If you cheat I will be very grumpy.

I love you very much. Can’t wait to talk to you next. Happy holidays, Will.

Wilbur sent you a text saying thank you before he finally turned to the gift. It was a small cabinet, about 20 centimetres tall. Small enough to fit on his kitchen bench without being imposing. You’d painted it yourself, beautiful swirls of blue and peach. Each of the drawers had a number painted on it, from 1 to 25 and he found himself beaming at you.

The first drawer held a feather, clearly fake but soft all the same. There was a note on the inside, and Wilbur felt his heart grow soft. You really had put a lot of effort in to show him how much you loved him.

Now, I didn’t want to risk sending the actual one lest customs officers confiscated it and ruined my plans. Not sure if you remember this, but one time when you were visiting, we were out at the park and a bird landed on your head.

I thought this was hilarious (because it was), but you naturally didn’t see the funny side. That afternoon when we got back to my place, I cut your hair for the first time. In your kerfuffle, a few feathers fell. I grabbed one to remember.

Wilbur ran a hand through his hair and laughed. He needed another hair cut soon. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would get to go see you and you could do it for him. He tucked the feather and the note back in the drawer, before opening the clock app. Only eight hours until you were home and he could call you.

The next three weeks brought a hellish work environment, but more importantly more FaceTimes with you. He’d kept some of your notes in his wallet, sometimes pulling them out during his breaks because he knew you’d be asleep.

You know how in voice memos when you say things the waves make different shapes? This says ‘I love you Wilbur.’ Dunno why, told them to say “you’re a wanker with dumb glasses but they made me that one instead.

I know it’s dumb, but this pen reminded me of you. The ink changes colour every so often and it’s really easy to write with. You’re so vibrant and special, and you’re really good at getting your words out of your head into the world.

I painted this rock to look like a bee because I can’t bee-lieve we’re together. I mean, mostly because of that time I got stung by a bee and you took care of me but also because I can’t bee-lieve it.

When we first started dating, I was terrified I would forget your number before I could memorise it, so I had sticky notes just like this one. Yes, I drew hearts on all of them. I have no shame.

There were serious gifts, like more spray for his glasses, and charms for his keys. Then there were more sentimental ones that represented important dates of favourite memories. And then there were ones like he’d gotten the day earlier.

I found this at a thrift store, and when you open it, it plays ‘That’s what I like’ I figured you could piss off Tommy with it or something.

Wilbur had finished your gift, but he was paranoid it would break while being sent, so you had told him to just show it to you on Christmas when you spoke, and that you could collect it next time you saw each other in person. Ever since last year, when you and Will had both spent far too much money for either of your budgets, you decided that expensive gifts weren’t an option. At least not until you were both out of your financial struggles.

Over the year he had written out one thing he loved about you every day, and put them onto slips of paper and filled a glass jar with them. Some were general things, like “you have really pretty eyes” but some were more specific, like “today you told me a random fact about tropical fish, and now every time I see a fish it’s yet another excuse to think about you.”

So it was Christmas morning, and you both had the morning off. Wilbur had volunteered to take the afternoon shift to get some extra money. He’d FaceTimed you early in the morning, hoping you hadn’t gone to bed. He wanted to open the last drawer with you, but you’d texted him a few days earlier saying if times didn’t work out than to just open it himself. Since he’d be working late, he probably wouldn’t get to talk to you if you didn’t answer. So he sighed, and made his way over to the kitchen to open the final drawer.

Unlike the rest of them, this one had a note on the top rather than the bottom. Read this first, it read, and he unfolded the paper eagerly.

It wasn’t a note, like he’d assumed. Instead it was a screenshot. A screenshot of flight information.

There was a knock at the door.

He brought the paper with him, staring at it for a few moments. It hadn’t quiet registered what it meant until he opened the door and you leapt into his arms.

“You’re here,” He breathed out, closing his eyes.

“I am,” you said. “Did you open it yet? I didn’t know if I came too early but I know you have to work this afternoon.”

“Just in time.” He insisted. “I just opened this,” He brandished the piece of paper and you stepped back.

“So you haven’t seen the rest?” Wilbur shook his head and suddenly you were dragging him back inside his flat.

“Do you have a bag? Did you come here with nothing?” He asked, flustered at the mess his place was in. You didn’t care, and you didn’t answer either, instead just leading him to the cabinet. “How long are you staying?”

“Will, just open the drawer.” You insisted.

He did, and underneath where the note had been, there was a small key. “I don’t understand.”

“When I was here last I got an email about jobs available in Brighton,” you explained, clutching his hand. “I guess my workseeking app must have assumed I moved. Anyway, I applied and they said the position had been filled but a month ago they reached out and said they had an opening. So I took it.”

“So this is-”

“The flat I’m renting.” You nodded. “It’s just temporary, the whole thing was quite rushed. But I’ve been slowly shipping my things over, and I’ll be here for the next six months at least.” His face was blank and you bit your lip. You and Wilbur had been together for nearly four years, but you were worried you’d overstepped by not asking. “Is that okay?”

Wilbur looked at you, tears in his eyes and pulled you into him again. He kissed you, long and hard, until he needed to come back up for air. “Of course that’s okay! Holy shit, you’re actually here.” He kissed you again. “Move in here.”

“What?”

“You said it yourself, you’re looking for something more permanent. Come live here, with me,” he faltered. “If you want to, that is.”

“Of course I do,” You beamed. “Of course!”

Wilbur laughed and embraced you, and the two of you stood there in his living room. In your living room. “Merry Christmas, lovely,” he whispered, not wanting to break the spell.

You giggled up at him. “Happy Christmas, Wilbuh” you mocked his accent.

He chuckled softly. “Hey, you live in the UK too. That means sooner or later everything that comes out of your mouth will be stupid.”

“Wilbur.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“I love you.”

He sighed begrudgingly. “I love you too.”

[old-daemon-farts]

Hi there! I've got a question about daemons and I think you might know the answer?

My daemon Sleet and I have a confusing relationship and interactions - in that we act like roommates with conflicting schedules.

He jumps in whenever he wants to give his thoughts on what I'm thinking (he did just barely when I was writing his name (I'm using a fake name for him and I for privacy reasons and he didn't like the one I picked so he chose Sleet instead lol)), but we don't talk a lot - once every few weeks at the most and even then it's for short bursts of conversation.

I've tried to intentionally get his attention before but he just ignores me unless he wants to talk to me - which is strange because if he's really my daemon then wouldn't we be more in-sync? It almost feels like he's an entirely separate being sometimes.

I guess what I'm saying here is that I'm not sure if Sleet is actually my daemon or if he's some kind of half-formed tulpa/weird headmate/some version of a system? (lol he didn't like me calling him half-formed he says that makes it sound like I'm describing him as melting)

If you have any other resources on this then I'm happy to have them - sorry for dumping all this in your inbox.

I wanted to respond to let you know that I've seen this, and tomorrow I plan on reposting this with a proper answer!

[cupidsdolll]

pumpkin

It’s not fall if you haven’t carved a pumpkin yet. There's no way, it’s one of the major events during the whole season, like literally almost everyone does it now. Not to mention, a couple of neighbors have already gotten theirs and have fake plastic ones out to hold the real ones in place. And sure, maybe it’s just a silly little tradition and doesn’t matter to most people, but there’s just something about doing it with someone you love that makes it so much better.

But you know Harry never had the best experience with Halloween and doesn’t necessarily want to do anything scary. He’s been hesitant to do anything Halloween related since you’ve been together and it’s perfectly understandable. So you beg and beg and promise it won’t be as bad, and you won’t even do a scary face like you really want to do. You tell him it’ll be a happy pumpkin to welcome everyone in instead of scaring them away, and even then you can still sense the uncertainty of it all in his body language. You pull out your secret weapon though, you stare at him all wide-eyed and pout your lips. You know he can’t say no to that face, all of his friends know. It’s his one weakness.

He sighs before agreeing, but the moment anything that might trigger him happens the event and festivities are done. You nod excitedly before hugging him tightly, expressing your thanks to him excitedly and promising that nothing’s gonna happen. You can’t wait to go to the small pumpkin patch and pick out the perfect pumpkin, carve out a silly little face, and share the magical moment (at least for you) with one of the main people in your life.

Within the next couple of days, you’ve finally freed some time in both of your schedules to go to the small pumpkin patch to pick out the most perfect one. As you two wander around, eyes roaming over all the options before coming across a tiny little pumpkin you can’t help but to coo excitedly over the little fruit.

“Haz!!! Look at the little pumpkin!” Your face lights up as you lean down to pick it up, holding it gently as if it were made of glass. He laughs fondly at the girl before following behind, his eyes full of adoration for you.

He can’t help but to watch you fondly even as his arms somehow became full of different colors of the tiny pumpkins, your mission to find the pumpkin to carve seemingly forgotten once you found out there was more than one of the smaller pumpkins. He can almost barely carry them all, and there’s no way you can find more. You must have managed to find all of the small pumpkins in the whole patch, and how did you even manage to just find them all and breeze by all the normal pumpkins?

After a couple of minutes and a few dropped pumpkins, you finally gave up on your hunt for the miniature ones and settled for a decently sized-pumpkin. Harry had to grab a heavy-duty bag from a man in the lot who held onto an armful of bags for this exact scenario it seems, making sure to thank him before returning to you and dumping all of your ‘pumpkin babies’ into it and holding the bigger one in his arms.

Once you both got home, you immediately had Harry call over his group of friends to invite them over to draw faces on the small ones, while you and him carved out your own to keep outside your house. Obviously, you didn’t have the proper things to carve out the pumpkin, so you used one of your bigger kitchen knives and had Harry hold onto a smaller one to do the face.

Once you managed to cut off the top and began scooping out the guts, you glanced beside you to see Harry with a look of disgust on his face. You laugh to yourself, while the sound of the other adults conversations fill the room. Some were filled with happiness, while some sounded annoyed like their partner wasn’t doing something wrong. You happily carved out the face, and Harry… well he just stood there holding the knife until called upon like a nurse in the operator room.

[aiura-stan]

no one tells you that the right meds when combined with enough exercise a good sleep schedule proper diet plenty of engaging rewarding work good relationships enough water and time for hobbies will literally fix all of your problems. But mostly the right meds, because What The Fuck. I feel better than I have felt for months and months. I only get like, 5 days of feeling like this per year, max. Some people spend every day feeling like this? Some people are always their best selves? sounds so fake. I forgot what it was like to be healthy, man

[agentsquirrelsgotrobots]

The Stars, The Moon, The Sun, and an Incoming Constellation

Part two

also posted on my a03, Agentsquirrel

The next day, they went back to their regularly scheduled house hunting. They found a purple Victorian in need of repairs with all original wood cabinets and flooring. By the sheer excitement in Sam's eyes, she would have murdered Danny if he didn't let her pay cash on the spot.

They were moved in by the end of the month, Danny finding out the place was haunted by more than a few child ghosts, who insisted on their newest little sibling having their room right next to theirs, and that they get a hobby horse.

Both Danny considered reasonable demands, and really, they were going to use that room anyway, as it was closest to their room. With a single phone call, Sam had her parents sending her family's heirloom cradle and rocking chair to be delivered within the week.

The nursery was going to be space themed, of course, and Tucker was already tinkering with a high-tech baby monitor. Unexpectedly, the doorbell rang, and Danny resisted the urge to phase through the floor to get to the door, reminding himself that they didn't have blinds yet.

Surprisingly, a green bulldozer was in their driveway, the police officer from the other day, and a blond man standing on their front stoop. Danny answered the door, trying not to sound as nervous as he was.

"Anything wrong, officer?" Danny asked, blocking them from seeing inside.

"Are you Danny Mason?" Charlie asked, slipping into Police Chief mode.

Danny nodded. "Yes."

"We are here to take your statement. I'm Graham Burns, the town's Civic Engineer. This is my dad-"

"Griffin Rock Police Chief Charlie Burns." Charlie offered his hand, and Danny shook it.

"Legally, I am still Daniel James Fenton, as my legal name change is still pending. But, I prefer to be Mr. Mason, or Danny, if we have to be casual."

"Of course, is Mrs. Mason home?" Charlie asked, making a note to edit his reports.

"Yes, permission to go back inside to get her?"

"Of course, but you aren't -" Danny slipped back inside before Charlie could finish, shutting the door in his face. "-Being questioned." He finished, rubbing his eyes in irritation.

Danny came back with Sam quickly, a fake smile on both their faces.

"Hello." Sam said, quite uncomfortable.

"Sam Mason?" Charlie asked.

"That's me." She answered stiffly.

"I wanted to ask you questions about yesterday's incident."

"Of course. Would you like to come in? There's not much furniture, but Danny could grab a camping chair from his office if need be."

"That's not necessary. Could you tell me how you got caught in that fight?"

"We were wandering around after Tucker took the car. We needed to use the restroom, and he decided to be an ass and drive away as a prank. Unfortunately, neither of us could use a map if it killed us, and we ended up in the restricted area. We were looking for an employee when those guys opened fire, and from there, we were just trying to survive." Sam said.

"I got lost in the smoke and took my time trying to get out." Danny said. "The hospital staff took my shoes and socks, and Sam's shirt, they are with mainland police."

"That's all I needed to know. Have a good day." Charlie said, pulling Graham with him as he left.

They got into Boulder, and Charlie gave Graham a look. "Next time, let me talk."

Graham cleaned his glasses and sighed. "Got it."

They drove back, and Charlie called a family meeting.

"Guys, they know nothing. Tomorrow, I will go pick up evidence from the mainland, but for the moment, Dani, Graham, I want you to at least try to fish for information. I want to know what killed those men, and why."

"Sammy?" Danny said, his voice that tired tone he gets after processing a bad fight. "Are you sure those gangsters were bad?"

"Yes, Danny, they wanted to kill us and followed us across state lines. Now, they know that this is Phantom's territory, and we can focus on the future baby and setting up a proper home."

Danny chuckled. "You sound like your mother."

"My mother didn't let man-eating hot dogs lead a revolution."

"Fair. I mean, at least the local schools are decent."

"And about to get a nice donation." Tucker said, his usual beanie replaced with a red silk scarf and rumpled from his mid afternoon nap. "The blinds should be here in a few days. Until then, Danny, feet on the ground."

Danny sighed. "Got it. Can't pretend Phantom is just a wig and contacts anymore."

"Uhh, no. You have the night sky as a skin tone, and your eyes are all melty now that you are a fully fledged ghost." Sam said. "I mean, it's gorgeous, but doesn't pass as human."

"Could I at least go flying? Please? I will stay out of the way of the helicopter?" Danny begged.

"Fine. But be careful." Sam said, knowing he would have snuck out to do it anyway. They all slept in separate rooms anyway, as they all preferred different sleeping arrangements, as Sam's a blanket hog, Danny needs a night light, and Tucker is a night owl.

As soon as the sun set, Danny went for a walk, found an unlit area, and bolted towards the sky, transforming as he went. He became a green bolt of light, twisting and turning in the sky. He went as high as he was comfortable, feeling the wind try to pull himself along. He knew he was unconsciously phasing through the worst of the wind currents, so when he grabbed onto gravity and started to free fall, the wind hit him at full force, his back stinging from the biting wind.

He pulled back up before he hit the tree line and surveyed the docks. A cleanup crew had been through already, though the bullet holes had yet to be patched.

Danny continued flying, performing loop de loops and aerial tricks for an audience of no one. At least, he thought so.

Just below him, Huxley was filming with his altered cell phone, secured against the getting one last good shot of the being’s face before sending it to Chief Burns. He had learned his lesson with the invasion incident and, with no backup, didn't want to risk being attacked by the otherwise oblivious creature.

Danny circled back to the edge of the suburbs, dropping down into a tall patch of grass and fighting his way back out, spitting out a few blades that had somehow made it into his mouth. He walked back to the house, fumbling with his house key and managing to trip over several boxes before falling into a lawn chair, breaking it. Sam flipped on the light, unimpressed.

“Really? Could you have been any louder?” She asked, her long, floor-length robe made of silk and dyed reclaimed rabbit fur, swishing over the cracked floorboards that desperately needed to be refinished.

She had the epiphany that the most sustainable way of buying clothes was wearing out what you already own and buying quality, sustainably sourced pieces from brands and artists that align with your values. She was still vegan but realized that buying plastic to avoid animal cruelty was a bit of an oxymoron. She found a variety of artists that worked with all reclaimed and ethically sourced materials and, as her clothes aged and wore out, had been slowly replacing them. Each piece was pricey, but she knew they would last, and no one was exploited in the creation process. After her tulle robe had ripped, Tucker had bought it for her as a Christmas gift (they celebrated mostly Jewish holidays, as Sam's family is Jewish, but Danny loves Christmas, so they usually had a small tree and a couple presents. Tucker insists on going to his parents' house for Thanksgiving. )

“Sorry. I realized I couldn't just drop in the front yard.”

“No you cannot. Go to the bathroom, check yourself for ticks, change, and come snuggle. I want Danny hugs tonight.”

Danny smiled and gave his favorite goth overlord a peck on the cheek before changing and heading up to bed.

[handeaux]

In Old Cincinnati, Nights Before Halloween Were Packed With More Tricks Than Treats

These days, Halloween seems to kick off sometime just after Labor Day and drags on into the first week of November when the seasonal candy goes on sale and the fake spider webs sag under a load of soggy fallen leaves. In the old days, however, Halloween was restricted to two or three nights and the emphasis was on “trick” rather than “treat.” The Cincinnati Post [27 October 1922] carried the schedule for St. Marys, Ohio:

“Mayor W.H. Swift and Tony Johns, police chief, say the boys can have a good time on these nights if they don’t destroy property. Oct. 29 is to be ‘Cabbage Night;’ Oct. 30, ‘Corn Night;’ and Oct. 31, Hallowe’en.”

Let us, for the moment, leave aside the fact that this invitation was addressed only to boys, and focus on those additional nights. What was Cabbage Night? What was Corn Night? And, depending on where you lived in the United States, what was Gate Night, Goosey Night, Devil’s Night, Tick-Tack Night, Mischief Night, Beggars Night, Trick Night and Damage Night?

Donald E. Weaver, assistant city editor of the Cincinnati Post, explained Corn Night in a reminiscence published on Halloween 1930:

“Corn Night was the last night before Halloween. The kids threw shelled corn against the windows, rang doorbells and soaped a few windows.”

Weaver describes a ritual week of various mischief-breeding nights, beginning with Tick-Tack Night and ending with Halloween. A Tick-Tack (or Tic-Tac) had nothing to do with bad breath. It was a device built around one of Mom’s old sewing spools, screwed onto a long stick so that, when the miscreant pulled a string wrapped around the spool, it sounded like someone rapping on the window. It was the same principle as Corn Night, only louder.

Gate Night is somewhat self-explanatory when you picture the bygone neighborhoods of yesteryear, each little yard surrounded by a picket fence. As Weaver explained:

“The next morning was apt to find Squire Hickey’s gate hangin’ from the belfry of the Town Hall.”

Goosey Night wasn’t much celebrated in these parts, being almost entirely confined to the New York and New England region. The origin of the name is disputed, but most authorities believe it has nothing to do with poultry, and more to do with ghosts. It was a night devoted to scaring nocturnal pedestrians with noisemakers and eerie lanterns.

Mischief Night and Trick Night pretty much define themselves. Nights carrying those formal names were mostly celebrated eastward from here, but the spirit spread throughout the Cincinnati area, as Editor Weaver recalled:

“Widow Green’s cow got so used to being put queer places on Halloween she didn’t seem to mind. But Widow Green, she took on somethin’ terrible, especially the time the boys crowded Flossie into Biddy Harmon’s henhouse, ‘cause Widow Green and Biddy hadn’t spoken for years.”

Cincinnati lies at the southern fringe of an area in which Devil’s Night is observed. The real hotbed of Devil’s Night activity is in Michigan, especially around Detroit where, in some years, the riot squad had to be called out to quell disturbances that fell just shy of urban warfare.

So, how did cabbages get mixed up in all this rowdy mischief? To explain, we must return to the question of gender discrimination and the nefarious suppression of women by the patriarchy. While their brothers and potential boyfriends were out soaping windows and stealing gates, in other words, “having fun,” proper young ladies observed Halloween by attempting to determine who would become their future husbands. One guaranteed method involved cabbages. Don Weaver, apparently ignorant of the matrimonial aspects of the family Brassicaceae, reports only on the mischievous aftereffects of the cabbage ritual:

“The next night after Tick-Tack Night was Cabbage Night, when they swiped what cabbages were left in the gardens, and tossed ‘em onto front porches.”

Not so fast, Donny Boy! Way back in 1875, a correspondent to the Cincinnati Times, who signed his article only with the penname “Nepenthe,” gave the real story:

“Imagine the young belles of our city arrayed in their most-tied-backest evening suit en traine, and the beaux in their lavenderest pants, spotless diamond decked shirt-fronts, and faultless swallow-tailed coats, tripping out into the nearest Mill Creek garden, groping about among the protecting fodder for a cabbage-stalk, which, upon being brought under the gaslight, will presage by its crookedness or straightness the character of their future life-partners.”

Having done its vegetative duty as a marriage predictor, of what use was the clairvoyant cabbage? Hence it was tossed upon the nearest porch, or the porch of one’s prospective father-in-law, perhaps.

Another scrying technique, employed by boys and girls involved three bowls. One was filled with clear water, another with either mud or ashes, and the third left empty. The three receptacles were laid out in a row on a table, the subject blindfolded and the bowls reordered repeatedly. The visually impaired supplicant then felt for a bowl and plunged his or her fingers into it. If they splashed clear water, they would marry a virginal spouse. If they touched the mud or ashes, they would marry a widow or widower. If they found the empty bowl, a lifetime of spinsterhood or bachelorhood awaited.

Why did these antique celebrations fade away? One reason is certainly the expansion of the Halloween season. It was rare, well into the 1950s, for adults to take any part in Halloween festivities. This was a spooky holiday for children only. The very idea of a “sexy nurse” costume was inconceivable. Pop-up Halloween stores that open shop before the Autumn Equinox are very much a modern development.

But the main reason these “mischief nights” are no longer commemorated has to do with active police suppression. During the 1930s, Cabbage Night destruction got completely out-of-hand. The Cincinnati Post [31 October 1940] reported incidents from the night before involving flaming barricades blocking streets and tying up traffic, tool sheds being set ablaze, gangs of ruffians driving around firing rifles at windows in occupied houses, all the windows of a school being broken, piles of garbage filling alleys, multiple cases of flat tires, and dozens of fist fights.

The 1960s brought escalated mayhem as “Mischief Night” evolved into “Damage Night.” The Enquirer reported several outrageous incidents the night before Halloween in 1963, including two serious grass fires in Indian Hill and a foot-deep crater blasted in the Kyles Lane entrance to I-75. In 1986, 59 automobiles had their tires punctured by Damage Night vandals in Brentwood. In other words, the stuff your parents described as “good, clean fun.”

[inciting-chaos-series]

The Night Shift: Chapter Two

If you'd like to be tagged when new chapters are posted let me know!

-Ghostiewvlf

✦✦Update: Edited slightly :) -Ghostiewvlf

✦ The Night Shift Masterpost ✦

➢ Tag List: @valleys

➢Author: Ghostiewvlf & JTheGhost ➢ Rating: Mature ➢ Pairings: Corpse X reader | Corpse X y/n ➢ Themes: Slow Burn | Coworkers To Lovers | Angst | Holiday | Mutual Pining | Fluff | Smut? | Hurt/Comfort | Soulmates | Fake Relationships | Miscommunication | Forced Proximity | Found Family | ➢ Warnings: Crude Humor | Suicidal Jokes/Ideation | Drinking | Smoking |

➢Summary:

You work the night shift at a local dog kennel for boarding and daycare. You love the peace and quiet of the shift, but just when you get comfortable- a few break-ins happen around town, and upper management decides to place your quiet, brooding, shift lead on the schedule with you.

☽✧ Chapter Two: Hesitancy ✧☾

-Y/N POV-

The next few shifts with him were pretty uneventful. Logan sustained his normal, more closed off, demeanor- though it seemed he opened up a lot more when it was just the two of you and no other staff or customers. It was nice getting to know him on a level besides ‘young guy that happened to be in charge but never acted like it.’ 

“I never really wanted this position, you know.” He muttered softly.

“What?” You hadn't expected him to change the subject so quickly. You’d finished early tonight, on account of the small number of animals that were boarding along with the cold weather outside preventing longer playgroups for them. You'd just been joking around about a crazy customer that kept calling after hours. 

“Shift lead. I know no one here really sees me as a boss, I like it and all but… for what they’re expecting of me, vs what theyre paying me… its fucking ridiculous.” He laughed and scrolled through his Twitter feed on the work computer. 

“Isn't that how they always get you?” You laughed lightly. Neither the company, nor the industry itself, were known for the competitive pay or the proper treatment of staff. 

“Pretty much. I was just too desperate for any type of raise since I just lost my- roommate or whatever.” He rolled his eyes. “Shits fuckin difficult.” 

“I’m sorry man, did you wanna talk about it?” You offered softly, unsure of how to react to him willingly telling you all this.

“No- no, just- I don't know. I just don't want you to see me as this, like, hard ass or something you know? I hear the conversations behind closed doors.” He laughed. “Ever since I got ‘promoted’ everyone hates working with me. They think that either I’m a rat, or that I didn't deserve the position… It doesn't bother me too much but, I don't know- if we're gonna be working together almost every night, I just hope you don’t see me that way I suppose. It would make things easier.” 

“I don’t. I mean- it is strange suddenly like- working one-on-one with just your shift lead, but I don't know, I guess you and I have the same kind of work ethic so it kind of works out.” You chuckled and shrugged. 

“True.” He gave you a tired smile before his eyes widened a bit. “Shit I never paid up on that IOU huh?” He pulled out his phone and leaned back in the reception chair next to you. “How does pizza sound?” He raised an eyebrow and smiled a crooked grin. 

“You don't have to do that.” You laughed. “I was pretty used to working these shifts solo, so having you to help just makes it easier, you napping on the job didn't affect me much.” You nudged his chair lightly with your shoe, pushing it slightly.

“Whatever, I always keep my word, so I’m getting us pizza, it sounds fire right now.” He rolled his eyes and pushed you back before turning his attention to his phone again. “Pepperoni sound good?”  

“Sounds good to me.” You shrugged and smiled at him. 

---

Once the end of your shift rolled around, he clocked both of you out before waiting at the door while you gathered up your things. He flashed you a tired smile when you finally headed over to the door.

“You didn’t need to wait for me… you’re exhausted you should've headed out.” You stated as you both made your way out after locking up.

“It’s fuckin dark out here though… I mean- wasn't management's whole point of having two of us work so that we’re safe?” He teased in a soft mocking tone while he walked you over to your car. “Can’t let those hooligans get to us underpaid staff.”

“Yeah I suppose so…” You laughed and stopped at your car door, unlocking it and tossing your bag in. “Well, thank you anyways- you get home safe.” 

“You too, y/n.” He smiled and gave you a nod before hopping into his own car. This was such a new side of him to you. Night shifts were actually becoming fun like day shifts with Liz were before switching over. It was nice that you actually got to talk and be friendly. You were actually starting to look forward to working the next shift with Logan. 

-Logan’s POV- 

He sat and let his car warm up, keeping an eye on you to ensure your car started and you could be on your way home. Once you’d left the lot he let out a huff of breath he hadn't realized he’d been holding. He hadn’t exactly meant to reveal so much about himself, it just seemed to slip out so easily. He took his phone and connected it to the stereo before putting on one of his playlists and starting his own drive home. 

He had to admit to himself, working the later shifts with you had been much nicer than the day shifts. He was finding himself looking forward to them, even the days he pulled a double. You were a dedicated worker, and it was obvious that you showed up for much more than a paycheck, you really did care about the work you put in and the animal’s happiness. He respected it, though he found it a bit funny; you seemed to be on the same page as him when it came to certain policies or disliking the culture within the field- yet you never cut corners when it came to the important tasks or taking care of the animals. He understood now why management had been so lackluster about choosing him as shift lead- you had obviously been their first choice, given the extensive experience and expertise you had in the field, but since you were only part-time- they couldn’t give you the title of lead. He wondered if they had even approached you about it or not. 

Not that any of it mattered at all to him, afterall he was keeping you at an arm's-length from him. He didn’t need anyone new in his life, and judging on how similar you were to him, you’d be fast friends for sure. He didn’t need to see the disappointment grow in your face as you slowly got to know him, and he didn’t need to watch another person walk out of his life- after all, you were smart, and funny… and kind, you would quickly grow wise to what a degenerate he truly was. 

Once he got home he grabbed a snack before quickly retreating to his room. He still wasn’t fully able to exist comfortably in the living room or kitchen, even his bedroom it was difficult. There were far too many memories of when he wasn’t living alone that taunted him out there. Everywhere he looked in his apartment he seemed to be bombarded with flashbacks of her and the life they’d had together before she inevitably broke him.  

He collapsed in bed and started up a game on his console to relax. Just as he finished up his first match, he heard his phone buzz at his side. He felt a similar buzz in his chest in the hope that it was you, but that didn’t last as the Google Photos notification appeared on his screen. His gaze hardened as he checked the date while the application loaded. Just as he suspected, an old anniversary date. He swiped the app closed before the photos of some long buried memory could load and force it all back to the surface. He tossed the phone away and started another match, a new frustrated indignation brewing in him and souring his abnormally good mood. He didn’t want to drink again- he couldn’t come into work and have you seeing him hungover again, but the urge was strong from the bottle beside him on the nightstand.  

It wasn't until a quarter till 4am that it buzzed again, he paused the game and was ready to shut off the device when your name appeared on the screen. He instantly clicked it and was greeted with your familiar friendly tone in your texts. 

Y/n:

You make it home safe?

Logan:

Yeah like thirty minutes ago. Do you really drive that slow, granny?

Y/n:

I live far away and it’s foggy on the highway… ac-tu-ally 

Logan:

Whatever you need to tell yourself to rationalize it 😂

Glad you’re home safe. Get some rest lol 

He couldn’t help the full laugh as you sent back an angry grandma gif in response, nor could he help the slight dread he felt afterward in response. 

➢ Links:

✦ Fics Masterlist ✦ The Night Shift Masterpost ✦ ✦ AO3 ✦ Wattpad ✦ Art ✦ ✦ Requests Masterpost & Guidelines ✦ Request Trope List ✦ 。:゜:.*∵✧∵ ☽ Submit A Request ☾∵✧∵*:.゜: 。

[myimaginedcorner]

HAPPY NEW YEAR: A/MC

WARNING: Potential spoilers for one of A's Good Endings. Non-explicit but steamy romantic content.

“Shit, it’s so late!!”

I haven’t realised how lunchtime found us still lying in bed, the winter sun too weak to wake my southern instincts. Covering up my skin with a thick sheet, I check upon the clock with an annoyed sigh, asking myself where have I lost my sense of time and schedule. For my whole life, there was one reason or another to follow an agenda, waking at dawn only to leave as stars filled up the sky. Call it boring – I call it a survival trick of mine.

And yet, since my regular stays at Nadya’s main palace, many of my habits changed.

“Urgh.”

Including sleeping alone.

I turn my head to see a blonde, dishevelled monarch, whose green eyes dare not open to the passing day. Enjoying their first night of proper rest, A seems to take them just as seriously as they take their work, squeezing every last bit of sleep that they can get from every passing moment. It’s cute, to see futile resistance to the life ahead. However, I cannot let them lose on experiences out of a lazy wish.

“Wake up. We’re going to be very, very late.”

My insistence does little effect, as does my brief touch of their warm, pale nose. Wrinkling their forefront, A turns around, escaping my attempts, a blanket covering their head in a protective manner. I roll my eyes, my smile growing wider, slier. Oh well, you’ve started it.

With a big oof, the Leader greets my leg upon their side, followed by other parts of my warm body. As needy as a cat, I stretch around them, head upon their arm, my fingers carefully gripping sides of their warm sheet.

“A….” I warn them one last time, sweetly, threateningly.

“Leave me, tell them I died…” is all I hear as answer. Wrong answer, obviously.

With a quick jerk, I pull their blanket from their head, forcing the light to touch their pretty face.

“Uh-uh, if you die, I’ll have to do everything. And I don’t want to,” I point out with a laugh, enjoying the view of their squinting face.

“How nice of you… now I see your reasons to keep me alive…” they mumble back, and I laugh louder.

“Of course! I want you to do aaaall the work, while I enjoy the pleasures.”

Two emeralds finally open, looking into my eyes. Locking our sights, I smile, shameless in my position, bold in my words we both know are quite fake. I love to tease them. They’re so cute and funny. And best of all, they never can resist my smile.

“So, you’re just leeching from me?” stretching their arms, A leaves their muscles on display, their forms perfectly shaped under their skin.

I pass my fingers over them, sketching their shapes, enjoying the tight feeling of a body made by Nature’s best designers.

“Exactly,” I purr, nodding.

Big mistake.

With a brief gesture, effortless and simple, the Leader pins me to the bed, now being one to land upon me. Their pupils are fixated on my lips, their heated chest revealing a fast heartbeat. Their arms, holding my own against the mattress, need little effort to make me behave, for I’m more than willing to stay still and quiet. My own lungs shrink, my heart forgetting how to beat. Even now, it still awes me, how beautiful my partner is.  

“And what’s the gain for me?”

Their whispers sounds near my closed lips, their breathes melting my thoughts and leaving my mind blank. For a brief moment, I forget how to react, how to speak, even how to think. All I know is their presence close to me, and how I want them to get closer.

Alas, I bite my lip, bringing back sour reality.

“Currently, a reminder that we’re still late.”

Indeed, we are. We need to get out of our bed, dress up and have some food. Then, we must get prepared for the big night ahead, a celebration common for all human people. Once in a year, our moon predicts the coming of new cycles, its surface painted gold by our star. Once in a year, the night becomes day, refusing to give back the light it steals from its bright sibling. Once in a year, all turns around, Nature preparing for a new beginning. Once in a year, all humans go outside to watch the world go back in time.

In Hero, it’s the time for new predictions, monarchs giving speech about what Seers have said. Vannais, however, follows no such traditions… instead, it’s a memorial of a full year of freedom. Of people that they’ve lost this year, and who they’ve gained. Of failures that they suffered, and victories they claimed. Of strategies, of history. Of voluntary choices, taken by each mind. That’s what Vannais sees themselves doing. And with that, a speech to Memory is given by the Leader, this time, highlighted by the end of war.

Yes, that’s right, no more war. Vannais is entering a peaceful existence. And with it, us. Together.

“But we can spare ourselves a couple of minutes, can’t we?”

A brief, passing kiss brings me back, erasing from my mind the epic thoughts of our achievements. Lying in bed, it’s only them and me, two hearts tied by a love that has survived all struggles. No Leader, and no Saviour. Just us.

I smile, passing my hands over their arms. Well, if we’re swift at changing…

“Yes… yes, we can spare some time,” I purr back, leaning for a kiss that I’m gladly given.

A little more, from a whole life to spend next to each other’s side.

[justsome-di]

Nobody Ends Up Dead in a Bathtub, Everyone Keeps Their Organs: Chapter 23

Summary: Alex is an ordinary, highly-introverted office worker. He clocks in and out and goes home to his little apartment he shares with his younger sister. He hasn’t dated in years by the time his co-workers set him up on a blind date.

The only issue is he and his date are not on the same page. At all.

While Alex thinks it’s a normal date, Damián is under the impression Alex is a client who paid to be there. No-so-quickly, they realize something is up. It’s all a prank. Damián is a sex worker Alex’s co-workers hired as a sick joke.

After reassuring that they’re both okay, Alex decides he wants revenge for both him and Damián. The plan is to use the stigma of sex work and start a 6-week, scandalous fake dating scheme with a big finale at the office Halloween party. Alex’s co-workers will be too horrified to try to prank him again. At least, that’s the plan.

You can also read this on AO3. If you don’t want to wait for new chapters, the complete story is on Patreon for only $4 with bonus stories! If you’re enjoying the story and want to support me in other ways, consider dropping me a message in my inbox or reblogging this post!

“You’re positive Eve won’t show back up?”

“Positive.”

Alex locked the door behind him. In movies, he had always seen couples throwing clothes off of each other as soon as they got inside. But he and Damián had to behave in the car and in the elevator and down the hallway. Their momentum had been stalled.

Damián took the chance to remove his boots. Alex did the same. It was very un-sexy. The mood was failing.

“What now?” he asked.

Damián tugged at Alex’s shirt. “We do the very, very sexy act of talking.”

Alex didn’t want to talk. He wanted to kiss Damián again and strip him down and, well, fuck him. Or figure out how to fuck him.

“We should set boundaries, okay? What’s a good safe word?” Damián asked. “I don’t know what you say during sex, and we need to know for sure when we need to stop. I’d rather be too cautious than hurt you.”

Alex had heard of safe words before. They were mentioned in the articles he had read but only for BDSM sex. He looked around the apartment, whipping his head around in desperation. Were safe words supposed to kill the mood?

“Uh.” He spotted Eve’s copy of collected Oscar Wilde works on the bookshelf. “Dorian Gray?”

“Ooh. That’s best one I’ve heard in a long time.”

“How many have you heard?”

“One for every client. So, a lot. Too many to count.”

Multiples times a week. Every week for years.

Alex’s stomach flipped. He didn’t know what he was doing, and Damián would immediately be able to tell. It would be like incorrectly pointing out the Big Dipper in the sky to a NASA scientist.

“I say we keep this very vanilla and very tame,” Damián said. He pressed his hips against Alex’s. “Does that sound good?”

“Yes.”

Alex would take anything. He had never been so desperate in his entire life.

“And after this, I’ll walk you through all the testing and stuff you should really schedule.”

“Testing?”

“STD tests. I can give you the whole spiel about how you should get tested after every new partner, but let’s save that for later.” Damián squeezed Alex’s arm. “If you don’t want to go through with this—“

“No! I do! I just never thought about that. And I don’t want you to think that I think that you have—I never gave it much thought.”

In the fantasy of sex, Alex had never thought about the responsibility of it. Testing, talking, safe words for vanilla sex. It had never occurred to him. 

“Consider me your sex ed teacher from here on out. A good one who knows all about PrEP and proper testing. And one who literally just got test results today. Negative, by the way. All of them.”  

Damián kissed him again and again and again. And somehow, they managed to walk to Alex’s bedroom, tugging at each other’s clothes.

“Lay down,” Damián said, guiding Alex to his bed. “Let me take care of you.”

He pulled Alex’s shirt off and then his own. Alex wiggled out of jeans, favoring speed over sexiness. Finally, they were stripped down, and Alex was staring at Damián. All of Damián. He was just as gorgeous naked as he was dressed.

Damián dug around in his front jeans pockets before throwing them across the room. Plastic crinkled as Damián ripped open two condoms. He slid them on both of them like an expert, letting his hands linger on their bodies.

So Damián had shown up prepared. He knew what he was doing. Of course, he would have shown up with lubricated condoms.

“Did you plan this?” Alex asked.

“Plan the sex?” Damián brushed a lock of Alex’s hair off his forehead. “I mean, I prepared for it. Just in case. I was going to wait for you to initiate it.”

And it was all too much.

Alex had no idea what he was doing. He was aching to touch Damián, but he didn’t know where to start. There was nothing more humiliating than just laying there, frozen, while Damián was trying to take the next step.

All of a sudden, he was overwhelmed. It was the stimulation from the club and the anxiety and the fear of disappointing Damián, chasing him away forever.

Alex pressed his hands to his eyes. He didn’t want Damián to see him cry. But thinking about how embarrassed he was only made his face burn hotter and tears push themselves down the sides of his face.

“Alex? Hey.”

Damián pulled Alex’s hands away and held them between his own. Alex blinked until he could almost clearly see Damián’s face. It was gentle. Concerned.

“What’s wrong?” Damián asked.

“I’m sorry.”

“No. No. Don’t be sorry. Do you want to tell me what’s wrong? Do you want to stop?”

“No. I don’t want to stop. I’m just—I’m really mortified.”

“Why?”

“I’ve never done this before.”

“Done what?”

Alex made the most pathetic whining sound. “I’ve never had sex before.”

Damián smiled. He brushed his knuckles against Alex’s cheeks, wiping his tears away. “That’s okay.”  

“Is it? I’m 33.”

“So?”

“So, I’m too old to be a virgin.”

“There is no such thing as being too old to be a virgin. Listen, I’ve been with a lot of people of a lot of different ages who have never had sex before. The world has never ended because people didn’t have sex before they were—whatever. 18? 20? What’s the age people are supposed to have sex by? It doesn’t matter. It’s a dumb societal standard. What’s important is you do it when you’re ready.”

“But you’ve done it a hundred times.”

“Well. Yes. But it’s my job.”

Alex took a deep breath. “But you have more experience. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

“I have experience in helping people relax and have sex for the first time. Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“There we go.”

“You don’t care?”

“No. I don’t.” Damián wiped away the last of his tears. “I want you to be comfortable with this. I don’t want you to do anything only because you think you need to.”

Alex felt a little relief. It wasn’t about the sex anymore. Alex had never been taken care of so well. The last time someone dried his tears, he was six. He had fallen in the park and skinned his knee. His mother had cleaned him up, scrubbed his face with a thin tissue, and his father had patted him on the shoulder and told him big boys didn’t cry over little things. He had said it smiling, trying to make Alex believe he was stronger than he thought.

“Here, let me turn on some music. Can I connect to this?”

Damián picked up the small speaker on Alex’s nightstand. He fumbled with it and his phone for a few seconds and soft, lyric-less music began playing. Alex had no idea what it was, but it was nice. Slow, soft. 

“If it makes you feel any better, it’s been a while since I’ve done this,” Damián said.

“What? Had sex?”

“Non-work-related sex, yeah.”

“Is it any different?”

“Yeah. For me, at least.” Damián laid his hand on Alex’s chest. “Why don’t we get to know each other a little bit. Are you feeling better?”

Alex nodded, honored that Damián wasn’t freaked out. Crying before sex had to have been one of the most embarrassing things a person could do, and Damián had just brushed it off.

Damián picked up Alex’s hand and laid it on his own chest. There was muscle, though not a lot. Damián was more slim than toned. Up close, Alex could see that now. There has always been an illusion that he had nice muscles under his clothes.

Alex trailed his hand down, past Damián’s hip, and to his thigh.

Damián put his hands on Alex’s cheeks. For a disgustingly sappy moment, they looked into each other’s eyes. And Alex could only think about how kind Damián was.

“Are you ready?” Damián whispered, almost like he was afraid of startling Alex.

“Yeah.”

“Tell me if you need to stop.” Damián began kissing him again. “I’ll be gentle with you, okay? I’ll take it slow.”

“Okay.”

Damián slid down from Alex’s hips to his legs.

His kissing trailed from Alex’s lips to his jaw and down to his chest. It was like Alex was suddenly given a million new nerve endings. He had no idea that someone’s lips pressed to his sternum would make him feel like every cell in his body was on fire.

“Fuck,” he moaned, not even bothered by how cringe-inducing he would think it was later.

Damián kissed him one last time before sitting up and re-positioning his body.

He slid Alex inside him.

And Alex had thought kissing felt good.

It didn’t last long. It wasn’t like in movies where everything happened slow and sensually, perfectly timed with quick breathing.

Alex was so pent up, it ended fairly quickly.

One moment, his heart was racing and his hands were reaching out to grab Damián’s hair and the bedsheets. All of his senses were exploding.

The next, his breath was caught in his chest. His fingers curled tight around Damián’s hair, and he hoped he didn’t hurt Damián when he pulled his fist. He wanted to arch his back, but Damián was still firmly planted on his hips.

“Fuck,” he said. Not a moan this time but a breathy statement.

Damián had one hand planted on Alex and the other around himself. His eyes were closed. His breathing was heavy until he gasped and dragged his nails across Alex’s hips.

He collapsed next to Alex.

“Oh my god,” he said.

“Was that too quick?” Alex asked.

“No. No. No.” Damián raised himself up and kissed Alex on the cheek. Their faces were drenched in sweat. “It was perfect.”

Laying there, the effects wearing off, Alex was starting to settle into disbelief. He had just had sex—short sex, very vanilla sex—with Damián. And Damián said it was perfect.

It couldn’t have been perfect.

But Damián kissed him again and was still touching him, his hand over Alex’s soft middle. Maybe finishing quickly wasn’t as awful as everyone made it out to be. Maybe it had been good for Damián.

And for Alex. He had never been so close to someone. Physically, of course. But emotionally as well. He knew that sex would have to be a vulnerable thing. There was so much to it—getting undressed, laying out for someone. But he didn’t expect himself to weep.

“I’m sorry I cried,” Alex said.

“It’s okay. You’re in-touch with your emotions. I think it’s sweet.”

“You really think that?”

“Yes.”

Damián began cleaning them up. He cleaned up Alex first and then himself and re-arranged the bedsheets.

He returned to the bed and pressed close to Alex’s side.

“If you want to know, this is so much better than some guy giving me a friction burn and then leaving me half-hard,” Damián said.

Alex huffed out a little laugh. “That happens?”

“Yes! All the time. And it’s not terrible, but I’m also like. Okay. You could have bought yourself a toy for cheaper. I’m too expensive to be used as a dildo.”

“Ew.”

“Toys are fine, Alex.”

“No, I mean. Ew. People use you as a dildo. That’s not nice.”

“It’s not, but—” Damián sighed. “Sometimes people aren’t nice to sex workers. Shocking, I know. But look at your co-workers. They set you up on a date with a sex worker as a prank. There’s levels to that.”

“I know.”

“But, hey, at least you were so incredibly naive and kind that night.”

“Naive?”

“We got all the way to the hotel room before you realized what was happening.”

“I just thought you were from out of town.”

Damián laughed. He laid his arm across Alex’s chest. It was warm and heavy, and Alex loved it.

“Do you want to stay the night?” Alex asked. He figured it was polite to ask, and he hoped that Damián would say yes.

“If you don’t mind.”

Damián’s eyes were closing. He must have been exhausted. Alex rolled onto his side so that he was facing him.

“Want me to turn off the light?”

“If you’re ready to go to sleep.” Damián rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry I’m already falling asleep.”

The adrenaline had worn off. Alex was feeling drowsy. Drowsy and calm and perfectly willing to fall asleep in Damián’s arms.

He turned off his bedside light. In the dark, there was a rustling of sheets. Damián’s hand found his waist, and he pulled Alex close.

“Goodnight,” Alex whispered.

Damián didn’t say anything back. All Alex could hear was quiet, heavy breathing. It all felt right. Alex pulled the sheets over the both of them and closed his eyes. His mind totally chill for the first time in a long time and his body was comfortable and warm, he fell asleep.

[nickmaghighlights]

Nick Mag Highlights - #150 March 2009

Salutations everyone, and welcome to another chewy edition of Nick Mag Highlights. Today we’ll be reading through Nickelodeon Magazine #150, from March 2009!

First off, I’d like to apologize for the time since my last NMH post. I'm still trying to work out a proper schedule for this blog that makes sure I’m able to get these posts out at a consistent but manageable rate. Anyway, on with the show!

This cover is resoundingly familiar to me (yes, I dare even say nostalgic). 

It’s a classic bit of SpongeBob fare, which was indeed a largely familiar sight for Nickelodeon Magazine covers following SpongeBob SquarePants’ release and subsequent generation-defining popularity. For reference, 2009 saw the release of the show’s sixth season. Man, time flies!

Speaking of 2009, that was also the year that saw the unfortunate end of Nickelodeon Magazine in November. Being honest, that does sort of add a sad twinge to these issues for me, but I’ll set that aside for the sake of unbiased, uh, retrospecting! (Is that a word?) 

You can find the full issue here. Feel free to read along with me, if you’re so inclined!

Let’s see what’s on the menu today… Y’know I always get excited whenever the theme of the issue is something more on the oddly-specific side, like “Friends and Enemies”. You wouldn’t expect a whole magazine of content could be squeezed out of something like that, but that’s what makes it so interesting.

I’m most interested to see how stoic, harpoon-wielding Mr. Krabs ties into all this, especially with the theming. What do you think: friend or foe?

Holy moly, these credits couldn’t be more 2009 if they tried! Ah man, as fun as it was to make fun of Facebook moms back in the day (or, more specifically, watch Smosh make fun of Facebook moms back in the day), but funnily enough I think I now envy that sort of online innocence.

But forget about that! The Kids’ Choice Awards is nearly here! Actually, forget about that. There’s a new iCarly special coming out! Wait, no no no, forget about all of that! There’s a new episode of… uh, The Naked Brothers Band… coming out. Yay? On second thought, never mind, forget about that instead. The first two were way more exciting.

Woah, hey now! Aren’t we getting a bit ahead of ourselves here? The calendar was never this early on in any of the previous issues I’ve covered on this blog so far. I wonder what prompted the format change?

Speaking of change, I see they changed the instructions, too. I’m supposed to put this in a binder now? Who keeps a calendar in a binder? Besides, whenever I’ve had to use a binder for school or what-have-you, I’ve always had to use multiple binders. So I’d need a calendar for each binder, lest I be caught without a way to tell what day I’m even living in! This is madness!

Er, anyway, I can’t help but feel they might have been stretching for stuff to put in the March calendar this year. I mean, nothing against vitamins of course. Or even vitamin facts, for that matter! But I’m not sure they make the best calendar theme.

I would like to give a shoutout to this absolute fashionista on page 7 here. Sorry for all the 3D-printed BFF bling you’d have to make to properly steal her style.

Well isn’t this cute? But don’t let your guard down! It’s still just as much of a puzzle as any other puzzle… And when it comes to Nick that means it’s pretty easy, and this quest to spot the fake story is no different. 

Now I know I sound arrogant, but I will admit I wasn’t always such a whiz-kid! I’m pretty sure when I read this section back in the day I didn’t even notice it was supposed to be a puzzle, so I just took all these stories at face-value. Now, I’m smarter. Now, I can recognize a suspiciously flat, edited-in emu and can compare it to all the other dynamic and much harder to fake photos.

Now, I haven’t even actually checked the answer by the time of writing this, so maybe the fake story is actually the hamster and snake, who knows. I’d sure have egg on my face, wouldn’t I?

Call me crazy, but is that Homer Simpson and Bart in the bottom left near the trash can?

You know what I say, two pages spent on some Where’s Waldo?-style picture puzzle action is nary two pages wasted (I always say that). And this one’s a fun concept! I actually got distracted while writing this trying to find all the different situations that fit the BFF acronym. 

Now, I usually try to shed some light on the wonderful people responsible for Nick Magazine’s distinct art, but I’m actually hard-pressed to find much on Andrew Brisman, the artist behind these pages. Searching him online seems to just unearth a couple of gambling guide books written under the same name. And, regardless of whether or not that’s the same Brisman, I’m more interested in finding credits that are more relevant to what we’re talking about today.

So in that regard, the most I could find was that an Andrew Brisman did work as an editor on Dark Horse Comics’ Avatar: The Last Airbender - The Lost Adventures series. I’m inclined to believe that’s our guy, since a DeviantArt post from a former Nickelodeon Magazine editor indicates Brisman as previously working as a co-editor for an issue of Nickelodeon Magazine centered around the same show.

So yeah! Not every one of these artists is going to be so easy to find, but it’s nice to give credit where credit is due. I wish the best for Brisman, maybe he's doing something for those three new Avatar: The Last Airbender movies in development, eh?

I suppose this is a good way for kids to get the lowdown on all the famous media rivalries they probably already know about. I suppose the real engaging part is trying to figure out what the numbers on the Fight-o-Meter mean. 

Also, is it really necessary to spoil The Empire Strikes Back’s twist like that? I get it’s an old movie, but c’mon, there’s presumably kids reading who didn’t know yet.

I can’t be too critical though, since according to the website of the writer behind this section, she wrote this during an internship at Nick Magazine. Everyone’s gotta start somewhere!

Time for some pull-out pranks! Well, one prank and two small inspirational posters. It’s always weird for me whenever I’m reminded that old meme format in the top left used to just be a poster format people used regularly. 

And here we come across a beautiful cover done by the artist Theo Ellsworth to start off this issue’s Comic Book. If you’d like to check out more of his stuff, it seems your best venue is his Blogger site and Tumblr blog, although they’re seemingly no longer active.

Got to shed some spotlight on Scene but Not Heard once again. I may have brushed it off to the side in the last post but I think that’s a habit I picked up from childhood. Since this comic was so consistent I ended up glossing over it back in the day since I knew it was always going to be there. But in hindsight, that’s really not giving this comic and its creator Sam Henderson enough credit. It must not have been easy coming up with such entertaining, imaginative illustrations consecutively for more than fifteen years! Or maybe it was, I dunno. They’re funny either way.

(Also hello down there, Impy! Man, I love that little guy!)

Oh boy, time for another introduction! Grampa and Julie: Shark Hunters was a serialized comic created for Nickelodeon Magazine by Jef Czekaj, which ran from 1999 all the way to the magazine’s cancellation. It follows a young girl named Julie and her scientist Grampa as they do the, y’know, eponymous shark hunting. Mischief also ensues, I’m pretty sure. 

This comic wasn’t really one of my favorites growing up, and this incredibly wordy two-pager that’s really just setting up for a presumably much more action-packed installment next month isn’t really doing much to change my mind on that. But hey, maybe this is just a bad example. Shark Hunters still had (has?) its fans! The Letters to the Editors section of this issue actually includes a message from a reader begging for the return of this comic, as it apparently had gone on a short hiatus. I hope it was everything they wanted!

Now, that would be all, but there’s a bit more history to go over. In 2006, Klasky Csupo (the company behind Rugrats, The Wild Thornberrys, and Aaahh!!! Real Monsters, among others) produced a ten-minute pilot based on Grampa and Julie: Shark Hunters, and pitched it to Nickelodeon as a potential series. As we know now, the pilot wasn’t picked up. But you can check it out here:

It definitely surprises me how much of a departure in art style and tone this is from the majority of Klasky Csupo's other projects, but I do appreciate them replicating the comic's memorable look. What also surprises me is the casting of Academy Award-winning actor Dustin Hoffman (Kramer vs. Kramer, Rain Man, Kung Fu Panda) as the voice of Grampa! It's definitely an unexpected choice, and it makes me wonder if he would've stayed on the project had the series actually gotten picked up. 

Coming up next is a nice little SpongeBob Squarepants comic. It’s fun to see Sandy and SpongeBob get competitive and the colors are quite nice. Not much to say, but hey, it's nice.

Eventually, due to the rising popularity of video games in the mainstream, Nickelodeon Magazine saw fit to start incorporating a video game-themed section in their issues to give the gaming populace what they wanted. From my memory, these usually consisted of cheat codes and tips, or sometimes a rundown on whatever new Nickelodeon games were coming out at the time. Here we’ve got ourselves a comedic writeup on how some video game characters feel about their best and worst players. It's a funny idea and the illustrations are nice, but I particularly can't get over the absolute verbal thrashing Mario gives to an 8-year old girl in the bottom left section. 

Also this just came to mind, but aren't all these characters essentially doxxing their players here? Let this be a lesson on why you should always read the Terms & Conditions.

See, I told you that we’d be seeing more SpongeBob in this issue! (Don’t fact check that). 

But yeah, 2009 minus 1999 is indeed 10, and Nickelodeon was all-in on capitalizing on their mascot’s milestone anniversary. This celebration eventually culminated in the premiere of an hour-long special episode titled Truth or Square, but on these pages here we can see an example of one of the off-shoot promotions also coinciding with the celebration.

Starting in March (for some reason) and ending at an unspecified month, Nickelodeon challenged fans with various SpongeBob-themed puzzles, available both in-print and online. The answers to these puzzles would then be utilized to unlock the password to a special “digital prize”. Now, I am having difficulty finding out just how long this promotion lasted for or what the digital prize even was, but I’m willing to guess it was a funky desktop wallpaper. If anyone knows anything about this challenge or the digital prize, I’d love to hear it! Feel free to send a message and I’d be happy to include an update on the blog.

And hey, even if this promotion is close to reaching its 15-year anniversary now, we can still appreciate the art for this issue’s puzzle, which depicts a scene similar to an episode from the show’s third season, “Clams”.

Pretty funny designs for this batch of contest submissions. Readers must have been drowning in anticipation during the seven month-long period between the opening of this contest in August of 2008 and the actual results here in March of 2009. I appreciate giving the kids all the time they need to hone their craft.

Got a favorite? I personally am quite fond of the Spikesicle, it definitely stands out amongst its slimy contemporaries. The Man-wich Sundae is pretty good too. I think it have wings?

Holy moly, Spectacular! And not just Spectacular!, but a tear-out poster and a backside that features everything you need to know about the members of the band and their real-life actors! This is so cool! 

…Wait, what the heck is Spectacular!?

Yeah, sorry, but this really is not ringing any bells. And let me remind you, I had this issue as a kid, so I must have read this at some point! I guess my young eyes must’ve just inherently glazed over when it happened upon teen bands. Sorry to any Spectacular! fans who may be reading.

Uh, hm… In regards to anything else to say on the subject… Let's see… 

That’s the girl from Victorious, isn’t it? Victoria Justice? She seems familiar, yeah… 

Ooh, look on the right! They’re making a show about the penguins from that Madagascar movie! Cool!

Holy moly, the Disrepectoids. Such a strange marketing stunt from the likes of a juice box brand ended up giving way to a very short-lived but incredibly memorable childhood fascination for me. Essentially the whole thing was based around these live-action commercials that each showcased a scenario of a kid beating up, destroying, or otherwise causing grief to their helpless Capri Sun juice pouch. Said kid would then pay the price by being turned into a freak called a Disrepectoid, with each kid sporting a different affliction based on the disrespect they gave their pouch. Here’s one of the first commercials, showcasing the origin of the Disrepectoid featured at the forefront of this page, Bobblehead Fred:

Never really understood how hitting a pouch with a baseball bat links with getting turned into a bobblehead. Shouldn’t he get a baseball bat head instead, or something?

This promotion also included a plethora of Flash games and online cartoons hosted on a dedicated website, featuring stylized renderings of the kids from the commercials. Capri Sun obviously wanted this to be a big deal, seeing as how this was a whole magazine page advertising the airing of a commercial. But hey, I bought into it, and to be honest I couldn't really tell you why nowadays. Maybe I just liked the artstyle? 

If you want an idea on how big I was into this, I could genuinely make a whole post just on these guys. Too bad they’re not a magazine!

Anyway, the whole thing lasted about two or three years I’m pretty sure, before Capri Sun shelved the concept and went back to being a drink for kids who play sports or something, I dunno. Still, for the short time it was around I found the Disrespectoids brand incredibly imaginative and engaging.

Another issue in the bag! It was fun doing another Nick Mag from my childhood. Hopefully it was fun to read, too! As might be able to tell, this was definitely a trip down memory lane. 

Anyway, in regards to my schedule. I was thinking of shifting to something bi-weekly (of the every two weeks variety, not twice a week). Take a look:

So yeah! Hopefully this will allow me to stay refreshed and still keep making stuff people want to see. This blog is already growing bigger than I would've expected and I've gotten nice feedback from people who appreciate Nickelodeon Magazine just like I do. I'm excited to see where this blog goes, and thank you to everyone who's here to see it! 

Have a great day, and as always, keep reading!