#at least I have an idea for a bigger project after all this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rafesapologist · 2 months ago

Text

strangers ─ drew starkey; ch. 2

summary: getting casted on outer banks threw you into overnight stardom, and an unforeseeable off-screen romance with one of hollywood's newest and biggest heartthrobs.

warnings: unedited, tension (kind of)

author's note: the info in this story about drew is mostly made up!! some of these scenarios and 'facts' are not things that have happened in real life, this is all merely part of the plot of the story.

As if the expectations of being cast onto one of the biggest shows wasn't enough, you were in for the surprise of your life when your manager called and told you that the directors wanted you to start spending time off-screen with your soon-to-be co-star.

"They think it'll make the chemistry on the show more believable if you guys get to know each other more in real life," Kendra sighed and you could practically hear her shrug over the phone.

"Okay?" You responded with a subtle temperament in your tone that went ignored by your manager, "I auditioned for the show, not to become some PR stunt for ratings." You rebutted firmly, crossing your arms as if it made your testament any more earnest.

"Not PR, just friends. If you're gonna work with somebody for who knows how long, you need to at least be acquainted with them," she reaffirmed blithely and you could hear her light up another cigarette over the line, as if her raucous smoker's voice wasn't prominent enough already.

"Then what are we supposed to do that doesn't make it look like we're dating? Cause anything we do is gonna draw attention," you asked, pointing out the burning question in your mind. Drew was a rising star in Hollywood, and it didn’t take much for the media to latch onto any spark of gossip, let alone the proximity between two co-stars. You could already imagine the headlines—"New Romance on Set?" or "Chemistry Beyond the Screen?"—flashing across tabloids, fueling rumors neither of you had any control over. The mere thought made your stomach twist, but at the same time, you couldn't deny the pull of curiosity.

"I don’t know, just grab lunch, go over lines, anything normal," Kendra responded with a casualness that felt at odds with the gravity of the situation. "The point is to make you two comfortable around each other, not to stage some fake romance. But hey, if the chemistry works out in your favor, it's not a bad thing, right?" Her tone was light, but you could sense the subtle hint of persuasion.

You bit your lip, considering the reality of it. Drew—charming, talented, and devastatingly handsome—had already made an impression during the audition, and though his professional demeanor had been disarming, you couldn’t ignore the undercurrent of tension that had crackled between you both. But off-screen was a different game altogether, one where your vulnerability wasn’t masked by a script or camera angles. The idea of spending more time with him outside the confines of rehearsals left you feeling exposed in a way you weren’t sure you were ready for.

"Fine, I’ll do it. But if this turns into some media circus, you owe me a long vacation after this project is over," you finally agreed, letting out a deep breath that didn’t quite ease the knot in your chest.

Kendra laughed, the sound raspy yet full of amusement. "Deal. Besides, you never know what might happen. Worst-case scenario, you make a new friend, right?"

But even as you nodded, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this arrangement than just bonding over scripts and coffee. Drew's name carried weight, and being linked to him—professionally or otherwise—was bound to stir something bigger than either of you could control. And for a brief moment, you wondered if it was the career boost you’d always needed, or a risk you weren’t prepared to take.

"Alright," Kendra continued, breaking the silence. "I’ll set something up. Keep your schedule open for tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" You almost choked on the word, your pulse quickening at how soon this was all happening.

"Yep. No time like the present." Kendra’s voice was cheerful, almost too cheerful. "You’ve got this, kid. Trust me."

The call ended before you could protest, leaving you standing alone in your apartment, staring at your phone. You sighed, running a hand through your hair as the reality of tomorrow loomed over you. There was no backing out now, no escaping what was already set into motion.

You treaded over to your fridge, the soft hum of it the only sound in your quiet apartment. Pulling out the bottle of sangria you’d been saving for a special occasion—though right now felt more like an emergency—you unscrewed the cap with a small sigh of relief. The deep, ruby liquid swirled into the stemware glass, filling it halfway as you watched the dark red hues glisten under the dim kitchen light.

It wasn’t a celebration, not yet, but it was something—a moment to collect yourself before you plunged headfirst into whatever tomorrow would bring. You took a slow sip, letting the sweet, tangy taste linger on your tongue, savoring the small comfort it provided. The cool glass felt grounding in your hand, a quiet contrast to the chaos spinning in your mind.

With your hands pressed firmly against the cool countertop, your head hung low as you silently questioned how you ended up in this whirlwind of events. The soft buzz of your phone broke the stillness, pulling you back to reality. You glanced at the screen, and there it was—a text from Kendra.

"I talked to Drew’s managers, they said he suggested having lunch tomorrow at 2. I'll have a driver booked for you around 1:30."

Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest, the words sinking in as you scanned the message over and over. Tomorrow. Lunch. With Drew. And with little to no time to prepare, your anxiety came to life, flooding your mind with a thousand what-ifs.

You stood there, staring at your phone, trying to piece together how you were supposed to handle this. Drew seemed perfectly polite at the chemistry read—cordial even—but one-on-one? Would he be the same, or was that all just an act for the directors?

Your mind raced through every worst-case scenario like a rapid-fire slideshow: what if your mind went blank, and you sat there fumbling for words like an awkward mess? What if you somehow got food stuck in your teeth, making a fool of yourself in front of him? Or worse yet, what if he wasn’t the nice guy he seemed to be? What if Drew, the rising star with all that charisma on-screen, turned out to be an arrogant asshole in real life?

The swirling thoughts made your stomach churn as you stood in the quiet of your kitchen, your fingers gripping the counter tighter. It felt like the universe was pulling you into something far beyond your control, leaving you standing on the edge of tomorrow, unprepared and vulnerable.

You gulped down the remainder of your wine, feeling its chill cascade down your throat, sending a fleeting shiver through your chest. The slight buzz gave you a brief surge of energy, enough to momentarily push aside the weight of tomorrow’s uncertainty. In that brief spark of clarity, an idea—unusual but oddly practical—struck you.

Without hesitation, you darted over to the couch, grabbed your laptop, and flipped it open with renewed purpose. The glow of the screen illuminated your face as you typed in the familiar search bar. But your focus wavered for a moment as the homepage tempted you with random recommendations—cooking tutorials, music videos, travel vlogs—each one a distraction you almost fell for.

You shook your head, quickly typing in the search: Drew Starkey.

As soon as you hit enter, the screen flooded with clips of interviews, behind-the-scenes footage, and fan-made compilations of your soon-to-be co-star.. You clicked on the first interview, your heart picking up pace as his face appeared on screen. There he was—laughing, smiling, completely at ease in front of the camera. His presence was magnetic, the same kind of charm you witnessed during the chemistry read, but now you were analyzing him in a different light. You weren’t watching an actor—no, you were trying to get to know the man behind the character.

Each video you watched painted a picture of Drew’s personality, his mannerisms, the way he laughed mid-sentence, his casual but thoughtful way of answering questions. It was easy to see why he’d become such a rising star. He had that effortless charisma that made him seem approachable yet untouchable all at once.

As you watched one of his MTV interviews, something about a particular one shifted your perspective. Drew was talking about his methods for diving into a character—how he found little pieces of himself in each role and let that guide his performance. But it wasn’t just the professional insight that caught your attention; it was the casual, almost vulnerable tone of his voice as he spoke about his life beyond acting.

He talked about college, how he had balanced classes and part-time jobs, how uncertain he’d felt back then—just like anyone else trying to figure out their future. He laughed about the odd jobs he worked before landing his first big role, like waiting tables and doing temp work. It was such a stark contrast to the larger-than-life persona the media often painted around actors. In that moment, Drew wasn’t just the rising star you'd auditioned with; he was a regular guy who had worked hard to get where he was.

Suddenly, the looming anxiety of tomorrow’s lunch didn’t seem as unbearable. If anything, the idea of talking to him felt almost comforting. You realized he was probably more grounded than you gave him credit for—despite the fame, despite the rising spotlight. It was refreshing, and it put a part of your mind at ease. You’d been so caught up in the idea of him as a powerful actor, you hadn’t considered that, like you, he might just be navigating this career with a sense of uncertainty, too.

You closed the laptop and leaned back, exhaling a long breath. Maybe tomorrow would be more casual than you imagined—just two people talking, finding their rhythm, building that off-screen chemistry in the same way you had in front of the directors. For the first time, the thought of sitting across from Drew didn’t feel like a storm waiting to hit. Instead, it felt manageable. And maybe, just maybe, it would even be enjoyable.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

“Seriously, Kendra, what should I wear?” you huffed, your phone perched precariously on the edge of your bed as you sifted through the chaos of your closet. Fabrics of every texture spilled over your arms as you frantically flipped through hangers, eyeing each piece with increasing frustration. Nothing felt right. You didn’t want to come off like you’d tried too hard, but showing up looking too casual to lunch with Drew Starkey didn’t feel right either.

“It’s just lunch, Y/N,” Kendra's voice came through the phone, nonchalant and steady as usual. “Just dress like you normally would. No need to overthink it.”

You paused, clutching an emerald green blouse in one hand, a simple beige sundress in the other. “But what if I show up looking like a total slob, or worse, like I’m trying too hard? I don’t want him to think I’m one of those actors.”

Kendra sighed on the other end, and you could practically see her lighting another cigarette in her usual blasé way. “Look, you already met him. He’s seen you act. It’s not a pageant, it’s lunch. Just wear something you feel comfortable in and go be yourself. You’ve already impressed him—trust me, your wardrobe is the least of anyone’s concerns.”

She made it sound so simple, but the weight of it all still sat heavy on your chest. You weren’t just meeting up with Drew Starkey; you were being thrown into this situation with someone whose presence alone had enough gravity to throw you off balance. Even though he’d been polite, kind, even reassuring at the chemistry read, today felt different. More personal, more exposed. What if you said the wrong thing? Or worse, what if there was nothing to say at all?

Your eyes landed on the black sundress, a light fabric that flowed in all the right ways—comfortable, but still enough to make you feel put-together. You plucked it off the hanger and held it up in front of the mirror, examining its soft, understated elegance.

“Okay, okay, I think I found something,” you said, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “A sundress. It’s casual, right?”

“Perfect,” Kendra replied, almost as if she wasn’t really paying attention. “Remember, Y/N, this is supposed to be easy. You’re overthinking it. Just go, have lunch, talk. You’ve got nothing to prove to him—you’re already Maisy.”

You nodded at her words, trying to absorb her confidence. “Yeah, I know… You’re right. I’ll text you after, okay?”

“Good luck, kid. Don’t sweat it.”

The call ended, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The room suddenly felt too quiet, and you found yourself staring at the sundress again, smoothing out the wrinkles. Kendra was right—this wasn’t an audition, not anymore. It was just lunch. But the thought of being alone with Drew Starkey for more than five minutes made your stomach flutter with anticipation.

It was already 1:30 before you knew it, and the driver was waiting outside your apartment complex just as Kendra had promised. You stood in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection, the black sundress clinging to your figure in a way that made you feel both presentable and oddly exposed. The sun streamed in through the windows, casting golden streaks across the floor, but all you could feel was the thrum of nervous energy buzzing through your veins.

You took a deep breath, throwing your bag over your shoulder as you prepared to step out the door. But just as your hand touched the doorknob, an impulse hit you, a wild flicker of hesitation. One more thing, you thought, as if something—anything—could make the looming lunch with Drew feel more manageable.

Without a second thought, you turned back and hurried over to the fridge. The cold hum of the appliance felt almost calming as you pulled out a bottle of liquor, the glass cool beneath your fingers. You reached for the shot glass on the counter, the one you hadn’t touched in weeks, and quickly poured yourself a small measure of liquid courage.

With a swift motion you knocked back the shot. The bitter burn hit your throat like fire, and you winced as it traveled down your chest, leaving a searing heat in its wake. The burn did nothing to dull the nervous energy that coiled in your stomach, but it brought with it a flash of warmth—maybe just enough to get you out the door.

You set the glass down with a clink, exhaling sharply. Okay. Just get this over with.

The city noise hummed in the background as you locked the door behind you, your heels clicking softly against the floor as you descended the stairs. By the time you stepped outside, the black SUV was already waiting, sleek and ominous, like a portal to the unknown. The driver glanced up at you from his phone, offering a quick nod as you approached.

This was it. You were about to spend the next hour or so sitting across from Drew Starkey, face to face, with no script to guide you. Just conversation—easy, simple conversation. You repeated the words like a mantra in your mind as the driver opened the door for you, and you slid into the backseat.

The drive to the coffee shop felt like a blur, as though time had folded in on itself. Twenty minutes passed in what felt like mere moments, your mind a carousel of spiraling thoughts. Each new scenario played out in flashes—awkward silences, fumbling over your words, or worse, making a terrible first impression. You barely noticed the city streets, the buildings slipping by as your pulse quickened.

Before you knew it, the car slowed to a stop. You glanced out the window and felt a jolt in your chest—the café stood before you, quaint and modern with wide, floor-to-ceiling windows that seemed to strip away all your defenses. You could already imagine Drew inside, perhaps sipping on his coffee, glancing up to see you through the glass. The thought made your stomach flip.

Your driver stepped out and came around to open the door for you, his gentle nod barely registering as you mumbled a quiet "thank you" and handed him a tip. As your feet touched the ground, the sunlight was warmer than you'd anticipated, but it did nothing to chase away the cold wave of anxiety coursing through your veins.

You stood there for a moment, frozen in place as you stared at the entrance of the shop. The cheerful chatter and soft clinking of cups inside only heightened your nerves. You could feel your heart beating harder, faster, each step toward the door a battle against your own hesitation.

He’s just a person, you reminded yourself, trying to quell the panic rising in your throat. But it didn’t feel that simple. Drew Starkey, with his effortless charm and natural presence, was far from just a person in your eyes. This wasn’t a screen test or a scripted scene; this was real, and the vulnerability of it all felt like stepping into a spotlight with no lines to recite.

Taking a deep breath, you smoothed down the front of your dress, squaring your shoulders as you approached the door. The reflection in the glass showed a version of yourself that seemed far more composed than you felt inside.

The moment you stepped through the door, it hit you—a wave of vulnerability like never before. The cozy warmth of the café felt stifling, too intimate, too exposing. Every eye seemed like it could be on you, but none more so than the one pair you hadn’t yet found. Your heart thudded in your chest, your breath quickened as your gaze darted around the room, desperate for a familiar face.

Heat flooded your cheeks, and you prayed Drew hadn’t noticed your awkward search. You fidgeted with your purse, shifting it from one shoulder to the other in a vain attempt to appear more casual, less like a deer caught in headlights. Your arms instinctively crossed in front of you, a small shield against the sudden discomfort that surged through your veins.

Your eyes swept over the café, landing on tables filled with groups of friends, couples huddled in cozy corners, and lone patrons with their noses in books or laptops. And then—thank God—there he was. A tall figure with broad shoulders, his back to the door, sitting by the window.

Drew.

Relief rushed through you, as if finding him tethered you back to reality. He was alone, his posture relaxed, almost casual, as if this was just another day for him. You took a slow breath, allowing yourself a second to gather what remained of your composure. The butterflies in your stomach still fluttered, but at least now you had a destination, a focus that made the swirling anxieties just a little more bearable.

With as much confidence as you could muster, you made your way toward him, every step feeling like it stretched on forever.

"Hi," you greeted softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you approached the table. You pulled out the chair opposite him, your nerves fluttering beneath your skin. "Thanks for taking the time to do this. I know you're probably super busy." The words left your lips with a quiet, breathy chuckle, an attempt to mask the awkwardness that clung to you like a shadow.

Drew looked up from his coffee, his eyes warm and inviting, as if to assure you that there was no need for nerves. A soft smile tugged at his lips, and he shook his head. "Actually, I have this week off before we start filming season 4," he explained with an easy laugh, his thumbs tracing the rim of his cup absentmindedly. "I needed to get out of the house anyway."

You laughed softly at his comment, reaching for one of the menus to give yourself a brief moment of reprieve from his gaze. Drew straightened in his chair, the subtle movement drawing your attention just before he cleared his throat.

“So, how did you get into acting?” His question was direct, almost startlingly so, his eyes fixed on you in a way that made you feel suddenly seen—too seen. You weren’t used to such earnestness from someone you'd only just met, but in a way, it was a relief. At least he wasn’t skirting around small talk.

You shifted in your seat, caught off guard by his boldness, but grateful all the same. "Uh, well..." You started, your fingers tightening around the menu. "I was in college for a while, studying psychology, but..." You hesitated, glancing down as if the table could offer some solace. Opening up so quickly wasn’t something you were accustomed to, especially with someone like him. Still, there was something disarming in the way he listened, waiting for you to continue.

"It didn’t feel right," you confessed quietly, your voice softening. "I always had this dream of becoming an actress, ever since I was a kid. So, eventually, I just... dropped out and moved to L.A." You let the words hang there, reluctant but honest. You weren’t sure why you felt the need to lay your cards on the table like this, but it seemed to happen naturally with him in that moment.

Drew’s gaze never wavered from you, his attention unwavering in a way that both flattered and unnerved you. You weren’t used to being the center of someone’s focus like this, especially not someone with his kind of presence. But his expression was kind, reassuring even, and you found some comfort in that.

“There’s no shame in that,” he said with a gentle shrug, his voice warm and understanding. “I took acting in college, but if I had done anything else, I probably would’ve left, too.”

His words brought a flicker of relief to your chest, causing you to sit up a bit straighter. You tilted your head slightly, your eyes tracing over his face, searching for any trace of insincerity but finding none.

“Really?” you asked, a light chuckle escaping your lips. “I don’t think my school even offered that.” You tugged at your bottom lip for a moment, a nervous habit you hadn’t realized you were doing until now. “Besides, I couldn’t have done that anyway. I only went to school because my parents wanted me to. I was basically just trying to make them proud.”

Your confession came out more candidly than you intended, but in the quiet of the café and under Drew’s steady gaze, it felt natural to share. For a moment, you expected him to change the subject, to keep things surface-level, but instead, he continued to pry.

"How did they feel when you came to L.A. to act?"

Your eyes widened slightly at his question, taken aback by his curiosity. It was such a personal, almost mundane topic, yet he was genuinely interested. "They were… wary about it," you replied, your gaze drifting down to the table as you absently picked at your nails. "But they told me they’d support whatever I wanted to do. Though, I’m pretty sure they thought I wouldn’t make it very far, deep down."

You laughed softly, the sound half-hearted, as if trying to ease the seriousness of your own words. You didn’t want to come off as too open or vulnerable so soon, but there was something about his attention that made it difficult to hold back.

Drew didn’t look away. His focus on you never wavered, the intensity of his gaze somehow soft yet unrelenting, making you feel both exposed and heard.

"That’s tough," he murmured, his voice low and reflective. "It’s hard enough chasing something you love, but doing it without knowing if the people who matter most really believe in you… that’s even harder."

His words surprised you. Most people would brush off a confession like that or try to lighten the mood, but Drew leaned in, showing a depth of understanding that made you pause. You glanced back up at him, searching his expression. He wasn’t offering empty sympathy. It was like he genuinely got it.

“Yeah,” you responded quietly, nodding in agreement, “I guess I’ve always had that in the back of my mind, like this little voice telling me I need to prove something.” You hesitated, wondering if you should go deeper, but there was something safe in the atmosphere between you two. “I think that’s why landing this role means so much. It’s not just for me—it’s to show them I wasn’t wrong for following my gut.”

A silence settled between you both after that, but it wasn’t awkward. It felt purposeful, like both of you were letting the weight of your words sink in.

Drew gave a small smile, one that seemed to reach his eyes, softening the intensity of his stare. "Well, I think you’ve already proven that. You nailed the audition, and now here we are. You’re here for a reason."

For a moment, the two of you sat there, enduring a silence that wasn’t awkward, but the tension felt almost suffocating. Drew's gaze lingered on you, so intense that it felt like it was burning through you. Heat rose to your cheeks as his blue eyes seemed to analyze every inch of your face. You wondered if he was searching for flaws, or maybe even finding them. You felt small under his stare, like you wanted to say something to break the tension, but the words wouldn’t come. You were simply speechless under his trance.

"Have you ever taken a role like this?" Drew suddenly asked, breaking the silence as he took a sip of his coffee.

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by the question. "What do you mean?"

"Like playing a love interest," he clarified, his voice calm, almost too casual for the depth of his question. "Have you done that before?"

Your brows furrowed slightly as you processed his words, feeling the weight of them sink in. "No, not really," you replied slowly, your voice quiet but steady. "I’ve done smaller roles, but nothing like this. It’s… new for me."

Drew’s eyes softened, his expression shifting from curiosity to understanding. He nodded as if he expected that answer, but the way he watched you made it clear he wasn’t just asking about acting. There was something deeper to the question, a vulnerability you couldn’t quite place.

"That’s interesting," he said, leaning back in his chair, his gaze never leaving you. "Because it doesn’t seem like it. You handle it like a natural."

His words caught you off guard, the compliment landing heavier than you anticipated. For a second, you weren’t sure if he was still talking about the role or about something else entirely. The air between you thickened again, the tension suffocating, though not entirely uncomfortable. It was the kind of tension that made your heart race, the kind that left you wondering where the line between professional and personal blurred.

"Thanks," you murmured, trying to shake off the growing heat in your chest. You didn’t trust yourself to say more. You could still feel his eyes on you, studying your reaction, and it made your pulse quicken.

“It can be intimidating at first,” he admitted, his tone reassuring as he leaned slightly forward, elbows resting on the table. There was a sincerity in his voice that made you feel at ease, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. “But I’ll make sure you’re always comfortable. They can write some pretty crazy plot lines in there, so just let me know if you ever feel uncomfortable doing a scene. I’ll talk to Jonah if I have to.”

His words hit you suddenly, unexpected in their warmth and assertiveness. You paused, lips pursed in contemplation, trying to grasp the significance of his commitment to protect you from any overwhelming scenes. The air between you seemed to thicken with unspoken understanding as you wondered if this was the kind of guy he was towards everyone—protective and kind—or if this consideration was reserved solely for you, his co-star.

Regardless of the reason, you felt flattered, a soft blush creeping to your cheeks as a sense of security enveloped you, wrapping around you like a soft blanket. His presence across the table offered a calming reassurance that you hadn’t anticipated.

“Oh, well thank you,” you finally replied, sincerity coloring your voice. “Nobody has ever done that for me.”

There was a moment of silence, and in it, you could see a flicker of understanding pass between you—a shared acknowledgment of what was ahead. His blue eyes held yours with an intensity that made your heart race, as if he was searching for something deeper within you.

“It’s important,” he said softly, his tone earnest. “Acting can be raw and vulnerable. It’s easy to get lost in it all, especially when the emotions run high. I just want to make sure you feel safe.”

You nodded, a swirl of emotions churning within you as you searched for the right words. The moment felt fragile, hanging delicately in the air between you, and you didn’t want to shatter it with any misstep. Yet, the intensity of his demeanor made you feel small and nervous, as if the weight of his gaze was both exhilarating and suffocating.

Breathless, you sat across from him, the man who was still practically a stranger, yet in this moment, it felt as if you had known him for years. There was a strange familiarity in the way he looked at you, a connection that ran deeper than surface-level pleasantries.

“Thank you, Drew,” you finally managed to say, your voice softer than you intended, tinged with sincerity.

His smile widened, a warm and genuine expression that sent a flutter through your chest. “Of course. I’d be happy to do that for you,” he admitted, softly biting down on his bottom lip as his eyes flickered between yours and your lips, as if caught in a moment of contemplation. It was a fleeting look, but it made your heart race, igniting a mix of anticipation and curiosity within you.

“And I’m sure the rest of the cast will do the same. They’re great to work with,” he added, taking it upon himself to shift the mood, straightening his posture as if shedding the weight of the moment. You couldn’t help but feel a tinge of disappointment at the change in direction, yet a part of you understood the necessity of pacing yourself. Maybe diving too deep too soon was better left for later.

“Yeah, I’ve heard great things about them. I’m excited to meet them next,” you replied, attempting to mask your intrigue with enthusiasm.

Drew nodded, his expression brightening as he spoke about the cast. “You’ll love them. We all hang out outside of filming too. It’s like a little family, you know? Makes the long hours much more bearable.”

You giggled slightly at his comment, a lightness in your chest blooming as you absorbed the warmth of his enthusiasm. “Well, I’m honored to now be a part of it,” you joked back, a playful lilt in your voice.

Drew’s eyes sparkled at your smile, the corners of his lips curving upward in a genuine grin that seemed to radiate joy. It was as if your lightheartedness sparked something within him, and for a brief moment, the café around you faded into a backdrop.

“I think you’ll fit right in,” he replied, his tone sincere and warm, and you could sense the unspoken camaraderie beginning to take root between you. It felt refreshing, as if he was offering a piece of reassurance that made going ahead seem a little less daunting.

You felt a surge of confidence at the playfulness in his tone, fueling the conversation further. “And what makes you so sure of that?” you teased, a hint of mischief in your voice, as if daring him to justify his statement.

Drew’s tongue grazed across his teeth as he pondered your question, his blue eyes narrowing slightly in thought. The pause between you was brief, yet charged with a subtle tension, the kind that comes when two people are testing the boundaries of familiarity. His gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, you felt as though he could see right through you.

“You just seem like a likable person,” he replied, his voice soft yet confident, the corners of his mouth lifting in a sly smile. His tone was earnest, but there was something about the way he said it that made your pulse quicken—like he knew more than he was letting on, like he could already sense there was more to you than what lay on the surface.

You couldn’t help but smirk, leaning slightly forward as if to match his energy. “Is that your professional actor assessment?” you quipped, raising a brow, trying to mask the flutter in your chest with humor.

His grin widened as if your playful retort amused him. “Maybe,” he shrugged, leaning back in his chair, completely relaxed yet fully engaged. “Or maybe I’m just good at reading people.” His eyes glimmered with something more—an invitation, perhaps, to challenge him further.

Your heart raced slightly as you matched his stare, the game between you intensifying without either of you needing to acknowledge it. You felt emboldened by the easy rapport, as though you could push the conversation anywhere, and it would still feel natural, still flow effortlessly. There was something refreshing about it, and it left you wanting to keep the banter going just a little longer.

“Well, you could be wrong, you know,” you shot back, your voice lilting with amusement. “I could be the least likable person you’ve ever met, and you wouldn’t even know it yet.”

Drew chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Somehow, I seriously doubt that,” he said, his tone low and smooth, leaving just enough mystery in his words to keep you guessing.

“I guess we’ll have to see,” you shrugged nonchalantly, playing into the lighthearted banter. Drew’s eyes sparkled with amusement, as if your coy responses were entertaining him in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Despite the casual nature of the conversation, there was something in the air between you that made it feel deeper, more charged.

He leaned in slightly over the table, his body angled toward you, his presence suddenly filling the small space between you. “You know,” he began, his tone shifting to something a little more serious, yet still playful, “if we’re going to be working so closely together, why don’t we start hanging out more? It’ll make everything on-screen more believable.”

His suggestion hung in the air, sending your mind reeling. Your initial instinct was to question it—was this about the job or something more? His words seemed casual, but the way he looked at you now, with a sincerity that felt more personal than professional, told you there might be another layer to his offer.

You tilted your head slightly, trying to read him, your lips curling into a small smile. “You think so?” you asked, your voice soft but teasing, leaning just enough into the moment to keep things light, while still acknowledging the subtle tension between you.

Drew’s gaze didn’t falter. “Yeah,” he nodded, his smile widening. “The better we know each other, the easier it’ll be to build that connection on-screen.” He paused for a second, watching your reaction, and then added with a smirk, “Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to get to know you a little better off-screen too.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile back, trying to keep your cool. You glanced down at your hands for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “I guess that makes sense,” you replied, your voice light and playful, though you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

The suggestion seemed innocent enough on the surface, but the underlying implications—the chance to spend more time together, to see if this chemistry extended beyond the lines you’d be reading—made your pulse race just a little faster.

“Alright,” you said, leaning back in your chair with a shrug, pretending to be more nonchalant than you felt. “Let’s give it a try. See if we can make this whole thing more believable.”

Drew smiled in agreement, his eyes lighting up with a warmth that seemed to settle the tension between you. He opened his mouth, about to say something more, but was interrupted by the soft buzz of his phone lighting up with a text. He glanced down at it briefly before shifting his attention back to you, his smile still faint but genuine.

“It’s been nice getting to know you a little more. I really enjoyed this,” he admitted, his voice sincere. You noticed his gaze flicker toward the window, as though he was checking for something or someone, before returning to you. “Why don’t I give you my number so we can plan something soon?”

Your heart skipped at the casual offer, but you maintained your composure, feeling the air between you both shift into something more comfortable, yet still charged with potential. “Yeah, that sounds good,” you replied with a small smile, trying to keep things light despite the slight flutter in your chest.

Drew pulled out his phone, tapping on the screen before handing it over to you. You quickly typed in your number, handing it back to him, your fingers brushing briefly as you exchanged devices.

“Great,” he said, locking the phone and slipping it back into his pocket, his smile widening. “I’ll text you later, and we can figure something out. Maybe something less... formal,” he added with a playful wink, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Sounds like a plan.”

"I'll see you later, Y/N." Drew’s voice was soft, still carrying that same warmth and kindness that had made you feel so at ease throughout the afternoon. He offered you one last smile before gathering his belongings and heading toward the door.

You watched him as he stepped outside, the sunlight casting a soft glow on him as he made his way to the black SUV parked out front. There was something effortlessly graceful about the way he moved, the casualness of it, yet it left you with a feeling of weightlessness. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered as you saw him disappear into the car, the sound of the engine starting up almost muted by the rush of your thoughts.

The café around you sounded with the usual hum of life, but your mind was far from the present moment. Instead, it replayed every detail of the past hour—the way he had smiled at you, the easy flow of conversation, the unspoken connection that had blossomed between the two of you. You could still feel the warmth of his gaze, the way it made you feel seen in a way that felt both exhilarating and unsettling.

As you sat there, a small smile crept onto your lips. The butterflies in your chest wouldn’t settle, and you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted them to. Something about today had changed things, and as you grabbed your bag and stood up to leave, you realized the anticipation for whatever came next was already beginning to build.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

taglist: @romantic-punch, @cl4uus, @clearpoetryobservation-blog, @willowpains, @simp4f1, @kaiparkerwifes, @cali-888, @allthoughtsmindfull, @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey #obx #outer banks #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x you #drew starkey imagine #drew #drew starkey x y/n #obx 4 #drew starkey x actress!reader #actress!reader #drew starkey x female reader

307 notes · View notes

threepandas · 4 months ago

Text

Bad End: Eve

You know how most Otome games are vaguely historical? Usually some non-specific mishmash of European countries? But fluffier and with more bows? It had once "gotten" to me, I think. I remember looking for outliers. Non-joke ones. Something that wasn't just "but this time with hats!"

I found one.

And now? Now I'm not sure if I curse that day or thank whatever force of nature lead me there. I guess... I guess it depends. Would I still have ended up HERE? If I had not found it? If so, then I genuinely and actually fucking rue it. Like... like actual "you'll rue the day! Bwahaha!" Type rue it. That's me. Ruing.

But? If it was always going to happen?

Then I guess...

I guess I'm weirdly glad. Because at least I have some fucking idea of what's going ON. Terrible, as it all is. Fucked, as the situation is. At least I'm not... not confused. Blind and at the mercy of those around me. Ignorance truely isn't bliss. All it does is leave you to try an fill in the blanks yourself. Usually with something far worse.

Not that the situation could GET much worse, by much.

I was in an Otome game. NOT a flower, high society, and dragons kind either. No. I? Was in a Dark Sci-Fi otome game. "Fate of man" was thrown around a lot. Power of luuuuv~ and such. Also, you know, HORRIFIC ethical violations. Human experimentation. Cataclysmic events and humanity "starting over".

All the high drama sci-fi concepts you could expect. It was a romp. Had good art. I'd had fun! Which is why I remember it so clearly.

Less fun when you're IN IT.

When you AREN'T one of the characters you KNOW will survive.

In fact, are one of the characters you know WON'T fucking survive. And will probably die MESSY. Horribly. Cause see, our BELOVED Harem collecting Protagonist? She? Was AN Eve. "AN".

Take a wild fucking guess what THAT project is about.

Did you say "breeding a better race of humans"? Ding ding ding! With humanity currently fucked, they want to FIX the problem by FIXING humanity. And of course, fuck ethics! Volunteers? Why use those?! Let's horrifically mad scientist our way to atrocity-ville! Make it all the more "God rightfully punishing us for our unforgivable sins" when we get wiped out!

Fffffffuck YOU, plot! I have to live here too!

You may, in fact, be picking up a slight note of stir crazy. A "wow, this lady rambles like a mother fucker" vibe. You would TOO, if you were stuck in a FUCKING TUBE. All I can do, day in and day out? Is wake, think, observe, then go right back to sleep. I can't even eat! I got a TUBE for that!

I... I miss showers.

Everything is GOO.

I'm an Eve. And if it weren't for the air tube controlng my breathing? I'd laughing hysterically until I died. And no, not in the "oh how funny" way. God. Oh... oh god. What a way to die. NONE of the Eves survive "the program".

Those IDIOTS are so OBSESSED with making bigger and bigger, better and better, FUCKING JUGGERNAUTS? That the Adams? Have long since reached the point of "mindless killing machine". UNSTABLE is putting it lightly. There is sexual dimorphism and then there's literal incompatibility.

But GOD FORBID the scientists admit that THEY are the ones with the inferior product.

It... it was even part of the game's plot. The scientist who made "Eve" HID her while HE made an Adam. I do not have that luxury. Somewhere, there is an unstable BESERKER being told I'm his "wife". That we're going to be HAPPY together. That he'll get to put his bruising, blood soaked hands anywhere he WANTS... just after he WINS me from the other Adam's.

Got to prove HE'S the best specimen, after all.

It makes my skin crawl. All I can hope, is that I can either provoke the bastard enough to kill me before they have a chance to stop him, or? I use my own enhanced strength to snap my neck. Maybe bite my tounge. Like HELL am I letting an Adam get near me.

The hiss of laboratory doors.

"Perfection at last..." Comes a relieved sigh. "All those HIDEOUS specimens. Why they make me suffer them, I'll never understand. We should have terminated them months ago. My poor project, they really think they're WORTHY of you..."

There's a derisive laugh. The scientist strolling into the lab I've been developing in, familiar. I watch him casually shrug off his lab coat and dump is bag. Hang his coat over the back of his chair. Turn, as he does each day, to STARE up at me. His eyes are a pale, pale purple the likes of which I've never seen before.

They're HAUNTING.

There is almost a red tint to them, though maybe that's the lights. The goo. I can never tell. He always looks ENTRANCED by me. Floating, visored, connected to far too many tubes an' wires. I'd think it was the fact that I was naked if it weren't for the way his gaze doesn't seem to drift lower then my shoulders. Seems more entranced by the way my hair moves, as though under water.

I've never once heard him talk about me lustfully.

But that doesn't mean he doesn't SCARE me.

"Let's begin, shall we? Time for your daily doses, mmm?" He says, voice dangerously affectionate. As though i had CHOSEN to do this to myself. As though he were merely reminding me of my morning medicine and not the hell ahout to come. "Going to be good for me? I know you shall, you always are."

He turned back to his desk, his computer. A few keystrokes... and I could feel the pod above me begin to hum, as it awoke. Oh god. Oh god it never got easier. From the corner of my eyes, bright chemicals slide down thind lines and into my veins. Like lines of lava. Bolts of electricity and pain. It was... AGONY.

My muscles seized. Brain screeched, first to the screaming I wish I could make... then static. With the long practice of daily pain, it took me far away. The click, click, click of keys. The sound of his voice, so terribly PLEASED, as I hung there and just TOOK it. No restraints, no strugging, no damaging myself. Just unbearable fire in my veins and a brain far, far away.

"Good girl~"

Distantly a phone rang. He made an annoyed sound, but picked up regardless.

"What. I'm in the middle of- ...Excuse me? I'm quite sure I did not hear you correctly. I said 'NO'. She's not-....I will NOT BE-...What. Are you out of your god damned MIND? That pile of scraps you call a project is coming NOWHERE near my-! ....you think you're clever, don't you?"

"Fine. You want to TALK? Let's TALK, Anderson. I'll be there in five."

From far away, past the pain, I watched him chance down at something at the screen. Back up to me. He hung up the phone but did not pause the program. Instead, calmly rising from his desk. Shrugging on his lab coat. Rounding the desk and striding towards my bio-tube.

"Hmmm, honestly, it should have been spaced out over a few more days... but you can take it. Endure a bit longer for me, would you, darling? Daddy's going to go deal with something for just a moment, he'll be right back, my perfect girl. Be good."

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to my tank. One hand splayed next to it like he badly wished he could touch. Could stroke skin. Hold his creation close. It was not the first time he had done this. Small, covetous, little actions like he wanted to crawl inside my skin and STAY there. Like he cursed the glass that separated us.

He pulled back. Shifted to the side and kneeled. He... had hidden something behind my bio-pod? When? Apparently before I had become aware. Because I had not known about it. A black shoe box. I watched him open i-GUN. Thaaaat was a gun! Fuck. Well at least? By the time anyone thinks to look in on me? The overdose will probably have killed me?

There is a cold, terrible smile on his face as he rolls to his face. Tucking the gun into an inner pocket. It has a silencer. He leans forward one last time. Lightly kissing the glass of my pod, as though heading off to work and not to very obviously kill somebody. The pain continues. Builds. I watch him leave.

With nothing to anchor myself on... time blurs.

I think? There are alarms? Red lights flash. Then they stop. There is shouting at one point. But then silence. An explosion? Or am I hallucinating? Pain. My nerves are on fire. I don't want to have SKIN. Please... please make it STOP! Calm foot steps? Come to kill me? Please come to kill me. Make it STOP.

The lights died a... time? Ago? Emergency lights on now. Generators in the room are loud. Why can I still hear the feet? Footses? Words. H..hurts. please.

Click.

The pain eases to a stop. Aching but nothing new. Over? Oh, thank god. I can sleep now, right? But... sound? New. At my feet. Gurgling. Wha-? The very top of my head feels cold. Then my forehead. Then my temple's and ears, cheeks, jaw... wait. Is? Is the tube...DRAINING? I open my eyes.

When did I close them?

He's back.

Standing right in front of the tube. Blood staining the hem of his coat, lingering marks of his massacre cleaned but not quite scrubbed from his body. There are little off red stains on his cheek, from what must be blood splatter. They look like tiny freckles.

I'm... I can't...

I reach as the tube down my throat is pulled almost carelessly away by the machine. Choke, suffocate, as the same is done for my air tube. But then it's done... and I can BREATHE under my own power. Gasp and splutter, as the goo sloshes around my knees. Then it's gone. And the tube I've been leaning my weight against is roughly pulled away.

I collapse forward, my muscles having never actually supported me in this life.

Arms catch me. Wrapping me in a possessive hug. A hand immediately burying itself in long uncut hair, even as the other wraps itself around my torso to lean me against his body in a cradle. My face is pressed to his neck by the hand in my hair, cradling my head and neck. I can feel breath against the goo wet crown of my head.

"Finally~" he breaths out, whispering it against me like a sigh. "My beautiful, perfect girl. My darling creation. It took so LONG. Those retrobates interfering at every turn, lusting after you like ANIMALS, trying to keep you from me. Then, worst of all, trying to toss you to some pack of savages? Oh, darling~ Daddy's been so worried for you."

"But we'll be okay now, won't we? I finally have you. All fresh and finally finished. My perfect Eve. You can pick any name you want, of course. You and I will be leaving this ugly little place. Daddy has PLANS. A fresh new world, just for you, sweetheart."

He laughed, his hug tightening in a way that would have left bruises had I been a normal human. Kisses were pressed to my temple. A cheek, rubbed against my hair. He seemed... seemed GIDDY with it. That nothing could stop him now. There was no glass in his way. I could not move yet. My muscles twitched when I tried, but that was it. I wasn't even sure I could talk yet, if I tried.

"Aaah~♡ Welcome to the World, Darling. My Perfection. My Eve. This time no snakes or Adams to tarnish you. To get in your way. Just you and your Father~"

"FOREVER~♡"

Next: ->

191 notes · View notes

morbethgames · 20 days ago

Text

Halloween Special, Current Projects, New Patreon Content

I am so sorry about the radio silence as of late. Between the stuff earlier this week (yes, that stuff), dealing with deaths of people, and university; I've been very busy and mentally drained. However, the good news is, you can play the mini game of The Bureau, "Witchy Woman" right now! The link is at the bottom of this post! Eventually I'll integrate it into the main game, or put it out as potential free DLC or something, but for now there are no stats and it's not tied to choices from the base game.

Tonight is a special case. The MCT has been called in as a favor after finishing up our most recent case. A friend of Kris's reached out, and the local P.D. has let the MCT take the lead on this one. A house party in the beginning of October up in Maine has turned sour. A party-goer has been reported deceased.

We just finished a job, but in this line of work, there's always another case to solve. So here I am, approaching the residence with my team, about to find out exactly what happened on this cold, damp night.

Because it's not part of a bigger game or story, and the only pacing I had to worry about was that of the investigation, this is much more freeflow than other investigations in the main story. Go back and forth between the crime scene, the perimeter of the house, interrogations, and more! The more you discover evidence, the more new options will unlock in conversations, and you have an evidence log in the stats section that updates every time you find out something relevant to the case.

I'm only promoting this now, even though it's been done for a couple of weeks, because it was part of a Jam and I didn't think it would be fair if I got votes from a community built over a few years when others in the Jam would not have had that same benefit. I wanted it to be an even playing field, even if it meant holding out for a bit. So, I apologize for making you all wait.

There are still things I'd like to do for this game, things I'll end up adding, but it is at the very least ready to play. It's 40k words, so have at it!

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

Right, next up, something I'd like to announce. I'm working on a serialized fiction that I'm (hopefully) planning to turn into a book. The first 3 chapters are going to be posted for free, both here on my blog and on my Patreon, though not quite yet. Chapters after that will be released on Patreon for the people who pay the $5 tier.

I'll be honest, it has been extremely cathartic to go from writing an IF where the chapters are all pretty much the length of a book themselves, to writing an actual book where a chapter is about 4k words. It's a very nice breath of fresh air, and it by no means, entails that I will stop working on Bureau. In fact, it may even help speed up rate of production, funnily enough. Having something to keep my mind turning while having writer's block about a scene in the IF will help me constantly generate ideas, and that's really nice to think about.

A small college town is rocked by a horrific murder. In wake of the events, a couple of friends begin investigating this personal tragedy, determined to get to the bottom of what happened at the Scribe City college. The lesson is quickly thrust upon them that loss leads to pain, but pain is temporary, and loss can be forever. So what comes after the pain? They need to explore that journey together, and in the process, navigate the complicated things feelings that have started to bloom.

The book (serialized fiction for now) , called Love In Stasis, is going to be a 'WLW romance small town college murder mystery'. You will explore the relationships that these characters have and continue to form, and just how messy things get when tragedy sparks love. I have almost 25k words done for it, about six and a half chapters, and I'm going to try to get 50k words done with it by the end of the month. A writing challenge that's totally not tied to the name of any organizations.

If this works out, I could reward patrons with static fiction while not having to worry about providing everyone with constant things tied to the IF itself, and I could work on The Bureau at a pace I'm very comfortable with.

I'm still learning as a writer. I'm still learning new things I like, and how I like to produce content. All I know is that I like producing art in the form of writing, and I most certainly will not stop doing that anytime soon, and now that the Halloween Special is done, I will be getting back to the base game.

Which will start with a complete recoding of the gender variables. I've already started on that process, so no more multiple versions of each chapter. One version. One set of gender variables. Much more condensed coding and script. So, people out there who said that wasn't going to change, I just have to say what I'd said all along. My coding was indeed bad. However I will also say something else I've said all along. I do take criticism.

That being said I'm never using multi-replace and you can't make me. I like being able to read what I'm writing.

More to come in the near future.

Stay Brilliant,

-Vi

https://cogdemos.ink/play/viisbae/the-bureau-halloween-special-witchy-woman

Patreon Link

64 notes · View notes

traegorn · 25 days ago

Note

So when I do finish this book I am writing (speaking it into existence bc adhd is a BITCH) Like what's your experience with publishing? How much does it usually cost? What kinda income does one get? I don't really care about making money but it would be super neat to make something since I cannot work. How do taxes work on that also? Google is confusing me

So far i have an idea and half a first chapter with thrilling notes such as " add a cat" and "insert spell here"

So I self publish, so that's the world I know. If you want to find a traditional publisher, you'll need to query agents and do a bunch of other stuff. My only advice for traditional publishing is that when going that route, money should always flow towards the author. If they're asking you to pay for something, they aren't a traditional publisher and there's a good chance it's a grift.

So let's talk about what I do know.

(And this turned out to be long as hell, so I'm putting in a "keep reading")

When you self publish, you are effectively acting as the publisher. If you want someone to do edits? You'll have to hire an editor. If you want someone to do the book layouts? You'll have to hire someone to do it if you can't do it yourself. You need a cover? You get the idea.

Now I don't pay an editor, so I can't really give you a price range on how much they cost off the top of my head. I do know they can get expensive though.

I also do all my own interiors, but I have a graphic design background and have been doing print layouts for decades. If you want to hire someone to do the interiors, that can run you $100-500, so I recommend just... learning to do it yourself.

Frankly, it's not terribly hard. I do mine in Apple Pages on my Mac for my paperbacks and Amazon has a free program for formatting eBooks (which you can export both as the Kindle format OR the more universal ePub format). With your print version, you just want to make sure you get your margins right, along with using a standard font like Times New Roman.

Like, literally just pick up a book and study the layout. Look at the front matter (copyright page, title page, etc) of a handful of books and mimic what you find there. I don't know why so many self published authors get that bit wrong. It's a book. Format it like a book.

Now the cover... this is where you'll probably end up spending something. I do my own covers for my comics, but hire out for my novels because I can't do the kind of covers expected of my genre. And you do want to match your genre, because you want a potential reader to know what they're getting into. I've seen so many self published books with terrible covers and it drives me nuts.

Cover design can run you anywhere from $35-$400 depending on who you choose to contract, and this is where I recommend you spend your money. On the cheap end you have companies like GetCovers. Now they primarily do covers made from edited stock photos, and I've honestly been pretty satisfied with their work... but you have to hold their hand and be very clear with what you want.

GetCovers is a part of Mibl Group, and it's pretty much all of their most inexperienced employees. The whole point of it is to get them the experience to work on bigger projects down the road. They have cheaper packages, but for their best work you'll probably only spend like $35-$45. If you're working in a genre that mainly uses stock images, that's who you want.

I often end up retouching the covers they do though, because I'm impatient. Like there are edits to The Witch and the Rose and Shadowcasting I made after they handed me the completed files. You're going to have to be very specific with what you want. The first version of the Bloody Damn Rite cover they did... was awful. But they did the revisions I asked for, and the version they delivered in the end was great.

Now if you want, like, original art or just more complicated, custom stuff? You're looking at at least $250 on the cheap end, but sometimes you end up in the ballpark of $700-$1000. Like on their regular site (just to use the same company as GetCovers for comparison), the Mibl group charges like $300 for a more complicated stock photo based cover (that requires more complicated edits) and at least $700 for covers that require digital painting, 3d modeling, etc.

There are a wide range of prices depending on what you're asking for. But, y'know, you're paying that once for a commercial piece of graphic design.

I'm cheap and can do some of the work myself, so I go for the $35 cover. I also figure out what fonts they used for the covers, so I can go buy my own commercial license for them and replicate a similar logo on my title page. You don't need to do that bit, I'm just finicky.

Actually publishing the book is easy. You'll want to use a self publishing platform like Kindle Direct Publishing or IngramSpark (or, if you're like me, both). I sell KDP books on Amazon, but all other distribution is through IngramSpark. You make more money on Amazon by using KDP, but even though they offer distribution, no book store will ever order through them. So I turn that option off, and then I take the same book and I make it available through IngramSpark.

On amazon I make a little more than $2 on a $3 ebook, and about $4.00 on a $12.99 paperback. When a bookstore buys an IngramSpark version, I make about $2.50 on a $14.99 book (if you wondered by my books cost more when not buying it through Amazon... that's why). Now if you buy yourself author copies, they cost way less -- in the end I think I can get them for like $5 a book? So when I sell them in person, my margins are much higher.

But, y'know, you have to actually sell them.

Because that's the hard part. When self publishing, you only have you to market it. I don't know how many books I'd be selling if I didn't have a pre-existing audience -- and even then it's not a huge amount. I've sold about 200 books this year? Which isn't nothing, and I appreciate every single person who's purchased one of my titles, but it's obviously not enough to quit my day job for, y'know?

That said, I've known people who do sell enough to make a steady living. So it's possible for sure.

But it's not going to happen overnight, and it won't be easy.

As for taxes, you'll need a 1099 and do stuff with the Schedule C. I always forget exactly what until I'm actually doing them, but it's not super hard, just annoying.

#self publishing #writers on tumblr #author #booklr #books

63 notes · View notes

jennamoran · 4 months ago

Text

I am early in a read of Harman's Object-Oriented Ontology; so early in it, in fact, that I cannot say whether it is a book worth reading, or not.

But I was struck by a comment Harman makes on metaphor and feel the need to post a reply, even before knowing how he'll develop and defend it.

He talks about the metaphor "a cypress is like the ghost of a dead flame," and how the source he takes it from (José Ortega y Gasset) thinks of such metaphors as invertible---

That Ortega suggests that through such a metaphor we see a cypress as a flame, and vice versa.

Harman objects, on the grounds that the inverted metaphor, which he characterizes as "a flame is like the ghost of a dead cypress," forms an intrinsically different metaphor.

But this is wrong, because that's not the correct inversion of that metaphor. The correct inversion is closer to "there can be something in a flame that is like a cypress, enfleshed again into a second flesh, awakened to a second life."

I'm still poking at the first half of that inverted sentence, because it's necessary for correctness---to say that a cypress is like the ghost of a dead flame implicitly establishes something about some flames, but not every flame. The original metaphor imagines a flame for each cypress (or at least the typical cypress), that was its origin, but not a cypress for each flame. And there are more subtleties here.

But that's not the part that made me stop to write this!

The part I care about is that it's interesting to imagine flame as a cypress, enfleshed again, awakened to new life---whether literally, as when you burn a cypress; or metaphorically, in the suggestion that a fire recapitulates the nature of a cypress waving in the wind but in a more energetic, arguably higher-order form; or somewhere in between, when you imagine for narrative purposes that something in the burned lives onwards in the flame. That's an interesting metaphor; while "a flame is like the ghost of a dead cypress" is at best an entirely different concept and at worst a blatant error.

Like ... if you didn't know anything about cypresses. If you knew nothing about them at all ...

You would know more, after hearing that metaphor.

If you say that grass is like a small, straight tree, and you know grass, but have never seen or heard of a tree, you'll be able to project towards the idea of a tree as ... bigger than grass. Less straight. That doesn't tell you everything about trees, it tells you barely anything about them, but there is definitely informational content about trees there. And that informational content is definitely not "a tree is like a smaller, straighter bit of grass."

Anyway, for all I know, Harman addresses all this in the next page, but I had to stop and say.

114 notes · View notes

milaisreading · 1 year ago

Text

🌱🩷:Blue lock au where Y/n got invited to join the Blue Lock program as a player. She crossdresses as a boy and is friends with Reo and Nagi (they don't know she is a girl). I didn't change much abt Y/n's appearance, except that I made her around 5'10" tall and that she has a similar hairstyle to Chigiri's (the color is up to you, tho)

Warnings: None in particular. Reader uses she/her when narrating, otherwise the characters use he/him for Y/n. Requests are open for this AU.

⚽️Blue Lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura⚽️

'Blue Lock... so this will be my new escape...' (Y/n) gulped as she looked at the building in front of herself. She saw a lot of people, well known high school players enter the place, making her nervous over the whole idea. Sure, she was excited over finally leaving her home, her adoptive parents for a while, but she was just entering a bigger hell than she already left. Now, some might be confused what a girl was doing at Blue Lock? A project meant for the best football players in Japanese high schools. For male football players. Well, the question was pretty easy to answer, kinda. (Y/n) was adopted at a pretty young age into a somewhat well-off family, but the life she had wasn't the best. Her parents always wanted to have only boys, and while they had 2 biological sons, they didn't want to have a daughter.

'The only reason we adopted you was because I was indebted to your father.' She shuddered as she remembered her adopted father's words. (Y/n) knew they didn't want her, so she did her best to survive the household till she can be free. One of the ways was giving into her parents' demands on changing her personality and appearance to suit a stereotypical guy. (Y/n) didn't want that, at all, but for now she had to be someone she wasn't.

'At least they let me grow out my hair... and they allowed me to leave to this football camp.' She thought, touching a few strands of her (h/c) hair.

"Hey! Earth to (Y/n), are you alright?" She jumped, looking over at her teammates, Nagi and Reo. The two looked at her in worry for a moment, which caused her to smile and nod her head.

"I am fine! Don't worry... Just a little nervous." She thought as Reo grabbed her hand and pulled her into the building while Nagi followed after them.

"Don't be. All three of us are highly ranked football players, I am sure this thing will be a walk in the park for us." Reo laughed.

"Yeah, you worry too much." Nagi yawned as they got into the main hall where the other players were. (Y/n) recognized some from her previous matches, and some were unfamiliar.

'Oh... that Kira guy was invited here too? Figures, he was a good opponent back then...' She thought, recognizing the white haired boy. She then turned her attention to another guy standing next to Kira, they seemed pretty close.

'Who is he? I never saw him before...' (Y/n) thought while observing the blue-eyed boy.

'That sprout is cute tho.' She smiled, noticing the few strands of hair that were sticking out.

"Who are you looking at? Come on, we need to catch up to Reo." Nagi ground as he tugged on the pants of her uniform.

"H-huh? Nobody! Let's hurry up." She said, glancing a few more times at the unknown boy.

They soon reached Reo, only for him to scold the duo for getting lost.

"Congratulations, you unpolished lumps of talent." The trio froze for a moment and then looked at the stage, only to find a guy with bowl-cut black hair and glasses looking at all of them.

"Who is he?" (Y/n) muttered.

"Dunno." Nagi shrugged.

"What did he just call us?" Reo wondered.

"According to my personal judgment the 300 of you are the best strikers under 18. My name is Jinpachi Ego and I was hired to give Japan a World Cup victory." Everyone kept silent as (Y/n) stared at Ego in shock.

'World Cup victory? Japan can't qualify for semi-finals, what does he mean by victory?' She thought skeptically.

"I'll say this plainly. One thing is needed for Japanese soccer to become the best in the world: the birth of a revolutionary striker. From you 300 players gathered here today, I will forge the best striker in the world through a certain project."

Ego continued his speech, not giving anyone time to digest anything.

"What a bore." Nagi groaned, earning a kick to his leg by (Y/n).

"Shh." She warned, then looked back at Ego.

"All of them revolutionary strikers!! Their extraordinary egoism is the one thing Japan’s football lacks. You will not become the greatest strikers in the world, unless you have the ego to match. My purpose here, is to create such a player in Japan."

'Egoism? Shouldn't football be treated as a team sport? What good does it bring to act like that on the field?' (Y/n) raised her eyebrow, tuning out whatever Reo and Nagi were saying.

As Ego kept on talking, (Y/n) was getting lost in her thoughts.

'So we are basically training for our national team now... Getting out of one hellhole into another, but at least here... at least here I feel a little bit more like myself, as odd as it sounds. While I can't tell to anyone I am not a guy, at least I can play the sport that always saved me from going insane.' (Y/n) thought, looking back at the crowd as Ego finished his speech. (Y/n) listened as he talked about reaching the goal he set up for them, and if the players who were gathered had what it takes to become a striker. From the corner of her eyes, she saw the boy from before rush to a open door, and something struck her. She wasn't sure what it was, but something about him and the look he held in his eyes made her hypnotized, and she quickly ran after him.

'Who are you? And what's up with you?' She sprinted faster after him, ignoring Reo and Nagi's calls, both desperate to catch up with her.

"Huh? Thank you... so you said I am in Team X, Teieri-san?" (Y/n) asked the woman, who smiled and nodded her head.

"Yes, that's just down the corridor. I will keep your phone and other items safe while you are at our facility." (Y/n) thanked the woman and started walking down the hallway, looking at all the rooms in curiosity.

'Probably the storages...' She thought.

'This place is like a prison, but I can welcome it. I wonder how I will keep myself hidden now... now that I have to share a room and everything with some dudes.' She cringed and sighed, then slowly walked into Team X's room. Inside were, as expected a bunch of other guys, some changing, some just talking.

'Oh brother....' She thought, looking to the side.

"Ah? You are our other teammate?" A guy with brownish hair asked.

"Y-yes! (L/n) (Y/n) is my name." She said in a little bit deeper voice.

"(Y/n)? Isn't that a girl's name?" Another guy asked while walking up to the duo.

"My parents have a thing for feminine names." She answered with the same lie she's been using for years.

"Wait... (Y/n)... (L/n) (Y/n)? Hakuho's eagle?"

"What?" (Y/n) she raised her eyebrow as a blonde approached them.

"You are known as a beast with those precise shots. I should have expected someone like you being here."

"Ah... thanks." (Y/n) answered, unsure what was going on at this point. By now a group has been formed around her and the guys started asking her different questions, until someone cleared his throat.

"Can you donkeys shut up?"

(Y/n) tensed up and looked at a pair of red eyes staring directly at her.

'Ahhh!! Scary!' She thought.

"Sorry, Barou." A few sighed out as the boy and (Y/n) had a stare down.

"Barou... I know you. You are that guy from Akudo Academy. We played against you at the quarterfinals." (Y/n) recalled, remembering the sheer force he used back then.

"So what about it?" The boy asked, obviously annoyed that she brought that up. Some of the teammates backed away, scared of a possible infight.

"Nothing-"

"I see you unpolished lumps have all found your room." The group looked at the monitor, only to find Ego staring down at them.

"Good, now it's time for the first elimination round."

"What?" (Y/n) and Barou asked at the same time.

"Every team in our 5 buildings is playing a game of tag, in a football way. You will be given a football, the person you hit with it will be it, and will chase someone else." Ego started explaining as a football fell from the ceiling, landing between Barou and (Y/n). The duo glanced at the item and then at each other.

"You are given 2 minutes. The person who stays it when the time runs out, is eliminated from Blue Lock..." The room fell into a tense silence.

"And, subsequently they are losing the opportunity to ever play for Japan."

"Haaa?!" Barou and (Y/n) yelled in shock.

"That's rediculous, how is a game of tag going to help here?" Barou wondered.

"Especially if you only give us 2 minutes."

"2 minutes is the most a player spends in the possession of the ball during a game. Now hurry up. On your sleeves you will see your current rankings, the one with the lowest is the 1st it."

(Y/n) quickly went to look at hers and scanned the tag.

"Currently the highest ranked one here is (L/n) (Y/n), at 252."

"How does this ranking even work?" She wondered to herself as the screen flashed the name of the first it. She looked at the boy and felt a little sad, he looked pretty meek.

"Donkey." Barou started, hitting (Y/n)'s head.

"Ow! What? And did you just call me a donkey?" She asked in disbelief.

"Don't get too distracted, can't have you eliminated this soon." Barou warned, confusing the girl a little.

"What? Why would you care?"

"Because I still need to prove to you that I am far better than you are."

The girl sweatdropped as the siren signaled the start, causing everyone to disparage across the room. She watched as the boy nervously looked around before his eyes fell on her.

'Shit.' She thought, dodging the ball that came flying to her.

"Huh? Why aren't you kicking back? You are the higher rank here." Barou questioned, annoyed at her move.

"What? The goal here is not to be it!" She watched as the ball bounced off the wall and back to the boy, who seemed more and more determined to get her instead of someone else.

'I can't be eliminated.... I don't want to go back home...' (Y/n) thought, glaring back at him.

#bllk #blue lock anime #blue lock manga #blue lock x reader #isagi yoichi #bllk x reader #reo mikage #chigiri hyoma #blue lock nagi #bachira meguru #kunigami rensuke #itoshi rin #barou shouei #alternative universe #crossdressing #female reader

481 notes · View notes

copperbadge · 11 months ago

Note

Hey Sam, this came across my feed on twit and I wondered if you’d heard about it at all? :(

https://www.reddit.com/r/duolingo/comments/18sx06i/big_layoff_at_duolingo/

Direct link for the curious. Short version, a post on Reddit reported that Duolingo laid off a "large percentage" of its staff, replacing them with AI. I hadn't heard about it, but I knew there were reports about Duolingo trimming its offerings and losing a lot of goodwill after revamping itself a year ago; they've been public about their use of GPT-4 AI starting last March, and it was a tentpole of this year's annual convention, so I was aware of that as well.

The Reddit post is by a former Duolingo contractor, who also shares their severance letter, which is terse to say the least. They state that of their four-person team, two people were let go, with the others left to "babysit the AI". They say that they're a translator and that the people who remained were recast as "curators" for AI translation.

But the post is also not otherwise sourced. So here is everyone's periodic reminder that if the only source is Reddit and Reddit isn't citing other sources, you need to dig a little.

All journalistic sources I've seen (that aren't paywalled, like the Bloomberg article most of them cite) are visibly using the Reddit post as their entre, but also state that the percentage of contractors who were let go is about 10%. That's 10% of contract workers, not 10% of all staff, although admittedly I don't know how many people Duolingo employs, contract or otherwise. 10% is a meaningful chunk, but Duolingo has said that the contractors were let go because their projects had wrapped. While company reps state that this all could be related to the use of AI, they've also said that it's not a 1:1 replacement.

Mind you, the company isn't offering much in the way of backing that up, either.

So there are a couple of issues. Some workers probably were let go simply because their work was finished; the Reddit user doesn't seem to be one of those. We are still seeing that at least some of these jobs were replaced by AI, which is undoubtedly a harbinger of things to come. We don't know what impact this will have on the app. We don't know what kind of work the majority of those people were doing. There's a thread in the Reddit post about whether the voices are now "AI voices" but there's no citation to back up the idea either. They definitely aren't doing AI voice generation for the Latin, where one of the voice actors has a nice voice and also a very loud pet bird.

There is a bigger issue of contract work in the digital and translation industries in the first place; a lot of these people should have been full employees and would have had more protection from this if they had been. Translators have also been brutally devastated by machine/AI translation, which is its own issue. But these are separate and much larger problems that are in no way unique to Duolingo.

I don't like taking this stance because I feel like I'm defending both Duolingo and AI, which isn't my goal. My goal is to remind people that if you see a single source offering a vague statement, you should fact-check. 10% is likely a lot of people but it's not "a huge percentage". We have no real numbers on who was fired, just this person on Reddit saying they're a translator and they were let go. Do I believe them? Absolutely, I have no reason not to and the basic gist is backed up by statements from Duolingo. Do I trust this person's intel? Not especially, after the loud axe-grinding noises they made while posting. Do I trust Duolingo, whose goal is to make money and not look bad while doing it? Not especially either, simply from the standpoint of "the bigger the company the more they're likely to screw you".

But the point is we don't have good data, and this is a complicated and nuanced issue involving a lot of different factors. So either you have to let it go on past, or you have to be prepared to dig a little deeper than a person posting to Reddit about getting laid off.

In any case, Duolingo is one of the few activities that brings me joy right now (I know, I'm working on the issue) and is the only language learning structure that has ever actually worked for me, so despite the new intel and despite the fact that I know a lot of people think of Duolingo's revamp the way I think of Tumblr's new dash, I'm going to keep on with it.

(Plus I paid up for a year, so I might as well at least use it until the year runs out and then reassess.)

#your daily news digest #sam learns italian #duolingo

308 notes · View notes

flamingpudding · 1 year ago

Text

Modern (Fenton) Ghost Hunting Part 1

Ties to: Post from under 'It started with a Ouija Board' found in the Masterpost

A/N: I got a little stuck with this and there is another bigger fanfic project I started working on that has me distracted. But I wanted to post at least part of this before I might end up in radio silence for three weeks cause I am visiting family out of country and have no idea about internet access there yet 😅

Danny was in a good mood as he slurped the ecto-shake his mom had made upon his return from the Zone. It was one of the more harmless and ghost helping food inventions his parents had come up with, once the truth was out of the bag when he was more or less forced to take on his kingly duties. Though his mom's ecto-fudge special (that was also one of the few ectoplasm infused foods not coming back to life) made for only him and Ellie was even better than the shakes. It wasn't better than their special family recipes their Dad loved so much but it came a close second.

He sipped on it more as he fell back into the couch as he flicked through some TV channels. His last trip to Gotham had been a month ago and he mused that he probably would need to visit soon to update Lady Gotham on the status of the Garbage Disposal Leaks. It was a pain to deal with but hey at least he, for once, got to be the mean guy to yell at the observants how they could have left these alone for over a hundred of years.

Seriously? If he could, he would stick Sam and one of her righteous rants onto them too.

So yea Danny was in a good mood he had gotten rid of another leak which only left a couple more to take care of and then put the observants into their place with another petty with hidden insults filled and Sam inspired as well as co-authored lecture.

He would give Lady Gotham a present for giving him such a great opportunity with this problem, even if that wasn't her intention. There was also a rumor in the GZ that Box Ghost and Walker had gotten beat up by Lady Gotham several times while he was busy, he would like to hear what that was about.

In all this Danny completely forgot about his encounter with the vigilantes and that his parents told him about a new business partner that was interested in their Fenton Ghost Tech that wasn't weaponry but focused on co-existence, like the Fenton (blob-)ghost feeder.

So when the doorbell rang and Danny went to open the door, thinking it might be one of his friends. He nearly choked on his ecto-shake as he came face to face with a person he only knew from paparazzi shots or Tucker's endless rants about their technology.

"Hello, I am Tim Drake-Wayne! I believe I have an appointment with the Drs Fentons? I am not too early am I?"

-------

Red Robin was on his wits end. After the first success he had used various more 'modern' summonings in hopes of getting their ghost to show up again. But most of them ended with the same white ghost or only one other ghost claiming their name as Box Ghost to appear. Strangely when they did appear, after about a minute after their appearance an invisible force started to attack them to which these ghosts instantly turned tail and 'unsummoned' themselves. They didn't even give Red Robin the chance to ask anything.

In the end after the third time of summoning that white ghost called Walker, the ghost peeked out from that portal once and the moment they spotted him sunk back into it. Not even bothering to tell him about any rules RR might have broken. Since then none of his summons appeared to work anymore.

Though the vigilante at least concluded that whatever had attacked their teenage ghost most likely was also the driving force behind Walker or any other ghost refusing to answer his summonings. He had suspicions that might have something to do with Lady Gotham, the teenage ghost mentioned and had been unable to summon at all.

Of course Red Robin couldn't leave it like that so he dug deeper into the whole ghost cult thing and came across published research papers. Apparently the ghost cult wasn't just an occult but also a science, that he highly doubted was real. The deeper he dug the more concerned he became, for one that ectoplasm they mentioned looked awfully a lot like Lazarus Water, and second the research from the Drs Fenton he found was awfully a lot biased until a year or so ago when they suddenly invalidated all their previous research and published a nearly completely different thesis.

Though the teenage vigilante had to admit everything they offered on their website looked a whole lot more modern and right out of a SyFy movie than any of the tools he had already purchased, from a ghost Wikipedia (which surprisingly included information about Walker and that Box Ghost), to protective gear, to feeders and ectoplasm infusers.

So after a small recon with his siblings and listening to their disagreement and another rant from their youngest about Pit Demons, Red Robin made the decision to check these Drs Fenton out undercover. And who better to do that than Tim Drake-Wayne, CoCEO of Wayne Enterprise who got interested in their ectoplasm-powered gadgets designed for co-existing. After all Gotham might just be as hunted if not more with the crime rate they had.

His siblings were not happy, he knew that but he took the earliest chance he had, to take a private plane to Amity Park and made an appointment with the Fentons on a saturday afternoon.

He made sure to smile pleasantly as the son of the Drs Fentons opened the door and took his time staring. Before finally inviting him in after a shout from the Drs. resounded somewhere behind him in the house. Tim of course eyed the glowing green shake the other teenager was drinking, already forming plans on getting a sample of it the first chance he got.

"Mr. Drake! Such a pleasure to have you here! You have already met my little boy Danny, my husband will join us later he got hold up by my daughters. But we do have a couple of inventions prepared for showcasing, we could also go over some of the theories first if you prefer until my husband can join us.." A woman came up shaking his hand and the teenager, Danny, stepped away from them retreating further away but staying in earshot, Tim noted.

"Dr. Fenton, thank you for having me. I am looking forward to learning about this ecto-energy and your Fenton-inventions, I believe one was called an Ecto-Infuser?" Did he imagine it or did that boy cringe? Also the boy was clearly watching him, he tried to appear nonchalant but the way the other teen's eyes followed Tims every move as well as the guarded look in his eyes was making it obvious.

"The Ecto-Dejecto, originally designed to weaken ghosts but is now one of the many medical tools that can help a ghost survive if they do not have a steady supply of ectoplasm." Dr. Fenton easily explained while leading him over to the seating area.

"Danny be a dear and bring our guest something to drink. Coffee or Tea?"

"Coffee would be fine." Not like he would actually drink it. As much as he and his siblings made fun of Bruce's paranoia, he was not about to drink coffee offered by people who research ghosts. Besides, looking around, he wasn't sure how well they followed OSHA and he wasn't about to potentially drink a coffee infused with Lazarus Water. If that ectoplasm was Lazarus water. But he would take it with him as one of many samples.

"Sure things mom. Should I bring out the fudge too?"

Tim's ear twitched and he turned ever so slightly in the direction of the son. No it couldn't be, could it?

"Oh please be so kind."

"Will be right back."

Now Tim wished he had forced at least one of his siblings along. Because if his ears didn't betray him then this teenager had the same voice like the ghost kid. Though his memory could be slightly impaired because of the time frame since he had last heard it. He would need to get a voice recording now too and play it to his siblings.

413 notes · View notes

sleepynoons · 3 months ago

Text

shoko x f!reader, sfw

cw: mentioned gojo x geto, smoking

notes: first time writing for a female character! though it's an ambiguous relationship... (the crowd boos) in my defense, i love tragic yuri. potentially a projection of my own struggles + confusion with my queer identity. i guess we'll never know! :D anyway, gege akutami, i can confidently say, you FUMBLED THE FUCKING BAG with ieiri shoko. give my hot doctor queen some screentime - you have 5 chapters to do something. Do something about it.

SHOKO WATCHES as ash falls from the butt of her cigarette, which she taps with quick raps of her pointer finger. she’s surprised she’s remembered to put it out at all. you made a big fuss about it when you came home later than she had one evening and caught her smoking indoors. she rolls her eyes and takes one last puff, thinking back to when the two of you had just become roommates.

you used to be the primary doctor over at kyoto jujutsu high but had quit after a short two-year run because you were overworked and exhausted. the two of you met up for drinks right after you quit (you literally called her and utahime up twelve hours after submitting your letter of resignation), and she mentioned briefly that her home was always a mess. you suggested the idea of living together, and she didn’t have a reason to reject your offer.

anyway, you’ve become a bigger pain in the ass than she had anticipated. yes, you’re a big help when it comes to chores, but you’re also so insistent when it comes to her lifestyle. not that she bothers to listen to you, but you frequently nag about her smoking, drinking, lack of eating, so on and so forth.

in fact, you’ve taken it upon yourself to take care of her, as if she’s a dying house plant that you’re nurturing back to life. you pack her two bentos every work day, one for lunch and the other for dinner, the meals never identical. you replenished her bare wardrobe with new turtlenecks and work pants because she’s “not steve jobs,” and it’s not like she has an excuse to wear the same thing every day now that you’re doing the laundry and ironing. this is all to say that you’re too involved, too knowledgeable about her mode of operations, for her liking.

throwing the cigarette onto the floor, she extinguishes it with her foot and heads into your shared apartment.

not even two steps into the foyer, she hears you call from the couch, “the bath’s ready!”

shoko shrugs her shoulder bag onto the floor next to her heels and pads over to you. “why are you still up?” she asks.

you peel your eyes away from your phone to smile at her. “i was waiting for you,” you reply, a smirk tugging at your lips.

she heads to the bathroom and says, “go to bed.” you just giggle in response.

in the bathroom, shoko shimmies out of her clothes, brushes her teeth while avoiding her reflection in the mirror, and grabs a towel. when she sinks into the bath, she realizes you’ve added a few drops of jasmine and ylang ylang to the water to help her decompress. somehow, you’ve even managed to figure out her favorite aromatics.

your relationship is peculiar, to say the least. roommates but more. not lovers, of course.

shoko’s long distanced herself from such relationships. she barely has an interest in making friends, let alone find a lifelong partner. yet, upon some introspection, she finds her own behavior and attitude towards you… odd. you bother her, but she hasn’t put a stop to it like she normally does with others. she’s not tired or bored of long conversations with you. even though she’d like it if you gave her some more space and privacy, she doesn’t prevent you from learning more about her.

it’s not that she’s unguarded; she has deliberately lowered her guard around you.

she sinks deeper into the bath, blowing bubbles in the water as she thinks.

she doesn’t love you. (what does being in love even feel like?)

she does like having you around.

ten more minutes of half-conscious musing later, she gets out of the bath and prepares for bed. when she exits from the bathroom, she finds you still sitting on the couch, doom scrolling and humming an inane tune. but this time, she also smells the familiar scent of smoke and bitterness.

she glances at the living room table and spots a small dish. you’re smoking, she realizes.

“i thought you didn’t approve of smoking indoors,” she says.

you look over your shoulder and chuckle. “i’m trying to see what all the hype is. smoking really isn’t all that, you know, shoko?”

your roommate walks over to sit beside you. “you’ve never smoked before?” she asks.

you shrug. “no, i have, when we were much younger. but i remember choking on my first time, so i never bothered to try again.”

“so what made you try this time?”

“you.” you say it so effortlessly. then, you beam at her before scrolling to another video on your phone.

shoko is unsure how to react, so she just leans her head on your shoulder. does she have that much of an influence on you? probably not. it’s common for people to pick up on mannerisms and habits of those around them.

she recalls her high school days with gojo and geto. those two were undeniably close, and they frequently behaved like one another. when she caught wind of the nature of their relationship, it all seemed to make sense – they looked and acted exactly like a couple should.

she wonders if the two of you are anything like her classmates. do you share the same sense of humor? do you have your own language – your own catchphrases and inside jokes and syntax? do you enjoy being around her? does she know you the way you know her?

does she want to know you?

she’s feeling a slight pinch in her temple. she’s not in a rush to figure things out.

shoko reaches across you to take the cigarette from your grasp, acutely aware that she’s taking a breath from where your lips were just moments ago.

“i want something savory tomorrow,” she says.

you nod your head. “i know.”

of course you already know she hates sweet things. she puts out the cigarette.

76 notes · View notes

pomeloandtv · 5 months ago

Text

She took off her sunglasses and thought.

It was nice to be able to think again. For a change.

How on earth could she ever have believed it was not something that he had planned?

Everything else had been his idea, his project, his execution, why had she believed this wasn't?

Well, for a while thinking had been harder, it was easy to believe anything in that state, but even so …

But that had only been a year. She'd still been smart for a long time before that.

It had started five years ago.

Maybe it had started earlier?

But her memory of it started five years ago.

A growing pain over six months

First unease, something wrong

"Hi Julia!"

Growing to an inner, unexpressed cringe, that's not me

"Happy birthday Julia"

Then wanting to snap at people whenever it happened

"Julia, can you …."

Thinking "That's not my name!" but biting her tongue every single time.

Having to introduce herself had been the worst

"Hi, I'm … Julia" [ugh]

Taking 5 minutes to fill out a form when meeting a surgeon for a consultation. Not wanting to write anything down, but knowing there was nothing else to write down

FIRST NAME: …

But who am I then? If that is not me, who is me?

And then one morning after about six months she had woken up and her name, her real name, her true name was bright and golden in her mind. Everything was so obvious.

And a middle name too? She had a middle name on her birth certificate, but it had never been part of her identity. She could go years without thinking about it.

But now she absolutely had a middle name

Elation. Her name revealed to her.

It was beautiful.

And it was her.

But, she didn't tell anyone. She suffered for another three months.

She engaged in occasional unknown petty acts of rebellion.

Going to the coffee shop when she knew no one was there, making her order, giving her name, "Coffee for …", walking out with her trophy, sometimes her name hidden, pointing towards her, sometimes pointing to the world, depending on how brave she felt.

Baristas with bad writing were her favourite. No need to hide the name.

One morning, she snapped in front of her husband

"Julia, we'll start the …"

"NO!"

He said nothing, waiting

Oh my God, was she really about to tell someone?

"What's wrong"

All the words came out at once

"Thatsnotmyname ImeanIknowitismyname butIhateit Idontwantit itsnotmyrealname pleasedontcallmethat Icanttakeitanymore itisjusttoomuch everyonecallsmethatanditismakingmeinsane ItriedbutIcantlivelikethisanymore"

"Ok, I'll call you anything you want"

Oh God, here it came, she paused too long

"Is there another name you'd prefer?"

"My name is Sweetie, with an i and an e at the end"

And the weight was lifted, and she was now Sweetie to him, and a few weeks later she even told him her middle name.

And he had loved her new name, and delighted in using it

And things at home had been wonderful

But it was still only him who knew

The world did not and she hated the world for it and she was at least a little bit sad in it all the time

And he told her she would have to tell people her true name.

And she had.

And though some people accepted it, a lot of people had hated it.

She understood that it was … a non-standard name, one which carried societal meaning. But that was society's fault, not hers.

One of her friends refused. They weren't friends anymore.

Others were slow to adapt, but they did.

Her parents were a bigger problem. She wasn't prepared to cut them off over this, yet, but she did reduce contact.

Eventually they came around.

They still didn't understand.

But they understood enough to know that it wasn't important whether or not they understood.

On her birthday they baked her a cake with her name in icing.

Her middle name wasn't included.

But that was OK.

She reserved its use for more formal settings. Like work. Friends and family could just call her Sweetie.

But her husband knew how much she loved the middle name too and would call her that and she loved hearing it from him.

"Sweetie Muffins" he would say to her in the morning, when he felt her stirring, and she would sigh happilly.

Sometimes just "Muffins" to be cute.

Things got better.

She looked at some pictures on her phone.

Here was dinner and champagne to celebrate her new legally-changed name.

Pictures of each of the days her driver's license or credit cards arrived.

Sweetie Muffins Baudin

Middle name included, her old middle name never having been.

She was finally herself, Sweetie to her friends, Sweetie Muffins to the wider more formal world.

Occassionally she met resistance to her name from strangers, but that was their problem. Not hers.

Then other big changes came

It got harder to think or to focus.

But she knew that was because of him.

And she knew he wouldn't be doing it if it wasn't what she really wanted.

She never remembered a hypnosis session, but over the years it had become clear to her that he brought her under nearly every day.

And then she had to leave her job.

Which was good. She used to love her job long ago but now she hated it.

But she hadn't told her job she wanted to leave, her job had told her she had to leave.

She kind of remembered the conversation in her boss's office.

She had been confused. She was always confused. But OK.

It was nice like this.

Everyone was so nice to her.

People smiled at her more, or told her not to worry, or that it was going to be OK.

People did things for her.

She could just be nice to people and no one expected anything of her.

Then her boobs got bigger, again

She remembered the pain and the recovery but not much about the decision.

Her husband had took her to a doctor where she had smiled and pretended to understand, but focusing on long sentences was hard

How had he done that to her? So delicious.

And the doctor had smiled at her and she had smiled back. And said "yes", or "I need to think about that" but not much else.

Later, (how much time had passed?) she was in surgery.

And then pain and weight for a while and then bigger boobs.

She liked them a lot.

Everybody else seemed to.

Some of her friends would squeeze them for luck, and she would giggle, and her friends would pat her head.

And there were other changes.

Like her first boob job, he'd already made changes to her face, before, when thinking was easy.

But now he made more.

She looked at some old pictures.

She had always thought of herself as beautiful before, before she met him even.

But now ….

And then one day her husband had told her she would be getting a tattoo on her ass.

He'd picked her other tattoos of course, just as he had when she had been smarter.

She had tried to think of something to say in reply. She pursed her lips.

"What will this tattoo be of Daddy?"

"Your name"

"My name?"

"Sweetie Muffins"

"I love my name!"

He had laughed warmly. "It's a great name"

"I really love my name!"

"Well, if you ever forget it, and its possible with that silly head of yours, you can just look at your ass to remember it"

"Ok?" she had smiled back, replaying what he had said. He had said a lot. A knot appearing on her forehead. "Oh! I get it!"

She had her intelligence back now

Four months ago he'd stopped performing whatever conditioning he had been doing that made it hard to focus.

She'd been back to herself for a few weeks now, adjusting.

She said she'd like to be turned back, made stupid again, he had promised he would.

But for now, he wanted to see the light of understanding in her eyes.

"And there is a different pleasure you will get in comprehending. So we can have fun with that too"

Later; "maybe I'll just make you dumb for other people", he had mused

"If you want, but it was nice to be dumb for you too"

She came inside from the patio and looked at herself in the mirror.

So gorgeous

He had told her yesterday he'd be pumping her lips back up.

"Back up", she had asked? "They were bigger?"

"They were a lot bigger last year, they've come down since. Look at your old Instagram pics"

Those were big

Seeing made her remember

They had been huge in her field of vision.

Her lips were still big, well beyond her natural size, still visible in her field of vision.

But not like those old ones.

"I'm remembering something, uh, did I have trouble talking or something? I seem to remember … a feeling … it was difficult …"

"We had a bit of botox placed behind the middle of your top lip. It made it harder for you to form the shapes needed to pronounce certain sounds. You were adorable"

"I remember, … uh, can we do it again? I mean, I'd like to experience it now"

He had winked.

"Will you do that again, I mean, if you make me stupid again will you make changes to me I don't understand?"

"That's a guarantee. I'll make some temporary changes that go away like those lips. But I'll make permanent changes too like your tits"

"uhhhh, yes please, whatever you want"

She took off her dress and looked at her ass in the mirror. At her tattoo.

She got a second hand-held mirror so she could see what other people saw. Without mirror writing.

Sweetie Muffins

It was her name.

Nothing felt more real to her than that.

She was Sweetie Muffins

Funny how a middle name had never mattered before. Now it was just one grade below being the second part of a double-barralled first name.

She had always been Sweetie Muffins, even when she had been Julia Falkner, or Julia Grace Falkner according to her birth cert.

She would always be Sweetie Muffins.

She didn't want to be anything else.

She loved the tattoo.

It was cute and sweet. Like her.

Visible in a bikini, or in the gym changing room.

He had installed a small gym at home, but she wasn't allowed use it.

She had asked why, now that her smarts were back, it had occurred to her that it was weird that she went to the gym.

"I like that you have to work out around people in your sports bra and booty shorts"

"Besides, you need things to do all day, and going to the gym can be one of them"

That was true. She'd been getting bored as her intelligence came back. What had she done all day before with no work to go to?

Clothes shopping certainly. She hadn't asked him about it yet, but she hadn't found any of her old clothes.

Everything she had now was more colourful, attention-attracting.

And the only more-plainly-coloured items were all tighter, shorter, lower-cut.

She'd taken to wearing these items - like the black cocktail dress she'd just taken off - just to not feel like an explosion in a paint factory

She looked from the dress on the floor back to her tattoo

Sweetie Muffins, the tattoo said to her

"That's you", it said to her

"That's me", she said to herself

"I'm Sweetie Muffins"

The name was intrinsic to her

Everyone should know who I am.

All this was true for her

All this would always be true for her

Even now having learned the truth.

She had never seen herself under before.

But he had shown her a video of the first hypnosis session where he had began the work of changing her name.

Making her feel disgust at Julia

Implanting her need for Sweetie Muffins.

And she knew it never would have taken, her mind would have rejected it, had she not wanted it

She was Sweetie Baudin

Sweetie Muffins Baudin for more formal occasions.

#story

106 notes · View notes