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[kanekisfavoritegf]

PERFECT LOVER: The Life of Nanami Kento the 35 Year Old Virgin

MINORS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT YOU WILL GET BLOCKED

SYNOPSIS: Kento Nanami, a 35-year-old introvert with a tendency to avoid social interactions, has made a conscious decision to steer clear of romantic entanglements. However, everything changes when he meets a new colleague at his birthday party, (Satoru's Idea). From the moment they meet, he is mesmerized, finding himself increasingly unable to resist her magnetic presence. Like taking a bite of forbidden fruit, he becomes ensnared by the allure, delving into a realm of infatuation and finding himself unable to break free. As he delves deeper into this newfound connection, Nanami begins to realize that he craves more than just a fleeting experience and yearns for more than just a fleeting taste of what she embodies.

Table of Contents

WORD COUNT: 1.8K

Part 2 1/2 was added to the beginning! So if you have already read it, skip to where it says “TWO DAYS LATER.”

CHAPTER THREE:

The drive from Kento’s apartment was short enough to make you consider walking next time. If there was ever another situation in which you’d be leaving Kento’s apartment in the morning.

“And where the hell have you been?” You practically jumped out of your skin at the sound of Yuki’s voice. You turned around to meet her smug face from across the hall, smirking like she knew something you didn’t.

“Such a warm welcome from my favorite neighbor,” You quipped, unlocking your door.

“You were at Kenny’s, right?” 

“Kenny? Who i– Oh! Kento. Yeah.”

Yuki followed in after you, her eyes lingering on the clothes you threw into the washer. It was only then that she realized you were wearing her university’s graphic tee. This might have been an ordinary occurrence any other day, but not when you spent the night at her old university friend and coworker’s house, especially not Nanami’s.

“You didn’t sleep with him, right?”

“No, of course not.”

“Good.” Yuki sighed.

“Good? Is he dating someone?” You felt your breath hold as you wondered aloud, only releasing it once answered.

“No, he doesn’t date.”

“Like at all?”

“Nope.”

“Is there a reason?” 

“It's not my story to tell.” Yuki shook her head. “He is touchy about the subject.”

You only nodded.

“Not even casual hookups?”

“Hey! No.” You would have been offended at the harshness of Yuki’s voice if her expression of horror had not been so amusing, “He is off limits.”

“What do you mean?”

“He is the lonely virgin; one hookup with you, and you will ruin him.” It was a little surprising to hear Kento was still a virgin, but not because of his age, but his demeanour. The way he carried himself. Indeed, he must have had someone he wanted to be with that intimately; surely someone would want him so intimately, but then again, you only knew him for a few hours; who knows what he is actually like.

“You make it seem like I am some succubus.”

“You might as well be Y/N.”You only rolled your eyes at her. “Listen to me, Y/N,” Yuki’s hands cupped your face like a child needing grave warning. “You can not deflower poor Kento.”

“He isn’t a child.”

“I know, but–” Yuki lost the words on her tongue, knowing no explanation would do it justice. “Just don’t. He isn’t Satoru or Suguru. He is a decent man, and if you slept with him, hell, if you kissed him, it would lead to places I don’t think you’d want to go to.”

“You hummed a sound of agreement and went to your bedroom to change. Thoughts of Kento are still in your mind; the more Yuki speaks about him, the more you want to pull back each layer of him to see what exactly makes him the way he is. 

Yuki’s words still echoed in your head as you showered “hell if you kissed him, it would lead to places I don’t think you’d want to go to.” But it was already too late. Kento Nanami was undeniably curious about you, just as much as you to him.

TWO DAYS LATER

“Hello, Mr. Nanami! If I read my email correctly, you are supposed to be showing me around today.” 

This was the first time Nanami had been caught off guard. For some reason, you stood in front of him in business attire, a skirt cut just above the knee, black stockings and a white dress shirt hidden beneath a black cardigan.

 He stared down at you as you stood before him, a nervous smile painted on your face as he did so. His expression was even more blank than he had given you three days ago. It almost seemed like he was angry, but the more he stared at you quietly, you couldn’t help but feel as though he may have just forgotten you. And the very idea of Nanami forgetting you made you slightly (very much so) annoyed. 

Was kissing strangers after housing them in his very nice, very clean apartment a common occurrence for him? Was walking around in shirts too tight around women clearly captivated by him an everyday experience for him???

Okay, you understood it wasn’t technically a kiss to be written in the history books and that it was you who kissed him. But that didn’t take away the feeling of aggravation snaking its way up your spine.

“I’m Y/N.” You stated.

“I know.” Was all he said in return, turning to his desk and logging into the company computer, leaving you standing there awkwardly as he faced his display screen.

You peered over his shoulder, letting a few braids dip down and lay across his chest as you watched him. 

Nanami only let out a shaky breath as you did so, doing his best to ignore the heat that came off of your body as you pressed into him from behind. It didn’t help that you smelled like vanilla and chocolate; whatever perfume you wore was slowly snaking its way around his neck and choking him.

Choosing not to acknowledge your closeness, he focused on your name, typing it in slowly as he waited for an email mentioning you. When it failed, he then searched the word intern, and sure enough, it popped up. In his spam, a place where all emails specifically from Satoru Gojo were sent.

NANAMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII, I need a huge favor: babysit the new hires and show them around the office. I missed the flight yesterday, so I’ll be back next week.

Thanks!! 

Satoru.

“How does one miss a flight and choose to return in a week, not the next day?” You asked, a small giggle escaping you. Kento only shook his head, huffing slightly, before turning back around to face you.

“I’m Kento Nanami.”

“I knew that.” You replied shortly, and if Kento could kick himself in the knee, he would ten times over.

“Yes.” 

“Yes?”

“Yes,” he repeated bluntly. Stay here one moment. When I return, I will give you a tour of this department. I shouldn’t be over ten minutes.”

Before you could even respond, he had vanished, disappearing down a corridor and around a corner, leaving you standing there, slightly bewildered.

Kento silently cursed himself in the supply closet. 

He was hiding.

 In a closet.

 Kento Nanami, the 35-year-old virgin, was hiding in a closet because a pretty woman smelled nice. It didn’t help that you had said his name the way you did. 

Smooth and slow and utterly… normal. Kento knew he couldn’t blame all his perverted problems on the object of his desire, no matter how much he wished to.

He sighed heavily, knocking his head into the door in front of him before opening it and emerging once again into reality. 

All he needed to do was keep himself calm and composed, not let his eyes drift to your lips, preferably avoid all eye contact, and not mention last weekend under any circumstances.

When he approached his desk again, you weren’t alone. Suguru stood over you as you leaned against his desk for support.

“Oh, it’s Mr. Nanami!” You pointed out, bringing Suguru’s attention to Kento as he approached you.

“Mr. Nanami?” Suguru smirked at you with a tilted head. 

“Should I not call him that?” You panicked for all of 3 seconds before Nanami cut in.

“No, no. It is fine.” Letting out a shuddered breath, “Call me whatever you want.” A weak smile went with his words as he twisted to meet the other man.

“Don’t you have a meeting to be in? Where is Yuki?”

“She is already in there stalling. I thought I’d welcome the new hire once again since Satoru has decided to skip his duties. Geto shook his head at the thought of Satoru sipping on mimosas and eating fresh fruit instead of doing his job, his very well-paying job.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you anymore. We can grab lunch or something later!” You suggested before sliding your way to the blonde man. “And you.” Nanami held his breath as you pointed his way, “You owe me a tour.”

“That I do.” Kento said, throwing a tight smile at Geto, trying to mask the ridiculous feeling of jealousy that began blooming in his chest. All Geto gave back was a knowing smile, a smile that you and Kento alike mistook for one given to yourselves, adding to the tension in the room.

***

Walking through the office was probably one of the most awkward experiences of your life.

Whenever you tried to open a conversation, Kento quickly shut it down or stirred it toward work. 

This would have been fine had he looked you in the eye at least once as he showed off every inch of the new environment.

“This is our break/rest room. A couch, blankets, pillows and noise-canceling earphones are stored away for when you need to sleep.”

“Ooo, that sounds amazing.” You peered inside since no one was currently rested. 

“Yup. All you need to do is flip the card to the red side, lock the door, and then, for at least forty minutes, peace is yours.”

“We pull many all-nighters here as the marketing team; with such a small group, taking forty minutes to one-hour breaks is pretty common.”

“Do you often sleep here?”

“No,” was all he said as he glanced over you, making his way to the kitchen, assuming you’d be following behind him promptly.

With each passing second, your patience wore thinner, and you couldn’t help but huff in annoyance.

As you stood in the final room of the floor, Nanami continued to drone on about the new kettle and fridge space, practically facing the wall opposite you.

“What is your problem?” You snapped at him.

“Excuse me?”

“Why aren’t you looking at me.”

“I am looking at you.”

“I am not talking about now; I am talking about this whole tour, or better yet since I approached you this morning.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You won’t look at me.”

“Y/N–” Kento started.

“You can call me Miss L/N,” You corrected, “I was nervous at the idea of starting a new job in a higher position than before, especially with all of you guys, who already know each other so well, so to be shown around by someone I “knew” it gave me a little bit of comfort. But if this is a problem for Mr. Nanami, then I can wait for Sugu- Mr. Geto, or Yuki to show me around after their meeting. “

“No.”

“No?” You repeated back at him.

“I am sorry.”

“Okay???”

“I struggle talking with women.”

“And looking them in the eye?” 

“Yes. To women I am attracted to, I struggle.” He now faced you fully, the tips of his ears burned bright red. You would have found this cute, had it not been utterly shocking.

Oh.

“It is ridiculous, I know, but I am trying to get it under control, so don’t worry about me. I am sorry if I have made you uncomfortable in any way.” And before you could respond, Nanami was back at his desk. Leaving you gobsmacked in the middle of the office Kitchen.

“Oh.” You whispered to no one, hand reaching out and touching your lips.

Preview...

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"CHAPTER FOUR" UPLOADED

[ateezscupid]

─── FEB FILTH FEST: Streets - PHONE SEX ♡

SUMMARY / Because of your boyfriend's busy schedule, the only time you two can hangout is on the phone.

warnings ✩ SMUT, switch!jongho, switch!reader, fem!reader, established relationship, phone sex, masturbation, voice kink, idol!au, funny dirty talk (hilarious couple warning!!), praise, both of you are needy and desperate as hell

word count ✩ 2,03k

tags ✩ @desirehorizon @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @bbdeongi @dawn-iscozy @xh01bri @mallielovssyou @clxssy1997 @soreberry @nopension @kitten4sannie @faeriehwas @lustfxq @ashistrashhhhhh @hwallazia

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST / FEB FILTH FEST

"Jonghooo," you held your phone up to your face, fixing your pillow underneath your head. "When do you think you'll be free again?"

"I'm not sure, babe," he sighed, the sound of his voice echoing over the speaker. "The label keeps pushing our comeback date and I can't really do much about that."

You huff, feeling the weight of his words. "It's just…it's been so long since we've actually seen each other and touched each other."

"I knowwww," he says gently, "but you know how much this means to me. To us."

"I knowww! But I miss you! And I need you," you pouted, the ache of loneliness tightening in your chest.

"Really? You need me?" Jongho's voice perked up, a hint of a smile in his tone. "Well, I've got an idea."

You sat up, eyes widening at the sudden excitement in his voice. "What is it?"

"How about I send you something to remember me by?" He suggested, his smile growing. "Something you're very familiar with?"

"Like what? One of those plushies that I said I wanted!?" You ask hopefully, thinking of the cuddly toy version of Jongho that you had pointed out at the fan meet.

"Better," he said mysteriously. "Hold on,"

You could hear him rustling around in his sheets, the sound of a zipper and more rustling. He went quiet for a moment and all you did was hum patiently, staring at your phone's screen until a notification popped up. A message from Jongho.

"Jongie…" you murmured as you tapped the notification, expecting a photo or a voice note. Instead, you found a short video. The screen lit up with Jongho's smiling face, his cheeks a little flushed and his hair messier than usual.

"Aw, cute-!" you paused seeing him angle the camera down to show the growing bulge in his pants, "Oh my god, Jongho."

"Hm?" He hummed, feigning innocence as he looked up at the camera. "I figured, if I can't be with you, you could be with me, in a way." His hand wrapped around the bulge, stroking it lightly, and your heart raced.

"Jongho, are you-" You stuttered, blushing deeply as you watched his fingers deftly unbutton his pants, "are you really going to do that?"

"D'you not want me to?" He teased, his hand still playing with the zipper of his pants. His eyes sparkled with mischief, the camera catching every moment as he slowly lowered it to reveal the outline of his hardening length.

"We've just never done this before! You've never jerked off to me on the phone! At least - not to my knowledge…" You whispered, your voice shaking with a mix of excitement and nerves.

Jongho chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours through the camera. "Well, tonight will be your first time having virtual sex with me." He chuckles a bit. "But if you're uncomfortable, I can always just send a picture…"

"Hell no, I've been horny all fucking week." you blurted out, your face burning hotter than a volcano. "I want the full experience," you added, trying to play it cool despite the way your heart was racing and your panties were already getting wet at the thought.

Jongho grinned. "Alright, if you're sure," He said, his hand sliding his zipper down. You watched, your eyes glued to the screen as his cock sprang free. It was thick and hard, standing tall against the black fabric of his boxers. You bit your lower lip, your breath hitching.

"S-So what do I do, just, like, talk you through it? Do I finger myself? What?" You asked, trying to sound more confident than you felt. Your hand hovered over your own shorts, unsure of how to proceed.

"Duh, finger yourself," Jongho chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "And lemme see, pretty."

"Shut up!" you roll your eyes and push your shorts and underwear down, laying back down on your bed. You spread your legs, feeling a thrill run through your body as you realized how exposed you were. You looked at the phone screen, watching Jongho's cock throb slightly in the dim light of his room.

"Wow, it's like we're in a movie," you giggle nervously, trying to ease the tension.

Jongho laughs, stroking himself more confidently now. "Yeah, like a really, really X-rated version of 'You've Got Mail'."

"You've got dick." you bite your lip, rubbing your clit in circles. "It's definitely more exciting than a good book and a cup of tea," you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

"You don't even drink tea." you could hear his voice becoming more strained with each stroke and you shakily giggle.

"Well, I don't have a penis either, but here we are," you quipped, sliding a finger into your wet folds and letting out a soft moan.

"S-Shut up! You know I hate that word, it's so awkward!"

"Penis," you whisper and giggle, turning to your side and moving your clit faster. "F-Fuck,"

Jongho chuckled, his hand moving in a steady rhythm. "B-Baby, that's not helping!" He groaned, his eyes half-closed with pleasure. "But it's definitely hot."

"What's hot?" You ask, your voice low and sultry.

"D-Don't make me say it again…" he mumbles, hissing as he rubbed his tip with his thumb, a bead of precum glistening in the soft light.

You laugh, the sound echoing through the phone. "Fine, but you know I'm just teasing," you pant, your own hand sliding in and out of your pussy, the wetness of your arousal coating your fingers. "M-My fingers are barely doing anything.."

"Use your dildo." Jongho suggested with a grin, his eyes flickering down to the bedside drawer where you kept your favorite toy. "I want to watch you really go at it."

You blush but don't hesitate. You're already feeling hot and bothered, and the thought of using your dildo while he watches sends a thrill through you. You grab it and show it to the camera. "Is this what you meant?"

"Fuck, y-yeah," Jongho stutters, his hand moving faster on his cock. "That's it, babe. Make it real for me."

You roll your eyes, but the heat in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. You grab your dildo and lube it up, the sound of the squelching noise making you giggle. "Okay, okay, I'll be your porn star for the night."

"Oh, you don't have to go that far," Jongho teases, his hand moving in a steady rhythm. "But if it's for me, I won't complain."

You roll your eyes and stick your tongue out at the camera playfully. "You're such a pervert." You lay back down and spread your legs, angling the camera down and rubbing your dildo up and down yours folds.

Jongho laughs, his eyes glued to the screen. "It's not like I haven't seen it before," he says, his voice thick with desire. "But, fuck, watching you do it to yourself is so much hotter than I thought it'd be. Is this what you do when I'm not there?"

"No, I normally just dry and throw a temper tantrum," you deadpan, sliding the dildo inside yourself with a gasp. The coolness of the silicon against your warmth sends a shiver down your spine, and you watch Jongho's eyes widen slightly at the sight. "But, for you," you giggle at the camera, "I'll make an exception."

"You're so mean," Jongho groaned playfully, his strokes becoming more erratic as he watched you start to fuck yourself with the dildo. "But, god, it's hot."

"Am I doing it right?" You ask, your voice a little shaky as you thrust the toy deeper. "You know, for the camera?"

"Y-Yeah," Jongho nodded, his eyes glued to the screen as he watched you thrust the dildo in and out of your wet pussy. "Y-You're doing it just right."

You smirked, feeling a sense of power in knowing you could drive him wild with just your voice and movements. "G-Good to know I'm not completely out of practice, fuck," you said, adding a little more force behind each thrust. "But you're supposed to tell me what to do," you panted. "Boss me around."

"Talk you through it?" Jongho echoed your words, a playful smirk curling on his lips as he watched you work the dildo. "Pretend it's me inside you, baby. That's it, just like that."

"H-How do you want it?" You ask, your voice teasing as you increased your pace, watching his cock jerk in response.

"F-Fast, like I'm fucking you," Jongho managed to say, his eyes glued to the screen as he watched you fuck yourself.

"Fuck, you're so bossy," you giggle, the sensation of the dildo inside you feeling more and more intense as you sped up. "Ohmygod, fuck-!"

"Sorry, baby, I just wanna see you come apart," Jongho's voice was strained, his breaths heavy with desire. "Pretend it's my cock, okay?"

"Mm, I wish it was. I wish so bad," you murmured, closing your eyes and picturing him above you, imagining the time he had you pinned to the bed. "Tell me what you're doing to yourself."

Jongho took a deep breath, trying to keep the conversation light despite his raging arousal. "I'm just… playing with it," he said, his hand tightening around his shaft. "But knowing it's for you is making me so fucking hard."

"Yeah, 'cuz you're obsessed with me," your voice trembles as you push your dildo deeper, feeling it hit your g-spot repeatedly. "F-Fuckfuckfuck-! Oh my god, yes-"

Jongho laughs, his hand flying over his cock, his eyes never leaving your screen. "You're so easy," he teases, his voice thick with arousal. "But that's what I love about you."

"S-Shut up!" You giggle, feeling the heat in your cheeks as you push the dildo deeper. "It's just because I miss you so much -- now please tell me you're close before I squirt all over my fucking sheets-"

Jongho's laugh is cut short by a deep groan. "I-I'm getting there," he pants, his hand moving rapidly. "Fuck, it feels so good,"

"Mm, t-tell me," you encourage, your breath hitching as you feel your orgasm building. "Tell me exactly how it feels."

"It's… tight," Jongho says, his voice strained as he watches you fuck yourself with the dildo. "Like you're squeezing me, baby."

"Well damn, how hard are you squeezing?" you giggle before moaning once again, the dildo's fullness inside of you making your toes curl. "I-I'm gonna come, Jongie," you warned, your voice breathy and full of need.

"Do it," he encourages, his strokes growing more erratic. "Come for me, baby."

"You first," you challenge, your eyes glued to the screen. "I want to watch you lose it."

Jongho's eyes light up with excitement. "W-We can just do it together."

You nod and continue to move your dildo, a moan forcing itself out of your throat as you throw your head back, closing your thighs around your own wrist as you came, squirting loads onto your arm and your sheets. "F-Fuck, ah!"

"Oh my -- god, fuck baby, I'm coming-" Jongho's words were chopped by a guttural moan as he watched you squirt across your bed, his own climax approaching rapidly.

"Yeah, you like that, don't you?" you teased, your breathing heavy as you watched him. "Wish it was me doing that to you."

That sent him over the edge, He let out what you assumed was a whimper as spurts of cum landed on his wrist and stomach, his abs tensing with the force of his orgasm. "F-Fuck, baby," he groaned, his voice thick with pleasure.

You laugh, watching him try to catch his breath, your own hand still moving slightly, the aftershocks of your orgasm still pulsing through you. "Well, that was one hell of a performance," you say, your voice still shaky with pleasure.

"My favorite porn star," he mocked your joke from earlier, his voice still a little shaky.

"I'm gonna go clean up. I'm all wet and sticky and slimy and my sheets are ruined." You giggle, your cheeks flushed and your chest heaving with post-orgasmic breaths.

Jongho chuckles, his hand still wrapped around his cock, now softening. "Yeah, me too. At least we had fun making the mess."

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

A Curse [Chapter 9: Hollywood]

A/N: We're in the home stretch now, besties! Only 3 chapters left until the curse is lifted 🪄

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap situationship, Maroon 5, illness/death, angst, ice cream, Sunshine makes her red carpet debut! 😍

Word count: 6.5k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

Time machine, walls like glass, the dial turned back to 2009. It’s Viserys’ funeral, and no one can even pretend they’re sad. They stopped being sad years ago, and only relief is left. No more long nocturnal hours of the deathwatch, no more hushed sympathetic updates from the hospice nurses, no more unrecognizable white-haired organic matter contorted in his hospital bed. The chains are broken and they are free, all except one of them, the nineteen-year-old son who believes—without proof, without logic—that the curse is not lifted but only transferred, living on in him like an echo down a long hall.

It’s 2005, and Viserys has turned mean: paranoid, volatile, lashing out with fury at his increasing limitations as his brain is hollowed out like a Halloween pumpkin, like a cored apple. He roars and he throws things. He forgets his family are not torturers. Alicent could shut him away somewhere, but she doesn’t, the guilt would eat her alive; and so while nurses are present at the Malibu mansion around the clock, the Targaryens are not spared his wrath. One night Viserys breaks a window and wields a shard of glass like a dagger, and when the nurses flee screaming, Aemond stops Alicent from entering the room and goes in himself to clean up the mess. Someone has to.

It’s 1999, and after years of anomalies that nobody knew were symptoms—mood swings, muscle weakness, difficulty making decisions, balance problems, memory lapses—Viserys has been diagnosed with a disease that must have been lurking in his forebearers for generations, unbeknownst to them without the longevity or genetic tests of modern medicine. And like so many absent husbands and fathers who experience a revelation of their impending doom, he is determined to make up for lost time. He bakes with Alicent in the kitchen. He walks with Helaena in the garden. He stops condemning nine-year-old Aegon for long hours spent with his favorite toy, a charcoal gray Nintendo 64, first edition; the Fire Orange console won’t be released until the following year, part of the Funtastic Colors series. And now that it’s too late, Viserys’ children learn to love him.

Viserys takes Aegon’s hand and asks the boy to show him how to play Nintendo 64, here at the very start like a mirage, already beginning to disintegrate around the edges.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Thursday, August 7th. You don’t have an appointment to see Aegon, but you’re here in Elysian Park anyway. You park on the curb and sweep out into the gilded morning glow, already mid-80s and rising, wrinkled goldenrod-yellow sundress that you left in the drier too long, flip-flops, bare-faced. You barely slept and ran out the door as soon as you clawed your way out of brief, fitful dreams, autumn leaves and endless corridors through apple orchards, distant stars and deep water.

At his desk, Brandon is on the phone and making notes with his flower pen. He gives you a smile; you can only manage a quick wave. You continue into Aegon’s office, where he is engrossed in Mario’s expedition into an ice world where snow falls in unhurried, harmless white spheres. The music is pleasant, but the pools of frozen water are so cold they burn. Mario is making his way towards a block of ice in which a star has been hidden, accessible by navigation through narrow tunnels. Aegon, his green Nike Killshots propped up on his cluttered desk as usual, is surprised but not disappointed to see you.

“Hey, sunshine!” he says, still clicking the buttons on his transluscent orange controller, still swiveling the joystick. “What are you doing here so—?”

“Your dad died of Huntington’s disease.”

He freezes, and on the television screen, so does Mario; a malevolent snowman entity appears and hurls snowballs at the abandoned avatar until he is dead. You wait for Aegon to say something—no, that’s not true, no, you’re wrong, no, that would be a death sentence—but he only sits there, jaw fallen open, eyes filling up his face…and then he jolts to his feet and goes for the door.

You whirl around to watch him leave. “Aegon…?”

He stops in the doorway to the lobby and calls out: “Brando, you’re done for the day. Bye.”

“Oh for cute!” Brandon replies. “Let me just send an email to that moving company and then—”

“No, now. You’re done right now.”

Brandon sounds perplexed. “Okay, literally right now, you got it.” You can hear him gathering up his things, the jangling of car keys, the snapping shut of a laptop, and you remember all the hours you’ve spent gazing into a small rectangular blue-light screen as you combed through Aegon’s filmography, inspired potential that came to a collision of a stop in his mid-twenties. From the threshold, as he waits for Brandon to leave, Aegon watches you with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes thrashing with dark choppy waves like the riptides of the Pacific. You stare back thunderstruck, and only now do you realize how desperately you were hoping you were mistaken.

Out in the lobby, the front door of the half-duplex opens and closes, and now you and Aegon are alone. He walks back to his desk—loose papers, manila folders, framed photographs, that ever-present bowl of Honeycrisp apples—and drops into his chair, drags his fingers through his slicked-back hair, gazes vacantly at the mint green wall and sighs deeply.

“Who told you?” he asks, like hardly anyone knows, like the few who do wouldn’t have said anything.

“Nobody,” you say, startled. “I just kept guessing different diseases, and I didn’t think it was cancer, and…and…Aegon, Huntington’s is genetic.”

He looks up at you. “Yeah. Yeah it is.”

“Have you been tested? Because if one of your parents had it then you have a fifty percent chance of inheriting the gene.”

“No, I haven’t been tested.”

“Why not?!”

“Because I just haven’t, okay?”

“Have your siblings?”

“Yeah, and they’re all negative. But I didn’t take the test.”

“I think you should take the test, Aegon.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because you should know!” you burst out, and your hands are trembling like his do sometimes, dire adrenaline in your bloodstream and your voice frayed like someone has taken a razor blade to it. “Because if you’re negative then you’ll be relieved, and if you’re positive then you can…you can plan for it, you know? And there are treatments that can help manage the symptoms! I looked it up, I spent like four hours last night on Wikipedia—”

“But no one can stop it,” Aegon says. “They can’t even slow it down.”

“You think you have the gene,” you realize, horrified. “You forget things. Your hands shake. And that’s why you’re leaving Los Angeles and avoiding your family, and that’s why you’re marrying Becca—”

“Stay the fuck out of my head,” Aegon says, the first time he’s ever spat his venom at you, and his knuckles are unbruised and yet it feels like he’s hit you, a crack in a wall, bones that split and arteries that hemorrhage.

“Aegon, you can’t run away like that when you don’t even know for sure if you’re sick!”

“It’s actually really common for people in my situation to not want to take a test.”

You speak without any awareness of what you’re going to say. “I would take care of you.”

“You think I want to hear that?!” Aegon shouts. “You think I want to imagine you being there when I lose the ability to walk, and speak, and feed myself, and remember who the fuck I am?”

“I would do it,” you insist. “You believed in me. You helped me. I would help you.”

He shakes his head and glares at you, his eyes going slick and glassy. “You have no idea what you’re offering.”

“Your family has money, they can afford the best doctors and nurses. You wouldn’t be a burden on any of us, but we’d still get to be with you—”

“I saw what my dad dying did to my mom,” Aegon says bitterly, hatefully. “First he was himself, mostly. And then he was depressed, and then he was angry, and then he became a monster. He’s the reason my mother still has nightmares. He’s the reason Aemond lost his eye. You don’t do that to people you care about. You don’t inflict that on someone you love.”

“But what if you move to Texas and you’re fine, and you don’t have Huntington’s, and you don’t die and nothing terrible happens to you?!”

“Then it will be a relief,” Aegon says softly. “And I can always come back.”

“What about me?” you ask, your voice splintering. “If you’re sick, you’re just never going to see me again?”

Aegon smiles faintly, sad, resigned. “I would rather you remember me the way I am now.”

“Afraid? Avoidant? In denial?”

“Just get out,” he snaps, rubbing his face with his palms, wincing like he’s in pain.

“Aegon—”

“No, you don’t know what it’s like to watch someone die of this!” he roars, slamming his fist on the desk. Documents rustle; photographs fall over. “And if I don’t want a diagnosis, if I don’t want to live staring down the barrel of a gun, then that’s my fucking right and you don’t get to say I’m a coward for it!”

“You’re already living like you know you’re dying,” you moan, you plead. There are tears flowing down your cheeks and turning to salt on your lips; your face is hot with blood. “You don’t have anything to lose.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“But you’re making all these choices for the wrong reasons, and you deserve to know the truth, and if you take a test then you can make an informed decision about what you want your life to look like—”

“I would never pick you,” Aegon says, flat, direct, gutting. “So get that out of your head, because it’s not happening.”

You gaze at him helplessly. “Then what are we doing?”

He shrugs, like this is an idiotic question. “I’m your agent. I’m helping you get jobs.”

“That’s not what this is!” you sob. “It’s always been more than that, it’s been more than that from the very first day! Why did you sign me when no one else would? Why were you feeding me boneless spare ribs off your fork? Why did you throw me that apple?!”

Aegon is incredulous. “Why did I fuck you in this office, why did I fly to Minnesota to have dinner with your awful parents? Because I wanted to. Because I really like you, and I think I’ve been honest about that. But that doesn’t mean it’s serious.”

Never serious, you remember miserably. That’s how Aegon had described his affairs. “Does Becca know you could have Huntington’s?”

“No,” Aegon says. “But if she did, it wouldn’t change anything. She would still want to get married.”

“She would want to take care of you.”

“Yes, exactly. She would be upset for a while, yeah, but she…she needs someone to need her. Her parents were doctors, and they weren’t abusive or anything but they were gone all the time, and the house was like a museum, and now she’s…I don’t know, I guess she’s obsessed with creating warmth, and for Becca warmth means homemade bread and bento boxes and dogs and getting my suits tailored for me, and me being her full-time project…I think a part of her would enjoy that. Having me to herself, finally being the center of my universe. And when I get really bad, when I’m…” Aegon swallows noisily. “When I’m dead, she can move on. She can find someone else to marry and she can have kids, and she’ll always have that trophy on her shelf: I was a Targaryen, I was the perfect long-suffering wife. And Aegon loved me more than any of the others.”

More than me, you think. And then a ricochet of Aegon’s words: I would never pick you. “She’s not mad at you? Because of what we’ve done?”

Aegon chuckles uneasily. “I mean, I’m sure she’s not thrilled about you still being around. She’s been a little temperamental, she’s been suspicious. Right before we left for Minnesota, I woke up from a nap and she was swabbing my cheek for an STD test, can you believe that? But she knows this is temporary.”

What had Becca said the day she pushed you just outside this office? And if he was going to leave me, he has better options than you. You nod like any of this makes sense.

“Can we just be us again?” Aegon asks, and now he’s calm, gentle, exhausted. “We have a month left together. I don’t want to waste it.”

“Okay,” you say numbly.

“Don’t forget about the music video premiere tomorrow night. And I haven’t heard anything from the vampire movie people yet.” Then he adds: “That doesn’t mean you didn’t get it.”

“But it’s not a good sign.”

Aegon tries to soften the blow. “They might just be thinking it over. They might still be scheduling the callback for the other actress.”

You—unsteady, dazed, despondent—stare down at the scuffed wood floor and try in vain to smooth the wrinkles out of your sundress. “Sounds like we’ll both be leaving Los Angeles soon,” you tell Aegon; and then you walk until the walls disappear and only the city is left, sun glare, humming air conditioners, dogs barking, children laughing, engines revving, the immense metallic shadow of Downtown on the horizon.

At home in your apartment building, just as you are about to scan your keycard to unlock the front door, you hear Baela and Jace talking inside. The television is on and the microwave is purring—maybe Jace is making one of his favorite snacks, corn dogs or pizza rolls—and their voices are just barely distinguishable.

“What am I supposed to say to her?” Baela asks, sounding distressed. “That I’m officially too rich and famous to need a roommate? I can’t just kick her out. It would break her heart. She’s so sweet, and I know she’s trying really hard but it’s just…well…”

“No, I get it,” Jace replies. “She’s chill.”

“It sounds like her parents are going to make her move home soon anyway, unless she lands a big part, and…you know…I don’t really see that happening.”

“Yeah.” The microwave beeps and someone pops open the door to retrieve the contents.

“So just please don’t say anything, okay? And when she’s gone in a few months we’ll start looking at apartments in Venice or Santa Monica…”

You put your back to the hallway wall and wait long enough that they won’t think you’ve overheard anything, listening to the sounds of cars whooshing by outside, people coming and going from the places where they belong in the world, and you wonder what that feels like.

~~~~~~~~~~

You stay up too late watching YouTube videos of people with Huntington’s disease, and so the next morning at Cold Stone Creamery you are in a haze, dull throbbing headache, eyes bloodshot from crying, and the frat bro you’re making a Gotta Have It-sized Cookie Mintster for probably thinks you’re high but it’s the opposite: you’ve never felt lower, you’ve never been adrift like this, and you don’t know what to do next. You can’t unknot the threads fate has tied to Aegon. You can’t imagine a life for yourself back home. You can’t remember why you ever thought you’d be able to build something here in the City of Angels, glittering and golden and ever-rushing towards perfection, those who fall behind drug under the wheels.

“Can I get some gummy bears on that?” the frat boy is saying, but your gaze catches on someone behind him. The little metal bells on the glass door jingle and Aegon scrolls inside, khaki cargo shorts and a wrinkled short-sleeve white Oxford thrown over a pink tank top, and he’s traded in his Nikes for flip-flops, and his hair is gelled back from his face so you can see him clearly, vividly, and he leans against the window with daylight flooding in all around him and grins at you.

Why…?

“Can I please get some gummy bears?” the frat boy asks again.

Your manager Josh is blending up a strawberry banana smoothie and glowering at you. “Yo, what is wrong with you today?!”

But you don’t care what he’s saying, because Aegon pulls his black aviator sunglasses out of the pocket of his cargo shorts and slides them on and beams at you, and you hear the words as if he’s spoken them aloud: You are so bright, sunshine.

“I got the part?” you say from behind the counter.

Aegon nods. “You got the part.”

You scream and sprint to him, and when you throw your arms around Aegon he catches you, laughing and warm, and right now his hands are perfectly fine, steady and strong as they cradle the small of your back, the arc of your neck.

“Where the hell are you going?” Josh snaps from the blender. The frat boy, still waiting for his Cookie Mintster, is glaring at you impatiently. “I didn’t say you could take your break yet!”

“Hey,” Aegon says, taking a hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet and waving it around so Josh can see before dunking it in the tip jar. “She’s quitting. Call someone else.” And then he pulls you, grinning and exhilarated, out of the Cold Stone Creamery and into the August air, moving swiftly beneath a cerulean sky full of cumulus clouds, 90-degrees and diesel fumes.

“Aegon, I can’t quit yet, I still have to pay my rent—”

“I’ll pay your rent,” Aegon says. He stops when you are under the shade of a palm tree and stands there with you in the oasis. His Sebring is parked illegally in a fire lane; it is adorned with a new malady, a massive dent in the bumper. “You’re going to have costume fittings and table-reads, and you have to learn the script, and you’ll have appointments with hair and makeup, and you’ll have a personal trainer, and promo obligations…you won’t have time to work.”

“You didn’t force them to hire me, did you?” you ask, the effervescent high dissolving away. “You didn’t threaten to blacklist them with your whole family or anything, right? Because I don’t want this if it’s not real.”

“What?” Aegon says, mystified. “No. No, I swear, I wouldn’t do that. And I don’t think it would have worked even if I’d tried. First billing is a huge deal. Not even Taylor Swift has managed to buy herself a starring role in a movie yet. They liked you. They wanted you.”

The hope quivers in your voice. “I’m going to be an actress?”

Aegon smiles. “You already are one.” He takes off your red apron and your grey hat and stuffs both in a nearby trashcan. “Are you parked around here?”

You point to your Honda Accord, 2003, Desert Mist Metallic paint that gleams under the sun. “I’m just across the street.”

“You aren’t bringing Jace to the Maroon 5 thing tonight, right? Because it’s in your best interests to appear unattached.”

You raise an eyebrow, teasing. “Unattached?”

“Yeah. Being ostensibly single makes you confident and alluring and mysterious. Dragging along your mop-haired boyfriend makes you look like a high school kid at prom.”

“And how does dragging along my sulky, disillusioned Targaryen agent make me look?”

“Like a star,” Aegon replies simply.

“I’m not bringing Jace. Or anyone else besides you.”

“Great.”

“Can we drive to the premiere together?” You don’t want to be away from Aegon; you are a little petrified of the fanfare that awaits you in Downtown tonight. You have no idea what to expect.

“Yeah,” Aegon says, outwardly casual, unmistakably pleased. “I have a driver booked. We’ll swing by your apartment in the limousine around 7 p.m.”

“Why aren’t we taking the Sebring?”

“Because people don’t drive themselves to premieres, sunshine,” he says, like he’s explaining to a child an obvious and fundamental truth: the sky is blue, the Earth is round. Then he gestures to his white convertible and its sizeable new dent. “And also I keep running into things and I don’t want you in the car when I’m driving.”

Because his hands shake? Because his reflexes are slowing until they inevitably stop? “Maybe you’re just stressed because of the wedding,” you say softly.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“Or it’s psychosomatic. You expect to see symptoms, so you do. But really you’re fine.”

Aegon sighs as wind blows eastward from the Pacific Ocean. He wants to change the subject. You can’t stop yourself from talking. “It’s possible.”

“Maybe whatever’s wrong with you isn’t Huntington’s. Maybe it’s something else, like a vitamin deficiency or a thyroid disorder or lupus or fibromyalgia, or diabetes from all the super unhealthy food you eat. Maybe it’s something a doctor can fix.”

“I’ll see you tonight, okay?” Aegon says; and he kisses your cheek and climbs into his Sebring and speeds off towards the interchange of the 110.

~~~~~~~~~~

You told your parents you needed a dress for Clara’s bachelorette party so they wouldn’t yell at you when they saw the charge on the credit card. You will have to devise a new strategy for future purchases; you are running out of wedding-related excuses. The gown is electric yellow and less formal than the one you wore to the charity gala, sufficiently frivolous for a music video premiere, a V-neck and a high-low hemline. Your hair is down and your eyeshadow warm and smokey: Gilded Ganache and Semi-Sweet by Too Faced, Night Star by NARS. You drench yourself with sugary Shimmer Mist from Bath and Body Works, then realize that was probably a stupid idea. But there’s no time to try to scrub it off; Aegon has texted you that he’s five minutes away.

You click out into the kitchen in the yellow heels you found at T.J. Maxx. Jace is sprawled on the couch and bobbing his head as he sings along to a Charli XCX song pulsing out of his iPhone:

“You wanna guess the color of my underwear,

You wanna know what I got goin’ on down there…”

Baela, who had been getting a can of La Croix from the refrigerator, turns and is startled when she sees you. “You’re glittering. And that looks like a prom dress.”

You scrutinize yourself, suddenly self-conscious. “Is it bad?”

“No!” Baela cries, overcorrecting, not wanting to hurt your feelings. “No, it’s so cute. Jace, isn’t it so cute?”

“Totally,” he says from the couch, not looking at you.

“No contrast, huh?” Baela muses, glancing at your shoes and clutch purse.

“Doesn’t yellow go with yellow…?”

“Of course it does.” She beams, too broadly. “Have fun tonight! Walk really slowly on the red carpet. It will feel ridiculous, but that’s how they get good photos. And cycle through four or five different poses. Count to ten in your head and then switch to the next one. And don’t smile too much! You’ll look creepy and your cheeks will get tired and go numb and you’ll start twitching. Do a small smile and then laugh a lot when the interviewers make their dumbass jokes. It’s good television and they’ll like you and give you more airtime.”

You try to commit this to memory. “Okay.”

“Here.” She gifts you an ice-cold can of La Croix, coconut flavored. “Drink this on the ride over, then make sure you have a lot of water at the premiere. Stay hydrated. Keeps you peppy and glowing.”

“Okay,” you say again, a good little foot soldier.

Baela gives you a quick hug goodbye; but you catch the way she frowns at your carefree hair, the deep but not-so-revealing V of your neckline. Maybe she’ll reconsider the implants thing, Baela’s face reads. You can feel cold beads of sweat bleeding from your ribs, your spine. Then you are out the door, descending in the elevator, trotting onto the sidewalk to find the limo already waiting there, black and sleek under a sky that is slowly sickening from midday blue to dusk embers. The windows are tinted so dark you can’t see anything from outside.

“Hey, sunshine,” Aegon says as you slide into the back where he is waiting in the suit he wears to auditions and film shoots and, apparently, premieres: skinny black tie, slightly rumpled and untucked white shirt. He sees the La Croix. “Don’t you not like that?”

“My roommate gave it to me.” You set the can, wet with condensation, in a cupholder. Aegon hands you an iced vanilla latte to replace it. And as you buckle your seatbelt and the limo driver coasts east to hook into the 110 and then heads dead north towards Downtown, Aegon pulls a tiny spiral notebook out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and reads off names to you: people who were involved in the production of the music video you filmed over a month ago, people to praise, people to thank. You’re trying to listen to him, but your thoughts are fuzzy and your heart is racing.

“What’s wrong?” Aegon asks, and you return to him and smirk guiltily.

“I’m sorry. I’m just nervous.”

“Why? You’re not nervous when you’re acting.”

“Because I’ve acted a million times, but I’ve never done a red carpet before. Not even a mini one like this. What if they ask me something I’m not expecting and I freeze up? What if I accidentally offend someone? I’m always saying things that make people think I’m stupid.”

Aegon laughs lazily, peering through the window as the freeway takes you through Vermont Vista, Broadway-Manchester, Florence, blurs of houses and palm trees and graffitied concrete barriers. “Yeah, you are always saying ridiculous things. But that’s who you are, and it’s charming.”

“You think it’s charming.”

Aegon smiles at you. “I do.”

You stir your latte so the ice cubes clink together and you make a jittery little sound, half-sigh, half-whimper. Aegon puts a palm on your bare thigh, pushing the hem of your dress just above your knee; his hand is warm, and gentle, and heavy enough to ground you.

“You’re shaking,” he says, alarmed.

“Yeah,” you admit. “I’m fine. I think it’ll stop once we get there.”

Aegon lifts his hand away—no! you think, pathetically—and then unbuckles his seatbelt and crawls over to the window just behind the driver’s seat, which is all the way down. The limo driver is in his fifties, salt-and-pepper hair and a full beard, classic rock radio station. The opening notes of Dani California pump out of the speakers, the bass reverberating through the leather seats. “Hey,” Aegon says to the driver, thumping his fist on the window slot. “Roll that up.”

“Yes sir,” the driver assents immediately.

“Don’t park or unlock the doors until I tell you to.”

“Yes sir.”

The dark opaque window closes, the driver disappears, and Aegon comes back to you. He takes your half-finished latte out of your hand and places it safely in a cupholder.

You’re smiling as you ask: “What are you going to—?”

He reaches beneath your dress—tulle ruffles the color of unclouded daylight, or lemons, or butter, or sunflowers—and his fingertips know where to go, their corporeal memory is perfect, and they apply divine spiraling pressure over your panties, silk to leave no lines beneath your dress; that’s a trick Baela taught you. You gasp and clutch for the back of the seat, sweated skin on black leather, your spine arching, your blood cascading south as the freeway runs northbound.

“Are you nervous now?” Aegon whispers; and his words are taunting but his voice is hushed, and he’s in front of you, leaning in so close your lungs are filled with him, Juicy Fruit and sunlight and the heat and the city, and his other hand turns your face away from him so he won’t ruin your makeup. Instead of your lips, his mouth finds your throat and collarbones, and he kisses you there as his fingertips press down more forcefully beneath your dress, so insistent, so hungry, and you are blinded by the realization of how much you have craved him, how desperately you miss him each time you’re apart, and only being with him feels like this, you don’t belong anywhere else, and your chances to touch him are vanishing like sandcastles turned to ruins by the surf.

He’s getting married in a month.

But he’s here now, and you want him.

He’s choosing Becca.

But his hands are choosing you, and his lips, and the outline of his hardness that you can feel when he leans against your thigh, nudging your legs further apart, and surely even through the silk he can feel how wet you are.

“You shouldn’t have taken your seatbelt off,” you say breathlessly. “That’s not safe.”

Aegon laughs as if this is a ludicrous concern, and maybe he doesn’t think that dying in a car accident of a fractured skull or an aortic dissection would be the worst thing in the world. “Don’t worry about me.” He breezes the fingers of his left hand through your hair, nuzzling you, inhaling you, saccharine sweetness and young frenetic nerves, endorphins pouring from your bloodstream.

He’s good, he’s very good; but for you it can take a while, and how far is the limo from the premiere venue? “I’m not going to be able to finish—”

“Yeah you are,” Aegon says, drawing back to look at you, his eyes locked with yours; and you moan as his fingers move the strip of silk aside and sink into you, and you are filled with him as his palm keeps up the euphoric friction, and then it collides with you—knuckles, gravity, riptides, fate—and it takes everything left in you, worn wrung-out scraps, not to cry out, because you’re not alone now, and you’ve never truly been alone with him when this happens, and you know you never will be. The sweetness and the bitterness are coiled up together like threads of fabric, like the lines of a family tree.

You are still panting as Aegon sweeps his left thumbprint just beneath your eyes, clearing away the eyeliner and mascara that has begun to run as your eyes water.

“Don’t cry, sunshine,” he murmurs, concerned.

You chuckle shakily. “I’m sorry. You know I get like this.” When it’s good. When it’s with you.

“Are you still nervous?”

“No,” you answer truthfully.

“You’re going to do great.”

“What should I say?”

“Whatever you want,” Aegon tells you. “Be yourself. Be real.” Then he kisses you on your lips only once: feather-light, immaterial enough to not mar you. “Oh, we have to clean up,” he realizes, panicked, and he hasn’t thought this through.

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

You open the can of coconut La Croix that Baela gifted you and soak a handful of napkins that Aegon gets from the driver. You erase the evidence between your legs as best you can; Aegon cleans his hands and gives himself a generous squeeze of hand sanitizer from a tiny travel bottle in your clutch. Then he uses the corner of a napkin to dab away stray flecks of mascara on your cheeks. You check your face in the mirror of your makeup compact: dewy, but acceptable. Natural. Lived-in. Aegon rearranges a few wayward strands of your hair. You slurp down the rest of your vanilla latte. The limo is rolling to halt. You reach for the door handle.

“No,” Aegon says, stopping you. And he gets out first and then waits for you, hand open, until you emerge from the limousine and into a new world: flashbulbs, video cameras, microphones, assistants dressed in black, screaming Maroon 5 fans. Aegon fluffs the train of your electric yellow gown and then leads you into the chaos.

The music video premiere is being held at the historic Broadway Theater. The red carpet rolled out for the occasion, in a nod to the name of the band, is not a bright bloody red but a deep maroon. People are shouting and waving at you, and you have no idea what’s going on; and yet in your ribcage your heartbeat is slow and measured and strong. Aegon has a hand on the small of your back, and you think: I want it to be like this all the time. I want it to be like this forever.

Now a young man in a teal suit is rushing up to you and Aegon has disappeared to the sidelines, and the man is telling you that he is from E! News, and although he says his name you immediately forget it. You don’t panic; you smile softly and try to listen through the noise of the crowd. Now Maroon 5 has arrived and is posing for photographs as the fans screech and beg for autographs.

“So how’s your day going?” the man from E! News asks, a microphone held to your lips.

“It’s been so exciting, this morning I got to quit my job!”

The man laughs hysterically. “What? Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I’ve been working at an ice cream place for months, but not anymore!”

“And do you have a passion for ice cream?”

“Not really, I just had to pay rent, you know?”

“Girl, do I ever!” the man says, still laughing. “What’s your favorite kind of ice cream?”

You smile sheepishly. “Vanilla.”

“Oh, so you’re a vanilla girl, huh?”

“I am, I really am, and I know the joke. But vanilla can be great! It’s a classic, and it’s sweet and uncomplicated, and it’s not trying to be anything it’s not. It’s pure. It’s innocent.”

“Oh my God, that was poetry! I might have to give vanilla another shot. You’ve convinced me.”

“Cool,” you say. Aegon is watching you from behind the video camera that you’ve just noticed; he is nodding, he gives you a little thumbs-up.

The man from E! News asks next: “So, ice cream expert, if I was an ice cream flavor, which one would I be?”

You ponder this. “Well someone once told me that interesting adults like strawberry, and you seem really interesting, so I’d say you’re strawberry ice cream.”

“Adorable,” the man sighs, marveling at you. “What are you going to be up to now that you aren’t working at the ice cream shop anymore?”

“Well according to my agent—and I have the best agent in the world, he’s absolute magic—I just got my first starring role in a movie.” The E! News man shrieks in excitement. “And I can’t really tell you anything more about it just yet, because I don’t know what I’m allowed to say publicly, but I’m so so so excited and so grateful, and Los Angeles is an incredible place. I’m in heaven and I’m thrilled to be here with you tonight.”

Another E! News correspondent, a woman in a salmon-colored dress, dashes in to join the conversation. She has blindingly white veneers and so much Botox she can’t move her forehead. “Could you tell us what it was like working on this music video?”

“It was an amazing experience,” you say; and in this moment you believe that, and Dan doesn’t exist, and neither does the bathtub scene that almost happened, and neither does the terror that threatened to consume you before Aegon smothered the flames. Now, Aegon is watching closely as Dan navigates the red carpet. They make split-second eye contact, Aegon glares fiercely, Dan keeps a wide swath of space between you and him as if you are radioactive, a silent poison that cooks malignancies into blood and bones. “We filmed in this gorgeous mansion in Beverly Hills, and everyone involved in the production was so imaginative and professional. I got to wear outfits designed by Schiaparelli and Rodarte, oh, and Phoebe Philo, and the actor playing my awful ex-boyfriend was fantastic, and there were these weird exotic cats that kept trying to bite me…”

You keep talking and interviewers keep descending, appearing out of nowhere, and then you are posing on the red carpet—you even take a few awkward photos with Maroon 5, none of whom remember who you are—and to your surprise, several fans even ask you for an autograph. Without thinking, you add a tiny sun after you sign your name each time.

“There, a little bit of sunshine,” you say to a preteen girl who beams up at you. “Not that you need it, look how brightly you’re shining!”

As you are about to enter the theater, you glance back to see where Aegon has gone. An interviewer has entrapped him, although Aegon clearly resents being caught on camera. He’s a good sport though; he forces a smile and answers the questions. He’s being asked about you.

Aegon says: “She has a great attitude about work, and about life in general. She’s very talented. And obviously she’s beautiful, so…yeah. I feel really lucky to have found her. She’s usually the best part of my day.”

“And are we going to see you in any upcoming films?” the woman from Entertainment Tonight asks flirtatiously. “We all know you have the chops!”

Aegon throws his head back and cackles. “No. You wish. Okay, thank you very much for your time, I’ll talk to you afterwards.”

“Thank you, Aegon!” the interviewer calls out, waving, and you think: He really could have been a star if he never left acting.

You and Aegon sit together at the screening, and he keeps feeding you pieces of popcorn—your lips brushing his fingertips, salt stinging on your tongue—and you have to resist the urge, no, the gravity, the effortless instinct to rest your head on his shoulder. Maroon 5 do a panel after the music video and take questions from the audience. They manage a few comprehensible responses.

Afterwards, Aegon doesn’t take you straight home to Harbor Gateway. He doesn’t take you to his office in Elysian Park either. Instead, he tells the limo driver to follow the 101 northwest to Hollywood, and he drags you out into the cool indigo night—veined with florescence and neon—and onto the intersection of Vine Street and Sunset Boulevard at the genesis of the Walk of Fame, a trail of 2,800 stars carved into the sidewalk, into eternity.

Aegon stands on a star of this earthbound constellation and says: “You’re going to have one of these someday.”

And here under the aisle of a streetlight with Aegon smiling like that, kind and radiant, you could almost believe him.

[arjwrites]

The Space Between- Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: GN!Reader breaks their arm on a hunt and needs a little assistance. This is a Dean version of my other fic Close (Sam x Reader), as requested by @the-scream-story !

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Injury, nudity, strong references to sex. MDNI!

A/N: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE! I had so much fun writing this. This is officially the end of my writer's block- I am back in business, baby. I hope you all enjoy!!!

“DAMN IT!” Your voice echoed out of the bathroom from behind the closed door, punctuated with the contents of your toiletry bag crashing to the floor. Instantly regretful of your outburst, you prayed that no one had heard your voice above the dull whir of the bathroom fan and the rushing water cascading against the floor of the tub. The last thing you wanted was for one of the boys to come try to play the knight in shining armor to your damsel in distress.

After making some brief mental calculations, you figured Sam would still be out grabbing food, leaving only Dean in your shared motel room. There was no way he heard you, and even if he had, you doubted he would stir from his current position. When you had headed in for your attempted shower, the man was already reclined in a chair, beer in hand, and engrossed in some sub-par TV show. 

Attempted truly was the best word to describe the shower experience so far. Last night’s hunt had landed you with a broken arm, and a long wait at the ER had delayed your return to the motel into the wee hours of the next morning. At this moment, it was 4am and none of you had slept. And you, covered in a mix of dirt, and blood (yours and the creature’s), figured that a quick shower would be the best catalyst for sleep. 

But twenty minutes had passed since you had holed yourself up in the bathroom. There were several obstacles that sat between you and a warm, clean nap. Your dominant arm was confined to a cast, providing a myriad of challenges. First was getting off your clothes. Next was wrapping your cast with the ziploc bag and duct tape combo you had armed yourself with. Then was navigating your shower routine, somehow shampooing your hair and scrubbing blood off your body with your weak hand while trying to keep the other clear from the water. 

It was an impossible task, but asking for help was not necessarily your forte. Plus, you felt horrible having kept the boys up all night because of your injury. Of course, they waved you off, used to the sleepless nights, taking the late hours in stride and going about their usual post-hunt routines (Sam’s supply run and Dean’s beer and motel TV marathon). Though neither of them would ever admit it, you could see the exhaustion radiating off their every movement, and the guilt ate at you. The last thing you wanted to do was to ask either of them to do you any more favors.

But your hopes of soldiering on independently were crushed in an instant. In a valiant effort to singlehandedly take off your shirt, the tight fabric had become twisted over your head, covering your eyes and trapping your free arm against you. And when your balance was thrown off, you stumbled back, foot catching the shower curtain and bringing the tension rod down with a decisive bang. Shit. There was no way Dean hadn’t heard that. 

Your suspicion was quickly met with a firm knock on the bathroom door. 

“You alright in there?” Dean’s voice harbored no sign of annoyance, simply concern. So after a few deep breaths and a moment to wriggle your head free from its trap, you conceded to what seemed to be your only option.

“Dean, can you come in?” 

Nothing could have prepared Dean for the sight behind the door. There you sat, in a pile of shower curtain and shampoo bottles, one arm pinned to your head and the other pinned to your chest. The shower, still running and void of its curtain, had started to spray down on your fully clothed body, adding insult to injury. Dean’s mouth gaped open for a moment, searching for the words, eyes blinking as he took in the scene.

“Look, I need your help. Please don’t be weird about it. Can you just help me get this shirt off and then I’ll just wrap the cast and hop in-” Your nervous rambling was cut off as Dean lifted you from the floor and sat you down on the closed toilet seat. 

“Sweetheart, you’re not doing this by yourself. You’re gonna mess up that cast and I am not going back to that goddamn hospital.” You cringed at the memory of the long hours you, Sam, and Dean had spent under those horrible fluorescent lights. Though his remarks dripped in frustration, nothing about his appearance did- his eyes and lips were graced with the softest echoes of a smile.

You mumbled a few protests but Dean had already set right to work. In a few, swift movements, he had popped the shower curtain back into place, pulled it aside, plugged the drain, and shifted the source of the water down to the bathtub spout. When the water began to pool in the bottom of the tub, he turned back to you. 

“Dean, I really don’t need you to do this. I’ll be fine if I can just get this damn shirt off,” you huffed, punctuating your complaint with a few pulls at your restraint. This was exactly what you had feared, and it made it all the more embarrassing because it was Dean. You felt vulnerable and looked ridiculous, and here he was cleaning up your mess and drawing you a bath? Your nerves wound tightly in your stomach as Dean lowered himself to sit on the lip of the tub across from you. The tiny motel bathroom left little room between the two of you, and your knees brushed against each other in your seated positions. 

“You’re hurt and I’m helping you. Take it from me, you don’t need to pull the tough guy routine all the time. It’s not gonna help anyone.” It was as if the intensity of his eye contact had taken hold of your entire body. You were frozen in front of him, caught off guard and melting quickly as warmth swelled in your heart. This felt different than the usual Dean. In a way, him helping you in your vulnerabilities seemed vulnerable of him, too. And there was no denying your feelings for the man. In the short few years you had hunted with the brothers, you had developed a soft spot for the older Winchester that you had vowed to never let see the light of day. But your heart was beating hard and fast against your chest, because here he was, right in front of you, reaching in to unbutton your shirt…

You shook the thoughts from your head, recognizing the tenderness of the moment. Off came your shirt, which Dean haphazardly folded and placed on the counter. The intensity that buzzed between the two of you raged on unencumbered for a while. It made you nervous to look at him even a second longer, so you turned your gaze to your jeans, working at the button with your free hand. Dean sat back, letting you work for a moment, before stepping in to help and to dissolve the tension with a joke. 

“This might be the longest it’s ever taken someone to take their pants off for me,” he chuckled to himself as he popped the button free with ease.

Your head snapped up to him, your expression tinged with annoyance, but Dean didn’t miss the blush that tinged your cheeks and the smile that threatened to breach the surface. He knew you were unhappy with the situation, a bit anxious and uncomfortable, so he figured he would do what he did best- crack a few jokes. Plus, he had come so close to kissing you right then and there that he needed a way to distract himself. 

Dean always knew how to make you laugh. It was one of the things you liked most about him. So any nerves you had about being naked in front of Dean Winchester were easily melted away because you couldn’t help yourself from laughing the whole time. Like head-thrown-back, full-body-shaking laughter. What had started as a challenging and tense situation had boiled down to just simply hanging out with Dean. 

He had lowered you into the tub, you clinging to his arm for dear life, until you were sat down, the bubbles in the water providing you just the right amount of coverage to make you feel even more secure. Once you were settled in, Dean took a step back, sitting down to let you get to work. He knew you would want to retain a bit of independence, so he let you work on scrubbing whatever you could with the arm you had, only stepping in when you needed his help. The time was filled with conversation about the previous hunt, wonders about what Sam could possibly bring back for food at this hour, and plenty of shared laughter at Dean’s jokes. 

“So I see you don’t have a lifeguard here at your beach,” Dean said, taking on a dramatic tone as if he were playing a character. 

“Dean, what are you-” 

“No, no, no. You’re supposed to say, ‘I’m not at the beach, this is a bathtub.’” He wagged a finger at you as he corrected your response. 

“What the hell are you talking ab- Oh my God! DEAN!” Realizing the origin of the joke he was making, you used your free hand to splash him with the warm soapy water. But you couldn’t even feign frustration- your laughter gave you away. 

Things continued on like this for a while- you and your washcloth scrubbing dirt and blood from every corner of your skin, Dean cracking jokes, and occasionally stepping in to offer a hand.

“Look, let me do your hair for you. How the hell are you supposed to do that with one hand?” Dean interjected as you attempted to lather shampoo in your palm. 

He kneeled on the floor next to you, taking the bottle into his hands. As he worked, you took time to notice the sensations around you, to ground yourself in the moment. You watched soap bubbles take flight as you moved through the bath. You felt the warm water lapping at your skin, and the gentle circles Dean’s fingers made on your scalp. You could smell the clean scent of the soap that filled the tub, the floral perfume of the shampoo, both mixed with something you could only describe as Dean. He smelled like some combination of the beer he was drinking, his usual cologne, and the lingering sweat and dirt of the day’s hunt. Rarely were you close enough to Dean to be able to smell him, but whenever you did, you relished in the moment. But at this particular moment, his proximity was drawing all of the nerves back into your system. Dean was hovering over your naked body- you could feel his breath on the back of your neck as he worked his fingers through your hair. Beyond feeling his touch on your skin, you felt as if you could feel him- his presence, his essence. It was so intimate, so romantic, that your heart swelled and your mind raced to a million and one places. Nevertheless, you remained anchored in the bath, the water and bubbles serving as a shield and the only thing that served to separate the two of you. 

When you were finished, all the suds rinsed off your body leaving you squeaky clean, you weren’t sure how to feel. Dean had slipped out of the room to grab you a towel, and though you remained in the tub filled with the warm water and the air hung hot and heavy with humidity, the lack of his presence still made the room feel cold. Sitting alone with your thoughts, even for such a brief moment, you had realized the extent of your feelings, the irreparable mark Dean had left on your heart. In your head, you rifled through a library of moments you two had shared, picturing this morning’s events sliding into place on the shelf as the newest edition of the series.

Stepping back into the room with the towel, Dean handed it over to you before plucking the plug from the drain and helping you rise to your feet. You braced the towel underneath your broken arm and used the other to wrap it around yourself, hoping to restore even a shred of your decency- though there was little point in that anymore. Now there sat a power imbalance in your relationship with Dean- he had all the cards in his hands. So when you stepped out of the tub, you stood square in front of him, determined to level the score somehow. 

You lingered for a moment, both of you locked in an intense stare, feeling goosebumps radiate your entire body. At first, you attributed these to your drastic change in body temperature since stepping out of the water, but when you noticed a similar sensation rising over Dean, your perception shifted. Dean cleared his throat.

“So, uh, you want me to help you get dressed?” Dean rubbed at the back of his neck to settle the hairs that had been raised under your intense look.

“Not really.” You murmured in response, looking to him through lidded eyes. The unusual burst of confidence in your system inched you closer and closer, until there was nothing that separated the two of you but the thin towel you had wrapped around your frame. 

You channeled every ounce of what you were feeling into your gaze, praying Dean could read your thoughts through your eyes as if you were an open book. When he reached a hand up to cup your face, you knew the message was received. With a slowness that was almost painful, he leaned his forehead against your own, drawing his lips nearly to yours before rerouting them to your cheek, just slightly above their initial destination. After planting the softest kiss, his lips lingered, hovering ever so slightly above you. Dean was in limbo, as if he couldn’t decide whether to pull away and return to safety, or lean in to seal the deal. But you made the choice for him when your hand snaked around the back of his head and pulled him down to you, closing the gap between your lips. 

The kiss was everything you had hoped it would be, and yet, nothing you could have ever imagined. Dean was soft and gentle, so cautious of your injury, but you could feel the intensity so thinly veiled below the surface. The energy flowed from both of you, as if you were cautiously exploring something so new and dangerous, yet so incredibly desirable and magnetic. Something needed to break the seal, to throw your cautions to the wind.

You wanted to kiss Dean Winchester forever, and he shared the sentiment. So the only thing that could break you two away was the brief moment when you took a calculated step back. Confusion twisted into Dean’s face, before melting away into desire when you let your towel fall to pool at your feet. He took his own step back, reaching behind him to turn the lock on the bathroom door, before closing the gap between you- the very last time there would ever be space between you and Dean Winchester.

[paddockletters]

racing hearts | lando norris ft. jude bellingham

paring: lando norris x reader jude bellingham x reader summary: Mia, a sports analyst caught between the worlds of football and F1, finds herself drawn to both Jude Bellingham and Lando Norris. Amidst the excitement of their glamorous lives, a pivotal moment forces her to confront her feelings, leaving her future uncertain and filled with possibility. author's note: Hope you liked it, teel me if you want a second part maybe... Well, as I always say... english is not my first language so pardon me if there are mistakes —feel free to tell me— and my requests are open!👀

Mia sat in the bustling café near the stadium, nursing a flat white as she scanned the latest highlights from the football matches on her phone. A sea of fans swarmed outside, their cheers echoing through the streets of Birmingham, but her mind was far from the beautiful game—or so she told herself. She had an important interview with Jude Bellingham that afternoon, and deep down, she wasn’t quite sure how it would go.

As she scrolled through her feed, a message dinged in from Lando Norris, her recently acquired contact via social media. "Fancy a catch-up? Just finished practice and could do with a laugh. Let’s grab a bite!"

Mia grinned, recalling their effortless banter from the charity event a few weeks back. "Absolutely! How about that café by the stadium?"

Within moments, a new message appeared: "Deal! Just don’t spill your drink this time, yeah? Wouldn’t want you to drown on me."

She chuckled, recalling the time she’d nearly snorted coffee when he showed her a video of his latest racing antics. Lando had a way of making every conversation feel like a joyride—safe but exhilarating.

Having finished her drink, Mia slipped her phone into her bag just as a familiar voice broke through her thoughts.

“Oi! Mia!” Jude's voice was as warm as the sun peeking through the clouds outside. Dressed in a casual tracksuit, his presence was magnetic. Her nervousness melted away as he approached.

“Mister Bellingham! Thanks for meeting me,” she replied, standing to embrace him with a light hug. “You know it’s not every day I get to chat with a superstar.”

“A bit of an overstatement, isn’t it?” he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck, an endearing nervous habit. “But I’m chuffed to have you here! I’ve been looking forward to this.”

As they settled into a booth, Jude leaned in, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “So, are you going to tell me how close you are to Lando Norris, or should I be worried?”

Mia felt her cheeks heat up, but she brushed it off. “What? We’re just mates! He’s a laugh, you know? Good vibes all around!”

“Right, of course.” Jude raised an eyebrow, teasing. “Just keep your lips sealed about my dodgy free kicks, and we’re golden.”

They moved on to chatting about football, with Jude discussing his goals for the season and Mia sharing her experiences dissecting games for the network. As she listened, she was struck by his sincerity and genuine passion for the sport.

"Honestly, it’s not just about the glory, you know? It’s about the love for the game,” Jude said, his eyes gleaming with fervour. “Every time I step on that pitch, it’s like I’m living my dream.”

“I get that completely! You can see it in how you play, Jude. It’s inspiring,” Mia replied, feeling a sense of awe wash over her.

Just then, the bell above the café door jingled, and in walked Lando, all energy and charm. He spotted Mia and Jude instantly, making a beeline towards them, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Look who it is! The lovely Mia and Mr. Bellingham!” Lando said, sliding into the booth with the confidence of a man who knew he belonged. “What’s the secret meeting about? Planning world domination or just scheming how to beat me in a race?”

“Beat you in a race? I’d rather stick to football, thanks,” Jude quipped, grinning back as he leaned back, clearly at ease.

Mia watched the two banter back and forth, their easy camaraderie adding to her internal conflict. She felt a tug between their worlds—Jude's grounded seriousness and Lando’s lively and flamboyant spirit.

“Come on, Mia, you should ditch the footie for a day and give racing a go,” Lando insisted, playfully nudging her shoulder. “I’ll take you for a spin. Just try not to scream, alright? My driving’s top-notch.”

“And your humour is bottom-tier,” Jude interjected, but there was no bite to his words. They all laughed, but Mia noticed the intensity in Jude's gaze as he looked at her. It was surprising and new, igniting a flutter in her stomach.

“You should, though,” he said softly, turning serious for a moment. “It’s thrilling. You’d love it. The adrenaline is like nothing else.”

Just then, a flare of tension filled the air. Mia felt the atmosphere shift as she glanced between both of them—two incredible athletes with undeniable chemistry, each vying for more than just friendship.

Mia shifted in her seat, her heart racing with the unspoken tension between Jude and Lando. The café's vibrant atmosphere seemed to fade as she focused on the exchange unfolding before her.

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that someday,” Mia said, attempting to lighten the mood. She looked at Lando, who still wore his characteristic grin. “But I think I’m better off sticking to my day job—at least until I’ve had some more practice.”

“Fair enough,” Lando said with a wink. “But remember, I’m always here for a joyride if you change your mind.”

Jude cleared his throat, his tone turning more earnest. “And if you ever need a break from racing or football, you know where to find me. I’m always up for a chat or a quick kickabout.”

Mia smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. She admired both men for their dedication and passion, but the emotional stakes of their unspoken feelings were beginning to weigh on her.

“Thanks, both of you. That means a lot,” Mia said, her voice slightly trembling. “It’s not often I get to hang out with two of the most amazing athletes in their fields.”

They continued their conversation, but Mia’s mind was preoccupied with the growing realization of her feelings for both Jude and Lando. The way Jude’s eyes softened when he spoke, the genuine support he offered—he was everything she’d ever wanted in a partner, but there was also Lando, whose spontaneous charm and zest for life had quickly captured her heart.

As the afternoon wore on, Jude and Lando’s playful banter persisted, but Mia’s thoughts were a whirlwind of emotions. It wasn’t long before they had to part ways, each with their own commitments and schedules.

“See you around, Mia,” Jude said, giving her a friendly hug. “And good luck with everything. You’re doing great.”

“Thanks, Jude,” Mia replied, her heart aching slightly at the thought of parting from him. “I’ll catch up with you soon.”

Lando approached next, offering a mischievous grin. “Don’t let Jude scare you off football too much. And remember, there’s always a seat in my car if you need a break.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mia said, feeling a pang of regret as she returned his hug. “Take care, Lando.”

As she watched them leave, Mia felt the weight of her dilemma settle heavily on her shoulders. Her feelings for Jude and Lando were genuine, but the intensity of their emotions and the complexity of her own heart made the situation increasingly challenging.

She stood by the window of the café, watching the crowd outside, her mind awash with thoughts and feelings. The choice she faced wasn’t just about choosing between two incredible men but also about finding her own path in this tangled web of emotions. The football season and F1 calendar would continue, and so would the world of sports, but for Mia, the real race was against the growing confusion within her heart.

Mia took a deep breath, her resolve hardening. She knew she needed time to figure things out—time to understand her own heart and desires. As she walked away from the café, her steps were lighter, her mind clearer, even as her heart remained caught in the exhilarating whirlwind of racing hearts.

The following weeks were a whirlwind for Mia as she juggled her work responsibilities with the emotional turbulence of her personal life. Between analyzing game footage for football matches and covering F1 races, Mia found little time for herself. Yet, the ongoing saga of her feelings for Jude and Lando was never far from her mind.

One crisp autumn morning, Mia was at the edge of her seat, covering a crucial football match. Jude's team had a major game, and she was busy preparing her pre-match report. Her phone buzzed with a message from Lando:

"Race day tomorrow. Let’s catch up before I hit the track. I’ve got something special planned."

Mia’s heart skipped a beat at the thought of seeing Lando. She hadn’t seen him since their café meeting, and his playful promise of something special intrigued her.

She replied, "Sounds great! Where should we meet?"

“Meet me at the paddock early. I’ll have a surprise waiting for you,” Lando’s reply came swiftly.

The next day, Mia arrived at the F1 paddock, the excitement of race day palpable in the air. Lando greeted her with his usual exuberance. “Hey, Mia! Ready for the surprise?”

“Absolutely. What’s the plan?” Mia asked, trying to hide her anticipation.

“Just follow me,” Lando said with a grin.

He led her to a private area near the track, away from the hustle and bustle. A sleek, custom race car was parked there, its colors dazzling under the sun.

“This is for you,” Lando said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I thought you might enjoy a spin in one of these beauties before the race.”

Mia’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding! Are you sure?”

“Trust me,” Lando replied, laughing. “It’s all safe. I promise.”

As they drove around the track, the speed and adrenaline were exhilarating. Lando’s presence beside her was both comforting and thrilling. They shared a few moments of laughter and awe, the world outside the car blurring into a streak of colors.

When they returned to the paddock, Mia felt a mix of elation and nervousness. Lando’s charm had rekindled her earlier feelings, making it harder to focus on her work.

Later that evening, as Mia prepared to cover the football match, she spotted Jude in the stadium’s VIP section. He was watching the game with intense focus, and Mia’s heart did a little flip. She took a deep breath and walked over to greet him.

“Hey, Jude!” she said, trying to sound casual despite her racing heart.

“Hey, Mia,” Jude responded warmly. “How was the day? I hope Lando didn’t drive you too crazy.”

“Not at all,” Mia said with a smile. “He gave me an unforgettable ride.”

As the match went on, Mia found herself caught between two worlds. Jude’s passion for football was magnetic, and his presence was comforting. She admired his dedication and the way he spoke about the game with such love and enthusiasm.

At the end of the match, Jude walked with Mia to the stadium’s exit, his hand lightly brushing against hers. “You’ve been working so hard. How about we grab a drink sometime soon, just the two of us?”

Mia hesitated, feeling the weight of her feelings for both Jude and Lando. “I’d like that,” she said softly. “I’ll let you know when I’m free.”

Later that night, as Mia lay in bed, her thoughts were a tangled mess of emotions. The thrill of the racetrack and Lando’s infectious energy contrasted sharply with Jude’s sincere and grounded nature. She felt torn, unable to fully embrace either relationship without feeling guilty or conflicted.

As the weeks went by, Mia began to realize that she needed to take a step back and focus on herself. She continued to enjoy her time with both Jude and Lando but knew that her decision would come in time.

In a heart-to-heart conversation with a close friend, Mia admitted her confusion.

“I care about both of them, but I need to figure out what I really want. It’s not fair to them or to myself if I don’t.”

Her friend nodded in understanding. “Sometimes, the best way to make a decision is to listen to your own heart and take a step back. You’ve got to find what truly makes you happy.”

With that advice in mind, Mia decided to embrace a period of self-discovery. She focused on her career and passions, allowing herself the space to understand her own desires without the pressure of choosing between Jude and Lando.

As time went on, Mia’s clarity grew. She realized that her journey was about more than just choosing between two incredible people. It was about finding herself and her own path in a world filled with excitement and uncertainty. And while her heart was still intertwined with both Jude and Lando, she knew that the future held possibilities she was eager to explore—both in love and in her own life.

As the winter months settled in, Mia’s internal struggle began to weigh heavily on her. Her career was flourishing, and she had become a respected figure in the sports world, but the personal turmoil involving Jude and Lando remained unresolved.

Jude and Mia’s friendship grew more complex. Jude had been patient and understanding, always present and supportive. Their conversations often lingered on deeper topics, and Jude’s gentle affection began to take on a more romantic tone. His heartfelt gestures and considerate actions made it increasingly difficult for Mia to ignore the feelings that were developing.

On the other hand, Lando’s presence was a whirlwind of excitement. He continued to charm her with his spontaneous adventures and infectious laughter. His adventurous spirit and playful demeanor had become a refreshing escape from the pressures of her daily life. Yet, the intensity of their interactions was unmistakable, and Lando’s occasional hints about their future together left Mia feeling both exhilarated and overwhelmed.

The tipping point came during a major sports gala in London, where both Jude and Lando were in attendance. Mia had been invited to cover the event, and the evening promised to be a glamorous affair. She arrived early to prepare, her thoughts occupied by the weight of her decisions.

As she mingled with guests and conducted interviews, Jude approached her with a serious look in his eyes. “Mia, can we talk?”

“Of course,” Mia replied, her heart racing as she followed him to a quieter corner of the venue.

Jude took a deep breath, his expression a mix of determination and vulnerability. “I know things have been complicated, and I respect that you need time. But I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with just being friends. I care about you deeply, and I want more. I need to know where you stand.”

Mia was taken aback by his honesty. “Jude, I—”

Before she could respond, Lando appeared, his usual grin replaced by a more somber expression. “Hey, Mia. Can I have a word with you too?”

Jude looked at Lando, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Sure, Lando. Go ahead.”

Lando led Mia to the edge of the gala hall, away from prying eyes. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately. I know I’ve been a bit of a whirlwind, and maybe I didn’t give you the space you needed. But I really care about you, Mia. More than I’ve let on. I know this is probably the last thing you need right now with everything going on, but I had to tell you."

Mia’s head spun as she looked between the two men. Both Jude and Lando had laid their feelings bare, and the pressure felt overwhelming. She had been avoiding this moment for weeks, trying to focus on her career and navigate the swirl of media attention, but now she had to face it head-on.

Rumors about her relationships had been flying for some time. Tabloids were constantly speculating, printing photos of her with Jude at a café, or Lando sneaking her into the paddock for a quick joyride. It was getting harder to ignore. The attention had shifted from her work to her personal life, and it was affecting her more than she liked to admit.

“I... I don’t know what to say,” Mia admitted, her voice wavering as she finally spoke. “This whole situation has been a lot, and I’ve been trying to figure it out myself. The media, the rumors... it’s been so intense. I care about both of you, but I’ve been struggling to even think clearly.”

Jude’s face softened, his usually confident demeanor giving way to concern. “I had no idea you were feeling like that. You don’t have to decide anything right now, Mia. But just know that whatever happens, I’ll respect your space and your choices.”

Lando shifted uneasily, his hands shoved in his pockets as he looked away for a moment. “Yeah, same here. I didn’t mean to add pressure. I just wanted you to know how I feel. We can take it slow—whatever you need.”

Mia felt her eyes welling up as the weight of the situation finally hit her. “Thank you, both of you. I just need some time to think about what’s best for me.”

Jude nodded, stepping back to give her space. “Take all the time you need, Mia. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Lando gave her a small smile, the usual mischief in his eyes replaced with something softer. “I’ll be around, too. And hey, no matter what, we’re mates first.”

Mia let out a shaky breath, feeling both relieved and conflicted as she watched the two men walk away. The media could say what they wanted, but this decision was hers to make, and she knew it wouldn’t be easy.

With that, Mia felt a mixture of relief and sadness. She knew that her decision would not be easy, and the road ahead was uncertain. As the gala continued around them, she watched Jude and Lando walk away in opposite directions, each carrying a piece of her heart with them.

As she left the gala that night, the city lights shimmering in the distance, Mia knew one thing for certain: before she could choose between Jude and Lando, she had to choose herself first. And that was going to take more than just a headline or a rumor to figure out.

In the days that followed, Mia took a step back from both Jude and Lando, focusing on her career and personal growth. The break allowed her to gain perspective and eventually led to a deeper understanding of her own desires and needs.

Months later, at a quiet café where it all began, Mia sat alone, sipping her coffee. She looked out the window, reflecting on the tumultuous journey she had experienced. The thrill of the racing tracks and the passion of the football fields had left their marks on her, but it was the time she spent finding herself that truly shaped her path.

As the café door chimed open, Mia saw a familiar face—Jude. He approached her with a warm smile, and they exchanged a simple, heartfelt greeting.

“Hey, Jude,” Mia said, her voice steady and genuine. “It’s been a while. How are things with you?”

“Hey, Mia,” Jude replied, his smile tinged with a hint of sadness. “Things have been good, just keeping busy with the season. I’ve been thinking about you. How are you holding up?”

“I’m doing well,” Mia said, feeling a sense of calm. “I’ve been focusing on my work and taking some time for myself.”

Jude nodded, his eyes reflecting a mix of understanding and regret. “I’m glad to hear you’re finding your balance. I just wanted to let you know that I’m here if you ever want to talk or need anything.”

Mia smiled, appreciating his words. “Thanks, Jude. That means a lot.”

As Jude turned to leave, Mia’s phone buzzed with a new message. It was from Lando.

“Hey, Mia. I hope you’re doing alright. I know things have been complicated lately. I’m in Monaco, but I’d really like to catch up when I’m back. Maybe we can figure things out over coffee? Just let me know.”

Mia read the message and felt a surge of conflicting emotions. She was touched by Lando’s sincerity, but also felt the weight of her own unresolved feelings.

Sipping her coffee, Mia gazed out the window, contemplating the paths before her. Both Jude and Lando had made a significant impact on her life, each in their own way. She realized that no matter which direction she chose, it would come with its own set of challenges and opportunities.

With a thoughtful sigh, Mia responded to Lando’s message, “I’d like that. Let’s talk when you’re back. Thanks for reaching out.”

As she sent the message, Mia knew that the future was uncertain but full of possibilities. She was ready to explore what lay ahead, with the potential for new beginnings and meaningful connections. The decision of who to pursue—or whether to pursue either—was still to be made, but for now, Mia was open to whatever the journey would bring.

The café bustled with activity around her, a reflection of the vibrant life she was living, and Mia felt a renewed sense of hope and curiosity about the future.

[inky-sun]

Nowadays, beauty is no longer a simple reflection of who we are but a broadcast signal—transmitted, amplified, and received through screens, ads, and endless feeds. From billboards to social media, a singular ideal presses itself upon us: smooth skin, sculpted bone, "perfect" face and "perfect" body, a façade that defies age and tells no story. This standard, honed by marketing budgets and algorithmic reinforcements, has become our collective mirror—yet it shows only the narrowest slice of human possibility.

When everyone chases the same ideal, our diversity flattens. Faces begin to echo one another: high cheekbones here, pouty lips there. Bodies conform to a numeric scale—waist measurements, hip-to-waist ratios, and more. What was once organic variation becomes a checklist: "Are my shoulders broad enough? Is my face symetric enough?" And this checklist is unrelenting. It replaces curiosity with comparison and self-acceptance with self-surveillance. We scroll past those who don’t match, unconsciously deeming them less worthy of attention.

The engine of standardized beauty runs on insecurity. Every new "before and after" promises transformation—a sale, a filter, a procedure away from acceptance. We internalize the message that who we are, as-is, is insufficient. And so we become customers: of diets, of surgeries, of apps that promise "perfection". Our wallets and our self-esteem both grow lighter, while the gap between the ideal and our reflection widens, demanding endless work.

Yet beauty, in its truest sense, resists templates. It is wrinkle and laughter-line; it is the strength in a shoulder scarred from labor; it is the light in eyes that have seen both sorrow and joy. Real beauty whispers rather than shouts. It asks us to lean in and listen to stories encoded in skin, posture, gaze. To see beauty as an emergent quality—arising from vulnerability, resilience, authenticity—rather than a static stamp of approval.

Those who refuse the standardized path, or who simply don’t fit it, find themselves on the periphery. They’re told they’re "alternative" or "niche," as if their bodies and faces are curiosities rather than the varied norm. When we sideline these images, we not only exclude people—we sacrifice our capacity for empathy. We deny ourselves the profound impact of encountering another’s genuine form, unfiltered by commercial decree.

True liberation begins with choice: the choice to see without the lens of the template. It’s learning to recognize beauty in dissonance—in mismatched eyes, in bodies that bear the map of lived experience, in features that defy symmetry yet capture spirit. It’s shifting our attention from polished surfaces to the texture of life: the way light falls on different skin tones; the way imperfection carries narrative weight.

If we wish to unravel the tyranny of the standard, we must first question its premise. Why do we assume beauty is scarce, requiring gatekeeping? What if we embraced beauty as abundant—overflowing in every wrinkle, every scar, every unique contour of being? To do so is to open our world, and our hearts, to the endless variations that make humanity rich. And in that vast expanse, there is room for all of us—seen, valued, and free.

[filamentlights]

Welcome to LOVE & HYPERSPACE!

Clone x OC Week - Day 7, Free Space || ??? x OC

Event Masterlist

SUMMARY: Game description. Hyper realistic new otome game with never before seen immersion full of your favorite clone soldiers! Where all your dreams will come true! 🎀💗🐷

Tags & warnings: otome game, mystery, role-play games, dating sim

Caoimhe isn’t sure what amused deity possessed her to download an otome game of all things when her schedule is up to its eyeballs with essays to write. Between the game’s odd story premise and its boasting “realistic interfaces” that gave an “unbelievably immersive experience”, she doubted this was much more than a trashy romance game. With that said, the game had been downloaded. Caoimhe, fresh off of a catharsis cry after nearly flunking her OCHEM test, needed some trashy romance to soothe her soul.

She clicked on the brightly colored game icon, which showed a handsome man with tan skin and dark curly hair grinning at the camera charmingly. His eyes were a striking gold, and his warm skin stood in contrast to the saturated background.

As the game loaded, Caoimhe’s screen was filled with more eye-catching men. Shy, demure boys posing with wildflower bouquets and flushed cheeks. Men with gruff looks and scars hiding red-tipped ears from her. Playfully smiling guys running off to do something spontaneous.

One thing which stuck out to her however, was that they all looked the same and wore the same type of outfit. A white armor painted over with designs of various bright colors. She knew the premise of the game was odd; clones who fought in a galactic war, vying for her hand. What a weird game idea, but hey at least they were hot.

After a bit of loading, a neon pink square popped up telling her to build her character. Basing it off her own looks, she gave her avatar brassy red hair, freckles all around her face, a sloping nose. Although, Caoimhe did pick out pretty blue eyes with little gold flecks in them instead of her usual brown ones. Once that step was completed, another pop up appeared. This time it was to build her bio.

Out of all the options, being a “Jedi General” sounded most interesting, so she tapped that option. The game mechanics whirred and began assembling her character. Her avatar spun in glowing white and pink streaks until coming to a stop facing Caoimhe with a hand on her hip, swinging around to look at her new outfit: tapered brown trousers that looked a bit like cargo pants, practical boots, and a fitted long-sleeve cream top. Skimming the small biography, it said that she was a 24 year old Jedi learner, which made her a commander of the army. Her teacher was someone named Oppo Rancisis, but she was deployed under one Anakin Skywalker with the 501st brigade.

Caoimhe clicked on the Start button. As the game begins to load up, she’s met with an assortment of characters floating on screen, each with their names underneath and little factoids hovering around them. For one, bright futuristic letters read the name Fives. She skimmed the bit of information about him being an ARC trooper and being especially close to his batch-mate Echo. Extra information on the side told her the term ‘ARC trooper’ meant that he was in an elite branch of soldiers, and that ‘batch-mate’ meant that group of other clones he was made and raised with. Traits about Fives also popped up like “courageous” and “loyal.” Another figure with a zigzag pattern on his shaved head popped up, brandishing a suave smile. The pop up read that his name was Kix and he was a medic.

The little loading progress bar hit 100%.

Caoimhe blinked. Her head hurt.

Everything felt fuzzy.

“Commander? You alright there?” There was a man looking at her. She squinted. He had dark curly hair and hazel eyes. His helmet was tucked under his arm so she could see his face, which looked at her in concern.

“Yeah, yeah I’m ok,” she hesitated before adding, “Tup.” She didn’t know why she hesitated before saying the trooper’s name. The 501st, which she’d been assigned to as Anakin’s legion commander, had just returned from a battle on Orto Plutonia, and she remembered she was checking up on him. Before the battle, he was a shiny who’d introduced himself to her, stuttering all the way, when they were suddenly deployed to help Obi-Wan on the Pantoran moon. That had been Tup’s first battle.

“You weren’t responding there for a second, Commander Caoimhe.”

She frowned. She was in a corridor talking to Tup.

“Oh, it’s pronounced quee-vah, Tup. Odd, I know,” she murmured. Tup didn’t seem to notice, and just chuckled.

“Oh, where’s it from?”

Caoimhe paused, trying to recall.

“Oh, you know, it’s just a natborn name.”

Tup chuckled again. “Alright then, see you around Commander.”

She nodded.

Incoming Event: Frozen Hearts

The alarm blared.

Caoimhe looked around. Pulsing yellow lights flared all around her as everything dimmed. For a moment, it was just her in the dark. Low lights along the floor then flickered on, though it didn’t do much for anything but lighting her feet.

A squad of troopers ran by, of which she recognized Fives and Jesse among them.

CHOOSE:

[ASK JESSE] or [ASK FIVES]

The trooper nodded and rushed off. Caoimhe made to run for her quarters and grab her thick robe, but before she left, she watched a small glowing +1 tick off from the leaving trooper’s head before fizzling away.

She turned the corridor, looking for her quarters. Her assignment had been a relatively new one, with her having only seen one full battle before, having been in the Battle of Mumbai with Rex. The Council had assigned both her and Ahsoka to Anakin, Ahsoka as his padawan, and Caoimhe as a…mediator. For Anakin’s temper. Caoimhe chuckled, memories of Anakin throwing a fit at how she a padawan—despite her being three years older than him—was the Council trying to micromanage him.

Caoimhe turned down another corridor, knowing her quarters were somewhere in this area. But she began to feel a chill seep into her. Her fingers were already freezing, so she tucked them under her armpits. She bundled her hands into the long sleeves of her fitted top, but the material was thin. She shivered. Caoimhe realized she could see her own breath puff through the air.

CHOOSE:

[PUSH FORWARD] [TURN BACK & FIND OTHERS]

With a bit of mother-henning from Coric, Caoimhe managed to escape the medbay without too much of a scolding. Luckily, she just had a few mild frost bites, nothing that wouldn’t heal in a bit of time. Although, it did seem like her brief misadventure had quickly spread across the troopers, where more than one had come up to ask about her well being. Thanking the medic, Caoimhe went off to find a group to huddle with. All the troopers had settled into the surrounding armory, three training rooms, and the ship navigation systems center. She even spotted Broadside and Matchstick with a couple other pilots camping out in the hallways. 

CHOOSE:

[BROADSIDE] [MATCHSTICK] [WHOLE GROUP]

Afterwards, Caoimhe made her rounds with the men. She’d checked in with Anakin and Ahsoka and let them know she was alright, and now she was just wandering through one of the training rooms looking for a spot to sit and huddle. Spotting a relatively secluded corner of the gym, she was about to sit down when she heard a voice behind her call her name. 

CHOOSE:

[FIVES] [ECHO] [DOGMA] [JESSE] [REX]

A/N: why did I chose to make this last day so hard for myself. why do I do this to myself. im so sorry if this whole thing is confusing asf LOL. Also I have no idea what Love and Deepspace is like, ive never played it, but I thought it was a cool play on words for the title😁. Anywayssss, hope u guys enjoyed the game!! Hella shout out to @clonexocweek for hosting this and going through all the trouble to make an event to bring together clone wars lovers. Aaaand also shoutout to @orangez3st for being amazing ur probs the only reason I finished the event💀. This wraps up clonexocweek 2025, and it was great! Thanks for reading! ALSO credit for the dividers goes to @/strangergraphics

[alicelufenia]

Now that the Peren Woods/Foxtails arc has concluded in the webcomic, I can finally share my thoughts about it

(I also read ahead, but *shhhhh* not talking about any of that till it comes out for free)

In short, I really enjoyed it, having not gotten the chance to read the Yonder rewrite yet. It really adds to and enhances the original story, and conveys some important ideas we don't get proper explanations of until later, but are good for a new reader to have.

And first shot of her in a black cloak! Not the cloak I don't think, but an echo of the shape of things to come. So excited for the rest of this series!

For starters, it's nice that we get a satisfying conclusion to the stolen gold, that whole situation with the governor of Laure that basically sets off Catherine's story in the first place. While it did get wrapped up sufficiently in the original, the need for Black's presence in the first place was never really elaborated on (other than he'd need to be the one to detain and order the execution of Mazus/Kojo). It also doesn't lead to the greater story as a whole; Cat spends a few days afterwards on the road training with Black, and then they're in Summerholm.

It's not a sequence of events you find lacking until you actually see what's been added in the rewrite, and you remember that the original wordpress serial was always meant to be a first draft. Here we not only get a nice bridge between Catherine's first meeting with Black and her falling entirely into her role as his apprentice, we also get something equally important; worldbuilding.

Also I love that she faces off with a villain as her first antagonist! I'm sure nothing will come of the Baron and Black Knight now both possessing pieces of Duty, broken legendary swords never get reforged right? Haha...

The whole elaboration on legendary swords that are integral parts of Callow's history helps to smooth over the later introduction of a similar "sword in the stone" story with William and his Penitent's Blade, while also demonstrating how artifacts work. Not the techno-magical explanations, that's not strictly necessary.

But the way an artifact shapes the story of its wielder, the power that has in the way the Baron seeks Duty to add legitimacy to his claim to the throne, that's the important part.. It also shows how limiting they can be, how the story leads you down certain paths, which can lead to making the same mistakes. It's a lesson Black tells Cat more than she actually experiences, and this was a great way to illustrate it without having to go through a whole ordeal of owning an artifact and encountering its problems; the Baron's motivations to have it is enough to teach the lesson here.

The new generation vowing not to make the same mistakes of the old one, while literally smashing a physical representation of those past ideas and follies.

It's also why this first mini adventure that Cat goes on after meeting Black is so good to have; it's a first real "trial" where Cat not only proves herself worthy of the Name she is claimant to, but also sets up her Role—her story she's living through, prior to actually claiming the Name. Originally she hadn't really done that much to earn that place prior to becoming claimant, and after that just has to kill a few other claimants. And she only got one by herself too! This wasn't so bad before we knew more about how Names and Roles worked, now these early events feel more a match to the rest of the story.

She played the role of the hot headed apprentice with something to prove to a tee! Also Black being a brilliant bastard as usual. This is a tantalizing hint of what he's after, but not too much for a first reader.

One extremely important part of this setting, which is definitely worth getting across to the new reader this arc is aimed at, is the way stories shape the world. A Role is not a person, but a character in a play on the world stage. The Role is what they do, the Name is who they are and how they do it. The people themselves, are the actors in the production put on by the Gods.

We get some hints of this early on, but not this coherent an explanation of it until much, much later in the original web serial. I'm especially thinking about how Named need to learn to use their powers in the story, but no one learns how to be a Named, because unlike the supernatural powers, what the Named seeks to accomplish is already a part of who that person is. It's why they were a claimant in the first place, and why those who do incredible things in the series but not in a way that falls into a specific "groove" or story pattern, do not become Named.

That doesn't get spelled out until book 7 in the original, even though you can infer it from the rest of the series. Here we not only learn why Catherine's claim to Squire holds water, we see her playing out that Role. And the explanation of a Role being a story pattern is also talked about earlier still, in both the rewrite and this comic. The whole arc brings a new reader up to speed on what this series is going to be about going forward, and also why that's interesting and worth their time!

And I love that!

Which brings me to just one last thing. Since it wouldn't be a Catherine Foundling adventure without her choosing violence and fire, this arc gives us that as well: but also what it looks like when she chooses peace.

Curious if the surviving foxtails will show up later as well. Perhaps offered some sort of "escape the gallows by joining the Legions" ultimatum? I dunno, just spitballing here.

While she doesn't explicitly start any conflicts here, as soon as the villain spreads chaos and violence does break out, well, throwing a wrench in a stronger opponent's gameplan is what Cat's been doing ever since she started fighting in the pit, except now she knows how to kill with a sword. She spends most of this massive brawl running away, but when she does fight directly we can see how much she relishes the experience. The first stirring of that "dark beast" that her Name personifies as, perhaps? That's how I interpret it at least.

Some comments I read while this arc was ongoing included some people questioning the level of violence she displays this early on, and wondered if it was out of character. I of course disagree, but it's easy to see why someone would come to that conclusion, when prior to becoming the full Squire she's only killed three people, one of them being a claimant. Which seemed a weak claim on a villain Name, especially with what we learn later about how one comes into a Name in the first place.

Now that the arc has concluded, I'm guessing these complaints will die down some, as her choice to use her one boon from Black to spare the survivors, over acquiring more power or knowledge, is undeniably in character. As Black says, it won't make her hands clean, but as she replies, she'll choose the blood that goes on them.

It is also going to make what happens later in Summerholm hit so much harder than it did originally. Like oh my gods it's going to be so painful I already can tell. I can't wait~

[orion4ever]

HIIII! It's the paranormal enthusiast mc anon again, I loved that SMSM THANK YOUUU! I'm back with another request :)

(Sorry if this is worded wierd, I couldn't figure out how to word it lmao)

Could I request a Baxter x past dance partner MC? MC used to do competitive dancing, and during contests and competitions in their past the two were often paired together. They immediately clicked the first time they danced together, and paired with eachother every chance they could get. After step 2, maybe mc stopped dancing or something happened that caused them to stop being paired together/not see eachother as often, and they didn't meet again until the summer :)

gsjskw aaaaaah I don't know how to word this correctly and I apologize if it's too specific, feel free to change this around or edit it if you want to!

Thank you again, and have a wonderful day/night! :>

Author’s Note: ….Okay this is freaky af because I WAS LITERALLY RETHINKING THIS SCENARIO IN MY HEAD. Are you a mind reader? 😦 if you couldn’t tell, I went HARD with this request! I wrote this with the MC and Baxter not meeting at the Soiree moment but at this competition instead.

Pairing: Baxter Ward x MC

🖤🤍

Let me set the stage-

You and Baxter are both very talented dancers , maybe the best in the pacific region’s teen category.

You have been fostering this skill since you were a little kid and have proven to your dancing instructor at the Cypress of your affinity with ballroom dancing.

All the cypresses in America held a ballroom dance competition with each Cypress nominating one person per age group to represent their location at the contest.

At age 13, you were selected to represent the teen and pre-teen category!

You were a bit nervous about it, especially it being your first competition.

You also didn’t expect to be making a charming new friend, or a future summer boyfriend.

˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

You stood in the huge dancing hall, the tall shiny roof and shiny marble floors showing a reflection of yourself. The trip hadn’t been too long, this year’s annual competition took place at a Cypress in Nevada.

You looked around the room and noticed people of varying ages, you zeroed in on any kids around your age to ‘scope out the competition’ as your instructor would call it.

In the distance, an older gentleman pulled a mic from under a cabinet in a far-off corner of the room and tapped it a few times.

“Testing….testing…Welcome! To the annual ballroom competition. We would like to thank all our out-of-staters for making the trip to the Cypress’s Nevada location.”

The big room echoed with a loud applause from the crowd. The older man allowed them to finish before continuing.

“For any new competitors, I will quickly go over any etiquette and rules. Two competitors, each representing a different state but sharing an age category will pair up. They will be competing together and will both receive a trophy for their Cypress.”

Some of the pre-teens groaned at having to socialize with strangers, earning a few giggles from the older dancers.

“We do this to save on time and…to make it more interesting. As dancers, you should experiment with other dancing partners to see who matches your style and rhythm; like a therapist.”

The older gentleman added that last part to joke but it only earned a cough and an awkward laugh from the other side of the room.

“…AHEM. Uh yeah! We will start with the younger category, Categories teens and up should begin pairing with their dancing partners. Remember, it’s all friendly competition here!”

The older gentleman put the mic down and scratched his head, clearly embarrassed that his one joke landed flat.

The little kids all ran towards the middle of the dance floor and started pairing up quickly with each other, laughing and already giving each other hugs.

You envied how quickly they could make friends and pair up, maybe it’s them not having any awkwardness to them yet. You couldn’t say the same for the other categories all either awkwardly shuffling towards new people or instantly jogging towards acquaintances and friends.

You stood to the side and looked around, you were a bit anxious about the possibility that you would be left without a partner. You weren’t mentally prepared to meet any new dance partner.

You twiddled your thumbs and watched on. You were just about to test your luck with a teen who looked just as awkward when you felt a noticeable tap on your shoulder.

You turned around and spotted a very handsome boy, maybe a year older than you. His casual smile widened when he got a look at your face. His hair was a dark black. His skin, was pale and pink at the cheeks. A mole placed on his neck and finally the most intense

Deep brown eyes.

He looked as if he should be modeling for DIOR or if he should be a star in some movie. His neatly pressed suit made him look like a prince.

“Hello there. I am Baxter, Baxter Ward.” He introduced himself, extending a hand for you to shake.

“I noticed that you don’t have a partner and I was hoping to fix that.” He said. The young man had a distinctive voice.

You gave him a neutral smile and shook his hand back.

“I am Y/N L/N. It’s nice to meet you.” You greeted him in return and then answered his question.

“That would be great actually, This is my first competition so I am a little all over the place.” You chuckled nervously, rubbing your arm. The brown-eyed boy nodded.

“It gets easier, I promise.” He reassured before asking a different question.

“Which state are you representing?”

“Oh, uh I am representing California!” You replied, crossing your arms proudly. Baxter’s face somehow brightened even more.

“Oh, wow! How wonderful, I am representing Oregon.” He chuckled. You made a small exaggerated gasp before lightly clapping your hands together.

“We’re like..like neighbors! That's so cool!” You grinned.

Baxter paused at the thought, putting a hand to his chin in an equally exaggerated way.

“I never thought of it that way..” he said thoughtfully before giving you a polite but genuine smile.

“Let’s do good for Oregon and California then.” He said confidently, you nodded at the sentiment.

You and your new dance partner now stood next to each other, watching the little babies dance with each other. While they’re dancing was silly, they all looked to be having fun and some even paused their swinging to ask the other what their favorite colors were or if they wanted to get ice cream after the competition.

Baxter made an amused sound before turning back to you, wanting to make conversation and also…wanting to hear your insight.

“If only we could all make friends that quickly.” He sighed softly, stuffing a hand in his pocket.

“Tell me about it.” You chuckled. “What makes it easier for them anyway? Are they just more social?” You questioned more to fill the air than actually wanting hearing an answer so you weren’t expecting Baxter to reply with his own opinion.

“I personally think it’s because they aren’t as burdened with fears of rejection yet, it makes them more confident.” He commented. You blinked before agreeing.

“That makes sense. I wonder where all that confidence goes when we age.”

It was silent again, the younger categories finished up their round with everybody including the both of you, giving a round of applause for them.

“We will now have the preteen and teen division go up next.”

Baxter turned to you and offered a hand. “Shall we?”

You in return, took his hand “We shall.”

The two of you walked to the middle of the room and got into position. Baxter took the initiative and offered to lead. The older gentleman behind the counter hit a few buttons to activate the music in the speakers. The other contestants began to dance and spin around, unlike how silly and unserious the way the babies danced; everybody currently on the floor struggled to get acquainted with their dance partner’s style. Lots of accidental stepping-on and half spins that didn’t go through.

You and Baxter were extremely different though. While you guys did start a little rocky, with never dancing with each other before. The two of you warmed up quickly and danced very well together.

You two swung and spun around as if you guys had danced with each other billions of times.

But more importantly, it looked as if Baxter was having fun dancing with you.

And you enjoyed how familiar and fun it was to dance with him.

Baxter whispered something to you, “You are very talented,….and you have nice legs.”

“Wait what?”

It was now an unofficial tradition to pair up together, and you guys did for the next two years. While you and Baxter weren’t that close back then, you still had fun conversing with one another and being able to dance so freely with each other; you enjoyed how straightforward he was and lightly teased him for how formal he sounded and he played around and equally enjoyed your company, you didn’t know it then but you two felt a click.

So it was extremely unfortunate when you injured your ankle permanently and would have to stop dancing for a while, it had happened during the winter so you weren’t able to tell that charming boy goodbye or to explain to him why his dance partner had suddenly disappeared off the face of the earth. It broke your heart, that those sparks you had when you danced with him would never be replicated.

You never thought you would see him again, Until that fateful summer of 2016. You sat in both awe and shock as Baxter stepped out from the passenger side of his taxi, he turned towards you and Cove; his neutral eyes narrowing when he took a look at you before a look of recollection replaced it.

“…Y/N? Is that you over there?” He questioned loud enough for you to hear.

“BAXTER??”

Cove looked between the both of you. “Huh?”

[jedinerd27]

The Devil-Spider Is in the Code Part 1/?

Miguel O’Hara X Fem! Spidey! Reader

Summary:

You are the one and only Arachne, the newest hero of Hell's kitchen. Well, in you're dimension anyway.

In your Free time, you're a hacker, trying to bring down companies like Alchemax, Oscorp, and Stark Industries. Exposing them of corruption and their inhumane experiments.

You've recently have been recruited to the Spider-Society. Now surrounded by echos of your dead brother and other unique faces, You are gaining new tricks every day.

Yet, the only annoyance is Miguel O'Hara. The grumpy man doesn't seem to like you, and you have no idea as to why. You're doing your best to catch Anomalies and protect the Multi-Verse. So what if there are no Variants of yourself?

Multiple parts

Word Count:2,151

Cross posted on my AO3

Comment if you want to be Added to Taglist

--------

 Alright. Let’s get this out of the way.

Inter-dimensional Travel was something you’re older brother had theorized. He would explain it to you in long drawn-out personal lectures. Too bad you never understood it and would play Minecraft on your Phone when he would start, never noticing how your eyes would become glassy, staring at your screen.

He was the science geek. He spoke out against Alchemax and Oscorp so many times. Leading him to be flagged and blocked from multiple positions at other smaller companies. All he was doing was advocating for more humane experiments, no careless dumping of hazardous waste, and the black market deals the companies were making.

He was the true hero.             You were just his gal in the chair, his personal hacker. Getting him the information he needed to give to lawyers and news outlets. Showing the world what corrupt experiments were going on. Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson became the biggest legal defense you and Peter had. It was just a bonus that Matt taught you both how to defend yourselves, and was the legal Guardian after Aunt May and Uncle Ben’s death.

That was the case until the accident. Oscorp released a small little critter into your shared apartment one night. Hoping the little spider would spin its little web down onto your brother, poisoning him with the genetically modified venom.

The Spider bit you instead. And the enhanced venom? Sure it gave you a seizure, and you were driven to the hospital as your brother panicked. But it didn’t kill you.

That’s when the head of Oscorp decided a hitman was the solution.

It happened a few days after your release from the hospital The only family you had left. Taken from the world by the very people he spoke out against.

The rain started the same time your tears hit the ground.

“Peter, please, don’t sleep” You cry out clutching him to you. Thunder clapping all around you as the gunman runs down the alley. You think you heard Foggy yelling after Matt, before calling 911. “Please, Pete. Don’t Die! Don’t die!”

Matt’s footfalls as he ran down the alley, perusing the man.

“It’s okay bug, It’s going to be fine lil’bug” He mumbled out with a smile. And then he shut his eyes.

The cry you let you shattered you. A dark abyss opened up inside of you, fury inside you was born.

 As Foggy tried to pull you away from his body, and the Red and blue flashing lights approached, you saw nothing but red down the alley. When Matt returned with bloody knuckles and a black eye. The cops didn’t question him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You took on your brother’s unfinished work, but with the addition of your new found powers. Anger fueled you for a long time, until you came to the realization, your brother was never angry with the world, He was disappointed. He wanted it to be a better place. Safer.

You had to continue fighting for what he wanted. You had to become his legacy.

No matter how hard you got hit, you hit harder. If you were going to go down, you weren’t going alone. You are not going to stop, not until Ospcorp, Alchemax, Stark industries, and others are held responsible.

Thank God that Matt continued to take care of you. He helped you grow into the powers.  

One Day your ginger Guardian took you up to the apartment building rooftop.

“Why do I need this on?” You pointed to the blindfold he had put on you. Technically it was your winter scarf, but it was tied around your head.

“For this!” Matt said somewhere on the rooftop.

KAWCHUNK!!

Pins and needles ran up you back and you ducked.

THWACK! The sound of rubber hitting brick rang out. A tennis ball hits the Roof entrance in front of you.

“What the hell Matt?”

            KAWCHUNK!! KAWCHUNK!!

            TH same sensation ran up you on your left, and then your right, taking a step back you miss the next KAWCHUNK!! That was in front of you.

            A tennis ball thwacks you in the stomach.

            “FUCK!”

            “Kid, you’ve got this sense,” Mat speaks as another Tennis ball is fired Causing you to bend your back, falling to your knees in a quick motion. “And I’m testing it out.”

            The prickles form in the back of your head. Sliding to the Right, a woosh of the tennis ball goes whirling past.

            “SO you thought getting hitting me with Tennis balls is okay?”

            “You’re dodging most of them” One hits you in the rib. “That doesn’t sound good.”

            “How are you doing this?”

            “The same way you’re dodging the chew toys”

            There is a click of a button. The whirling of 5 machines catches your ear, You’re whole body gets that sensation. You leap up as all of them fire. All five tennis balls hit each other in unison.

            “I taught you how to throw a punch, the least I can do is make sure you know how to dodge.” He smirks but you only look at the Red lensed glasses. The same shade that was on his knuckles that rainy night

            He Gave you batons and old pieces of armor. Vanbraces and shoulder pads, Greaves that went over the combat boots you always wore.

            He offered a helmet as well.

            “That’s never going to fit me.”

            “Would you prefer a bike helmet?”

             “I’d prefer it if I can make my own adjustments and touches.”

In the end, a red hoodie covered in various light armor bits and pocket pouches. You took your inspiration of the spider and your old sewing machine and ran with it.

            Blue LED Wires were sewn into the hood under black thread. The vanbraces got integrated with tech. Project a holographic Computer, stolen from Alchemax, easy for you to hack things without needing a physical computer. You had rewritten the software and the code, making it unique and unable to be tracked.

            “What are you going to call yourself?” Matt asks, fingers tracing over the hoodie, your handy work made a small smile appear on his face. This was him beaming with Pride.

            “Arachne” You didn’t even think about it. “I will be Arachne.”

              --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Then you met the others. The Spider society.

Well, not all of them at first.

You just got out of college, graduating top of your Computer Engineer and Computer Science class. No job yet though Especially after it was revealed that you were the sister of the Annoyance that was once Peter Parker.

You going to blackmail us?

Thanks, but no thanks, we don’t need out dirty laundry to be aired out

Bastards.

Sure, they were right though. You were going to leak all their secrets out. Their software was used to spy on people in their homes, breaking their contract that had mentioned they would not do that. It helped that your guardian made sure you also got a minor in pre-law.

For the past 7 years, you were the one and only Arachne. The Crime Fighting vigilante, new to the scene, but taking over when Matt finally agreed it was time to hang up his horns.

The patrol was pretty quite that night, until that glitching Lizard started rampaging down the street.

“what the?” This definitely was not Dr. Cadence Conners. “Hey, Lizard Fella, DROP THE TRASHCAN!”

Landing on a light post, above the scaly humanoid, he stared up at you.

“Glowy Spidey?” His eyes slitted, as his long tongue licked his snout.

“Uh… kinda. Listen buddy why don’t-“

He threw the trash can at you. Causing you to let go of the lamppost.

“Okay, want to play dirty, let us play dirty.” Landing on the street, lucky no civilians around, you pulled out your batons and clicked the safety button. Electricity sprang alive to the metal and you charged.

Claws swiped left and light. Dodging and weaving, you manage to land a blow in the center of his chest.

ZAAP! And down he went. With a loud THUD and the whole ground around you shook.

“All in the days work” You chucked before you pulled out a hologram to call the authorities. That was until… he glitched. Green turning to purple, shapes surrounding him. Then he was back to normal. “The hell is going on in hell’s kitchen?”

“Oh, that’s where we are. I knew I was right, Ghostie!” A voice called from above you… and your froze.

No, no. It can’t be. That can’t be, but it sounds exactly like-

“Peter?” Your do a 180, staring up at the other lamp post.

There was a man squatting on top of another lamppost, just like how you do. The proper pouncing stance.

He stood in a skin-tight suit, the webbing of the suit was close to yours, and the same shade of red, with a pink bath robe on top with.. a baby Bjorn?

A slender woman was holding on to the post of it, leaning forward. Also in a skin tight suit. White with pink and black accents. Converse shoes on. Her hood was similar to yours, without the glowing blue LED.

“Uh, I take it you know me.. I mean my voice?” He swings down with a.. web-shooter. What?

He pulls of his mask and.

“I buried you.” Comes tumbling out. You pull him in for a bear hug. “How? How are you alive? And… why do you look so much older?”

He did, more wrinkles, and streaks of fading brown hair. He was… off. He wasn’t the same Peter.

“Oh… here’s the thing.” His face drops. And he pulls away. “I’m not your Peter. I’m from another Dimension. I’m a variant of…what was your peter to you?”

The woman swing down next to him, and delightful glee echos out. A baby was clutching not her shoulders. A toddler.

“Woah, hey mayday why don’t” Peter was cut off as the baby swung over and promptly sat herself down into the bjorn.

The woman took her mask off and…

“Gwen?”

“Oh, she knows both of us..” Peter sighed.

“When did you get an eyebrow piercing!” Your brother’s best friend from high school left town shortly after the funeral. She.. she looked younger. And her hair was slightly pink. “Wait… another dimension? No.. but..” As you fumble over the right words. They stare at you.

“You” pointing to Peter. “You’re not my brother.”

“Brother?” They both asked as the child giggled out and the swung over to you. Mayday.

“Mayday? After Aunt May?” Your eyes widen. This can’t be real. Your brother was dead, you didn’t have Gwen’s contact info, and you knew she would never get an eyebrow piercing. Hell, a second lobe was a BIG if for her. “Different dimensions? Is this… is this about this multiverse theory?”

            “It is Kid. “

“You… My brother talked about it a lot. He was into theoretical science, physics. He wanted to do that.”

“I’m sorry you lost him” Gwen speaks.

Staring down at the little girl in your arms, your eyes start to water.

Her joyful face drops and then she puts her tiny arms around your neck. A gentle squeeze.

Your brother deserved this life to have a kid, but never got it. Why not? This Peter got it.

“Why are you here.” You say as you gently hug the girl closer.

“For lizard over there.”

“A different version of Cadence Connors?”

“Yep.” Peter said. “We’re a part of a group of other People like us.”

“Spiders” Gwen simply explained taking a closer step. “But you’re gear…”

“I’m Arachne.” Extending a hand she shook it. “Daredevil taught me. He just retired.”

“Matt Murdock?” Peter’s Raises an eyebrow. Familiarity Rang aloud.

“Wait, Murderdock?” Gwen is taken aback at that. Fear raising her voice

“Wait, what? No, Matt doesn’t Kill. I don’t kill” You let go as the girl swings up to the lamppost above. “Sure, we hurt… and sometimes it’s a hospital visit for the other, but we don’t kill.”

“Woah, calm down the broth fo you” Better extend his hands as he tried to catch his daughter. ‘This is just another example of how the multiverse works.”

“And this multiverse has holes in it? Letting random rouges just fall through.”

“Essentially yes, and we” pointing to him and Gwen as Mayday was hanging of his bicep. “Are a part of a group that helps the ones that fall through back to their reality. Unfortunately, they don’t come willingly.”

You stare down at the Lizard.

“How many do you have? Currently, in this group?”

“Uh, twenty. Why?”

“How many multiverses are there?”

“Uh well one. If you mean dimensions… billions. Maybe Infinite.”

A smirk crosses your lips as you clicked your batons. Folding into one another they became the size of two pens. Putting the back in a pouch you smile up at the three newcomers.

“Need an extra Spider?”

[thunderstomm]

Joyride - HWLR Future AU

Word Count: 2701

Summary: “After the success of the pet shelter day, Cruise and Coop bust into Professor Rearview’s lab to pay the monsters a visit”

“Where are we going, anyways? We’ve been walking for ages!”

The sound of footsteps echoed through the far tunnels of Hot Wheels City, and his voice projected loud. It was far from his first venture into any of the city’s underground labyrinths, but it was one of his first times doing so on foot. The navigation seemed slower, but more careful, and there was not much choice but to follow along.

The tunnels all looked the same when you took them in slowly. They were narrow and winding, something that made him feel uneasy. He hated slow, and he hated small spaces. And yet here he was, traveling through them at the whims of a former enemy. He focused his attention on her, as she dragged a hand along the side of the tunnels, as if to search for something.

“You remember visiting the animal shelter?” Cruise asked him.

“How could I forget?” Coop exclaimed.

The two of them had taken turns, bringing one another to activities or pastimes they enjoyed. She had taken him to the city’s animal shelter, where he’d ended up taking home a kitten, and he had taken her to that year’s classic car show… mostly for the free ice cream.

“Exhaust misses you, by the way.” He added. “But what does that have to do with us walking though the far tunnels?”

Cruise came to a halt, stopping suddenly as her fingertips brushed something. Coop failed to pick up on the movement quickly enough, bumping into her. He took a step back quickly afterwards, feeling both embarrassed and further perplexed.

“You’d say you liked spending time with the animals?” Cruise asked him, as she pressed what looked to be a hidden button on the tunnel’s side. “I thought today… we could visit a few more.”

She grinned- it was the kind of mischievous smile she gave when she had a grand plan, or won a race. Coop’s eyes went from her to the wall, as a small keypad was revealed in the wall.

“Wait, are we breaking into something?!” He asked her, raising a brow in concern.

“Is it breaking and entering if you know the code?” She quipped, swiftly typing ‘2-5-0-4’ into the keypad.

“Uh… yes!” He exclaimed. It wasn’t like he’d never committed a crime in his life. After all, his first day at the Ultimate Garage Camp had resulted in a LOT of property damage. There was definitely more to be said, but most of it had been in the name of saving Hot Wheels City! This, on the other hand… was not.

Before he could argue his case more, the tunnel began to shake. A hidden door slowly opened, revealing a passageway big enough for a person, but certainly too small for a car, to enter. Dimly lit, but short enough that he could see it led to a large, open room with who knows what inside of it.

“Don’t look so worried!” Cruise grinned, grabbing him by the wrist, and dragging him through the passage. The door slammed shut behind them, with a loud thud. “I come here all the time. Or… as much as I can. Once a month? Point is, I haven’t been caught.”

“What is this place, anyways?” Coop asked her, as they neared the room. “How do you know the codes? And why did you bring up the-“

They reached the room, and his last question was answered before he could even finish.

The two of them stood before a massive, dimly lit room, which contained five habitats, each of which contained one of Professor Rearview’s giant monsters. Five sets of bright eyes all now staring at the two of them with great intent, as if they were debating if they start attacking.

“This is…” Coop began, trying to wrap his head around everything. Cruise let go of him, running towards a glass tank filled with dark water. She excitedly pressed a hand against the glass, and the giant shark on the other side bunted its nose against the glass in turn.

“This is where my Dad keeps the monsters. You know, when he’s not busy destroying the city, or doing his experiments.” Cruise finished for him, her eyes still fixed on the shark.

“We’re in one of his labs?!” Coop exclaimed, clutching his head in one of his hands. “What if he catches us? You’re just as much his enemy now as I am, we’re practically doomed!”

“Quiet!” Cruise whipped around, covering his mouth gently with one of her hands. “The monsters are very, and I mean VERY sensitive to sound. Got it, Cooper?”

Using one of his own hands, Coop moved her hand away from his face. “Loud and clear. But seriously, why would you bring me here? Liking a few kittens is very different to being face to face with five killer monsters!”

Cruise sighed. “They’re like my pets too! In a sense. And I might be the only person other than my Dad who this bunch will listen to. You and your friends are always stuck cleaning up his messes, I thought that maybe seeing the monsters like this could… help you out with that.” She looked over to the first tank again, the shark still waiting at the glass. “They’re monsters, but they’re not… horrible? They’re just following orders. Like I was. And if, by some miracle, my Dad ever gets stopped for good, I want someone else to be able to attest to them finding a new home, instead of just being locked up or forgotten.”

Coop exhaled, looking down at Cruise. His face relaxed slightly, understanding the situation better.

“You want them to have… a second chance?”

“They deserve it. More than I did, anyways. At least they don’t know any better.” She admitted, looking back up at him.

“Didn’t know you cared so much.” He laughed, raising an eyebrow. “You going soft on me, Rearview?”

“Don’t call me that!” She laughed, the quip reinvigorating her energy. “It sounds like you’re addressing my dad!”

“Fine.” He laughed, too. “Now, introduce me to your ‘pets’, I’m sure they’re just dying to meet me.”

Cruise nodded, turning her attention back to the first tank, where the shark remained. She placed a hand to the glass, and the monster tapped its snout against the glass again.

“Sharky-Poo here is real into anything that shines. Treasure, jewels… cars.” Cruise explained to him, rolling her eyes at the list. “It’s like bulls and the colour red- you show them something that glitters and things get out of control.”

Coop nodded, looking at the shark. He took a nervous step forward, the movement catching the beast’s attention. He braced for any sort of reaction- after all, this thing had already swallowed him whole once- but was surprised to only be met by a brief stare, before it swam away entirely. Anticlimactic, to say the least.

Cruise sighed, leading Coop to the second tank, which seemed to contain the only other aquatic beast present. She tapped the glass, and soon after, the Octopus emerged from the shadows. It placed one tentacle to the glass, and seemed to be attempting to reach another out of the tank, as if to grab something… or perhaps, one of them.

Before he could react, Cruise’s voice sounded. “No! Don’t try to grab me again! I don’t have a change of clothes and am not going home soaked again!” The beast looked to Coop briefly, changing its target before she spoke up again. “Not him either. As funny as it would be, I can’t let him get drenched too.”

The octopus looked dejected, as it retracted back into the tank, eyes still fixed upon the racers before it. Cruise rolled her eyes at the beast, hands placed firmly on her hips.

“Eightacles is… playful, to say the least. Likes to pick things up and get a good look. He doesn’t mean bad by it, but has a bit of an attitude when told no.” There was an emphasis on the last word, as she stared at the beast, who was trying to reach out again.

Coop chuckled to himself, trying his best to hide his amusement. It was so odd to see the beasts under a more casual lens.

“I know that there’s not a lot of good history regarding monsters, and car washes, but it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have the big guy work in one. He could pick up the cars and drop them in the tanks… after a few more years of training to ensure none of them get destroyed.”

“You think so?” Cruise asked him.

“Anything’s possible.” He shrugged in turn. “What’s next?”

He felt a tug at his sleeve again, as they charged for the next enclosure. Like the others, a glass door separated them from the beast, but there was no water this time. In the middle of the enclosure hung the giant bat, sleeping soundly.

“Screech is never awake when I come. Nocturnal and all.” Cruise shrugged. “Try not to wake them!”

Coop nodded, making sure to follow her as quickly as possible to the fourth enclosure. Another glass wall, separating them from the giant snake which lived within it. The monster eagerly came as close to the glass as possible, as if it expected something.

“This is Noodle. Always hungry. Does the best tricks… for the best treats.” Cruise waved up at the giant cobra. “Don’t have any today, sorry!”

The cobra seemed upset, if only for a moment, before turning its attention to Coop. He remembered his first meet-in with the monster vividly- the day he and his friends had delivered five-hundred pizzas to another one of Rearview’s bases. Perhaps now-defunct, considering the one he was in currently. The cobra looked at him expectantly, perhaps remembering the day too, and thinking he had another stack of pizzas to feed it.

He shook his head, showing his empty hands to the monster. “I don’t have anything for you either! I swear!”

‘Noodle’, as Cruise had dubbed them, seemed uninterested in the statement, and continued to eagerly await some sort of food. Cruise shook her head to the beast again, urging Coop to do the same. Both kept up the action, as they backed away from the cobra, and towards the final and largest of the five enclosures.

“You know, they’re not that bad. A little eccentric, but… not as scary as they are when they’re destroying the city.” Coop quipped, as they finally were out of the cobra’s line of sight. “All that’s left is…”

“Firepants!” Cruise exclaimed, pointing out the scaly beast behind the glass. Standing much taller than the rest was the majestic red dragon, which exhaled a soft smoke from its nose. “You ever seen a dragon dance?”

“Actually… yes.” Coop concluded, looking up at the beast which stood before them.

“And he’s been practicing, too…” Cruise mumbled. She placed a hand to the glass, watching as the dragon bent its head down to her level, pressing its nose against the glass, causing it to fog up.

Coop stepped closer towards the dragon, looking at the beast. Scaly, sweeping tail, a wingspan double the size of its body, and atop its head, it had equipped the white and grey “ride pad” which he had seen the Professor use to travel atop the beasts with.

“Anything else interesting about this one?” He asked, watching as the dragon wagged its tail at the attention, much like an excited puppy.

“Let’s see…” Cruise hummed. “Firepants can fly faster than most of the cars in Hot Wheels City can drive.”

He scoffed at the prospect. It was a bold claim, but not one he’d dare to believe. “Yeah, right. The giant lizard is faster than the best racing cars in the best racing city?”

“Faster than both your best cars.” Cruise insisted to him.

“Prove it!” Coop doubled down. “Then I’ll believe you.”

Cruise laughed, taking the statement as a joke. “Good one..” she snorted. She looked at him, waiting for him to laugh too, but he never did. “Wait… you can’t be serious.”

“I mean… is it stealing or borrowing if we take the dragon for a test flight? After all, we’re already here, and you know all the codes…” Coop feigned a look of innocence, echoing the same sentiment she had when they arrived. It wasn’t exactly wise to let arrogance get the best of him, but the need for speed, plus the golden opportunity seemed too good.

“Uh… yes!” Cruise responded, before realizing the predicament. “I see what you’re doing. I’m not falling for it! That’s a one way ticket to getting caught and in trouble!”

“I suppose you’re right.” Coop sighed. “Unless… we call it a ‘rescue and rehabilitation test’ and not stealing? But I don’t blame you for not wanting to do it. Figures you’re scared I’ll be right.”

“You’re good at this.” Cruise admitted to him. It was too easy to get her competitive side, and need to prove her point, going. She headed to the end of the wall, where another keypad was located. Hastily, she typed in another code, and the glass cage door slowly lowered, and a hatch which led out of the tunnel opened, revealing a launch-pad of sorts.

“You want a joyride? I’ll give you a joyride. But if we get caught, you’re shouldering the blame.”

“Do I at least get to fly the dragon myself?” Coop asked her.

“Do you know how to fly a dragon?” Cruise retaliated, walking back towards him.

Returning to the dragon, she held out her arms, hugging Firepants to the best of her ability.

“Firepants! I missed you!” She cooed. “Now, are you ready to fly faster than you’ve ever gone before?”

Firepants gave what appeared to be a nod, and lowered their head further, allowing Cruise to climb on. She steadied herself on the white ride pad, gesturing for Coop to join her. Cautiously, he approached the beast, being careful not to step anywhere Cruise hadn’t, not wanting to aggravate it, or set off any secret alarms. Cruise helped him onto the ride pad, before clicking a button with her heel, revealing a set of handlebars.

“There’s only one set, so I’d recommend you hold onto whatever you can find. Don’t want you falling off!” Cruise told him, as she reached into her pocket, hand brushing across the small charm which allowed for the city’s helmet-summoning technology to work outside of their cars.

Coop brushed his own hand against the white button on his jacket, summoning his own helmet. With not even a seatbelt or airbag available on a giant dragon, it was the least he could do if the worst was to happen. Cruise’s words echoed through his head- there really wasn’t much to hold onto to stop him from flying off, and while the traction of his shoes were good, they weren’t built for this. He could try holding on to one of the dragon’s horns, but that would also mean having to step off of the ride pad. Seeing no other solution, Coop grabbed hold of Cruise.

“That works too…” she mumbled, before grabbing hold of the handlebars. She tapped her foot gently on the ride pad again, gaining the attention of the dragon. “Firepants! Let’s fly!”

Firepants did not miss a beat. The dragon stood its ground slowly, spreading its wingspan as far as the room allowed. Claws hit the ground in short and sharp bounds, before the beast leaped from the open hatch, opening its wings fully as the wind hit its body. The duo of racers braced for the rush, before being met by the streaming light of the sun, and the sight of Hot Wheels City, growing smaller below them with each flap of the dragon’s wings.

“Woah.” He exclaimed breathlessly, eyes taking in the city below him. The wind beat in his face, the only clear sound becoming the flapping of wings, the heavy breathing of the beast, and his own voice. “Now… you said the dragon is faster than most cars in the city?”

“Prepare to have your mind blown. Firepants- show him what you’ve got!”

[gravity-what]

Enjoy some cute dragons for Lunar New Year! 🐉🎆 (this was mostly an excuse to draw the idea I had for Lao Mang Lone soup Omi)

And uh…enjoy an angsty story to go with the drawing??? I’m sorry

Under the cut (and also posted here on Ao3)

“What have you done?”

“Come now, what’s with that face?” Hannibal laughed. In his disgusting tendril a child-sized lizard squirmed and thrashed, trying to claw the vine from where it was wrapped tightly around the creature's neck. Chase couldn’t take his eyes off the scene, his own skin rippling in response. “And here I thought I was doing you a favor! Wuya told me all about that convoluted little plan of yours to get this bean sprout on the Heylin side but, well, take it from someone with experience in this kind of thing. Lao Mang Lone really is the easiest way to go.”

“You- I-“ Chase stuttered, for once not knowing what to say. What to do. The tiny lizard snarled, its claws scraping uselessly against the vine, its tail thrashing in agitation. The frills around its head flaring in anger. The thin skin there was torn and bleeding from where the child had clawed himself. Where Omi had clawed himself.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue.” Hannibal mocked, his disgusting laugh echoing around Chase’s atrium. “Or, I guess in this case, lizard? Kid’s pretty cute isn’t he?” He added, lifting Omi fully off the ground, his snarls getting cut off as he choked and only thrashed more. Something that was bound to only hurt the child if not break his neck. Chase made an aborted movement forward to help but hesitated as he saw the tendril tighten threateningly. “Vicious to boot. Should have seen the way he tore through that little temple of his when he ate the soup. Almost as impressive as you! For such a small size, the kid really packs a punch!”

How had Hannibal managed to do this? What had he done to trick Omi into drinking the Lao Mang Lone soup? Had he even known what he was doing? Had he agreed to this? Chase couldn’t imagine a world where Omi drank the soup willingly -a memory flashed into his mind. a glass and iron cage. The scent of Lao Mang Lone in the air. Someone had to drink it if they wanted to escape- No. No. Omi wouldn’t have. Not here. Not now. Not like this.

“This is some sick joke.” Chase snarled, managing to wipe the shocked and distraught surprise from his face. His gaze turned to Hannibal’s disgustingly smug one, Chase finally able to pull his eyes away from the little dragon. “This isn’t real.” It couldn’t be real. This was something else. Hannibal had the Moby Morpher. It had to be a trick. “I don’t know what you are trying to pull-“

“Well now!” Hannibal cut him off, bringing his other tendril to his chest in a fake act of offense. “Is that any way to respond to a gift?! If you don’t want him, well, I could always use another pet.”

Chase felt panic shoot through him at those words, remembering his own time under Hannibal. Being trapped in this early, feral, state of the Lao Mang Lone. Being at the mercy of this disgusting bean. A single claw out of place leading to punishments thousands of times worse than the offense.

Chase clenched his jaw. Trick or not, he couldn’t leave Omi to that fate. Chase knew he had already shown his hand in this. Had shown it ages ago to Wuya when he had been too stupidly secure in the idea that he had managed to lock Hannibal away for good. And now, here he was, back again and having worked Chase into a corner with only one way forward.

“A gift implies he is being given to me for free,” Chase acknowledged, his hand’s fisted tight at his sides, trembling with held-back rage. “But I know you, Hannibal. What is the price of this so-called gift.”

He watched as Hannibal’s decrepit smile grew, showing off his broken and rotting teeth. “Well, now that you mention it, I suppose there are a few things I want…”

[some bonus additional context for the art: I imagine this image is a few months after Omi was transformed and in that time Chase ‘visited’ the temple to make sure that what Hannibal told him was true (it was) and stole the reversing mirror from Spicer to make sure Omi wasn’t just transformed via the Moby Morpher and had something done to his mind (the reversing mirror changed nothing) and then proceeded to check everything to make sure that there was no other possible explanation for this and finally, after he could no longer deny that Omi had truly taken the Lao Mang Lone Soup, he gave Omi more of it to help him start to work towards regaining himself and the above is the outcome. A moment of clarity from his little one. Omi’s still not all there. still has no idea who he is or what he is, but for a second he is no longer feral or hungry and Chase gets this small moment before it eventually slips away.]

[anonymoushotsexyperson]

GROWING UP A FAT GIRL IN THE Y2K ERA

I know peoples attention spans suck so don't worry im adding sections. So you can scroll through and just read whatever intrigues you if you can't commit to the whole thing!!

this post will talk about my experiences growing up as a fat girl and just a little bit about how it effected my relationship to my body as I grew up as well as the struggles of fatness intersecting with racism and ableism as well as very briefly touching on the wojack giving fat girl backshots meme going around!

SECTION 1 THE BEGINNING OF MY RELATIONSHIP WITH MY BODY AND HOW FAT PHOBIA EFFECTED IT.

My first experience with fat phobia I remember consciously is around the ages of 6 or 7. My mother and father had recently divorced and I was growing into myself more and more everyday getting stronger, smarter, limbs getting longer, body getting bigger. I was going through growth spurts. I would chub up a little then id grow a few inches, chub, grow, chub grow. Seems like a pretty normal concept or idea to manage right? Well not for the average y2k adult. Everyone would always make comments to my mother or out of fear of being judged for being a bad parent she would bring it up herself. I remember my mothers response to the comments about my body. "she is stress eating because of the divorce!" was always her reply... and giiiiirl no the fuck I wasn't. I was not really that effected by my mom and dads divorce till later on. At that age as long as I was surrounded by most of my family and I had YouTube much else didn't matter to me and kind of went over my head if i'm being real with you. Hey I'm a kid though who knows maybe I was stress eating and just had no idea what to call it at the time and then don't remember but honestly, if my memory is serving me correctly I used to be so confused when she said that! If I was eating a little more it was probably because I was GROWING INTO MY BODY MAYBE?? That was my first run in which followed up with many more, like when my dad made me step on a scale in the living room of his new home strangers -that later became family- walking around, free to stare at whatever the number said. "If you don't lose weight you are coming to live with me." Still echoes through my head, I was about 7. It doesn't stop there I was being called a cow at school, or by my older brothers at home during petty fights we'd have. Some how none of the insults really stuck like that (besides the situation with my dad). They definitely hit me, but if I denied that they did then that counts as dodging them right? Growing up I always thought I wasn't that heavily effected by the raging and rampant fat phobia permeating through the y2k, but in reality it caused me to start neglecting my body all together. Up until the summer between 7th and 8th grade I never looked at myself in the mirror. Maybe a quick glance but I would never fixate on my appearance. Now hyper fixating on your appearance can be unhealthy but so is pretending you don't have one at all which was the type of timing I was on. Fat phobia among other factors was the leading cause of what became a history of neglecting myself.

SECTION 2 DEVELOPING AN EATING DISORDER AS A FAT PERSON

scroll to the next section if you want to avoid triggers!

The effect fat phobia had on me didn't really start to show on the surface until 7th-8th grade. My girlfriend had an eating disorder and she was living with me at the time because her family was homeless (we were closeted as best friends). She didn't encourage my eating disorder but it was kind of a monkey see monkey do kind of thing, she made me start to consider it. At that age range I was looking for different ways to destroy myself as well as connect with my peers and some how those too things strongly intersected as the glamorization of self harm and mental illness was at an all time high. I'm not sure why twelve to thirteen yearly anon wanted to destroy themselves so bad but I think if anything it stemmed from a need for control over my surroundings. At this age my home life wasn't the best. I forgot how, but I think maybe through just looking up depressing quotes in general I found the infamous Ana and Mia. Oh and trust me Cassie Ainsworth from skins did not help AT ALL. CUE THE INFAMOUS GIF:

TW CASSIE AINSWSORTH GIF:

even LOOKING FOR THIS GIF BEGAN TO STIR SOMETHING INSIDE ME OH MY GOD??

The worst part about being a fat girl with an eating disorder is how proud of me everyone was. "Anon you're getting so slim!" "Anon look at you slimming out see I knew it was just baby fat!". My friends knew of my ed so they would never compliment me for it or really talk about my body in general, probably half because of my ed but also half because I was still fat and not considered desirable or something to be jealous of regardless of if I lost a few pounds. But my family complimented my figure a lot as I slimmed and I got less fat jokes and the doctor was happy and people did treat me a little different. JUST a little cuz I was still fat but a noticeable enough change in the way people treated me for me to want to keep going and indulge myself deeper in my unhealthy habits.

But yeah long story short I developed an ed and I thought I was so fat and gross and disgusting and dude I look back at myself and why was my body LICHRALLAY SO T??? I honestly wasn't even morbidly obese or anything (which I am now BECAUSE of my eating disorder but fuck it we ball and also I ENJOY BEING FAT I knowww plot twist right?) also you minors in the ed community YES YOU take NOTE at this next part: I was literally just growing into my body... but then I fucked up my metabolism really bad and completely skewed my relationship with health, dieting, and workout culture so i'm either doing too much or not enough. So not only did my metabolism get utterly destroyed but having to learn how to take care of myself from scratch ended up destroying all the progress made and here I am literally 60 pounds heavier than I was back then and i've dropped weight since i've developed a healthier relationship with my body so if we are keeping it a buck until about a year ago I had accumulated about 100 pounds of weight since my pre ed days because of the effects the eating disorder had on me ! (oh and I have heart problems now not from being fat but from attempting to become skinny the wrong way! if you fast and binge or fast and do cardio and feel your heart beating like that... if you know you know...yeah you're fucking up your heart and need to stop like right now girly!) SO yeah I am a recovering anorexic with some bulimic symptoms. Though even after developing my eating disorder my issues with body image didn't really really affect me until later on.

SECTION 3 THE SOCIALIZATION OF FATNESS/THE INTERSECTIONAL STRUGGLE BETWEEN MY BLACKNESS AND FATNESS/ BECOMING THE DUFF/ WOJACK MEME.

Along side subconsciously neglecting myself I would also publicly portray myself as very tough skinned and overly confident all throughout middle and high school as a defense mechanism when in reality I was pretty indifferent toward myself and extremely sensitive. I think that my tough exterior wasn't only due to me being fat but also being a black woman although I am biracial/light skinned in complexion I feel like I was still hyper masculinized due to my blackness especially growing up in an area where I was closer in proximity to blackness then a large majority of my counterparts. I feel like a lot of my aggression and flamboyancy came from constantly being in a state of self defense and also subconsciously feeling like I had to play the role that was written for me or else I wouldn't be loved or appreciated or wanted. By the role that was written for me i'm talking about Precious, Rasputia, Mercedes Jones, Ivy Wentz, the stereotype of being the fat black women, and for my non black fat baddies for you this would be The DUFF role. This is when you're known as the flamboyant friend with the attitude that everyones scared to make the butt of the joke because she is NOT afraid to snap you in two. The stereotype isn't entirely wrong i'm sure a lot of people fall into it for the same reason as me but then it becomes our main character trait, and that mixed into a juicy cocktail of dehumanization of fat bodies turns you into the friends the skinny girls bring to the club to scare off ugly dudes as if you're a bodyguard and are immune to sexual or physical assault because you're fat!

So I grew up neglecting my body because of fat phobia developed a life altering eating disorder because of how romanticized they were due to fat phobia, and spent my whole life being guys secret crush, or the "annoying dramatic fat girl" because of fat phobia but still even then it didn't seem it had the real detrimental effect on my body image everyone said it would until I was 20. When I was 20 I moved back to my hometown for a little bit where the beauty standard is very much "ambiguous white skinny girl" and I thought that maybe I would get play because hey we are like adults who are deprogramming all that bullshit anyway right? WELLL I did get play, crazy play of course! Just in secret, and I've had guys have secret crushes on me etc but never to the extent I began to face it in my 20's where they would so obviously be horny over me all the time while simultaneously being mad at me for making them horny because I'm fat and it confuses and embarrasses them ( men are genuinely socialized to be suchhhh fucking psychopaths. -if you're a guy and you're reading this don't say that not all men bullshit yes we know not you i'm not gonna specify every time to preserve your ego goddamn). I have some sad and weird stories about that, that involves men thinking they could be more aggressive with me or literally impose violence on me or be extremely weird and creepy because they're embarrassed they're attracted to a fat girl and on top of that a fat black girl that they hyper-masculinized and degraded in their head due to societal pressure/influence... but imma save that for another day or maybe never because I see nothing coming out of me posting that on here but relived trauma. Also the type of man I just described are the same ones reposting this new viral wojack meme by the way:

thats all im saying about that meme, the guys reposting it like fat bitches and are scared that they like us and can't think for themselves thats literally all I wanted to input into the conversation regarding THAT....

also I use the word bitch in an endearing aave way not in a deragotry way so please don't hit me with that "don't call women bitches" thing I don't be doing it a lot but im also not gonna stop using aave and also i'm LICHRALLY AFAB sooooo shut up...

ANYWAYS...The violence I faced at this point in my life really triggered something in me it made me realize that because of the stereotypes held up against me I will never be treated or respected or perceived authentically by the average Joe. The only person that would see me is those who have taken extensive time to deprogram parts of their brain that created these deep routed bias etc. ( also if you're wondering why these biases were created it all leads back to capitalism but THATS for another post..) After facing literal violence cause of my body it definitely caused a blow at my self esteem, but even then I shined on and persevered continuing to be my sexy self.

SECTION 4 FAT PHOBIA AND ABLEISM INTERTWINED.

It wasn't until I randomly got into an accident and became temporarily handicapped while also in the most toxic relationship of my life did I really start to fucking hate myself. For multiple months I couldn't walk, and not only was I physically handicapped but the trauma I was experiencing at that time of my life had left me mentally handicapped as well I simply didn't want to be alive and exist in this body or any body I just didn't want to exist. I had a foot I could hop on but I couldn't carry all my weight on that foot because of my previous issues with my health, (I had already been struggling with a chronic illness that effected my muscles) and i didn't have the strength in my arms for the crutches so I succumbed to my injuries, resulting in weight gain, eventually hip and back issues etc. Then, when my leg healed, the access weight made me feel like I couldn't walk without pain. I was having issues with my health unrelated to my weight since 2020 but I was homeless up until last year and it was also covid so I had no way to really see a doctor and also I was like 18-19 and had no fucking idea how any of that worked and am still figuring out how it works to this DAY. I actually just got my insurance card for the first time this year. YIPPE YIPPE EVERYBODY CLAP. These issues with my health effected my muscles and my bodies ability to absorb the nutrients from the food I ate so this injury was kind of like the icing on top of the cake because my chronic illness made the recovery almost in possible. I would cry a lot, stopped taking pictures of myself, and everything. But even then I knew I didn't really have any interest in being thin I actually really fuck with my warm fluffy voluptuous form, I just didn't want to be unhealthy.

I still haven't fully unpacked the shame I felt around being unhealthy, I was so ashamed despite me trying my best with what I had, and what I knew, and I also still haven't fully unpacked why I feel like I have to specify as I literally just did a few lines earlier that I was 'trying my best', why do visibly disabled folks only deserve care or sympathy when they're actively trying to fit into a world that isn't set up to support or aid them when it very well could be? The intersectional oppression of ableism and fat phobia is still something i'm actively developing my thoughts about.

A thought ive been thinking about a lot is how obesity is a health condition and it can be detrimental to some folks and that saying that it isn't is a reactionary trauma response to fat phobia BUT also a lot of things can be detrimental and the level of detriment different things give you differentiates based on the person. Some people are bigger than me and healthier. Some people are smaller than me and UNhealthier. The detriment fatness has on your health as all things doesn't exist on the linear scale we have created for it. SO although obesity is a disease and proposing that fat doesn't correlate with health in an important way is harmful it is also harmful and plain weird to hyper fixate on obesity. Im also thinking about how obesity is treated this way because it's one of the most visible health issues and how that bleeds into ableism. I'm still working on these thoughts i'm having and how to explain and dissect them in a proper digestible and understandable way. So I think this where I leave you to think on your own about this, what do you think? Please feel free to comment below!

[jekyll-the-muse]

(Lumine is not long in returning with a new letter, her eyes shining as she hops through the window. She places the letter down delicately beside Jekyll before taking up her new favorite perch, the back of his writing chair to peer over his shoulder as he reads and writes. When the letter is opened, the paper seems oddly water stained, as if drips of water had permanently left their marks on the parchment.)

My dearest friend,

You have given me the greatest gift I have received in my long stay here. To see just the slightest glimpse of reality again, even captured in these precious stills of monochrome... it is a treasure I can never repay. I have hung them above my main areas, framed as if they were tiny windows, that way I can look out them and almost believe I am free.

I will admit, after so many years you wonder if reality even existed at all... or if the feeling of breeze against skin, the tingle of sunlight across closed eyelids... was all simply something from your imagination. I fear one day I could forget it entirely, with nothing but the flicker of the lamp and candlelight and the smell of forbidden and forgotten tomes to fill the void. I do not want to forget. Your gift has brought back a small echo of hope I did not know I needed. Hope and desperation once did render me hardly better than a lunatic, frantic and scared, lost within the walls of the knowledge I had once craved. Time has changed and tamed that madness to... acceptance... but that soft clawing desire still fills me with burning desperation.

Thank you, so much my friend... for giving me back a bit of sunlight.

Do not dismiss your own sufferings, I am sorry to hear you ever had to taste a prison of mind and soul as I do. I hope you will never again be subjected to something similar again.

There is not much I can send out from this place, not that will make it through the Barrier that holds me, but I have tucked away within this letter a small sketch of my Library. I dare not show too much for fear this void would seek to claim more staff for this Library, but I have drawn my desk for you as it is. A small window into my world... just as you have given me a glimpse of Reality once more.

(There is a hastily scratched section of the letter, seemingly added in a scrambled haste, like the hand that wrote it was frantically writing it down before forgetting.)

There may yet be a way to touch reality, I will write more soon, but I dare not continue yet.

With cautious hope,

~Crowe~

(There is a tiny added note at the bottom, almost shy)

You have soft hands. Comforting. You are kind. -L-

Of course, Lumine gets her share of head pats and preening - it would be rude of him not to. Taking the letter, Jekyll takes note of the footnote, returning to read the letter before doing a double take and re-reading it.

"Soft hands..comforting..L. Who is this L person..." He muses aloud, before stilling and looking over his shoulder at Lumine

"L. L for Lumine... I...do forgive me I am surprised that you...can write, nevertheless speak coherent English.."

"He clears his throat But I, I am quite happy that you seem to take some sort of comfort in me." Jekyll gives a smile, short but it reaches his eyes this time.

. . .

"My dearest friend Crowe,

I am glad you were able to experience these feelings again - no matter how fleeting it is important to remember they exist. Of course, it may take more time than it already has to be relieved from your seemingly eternal prison but do not ever lose that hope you have re-discovered.

Your drawing... it is a drawing but albeit holds some strange sort of... I am unsure of the word I am trying to say. Vertigo? No..no perhaps it is wonder? Awe at the beauty of the bars of the cage that are nevertheless iron and steel but beautiful regardless. The ornate woodwork is simply marvellous.

May I ask - unless this is some sort of 'reality bend' that has gone unnoticed by the Creator of your 'dimension' that we are unsure of how it works- how is it that Lumine can write? I have conferred with my counterpart and he finds himself also addressed by his companion - but both of us are quite pleasantly surprised at that.

I do apologise my letter is rather short compared to my previous ones - once I get these theories of mine onto paper and out of my head then perhaps there will be more room for other thoughts.

Your tired and frantic friend,

Dr. Jekyll"

Jekyll seals it with a new wax seal - a white rose embedded into a marbled gold-white background. Handing it to Lumine, he speaks aloud - not consciously doing so.

I do hope that you..well both of you are as happy as you can be right now. It's what both of you...deserve.

@schrodingerslibrary

[ethanhuntsopowerfull]

Content Marketing: Educate, Don’t Just Sell

In our busy online lives, ads get scrolled over without being looked at. Pop-ups are dismissed in seconds. Flashy offers? Passed over—unless they're really relevant.The reason is that humans are no longer willing to be sold to What they truly crave is value—something that assists them, educates them, or inspires them. And that's where content marketing comes in.

What Is Content Marketing?

Material marketing is about providing some value, something useful for your people - before asking for something back.

Instead of shouting: "Buy it now!" You whisper: "Here's something that can be used for you."

You not only sell something - you answer questions, solve problems and establish self confidence.

Here are some easy examples of content marketing:

Blog articles about how to solve a frequent problem.

Reels or short clips of behind-the-scenes of your company.

Infographics that break down complex topics.

Podcasts that educate or entertain.

Email newsletters packed with helpful tips.

The goal?

To become a go-to-source-so when someone needs a product or service like you, remember the first name they remember. If you are either professional or interested in digital marketing, you are necessary to understand the word. A streamlined digital marketing course in Kerala will show you how to produce echo materials with your target audience and produce results.

Why Content Marketing Matters

You may ask yourself—why write blogs or make videos when you can simply pay for ads?

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You're not pushy—but helpful. This trust gets individuals much more likely to make a purchase from you in the future.

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Suppose you have a skincare brand. If you publish useful blog entries every week on skincare regimens, your visitors will begin considering you an authority. And when they need to pick a product, they'll pick you—because you've gained their respect and trust.

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4. It Nurtures Leads

Most won't buy from you when they first hear about you. But with content—blog posts, video, email—you can keep in touch with them along the way. 

Doing Content Marketing Right

That's how you get content marketing to work for you:

1. Know Your Audience Begin by asking yourself:

Who am I trying to reach?

What are they struggling with?

What kind of content do they consume?

For example, if you are aimed at the owners of small businesses, you can make materials such as:

"How to Run Instagram ads on a budget"

“5 Free Tools Every Small Business Needs”

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2. Plan Your Content

Don’t just post randomly. Plan out your:

Topics

Formats (blog, reel, video, carousel)

Platforms (Instagram, YouTube, LinkedIn)

Posting schedule

Stick to a simple weekly or monthly content calendar—maintaining consistency helps build trust with your audience

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To reach more people, one piece of content can be adapted and shared across various platforms.

Convert a blog into an Instagram carousel post.

Utilize a video clip for your email newsletter.

Make a reel out of a longer YouTube video.

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4. Keep It Simple and Helpful

 Focus on being clear, helpful, and relatable.

A simple post like “3 Common Mistakes to Avoid in Digital Ads” can perform better than a glossy promotional video.

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While you’re not directly selling, it’s still important to guide your audience.

End your content with simple CTAs like:

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Write a blog: "5 Health Benefits of Green Tea"

Share a reel: Behind the scenes of your barista making the perfect cold brew

Create a carousel post: "Tips to Make Café-Style Coffee at Home"

Send a weekly email: “This Week’s Specials + A Coffee Brewing Tip”

You not only market your cafe - you give value, build faith and become part of the customer's daily lives.

If you follow a digital marketing course in Kerala, you will work with a similar case study, to understand how to use material strategies for real businesses

Final Thoughts

In a distracting, ad-filled online world, relevant content stands out.

Content marketing is not a quick fix-it-fast solution—it's an investment that yields results.

Trust

Noticeability

Relationships

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[pynkhues]

Okay, feel free not to answer this but does it feel like the fandom has generally had a harsher/less sympathetic view of Kendall in a post-finale/S4 world or is that just me? I feel like I see a lot more takes that position Kendall as the sole or primary inheritor of Logan’s poison when all of the siblings have elements of Logan dripping through and they’ve all suffered from his abuse (as opposed to just certain siblings - which I see way more than I previously did). It might just be me, but does it seem like the views/commentary around the siblings has changed? (Please note I mean no shade to anyone, just generally super interested in how the fandom view of characters evolves over time/morphs with recency bias)

Hey! Sorry it took me a few days to get to this (I'm a little slow across the board these days), but yeah, I'd say that I agree with you. There tends to be this fixation in fandom on which sibling was abused the most or which is the most likely to be abusive in the future, when the reality is their experiences aren't numbers you can compare. You can't compare Roman maybe being hit more (which again, isn't something we actually even know), with the psychological abuse of Logan humiliating Kendall as a boy by making him compete with and then wait on one of the few relationships he has outside of the family.

These aren't things that are quantifiable, and similarly, the insidious ways that the golden trio behave in the final season (or throughout the show's run) aren't things that can be plugged into a pie graph to give a sense of which of the three of them is the 'worst'.

I do think Roman and Shiv in some ways feel more defensible in the final season for some because Roman does seem to accept his ousting while Shiv's narrative feels so doomed, but I think a lot of that comes down to the woobification of Roman by a vocal portion of the fandom and the very specific and gendered bleakness of Shiv's arc.

It doesn't help of course that there's a sense that if it weren't for Shiv, Kendall would've 'won', which I think is a false reading of the show in general. The show has worn all its opinions on its sleeve since season 1, and Kendall as a character isn't one who wins even when he does. He, in Roman's words in 3.01 after Kendall's arguably had the biggest win he does across the course of the show, self-destructs. I don't imagine had he become CEO it would've gone any differently.

I do think there's also this desire to see all three of the golden trio's acts in s3 in isolation - it's easier to end sympathetically with Roman because he broke at his father's funeral, when literally an episode earlier he was instating a fascist in one of the most powerful roles in the worlds. It's easier to end sympathetically with Shiv, who kills her brother and faces a broken end. It's harder to end sympathetically with Kendall, who alienates his family, threatens to take custody of his children off his wife, takes back a crucial truth and has to be forced out of a legacy he feels entitled to.

There's a sense of character death there, but no more than there is for Shiv or Roman, the former who has lost any ethical or moral core she may have ever had, and the latter who's lost any sense of purpose and destroyed a country in the process (even if in the end it was Kendall's choice, Mencken was always Roman's man).

To look at Kendall's actions in isolation though negates the particular insidious abuse Kendall faced in his life, and even in death. Kendall's alienation from his children takes on a far greater depth for instance when you consider it in the context of Roman echoing their father's words that they were never family to begin with, just as his terrible treatment of both Rava and Jess at his father's funeral takes on added weight when you consider the fact that he's not only grieving his father, but is feeling increasingly alone after his sister betrayed him and he's worried his brother's going to cut him out now that Mencken's president.

Does that make his behaviour okay? Of course not! But to view these moments in isolation paints them as inherently abusive instead of the long tail of abuse in a very lonely man who's only sense of self-worth is tied to the ghost of a dead man

The fandom's always been fickle with the characters though, so I imagine it'll come full circle. Don't forget at the start of the season a loud portion of the fandom was arguing Connor was the worst one because Kieran said he bought a person in an interview, haha.