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itsnevercasual · 8 months ago

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I Wanna Be Yours

pairing: boss!ceo!harry styles x reader

request: Omg, can I request a boss!harry fic where he’s mean to everyone except from her??

summary: harry is the notoriously mean owner of pleasing, and he might have a slight soft spot for the new girl in the marketing department.

warnings: cursing, not edited

you were extremely new to pleasing, a very famous brand known for their nail polishes and perfumes. ever since you started (about three months ago), you’d hear literal horror stories about the founder and ceo.

rachel, the girl who trained you, told you that he was just plain rude. it was safe to say you feared the day he came in. thankfully, he wasn’t around much. not at your location, anyway. you were at the los angeles location, but he preferred to stay at the new york one.

tuesday morning, you got ready like every day. put on your usual outfit (a skirt, white button-up, a blazer, and heels), along with some black fleece-lined tights and a headband to push your hair back. it was getting cold out, and you couldn’t get away with just a skirt much longer.

with your iced coffee in one hand, your macbook and a few files you’d taken home in the other, you walked quickly into the building.

“good morning, miss townes,” the concierge greeted you.

“morning, nancy!” you greeted back as you ran to the elevator and pressed the button.

“late?” nancy asked.

“almost! this stupid elevator—“ said elevator dinged, and you let out a sigh of relief. “speak of the devil. see you, nance!”

—

by the time you made it up to the marketing floor (the twentieth floor out of fifty), you were exactly on time.

you moved as quickly as your heels would allow, dropping your car keys, computer, and files onto the desk.

“right on time, y/n,” rachel teased as you sat down. the two of you had cubicles right next to each other.

“long line at the coffee shop.”

“lucky you weren’t any later,” she commented as you sat down and took a generous sip of the iced coffee that had almost made you late, “mr. styles is said to be coming in today.”

you nearly choked on your drink.

“you finished those edits, right?”

“.. uh.. yeah. yeah, finished them last night,” you lied with a nod.

“y/n! he’s ruthless— he will literally fire you! that’s the new launch, and it’s overdue!”

“i know! i know, but i’ve been so busy, and fucking josh keeps making me do his shit—“

“oh shit, shut up. he’s here.”

“what?” you squeaked, quickly cleaning up your desk and opening the new launch photos on both the desktop and your personal computer.

out of the corner of your eye, you watched as what had to be mr. styles strolled through with an assistant who was talking about what you assumed was his schedule.

“you’ll have a meeting with the investors at three, and we have some papers to sign—“

you tuned her out as you tried to speed up the editing— brightening colors and adjusting the text so it fit better.

and suddenly, the footsteps of mr. styles and his assistant stopped. directly in front of your desk.

“you,” a voice spoke, and oh my god, he was british, “i don’t know you. who are you?”

your eyes snapped up to meet his, “oh. uh.. i’m y/n.. y/n townes. i’m.. um.. i’m new.”

he mouthed your name as if thinking it over.

“you’re the one doing the edits for the new launch?” he asked.

“yes, sir.”

he nodded before continuing his stroll. because, of fucking course, his office had to be on the marketing floor.

you let out a breath, sinking into your chair. rachel grabbed your arm with a comforting smile, “it’s okay, babes. he could’ve been rude.”

“he’s gonna see i’m not done and fire me!”

“it’s fine, just don’t think about it.”

—

right as you were about to head out on a quick lunch break, mr. styles’ assistant popped up at your desk.

“ms. townes, mr. styles requested your presence in his office. you, as well, ms. evans,” she said, glancing at you and rachel.

“uh— me? for.. for what?” you questioned.

“you’ll find out. i have to find a.. josh richardson. go on.”

you and rachel shared uneasy looks as the two of you stood and made your way to mr. styles’ office.

“if i get fired, i’m jumping out of a window,” you muttered as rachel pulled the door open.

“ah, ms. evans. ms. townes…. where is mr. richardson?” mr. styles spoke.

“your assistant went to grab him,” rachel answered. “what are we needed for?”

“you’ll see… ah, mr. richardson. so kind of you to join us.”

even you could tell he did not mean that.

“what is this?” josh asked, looking to you and rachel.

“you three were all put in charge of the new launch. correct?”

you all chorused variations of yes.

“and yet… nothing is done. why is that?”

you glanced to your shoes. you knew rachel was done. the whole project was all three of you were to make 300 campaigns and promo photos for the new nail polish launch. you'd devided it to be 100 each, and you all picked however many billboard designs, posters, social media posts, and so-ons that you'd do for the project. however, josh had slowly but surely pushed all of his work onto you.. until you had to do 200, and you only had around 130 done.

“i expect an answer.”

“i.. i finished all my photos and campaigns,” rachel finally said.

“i'm nearly done with.. my things. i was just helping josh before i--“

“so.. what i’m hearing so far, and correct me if i’m wrong, is that mr. richardson hasn’t been doing his job?”

josh cleared his throat, and you could feel the daggers he was glaring at you burning into your skull, “yes, mr. styles.”

mr. styles nodded, and you understood the horror stories now. he wasn’t even trying and he was terrifying. “do you like your job, mr. richardson?”

“yes, mr—“

“so why aren’t you doing it?”

“i— i’ve been.. busy.”

“busy.. right. well, i’ll make you less busy. you’re fired. get out.”

“wh— what? you can’t fire me!”

“i believe i can. and i just did. so get. out.”

“i have worked at this company for eight years! i make one mistake, and—“

“i will not ask you again!” mr. styles shouted, standing up from his chair. you flinched. “because i am not asking you, i am telling you. you are fired, and you will leave this building. and don’t even think about puttin’ this place on your resume, i won’t say a single good word about your ass.”

josh scoffed and stormed out of the room, you and rachel followed.

you turned the corner, yelping when someone grabbed your wrist and yanked it.

“what the hell, y/n? you said you’d do my—“

“i didn’t say that. you just assumed i would. i am not just apart of the valentines launch, josh, and i have fifty other things to do, and i can’t drop that just because you’re lazy.”

“you better watch what you say to me—“

a voice spoke from behind. mr. styles’ assisant, “uh.. miss townes? mr. styles requests he speak with you.. privately.”

you yanked your arm back, rubbing your wrist, “yes. of— of course. sorry.”

you walked back towards his office with your head down, glancing up at him once you entered the room.

you were surprised to see a... calm look on his face.

"miss townes, correct?" he asked.

"ye-.. uh.. yes, sir."

he smiled, which was very odd from what you'd seen of him so far, "you can relax, darling. you aren't in trouble. have a seat."

you hesitantly wandered towards the chair on the other side of his desk.

"what did you mean by.. helping mr. richardson with his work?"

"oh, well... he just.. he kept saying he was busy and asking if i could do.. certain parts of his work. and i--.. well, sometimes i'm a bit of a pushover, so i said yes."

"i see... and how much of his work, in total, did he push onto you?"

"uhm... all of it, mr. styles."

his eyes widened, "all of it? and you didn't tell a supervisor he wasn't planning on doing any of his work?"

"i.. i felt bad," you shrugged, looking down at your hands.

"yes. well... mrs. maruska, can you please bring mr. richardson back in here for a moment, please?"

you jumped when his assistant spoke behind you, not realizing she was even in the room.

"yes, mr. styles."

it was silent for a minute after the door shut, maybe two minutes, until the door re-opened and two pairs of footsteps entered.

"mr. richardson, before you leave, you are going to do something for me," mr. styles spoke. "you are going to apologize to y/n--"

you nearly choke on your own spit at his use of your first name.

"for making her do all of your work. and.. you will also apologize for whatever the hell that was i heard outside. that is no way to speak to any colleague."

josh scoffed, "i'm not apologiz--"

"i'm not asking."

mr. styles gaze switched to you as josh begrudgingly sighed, "i'm sorry, y/n."

"it's okay," you murmured, glancing at him.

"no, it isn't," mr. styles quickly interjected, keeping his eyes on you. you much preferred them on you than on josh. they were a lot kinder when they focused on you. softer. "but.. if ms. townes says it is alright... you may leave now."

you aren't quite sure what happens afterwards, because you keep your gaze away from mr. styles, because you're afraid he'll notice how nervous he makes you.

"how many did you have left?" mr. styles asked quietly. softly.

"i have 130 done. so.. seventy left. but i-- i can get them done soon, i promise. i can just stay late, or.. or--"

"no. none of that. you'll submit the ones you have.. and we'll figure out something for the rest."

"really? i mean.. are you sure?"

"i wouldn't have offered if i wasn't. you can go, now."

"thank you, mr. styles," you mumbled, standing and walking to the door.

right as you grabbed the handle, he called out.

"oh, and y/n?"

you turned around with a furrow in your brows.

"let me know if you have any other problems."

you can't even help the foolish smile on your lips as you nod and leave the room.

a/n: part 1!! i really love this request

#harry styles fic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry fic #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry #harry styles #boss!harry styles x reader #boss!harry styles #ceorry #ceo!harry styles #ceo!harry styles x reader

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justplainwhump · 1 month ago

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Warrant

Thanks to everyone who stayed patient with me regarding Tyler's story. Here we are.

Tyler's facility is raided by the police.

[Masterpost]

Content (warnings): Implied noncon, facilty whump, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee covering for whumper (idk if thats a thing to tag but anyway), (sort of) parental caretaker.

Time passed differently within the white walls of WRU. It affected even the handlers, who had strict instructions to leave their watches in their lockers. If they had to check the time, they could use their work-equipped tablets outside the cells. If they needed to tell time in a session, they set vibration alerts in their smart bracelets or earpieces. And even for handlers, it was bad enough. Tyler Parker remembered countless moments of leaving the building after work, uniform switched for jeans and T-shirt, squinting his eyes overwhelmingly confused by the position of the sun.

He'd have thought, that experience would have helped him. Given him ways to measure the passage of time without outside cues.

It didn't.

In the beginning, he counted. Handlers. Beatings. Showers. Orgasms.

The voice counting in his head wasn't his own. It was hers. 238's. She'd counted, too. Her unit had been him. He'd caught her doing it, her lips moving, when she was sleep-deprived and high on something. He'd punished her, for wanting to know something that wasn't hers to know. She should only know one thing, he'd said, and that was how to be good for her betters.

She'd stopped counting, then. At least, he hadn't caught her again.

He wondered, at what exact number that had been. What her count would be, by now. At what number it ceased to matter.

Tyler stopped earlier than she had. But then again, maybe she'd stopped twice, too. Maybe she'd thought the same thoughts before the Drip. Maybe he would, too, after. He almost laughed hysterically, thinking about it. About going through all this, again. Just that the people torturing him would be strangers then, the very same people whom he knew now.

People like Jared Grimm, Head Handler of the facility, Tyler's supervisor. Had Tyler counted, he'd know if it was the second time, or the third, that it was Grimm's hand in his neck, pressing him onto the padded table. Maybe even the fourth.

Grimm wasn't sadistic in his fucking. He was methodical, cold, detached. Working through a routine.

"Fucking. Idiot," Grimm breathed into his ears between thrusts. "It didn't. Have to be."

It did, Tyler thought, as a strained whimper escaped his lips. It did have to be.

"Jared," someone said, far away. "There's a call from the reception, they need you."

The hand in his hair vanished. The weight on his back. The breath in his neck. The strain in his ass.

Grimm didn't even slap his butt. He was just gone, leaving Tyler exposed and cold.

Not for long though. "Hey, pretty boy," Dinah Richardson purred. "You look so lonely."

Tyler closed his eyes.

Time passed.

Jared Grimm stared at his knuckles, stark white as he balled his fist on top of his desk. He willed himself to unclench his hand. He was head of this facility, he reminded himself. He had worked hard to get to this position. He was capable. He had it under control.

"Say that again," he asked into his phone.

"The police," the receptionist repeated flatly. "FBI. They're here with a warrant."

Jared exhaled sharply. "Let them in. I'll meet them in the hallway."

The officer in charge was a tall woman, around his age, late forties, he guessed. Long, brown hair that started graying at the temples, tied back in a pony tail. A vaguely familiar face. And a chilling stare that bore right into his eyes.

"Mr Grimm," she said. "I hope you don't intend to stop me or my colleagues. We have a warrant. And anything you do to hinder me will only make your situation much worse."

Jared raised his hands in an inviting gesture. "No, of course. We fully support law enforcement." Financially, he thought grimly. Enough to avoid situations like this, he'd wagered. This woman didn't seem to have gotten the memo, though. He forced his lips to curl into a polite smile. "What can I do for you?"

"I am here to arrest Ms Carly Thompson and Mr Tyler Parker, both WRU employees."

Jared blinked.

Parker. Fuck. No. That couldn't be a coincidence. "I…" Jared's mouth felt dry. He forced himself to keep his gaze level, not to double check the state of his uniform pants. He hadn't even had the time to wash Parker off of him. "I… I'm sorry, I don't know everyone's schedules, I… I can confirm they both work here, but I'm actually not sure they're in today. It's pretty early, and-"

"I am sure." Her smile was icy. "Your receptionist has already told me that Ms Thompson checked in for duty this morning. As for Mr Parker, he seemingly didn't, but I… I actually do have a hunch we can find him here, Sir. And that you know exactly where he is." She folded her arms. "Get. Me. Tyler. Parker. As in, Tyler Parker himself, him able to recall his name, his mother, his past, and the crimes he committed." She lifted her chin. "Not trainee pet 002243."

Jared flinched violently. What the fuck. She couldn't know. Not what happened here, not even vaguely. But definitely not in detail. Not in this detail.

The muscles in her jaw tensed at his reaction. She'd guessed. A shot in the dark. And his reaction had just confirmed it. Fuck.

How could she have made such a precise guess, though? She knew his number. Nobody who wasn't in this building right now did. How-

"We are in possession of a video that has been filmed in this facility." Her voice was hard. "It shows Mr Parker and Ms Thompson drugging and torturing Ms Zsuzsanna - Suzy - Kowalski, threatening to make her into a pet. Ms Kowalski had been reported missing some days ago, then showed up in a hospital with no memory and serious brain damage. She isn't in a condition be interrogated. But we have proof, on this video, that all of this happened in here, in your facility, Mr Grimm."

It couldn't be. They had people for this, people that made sure WRU management knew before the authorities showed up in one of the facilities. And they would, he told himself. WRU could set this right. They always did.

Only question was, who would the company let take the fall for it. And this cop? She'd just put his name on top of that list.

Fuck.

This time, Jared controlled his face better. "I don't believe that's-"

"Mr Grimm," she cut him off. "Again. I do believe that. That video is… not shy on the details. And I would love to bring you and your entire fucking company down for it. I'm a very good investigator, you know."

Jared busied his fingers with straightening his jacket and tried a confident smile. It didn't work out the way he wanted. Still. There'd been something in her phrasing, something not entirely final. "I feel like you are going to present me with another option."

She raised an eyebrow. "Only if I get both suspects, in a state that allows them to be tried. And if you need to go make an immediate call to make sure Mr Parker is taken off from whichever drugs you use to mess people up, please, do so. Because I swear, if he doesn't remember his mother's face, it's not him going to jail, it's *you*, Grimm, personally. And I'm not going to stop at that. I might not be as good as you and your company are at destroying a life, but for you, I'll certainly do my fucking best."

"I…" Grimm stared at her. She was dead serious. "I… I think I didn't get your name, Officer-?"

"Ashley Browne." She smirked. "I didn't take my wife's name."

Her wife. That's how he knew her, how that face seemed familiar. There'd been a photo they'd taken from Parker's and the journalist's apartment, the two of them with his mother and another woman, who- Yeah. That tracked.

"Parker," he mumbled. "That would be your wife's name, wouldn't it?"

"Indeed it would," she confirmed. "So you better hand my stepson over right now, or I will make sure we turn around every last brick in this building and see what else we find."

"Oh no. No no." He shook his head. "You don't have the authority to do that."

"You want to bet on it?" She lifted her chin and raised the paper in her hand. "While we're here, with this warrant, my guys will listen to me, not you. And I'll have them turn on their body cams. Let's see how much we can find - how much we can film - until your bosses call my bosses and my bosses call me; such a hassle, only with the same old result that you need fall guys and Carly Thompson and Tyler Parker must be it. The more we see, though, the more names add to the list. Higher up the ranks."

"I-" Jared's mind raced. It couldn't possibly be. Carly would keep her mouth shut, with the right payment, just sit her time, be released, take the money and burn through it in some seedy beach hotel at the other end of the world. Parker however. The stupid asshole was a fucking liability. The attack on Alex. The pet lib journalist. That video appearing from nowhere. They should've put him on the Drip right when they'd brought him in. They should've shipped him out to another facility. They should've -

They shouldn't have played this lightly. But they had.

And now, the police officer in front of him nodded at her uniformed colleagues, lifted her hand in a sweeping gesture. "Search every room, every cell, every office. Turn on your cams, get a good look on every face you can find, trainee, employee, service worker, every single face, until we've found our guys. Clear?"

Jared had no choice. That woman was a fucking nuisance, but he couldn't take any other risk.

"Wait," Jared called. "I… I think I know where to find them. I'll make a call."

Browne stepped back and lifted her hands. "Good. Lead the way."

It was even worse than she'd expected. And Ashley had seen the videos. She had expected bad.

The boy - even at 24, even a head taller than herself and twice her weight, she'd never brought herself to seeing him as a grown man - was curled up on the oddly colorful tiles of a shower room. He was naked, his light skin mottled with bruises of various colors and shapes. Some from weapons, bats or batons, she figured. Most from hands.

She had to force herself to stand still. Not to fall to her own knees besides him, to run a hand through his wet blond strands, to hug him and shield him. Not to draw her gun and empty it into the smirking handlers around them.

"Our handlers sometimes get handsy with each other, after a stressful shift," Chief Handler Grimm said from behind her. His voice had a nervous pitch to it, but still, she swore she could hear a kind of glee in it. The knowledge, that this blatant lie, like so many others, would stay unchallenged. "We condemn any sexual relations at the workplace, but- I guess you know how it is."

"You don't get to assume what I know, Mr Grimm," she said flatly. "I'm a cop. What I know is what sexual assault looks like."

"It was consentual," another man said, and idly kicked a piece of soap over to Tyler. Ashley flinched, when it hit his side, the boy too weary to react. "Tell them, T. We had fun."

"It was consentual." Tyler's voice was all but a hoarse croak. Ashely's stomach turned. "It was."

"See?" Grimm said to her, and to him, "Clean yourself up, Parker, and get dressed."

Tyler struggled to push himself up to his knees, his hand shaking as he weakly reached out for the piece of soap.

It took Ashley a second to remember her duty. To remember that she was here to betray all her beliefs in law and order. Making a deal that was far from any justice. Saving her wife's boy. Who - given what Tara had told them - might as well have deserved all of this. But Ashley wouldn't be the judge of that.

She was here for Diane. She was here to get him out. Whatever the price.

"Tyler Parker," she said, a part of her wondering when she'd addressed him like that the last time. Tyler Frederick Parker, you call that cleaning up your room? It felt like yesterday. It felt like another lifetime. "Tyler. You are under arrest."

He sobbed.

Ashely told herself it was with relief.

#tyler parker #bbu #facility whump #noncon implied #bbu whump #noncon cw #whumper turned whumpee

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weird-an · 2 years ago

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Mrs. Richardson is one of these teachers that stare at Billy with a thoughtful look and ask him to stay after class to talk about his potential.

Billy brings home straight As, because failure gets punished with a belt and a tirade of insults Billy sometimes dreams about. Mrs. Richardson already sees him at an Ivy League school, ignoring how he owns like four shirts and fixed her husband's car at the garage just last week.

"What do you wanna do when you're 30?" She asks him. "If you could do anything with your life?"

Billy blinks. He doesn't think, he'll make it to 30. But he can't tell her that or she'll dig deeper and who knows what sad excuse of a town Neil finds - that might be worse than Hawkins.

"An apartment and a job that pays enough." is what he settles for.

She frowns at him. "What kind of job?"

"Whatever." Billy shrugs and he knows he should make up a stupid lie about how he's interested in tech or whatever shit, but he can't. He turns fucking 18 tomorrow and he won't get out of here, because Neil takes his paycheck whenever Billy gets it.

"I like working at the garage," he offers carefully.

She sighs. "I think you could go to college."

She hands him a bunch of flyers Billy throw away at home and starts a whole monologue about scholarships for kids that aren't well off. Billy chews on his bubble gum and pretends to listen while wondering if he should hide his next paycheck in a can of pringles.

After a few minutes, he's dismissed with a "Think about it! You're a really good student."

Harrington leans against the lockers, obviously waiting for him and stares at him with his big brown eyes reminding Billy of toffee. Billy isn't in the mood to fool around today. But he's kinda scared that Harrington will lose interest as soon as a busty girl hits on him, so he can't really afford to leave it be. Billy gives him a tiny nod. Their ... well, not so secret sign, but no one is around to see it anyways.

They drive to the quarry separately, like they always do when Harrington's parents are at home and they have to swap his waterbed against the backseat of their cars.

Billy is faster. Because Harrington is a pussy and sticks to the speed limit. Billy's halfway through his cigarette when Harrington slides on the passenger's seat next to him.

"What did Mrs. Richardson want from you?" He sounds genuinely interested. Harrington is good in getting what he wants. Tells Billy he's hot and good in bed to keep him in mood. Gives compliments without sounding dishonest. Billy eats it all up. Sweetener that tastes like sugar.

"She asked me what I wanna do when I'm 30." Billy watches the faint orange glint of his dying cigarette.

"And what do you want?" Harrington's gaze presses Billy a bit harder down in his seat.

Billy opens his mouth to tell Harrington the same stuff he told her, but instead he hears himself say "To not be dead and maybe even fucking happy."

Well. There goes the chance of getting fucked until he forgets about birthdays of any kind.

Harrington's hand is a bit cold against his own. His thumb presses against Billy's wrist.

"I'll never get out of here," Billy chokes out and the ash from his cig falls on his jeans. "He's... he's going to fucking kill me."

It's so overwhelming. It's like the end is already written and no matter what book Billy grabs, it's always the same shit on the pages.

One day Neil will get too drunk and Billy will die. One day Neil will get his gun and Billy will die. One day Neil won't do anything and Billy will die.

Billy doesn't want to die. He wants to fucking live and he can't. Not here in fucking Indiana.

"I'm moving out," Harrington says slowly. "Next month."

Billy blinks the tears away and wonders what the fuck Harrington is talking about.

"There's only one bed...," Harrington's voice is unsure, like he's afraid of... Billy's answer? "You would be welcome any time."

Billy stares at Steve and sees the same tears Billy tries not to cry in his eyes. What the fuck is Harrington on about?

"I want you to be fucking happy, too." Steve rubs his nose. "I... could get a second key."

"What about ... if you're like... hanging out with a chick?" Billy asks, surprised that he only sounds half as strangled as he feels.

Steve laughs wetly. "You're the only one I'm seeing."

Billy flicks the cigarette out of the window. He's only doing what all his instincts tell him to do. He cups Steve's face and his heart beats way too fast.

"Don't fucking lie to me, Harrington." He wouldn't survive that. To be offered a… way out and its all turning out to be a joke.

"It's Steve," Steve corrects and buries his hand in Billy's hair.

He isn't sure who is kissing who first, but they are kissing and crying and sobbing all at once.

"So will you come over?" Steve asks, a bit breathless.

"Until you kick me out," Billy says.

Maybe Billy will turn 30. Maybe he's got a real chance - a chance that walked into his life dressed like a preppy asshole, but Billy never had a good taste in men.

@harringroveweek

#harringrove #oh and the pringles one oops #prompt: 30 years old - but I twisted it brutally #harringroveweek #billy x steve #harringrove ficlet #tw child abuse

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vintagetvstars · 7 months ago

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Miranda Richardson Vs. Diana Rigg

Propaganda

Miranda Richardson - (Blackadder, Absolutely Fabulous) - Known for portraying baddies in her youth and mean but sexy milfs now, she is more than just a pretty face, shes an accomplished comedienne!

Diana Rigg - (The Avengers, Diana) - Honestly? Just check her out as Emma Peel in any episode of The Avengers. The character herself was a legend - an exceptional spy, wonderful fighter, certified genius, a true feminist role model - not to mention a renowned sex symbol (that leather catsuit... heavens help me...) and fashion icon. As for Diana personally, she was once described by Michael Parkinson as "the most desirable woman he ever met, who radiated a lustrous beauty". She could pivot from funny quips and endearing jokes to stone-cold badassery like it was nothing, and she looked stunning either way. Whenever I look at a pic of her, I have this feeling she's planning some fun mischief and I get the strongest urge to ask her to take me along. Need anything more? Here, have some pics:

Master Poll List of the Hot Vintage TV Ladies Bracket

Additional propaganda below the cut

Diana Rigg:

When people think of The Avengers, they think Steed and Peel (or they think the marvel property but that’s neither here nor there). I know people who thought Mrs. Peel was the ONLY woman Steed worked with, Diana Rigg was Just That Good (she was only on two seasons!). She was one of those actors that could so perfectly play comedy in any form, her dry, sardonic wit was marvelous, but so was her physical and slapstick comedy, and she could do drama too! If you’ve seen her in interviews you’d also know how fabulously humble and kind she was. I don’t know if I’ve ever been more attracted to a TV woman than I’ve been to Diana Rigg. Some photos of her:

the SMILE!!!!

I like a woman that could kill me in one shot

tell me she's not endearing I DARE you

Gorgeous, sexy, competent, superior, so much leather. Diana Rigg as Emma Peel in the Avengers was foundational to my sexuality and personality. She's classy, she's cute, she's cocky, in one episode she whips a bunch of guys while wearing a corset and a spiked collar...

excuse me I'm overcome with sinful thoughts

hello 911 I think I'm having a heart attack

Here's an interview I fell for her in:

youtube

Her first appearance in The Avengers (In series 4, if you can believe it):

The Avengers: Emma Peel First Appearance HD

youtube

#vintage tv stars poll #tv ladies 2 #miranda richardson #diana rigg #Youtube

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humbledragon669 · 5 months ago

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S1E5 – The Doomsday Option Write Up P2 - Saturday (The last day of the World) from "the wiggle on" to "He was waving"

Alright, so now we have the seed of hope planted for an Aziraphale/Crowly reunion, this episode moves, pretty swiftly, through a number of plot threads that now all need to be brought together to serve as the climax for the season.

Thread number one: Madame Tracy and Shadwell, and their purpose in the storyline.

I don’t have a great deal to say about this scene, only one tiny question. Why is that Julia makes no move to hand over a “donation” to Madame Tracy?

Both Mrs. Ormerod and Mr. Scroggie (brilliant names by the way) are clearly well-prepared to be handing their money over, but not so young Julia. I don’t think it’s important, just one of those little things I wondered about when I was watching the scene back.

Thread number two: bringing the Four Horsemen together.

Couple of things to point out in the next montage sequence, including an Easter egg or two. Firstly, the immigration official has clearly become disillusioned with her job in the short time that she granted Anathema into the country.

It’s a very different interaction than the one she had with Anathema where she was actually paying attention. Even Famine seems puzzled at her lack of interest. Next up I just want to say that I really didn’t have the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse down for being tea-drinkers. Don’t get me wrong, I’m British. Tea is the foundation of civilised society as far as I’m concerned. But that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? These four characters are about to, quite happily, undo all of civilisation. Always time for a cup of tea I suppose though. And now for an Easter egg! Feels like it’s been a minute since I’ve pointed one of those out. The top scores on the arcade game next to the one that Death is playing on are all allocated to D.EATH, except for the #1 spot, which goes to T. PRATCHETT.

There is another Easter egg here for the eagle-eyed, this one of the apple variety – one of the questions on the quiz machine asks what year Apple Computers was founded in.

And the last thing about the quiz machine: the machine that displays the “GAME OVER” sign is actually not the machine that Death has been playing on:

As a little side note, once we realise that it’s Death playing on the quiz machine, we can appreciate that he has in fact been there from the beginning of the scene. I wouldn’t swear to it given the camera angles that are used, but I don’t think his bike is in the car park when War arrives. You could argue that it’s out of shot, but I’m still pretty sure she would have recognised it for what it was and known that he was already inside. Famine and Pollution too. So why aren’t they aware of his presence from the outset? Again, probably not important, and the little quiz machine interaction provides some much-needed light comedy.

Back to thread number one. I found little of interest in this scene prior to Aziraphale’s arrival from the spirit world, aside from the vapid personality of Mrs. Ormerod and the obvious dig at the validity of psychic mediums whilst using the delightfully oblivious Mr. Scroggie. What I do really enjoy about this scene is the sound editing (I know, you’re all shocked I’m picking up on sound cues…). We know that something is about to happen when a low rumble begins, enforced by some lightly flickering candles in a room with no breeze, but the real joy here is the sequence of noises, animal, human, and object, that issues from Madame Tracy’s mouth as Aziraphale takes up residence in her body. Miranda Richardson does a pretty stella job here too – this was either really fun to shoot or incredibly embarrassing. I’d lean towards the former, given she’s largely a comic actress, but managing to keep a straight face throughout the whole thing must have taken an incredible degree of self-control. I’d be quite interested to know how much free reign she was given with this, how much of it was improvised, and if she knew there was going to be extra noises added in post-production. Here’s a list of the noises that I could pick up in the sequence that takes place during Aziraphale’s possession:

Rumbling noise before Madame Tracy starts vocalising.

Madame Tracy making a low rumbling noise.

Elephant trumpeting.

The noise of something ramping up, like a turbine engine but not. No idea what this noise actually is!

Thunder (from outside the house – accompanied by lightning).

Madame Tracy’s short shout followed by very high and musical almost-screams.

Another one of those weird ramping up noises but shorter and sharper.

Panting.

Madame Tracy blowing a raspberry.

Loud singing (enforced in the soundtrack) of the William Tell overture.

Madame Tracy belching.

A little quacking noise made by Madame Tracy.

A fart (no way was I leaving this off the list), which puts a definitive stop to any other noises that are ongoing.

Pretty impressive. Those sound editors aren’t done yet though, because aside from another chaotic sound sequence for Ron’s possession, there’s still a load of work to do with the voices coming out of Madame Tracy’s mouth. I love the way they shift between her voice and Aziraphale’s during the following sequence, starting from the very first sentence that she says after the possession has completed – she starts out as Madame Tracy and finishes as Aziraphale (in German, which we were led to believe that he couldn’t speak back in 1941). There are times in this scene where both voices come out of her mouth at the same time and there are other times where Madame Tracy speaks in her own voice but in a deeper tone, and times where it’s one or the other speaking, and it’s all so seamlessly stitched together. Not to mention the fact that it never once looks like it’s not Miranda Richardson speaking – her lip movements match the words exactly. She even adapts some of Aziraphale’s mannerisms when she’s speaking as him. It’s a really brilliantly put together scene. The sound sequences for Ron’s possession (played by none other than Johnny Vegas) are more difficult to pick out because the surrounding scene is very noisy (not that Shadwell would know anything about that, sound asleep in the unaffected boudoir) but I did manage to pick out:

Another raspberry.

A short squeal.

A line from “Moonlight Becomes You” (by Johnny Mathis, I couldn’t see any immediate Easter eggs or references from the lyrics).

A prolonged shout.

More thunder.

What sounds like a piano string or strings (from low down the keyboard) being struck.

A retching noise like someone’s about to hurl.

Something bubbling.

Howling.

Lightning.

Fireworks, used in the same way as the fart in the first sequence – to cut off all the other noises.

It feels like quite a jolt moving from all that cacophony into Madame Tracy’s peaceful kitchen. There’s one little thing that really makes me giggle in this scene:

She seems pretty blasé about the fact that there’s a blonde, slightly transparent, male figure staring back at her from the mirror. It’s only when he actually waves back at her that she reacts at all, and even then it’s pretty muted. I think most of us would have taken off screaming at that point, or pass out, but not Madame Tracy, she’s way too worldly-wise for that dramatic nonsense.

I was a little puzzled at the choice of soundtrack for Crowley’s battle against the traffic in the next scene, but then I wondered whether it was a reference to the M25 being another one of Crowley’s plans that started out so well and then ending up foundering “on the rocks on iniquity”, which appears to be a bit of a running theme throughout the show – first the misplacing of the Antichrist, again in his desperate pleas to Aziraphale for them to run away together, and in his failed rescue of the angel. This particular instance of Crowley’s well-intentioned failings would suggest that it’s a characteristic he has been prone to for a long while, and that the foundering of his plans can take anything from seconds to decades. And just for a bit of fun, a tried to get screenshots of the M25 before and after Crowley’s interference:

I also noticed that the projector Crowley uses is marked as belonging to Room 11:

Having fallen foul of my neglect in consulting Strong’s Concordance with numbers in my write ups before, I did actually remember to look this one up. According to my scant research, 11 in Strong’s Concordance represents a place of destruction or ruin. Whether this is a reference to Crowley’s original intentions for the M25, the eventual fate and purpose of the M25 in the show, or a tongue-in-cheek remark to the experience of actually driving on the M25 in real life isn’t clear. Maybe it’s a bit of all three. Or maybe it’s just a random number. Unlikely I think.

Now that Shadwell’s had a nice little snooze, he also seems to have had some sort of personality transplant. That’s the only real explanation for the impassioned attempt at protecting Madame Tracy’s dignity, right? I think we as the audience all know better, but he clearly forgets himself in the heat of his jealous moment. Interestingly, the mirror no longer appears to show Aziraphale’s reflection:

I think this might just have been a case of budgetary or time restraints rather than an intent to convey anything specific. Whatever the reason, Aziraphale doesn’t seem too upset at Shadwell for discorporating him. One question though – how does the angel know that Shadwell has referred to him as “the Southern pansy” before? As far as I can remember, he never uses that name to his face, which only really leaves the possibility that he has obtained the information from Madame Tracy, who has heard him refer to Aziraphale in that way at least once before. I find it unlikely she would have told the angel the offensive name that had been allocated to him, which suggests he has obtained the news from her own thoughts. Obviously at this point Madame Tracy is sharing the residence of her body, but it does raise an interesting question for later when Aziraphale and Crowley perform the body switch – would they be able to read the thoughts of the other without the sentience of that other being present concurrently?

Whilst we are on the topic of how people know things that they do, how does Crowley know the M25 has just combusted into a ring of infernal flames? I know we’ve had the whole “Crowley turned the M25 into a hellhole” scenario written out for us already, but that was to do with the eternal traffic jams he caused, not some sort of hidden boobie trap that would cause it to spontaneously combust. Presumably this is one of those things his demon-sense tells him has simply happened, like when Adam welcomed the Hellhound into his life.

I find the next scene with the cold caller provides an interesting overview of the way nuisance callers have evolved across the years. The basis for the call in the original book was double glazing, but we’ve moved on to ambulance chasers in the show. As a society I think it’s likely we’ve moved on even further now, from using actual real people to individually make these calls to automated recordings, but Hastur wouldn’t be able to eat them all in that case, thus denying the audience the satisfaction of the sick justice he unwittingly wreaks on the call centre staff. Got ourselves a little Easter egg here too – the message that Lisa types out on her screen (to a colleague or as a note on a casefile isn’t clear) is the title of a Queen song:

This happens to be the very song that Crowley was listening to in the Bentley on the M25. She also types that up right before she arrives his own casefile (titled “Anthony Cowwley”, which differs from the book’s “A J Cowlley”).

Shifting back to Crouch End now (this episode really does jump around a lot doesn’t it?!), can we just take a moment to gape at Aziraphale adamantly declaring that the Antichrist must be killed. The Antichrist who is a child. It really wasn’t that long ago that he was vehemently stating that he himself could never do such a thing, nor could he endorse it without suggesting that it would be for the good of Heaven’s reputation. Now though, he’s very happy to encourage a human, for whom the consequences of killing an innocent child would be dire in Heaven’s eyes, and even worse for killing the Antichrist as far as Hell is concerned, to do the deed, but this time the motivation is nothing to do with his employer; it revolves around the fate of the World. It feels like something of an oxymoron – his siding with humanity driving an incredibly inhumane act. In fairness, Shadwell follows it up with an oxymoron of his own:

So, as far as Shadwell’s concerned: witches? Kill without question. The Antichrist? Not so sure. Even if he’s going to bring about the end of the world. Sounds like he’s all good with the plan when Aziraphale tells him that he has traits associated with witches though. Good morals Shadwell, well done. Perhaps not quite as terrifying as Aziraphale’s declaration of triumph when the sergeant suggests they can use a massive antique gun to fire lumps of building materials to assassinate the Antichrist. Again I’ll point out that Adam is a child, but perhaps it wasn’t clear enough earlier on that Aziraphale also knows he’s a child.

I don’t know whether what I’m about to say describes a typically British behaviour when caught in traffic jams or not, but here goes. Anybody else find it suspect that other people aren’t either already driving down the hard shoulder or that Crowley doesn’t have a giant tail of cars following him? I’ve been in my fair share of motorway gridlocks, enough to know that once some entitled prick starts driving down the hard shoulder in attempt to assert their own self-importance over the rest of the people caught in the chaos, anybody else with delusions of grandeur will follow suit very quickly. Not for Crowley though, he’s just pottering down the escape lane under his own steam. And is it just me, or does it feel like a bit of a violation when Hastur removes Crowley’s glasses? Looks to me like Crowley feels like that as well to be fair.

He manages to get over his surprise quickly enough though, characteristically engaging his brain into full gear to try and find a solution, which he does with an interesting choice of music:

I find it interesting because it deviates from what we have come to believe is his usual taste in music. Mozart would actually seem to be more Aziraphale’s taste than Crowley’s. It’s also a pretty sedate underscore for what he’s about to do. As a side note, this piece not only doesn’t actually start from the beginning when it starts playing in the Bentley, but is also used in another one of my favourite shows – Our Flag Means Death. In that show, it’s used as background music in the final episode when Prince Ricky is strolling down the street his victory over the pirates with another naval officer. The Mozart doesn’t stick around for long though, morphing into Queen’s “I’m In Love With My Car” (no need to point out the reference with this one) as Hastur starts to lose his calm. For those who haven’t read the book, or just don’t remember this detail, there is mention of this phenomenon in the original text – the apparently common mystery that every tape or CD left in a car is doomed to become a Queen album eventually, but this little detail is left out in the show, with the audience instead being led to believe that the CD player plays mood-appropriate music instead.

The speech we get from Crowley here goes a long way to showing us how much he has come to love both humanity and modernity – he’s actually quite complimentary about humans and their ability to invent new things.

Lovely clever people, inventing cars and motorways and windscreen wipers.

He also, in a very dismissive way, puts a clear distinction between himself and Hastur with his marking of the difference between his feelings towards the 14th century and what he believes the Duke of Hell would have thought. That simple little line actually says a lot to me about how he believes he distanced himself from the other beings in Hell – it’s a clear declaration of “we are not the same”. I also find myself wondering if Crowley had little to no contact with Aziraphale during the 14th century, contributing to his dislike of the time period. We certainly never see anything of the sort – the meetings we bear witness to have a large gap between 537 and 1601, though the book and script book tells us that there was definitely a meeting in 1020, and the script would suggest that there were several (dozens of them in fact) meetings between that and the 1601 meeting.

It's interesting to hear that Hastur is concerned that he’s going to be discorporated as it confirms he’s been issued with a human body, just like Crowley, even though he doesn’t reside on Earth. I’d be interested to know if the body was issued to him in that state or whether it looks pretty run down because of Hastur’s lack of appropriate care (which would in turn suggest that both Aziraphale and Crowley have had to work towards maintaining the appearance of their own corporal beings). And whilst we’re on the subject of bodily appearances, I love the little detail that the snake component of Crowley’s eyes now fill his entire eyeball as he maniacally drives through the flames.

I have a suspicion that the size of the snake “irises” (for want of a better word) is reliant on his emotional state, but I don’t feel like I have the patience to go through the show and test the theory. And I don’t know if those little horizontal lines on Crowley’s nose were intentional here or whether that’s just a natural crease in David’s face, but they certainly strengthen the snake resemblance. As a final comment on this scene, we actually hear God telling us that Crowley really is fundamentally different from his peers – he has an imagination. Which is not so different from the idea that Aziraphale is different from his peers because he has free will, a theme that has been presenting itself, with increasing clarity, throughout the series.

Final little note for this section, and it’s about this snippet of epic:

Apparently the most amazing thing about this, according to the local bobby, isn’t the fact that the car is on fire, or that it’s just driven through a wall of fire, or that it’s still moving forward, or even that the person inside it is not only alive, but unharmed and still capable of driving. No, the most amazing thing is that the driver is waving. Gotta love the way us Brits have a way of stating simple facts to display complete amazement.

Right, this section went on for way longer than I thought it was going to so I’m going to cut it short. I was hoping to get as far as the defection of The Them from Adam, but as soon as I started watching that scene I realised I had more to say about it than I thought, so I’m going to let you go for now. As always, questions, comments, discussion – always welcome! See you next time 😊

#good omens #episode analysis #good omens season 1 #ineffable idiots #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #madame tracy #sergeant shadwell #good omens death #good omens soundtrack #crowley's sunglasses #crowley's bentley #good omens music #good omens hastur

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look-at-the-soul · 2 years ago

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The runway -Part 1

Lenny Miller x reader (Cillian Murphy’s role in movie Anna)

Finally!!!! I’ve had this request for a while in my drafts and it’s turn for some Lenny Miller mini series.

@l1-l4 Andy I’m really sorry it took me so long to post this, but stories have their own time (at least to me), I loved your request since the very beginning so here it is finally, I think it would be perfect for a mini series, as there are several important points to reach, but I hope you like this! 💕

Special thanks @heidimoreton for the gifs help!! 🌷

Lenny poured himself a glass of wine and walked towards his bed. Loosening the knot of his tie, he flicked through the confidential file he got at the end of his day at the office. A new mission, after his last successful one where he rescued a diplomat that was caught in a zone of conflict, now he would have get inside of a world he didn’t know anything about; a model agency.

“Adam, yeah, sorry about calling this late.” He greeted the other man in the line.

Lenny heard him chuckling. “Shit boss, you know you’re not sorry.”

“You’re right, I’m not… I need you to get me all the information you can for a new mission.” Adam was young, but he worked hard at the office. “I’m after Anna and Y/N Y/LN.”

“The Runway sisters? They can be all you want, but they ain’t criminals, Lenny.”

Lenny frowned staring at the photographs they attached to the mission file.

“You know the rule number one right, Adam?”

“Don’t ask questions? Are there more rules?” Lenny could hear him typing fast. “All right, the sisters have a fashion show tomorrow night in NYC at seven, then they are going to have dinner at a new exclusive restaurant. I’m sending you their address, their gym schedule, the number of their dentist, the hair salon stylist, oh! And their assistant’s DNA.” Adam joked.

“Since you’re in such a good mood, get me a ticket to NYC, I’ll also need a seat on the fashion show and a table at that restaurant.”

Adam gasped. “The show is only by invitation by the designer and the restaurant had a one-year reservation RSVP, it’s full.”

“Oh, about the plane ticket? Since we’re hitting an elite world and the CIA’s got budget, make it a first-class seat. Good night Adam.”

Hanging up, he couldn’t take his eyes of Y/N photograph.

——

“Miller.”

“Sir, I’m sorry for calling so early, I’m on my way to NYC. Just wanted to ask for your approval to take active part in the mission.”

“Elaborate.”

“Sir, these models only care for parties, designer bags, being covers for the magazines, they can mess up and ruin our work. We’d lose the invaluable progress we have.” The investigation was almost done, they just needed to take the leader down, they had all the targets drafted.

“What do you suggest?”

“Allow me to be their manager, that way I can guide them through the mission.”

“Do whatever you have to do to bring those bastards down.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

As he boarded on the plane, Lenny took the files from his briefcase, he continued studying the girls background. They were French citizens, but divided their time between London, NYC and Los Angeles.

Anna was the trouble maker, the party girl, drugs, alcohol, rebel without a cause, it was written all over her face as well as in the cover of so many gossip portals, a deep contrast with her sister, Y/N she had a career in business, ran her own shoe brand, was an ONU volunteer, part of a program to feed woman in trouble, they were practically the devil and the angel. But even though apparently, she was the good one, he was afraid she would be the one giving him more trouble.

Sipping on his coffee, he then went on to check Anna’s profile, according to the record, for some reason, she wasn’t taking the runway with her sister like they had done in the past so many times. Apparently nobody knew her location and Y/N had been covering her work recently, doing three runways in one day, press conferences and attending numerous social events.

——

“Mr. Richardson, allow me to introduce myself.” Lenny extended his hand at the man. “I’m the new manager to the Y/LN sisters.”

Richardson looked at Lenny and let out a loud fake laugh. “No fucking way, those girls are pure gold, they’re making me earn a shit loads of money, you can get the girls that appear on the pedicure ads.”

Lenny took a look at his watch. “Perhaps I didn’t explain myself correctly.” When Richardson tried to open his drawer to get his weapon, Lenny smirked. “Don’t even bother, it’s not there anymore.”

And his smile grew as the phone started to ring.

“You can’t do that, I signed those girls.”

Lenny looked at him, he was starting to sweat.

“The VP of the agency gave me this.” Lenny informed Richardson and putting the sheet on his desk, he leaned back. “He mentioned he appreciated all your hard work and he would assign you to some model called Cara?”

“He can’t do that!” Richardson stood up, shouting. “I made this agency win millionaire contracts with those sisters!”

“Oh, he said you would bring that up that’s why I suggested you take the Hadid sisters instead.” Lenny’s eyebrows raised, his voice remained calm.

“In that case…”

A sick smile appeared in Richardson’s face. Lenny wanted to throw up.

Closing the button of his suit, Lenny walked to the door. “Don’t worry you can keep your office, I will choose another one.”

It was easier than he thought, this man was pulling the trigger by himself.

Now he needed to go to a fashion show.

Skipping the red carpet, Lenny walked around the building to get in, cameras flashing everywhere, waiters handling glasses of champagne, the mix of perfumes was making him feel sick. All the people looked the same; like they were starving themselves or they were suffering.

The loud music, people taking photographs, bodyguards whispering in the corner, reporters taking notes about the women taking the runway, he felt so out of place.

But soon, Lenny found his spot, it was at the end of the runway, right in the middle where the models would stop before walking back again.

The next thing he knew is the lights went down and the music changed to a dramatic tune. A silhouette was illuminated at the end of the runway, the curtain fell to the ground and revealed the woman behind it.

“That’s Y/N Y/LN.” Said someone on his right, talking to a camera and recording his message. “And she’s wearing Emilio Pucci’s emerald dream dress, the master piece of this collection, with-”

That was all Lenny heard, as Y/N started taking the runway he was completely mesmerized by her presence. His eyes were fixed on Y/N, her steps hitting the runway, her gaze never leaving a spot in front of her, barely blinking.

She moved with such elegance, not looking down to the floor, a serious expression on her features. The emerald dress hugged her figure beautifully, one of the arms was covered in beads that were shining every time it hit the lights, part of her skin was exposed as the piece was asymmetrical.

Lenny saw Y/N placing her hand on her hip and the way she snapped it to the side, made him lose the tie a little around his neck, then in a slow motion, she gave her back at him and she started to walk back right were she had started. Slowly, he let out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

Seeing all the details of her and the dress so close made him feel like the air had been kicked out from his body. It all happened in the blink of an eye and soon other models were taking the runway.

He lost count of how many they were, all looked the same but didn’t have the same presence Y/N showed off while doing the walk.

As the lights got down, all the models made a human wall at the sides of the platform, the music stopped and silver papers were thrown down from the ceiling as Y/N appeared once more hand linked to a man with white hair and bear dressed in a navy suit.

The pair walked mid runway and Y/N let go of his hand to start clapping as the rest of the people, then they shared two kisses on the cheek and walked back to disappear.

Lenny sighed and decided to take a walk backstage where he was greeted by models half naked, changing clothes, dresses and shoes all over the floor, cameras filming interviews, assistants going mad… it was a totally different thing from what he just saw.

“I’m looking for Y/N Y/LN.” He asked someone who was walking past him.

“Take the corridor, first door of the dressing rooms.”

Following the instructions, Lenny knocked on the door and a soft come in, invited him to open it. He was surprised to find the top model tidying up around, folding her clothes, she was now wearing a short dress in red tone with colorful beads, her hair free.

“Hi, how can I help you?” She asked when Lenny was lost for words, the pictures didn’t really do any justice to her beautiful features, and there was a genuine smile, in deep contrast to the serious poker face she showed while walking.

“I’m Leonard Miller… Lenny, your new manager.” He offered his hand to her, noticing how she was taller than him.

Y/N looked at him surprised accepting his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Lenny. I’m-”

“Y/N, I know… where’s your sister?”

That seemed to make her uncomfortable and she looked away.

“She didn’t feel well.”

“Is this a common thing? Do you take her place in other runways?”

Y/N shuddered. “Sometimes.”

Lenny decided to not make her feel uncomfortable on their first encounter. “You did it amazingly out there.”

His words seemed to get her attention because the smile grew again in her face.

“Thank you… that means a lot.”

Lenny wanted to ask her if she didn’t hear that often, but a woman appeared rushing Y/N out of the dressing room, demanding some time for an interview and other things he didn’t understand.

Giving him one last look, Y/N walked out, but she turned her head around. “I’ve a full day of work tomorrow, would you like to have breakfast?” She proposed. “To discuss the next projects?”

“Sure.” He was about to say that he’d be going to the same restaurant as her, but decided to keep his mouth shut.

The line to enter the restaurant of course was full, paparazzi across the street flashing, fans behind a barrier shouting, a limo stopped right in front of the main entrance, someone reached out to open the door and the crowd went really loud, the paparazzi wild as Y/N raised her hand and waved at them, a huge smile at the sound of her name. A couple greeted her and posed for a photographer, then they cut the ribbon and inaugurated officially the restaurant, as the people started to walk in, Lenny saw Y/N walking in the opposite direction, to the crowd, shaking hands with the people waiting, taking pictures with them, signing things, hugging those crying inconsolably.

Everything seemed pretty normal to Lenny, given her line of work, this was her world.

Until a man pulled her abruptly and Y/N screamed for help. Lenny was on her in mere seconds, helping her out, releasing her from the man, he held him by the collar of his shirt as security from the restaurant rushed to get him, just in time right before Lenny pulled out his gun.

“Are you alright?” He asked looking for any sign of injury. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“No, no… I signed this engagement a long time ago, I need to be there.” Y/N tried to catch her breath, feeling off for having all the eyes on her, the cameras started to flash suddenly in her face.

“Let her pass!” Lenny requested shoving the people around, an arm protectively on her back.

Once inside, Y/N left the scary moment behind, she greeted everyone, posed for endless photos and made Lenny ask himself how she could always keep the smile on her face, she didn’t seem to be tired, never made a face or said no to anyone. And once she finished with her affairs, she walked to the kitchen to thank the chef and staff. It was two hours later that he caught her coming from the ladies room.

“Perhaps it’s time to head home, Y/N.” Lenny stated firmly, hands inside the pockets of his suit.

“But I’ve to work, this isn’t my free time.”

But his hand was placed firmly in the middle of her back as he walked to the back of the restaurant.

“You’re awake since 6 o’clock, did an interview this morning, the runway and this, you need to rest.”

They drove in silence to her apartment, Y/N felt intoxicated by his lotion, it was so masculine. He had such an intriguing personality, totally different to her previous manager. She was so grateful for not having to work with Richardson anymore, she never liked the way he was always around when the girls were changing their clothes for photo shoots.

Y/N looked at him intensely. “How do you know?”

“I’m your manager now, remember? I’m supposed to know your schedule.”

“That’s why you had a gun?” She asked casually stepping inside her apartment. Lenny was taken aback by her question.

Lenny leaned against the door frame. He knew she would be a trouble. “I’ll tell you if you tell me where I can find your sister.”

Y/N looked away from his piercing blue eyes. “Thank you for helping me tonight.”

He offered her his business card, pointing out his personal number in case she needed something. “My pleasure.”

And with that, Lenny walked away, trying to force himself to stop thinking of that pair of kilometric legs.

***

Part 2

Master list

Lenny blurbs

Ok Can we now talk about how gorgeous is that dress?!!? It’s an Emilio Pucci from the 2011 collection and I’ve been in love with it ever since 💚 just a random fact in case anyone is interested 😉

I hope you enjoy this Lenny series, you know it would mean a lot to know your thoughts about it 🥰 if you want to be added/removed from the tag list just let me know xx

Tag list @lyarr24 @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @datewithgianni @cloudofdisney @gretelshelby @lespendy @onlydeadcells @fastfan @stevie75 @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @esposadomd @cutecurly-hair @strayrockette @forbidden-forest-witch @ange-thoughts @elenavampire21 @forgottenpeakywriter @peakyscillian @babaohhhriley @moral-terpitude @mrkdvidal1989 @shelbydelrey @shaddixlife @sloanexx @cilliansangel @sydneyyyya

And I’m adding you guys because you liked the previous Lenny stories: @camilleholland89 @allie131313 @star017 @babayaga67 @imichelle-l-rigby @windguidesyou @lovemissyhoneybee @jyessaminereads @emmanuelle19

#that’s what Cill said #Lenny Miller #Lenny Miller fanfic #Lenny Miller imagine #Cillian Murphy x Lenny Miller #anna movie imagine #cillian murphy #Lenny Miller x reader #Lenny Miller x you #Lenny Miller x y/n #Cillian Murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you

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baraadmirer · 1 year ago

Text

"Connor! Oh my god, we shouldn't do this!"

"It's okay, Mr. Richardson. We both want this."

It's a bright sunny Saturday. The sun's rays peek through the leaves of plants obscuring a small backyard, catching on two men: a slim younger one on his knees with his brown hair bobbing up and down as he repeatedly thrusts his mouth around the girthy pole of the other, an older gentleman whose years of training his body has allowed him to withstand the immense pleasure coming from his cocksucker.

It started with a casual morning visit. "Connor!" Mr. Richardson exclaimed when he opened the door. "You're here to get the grill for your party?"

"Yessir," replied Connor with a toothy grin as he is led to the backyard. Mr. Richardson walked over to the grill, covered by a nice fabric. As he put his hand on it, Connor reached around the older man, placing his hand over his sizable girth.

"Connor! What are you doing?" Mr. Richardson exclaimed. A chill crept up his spine.

"Mr. Richardson, I've always admired you. Your diligence, your integrity, your strength; I can't stop thinking about you."

"Connor, I'm flattered, but—" his sentence stopped as he felt the sensation of his cock hardening. How long has it been since he last felt pleasure at the hands of someone else? The hand moved up to the elastic band of his shorts and slipped behind it. It was warm, as Mr. Richardson felt it pushing back gently with each throb, and involuntarily let out a breathless "fuck".

"It's alright," the boy whispered into the man's ear. "It's just the two of us here. I've always wondered what you taste like." Mr. Richardson's breath became ragged as Connor slowly kissed down the man's body—from the nape of the neck to just above his buttock, as the boy's arm pulled down the shorts. Mr. Richardson felt the weight of his cock as it sprung up momentarily before succumbing to gravity. A small droplet of clear precum formed out of his piss slit. He could feel his face burning at the forbidden thought of having relations with the neighbour's son, and he could not will himself to pull his shorts back up and send the kid on his way.

Connor got on his knees, lips two or three inches away from Mr. Richardson's meaty cock. He scraped the small bead of pre with his tongue, causing a shiver of pleasure to run up the man's spine.

It can't possibly feel this good, Mr. Richardson thought to himself. But the boy was talented. His ass involuntarily clenched as Connor enveloped his entire length. While uttering futile protests under his breath, his hips began to have a mind of their own, as he started to thrust into the warm mouth.

The boy's technique finally caused him to go past the point of no return. "Fuck, I'm—" Before Mr. Richardson could finish his sentence, he let out a long drawn-out groan as his balls twitched, sending a thick stream of protein down Connor's throat. The man stumbled backwards onto a nearby chair in his daze.

"Thanks for the grill, Mr. Richardson," he heard. "I'll be back tomorrow to return it. I'll be sure to thank you again."

#ai hunk #ai muscle #stable diffusion #ai generated #ai male #gay smut

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henrypreppy · 1 year ago

Text

Not Quite Nepotism

I made it through to the final interview. I needed this job, and since there was a huge influx of accounting grads, I thought my chances were slim. The first few interviews turned out to be mostly small talk and some experience questions. All of it was simple and easy. My family was all the way back in New York, and I came to Texas for a new start and a job lead. I was new. No one knew me, so there wasn't much I could talk about locally, but the managers seemed to like my disposition at the very least. Though, I had a feeling the final interview with the owner of the bank was going to be much harder.

I showed up like every other interview dressed sharply, a neat charcoal suit, white dress shirt, black tasseled loafers, and a burnt orange tie—I knew the owner was a longhorns fan.

I walked somewhat stiffly up to the receptionist and told her I was here for the interview with Mr. Richardson. She smiled warmly, "So, you're the one he's been so excited about! Let me tell him you're here and get you a keycard for the elevator. His office is on the top floor."

I didn't think I was a hotshot or anything, but apparently word had traveled up to the head honcho.

The receptionist grabbed a card from the drawer and dialed an extension on the phone before saying “He’s here.” She handed me a keycard for the elevator with a wink and said "He's ready for you now. Top floor. Good luck!”

I got in the elevator and tapped the card to the reader. I pressed the button to take me to the fifth floor. The doors closed, and I took the brief moment to make sure my appearance was neat in the reflective metal. My black hair looked immaculate with comb lines forming a neat side part. I took a few deep breaths after checking my hair, and before I knew it. I was at the top.

The doors opened, and I realized… His office wasn't ON the top floor. It WAS the top floor. I stepped out, and was greeted immediately by the smell of a citrusy cologne as I advanced toward him. Mr. Richardson, a rather portly man in a navy three piece suit, sat before me. His grey hair was in a neat side part that looked very thick for his other aged features. He spoke in a slow emphatic drawl: “Mr. Matthews! What a pleasure it is to finally meet’cha! My cohorts have told me quite a lot about’cha, son!"

He rose from behind his mahogany desk and extended his hand for a handshake. I took it, feeling his powerful grip on my hands as my eyes locked with his. Confidently, if not overconfidently, I replied "The pleasure is all mine! This is quite an office you have here."

He chuckled softly, "Well, it took a long time to build up. Please, have a seat."

I took a seat on the rather robust office chair opposite his, resting my arms firmly on the thick, cushioned rests. "Thank you," I said politely. As he sat opposite me, I could notice a thick sheen coming from the top of his grey hair. He seemed to have no sideburns either—an odd style choice, but I wasn’t there to question style; I had a mission.

I must have been looking too long, as he almost comically eyed me up and down in an over-exaggerated manner. I let out a nervous giggle as I realized. Ceasing to over-act, his expression turned serious. "I'll cut straight to the chase, son. From everything I've heard about’cha, I think you'll do real nice here with me. I trust those underneath me. They’re a helluva team.”

I was put off slightly by the boldness of his statement, but managed another "Thank you, sir."

With a slight smile, he taunted, “But…” He licked his lips like a wolf eyeing its prey. “Let me get one last look at’cha before yer career with me really gets started.”

With a snap and a few ripped arm hairs, restraints sprang from the armrests and held my arms to the chair. One ankle, being close to one of the legs of the chair, was caught as well. I began to panic and flail my free leg as I heard swift footsteps behind me. I turned my head as much as I could and caught a glimpse of two men in black business suits rushing up from behind the chair.

Mr. Richardson smiled even wider, speaking even slower: "Don't you worry, son. Your career has just begun."

I felt a sharp pain in my neck and everything faded to black. The last thing in sight was the glare from Mr. Richardson's grey hair.

…

I awoke in a dark room, unable to move my arms, legs, or head. All I could do was look forward. There seemed to be whispers in the background, though I could not make out what they were saying. Then, there was a small sting toward the front of my head as the dark room was briefly lit by a pinkish light. It startled me at first, but the stings kept coming and eventually my head became numb from pain. The flashes came to a steady rhythm, and slowly I could make out a something in front of me. It was the silhouette of a person.

Slowly, I could make out more details, and it looked like just a head with hair, but only on the top. It was light, but not quite white. After a few minutes, the flashes stopped. My head felt warm, and the room smelled like something burning.

A bright spotlight came from overhead and illuminated what I saw in brief flashes: a grey toupee on a wooden head form. It looked like Mr. Richardson's hair. I examined it briefly.

Then, I heard a slight hissing noise, as if gas was escaping from a pipe and was instantly flooded with euphoria. All I could do was look at the toupee before me. Blood rushed from my throbbing head to my member; it felt amazing; it felt erotic; it felt wrong in some ways. Soon after, I blacked out from the rush.

…

I awoke once again, feeling exhausted, unwilling to struggle to move. The room was dark once again, and the whispers seemed louder, and I could make out a few words. "Lionel Richardson…" "Bank manager…" "Tradition…" "Junior…" The words rolled around in my head at random intervals. When I finally started to hear them clearer, the stinging on my head started again; this time it was closer to the crest of my head. This time, the flashes lasted longer and were accompanied by more intense pain.

As the flashes accompanied stinging, I saw there was something else in front of me: Two cylinders. It continued, and I could see curves in them. The bottom of each one was flared and darker, and there appeared to be a line that separated the dark underneath from the paleness above. A faint glimmer of metal and a dark stripe caught my eye above that. I struggled to focus on it. Finally, I was able to understand what I was looking at. They were legs. The stinging stopped. The smell was far more pungent than last time, and the pain on my head persisted much more.

Then, the spotlight came on once again, illuminating a pair of wooden leg forms wearing dark socks and black leather sock garters with a silver metal clip.

Once I comprehended what I saw, the hissing began again and I was sent into euphoria staring at the socks and garters. My cock grew forcibly in response and even my nipples became erect. I lasted longer before passing out, but eventually the gleam of the silver clips on the garters faded from my hazy vision.

…

I have no idea how long I was out, but when I came to, the voices around me no longer sounded like whispers. I could make them out clearly, but it sounded like I was in a crowded room. I heard full sentences. "I am Lionel Richardson." "I am the regional bank manager." "I value tradition." "My dad calls me Junior." "I love my family."

The room was still dark, and I knew what was coming: another round of stings on my scalp and flashing lights. This time, the stings felt like they were on the back of my head, past the crest. The pain was very intense, and the scent was recognizable immediately. My penis betrayed me ahead of time and swelled in expectation of the erotic rush.

At first, the flashes revealed very little, other than something broad and white. Slowly, more details emerged and I could see what looked like a white tank top and briefs in front of me. The flashing and stinging suddenly became more rapid, almost like a strobe. The pain moved from the back of my head to the front over and over. It was excruciating. Just like before, though, it stopped, but only after light tears formed in my eyes from pain. Even my cock, eager for release, shrank from the discomfort.

The spotlight came on, and the object was revealed. It was a mannequin form wearing a tight, white a-shirt tucked into a pair of high-rise white briefs. As I examined the shirt and underwear further, I saw letters on the waist of the briefs: LR. I could see small ridges in the fabric of the shirt, as I began to hear the hissing.

The voices suddenly fell silent and my privates rose once again to full attention.

Then, I heard Mr. Richardson's voice clear as a bell: "A man should always dress traditionally, Junior."

A rush came over me, as endorphins flooded my system again.

He repeated: "A man should always dress traditionally, Junior." This time, it rang in my head.

As I fought to maintain consciousness, it changed: "You're nothing without your hair, son…"

It echoed in my head, ingraining the phrase on my horny mind as my eyes closed and time passed once again.

…

When I woke up this time, there were no voices. The room was bright, illuminated by an overhead light this time. I could feel something cold and smooth around my neck, but I could move my head this time. I looked around the room and saw only a dresser in the corner, and a full length mirror in front of me. On top of the dresser sat a wooden head with the grey toupee I saw in what seemed like a dream. I saw myself in the mirror, now pudgy, slightly erect, a metal collar around my neck, and fully nude. My head was bald with only a black fringe of hair around the sides. I understood what had been done. My hair was removed. Finally, I heard his voice again. “Get up, and get dressed, Junior.”

The restrains on my arms, legs, and chest were released. I sat forward with a gasp, and felt freedom for the first time in ages. I stood up, but my legs felt weak and shaky from lack of use. I looked behind me to see a metal chair with restraints fully opened. There seemed to be no door to the room behind me either.

I felt a strong shock from the collar I was wearing and heard him repeat: "Get up and get dressed, Junior."

Caught off guard, I stumbled from the pain. I nearly fell, but caught myself on the edge of the dresser. I took a deep breath and stood straight up. I reached for the top drawer and pulled it open with a slow creak. Inside were many pairs of white briefs, monogrammed "LR," ribbed white a-shirts, black socks that had a slight sheen to them, and three pairs of sock garters.

Feeling a slight chill, I decided to cover up my manhood with the briefs first. They were crisp and starched with a rise that I was sure could pass belly button. As I pulled the briefs up, I heard the hissing of gas again. I prepared to lose consciousness again, but the hissing only lasted for a moment; it was euphoria once again, albeit briefly as the waistband grasped my midsection tightly, leaving a clear silhouette of my enlivened tool.

Next, I reached for the a-shirt. Unaccustomed to wearing them, I thought it would be uncomfortable, but I pulled my arms through, and felt warmer once again.

I reached for the socks, but felt a shock from the collar before I could grab them.

I heard him say once more "A man should always dress TRADITIONALLY, Junior."

I was confused. I WAS dressing traditionally. I reached for the socks again, confused. Another shock.

He said, "A man must always be tucked and tidy, son." I understood what he meant as I glanced at my untucked shirt. I slid the bottom of the a-shirt into the high waist of my briefs, smoothing it out all the way around. It did little to hide my erect nipples, which rubbed the ribbed garment with pleasure.

A brief hiss, and another small rush.

I reached for the socks slower this time and felt the silky fabric as I finally made contact. I knelt down to place the first one on my foot and relished the smooth knit working its way up my leg to my calf. I had never worn socks like this before. They felt very nice. I slipped the other one on and enjoyed the feeling once more. Expecting another rush, I took a deep inhale and received nothing but air. I felt strangely frustrated, but intuited that there was more.

I looked to the garters and it clicked. I took the first one, wrapping it around my calf and clipping it to my sock. I cinched it tight and pulled the sock up taut. I repeated the process again, and when the sock was properly supported, I stood up. Another hiss of gas entered the room, and I was feeling great. I wiggled my toes as one hand drifted to my nipple and the other toward my cock. I thought to myself, “Is this what luxury underwear is like? It feels amazing. It feels so—“

"Now look at yourself, son.” Mr. Richardson interrupted. “This is how a man should dress."

I moved my hands away from my body in embarrassment. I walked to the mirror and took a long look at myself. I looked old and stodgy, like I was ripped out of some old sitcom.

"Look at your hair, Junior."

I stared at my pale, bald head glistening in the light.

"You're nothing without your hair, son."

His statement seemed to elude me as I looked at myself. Then, a small shock started from the collar. Very light, but persistent. I snapped out of my disbelief, and looked to the dresser once more to see the toupee sitting on the head form.

He repeated: "You're nothing without your hair, son." The shocking became worse, more painful.

I began to make my way to the dresser as he repeated once again and the shocks became nearly debilitating. Nearly within reach, he repeated one last time before I passed out from the pain, the object of reprieve inches my fingertips.

…

I awoke again in the chair, fully restrained, lights off, and head throbbing. I felt a ringing in my ears as a screen turned on in front of me. It showed a picture of Mr. Richardson; the image flickered every few seconds or so.

A small gust of air hit me, and I was taken back in my mind to the smell of his office when I had first walked in. This must have been his cologne. It smelled of light citrus and teakwood.

Then, the hissing began, and I felt the rush again, just breathing in the scent as my body responded.

I focused on the screen while taking it all in. The flickering seemed to speed up, as the word "FATHER" slowly crept into my vision and overtook the image of Mr. Richardson. It slowly faded away, as I was hit with another puff of air—more citrus and wood. The hissing began and continued this time until I passed out in euphoria some minutes or hours later, staring at Mr. Richardson's picture, "FATHER" creeping back into it all, as I faded to black. This time, I think I understood.

…

I awoke again, the room lit like before. The collar was around my neck again, and I could look around once more. I saw myself naked again and felt embarrassed, my face flushing slightly.

On queue, I heard him say "Get up and get dressed, Junior."

I was freed from my confines once again, and felt a strong shock after getting up.

He spoke: "Please respond to me when I speak to you, son."

I let out a meek, hoarse "Sorry, sir."

Another shock. "Please address me by who I am, not just 'sir.'"

"Sorry… dad?"

Another shock, but less intense. I clear my throat and muster a normal speaking voice: "Sorry, Father."

"Apology accepted, Junior, now please get dressed." He sounded almost heartfelt, but entirely formal.

I walked to the dresser again, finding a bottle of cologne labelled "LR" next to the head form this time.

I got dressed again, not waiting for the rush that he gave me for a good performance. My cock grew as I began the process: Briefs. A-shirt. Tuck it in. Socks. Garters. Then, I reached for the toupee—another shock of moderate intensity.

"Please go take a look at yourself, Junior."

I walked to the mirror once more and took myself in.

He encouraged me, "That is how a man ought to properly dress, but you're nothing without your hair son." The persistent shock began again, as I made my way to the grey toupee.

Instead of repeating, he said, "Don't you agree, Junior?"

The shock intensified until I yelp, "Yes, Father!"

The intensity lessened only slightly as he inquired, "Yes, Father, what?"

I hesitated, and the shocking swelled once again. "Yes, Father, I'm nothing without my hair!"

The shocking went down once again as I touched my hands to the grey toupee. I slowly raised it to my head and placed it on. It slid ever-so-slightly, but the shocking completely ceased.

Instinctively, I walked to the mirror once again to adjust my toupee. I cringed slightly at the grey toupee contrasting with my remaining fringe of black hair. I began shifting around the strands of fake hair with my hands, forming a rough side part that fails to blend in with my dark hair.

Father lauded me, "Very good, Junior! Now you're wearing it like your old man! Aren't you glad to have one just like me?"

"Yes, Father.” A shock. "I'm nothing without my hair."

Father responded, "Thank you, son! Now why don't you put on some cologne and make yourself presentable." I walked back to the dresser and sprayed some cologne on my wrists, neck, and toupee. Citrus and teakwood, just like Father.

The gas finally hissed in, and I felt the similar euphoric rush I felt when I have behaved correctly. A small wet spot began to form in the briefs as I stared at myself in the mirror, smelled the cologne, and passed out in ecstasy, my unsecured toupee falling inches from my head.

…

I was roused from my stupor by the sound of muffled crashes and booms. It was coming from outside the room. I was confused. The voice continued telling me who I am as the noises came closer. The lights were off and I was restrained still. I was confused. What was going on?

I heard a faint yell from outside the room: “Hallway clear, proceeding forward!”

Sweat dripped down my neck, and I began to struggle against the restraints. I wasn’t who the voices were saying I was. I was being held. The situation began to click for me. Rescue was on the way!

A light emerged from behind me as a door behind me was opened.

“Hold!” I heard an authoritative man shout as footsteps approached me from behind.

“Hello?” I questioned in a daze.

“There’s a guy in here,” the man boomed before trodding over to my front. Several sets of footsteps followed behind him.

They were clad in S.W.A.T. body armor and riot helmets. One of them removed his helmet, revealing a young but severe face and buzzcut. “Waco PD. Sgt. Mathers. Who are you?”

A softer “The fuck is this shit?” could be heard from another man, acknowledging the situation and the voice speaking in the background.

I was flustered, unsure of what to say. “I-I’m-I… Help me,” is all I could muster.

“Are you being held captive?” He questioned directly.

“Yes… Father!” I eeked, the ‘father’ leaving my lips involuntarily.

“He’s the one. Help me get him out of here,” he commanded to the men behind him.

The men started to work on the restraints as he turned to me: “I ain’t’cher daddy, boy. Now, identify yourself!”

“Li-Lio-I’on’t know.” I slurred madly.

The man held his hand up, signaling the men to stop. He seemed exasperated: “Clearly.”

The men stopped working on the restraints and backed away, their heads shaking almost dejectedly. I was even more confused. Were they here to rescue me?

The man stood straight and broadcasted, “Assessment failed. Recommending more extreme measures.” The lights cut on as the men began to exit as the unmasked one shook his head. He turned to me and said didactically “You’ll only feel good when you accept who you are.” He took a syringe from his vest pocket, flicked it twice and pressed it into my neck with a sting before walking off.

I was betrayed, crazed, confused, and hopeless as I struggled to keep my eyes open. I listened to the voice declaring “I am Lionel Richardson Junior” as I passed out.

…

“Wakey wakey, Junior,” I heard a familiar voice say as I struggled to open my eyes. I was still fully restrained, but the overhead lights were on. My whole body was sore—especially my head and groin. I finally opened them fully and was greeted with Mr. Richardson in front of me. He was dressed in a navy pinstripe three-piece suit with a red paisley necktie. My eyes immediately drifted to his silver hairpiece. He reeked of his expensive cologne, but it seemed comforting.

“There we are,” He said with a grin as my eyes finally met his. “Do you finally understand who you are?” he patronized.

“Yes… Father,” I hesitated.

“That doesn’t sound very confident. Richardsons are nothing if not confident, Junior.”

“Yes, Father,” I repeated without delay.

“Good, Junior. What is your name?” He asked deliberately.

“Lionel Richardson Junior,” I replied weakly.

“Once more with vigor, son,” He urged.

“Lionel Richardson Junior,” I stated at a normal volume.

“Good, son. Now get dressed,” he demanded.

My penis grew automatically at his approval. He moved to the side, and the restraints were released. I could see myself already in the mirror. I had gotten even fatter—not quite to fath-uh-Mr. Richardson’s proportions, but a definitive gut now hung over my substantial thighs. I groaned as I got up and pondered whether or not to make a move for him as I stood. As the thought emerged, a striking pain rapped my head. I reeled back into the seat.

“Precautions have been taken, Junior. You’d never disobey father, would you?” He challenged.

“No, father,” I said dejectedly before standing up again. “I apologize, father,” left my lips robotically as I moved toward the dresser. I had not intended to speak, nor to obey so quickly.

“Apology accepted, Junior. Now get dressed.”

It was hard for me to think of anything but obedience to him. I pulled open the top drawer to the dresser again and took the now-larger “LR” monogrammed briefs out. As I stepped into them, I felt a tingling sensation within my genitals, as if teasing an orgasm. I pulled them up to my belly button, and the sensation felt nearer and nearer to release but never came. It drove me mad to be so close to such pleasure, and I began to paw at my crotch though the briefs.

My father delivered a swift slap to my face. “How unsightly, Junior. Please, control ya’self and get dressed.”

I shook myself, still on the edge of nirvana, and slung the a-shirt over my head, immediately tucking it in to the briefs. My spine tingled and toes curled, as release felt nearer and nearer. I knew what came next. With haste, I grabbed the dark silken socks and pulled them over my feet, eager to fasten them in place with the garters. I let out a slight moan as I clipped each sock into place.

“Good, my boy. It feels good to be a Richardson, doesn’t it?” My father cooed.

“Yes, Father,” is all I could think to say, lost in the pleasure of it all.

“Now look at’cha’self,” he rang. “What’re we missin’?”

My eyes glanced between the mirror and the toupee repeatedly. I knew what was missing. I was lost in the thought of the pleasure that would come from placing the toupee on my head before he prodded: “Answer me, Junior.” The pain in my head began again.

“I’m nothing without my hair, Father!” I declared, the pain receding.

I approached the toupee on the form with a “Very good, son,” from Father. The tingling in my groin intensified as my hands touched the toupee. I lifted it onto my head with a moan. As my head made contact with the piece, a tingle went down my spine to my groin; I thought orgasm was near, but it never came no matter how much I adjusted my hair in a craze.

“Calm down, Junior. Let’cha father help ya’. Com’ere.” He beckoned me to the seat that restrained me for so long. “Let me show ya’.”

I did not have time to think before I moved in hope of release. I sat down and stared at Father’s hair in the mirror as he came around behind me. He took the toupee off of my head and removed tape from his jacket before applying it to the inside of the toupee and rolling the piece back onto my head.

“That should hold it in place now. Let’s get’cha lookin’ right like yer ol’ dad.” He removed a brush from his jacket as well before styling the toupee. As he dragged the brush through my hair, I could feel the tape pulling at my scalp. Even that felt erotic on my denuded pate. I cooed after each pass with the brush, watching him groom me. With several more strokes through my hair, my father had it looking just like his, save the ring of black hair surrounding the piece.

He put the brush back in his pocket and placed his hands on my shoulders. His palms electrified me and pushed me closer to the precipice without allowing any release. “Lookin’ better already, son. Whaddya’ think?”

“It’s perfect, Father!” I groaned in ecstasy, reaching for my hair.

“Now, now, son. Don’t want to mess it up now, do we?”

“No, Father,” I agreed.

“Exactly,” he stated with a smirk. “Now put’cher cologne on ’n wait for me here. I have a surprise I’m sure you’ll love.”

“Of course, father,” I said formally. I walked toward the dresser as he walked to the back of the room. As I sprayed the comforting Richardson aphrodisiac on my neck and wrists, I glanced behind to see a crack form in the wall behind the chair. The crack parted farther into a doorway as my father walked toward it, and into a hallway. The door stayed open as I applied the cologne and relished the scent.

I stepped back to the mirror, admiring my appearance once again. The more I looked, the more pleasurable it felt: the high briefs, that did little to hide my engorged, leaking member; the undershirt, that coaxed my nipples to the size of dimes; the silky socks that caressed my toes and calves; the sock garters that kept them taut and gripped my legs; and especially the toupee that covered my baldness and finished the family resemblance.

Eventually, my eyes fell to the door reflected in the mirror. The vague thoughts of making a run for it were met with the pain of the harshest migraine I could have imagined. Respite only came as I focused on obedience and my appearance; the pleasure soon followed, forcing a smile onto my face as I pawed at myself in privacy.

After a moment to myself, I heard the hard clacking of Father’s footsteps approaching and stood straight up, locking eyes with myself in the mirror. He approached from behind carrying several bagged hangers and a shoe box.

“Are ya’ ready, son?” He teased.

“Yes, Father.”

“Good!” He said, placing the hanger bags down on the dresser and removing a pair of pleated, navy pinstripe trousers. “These are for you,” he said cheerily. They were a matching pair to his own.

He handed them to me with a smile and I stepped into them hungrily, pulling the wool up to my bellybutton. Next, he handed me a white dress shirt with French cuffs and watched as I pulled my arms through and buttoned the buttons. Before I could finish, he reminded me “Tucked and tidy, son!”

I tucked the shirt in as he fished out a pair of gold cufflinks. I caught a good look at the engraving on them as he handed them to me: “Jr.” I blushed and fastened them with confused erotic pride. Next came the red suspenders that he fastened to my pants personally, peeling back my waistline to button them to my pants underneath. The braces pulled my pants up even higher, leaving a bulge for each of my balls—eager for release—visible.

He then pulled out a pair of shiny black penny loafers from the box he brought. He set them out before me with an expectant smile. I stepped into them, the luxurious socks sliding smoothly against the leather of the shoes. As my heels hit the insoles, a puff of pleasure emanated from the shoes like a wave until it hit my groin. Once again, release did not come, but I was desperate for more.

Father then revealed a red paisley bow tie. The pattern was the same as his necktie. “Like father, like son,” he teased before draping the silk around my neck and buttoning my collar button. He deftly tied it on me, and I nearly felt complete.

He took the last garment from the bag, a navy pinstripe jacket, matching his. “Arms out, Junior,” he commanded. I obeyed. My arms slid through the luxurious lining, and my hands and cuffs emerged at the end. He buttoned the top button before standing back to admire his work.

I looked at him, then at my reflection as a grand smile appeared on his face. A similar smile formed on mine. My cock was throbbing, aching for release and satisfaction as I looked at the two of us. “Wow!” Was all I could manage to say.

“Wow, indeed, Junior,” he punctuated. “Wow indeed.” He approached me and leaned in for a hug. The scent of his cologne and the feel of his his body against mine sent me reeling. I would do anything for this man. I would do anything for my father.

He rubbed my back with his hand as he embraced me, and I felt secure. The sense of danger I developed over the period had faded. He pulled back with a smile and locked eyes with me.

“What’s yer name, son?” He asked.

"I am Lionel Richardson, Jr.”

“What do ya’ do for a living?” He continued.

"I am the regional bank manager."

“What’s important to ya’?”

"I value tradition,” I said, as my balls began to churn like never before.

“Do ya’ have any nicknames?”

“My dad calls me Junior." It became hard to maintain my composure as the line of questions came.

“Is there anything else I should know about you?” His smile grew.

"I love my family." Everything became clear with this statement.

His smirk evolved into a wide grin: “I know the whole interview process was a bit of a formality, Son, but thank ya’ for goin’ through the steps with me. Consider ya’self promoted officially.”

I was in ecstasy. “Thank you, Father.”

“No. Thank you, Junior. You’ve grown up quite a bit at college.”

We paused momentarily, a tear of pleasure forming in my eye. He continued: “I’m proud of ya’, son. Real proud.”

His words echoed in my head and went straight to my core. A tingling emanated from the back of my neck and from my feet. The sensations met at my groin as I convulsed in pleasure. Stream after stream erupted from my cock as I fell back into the chair that once restrained me. The pleasure continued pulse after pulse as I soaked my briefs and then my suit pants with semen. I panted heavily, focused on my father’s proud face and shiny toupee as I passed out in pleasure.

…

The alarm clock blared. I was disoriented. My eyes opened and I found myself in a luxurious bedroom. I slammed my hand onto the clock, silencing the cacophony. I groaned, rubbed my eyes, and threw the silky sheets off. I was free? It felt normal. Was it all a dream?

I rubbed my bald crown, and heard a call from outside the room: “Get up and get dressed, Junior!” It was my father. I felt a slight pain in my head before I got up. I went to my antique wooden dresser and proceeded as I always did: White monogrammed briefs pulled up to my bellybutton; a ribbed white tank tucked into them; black silk socks, fastened by garters. I went to the en suite bathroom and looked at myself. I felt good and looked good. My cock grew within my briefs—morning wood, I thought.

I placed the tape in my grey toupee and placed it on my head. There was a light contrast from my black fringe, but there was some greying; no one would notice. I spritzed myself with cologne, taking a big inhale before walking to the closet. A charcoal grey suit would do for today, and an orange bow tie, I decided.

I got dressed quickly. My father was waiting. The growth in my groin could not be taken care of this morning, unfortunately. Pleated pants, white shirt, navy suspenders, black tassel loafers, burnt orange bow, jacket, and ready to go.

I emerged from my room and was immediately greeted by my father. He wore a charcoal suit and orange necktie today. We were nearly identical again. “Junior! I was just about to pop in and check on ya’. Ready to head in? I’ve got an intern pickin’ up breakfast this mornin’.”

“Yes, Father. I’m excited for my first day in the position.” I said giddily, but automatically.

“Great! I already got that corner office on the fourth floor cleared out for ya’. Make the best of it,” he advised.

We went downstairs past our housekeeper who waved us off and into a black car. A stern looking young man in a buzz cut opened the door and ushered us in. The drive was short, and uneventful. When we arrived at the office, the receptionist greeted us, welcomed me back from college, and passed me a wink as we walked toward the elevator. I pressed my keycard to the reader with a sense of deja vu as I examined my hair in the reflective elevator door. It was good to be the owner’s son.

#toupee #traditional undergarments #loafers #suit #bow tie #sock garters #first person #brainwashing #reprogramming #office #father son

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emailsfromanactor · 1 year ago

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Psst, wanna read the book this flap copy is about (and another one that adds some context)?

In the cast of the 1964 Sir John Gielgud-Richard Burton Hamlet was William Redfield, playing Guildenstern. During the three months of the play’s preparation, from the rehearsals through the out-of-town tryouts to the gala opening night on Broadway, William Redfield wrote a series of letters describing the daily happenings and his impressions of them. Here, ‘beaten with a stick, and told to behave’, as Mr. Redfield claims, they have been made into Letters from an Actor, a brilliantly unusual book and surely one of the most stimulating and delightful ever to come from the theatre. It is itself a series of plays within a play. Certainly here is an account of Gielgud’s production—inspired and erratic, flamboyant and puzzling—and of Burton’s determined approach to this most challenging of roles; certainly it tells of the processes by which a cast that included Eileen Herlie and Alfred Drake forged one of the most talked-of performances of Hamlet. But in the wings are a hundred and one other figures who throng this stage as surely as the players. Elizabeth Taylor is there in person, a lovely and admired bystander. Olivier is there, unseen but ever-present in argument and anecdote, a magician commanding the Shakespearian stage. So also are Ralph Richardson, Guthrie, Edith Evans, O’Toole and Brando; the Lunts, Guinness, Scofield, Barrymore, Diana Wynyard, even Burbage and Garrick; and above all the towering presence of Shakespeare himself. Our guide throughout is William Redfield: perceptive, acerbic, witty, a teller of tales cautionary and hilarious—an actor. When Paul Scofield read these Letters he wrote to him: ‘I’ve always admired the way you can turn the confusion of an acting “problem” into a lucid and witty conversation piece .... Your book is so full of affection for your subjects, and it’s very moving to rediscover one’s love for such as Burton and Gielgud through the medium of your marvellously vivid letters. I’ve never seen the tortuous and elusive process of the production of a play from first to last so truthfully realized .... The book is endlessly fascinating. Your observation has a spot-on accuracy. I feel I was there .... You can write! Actors rarely can, but you can.’ To which we can only add that it is also great good fun.

Then sign up for Emails from an Actor! More information here. :D

#john gielgud #richard burton #elizabeth taylor #laurence olivier #ralph richardson #marlon brando #boy did redfield have OPINIONS about brando #hamlet #shakespeare #emails from an actor

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scaryscarecrows · 9 months ago

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“--bleeding–”

“Shit–get an–”

“--r. Wayne!”

Ow.

Bruce vaguely remembers shouting. There’d been an escape. Crane had…Crane hadn’t. Crane hadn’t been there at the time, had he? No, no, he was…what…

“Move, all of you.” Richardson’s voice is clipped. “Somebody call an ambulance. Get me my supplies.”

This last is directed at Crane, who vanishes off somewhere. Martinez is on the phone for an ambulance, and Gordon is keeping the crowd at bay. That’s right. He’d been–there’d been a small meeting of investors, looking to clean up Arkham, but somebody had gotten out, gotten a gun.

“Here.” Crane sounds deeply displeased. “What have we learned from this, gentlemen?” Bruce, lying flat, still feels those piercing eyes settle on the rookie that spooked the inmate. “When I say I will handle my patients, let me.”

“Sorry, doc.”

“Hm. Nurse?”

Richardson’s freezing fingers press gauze against his leg. He’s been shot before, but not out of the suit and…it hurts. It hurts rather a lot.

“Missed the artery…you’re lucky, Mr. Wayne.” He doesn’t like her being this close. Surely she wouldn’t do anything, not with all these people, but… “Status on the ambulance?”

“Ten minutes.”

Crane mutters something that might be, tax dollars at work. If anybody else hears him, they don’t say anything.

“Pass me–ta.” A wet, cold cloth presses against his leg now. The flinch is mostly genuine. “Antiseptic,” she says easily. “Sorry for the chill, but I’ve seen infections in here that would spook the Batman.”

Bruce tries to force a laugh. His head is starting to swim, but he hasn’t lost enough blood to…to…

More gauze. Crane crouches down, head tilted a little like a bird’s, and Bruce forces himself to make eye contact. Or try to, anyway–from this angle, Crane’s glasses are catching the light in such a way that his eyes are hidden.

In the distance, there’s the wail of an ambulance. A flicker of a smile dances across Crane’s lips, but before anything else can happen, Richardson is driving her palm against the hole in his leg and Bruce’s attention becomes consumed by painpainpain.

“There we go,” she says. “You’ll be just fine, I think.”

Did she always have teeth that sharp?

#written while on hold to fedex #who lost my package #AGAIN #battinson #jonathan crane #kitty richardson #bruce wayne #they saw their chance and took it #bruce is gonna have a bad night #ficlet

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indigovigilance · 1 year ago

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I was just reading through some of your meta, and was thinking about your one about Maggie being possessed by an angel. I was wondering if the fact that Nina is played by Nina Sosanya, who also played Sister Mary in season one, might be connected. I'm a bit late to the Good Omens series, has that ever been addressed? Seems odd to recast an actress as a different character in the same show, especially a show so detail orientated. Seeing as Maggie and Nina are mirrors for Aziraphale and Crowley, I'm idly wondering if they being secretly an angel, and former demon worshiper would simply would be to add an extra dimension, or if there is something more sneaky afoot. Like spies for each side watching the shop or some such.

Oh, my dear friend, it goes much deeper than that! Do not be bashful about arriving late to the game: I also did not watch S2 until about a month after it dropped, and didn't arrive on Tumblr until a month after that (literally made an account for the first time to join this fandom). The fact that I'm getting these asks at all is evidence enough that anyone can catch up. So here we go!

read on Ao3

(forgive the quality of some of these screengrabs, I'm having internet issues and Amazon is taking it out on the quality of my video)

Nina is played by Nina Sosanya, who in season 1 played Sister Mary Loquacious (I still love that name):

...and Maggie is played by Maggie Service, who in season 1 played a satanic nun as well, Sister Teresa Garrulous (inspired):

But the recycling of the first season's cast doesn't end there!

Shax is played by none other than the illustrious Miranda Richardson, returning after her delightful season 1 portrayal of Madame Tracy:

Reece Shearsmith plays Shakespeare in Season 1 and Furfur in Season 2:

Reece Shearsmith, Mark Gatiss who plays Mr. Harmony, and Steve Pemberton who plays Mr. Glozier, the [zombie] Nazis in both seasons,

worked together on the award-winning show League of Gentlemen. An article about it even appears on David Tennant's website (which I just found today, doing research for this response!). It's a fun little read, I recommend it for anyone who's interested in "the making of" type stuff.

Gatiss was also involved in Doctor Who, which is of course was (per my humble opinion) the crowning glory of David Tennant's career until he stepped into the snakeskin boots. The article indicates that all these actors have prior relationships with David Tennant and Michael Sheen and were very pleased to be cast for this show.

But notably, only Nina and Maggie are named after their actors. Given that they also play out a whole slew of fanfiction tropes (I don't think this connection has ever been written out in meta format but it is alluded to in various YouTube clipshows) it seems to be a Doylian *Clue* that something is a little bit wrong about these characters and their alleged romance.

Other than that, I think the fact that cast is being reused only tells us two things: First, these are wonderful actors and why go looking for new talent when you already have the best? Second, they love this work and they love working together on it, and the actors wanted to return just as much as Neil wanted them to continue bringing his vision to life.

I'm glad you enjoyed Maggie is Possessed, one of my very first metas! I can see that you are going in order along my meta index. If you would like to keep reading on this topic, others have contributed their thoughts on the subject, and I've linked some choice readings below:

Can't You Hear Them? by @vidavalor The Grand Unified Theory by @noneorother which addresses the slew of purportedly human characters that have oddly angelic/demonic traits What's Up with Maggie? - a chain started by @iammyownproblematicfave that I and others have contributed to

I hope that this line of inquiry gets more attention in the future. If you haven't already, the docs below are great resources to bookmark as they are constantly being updated by teams of dedicated clue-searchers:

Good Omens Crackpotting Theory Tracker Hunting for Clues

~~~

I love getting asks like this, thanks for giving me something to do while I wait for my laundry to finish. I'm so so happy that more people are arriving in this cuddly communal crucible of creativity, it's been a great community for me and I hope you join us on this whirlwind adventure of piecing together the million-piece jigsaw puzzle that Neil left for us to play with as we await Season 3!

#indigovigilance answers asks #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens maggie #good omens nina #shax #shax good omens #good omens meta #furfur #reece shearsmith #miranda richardson #madame tracy #good omens production

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imagines--galore · 2 years ago

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||Mind Over Matter|| Part Six

Summary: Evelyn is Penelope Garcia’s protegé. She is a tech wiz, and knows her way around any kind of security and just like her mentor knows how to dig deep and get into the past of anyone and has a knack for anything with a chip in it. Including potato chips. The one thing she fails at is figuring out is the mind and how it works. Rated T for blood and language.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Evelyn Richardson(OC)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Adventure. Family. Some language, blood and violence in later installments.

Previously - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five,

A/N: Hope you enjoy!

Takes place during episode seven season one.

For the first time in weeks it was a slow day at the office. Those were rare days really. Considering it was the FBI she worked for. Or with? She didn't really have a clue which one it was. But it didn't matter.

Not many people had screwed up their computers or needed any dirt on someone, so Evelyn had decided to run to the nearest bakery and get herself a cream roll. She had been craving one of those things for ages and since she hadn't had the time to make one herself, had opted to get one. Walking her way back from the bakery she caught sight of a familiar figure emerging from a car. Her lips pulled into a smile as she quickly walked over to the person.

"Went to get some new books did we?" She asked as soon as she was within hearing range of the person, who jumped, startled at her sudden appearance. Evelyn snorted.

"One would think that after almost two years since we've known each other, you would've gotten used to my popping up out of nowhere." Spencer shook his head.

"Not when you do it at random. Your appearances are very irregular you know." He commented, starting to walk towards the FBI building while the red head fell into step next to him. Evelyn sniffed, pushing her glasses further up her nose as she did.

"Why don't you admit that you have no idea when and where I would turn up from unlike those UnSubs of yours?" Spencer gave her an unamused look.

"They have a pattern that they repeat making it easier for us to get a location or to predict when and where they would appear, you on the other hand." He shook his head, shrugging. "Not so much." Evelyn snorted.

"Way to tell a woman she's weird Spencer." The young genius spluttered on whatever he was about to say, just as the two of them entered the bullpen.

"I didn't!" He semi-shouted. His friend only shook her head, grinning from ear to ear as she reached up to pet him on the head like a puppy.

"Its alright. I'll take it as a compliment." She said, before turning and waving to JJ as she passed by to get to her office. JJ smirked at the slightly miffed look Spencer had on his face.

"Caught you again by surprise huh?" She asked, gaining his attention. Her words held more then one meaning but Reid turned to her.

"She is unpredictable." He stated before walking over to his desk and sitting down, riffling through the bag that held his new books.

JJ sighed as she shook her head.

Oblivious the both of them.

————————–

"Hey Evelyn? Penelope?"

Both women looked up from the respective desks to see JJ standing in the doorway a small smile on her lips.

"Hotch is here." Mentor and Protege shared a grin before standing up and following after their Team's Media Liaison. Catching sight of a familiar figure standing near the elevator the three women made their way towards him. Evelyn gave a small friendly smile at the woman standing next to her superior.

"Hello Mrs. Hotchner."

Haley Hotchner smiled and waved back at the red head, before turning turning her attention to her husband who was holding their new born son. Evelyn's blue eyes turned to look at the squirming little bundle, as she stood next to Spencer.

"Congratulations." Reid said his tone monotone as per the norm. Evelyn shoved him slightly in the back to get him to move forward. He shot her a glare, which she returned with an innocent look. She knew how Reid was cautious around babies. She had no idea why though since she had never asked. But that didn't mean she couldn't get a kick out of teasing him about it every now and then.

"He's so gorgeous." JJ said, moving forward, smiling as she watched Jack squirm slightly in his father's arms.

"Thank you." Mrs Hotchner said, her eyes shining with love and pride as she looked at her son. Evelyn waved her fingers in the baby's direction.

"Hey there handsome." She cooed as the baby turned his head in her direction.

"If you find baldness and wrinkles attractive." Reid muttered, earning him a glare from his friend, as she nudged him lightly.

"Look at his little witty bitty nose." Penelope cooed, smacking Spencer on the shoulder as she did, not taking her eyes off the baby. Just then Morgan stuck his head in the space between her and Spencer's shoulder, looking at the baby as well.

"Don't you want one of these?" The blonde asked him. Morgan hummed under his breath before grinning.

"I'll stick to practicing." The small group laughed, minus Spencer who just gave a slight frown. Just then Elle appeared from behind them, smiling lightly, as she nodded at the new parents.

"Congratulations." She said.

Both parents thanked her, before Hotch spoke up, nodding towards his wife.

"She's amazing. I'm a little terrified." He admitted, although he was still smiling.

"Well, uh, we should get going." The new mother said, as Hotch agreed with her, placing his son carefully into the stroller. Evelyn waved at the baby yet again as Reid spoke up from next to her.

"Pleasure seeing you, Mrs Hotchner."

As soon as they were out of her hearing range Penelope nudged Morgan as the two of them with Evelyn and Spencer following after them, made their way towards their desk area.

"Stick to practicing huh?" She said a teasing glint in her eye. Morgan chuckled under his breath.

"I think I would prefer the product of that practice." Morgan turned to raise an eyebrow at the red head who blushed lightly, as she trained her eyes to look at her hands that were fiddling with a string of her shirt.

"I said that out loud didn't I?" She murmured sheepishly, before looking up and continuing.

"But come on think about it. You'd have a person to care and love for, for the rest of your life." Spencer snorted.

"A person who would scream, wail and constantly want your attention?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. Evelyn scowled at him, before she smirked.

"You just described the whole of the species of human beings Spence." She grinned, prompting Penelope and Morgan to laugh at her statement, and for the latter to reach forward and patting the young genius on the back.

"She's right about that Pretty Boy." He said, just as Penelope chimed in.

"So you thinking of having big family Evelyn?" The red head blushed again as all eyes were directed towards her but she nodded.

"If I meet the right guy yes." She smiled. Penelope hummed under her breath.

"I think I would go for a small family." She said, as she started to walk towards her office. Evelyn turned to Morgan, looking up at him expectantly. The man simply raised in hands.

"I don't plan that ahead Ginger." He said, earning a small pout from the young woman. He nudged the young genius standing next to him, grinning.

"Why don't you ask Pretty Boy here?" He asked laughing lightly under his breath at the surprised and sightly terrified look on his friend's face. Before either of them had the time to say something Elle called out to Reid and Morgan. The younger man very nearly ran for the conference room with a laughing Morgan behind him, walking at a leisurely pace. Evelyn smiled as well, making a mental note to ask the question again later, as she made her way to her's and Penelope's office.

————————–

Evelyn was sitting alongside Penelope going through a series of paperwork when Hotch walked into the office.

"I need you two to run a back ground check on the Crawford's financials." He said, turning the pages of the file he was holding. Evelyn immediately dropped her papers in a considerably neat stack, turning towards her computer, while Penelope started to type into her computer.

"Evelyn you look through the father. I'll look through the mother." She ordered her eyes skimming over the window that had popped up. The red head hummed in response as her own eyes skimmed over the computer screen, while Hotch dialed the number for Gideon's office phone. Putting the call on speaker he waited patiently as the line connected. The line clicked as Gideon accepted the call.

"Gideon, we've been looking into the Crawford financials." Hotch began getting right to the point as per the norm.

"Allison Crawford spent way more money than Chris could afford." Penelope summarized what she had read. "They were in major debt." She added as an afterthought.

"And Chris Crawford wrote a number of checks for a series of visits to a therapist." Evelyn said, offering her side of the research.

"She had 2 cell phone accounts one of them billed to a separate address in southeast Washington, D.C." Penelope quickly recounted as the number flashed on the screen in front of her.

"Did you get that?" Hotch asked, as Evelyn continued to try and find anything unusual on the father.

"Yeah! We'll go check out the address." Gideon said over the phone, the line clicked before it went dead, and Hotch all but raced out of the office.

"Not so much as a thank you." Penelope muttered, playfully earning a small smile from her partner.

————————–

"Are you planning on heading home at all?"

Evelyn looked up to see Gideon standing next to her desk. She glanced around noticing how the bullpen was almost empty save for a few agents who were packing up for the day. She frowned, as she checked her watch before her eyes widened behind her glasses.

"I didn't realize what the time was." She muttered sheepishly as she stood up pushing away the night vision goggles and heat vision camera she had been fiddling with for the past three hours. Stretching her arms over her head she heaved a sigh when the aching in her back lessened, something else she failed to notice.

"Are you just leaving?" She asked, picking up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. Her superior shrugged.

"I was thinking of grabbing something to eat before heading back home." He motioned towards the corridor.

"Why don't you come with me? It'll give us time to talk. I haven't had the chance to have a one on one with you. I'll drop you home afterwards." He suggested. Evelyn immediately nodded.

"Sure. I can leave my car in the parking lot and tell the night guard." She grinned as she fell into step next to the Agent.

"I'll bother Spencer about picking me up for work tomorrow."

Out of the whole Team Spencer and Evelyn were the only one's who lived near each other. The both of them were only a block away from the other's home. Gideon nodded, giving a small smile as he led the way to his car.

————————–

"So how's the case going?" Evelyn asked as she took a bite of her steak, chewing it quickly.

Gideon had taken her to one of the places the two of them often frequented. The waitress would greet them both warmly and the chef would wave at them from behind the counter. It was more of a diner then a restaurant and the environment was warm and friendly/ The staff knew their regulars and the two of them would order the same thing when they came there since it was something they both enjoyed.

She hadn't realized how hungry she was until the food had been placed in front of her. After that it was a few minutes of complete silence as the two Agents started eating. Gideon nodded lightly, yet his face was grim.

"Its going alright, but we're not here to talk about the case." He said, giving her a pointed look to which she responded with a nod, pushing a piece of medium rare beef around her plate.

"I know." She mumbled, licking her lips, her free hand came up to push her glasses further up her nose before it went to play with the strand of hair hanging on the right side of her head. She didn't look up. Gideon rested his hands on the surface of the table, his gaze steady as he looked at the young woman sitting across from him.

"She didn't respond did she?" Evelyn didn't even bother asking how he had known. Her lack of response had been answer enough. Nonetheless she shook her head.

"She didn't even look at me when we both went there. She just came in caught sight of me and then left." A dejected sigh escaped her as she finally speared the piece of beef and pushed it into her mouth.

"You would think that after almost four years she would've at least said hello," She paused as she shook her head.

"Thats like asking for a miracle." The red head looked up to see the older agent nod in a sympathetic manner.

"Years of rivalry don't just go away, even after a few years Evelyn." He told her, taking a sip of the drink he had ordered with his dinner.

"But I don't even know what the rivalry is all about." She protested, leaning forward in her chair slightly as she did. Gideon nodded once again.

"I know, you don't. And whatever the reason for the cold shoulder I know its not your fault." Evelyn blinked at her superior before frowning slightly.

"How can you be so sure about that?" She asked, her voice low, as it always got when she was confused. Gideon gave a small smile.

"I only had to meet your sister once Evelyn and that was enough. I am a Profiler you know." The young woman gave a small smile as she nodded.

"And from what I have gathered from your accounts about her I would say she is simply doing all this out of jealousy." He continued. She nodded.

"I know. You've told me that before." The two of them lapsed into silence, continuing with their dinner. Evelyn's head was buzzing with thoughts and possibilities on why her sister would be jealous of her, before she felt a warm large hand pat her shoulder lightly. She looked up to see Gideon giving her a sympathetic look.

"Don't sweat it kid. We'll figure it out sooner or later." He reassured her. She smiled gratefully and nodded.

————————–

The horn sounded again, making Evelyn want nothing more then to hit her friend over the head with her bag, as she ran down the driveway of her house towards his car, pushing her glasses in place as she did.

"Are you trying to wake the dead or something?" She asked, as she slid into the passenger seat. Spencer didn't even glance at her, as he started to drive down the road.

"Waking the dead is technically impossible Evelyn." He countered, missing the eye roll his friend gave him, as he continued.

"And could you come around and check my computer when you get the time. It's got a virus or something. I don't know." He shot her a helpless look, taking his eyes off the road for a second before turning back. The red head smiled. She knew her friend was helpless when it came to technology. How he had been living his life without a cellphone or a computer till she came was a mystery to her. She had been the one to introduce him with everything she thought he might need to know. And she was the one who kept him updated on the new and improved tech that came along year after year. But there were always new things being introduced and Evelyn couldn't teach him fast enough.

"Did you try to download something again Spencer?" She asked, knowing it would be the only reason a virus could get into a system. Spencer's ears turned a bright red as he mumbled an affirmative making the red head sigh and shake her head.

"I'll come over and check it out but please don't try downloading anything again till after I say so." She chided him lightly as he turned the car into the parking lot of their office. He nodded as he parked the car.

"Yes, ma'am." He mumbled, as they both got out. Evelyn took a deep breath as she straightened the strap of her bag and the front of the button up she was wearing that day.

"Maybe I should start charging you for all the repairs I do." She called after her friend, who had already begun to walk towards the building, as she ran to catch up with him. She very nearly had to jog to keep up with his fast pace sometimes.

"And walk slow!" She whined as she fell into step next to him, not even out of breath. "I know I'm short but do you have to remind me by walking so fast with those damn long legs of yours." Spencer chuckled as he opened the door, holding it open for her, after he passed through.

"Alright. I'll match your short pace." He said, walking next to her, hands stuffed in the pockets of the pants he was wearing and smirking at her. Evelyn punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"And I'll try and meet up to your high standards." She grinned at him as the two of them entered the bullpen.

————————–

JJ glanced up from the desk just in time to see Spencer and Evelyn separate from where they had entered the bullpen together. Both of them with slight smiles on their faces. She may not be a profiler but JJ had seen the way Spencer had been the previous day. Everyone on the Team was tense about the Unsub sneaking in and murdering families. And Spencer and Evelyn were no better. She knew that they were still worried of course, but it did amaze her how even with all the chaos going around them the two of them seemed to smile whenever they were around each other. JJ hadn't been around the Team for very long but she had been around long enough to know or rather suspect that whatever Spencer and Evelyn shared was something that was on a much more deeper level.

The only problem was that neither of them realized it. Which was strange because if an outside like her could see it why couldn't they? She wasn't really surprised though, neither of them seemed to be quick when it came to normal thing and she also knew that if she ever tried bringing it up both of them would simply say that the reason behind it was that they were both socially awkward.

Although how that related to this problem was something she did not or could not get.

Shaking her head JJ made a promise to look for more signs before she confronted either of the two or both of them. That was the logical thing to do.

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Penelope tapped her foot impatiently as she watched the young technician fiddle with a couple of wires.

"Its a good thing the computer fried after the information was sent out huh?" She asked, her voice slightly muffled because of the small pliers she held between her teeth since her hands were busy. Penelope huffed.

"There is no goof time for my computers to go berserker." She grumbled, clearly not happy with the little predicament she was in. Her protege quickly hid a smile as he cut a bit of naked wire before wrapping it up with tape and connecting it with the right slot. Closing the lid she patted the top before dusting her hands.

"Give it a try." She said, glancing up at her friend. Penelope wasted no time in doing just that and immediately very nearly squealed with delight when her computers started to work again.

"Evelyn. You are a life saver!" She crowed, settling into her chair, or rather throne as Evelyn called it and started to reboot her entire system. The red head smiled as she placed her pliers in her messenger bag.

"No problem. I'm just gonna go see if the others are back yet." She called over her shoulder as she exited the office, but Penelope didn't even glance up from her computers making Evelyn shake her head lightly before making her way over to her main desk in the bullpen.

Not long after Spencer had exited their office with the much needed and critical information Penelope's computers had glitched and crashed. And since no virus could get into her system it had to be a wire. And that was where Evelyn came in. While the red head worked on her computers Penelope had turned to Evelyn's computer to work the case. The Team meanwhile had finally been able to crack the case and had identified the UnSub. As she placed her bag on her desk Evelyn looked up to see JJ sitting not very far away. Grabbing two cups of coffee from the coffee machine she stood next to her friends desk, taking a sip as she did and holding out the second glass of the beverage to her friend who took it with a grateful smile.

"When do you think they will get back?" She asked. JJ shrugged and pointed in Spencer's direction.

"Ask genius over there." The words were barely out of her mouth when Reid, not even looking up from his book answered.

"They will be here within twenty minutes or so. They have been gone for quite awhile." He closed his book with a snap, as he stood up as well and walked the few paces to stand next to Evelyn who was frowning worriedly as she took another sip of her coffee.

"I just hope he didn't harm the new family." She muttered her eyes trained towards the elevator of the bullpen. JJ sighed lightly as she stood up to stand next to the red head as well, her arms crossed over her chest. She had only just opened her mouth to speak when the elevator doors opened and Morgan marched out leading a man by the collar his hands cuffed behind him. Evelyn's blue eyes, narrowed behind her glasses as she glared at the man, being led to the interrogation room.

She wasn't the only one.

The whole of the bullpen had silenced as the man walked down the length of the office, every single agent glaring at the monster being led to what he deserved. The monster, however seemed to be ill at ease.

"Hello." He called to a female agent as he walked by, earning him a shove from Morgan.

"Let's go." Morgan all but growled out, steering him towards the interrogation room. They passed by the three of them and the man nodded in their direction his eyes darting from Evelyn to JJ.

"Hey. How are you?" He inquired. Whether the comment was directed at her or JJ, Evelyn couldn't tell. She was boiling with anger on the inside and Spencer subtly and almost unconsciously stepped in front of Evelyn, blocking her from the man's view while Morgan shoved him much more harder this time.

"Keep it moving." He ordered, while blue, eyes widened behind their large glass frames as they caught sight of the freshly wrapped bandage on his arm.

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Her heart was heavy as she placed nearly eight files on the conference table around which the members of the BAU Team sat. Each file was a murder case that was left unsolved and labeled as a suicide case. Each case had a family of five murdered. Hotch had been able to recover the trophies Karl Arnolds had taken whenever he murdered a family.

The father's wedding bands.

Evelyn felt her own father's wedding band grow heavier as it rested against her chest, beneath her shirt, as she stood between Gideon and Hotch as the former stared into the box before he tilted the small compartment revealing the eight families Karl Arnolds had killed just because he had lost his.

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Tag List - @lovelyygirl8

#spencer x reader #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid x oc #criminal minds imagine #mind over matter

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