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pparacxosm · 1 day

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wounded in

(blue-eyed son part 2: electric boogaloo !!!! ; (hate to be that gal but you may have to read the first bit for context); homeless era!patrick zweig x jaded businesswoman!reader; nonlinear narrative; tw office job; tw coworkers; tw mcdonald’s; the sound of music stuff is for myself; i fucking love sound of music; and i fucking love cats (the animal not the musical, though that's lovely too) so there’s that; pushing a patrick zweig can’t spell agenda; tw new england maybe; i gave new rochelle a better rap this time; kiss scene kindaaaa ??..? ; tashi coaching patrick after new rochelle is canon to me; tw descriptions of emojis; what if i told you there’s a part 3; then what)

You hold in a bout of laughter when Patrick brings the drinks to the table.

His hair is longer than the last time you saw him, which wasn’t that long ago, in scale. In bones, in feels like a while.

Dear old New Rochelle. Far enough out that the city is a twinkle on the horizon like a cluster of stars, far enough that there are some actual stars above you, now. It’s odd to see him in New England. It’s odd to see him in jeans. But then it’s September.

There are new lines on his face already. He’s aging quicker now, as if to make a point.

Drinks are on me,

Is the first thing Patrick told you, when you walked in in a juniper parka. Scanned the room, picked out his booth.

Is this the part where you tell me you’ve opened a savings account? you said, trying to seem completely blas�� about it. It would have been childish to be thrilled by such meagre chivalry at twentyeight. I feel like I should pay, you’re in my city.

Yeah, but you’ve hosted me enough for now.

That’s what you are, half the time. A host to him.

A museum. Thumbing through a rolodex of all the different shades of blue his eyes could go in one humid night.

You pass on more nights out than you accede to. You got a cat. You’re getting LASIK soon. But what it really looks like is that you’re wearing glasses to show that time has passed.

“What’re you smiling about?” Patrick asks, placing the foamy mug of beer in front of you.

You wipe discreetly under your eyes, spreading the mascara smudge. “Just thinking about how my aweinspiring generosity has rescued you from the misery of total squalor.”

Patrick chuckles. “Well, they say to pay it forward.” He sounds pleased as he lifts his own mug with a wink.

You look out the window. There’s a film of dust on it. There’s dust on the faux-chintz curtains too.

You start to wonder if that’s what he really thinks. That this is him going forward.

Patrick picks up the plastic menu. “We ordering sidedishes or do we want a full dinner? What’s good in Wellesley?”

You try to laugh, though the noise has the distinct tender hue of a sob. But you’re sure you feel mostly fine. “What are you doing here?”

“Hm?”

“What are you doing in Wellesley?”

Patrick looks up at you with bright, twinkling eyes. “Challenger in Boston. Thought it’d be a waste not to come see you.”

You clench your jaw to prevent more runny mascara. It’s stupid. You don’t much like waste either. But you’re not going to weep in front of Patrick like a child.

“You hungry?”

You nod, picking up your own menu, hiding your face behind it.

His hand reaches suddenly across the table, trying to touch yours. You pull away, but make it look like you didn’t.

“Bet you had a hard time leaving Tobes for the night,” he says, trying to lift the mood.

“Um yeah. A little. I like to imagine what she gets up to when I’m away.”

“My sister had a cat, when we were young. My sister was, like, seventeen, and I was eight, so pretty big gap.”

Because he has to clarify those sorts of things. Because you don’t know he has a sister. You don’t know anything.

You find it hard to picture him pinned down in any humane way. It’s always his beautiful leg (now sheathed in denim) writhing in a bear trap. Always his papery wings unfurled and pinned against a picture frame like a butterfly. Something metamorphosed. Something capable of a great change, and that must be tortured for it.

“She found the cat in an alleyway. She called it Patrick.”

You lift your eyes. You feel it bubbling in you like magma, the urge to coo. You feel all soft these days. And maybe that’s just open heart season, and the passage of time. But you see a vivid meridian in your life, and it falls right along the night you met this guy. And this back half is all soft, so you sort of want to blame him.

You swallow.

“Well, that’s sweet.”

Patrick lowers the menu. “Nope,” he shakes his head, that huge smirk on his face, like his name is on every ticket of the raffle, like he’s cheating at something. “Let me tell you what she used to do. She used to put the fucker in, like, a blanket, right? And she’d lift it up like a sack, with him inside, and he’d obviously start clawing and making all of these noises—“

He makes the noises. Just starts whipping his head around and making kitten growls, imitating this cat with his name. You get the sense that this is one of those anecdotes that explains a lot about a person.

“—And she’d come into my room, in, like, the middle of the night—this is real psycho shit—and she’d lift my covers and drop the cat. And the shit would fucking claw at me and bite me, just—“

He’s doing the noises again. And now he’s clawing at the air with his hands.

He stops, and the way he closes his mouth around his grin makes his teeth look like they’re trying to escape past his lips. But it looks sort of lovely.

“When the fuck died, Saskia texted me. She was like, oh, he loved you so much, you should’ve said goodbye.” He pauses, widens his eyes, looks at you with the pointed intimacy of sharing in this ludicrousness.

You roll your eyes. But you catch yourself smiling. You like the idea of him being mauled like that, skin deep. You get the sense that life has done to him a lot of that—those growls and scratches. And that sounds a little fucked. But what you like about it is how he seems so unmoved now, by this psycho shit. This flailing animal, this torture device. Pinning him down. He's laughing.

You try to imagine him as a child, but the proportions are all comically bizarre, in your mind’s eye.

“Pork chops,” you say, throwing the menu aside. “I feel like stuffing my face.”

Patrick gets three sausage egg McMuffins on the way to the New Rochelle Country Club—and fries, and a hash, and a soda—and he’s eating the second by the time you pull out of the drivethru.

There is a compelling sense of chaos to how he drives. Like, he’s so bad at driving. Three different people honk at him in a dozenminute window. And you feel content knowing that whatever had had your heart thumping last night has not shrivelled and died with the morningtime. Though now it’s maybe a partial distress for your safety. But you get the sense that, maybe, this is actually the person you are now. The woman who sleeps beside a rugged stranger and buys him breakfast and doesn’t care how he speaks with his mouth open while he’s eating the fries. Doesn’t care about the writhing mire of half chewed potato on his tongue. The way his lips gleam pink with salt.

“I need to listen to really specific music to, like, get in the zone? If you don’t mind?”

He sounds so uncharacteristically shy, for brief a moment. You have to lean forward and look to see he isn’t joking. He isn't.

“Uh— yeah, of course. It’s your car.”

He slides a Sound of Music soundtrack disc into the mouth of the dashboard.

You laugh so hard you fold over.

He’s got one hand on the wheel, and shifts is his seat, peeling the unfamiliarly clean skin of his thighs off the leather before sitting back down. He’s tearing into his third breakfast sandwich with a reckless abandon reserved for death row. He laughs around the bite, glancing, bemused, between you and the road, and, ultimately, spending more time looking at you.

“What?” he laughs around a halfmasticated mouthful. “What?”

There are tears sluicing down your face. You can’t breathe. You think you can, and then you start laughing again, and you can’t.

“How do you solve a problem like Maria?” Patrick hums cheerily as he noshes. It’s a gross and wonderful noise, the food moving between his teeth, circumventing Hammerstein.

You think the large coke is probably no performance enhancer, not only because he all but tumbles out of the car when it’s hardly halfway parked (poorly, you’ll add).

“Fuck, need to piss,” he says frenetically.

When you know the notes to sing…, carols Julie Andrews.

You’re still laughing. Crying. Your tummy fluttering painfully.

Patrick makes you order dessert too, since you’re celebrating.

Celebrating what? you had to ask, though, at the time, you were wearing an impish, knowing, frankly celebratory sort of smile.

Patrick feigned great offense. He said, I’m fucking here, aren’t I?

He wants you to have sundaes together. You spill some ice cream on your skirt. He finds that funny. He’s always got this weasel smile, like he’s constantly ready for amusement. He’s shaved, at some point between now and then. The hairs on his face are sparser. The skin on his face looks milky and organic like a crinite litchifruit.

The frumpy diner was his idea too.

He’s spent some time on the veritable extremes of the economic spectrum—that’s what life tends to be for him; veritable extremes, scratching him meanly—and now he just wants to play at being the average wage earner.

“You really are welcome to stay with me, if you’d like.”

Patrick looks at you like he’d rather shoot himself.

You sort of marvel at his sense of pride, as if it were a rare stone, swallowing light and spewing it out at all angles. The Sociology course you took in uni had a whole two modules on personal pride. It is one of the few emotions that are unique to humans.

Patrick—for his weasel smile and beastly hunger and feline anti—is remarkably proficient in being human. In the real, visceral parts of it. In wielding his emotions like kaleidoscope hues. Dancing freely in confinement.

“When are you leaving?”

“Don’t worry about that. If you have time for breakfast tomorrow, we can—”

“Mm, not tomorrow, I don’t think. But I have no plans this weekend.”

You say it with this weird, bright intonation, like you’re jesting. Which—a lot of things feel like a bit of a joke these days. But he seems to understand you well enough. Delivers a curt, unspurned nod, and even a smile. Not the weasley, chronicling one. The wolfish one that makes his eyes crinkle up.

“Come here then,” he says.

Patrick leans in for a hug. You can’t avoid it. He enfolds you in a fascinatingly soft, burning embrace. He still smells sort of musky and acrid. Like even though he can shower regularly now, he maybe doesn’t as often as he should. But you find a gross comfort that. This pleasantly fetid, human man. His cologne smells like a wine cellar.

He says, “It’s nice to see you again.”

Something churns in your belly. Maybe the pork chops. Maybe the ice cream. This whole fucking day. You accidentally deleted some files and IT spent five hours trying to help you unsheathe them from oblivion. You felt like a failure. And now you’re here and,

“Fuck, you’re still so cool.”

You push away from him with a forceful laugh.

You used to be able to tell your sister all kinds of things. But, lately, you haven’t been able to talk to anyone about anything.

Working so many years for a soulless corporate hive mind has turned you into an expert at short, polite, and meaningless feedback that only varies with inflection.

“Right”, “Sure”, “Got it”, “Whatever you think is best”, “Already on it”.

Half the time you sound illiterate. The other half, you sound like you could have written Prozac Nation.

When your sister asks, how was New Rochelle? she expects you to say something annoyingly vague and ominous in your cool, collected adjunct’s voice, like: Everything is under control.

But, instead, you say, “Do you and Mark still go to mass? I really want to start giving more of myself away.” And you’re wearing this smile that’s utterly sincere.

That’s what spooks your sister.

Of course, you want to tell her more. Because your sister married a Herman Melville character; one of those grizzly, stinky, sacerdotal men who don’t want to work but don’t want to lose either. You know your tale of Linklateresque, serendipitous connection would render her mesmerised and marginally jealous.

But, soft and charitable as you may now be, you keep it all to yourself.

Patrick is still in Massachusetts a fortnight later. You say you’d have loved to come and see him play, but you’re really busy, and he says not to sweat it. Insists really. Maybe even begs. Do not sweat it.

You text him, presumably a day or two afterwards, and ask how it went.

Smahsed it!, he texts, and garlands the (misspelled) notion with eight sunglassfaced emojis. You counted. Dibner? he texts.

Then, a moment later,

*dinner?

You get to see your first New Rochelle sunrise.

You slink out of bed with toothfairy softness, even though Patrick is sleeping the sleep of death—with a deep, miserable snore like a resounding dirge to prove it—beside you. Your pillow wall, in the night, had collapsed like Berlin in 89.

You step outside. You check your phone, first, but you do go outside. You do believe in fresh air in the mornings, even if you don’t have the fortitude for mindfulness and journaling.

The parking lot is a vast open soul. Regretfully resigned and stunningly silent.

The sky looks like a bleeding mouth, but the hard grey edges around it don’t seem to care. The concrete enterprises and litter splay do not want anything to do with this bruise. A tart, sort of sewery smell makes your eyes water.

Cars drive by too fast.

You think, in some faraway capacity, you can hear the soft, rhythmic thunk of tennis balls hitting asphalt. But it’s only your heart.

You hear things. You see things.

You don’t want to sound like some haunted Victorian heiress with a mystical past, but you do.

In the break room, mostly.

So you hadn’t noticed before. Your coworker, Sam, goes fucking wild for tennis. Sam’s slobbering lewd and voracious over tennis. It’s hard to witness. In fact, you feel dirty witnessing this. You should call HR. Sam’s in the break room doing an onanistic oneman scene play about tennis.

Or maybe he just kind of likes it.

And you hadn’t noticed it before.

There’s a lot, for your part, that you were content not noticing around the office.

But now every errant tenniscentric commentary makes your hands feel sore and weightless without the presence of a gun.

“No, you don’t get it, Deirdre, this is like if LeBron played a game at some random Y, and got dunked on by this fuckin’ nobody, and then just… quit the game.” He sounds tumid with bewilderment. “Just fuckin’ dipped!” Sam’s incredulous. “Forever!”

“LeBron…?”

“Fuck, Deirdre, you’re killing me.”

You slot the mouth of your bottle beneath the spout of the water cooler. You close your eyes—zombieleaden, uneven on the tiles; it’s only 10—and listen to the halting trickle, trickle… stream. The plastic goes cold against your palm as the water rises.

“All because of some… fuckin’,” Sam snaps his fingers, “Fuck, I forget the name.”

Peter Zeppelin, your mind supplies dryly.

It is then that Sam chooses to notice you. Points his finger. Wide smile. “Oh-ho, here’s trouble!” says Sam.

Sam and you have had enough one on one conversations for you to list on your one free hand, and you wouldn’t be spoiled for digits. But, all the same,

“Here’s trouble!” Sam announces, “Big shot boss babe, huh? Back from kickin’ rear in New Rochelle. I know you’re glad to be back.”

You don’t say anything. You feign responsiveness, flash a stilted smile. But you don’t say anything. Because what would you say?

Outside the men’s bathroom of the New Rochelle Country Club, you fidget awkwardly, standing against a wall and trying to look inconspicuous. Patrick’s duffel sits at your heels like a staunch hound.

Your gaze meanders around the venue with an idle sense of inquiry.

You’d expected a certain echelon of grandiosity, anyway. And the country club is nice—you feel silly casting any judgement at all—if a little outdated. All glossy wood-panelling and pea green outdoor carpet.

You can see yourself, warped and bleary, upon the polished floor. The bar flourishes a glassy sheen and cloistered amber rows of lavish whiskeys.

Through glass windows, golf splays unfurl, ceaseless viridescence, beset on all sides by sharpcornered hedges.

People mill about with the air of the lookedafter, and polo shirts as white as the maw of God.

Which is nice—it’s all nice—and all, but your chest seems to enwreathe a stark state of dread. You feel the sort of nausea that would rack you as a child. Floating in the curtains at your dance recitals, like an anxious little poltergeist.

When Patrick emerges from the loo, he is whistling. Fluting finely the swooping tune of ‘Sixteen Going on Seventeen’.

“You certainly seem unburdened,” you murmur, gaze shadowing him as he draws near. You know you sound unconvinced. For his part, he looks undeterred.

Slings his bag over his shoulder like it is floatable, even as you know it bears the poundage of half a man’s life.

He grins, flashing a canine.

To you, he has just eaten his weight in greasy, leaden carbcloth, and proceeded to piss for twelve minutes straight.

But Patrick seems imbued by morningshine.

He throws a heavy arm around you, squeezes your shoulder. Says, “Look alive!” Says, “I’ve had a good night’s sleep, a hot shower, the breakfast of champions, and I’m about to get paid!”

You wince a bit at his volume, and also because he seems to be emanating a bit of that morningshine. Not to speak of the heat. Searing from his very bones.

If nothing else you admire his buoyancy. In that way, the warmth—even as the sun blooms above you—is a fascinating comfort.

Like something to be shared.

You say yes to dinner.

You keep having dinner. He keeps taking you out for dinner, and to decent places, too, places you haven’t even been to around here.

You’re sitting across from him. You’re eating, as one does. He’s regarding you with something like awe. Though you wouldn’t know it, because he regards, too, his plate, when the waiter rests it before him, with a sort of comical reverence. Even though you’re pretty sure he’s not starving, anymore.

But hunger’s not always about those sorts of things, you suppose. Maybe he's just still hungry.

He’s winning a lot. Must be, if he’s taking you out all the time, and—hey—maybe you can get him to sign something for Sam. That’d be nice of you.

Patrick watches you eat.

You try not to stare back at him. As long as you keep chewing, you won’t have to ask why he’s still here.

“That’s a nice shirt,” he says after a long silence.

You smile. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t text you for months, many months, after New Rochelle. You’d given him your number, because you wanted to put the ball in his court, and—fuck—here’s hoping you didn’t say that.

But you can’t recall.

It’s been months.

So, when you do get the text, you’re pleased to see it’s aptly contrite.

ypu probably think I’msn idiot, it reads, and it’s late at night and you’re already in bed, stewing over NYT Connections.

You eye the ID. Maybe: Patrick Zweig, but that’s implied—so many implicit little shards—because not a lot of people are so tortured by the prospect of your opinion on them so as to text you at 1 AM. So.

Define idiot, you text back.

dictionary defenition is Patrick Rupert Zweih. There’s prpbably even a lil picture of me next to it.

A few moments.

A bad one.

Ten or eleven emojis of abject terror.

You consider this—not a bad picture of him (though he doesn’t quite strike you as wildly photogenic anyway), just... This Whole Wound—and tap the side of your phonecase in tentative thought.

Your full name is Patrick Rupert Zweig? Tough.

Like ypu didnt already look me up.

You blink. Whoa—okay.

Not a humble idiot, I see, you type.

You don’t know where you get the balls. There’s a sweeping litany of long, gorgeous miles between your bed and New Rochelle, but maybe he can smell you thinking as much because,

Im in MA next week

In the registration room, a man with a binder asks his name, and Patrick sheathes his canine in a way that makes him look conspiratorial and bemused. You suppose it’s become an inside joke.

The ATP official seems to gleam with recognition when Patrick does give his name—his real name—and he says, “Oh wow, that is you!”

You can’t see his face from this angle, but you can envisage the way his moue has settled in confusion.

Apparently, the ATP official was a line judge at the Junior US Open back in 06.

You try to think back to what you were doing in 2006. Probably populating your microcosm in The Sims. Trapping little imitations of those who had scorned you in swimming pools to drown.

“You were really something back then, huh?” says the ATP official.

Your eyes flicker to Patrick’s profile. He doesn’t quite know how to respond to that.

The official hands Patrick a packet. There’s a little map of the facility in there, in case he gets lost. His first match is against one Gonzalez, on court seven.

Patrick says, marginally halting, “Hey, so, is there any chance of an advance payment on the prize money.”

The official blinks.

“Because I know I’m guaranteed a minimum of four hundred dollars even if I get knocked out today—“

You frown a bit at that. The official frowns a lot at that.

“Well,” he says, “Generally we don’t give out winnings until a player makes his way through the tournament…”

A beat.

Then,

“You could always just lose today. Then we’d have to cut you a check this evening.”

Patrick hardens to bone. You hope he has another lifeaffirming piss in him. He doesn’t meet your eyes when he turns to leave, but flicks you a glance that seems to ask that you spare him the judgement.

You leave New Rochelle today. Good as the night’s sleep may have been, he knows better than anyone that life’s loveliest things are fleeting.

So—fine—you don’t begrudge him. Instead,

“He seems hopeful,” you say wryly.

“Must’ve been thrown off by my pretty caddie,” he says dismissively. Maybe a little bristled.

The warmup courts, deep blue plane, shimmer in the sunheat.

Patrick takes the asphalt, flicks his racket around by its handgrip as though refamiliarising himself with the palmfeel for the first time in a while. Which—well—doesn’t give you confidence, at risk of contesting Julie Andrews.

He practices his serve. Starts to work the ball up and down the court. Hits a few forehands, a few backhands.

Then,

“He was lying,” he yells to the bleachers.

The bleachers are mostly empty. A few errant loiterers. Bored spectators who have finished their lunch earlier than their friends. What have you.

He’s looking at you, though. With a staggering precision from so far away.

“What?”

“That guy. He was lying. Or… bigging it up. Or whatever. I wasn’t really something, I was just decent.”

He strikes a ball over the net. You can see, from here, the vibration ricochet through the racketstrings with a shudder that has you expecting music to flutter out.

You lean back in your seat, sort of sliding down against the glossy plastic, a tremor of induced electric tickling your bum through your jeans. You cross your arms.

“That’s kind of bullshit,” you call out.

He spares you a glance, sort of doubletakes, and you can see the corner of his mouth tremble with intrigue.

He takes another ball from the basket. Tosses it up. You watch the neon starsphere spin fleetingly in the air before being walloped to oblivion. And what do you know of tennis? But you do think his serve is a thing of beauty. Beauty measured in power and precision, sure (he hits the ball straight and hard and fast and low, just barely clearing the net), but you can also see the way his muscles work beneath his skin. Which—you know.

Patrick walks to the fence that partitions the courts from the stands. He leans over, rests his arms on the palisade, and looks at you.

“This was the whole problem,” he tells you, “Everyone was always telling me how good I was. And it got to my head. And now I’m here.”

It’s a shabby imitation of humility. What it really is, is an attempt to scale down the apogee, so the fall seems less mythic. So the years seem less unkind.

“I didn’t come here to watch you sulk just because some guy was nice to you.”

Patrick grins. His cheeks are flushed with heat, and there are little spots of sweat on the hollows where his skin and bones meet. But he seems to know not to exert himself fully right now.

“You think I’m sulking?”

“I think you seem pretty torn up for a guy who’s going to play a thirty minute match, and walk away a few hundred dollars richer.”

He makes a noise like you’ve wounded him, but he seems elated.

“A few hundred dollars?” he says, raising his brows. “So you’ve lost your faith in me.”

“I have some,” you allow, and you’re not surprised to find that you really do. “Just don’t choke.”

Patrick wears the smile of a newly crowned Miss Universe. He looks touched that you’re being so frank.

“I won’t,” he says, with a sense of finality and what you feel is an incongruous tenderness. “I’m pretty good at dealing with pressure. My parents always used to take me to work with them and tell employees to come to me at random intervals with madeup highstakes scenarios. Like, pretending to have a breakdown, and saying they needed me to help them out and make the final decision. Some of them could cry on command.”

You try and fail to hide a look on your face that divulges how demented you think that anecdote is. But you try to find something neutral to say.

“Well, maybe you’re lucky,” you tell him. “I was horrifically nervous as a child.”

“Not anymore?” he asks, swinging his racket idly, and you get the sense he’s actually very interested in how you will answer.

So it’s hard not to answer him honestly.

“I don’t know,” you say finally, and you look away from his eyes, and instead at the sky. You’re alarmed to find they are precisely the same tincture of aegean. “Mostly not. But if I have to give a presentation or speak up in a meeting, I have to take one of those beta blockers, you know? Propranolol?”

You are stricken, at odd moments, in New Rochelle, in Massachusetts.

You get the sense that he’s trying to be cavalier. But, at the same time, there’s this unmistakable fragility about him. Like it wouldn’t take much to knock him down.

You are stricken by how he’s managed to maintain this cocksure swagger for so long. With such a brittle, aching core.

How easily it all might’ve been shaken by the wrong person, and the wrong word.

You love the smell of your dear kitty’s head right after a bath. The fluff of dandelions and baby bird. You love toweling her, taking her little paws in your hand and prying the toes open.

Toby pretends not to like being fussed over, but she doesn’t put up much of a fight. In fact, most nights, she falls asleep in your arms.

When he pays you the visit, Ms Tobes is breathing evenly in your arms, your thumb caressing the organtender slope of her silky head.

You open the door, and great weeping gales have been jostling your windows all evening. But he is in shorts.

Patrick’s been in New England for nearly a month.

There’s an odd sort of look on his face, and an unlit cigarette behind his ear.

Hands in his pockets, he leans against the door frame, staring down at you. You feel a remarkable heat radiating from the downy flesh of his bare legs.

He doesn’t seem confident, nor does he seem unperturbed. He seems… pensive and maybe even penitent, but he wears it with a fascinating poise. There’s still something wounded and vulnerable about the way of his shoulders, the slant of his mouth. It's the softness that kills you, anyway, you think incoherently.

You peer up at him, dubious, through the briar of your lashes. He looks down at Toby, at the sweep of your finger over her head. You do not know if it is he or Toby who purrs.

When he speaks, he is whispering very softly, though there’s a frayed, low seep of his voice in his throat. It feels revoltingly intimate.

“When Patrick died,” he says, “The cat. I felt so shitty. I had this weird feeling of—like—I don’t know. Shittiness. Because of how Sassy said what she said. You should’ve said goodbye. What am I supposed to do with that, y’know?”

You swallow. The hallway is so vacant and noiseless you can hear the plush shuffle of his running shoes against the carpet. Dutifully beyond the boundary of your home, even though he’s been here quite a few times now.

“Patr—“ you croak.

“I’m not in Massachusetts for a game,” he tells you, shrugging hopelessly and almost smiling. But failing to. Which you register. “There’s no challenger in Boston. There’s just you. In Wellesley. All these… fucking ponds everywhere. Private schools. Bunch of rich little assholes who need a tennis coach, I bet. All these res—fuck. You know,” he shifts, taking the cigarette from his ear and gesturing with it between the two of you, “We’ve been out, like, twenty times, since I’ve been here, and there’s still, like, fifty restaurants we haven’t been to.”

You stare up at him. Your palms, where they cradle Toby, grow damp. The throbbing organ of your heart takes up residence in your throat. There’s a sad sort of clanging from the clock in the hall.

You lift one trembling finger to your lips.

Please, don’t say anything else, you beg with your eyes. Please, not in front of Toby.

Patrick’s eyes glint ruefully. Almost ominously. He seems insulted by your gesture, but he understands. He always understands. He never holds anything against anyone.

“No need for that,” he says very quietly. “I come in peace.”

He moves closer, breaking the enclave where the carpet of the hall meets the vinyl of your floor, until he is inches away.

A head taller, yet shrinking, as if you were seeing him from across a room.

He smells very good today. He smells like spice and bergamot and the laundered fabric of his navy blue halfzip. You sort of miss the musk. Of course you think of New Rochelle. You think of Bob Dylan and Hello Kitty and thermostats. Fucking Sally.

You lift your chin.

“I’m not asking you to—“

Patrick leans forward, his nose touching your nose.

“I’m gonna do the tennis,” he speaks the words into your mouth, voice like gravel melting in the sun.

You part your lips. A part of you hates him, hates how he’s insinuated himself in your life without warning. Another part, however, is asleep and betrays you.

He shushes you, though you’re sure you haven’t said anything. It’s just that you’re crying now. Completely still and silent. Weeping like the dead, because the dead weep, too.

He shakes his head, his nose brushing over yours, says shhh like you’re a cat, and, even then, Toby only stirs between your fingers.

“It’ll be good,” he says, and you’ve heard him sound convincing. You know that right now he sounds… something else. And he’s still shaking his head as he whispers, “It’ll be good, I’ll be good. I have a coach, I’m not done, I love the tennis.”

You look up at him. Lick your lips, which, when you’re so close, also means sort of licking his. Sort of licking into him. You want to say, fuck your tennis and fuck you too, but you also want to fuck him and you want to fuck his tennis, too.

You think of New Rochelle.

Patrick’s hand meanders upward toward Toby, and, if his cigarette was lit, you’d see sweeping coils of smoke floating heavenward.

It isn’t lit, but still.

You catch him quickly. You hold him by the wrist.

His skin is nauseatingly warm.

“You love it?” You sound unimpressed now. Your mouth moves over and around and against his as you speak.

“I do.”

“You love it, you love the tennis?” You’re sort of spitting it at him, and he tastes it.

And he thinks of Patrick the cat, how he lay there and was mauled. Pinned down. He thinks he’d let you draw blood, now, if you really wanted to.

“Tennis doesn’t love you.”

“Do you?”

There is time enough for you to answer. But when a sound is finally made it is only Toby, who mewls.

Patrick smiles. You feel the seam of his lips touch your lower teeth. “Didn’t think so.”

He straightens, his lips swiping your nose on his way up. He gently removes his arm from your grasp, your nails scraping is skin.

You exhale sharply. You feel stung.

Poor Toby, caught between your beating hearts. Patrick steps away. He places the cigarette between his lips, and then you do not stop him from touching Tobes. He strokes her gently.

“You got a lighter?” he asks around the cig.

There are three aflame candles in your home right now. He can smell the vanilla. You shake your head. He smiles again. Toby purrs. Patrick’s fingers touch yours between the heather fur.

You feel a strange ignition in your bones.

The game begins.

Everything is quick and violent.

You don’t know if tennis is actually quick and violent, or if that’s just him.

You are astounded by just how much a man can sweat. You are spellbound by the visceral implication of being drenched in one’s own exertion.

Gonzalez is younger. A little bit more thrilled to be here. And he’s got the kind of easy, quick thoroughness that means he probably practices with a ball machine at home, but not a lot of real experience.

Patrick makes brutal work of him.

There is a certain way his muscles tense through his forearm and the pulse travels up his bicep when he strikes the ball. His shirt rises as he twists to send it flying over the net. There is so much laboured breath and dripping skin.

He has you sit exactly where you sat during warmups.

Between sets, he extends his arm, taut and sweatsoused, and points to you with the scratched edge of his racket, one eye closed like he’s mapping trajectory. And he does sort of have this bloodhungry precision in his gaze, like a marksman.

You feel it in your neck, the ache of your focus, how your eyes water for lack of blinking as you swivel your head side to side. You do not close your mouth once.

He hits the ball again, and then again. Each with an almost startling accuracy. Each with a deep and fleshsatisfying thwack that makes your very ear canals thrum with the sort of pain that has you expecting the warmth of dripping crimson on your shoulders.

But it’s not just the force that strikes you. It’s that precision. That bulletgleam precision.

He seems to know, with a profound, animalic certainty, exactly where to place each shot.

At times, they will land exactly where the last landed.

And by the time his adversary cottons on, he has set his hungry eyes upon another target.

It’s beautiful.

You start to wonder if you have ever—ever—looked so fucking beautiful doing any single thing in your life. This strange and beautiful violence. Refined and delicate violence. He is violent and graceful.

Patrick groans when he hits the ball. Makes a guttural sound, a pained sort of sound, like he loses something of himself with each forceful departure.

The sun beams down, and you see his beautiful legs flex aglow with the beautiful gleam of his abject labour.

You think, fuck—

New Rochelle is beautiful.

“You know, I could have gone pro.”

Sam leans back in his Herman Miller chair. Takes a deep quaff of his coffee before pointing to Deirdre with his mug.

“You played for two years in middle school,” Deirdre deadpans, her gaze unmoving from her monitor as she populates a spreadsheet with who the fuck knows.

“This is huge, D,” says Sam, unhurt, “This is like if Jamal Mashburn started coaching the fuckin’ nobody that demolished LeBron at the Y.”

Deirdre seems to have forgotten this analogy, which, for her part, Sam first made months ago now.

“But also if Mashburn was married to Lebron,” adds Sam.

Your computer screen casts depressing polygons across your glasses. You slide your AirPods in. You don’t want to know where Bob Dylan will appear on your Spotify Wrapped.

I met one man who was wounded in love. I met another man who was wounded in hatred. And it’s a hard, it’s a hard— It’s a hard, it’s a hard—

It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.

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entiqua · 12 hours

Note

I love your artstyle!! Do you have any tips for drawing?

thank you so much! i'm really happy you like it!!💗 as for tips, what i would say would change drastically depending on what kind you're looking for, but some very general ones:

draw what you love and want to see most, regardless of whether anyone else wants to see it. if you don't enjoy what you're drawing it'll never come out as good or genuine as something your whole heart and soul is in. i mean you'd think this would be a no-brainer but sometimes i've had to sit back and ask myself 'if no one was ever going to see this except me, would i actually spend time drawing this?' and i was surprised by the answer

that said, it is also completely valid if your motivation for drawing is to draw for other people! there have been plenty of times where i was too artblocked to draw my own ideas but was still able to draw commissions or gifts and enjoyed it simply because making other people happy with my art makes me happy.

don't get too caught up in having a consistent art style. in my experience this 1000% hinders you

having your sense of anatomy degrade over time without you noticing because you keep drawing the same types of characters is a very real thing! if this is a concern to you be sure to draw a variety

follow a billion artists that you like the art of and you will have endless inspiration injected directly into your brain every time you open social media

my favourite practical tip for those who draw at a desk: keep a small mirror next to you at all times. absolute game changer for quickly referencing hands

if you're drawing digitally, make the canvas huge! in my experience this lets you draw messier/faster and you can't tell at all when you zoom out. if you tend to get stuck spending unnecessary amounts of time micromanaging pixels (me💀) keep it zoomed out while drawing

related to the above point, messy drawings can have far more expressiveness in them than neat and polished drawings. nowadays i never do lineart and go straight from 'barebones stickman pose' to 'varying-levels-of-coherent sketch' and use that as my lineart. sweet freedom from the sketch-looks-better-than-the-lineart phenomenon

if your goal is to improve, then you really do have to scrutinize your art, figure out what you're not satisfied with, and commit the time to focusing on it. 'practice makes perfect' kinda rubs me the wrong way because of how much i've seen it interpreted as 'just draw everyday and you'll magically improve' but genuinely it won't get you very far if you don't actively think hard about what you're trying to improve and take the steps to do it. is this a hot take idk. also hand in hand with this, not every artist is trying to improve and you shouldn't feel bad for this! maybe you just wanna make a little headshot doodle of your fave blorbo and that's your only drawing goal ever. awesome. maybe you know your art has flaws but it's passable enough to convey what you want and you're perfectly satisfied with that. (this is the stage i'm usually at). also awesome!

don't hesitate to draw something because you think it's out of your skill level. the worst that can happen if you draw it is that it comes out terribly but you learned something and can always redraw it better in the future. the worst that WILL happen if you don't draw it is that you'll never draw it. and then it will sit in the back of your brain haunting you for years. it's not like i'm speaking from experience or anything aha

look up 'hand stretches for artists' and do them if you draw a lot unless you wish to summon the wrath of the carpal tunnel demons

of course, these may not necessarily work for you, and most importantly(!) these are coming from the perspective of someone who is primarily a hobbyist. some of this won't be practical for people who need to build an audience, maintain a consistent style for work, etc. these are just things that have personally helped me over many years of drawing :)

#i haven't posted in like 6 years i've been in the trenches #but i could yap about art all day

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anangelinthepit · 2 days

Text

Without You…

Part 4

Warning ⚠️ - possessive behavior and break in. Uncomfortable topics

************************************************

Noah’s POV

“Oh Ruby, you forgot who you were married to didn’t you ?”

I pushed the guys off of me and let out a frustrated yell. Even though I’m pissed off, I couldn’t help but begin to laugh. One man with all my power doesn’t take losing control gently and welcomes the sweet insanity that follows.

“My wife,” I said looking up at the old broken down building she resided in.

“MY WIFE. The one who is carrying MY son threw me out of her house. This isn’t fucking happening. IM THE ONE WHO CALLS THE FUCKING SHOTS AROUND THIS BITCH.”

After punching the brick wall and kicking over trash cans, the voice of reason began to try and calm my anger.

“Dude, what the fuck was that?” Nick said in a demanding tone

“A conversation between me and the Mrs,” I said lighting a cigarette

“Noah she’s fucking six months pregnant, what were you planning on doing?”

“Oh please, I wasn’t gonna put my hands on her, but she needs to remember who fucking makes the rules around here. Nick, she shouldn’t be in this shady ass fucking apartment with some bitch she barely knows. I didn’t even have to get rid of her forcefully she was willing to run off and sleep with you. What does that tell you ?”

“It tells me that you’ve gone fucking insane and need to rethink what just happened. The woman you love fears you and doesn’t want anything to do with you. Do you have any idea what it takes to stand up to a person like you?”

“Person like me? I’m her fucking husband! She should obey and respect me!”

“You should be fucking thankful you had a woman like her Noah! Whatever happened to be calm or did that just fly out the fucking window?” Nick said crossing his arms

“I tried that Nick, but it seems like my wife forgot that I’m the only one in the relationship who is supposed to have a set of fucking balls!”

“Dude I may be your henchman but I’m also your best friend and I’m telling you this because I care about you. What you did in there just pushed her even further away. You are going to push her into the wrong fucking arms. She is to the point where the only way you’re going to get her back now is if you force her.”

I looked up at Nick and smiled at him. It’s almost like he read my mind.

“Force?” I said to myself

Feeling a sensation of happiness l and pure heat come over me, I gave myself a friendly and encouraging reminder.

I’m the strongest man in fucking California right now. Why didn’t I think of this before? I’ve got all the money, power, and men to control a fucking army. What is stopping me from bringing my wife home?

“No. NO. Noah don’t you fucking dare.” Nick said glaring at me, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Call up Davis and tell him to meet us at the hotel. Ruby is coming home.” I said flicking my cigarette.

“I really gotta watch my fucking words from now on.”

We made our way back to the hotel with Davis and Matt waiting. The only thing I could think about was how my wife was gonna be begging for me to let her come home after all of this. She'll be at my feet, asking for my forgiveness. Of course, I'll have to play hard to get but the least I can do is give in a little.

“You got the blueprints of the building Davis?”

“No, but you’re not gonna need them. This building only has two exits and get this, Sapphire is 1 of 4 other tenants. The damn place is so old you could pull apart the bricks piece by piece.”

“That's it?”

“Yup”

“So what’s the plan here boss?” Matt asked

I took a deep breath and contemplated on if this was a good idea. As much as I hate causing her so much discomfort, this is my only option. I’ll change my ways but first, she needs to come back home to me. She doesn’t understand how much I truly need her, and if she could just stop being stubborn and open her fucking eyes she would see that.

If she won’t come home willing then I’m gonna show her how scary the world is without me there to protect her.

“In two days you guys are going to pay Y/N a visit.”

“What kind of visit?” Nick asked

“You’ll see.”

Nick got up and walked away in disgust. I don't know what his problem is lately but he's turning soft on me. I'm gonna need him to toughen up a bit if he wants to stick with this family.

“Davis go fucking talk to him. I don't have time to give the princess treatment right now.”

Davis grunted and went outside to catch up with Nick. I don't have time for his emotional bullshit. Right now I need to get my Ruby back home and make sure she stays there. Permanently

Nick's POV

“He doesn't fucking deserve her goddamit!”

I yelled throwing a trash can and kicking the remnants that fell. God if only he fucking knew. Does he not understand? He had a good woman next to him and he gave it up for all this bullshit. I lit a cigarette and tried to calm my nerves while Davis came out and asked me if I was okay.

“I'm fine dude I just need a minute.”

“Well, Noah told me to tell you to toughen up.

I laughed at what Davis said, it's so obvious that Noah is wrapped in his world and doesn't have time to be gentle in nurturing anyone. How is that man going to take care of a baby? Y/N was smart to run.

“He doesn't deserve her Davis. You know it and I know it.”

“It's not my business Nick. I work for the man.”

“This can't be happening,” I said dragging my fingers through my hair

“I do know one thing though, if you keep running your mouth and don't control that serpent that's in your pants, He's gonna make me cut it off and force you to watch..”

I couldn't help but scoff at him.

“You know don’t you?” I asked

“Seriously? Are you trying to get me killed too? If I admit what I know then we’re both in deep shit. I don’t like the way he treats her either but overstepping boundaries with him is not something I have the balls to do. I don’t think you realize you dug your own grave, Nick.”

I looked up at the sky for answers but as always received nothing. Did I make a mistake? What am I gonna do when he finds out and will I be able to handle him?

“I don’t know if I can pretend anymore.”

“Look dude, fake it till you make it. Fuck some other girl or smoke some weed. I don't care, just figure it out. Also, don't make me a fucking accomplice to whatever Lifetime movie bullshit you got going on. Got it?”

I flicked my cigarette and went back inside. I’m gonna have to keep this bullshit cover-up for a little while longer, and even though it kills me, I’m willing to do it.

I’m willing to do anything for her.

Noah and Matt were talking but stood abruptly and stared at me when I walked into the room. I’ll play my card right and keep the poker face that I’m so good at having on.

“I'm ready for whatever you need me for Boss.”

Noah shot me a smirk and waved me over. Hearing them talk over the plan made my gut turn, but having to agree with it was even worse.

Poison on my fucking tongue

Two days later

Y/N’s POV

I’m still feeling shaken up about what happened. I couldn't focus at work and Sapphire began to notice I was dwelling on how things needed between Noah and me. I’ve never seen him get so angry at me, now of course we had our fights but what I witnessed was what I can only consider as maximum rage. I used to think he would never lay his hands on me but him flipping that table the way he did now has me second-guessing. Six months pregnant and he almost put me in harm's way.

“You’re fucking mine!”

“I'm not his fucking wife, I'm his goddamn property,” I said to myself shaking my head. Why the hell did I ever agree to this?

The moonlight shined down on me after another shitty night at the bar. I waved goodbye to my boss and made the drive home. Still feeling on edge I got to the apartment and was met once again with silence. I began to get nervous as I called out for Sapphire, I heard nothing until I went towards her room and could hear her shower running. Having a wave of relief come over me, I went into my room and tried to wind down for the night. Sitting down on the bed trying to massage my swollen feet, I realized skipping out on a shared probably wasn’t in my best interest. I smelled like sweat and unwanted married men's hormones crawling all over me. I let out a huge sigh and made my way to the bathroom when I got a text.

It was from Sapphire

Sapphire

Hey, I met this really cute guy, so I'm gonna chill at his place 2night. Wish me luck ;)

Oh so is that why you're in the shower? Lmfao gurll you do you. Just careful

I smiled and just shook my head at my bestie's promiscuous ways. I figured I should offer her a ride to this guy's house because I don't want her walking and it also gives me an excuse to go get Chinese food. As I made my way to her bedroom door, I received another text.

Sapphire

The shower? Girl I wish, my boss is making me close 2night so I still have another two hours left.

What…

Feeling my heart drop into my fucking stomach, I read over her message about 10 times. I frantically texted her back telling her that someone was in our apartment and what I should do.

Just like in a horror movie with an awful plot. The lights cut out in the fucking apartment, I wanted to scream but was too scared to do so. I slowly began to move away from her door and tried my hardest to make my way back to my bedroom to call the police. I began to back up, trying to not make myself noticeable to whoever was in her room. I could hear the shower water cut off, it was almost like the intruder was listening for my footsteps. I wasn't too far from my room when I heard frantic running in Sapphires. Whoever was in there heard me and was now making it their mission to get me. As my fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, I swiftly turned around to flee, only to be met by a tall figure who was as tough as concrete. Being shoved to the ground I began screaming and crying for them not to hurt me.

“Please, I'm pregnant! Don't hurt me I'm begging you!”

I could hear the men laughing as I struggled to back away from them. Not realizing my surroundings I ended up being backed into the wall.

“MY HUSBAND IS NOAH SEBASTIAN DAVIS, IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME HE’LL FUCKING KILL ALL OF YOU!”

Even in pitch-black darkness, I could tell that one of the men was only a couple of inches away from my face. I could feel and smell his hot breath in which I almost began to vomit. He put his hand on my stomach and leaned in to whisper in my ear

“Oh, babydoll.”

Those words cut through me like a knife

“I need you to do me a favor okay?”

I could feel something cold and sharp press against my neck and slid down to expose the cleavage under my shirt

“You tell Noah I said Hello, and if he ever lets you go again, I'm just gonna have to keep you.”

They kissed my forehead which caused me to break out into a cold sweat. God his lips felt dirty and unpure.

“Let's go boys!”

I heard what sounded like 4-5 men walk away from me and go towards my front door. My theory was confirmed when the hallway light shined in illuminating 5 men.

Before closing it, the one masked man gave me the “hush” sign and a creepy smile.

I lay there on the dirty hard wooden floor sobbing and falling apart. Making myself have enough courage and energy to get up and grab the phone. I dialed frantically and prayed he would pick up.

“Ruby?”

“Noah? Oh, thank God. Please listen to me, you have to come get me.

“Ruby, what happened?

“These. These m-men broke into my apartment and shoved me down for the g-ground.”

“Ruby slow down I can't understand you.”

I was shaking uncontrollably but I needed to pull myself together. I took a deep breath brought the phone back up to my ear and explained what happened.

“Noah I think there's a Rival group because they told me to tell you, that they're watching and if you let me go again they're gonna kidnap me. Noah Im so fucking scared please come get me!”

I fell back into hysterics and just wanted my husband. He's a fucking psycho but at least no one messed with me when I was with him.

“Are you and the baby okay?”

“Yes yes, Theo and I are fine. They just shoved me, I was able to catch myself so it wasn't so hard. Just please come get us.”

I heard nothing but silence on the phone. What the fcuk did he hang up on me? God if I can’t rely on him anymore then please protect me and my baby.

“Noah?”

“Do you finally get it, Ruby?”

“What?”

“I said do you finally get it?”

“Baby please stop, just come get me. Please!”

God, why is he making me beg?

“I can't protect you if you run away and try to be “miss independent”. Your life was always good here. If I come and get you, you better not pull this stunt ever again. There will be security in you 24/7 got it?”

I wanted to protest but the sound of phantom footsteps kept psyching me out. I didn't care anymore I just wanted to go home.

“Okay, okay, baby I will never do this again I swear, just please come get us. Noah, I can't do this on my own.”

Noah let out a huge sigh and told me he would be in about 10 minutes. I hurried and gathered my things and waited. Every minute felt like centuries, praying that those monsters wouldn't come back. I got a text from Noah saying he was here and sending Nick up to help me to the car. Oh, why couldn't it have been someone else? I waited for what seemed like forever and started to feel a nervous feeling in the bottom of my gut. I haven't seen Nick in so long, I almost forgot what he looked like. Hearing a pounding on my door, I ran over, took a deep breath, and opened it. I was met with long black hair, beautiful green eyes, and a warm smile that was always so welcoming.

“Nick”

“Y/N”

I don't know what it was but something about his smile made me collapse into his arms and start sobbing. His tight hold on me already made me feel so safe that the thought of letting go hurt.

“I got you, Angel.”

My legs could no longer hold me up and we slid down to the floor together.

“Oh, Nick. Please don't let me go.” I said sobbing into his chest

“You know I have to Angel, he's down there waiting for us.“

Nick caressed my face and made me look at him.

“Be my strong girl for me one more time, okay?

“Okay.”

Nick helped me up and walked me down to the limo. Jolly was waiting for me outside the vehicle and opened the door for me when I closed enough. I got in and could feel the tension in the air once again. Noah sat across from me with an evil look on his face. I'm not sure what I was expecting but this wasn't it. We began to drive and were only 10 minutes away from the house. I couldn't wait to shower and sleep in my bed again. I knew I wouldn't be let off so easily with this, I looked away from the window and saw that Noah was glaring at me while Nick was still facing the other way. I broke the silence and spoke which I should have known was a mistake.

“Thank you.”

Noah leaned forward and said, in a low deep growl.

“Get on your knees”

“Pardon?”

Nick snapped out of his trance and tried to grasp the situation.

“Noah she's six months pregnant, don't do this right now,” Nick begged

“Stay the fuck out of this Nick.” Noah snapped

“I said on your knees, Ruby”

I did as I was told, and got on the limo floor gently going down in my knees.

Noah yanked my chin upward forcing me to look him in the eyes.

“This is how obedient you are going to be from now on. Understand?”

I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.

“Yes”

“Get the hell up and sit there. We will talk more when we get back to the house.”

I got back up in the seat and wiped my tears. How is it that I trade one evil for another? I can't keep doing this anymore, I started to regret my decision but now it's too late. I looked over at Nick who was having a stare-down with Noah. I wish he would just look at me and not trouble the waters that we got ourselves into.

I need him right now and I don’t know how much longer I will be able to play pretend.

**********************************************

Hey guys, sorry it took so long. This story really had me wondering what I should do with. I hope you all enjoyed. Love you dearly

-Magenta 🌹

Taglist

@reyadawn @bloodylullaby @fadingintothegrey @aubrey-melinoe @supersquirrel1996 @thisbicc @amelia-acero @dreamstyles @ashdreamsalone @iluvmewwwww75 @lma1986 @concreteemo

#bad omens #noah sebastian #bad omens cult #bad omens band #noahsebastiancult #noah sebastian davis #beautiful man #i love him #love him #baby boi #nick bad omens #nick ruffilo #noah sebastian reader #noah sebastian fanfiction #nick ruffilo fanfiction

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jealousmartini · 3 days

Note

hi! i saw ur post where u mention age change with loa and could u talk more about that? cause i just turned 20, but i wanna be 17 again just so i can experience teenage things (i had depression and extreme social anxiety my whole teenagehood). i wanna feel young and do things right, apply everything i know now to this time in my life cause i can't help but feeling so old speacially since i have zero "firsts", like i'm 20 and no first crush or first kiss (ik it's not the end of the world, but i want back the expirences i was stolen from). i don't wanna over-explain myself nor trauma dump on u, but basically i just wanna start over yk? i know nothing is impossible to loa, truly know, but this one wish makss me insecure cause that will mean i was born in 2007 instead of 2004 and my old classmates werent really my classmates which is okay cause i never liked them but instead i had different ones that i don't know? i don't know if i'm making sense here, sorry to be asking u these things but ur the only person i've seen talking about age change so i'll be very thankful to anything u have to say to me. hope u have a good day :)

This ask unironically made me frown, like so hard, knowing that manifesters like you have to ask if starting over is okay because of the heavy misrepresentation and misunderstanding of manifesters and shifters who age change.

My love, OF COURSE you can. I cannot believe we have come to the point, on the interent as a whole, that people feel that they need to ask permission on what to do with THEIR LIVES, because the all high and mighty LOA police feel like they have the right to dictate what others should and shouldn't do with their lives.

And God forbid you don't obey them because then they'll throw every derogatory name, they'll diagnose you with every mental illness they want to insult you with (that they don't even understand), they'll assume that utmost worst about you, and take to their side of the community to shame you infront of them all. It's genuinely appalling.

Which is why I finally reminded myself a couple years ago that these people are not my mum. I have free will to do what I want with MY LIFE and whatever they say are nothing more than opinions that I can literally choose to listen to or to ignore. I refuse to fall into the trap of giving power, MY power away to outsiders and let them control me because real talk now, what are they actually going to do? At the end of the day they can cry, shout, rip their hair out on camera an tell me how insne I am for not having the same views as them, but none of that's stopping me from sleeping with their mum AND dad in another reality

Long story short, my answer is yes, you can start over and change the year you were born hun. You can do whatever you want because this is your call. Do what YOU want, not whatever the LOA police deems acceptable by their beliefs

#had to get that off my chest yall #martini yaps!#anon ask #asks #shiftblr #desired reality #master manifestor #loa blog #law of assumption #4d reality #shifters #loa

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asteraddicted · 1 day

Text

Small interaction idea I got for the Supersons (pre-Jon age up; I HATE THAT PART) soooo sorry if this is bad its my first official drabble post (did i use that term correctly???)

Based on this (one part blacked out bc idk how tumblr would take it)

[—-—-—-—-—-—-—-🫧🪼-—-—-—-—-—-—-—]

"Hey, Damian?" Jon spoke up, he and Damian lounging in Damian's room because— no offense to Clark, but Wayne Manor was cooler for sleepovers.

"Yes, Kent?" Damian huffed, focused on sharpening one of his many daggers. Despite the dynamic, the two were undeniable best friends. It was surprising at first, with Damian's blunt, down-to-earth personality with snap backs and insults that would make a grown man cry. Damian Wayne, best friends with a sunny, optimistic, 'blinding everyone with his smile' Jon Kent. But of course, the two didn't start out that way.

"Remember when you practically- no, you DID kidnap me after I accidentally.. killed a cat and a hawk?" Jon mumbled the last part, clearly still ashamed of it. He hadn't told Damian the whole story yet, despite how long it had been. Damian's eyebrows furrowed, and he got a little closer. He remembered those times, back before they were friends.

"Yes, I remember," he replied, his voice still firm as he inquired. "Why are you bringing that up again, Kent?" Damian — despite his almost inhuman abilities, talents, and feats — was still human, and still had the ability to forget things.

"..Nothing! It's just.. the cat. Goldie was her name. It's her deathday today." Jon frowned, having always been one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Jon couldn't help but mistake the sting building up in his eyes as the burning feeling of letting his heat vision go off and MURDER cremate the two innocent creatures on accident. It was only for a second, but Damian could see how Jon panicked in that little moment.

"And? Your point?" He said, his tone a surprisingly a tad bit softer than usual. He didn't really know what Jon was talking about. Really, he did remember kidnapping Jon because he didn't trust him. But to Damian? That was like another regular Tuesday for him.

"..I didn't mean to kill Goldie, or the hawk. I know you know that. But Goldie had escaped her house, and I was chasing her to get her back." Jon began to explain, and he wasn't as cheerful as he usually was. Not as he finally told Damian the full story. Jon couldn't help it. It had been at the very least a few years ago, but the horror Jon had felt that day was something Jon himself never forgot.

"..their bodies were charred and burning. Couldn't tell hawk from cat.. only Goldie's collar remained! I.." Jon had to go quiet to compose himself. His hands were actually shaking. Damian listened to the story. He knew something was wrong with Jon. He was not his usual cheerful, confident self.

Damian looked at Jon, his expression hard to read. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to comfort him. Damian was never good at comfort. He just sat back in silence for a while, processing what Jon had told him. Being from the League of Assassins, death was nothing new to him. Hell, he's killed animals on purpose for mission and training before he was taken to Wayne Manor. Whales and tigers and lions and eagles, on and on. It was a little hard to see from Jon's perspective, but Damian tried.

"..Y'know.. I don't think you remember what you said to me when I woke up after you kidnapped me. Hehe.." Jon let out a chuckle, smiling with his teeth to try and lighten his sadness with humor. "You told me.. 'You are a threat to every living thing on and off this planet.' And Damian, I know this is stupid, but.." Jon curled his knees to his chest, eyes on the blank screen as a movie they were watching played it's end credits.

"..I believed you. In a way.. I still do. I'm scared of myself, Dami." Jon admitted quietly before grinning and wiping his tears.

"But I guess that's pretty dumb, right?" Jon grinned widely. He was half-Kryptonian and his dad was Superman! He shouldn't cry, and he didn't have any reason to! He was growing up, and he should be more in control of his emotions.

Yet Jon had let his mind wander multiple times, whenever he passed by where it happened. It was ironic, but Jon couldn't help but be scared of himself. Yes, himself. He had the powers of Superman — the Man of Steel himself. And he was also a young boy who could be easily tricked and manipulated. Jon was strong and carefree, but he wasn't stupid. At least not all the time. Jon has witnessed some extremely traumatic events in his life. The possibility that he had the power to massacre entire cities — maybe states, countries, or eventually the world? That was something that made Jon want to lock himself up in a kryptonite cage and hide away.

Jon was afraid of his powers and the destruction they could bring. He was immune to fire, but still couldn't stop himself from imagining the burning, mangled, charred bodies of a hawk and a cat each time there was a fire that was large enough.

Damian clenched his jaw. He remembered that day. He remembered telling Jon that he was a threat. Listening to Jon talk about his fear of himself and his own powers made something inside of Damian ache. He didn't like it. Not one bit.

"It's not dumb," he said, his voice softer than usual. Damian didn't know why he was being so soft (he knew exactly why, but he didn't want to admit it. Not yet.). "And you're not a threat, Kent. You're not. You never were. You're the last person who's a threat to anything."

"That's EXACTLY why I'm a threat, Dames! I'm part Kryptonian!.. I'm invincible to most on Earth." Jon exclaimed, sighing. "I can still go rogue! Dad has gone rogue before. I don't.." Jon trailed off.

"Kent. If you think for a second I'd let you go rogue, just know my Father has plenty of Kryptonite stocked away that I would not hesitate to use." Damian narrowed his eyes, but not in an angry way. It was affectionate, though it would be hard to tell from an outsider's perspective. Jon, oddly enough, felt reassured. Reassured that if something goes wrong, that Damian would be there to stop him. He'd always be there to stop him.

"You promise, Dames?" Jon couldn't help but whisper.

"Yes, I promise. Now come on. Didn't you want to show me this movie called 'Legally Blonde' or something?" Damian rolled his eyes, but they still held that tinge of care. That hint of affection that was only reserved for Jon, and wasn't the type that Damian held for his family. No, Damian had a part of his heart specifically reserved for Jon Kent.

"Okay, good. Now come on, let's watch a pretty girl kick legal butt!" Jon grinned, ultimately feeling much better. He was so lucky to have Damian.

[—-—-—-—-—-—-—-🫧🪼-—-—-—-—-—-—-—]

AN: First post, not beta read and written in the dead of night lol. I do not write much. Romantic or platonic? Idk you choose :P

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literally-izzy · 2 days

Text

Just Friends?

summary: you’re in love with your best friend who doesn’t feel the same way. right?

Modern AU!Anakin Skywalker and Fem!reader

A/n: ah! this is my first time writing a fic and i might’ve gotten carried away… there’s also original names. not all of the names are star wars related. please feel free to repost! it would mean a lot!

cw: smut; unprotected piv, pet names, car accident..

Love. It’s a funny thing. I’ll never understand it. I only know that when it hits you, it hits you hard. Here I am, 25 and still pining over a man who doesn’t want me. You would think that after ten years I would forget about him and move on. It’s hard when he’s your best friend. Anakin Skywalker. I met him my sophomore year, his freshman year. Our moms worked together and became best friends. It was only inevitable that we would too. Every weekend was a movie night at the Skywalker house. Filled with love and laughter. The only times I hated it was when an unwanted visitor came. But I denied the real reason I disliked her.

I told myself it was just because she was too quiet. Not outgoing. Definitely not because she was dating him…. I hated the way he held her in his arms. I eventually began to realize it was because I wished it was me. Any moment I had alone with him was bliss. She didn’t go to our school. They met at summer camp the year before we became friends. So, school, especially choir was a safe place to be with him. He made me laugh like no other. And never changed the way he acted around me when his friends were around.

Now here I am, teaching a class of annoying seventh graders how to sing. Anakin is still in med school. I always admired him for it. He never thought he was smart enough for it. It took my encouragement. We still keep tradition and every Friday night; I go over to his apartment for movie night. When he graduated, he and his girlfriend, Padme, split up. So, for the past 6 years, I’ve never really had to worry about anyone else. He only had a few short relationships throughout the past six years since he graduated. Occasionally his sister joins us for movie night, that’s when we have to watch cheesy hallmark movies. Not that I hate all of them, but I dislike most of them.

I looked down at my desk and saw a text on my phone.

“Just you and me for movie night. Up for Fast and Furious?”

I smiled at the text. My students were currently working on their assignment, so I replied,

“That’s a stupid question, Anakin”. I put my phone down and I sat my chair.

He texted back almost immediately, “so I take that as a yes, y/n?”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s a yes. I’d love to talk more but I have a class to teach. Love ya”

“I’ll say a prayer for those students lol. Love ya.”

I smiled at the last sentence. We’ve been inseparable for ten years. Of course, we love each other. Mine just goes deeper than his. I’ve thought multiple times about telling him. But I just couldn’t. He’s always with someone new when I finally muster up the courage to tell him. And its not like I’ve stayed single. I’m actually with someone right now. He’s amazing in every way. He’s just not Anakin. I looked down at my phone again and realized I had a text from him.

“Hey babe, I’m gong out of town to see my parents for the weekend. I know you’re going to Anakin’s apartment for movie night, so I figured i’d tell you now”.

I feel like such a bitch. At least he’s not jealous of Anakin. My last relationship ended because I refused to stop seeing him.

I texted back, “okay, have fun!” I know I should’ve said more, but I really didn’t care. I saw another text from him but before I could answer it, the bell rang.

“Okay class, that’s homework if you didn’t finish it. Have a great weekend!” All the kids quickly piled out of my classroom. Once I was alone, I read the text from Trey.

“Okay. I will. Be safe on your drive up there.”

“I will.” I replied. I got my things together and walked out to my car. Once I got in, I connected my phone and started blasting love songs. I’m a hopeless romantic. I started driving.

He lives in the main part of Coruscant. Which is about 45 minutes away from where I live. I spent the drive belting love songs, consciously daydreaming about the life I could have with Anakin.

Once I pull into his driveway, he’s already outside waiting for me.

“Jeez, y/n, took you long enough” he smirks.

“Fuck off, Anakin” I laugh and flip him off. I walk closer to him and give him a hug. It only lasted a couple of seconds, but it felt like hours. His muscular arms wrap around me tightly and contract as we breathe in sync. He smelled like the woods behind his house, where we used to explore. His curly dirty blonde hair that shaped his face brushed against my cheek as he finally pulled away. He stood aside, gesturing for me to enter his apartment.

“Wow, you cleaned!” I teased him as I took off my shoes and sat on his black leather couch.

“Yeah, but not for you. It is my bachelor pad after all” he smirked as he sat down beside me.

“Of course,” I said with an eye roll. I tried not to sound annoyed, but I know I did. Part of my annoyance isn’t even because I want him to myself. Some of it is because he’s not as careful as he should be. He just whores around because his good looks and charm let him. One day, he’s gonna end up being a baby daddy to at least three women. And I know i’d still be around to help him. Always being his best friend. Never the love of his life.

“Pizza should be here soon” Anakin interrupted my thoughts.

“Okay great” I give him a warm smile as he sits down beside me. He pulls out his phone and starts to text someone. I know I should give him his privacy, but I’m a nosey bitch. I discreetly shift my head and side my eyes towards his phone. He’s texting a girl named Aayla. From what I could see, they’ve obviously been hooking up.

“Who’s that?” I asked, letting my jealousy get the better of me. He looks up and smirks.

“Just a girl I’ve been seeing occasionally. Why? You jealous?” He teased. I knew he was teasing but I couldn’t stop my face from turning bright red. Every normal word went out the window. I couldn’t speak. Finally, I shook myself out of it and responded nonchalantly.

“Hell no. I don’t need whatever diseases you’ve contracted from your escapades” I teased. He laughed and playfully rolled his eyes. He put his phone face down on his lap and shifted his body to face me. His black ‘KISS’ tee shirt tightened around his body, outlining his stunning six-pack.

“So, how’s everything with Trey?” His face was calm. His lips pressed into a peaceful smile.

“Everything’s great. We just came up on 4 months together.” I couldn’t think of anything interesting to tell him. As bad as it sounds, my relationship with Trey is vanilla. Nothing daring or exciting.

“Can I ask you something?” He raised his eyebrows slightly.

“Of course,” I smiled.

He paused, thinking of what to say next. “So, I’ve only seen him a few times, but he looks awfully boring. Is he any good in bed?”

My jaw dropped. I started laughing a little. “I guess so. He’s only the second guy I’ve been with. I don’t have much to compare him to”.

“Wait, really?” He looked astonished.

I immediately started blushing. I felt embarrassed. “Um, yeah…”

“How come you never told me?” He looked genuinely hurt that I didn’t tell him I’ve only slept with two men.

“I don’t know. We’ve never really gone into detail about our sex lives”

“Yeah, but I mean, I told you when I lost my virginity at least. You didn’t even tell me that.” He sounded so hurt. And I could see where this was coming from. Besides this one topic, I tell him everything. He looked down at my hands that were fidgeting in my lap. All of a sudden, he grabs them. His big strong hands gripping my smaller ones, with a look of compassion on his face. “y/n, please don’t feel like you have to keep things from me. I’m your best friend. I would never judge you”.

How was I not supposed to melt. I nodded and swallowed, keeping my hands in his. “I lost my virginity when I was nineteen. In college. I was with Maul. I was embarrassed to say anything because you lost yours before me and I felt, different, I guess. After we split, I was scared to do it with anyone else. I’ve only recently slept with Trey.”

Just as he was about to speak, the doorbell rang. We knew it was the pizza, so he went up to get it. Once he got it, he walked into the kitchen. It only took a couple of minutes before he came back in with two plates of pizza. He set the plates down, walked back into the kitchen, and came back with two bottles of ‘Mikes hard lemonade’. He then sat beside me, turning on ‘Fast and Furious’.

We had gotten through the first three movies before I started to get sleepy. I tried to stay awake for another movie, but I couldn’t. We had talked about various things. Work, school, family, etc.

“I’m sorry, but I better leave. I’m starting to fall asleep.” I yawned tiredly.

His eyes widened. Then he started to look sad. “Wait, why don’t you just stay the weekend? I know you keep clothes in your car, and you said Trey would be at his parents’ house all weekend.”

I smiled. But then I started overthinking. What if I annoy him too much? We’ve never spent a whole weekend together without breaks. Or what if he wants to bring a girl over? I’d just get in the way. “Are you sure? What if you want to put your bachelor pad to use?” I slightly teased. Only slightly because part of me was serious.

He smirked, “Do you really think girls are over here every weekend?”

“From the way you talk about them, yes.”

He started laughing. “No, y/n. I’m really not that big of a man whore.”

I looked down at my hands, “Oh. Well, what about that Aayla girl?”

“Not important. We aren’t exclusive. She’s just something fun. There’s no relationship there. If there was, I would’ve told you, y/n.” He said seriously.

“Okay. I’ll stay. I don’t have pajamas in my car though.”

He smiled, knowing he had won. “I have a shirt and sweats you can wear.”

“Okay. Do you have a pillow for the couch?” I asked with a soft smile on my face.

“Yes. But not for you. You can have my bed. And that’s non-negotiable.”

I rolled my eyes as I stood up. I was too tired to fight. He motioned for me to follow him into his room. I’d only been in there once, and that was when he moved into the apartment. As we walked in, I was hit with the refreshing smell of his light cologne. His bed was in the corner, facing the door when you walk in. Across from his queen-sized bed was a tall, dark wood dresser. He walked over to the dresser and pulled out a gray shirt and black sweatpants.

“Here, they might be a bit big, but you’ll just be sleeping in them.”

“Thank you” I smiled. He set the clothes on his bed before walking closer to me. Once he was close enough, he wrapped his strong arms around me. I hugged him back, breathing in his scent. His head rested on my dirty blonde curls.

“Goodnight, y/n”, he breathed out before pulling away. I sighed and smiled.

“Night, Ani”. With that, he smiled and walked out, shutting his door. I began to remove my clothes and replaced them with his. I was immediately engulfed in his natural woodsy scent. I then crawled into his bed. It was very soft, like laying on a cloud. His black sheets smelled like him. I laid there and started thinking about the future I could have if I just grow a pair and tell him. Eventually, I closed my eyes and drifted off, wishing he was laying beside me.

While I was sleeping, I felt something on my hair. I decided to ignore it. But I can't help but hope it was him. But I won't bring It up.

♡

I woke up to the sound of sizzling. I sat up and admired the way the sun shined on my body through the window above the bed. I tossed my legs over the side of the bed and walked out to the kitchen. I was hit with the smell of bacon, my favorite. I walked further in to see Anakin humming and cooking. He was so focused on breakfast; he didn’t even notice I was awake. So, I started to sing the words of the song he was humming. He quickly turned around with a huge grin on his face. His robe was open, exposing his bare chest. His body was God-like.

“You have such a beautiful voice, y/n/n” he complimented me. Sure, he knew I could sing, but this felt different. I blushed a little before responding.

“Thank you, Ani”. I smiled.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked with his eyebrows slightly raised.

“Yes, I did. Your bed is very comfy” I smiled.

He let out a small chuckle. “I know. So, I deserve a big thank you for letting you sleep in it for this weekend”

I rolled my eyes. “Thank you for letting me sleep in your incredibly comfy bed.”

“You’re welcome.” He turned back around to get our plates ready. Once he was done, he took them to the table and sat down waiting for me. We sat there and ate the eggs and bacon he had made. Then I remembered something.

“Last night, what were you going to say before the pizza got delivered?”

He looked down. He was thinking. “Well, I guess I was just surprised, I guess. It’s hard to believe you’ve only slept with two men.” I looked into his eyes and knitted my eyebrows.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, c’mon y/n/n. Just because we’re best friends, doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate how beautiful you are.” I choked on my water. I coughed for a few minutes before responding.

“Oh. Really?”

He smiled and laughed lightly. “Yes. Really.” I could’ve died right there. Why couldn’t he be mine?

Once we finished eating, I walked into his living room and sat on the couch. I got on my phone to check any missed calls or notifications I might’ve had. All I had was a text from Trey.

“Good morning, beautiful. Missed waking up next to you this morning” I didn’t. I wished it was Anakin.

“Why is he so cheesy?” I heard Anakin ask from beside me. I can’t blame him for being nosey, considering I did the same thing last night.

“I don’t know. It’s not my favorite if I’m being honest” I said with a slight grimace. He laughed before focusing back on his phone. I looked back down at the text and decided to respond.

“Good morning! Don’t miss me too much. Enjoy your time with your parents”. I rolled my eyes as I pressed send. I started scrolling on instagram. I stopped when I saw an engagement post an old friend from High school made. An instant feeling of jealousy and heartbreak came over me. I heard Anakin sigh as he started to speak.

“Oh yeah, I saw that.” He spoke as if it made no difference. It probably doesn’t to him. But to me, I feel behind. I thought I still had time to start all of that. Is 25 too old? He started to speak again when I didn’t say anything. “Hey, what’s wrong?” His voice was soft, like velvet

“Am I wasting my life?” I looked up with tears begging to be released from my eyes.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He knitted his eyebrows together.

“I though I still had time before starting a family. I thought 25 was still young. But now, Casey is getting married.” I sniffled. The tears finally leaving my eyes. Without saying anything, Anakin pulled me into a hug. Once again, his woodsy smell engulfed my senses and I felt calm. My face was pressed against his bare chest, since he still hadn’t changed. He gently rubbed my back with his hand. After a few minutes, I pulled away to save myself from falling for him even more, if that was possible. He began to speak.

“I don’t think there’s a time limit. You start it when you’re ready.” He smiled softly.

“When did you get so smart?” I teased. He scoffed and playfully put his hand to his chest.

“I am deeply offended y/n.” I pushed him and we started laughing. He paused. “Hey, I have an idea”

“What?”

“Let’s go see my parents. It’ll give us something to do.” He shrugged. I smiled. I hadn’t seen them in a while.

“I love that idea. I just have to get my clothes out of my car and change” I stood up and did just that. I walked back in with my book bag and went into his room and changed. I walked out with my slightly ripped jeans and my favorite ‘Nirvana’ tee-shirt. Anakin smiled and walked into the room to change while I waited. He walked back out in black jeans and a plain gray shirt. Even in the plainest clothes he was ethereal. I grabbed my phone and his as we walked out the door.

•

On the drive to his parents’ house, we blasted our favorite songs. We belted our hearts out, laughed at the stupid shit he said. My heart fluttered every time he looked at me. The way he says my name. After 20 minutes, we pulled into his parents' driveway. We got out and he rang the doorbell. Their house was white and older. There was a wooded area in their backyard where Anakin, his sister Ashoka, and I would explore and mess around.

When I moved closer to my job, I was sad to be so far away. But when Anakin moved to Coruscant to go to college and Coruscant Medical School, I was elated. We were now only 45 minutes apart instead of an hour. I hadn’t been home in 6 months. My parents haven’t even met Trey. Which is intentional.

After a few seconds, his mom Shmi, opened the door and a huge grin appeared on her face. She then gasped.

“Oh! y/n!! It’s so good to see you!” She pulled me into a tight comforting hug. Anakin rolled his eyes.

“Nice to see you too mom” he teased. I pulled away and smiled. She walked forward and pulled Anakin into a hug as well. Just then, his Step dad, Cliegg, came out and gave me a side hug before hugging Anakin. Shmi finally spoke up.

“Well, come on in! I just made some chili if you’re hungry”. I walked into their house and was hit with the smell of her infamous chili. My mouth immediately started watering. I proceeded to the kitchen and didn’t waste and time on grabbing a bowl. Anakin soon entered behind me and did the same.

Once our bowls were filled, we went into the dining room and sat at the table. His parents joined us, and we began to make some small talk. Shmi smiled and began to speak.

“So, are either of you seeing anyone?” Before I could say anything, Anakin spoke up.

“Well, y/n has a boyfriend. But I’m not seeing anyone right now.” I smiled awkwardly, knowing Shmi would tell my mother. Shmi’s face looked almost sad, as if she wanted me to be single or him to not be.

“Oh, that’s wonderful! What’s his name?” She asked brightly. I looked up from the table and smiled.

“His name is Trey” I said quietly.

“Is that short for anything?” Cliegg spoke up.

“His name is Daniel Jones the third. Because he’s the third, he goes by Trey.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.” Anakin said almost offended.

“Well, you never asked” I replied. The rest of lunch went well. After a few more hours, we decided to head back home. We hugged his parents goodbye and got back into Anakin’s truck. Once we started driving, Anakin cleared his throat and started to speak.

“Are you mad at me?” He said as if he would start crying if I said yes.

“What? No. Why would I be mad at you?” I asked genuinely.

“I don’t know. You’ve just been distant recently, I guess.” He shrugged, keeping his beautiful blue eyes on the road.

“I’m not trying to be. You’re my best friend, I would never try to distance myself from you.” I sighed. He was right. But I’m only trying to save myself from utter heartbreak.

“Okay. I believe you.” And with that, we stayed silent the rest of the ride home. The only time we spoke was when we stopped at a drive-thru to get food. We ate in the car. Still staying silent. Once we pulled into his driveway, I got out and went straight to his room to change.

In had just finished changing, when Anakin walked in. He just stood there. He didn’t say anything. I spoke up.

“Is everything go-” I was cut short by Anakin when he pressed his lips onto mine. I didn’t even have time to react before he pulled away. His eyes widened.

“I- I’m sorry.” With that, he walked out of his room and shut the door. I wanted to follow him, but I could tell he needed to be alone. I sat on the end of the bed and ran my hands through my hair. I looked down and spoke quietly.

“What the fuck just happened?” I crawled onto the bed and laid down. Did he mean to? Was he fucking with me? Did he want me as much as I want him? No. He couldn’t. It’s been too long for him not to have said anything. I curled into a ball and fell asleep thinking about what just happened.

The next morning, I woke up ready to talk to Anakin. I changed into leggings and a plain blue shirt. When I walked out, I didn’t see him anywhere. I checked every room until I saw a note on his fridge.

“I went for a drive. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’m so sorry. I’ll see you next weekend, I hope. - Anakin. I wasn’t angry at him for leaving, surprisingly. I understood. I walked back into his room, grabbed my stuff and left. As I drove back to my apartment, I couldn’t help but start to cry. I cried because I was hurt, confused, frustrated, in love.

When I pulled into the driveway, I sat in my car and cried some more. Eventually, I got out and walked into my apartment complex. I got in the elevator and kept my eyes on the floor so no one could see me cry. When the elevator rang, I walked out and ran down the hallway to get to my door.

I walked in and ran into my room. I crawled into my bed and cried. He kissed me and he regrets it. I was stupid to think that maybe we could be something. I fell asleep with tears still running down my cheeks.

After what was probably a few hours, I heard loud knocking on my door. I got up and opened it. Trey.

“Hey gorgeous” he smiled.

“Hi.” I said quietly. I stood to the side allowing him to come in. I couldn’t stop sniffling, so he turned around with a concerned look.

“What’s wrong, beautiful?” He said softly.

“I just don’t feel good” I lied. I couldn’t tell him that my best friend kissed me, said sorry, then left and I wished he wasn’t sorry. Trey walked over to the couch and sat down. He gestured for me to sit beside him. I did. Once I sat down, he pulled me close to him. I wont lie, Trey is very comforting. He is so sweet and honestly very good looking, but he’s not him. As much as I try to enjoy being with Trey I can't.

I sat there for what felt like another hour, before I got a call. I sat up and answered.

“Hello?” I didn’t recognize the number.

“Hi, this is Coruscant Hospital. Is this y/n y/l/n?” My heart dropped.

“Yes, it is”

“We have Anakin Skywalker here. You were number one on his emergency contact list. He’s in our trauma room right now. He got into a pretty bad accident. I would suggest that you come down and call any other family members”.

I froze. I couldn’t speak. I felt tears running down my cheeks, but I couldn’t make any sound. Finally, I said okay and hung up. I told trey what happened, and I left. I drove as fast as I could without getting pulled over. I sobbed thinking the worst. I called his mom and told her. She immediately tried to calm me down and told me she was on her way.

I pulled into the parking lot and ran in. I told the receptionist his name. She looked him up and told me he was taken into emergency surgery. I sat in the waiting room. His mom eventually came, and I told her. She held me as I cried. We sat in the waiting room for 4 hours. Eventually a doctor came out.

“Are you the family of Anakin Skywalker?”. We both nodded. “He’s out of surgery. He’s in a coma right now. He shouldn’t be asleep for long, but don’t expect him to be awake tonight.”

We nodded. A nurse came and led us to his room. As soon as I saw him, I immediately broke into tears. I pulled a chair up to the side of his bed. I sat down and grabbed his hand. He had a black eye, and his arms were covered in cuts and bruises. He had stitches visible on his chest, before they went under his gown. Shmi grabbed his other hand and gave it a kiss. We sat in silence before she finally spoke.

“He’s so lucky to have you, y/n.” She said softly with a light smile.

“What do you mean?” I asked with utter confusion.

“You bring out the best in him. He trusts you more than anyone. You’d drop anything the moment he asks you to. And you care about him so much. You’ve shed more tears tonight than I think I have in the last 4 years.” She explained.

“Of course, I care about him. He’s my best friend.” She just hummed in response. After an hour or so, another nurse came in.

“Unfortunately, only one of you can stay with him. It’s hospital policy.” I immediately went to stand up when Shmi spoke.

“y/n, stay. You need to. I’ll be back in the morning.” I she said sternly. I didn’t even try to argue with her. She left and I curled up in the chair and slept the best I could.

The next morning, his mom walked in and woke me up. She had brought me some coffee and a breakfast sandwich. We turned on the television and occasionally had a conversation. I barely let go of his hand.

Shmi left to get some lunch. I stayed. I held his hand with my left hand and used my right to caress his face. I whispered softly.

“Please wake up. I need you. I-I love you. Please Ani.” I begged. I couldn’t help but shed a few tears. All I wanted was to hear his voice.

After a bit, Shmi returned, and we talked some more. Once it got late, she left and went back home. I sat there and cried some more. I needed my best friend. I needed my Ani. All of a sudden, I heard a knock on the door.

“Come in” I said calmly. Trey walked in with some food,

“I got you something to eat. Figured I could sit with you for a bit and then take you home.” He spoke.

I sighed. “Thank you for the food, but I’m staying here. I refuse to leave him.”

“Can I ask you something?” He said softly.

“Sure” I said staring at Anakin’s beautiful face.

“If that was me, would you stay all night, not eat and hold my hand?” He spoke softly, but I could tell he was sad and angry. How could I blame him? But I was tired of lying.

“No.” And I said that with full honesty. “He’s my best friend. We’ve been inseparable for ten years. Why would that change now?” I spoke quietly. Not once taking my eyes off of Anakin.

“You love him. Don’t you?” He questioned. I didn’t know what to say.

“Of course. He’s my best frie-”. He cut me off.

“Cut the shit, y/n. You love him. More than a friend. And I won’t stand in the way.” He said solemnly. He walked out and I didn’t say anything. I just kept my red teary eyes on the love of my life. Whether he felt the same or not, it’s true. I kissed his hand. And for the first time in years, I prayed.

I prayed to God that he wakes up. That I get my best friend back. I turned off the television and the lights. I sat there with only the beeping of the machines. I leaned forward, laid my head on the side of his bed and cried.

After a bit, his nurse came to check his vitals. I watched as she did her job. I could tell she was very meticulous, and I was thankful for that. After she left, I felt the urge to cry again. So, I pulled out my phone and called the only other person who comforts me. My mom. The phone rang for a couple of seconds before she answered.

“Hello?” She said calmly.

“Hey mom” I said, my voice cracking.

“Oh, baby. I heard what happened to Anakin. Shmi told me you haven’t left his side in almost two days.”

“How could I mom? He’s my person, my safe haven. I need him. I love him.” I said hesitantly.

“We all know that. We’re positive he does too. We were just wondering how long it would take before you noticed.” She said with a laugh in her voice. She was always good at seeing the positive in everything.

“Damn. We’re dense. I just called you to calm myself down but I’m getting tired so I’m going to try and sleep.” I said in a calm tone.

“Okay, sweetie. Call me if you need me. Bye.” And she hung up. I set my phone down and leaned forward again so I could keep holding his hand.

I laid my head on his arm and drifted off to sleep.

I heard talking. I thought it was just nurses until I heard his voice.

“No, don’t wake her. My mom said she barely slept. I want her to get as much sleep as possible.” It was Anakin. I shot my head up. When I did his beautiful ocean blue eyes were on y/e/c ones. I brought my hand up to cover my mouth as I burst into tears. He smiled and brought his hand up to cup my cheek.

“Never mind.” He let out a soft chuckle.

The nurses all walked out and shut the door leaving us alone. I removed my hand and spoke.

“You’re awake!” I exclaimed.

“Am I?” He teased. “y/n, I’m so sorry about what happe-” I cut him off.

“I love you. So much actually.” I blurted out.

“Wait, really?” He knitted his eyebrows

I nodded. “I love you. More than just a friend. I’ve loved you since the day we met. I’ve loved you through every friend, girl, or fight we’ve ever had. I understand if you don’t feel the same way. I just needed to tell you.”

His face calmed and he smiled. His hand grabbed my shirt and pulled me forward. When we were close enough, he pressed his lips on to mine. We kissed passionately for what felt like hours. When we pulled away, he spoke.

“I never thought I’d hear you say that. I only got girlfriends to distract myself from the fact that I loved you. I thought I finally had a chance until you got with Trey. I’ve tried so hard to contain myself, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want you to leave Friday because I couldn’t handle having to wait another week before I saw you again. And at night I came in and kissed your forehead against my better judgement. y/n, I love you more than any word could express.”

I started crying again. He pulled me close to him. I laid on my side with my head to his chest. And I stayed like that for the next three days until he was discharged.

•

I helped him walk out to my car. Once we got in and I started driving, he put his hand on my thigh. I smiled as I drove us back to his apartment. Once I pulled into his driveway, I got out and helped him get out. We walked into his apartment, and the moment his door was shut, his lips were on mine.

Anakin moved his lips from mine down to my jaw and neck. I let out small moans of pleasure. He moved his hands down and grabbed the hem of my shirt. I raised my arms so he could remove it. Once my shirt was off, we walked into his room. When we got into his room, he began to remove everything except for his boxers. I removed everything but my bra and thong.

“Should we be doing this? You just had surgery 5 days ago” I reminded him.

“Baby, I need exercise to strengthen my heart again. That shard of glass really fucked it up. And what better way to get it working than to do this?” He smirked while he explained. I chose to just nod.

He walked closer to me and caressed every inch of me. He brought his hands around my back and unclipped my bra. I let it slide down my arms as he admired my bare chest.

“You’re so fucking beautiful baby” he grabbed my breasts and began to place kisses on my neck. He pushed me onto his bed and got on top of me. He brought his hands down and removed underwear in one go. I smirked and took my hand and placed it over his boxers, rubbing the impressive bulge. He let out a whimper, which drove me crazy. I pulled down his boxers and widened my eyes. He was huge.

Anakin took his fingers and began to rub my clit. I moaned and threw my head into the pillow. He leaned forward and placed my breast into his mouth.

“That feels so good Ani” I moaned. He began to move his fingers faster around my clit, causing me to squirm. It didn’t take long until he removed his mouth from my nipple and moved his body down.

He spread my legs open, and I felt him sucking on my clit. The feeling was phenomenal. He then started lapping at my pussy like he would die without it. He then took his middle finger and ring finger and began fingering me.

“Oh my god, Anakin. I’m gonna-” I couldn’t even finish my sentence. He let out a dark chuckle before he moved his body up.

I felt the tip of his dick at my entrance. He looked at me and smirked.

“Are you ready baby?” I looked at him and nodded. “Use your words, pretty girl.”

“Fuck, yes I’m ready.” With that, I felt him push his length in me slowly. I threw my head back and moaned loudly. Once I adjusted to his length, he began to thrust into me at a decent pace. He leaned his head down and kissed me deeply while bringing a hand down to rub my clit.

“Ani, go faster” I begged. He began to go faster and felt the knot in my stomach begin to unravel. I let out louder moans until they became incoherent babbles.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good around my cock.” Anakin let out the most glorious whimper I’d ever heard. That was enough to send me into orbit.

“I’m so close” I told him, and he began to thrust faster.

“Fuck baby, me too.” He whined. He kept thrusting faster until I felt my orgasm coming.

“Ani, I’m gonna come.” I moaned. He looked into my eyes and smiled.

“Come with me baby” and with those words I felt my orgasm take over my body as his thrusts began to slow down as he came in me.

“Fuck, y/n” He panted as he pulled out. He bent down and pushed his cum back into my leaking hole, eliciting a moan from my lips.

He got off of me and laid beside me. He then pulled me close to him, so my head was on his chest.

“You have no idea, how long I’ve wanted to do that for.” He confessed and I smiled as I began to trace circles on his chest with my finger.

“Me too” I replied. He leaned his head down and kissed the top of my head.

“I love you, y/n. So much.” He said softly as his hand ran up and down my back.

“I love you too Anakin.” I replied. We laid there, talking. At one point he brought the blanket over us. After a bit, we started to get tired, and it didn’t take long before I fell asleep in his arms. Where I belonged.

#hayden christensen #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker #smut #modern au #⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ izzy’s fics

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yuujiheart · 2 days

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Reading chp 270 feels so weird.. I thought this would be the chapter where we would finally see yuji and will get some info on things that are actually necessary to complete the story.

What really gave me a headache was sukuna stuff. They found tengen remains in sukuna's remnants so logically they should have found it after sukuna's remains perished right? As we did see him getting disintegrate. But gakuganji said it is preserved in his remnants??? Like how???

This means sukuna's remnants DIDN'T disintegrate . So did yuji ( coz he was the only one who was there) stop the disintegration?? And this wasn't addressed at all.. I knew that not showing him disintegrate fully was suspicious... ( if anyone has a better explanation, feel free to comment). Not just that there was no mention of his last finger and the fingers he threw up.. Oh and the way they spoke it looks like this is a temporary arrangement so they still need to fix it..

They not talking about gojo itself is suspicious.. At least tell us what the hell is going on with his body. Or gege gonna jump scare us with his face in next chapter

Gakuganji not being in a hurry to take countermeasures.. Higuruma's hand/ arm still hasn't recovered as if he forgot he can do rct.. I didn't think too much of him being alive as I thought shoko along with arata and amai might have saved him from dying as uiui took him out of the battlefield swiftly but now this is weird..

Aside from this chap stuff, I am also thinking why gege isn't addressing the real thing as he must know readers are waiting for yuji's lineage, kenny , sukuna, tengen relationship, yuji gojo convo.. What is yuji thinking? Sure we can't get a backstory but he could have revealed that info in chp 257 style. Bro dedicated one chap to less important stuff but completely ignored the real deal... I find it irritating and funny too. Only I don't want to laugh... 😑😑😑

And now that they have added this mission too and it will surely take at least 4-6 pages assuming it would be a normal mission and then will address the real stuff which I wonder if he can cover in one chp. And that's why I suspect we are gonna get a jjk part 2 with a big twist in the last chp.. Because I find it hard to believe that gege would end his first major work like this. This person dedicated half chap answering why they didn't do certain things in a certain way in battle but yeah I should believe he doesn't want to address major plot points which again I don't think he can do it in one chap ..

So yeah i am gonna believe in gege till the end.. I mean I know I am signing myself for disappointment probably then again it can't get any worse than this... So why not one more time.. As if we aren't familiar to this...🥲🥲( but I strongly suggest to not do this as it can get reaaaaaaaalllly painful)

#initially i wanted a heian era spinoff but now i want gege to give jjk a proper conclusion even if this means he has to make a part 2 #it is such a weird situation where i see the chap and can only focus on how things are set up vaguely #and i find that something is missing lacking which is just not gege's style..#jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #gojo satoru #itadori yuuji #jjk #higuruma #sukuna #jjk270

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rainyfestivalsweets · 2 days

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9/22/24

Ok.... so some storytime. This weekend's plans were smashed to hell and if I was in a different mental space I would have fared much much worse. But I have been focusing on boundary making and personal growth so here is what happend:

A friend (SPECIFICALLY THE ONE Who was bugging me earlier this year about buying her diet products incessentaly) had called me in July, while drunk and with her husband on their anniversary. During this call, she asked me what I was really doing to lose the weight and insinuated that I was either a recipient of weight loss surgery or on Ozempic or some other GLP 1.

Mind you - This is a lady that I converse with daily over snapchat. Maybe not full in conversations, but she sees all my sweaty selfies, thoughts on mindset, and sometimes food. Mostly daily sweaty selfies.

The incessant requests to buy her weight loss bullshit this year drove me to the brink of getting off all social medias. How many fucking times do I need to say no. Mind you, this lady has been my friend since 2000.

So she tells me during this call, where she isn't really letting me speak, that she will be here this weekend and I should come hang out with her and her friend. Upon inquiry she divulges it is like a 30 year high school reunion thing.

Now, I want to see her because I feel like our friendship is floundering. She lives far away and I find most social media things to be unbearable.

Why? Weight loss is hard and I do better when I reduce interactions with people, because everything feels really emotionally raw. You also have people who will tell you that whatever you are doing is fucking wrong and you should be doing something else OR people who will see you changing your habits and will fight that tooth and nail. It doesn't really matter what you are doing, people will just foist their opinions on you. It is better to block all that shit out and focus on yourself.

So she invites me to 3rd wheel and I want to go because I want to see her in person. It is a 4 hour drive one way, and requires me to get all my weekend chores done before the weekend, have someone come by to check on my mom, who I am a caregiver for, and someone to watch my dogs. It also conflicts with a group fall cabin camping weekend, which I steadfastlu maintain I cannot attend because I have prior plans.

She writes and says at 5 pm the day before I am supposed to leave that "they are concerned" about the drive and that it is alot of driving for a very short visit. I read that as- Don't come.

I kind of expected this, and even tho the late hour annoyed me, I was able to wrangle myself and say, ok, hope you have a blast.

And I have heard basically nothing from her since.

So here is where I ask: Am I the asshole?

She seems to be giving me the silent treatment for not coming when she basically told me not to come. I think the real reason is- she invited me when she was drunk, to an event she planned with her other friend for their high school reunion, and didn't check with her other friend about inviting someone else.

I feel like she has been experiencing sober regret about inviting me to an event they obviously planned together without me. And she waited 2 months to say OOOOOps! Didn't mean to do that.

The other issue is- I also expected to get uninvited because I was sick and she has an autoimmune disorder.

But that is conjecture and not the reason she gave.

AITA??

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littleoddwriter · 1 year

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Reasons to stay alive

Hey there! As I'm currently struggling immensely with staying alive, due to an ongoing BPD episode, I wanted to write down my personal reasons for staying. I'm sharing my list because I thought it might help others to perhaps be reminded of things they don't usually consider in those dark spots. Feel free to add onto the list, create your own, etc. Share it. Keep it private. Whatever feels best to you. <3 And please remember that there are no silly reasons. If it means you're going to stay another day, it is a perfect reason!

My favourite band

Renfield (2023)

Going to the cinema to see horror movies I've been looking forward to

Also, the Barbie movie

Getting to spend more time with my plushies and dolls

Seeing what my The Simpsons calendar brings each day

Attending the Horror Convention next year

Season 3 of Chucky

Buying more Chucky dolls, plus Glen(da) and Tiffany

Getting to wear my new jacket

Medically and socially transitioning

Watching TV shows with my dad that are on our list

Writing the fanfics I've been wanting to write for months and years

Writing my original story and publishing it as a book

To be a teacher

(...)

#i always thought my reasons were pretty dumb because it's nothing profound or whatever #but all these things are incredibly important to me and always why i refrain from making an attempt after all #tw implied suicide #reasons to live #reasons to stay alive #mental health support #this has been running through my mind the past couple of days and so i decided to make it a reality #because it's really hard for me to just tell myself these things #thus a written down list that i have somewhere where i always see it sounded like a good solution #ronny.exe

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pastafossa · 1 year

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Charlie Cox experience at Philly Fan Expo 2023

So LET”S TALK ABOUT ME MEETING CHARLIE. I’m actually going to make two posts - this one just about my experiences with Charlie, because they were incredibly meaningful and deserve their own post, and then another one about the rest of the con!

I’m going to talk about Charlie first, because of how amazing the experience was, one of the best I’ve had, especially at the autograph table. I’ve done photos, gotten autographs and such before from other celebs - from niche voice actors I loved to people like David Tennant - but this felt Really Really Big. Obviously, I was nervous as all hell because holy shit Charlie Cox, my favorite actor whose work altered the course of my life. I won’t lie - I’d been practicing what to say to him in case I freaked out, but I’m happy to say that everyone who reassured me it would go great, because he was so, so genuine and kind, were right.

The photo op happened first (and thank you to everyone on tumblr guiding me where to go, cause I was LOST about where that was happening), and that went fast. By that point in the con hall, I’d already ditched my Jessica Jones jacket and gloves cause holy shit it’s hot and I am a creature of snow and ice, and my hair was a mess, but honestly I didn’t care, cause there he is. You don’t get long, but he made the most of it and he was SO sweet. Ya’ll, he asked my name, said my name as he shook my hand, and called me ‘my dear’ in that beautiful voice.

I was literally on the moon, but it was time for the big question:

Will he hold the red thread from TRT?

So in a quiet, nervous, soft author voice, I asked, ‘would you be ok with holding this end of the thread?’

HE FUCKING DID.

HE HELD IT.

HE HELD. THE. RED. THREAD.

I’m fairly certain he doesn’t know about the fic at this point - he wasn’t sure where to hold it until I told him, but he loved that it lit up! AND THEN HE PUT HIS ARM AROUND ME AND I GOT TO PUT MY ARM AROUND HIM BACK.

I’m fairly certain I’m dead in the photo. My soul had left my body. I had ascended. I saw Jesus and he looked like Charlie. I had achieved fic author heights never imagined. My brain filled with enough serotonin and dopamine to sink a ship. I didn’t care that I was hot and sweaty or that my hair was messy or that my cosplay didn’t work out like I’d planned. I had been blessed.

also look at that forearm holy shit

I floated outta that gd room ya’ll. I’m pretty sure @wonderlandmind4 did the same. WE FROLICKED OUT OF THAT HALL LIKE

But things got even better at the autograph table, and I had one of the most touching experiences ever.

not me tearing up thinking about it.

That line was long, but I kept getting glimpses of him and I could already tell he was enjoying interacting with people, and he was making sure everyone got their bit of time with him instead of letting anyone rush people through. He was so happy looking, laughing and grinning, high fives and fist bumps for kids, chatting with fans. Which made me feel a little more confident.

I know some people wondered if I’d tell him about TRT, and I’d already decided I wasn’t going to. Instead, I really, really wanted just a second to tell him what his work as Daredevil had meant for me, as someone who became disabled around the same time Matt did as a kid, and who related to... a lot of what Matt went through in the show. I’d practiced it over and over again, and there was only a fifty percent chance I wouldn’t start crying while telling him, and I wasn’t even sure I’d have time to tell him depending on how much time we had.

He made time.

I got up to him with my art print holy shit he’s even more beautiful in person and his eyes are STUNNING. He said hi, and asked my name so he could personalize the autograph if I wanted (DUH, YES PLEASE), and he apologized about the line after we shook hands. I jokingly told him it was fine since I’d driven hours to get here. A little time in line wasn’t a bother. He even loved one of the buttons on my lanyard - the button of Matt wearing a heart crown specifically! And as he was writing, I knew this was my chance to tell him. He was still signing, so I just decided to go for it in case I ran out of time.

“I just wanted to tell you,” I said quietly, “as someone who became disabled as a kid around the same age as Matt did—”

And then he did something I didn’t expect, something I’d rarely seen anyone do, famous or not, and something I’d never had an actor or artist do for me.

He immediately set down the pen, leaned in close over the table, and made direct eye contact, while giving me the most genuine, gentle, encouraging smile I’d ever seen.

In that moment, I knew everything in him was listening, that he cared about what I was about to say and recognized that this was important to me, and that he’d closed the distance to make this conversation just... us. It felt personal in a way I’ve never experienced at a con or signing.

Just like that, I wasn’t afraid to tell him what I’d wanted to.

“And as someone who related to... a lot of what Matt went through, his struggles in the show, and especially the dark parts of season 3,” I said, more confidently now, “I wanted you to know that all the work you put in, the way you played it, the way you played Matt and treated it seriously, seeing that helped me process and heal from a lot of my own trauma and pain over what I’ve gone through with my illnesses. What you did was important and it really helped me. So I wanted you to know that, how much that meant to me, and to say thank you.”

The whole time I spoke to him, he kept direct eye contact, and didn’t look away once. He didn’t get antsy, or look like he wanted me to hurry up (which I’d have understood, cause damn, these are long days for him). He listened, fully engaged and leaning in, his eyes warm and soft and kind but incredibly serious. I’m not sure how often he’s been told something like this—a lot, I expect; his portrayal was just that good, and I know it was important to a lot of fans—but what I was trying to tell him clearly meant something to him. I felt heard, seen, and understood.

Charlie really does care about his fans. It isn’t an act. I’m sure of it now.

“Thank you, truly,” he said, just as quietly but with that honest smile, eye crinkles and all, and seeing it in person, that close up, I swear the room felt ten times brighter. “Thank you for coming to tell me that. It means a lot, the idea that something I did meant so much and that it could help you. I’m so grateful that you were able to come visit and tell me.”

We shook hands after that. He wished me a good day and I told him thank you again, and that was that. The interaction only lasted maybe a minute, but it meant the absolute world to me, as did what he’s done as Daredevil. And now he knows that.

#Philly Fan Expo #Charlie Cox #Daredevil #he HELD THE THREAD ya'll #my fanfic author life is now complete #and honestly as a fan i don't know if any other experience will ever top those moments I got with Charlie #he is so so kind and warm and wonderful #the way he immediately stopped and gave me his full attention when i started to tell him what it meant #i just had to stop for a second and collect myself because just...#he was *listening* and despite all the noise and chaos i suddenly had his full attention #the way he leaned in so the conversation felt like it was just us and the way he cocked his head and focused on me like #i can't think of a single celeb or interaction like that where i've felt that much like what i was saying to him mattered #(that's not dissing the other actors and celebs i've met. they've all been wonderful! but charlie definitely has a special kindness i think)#and i can now say having been that close to him and having spoken with him over something fairly serious #he is literally one of the kindest celebs i've met and the most genuine #you can literally see the warmth in his eyes when he looks at you. he's *legitimately* happy you're there to talk to him or see him #maybe one day he'll find out about TRT. i'm honestly not sure #but even if he doesn't at least I got a chance to tell him how much what he's done has helped me heal #from a lot of really... really hard things in my life #and according to a friend (who I didn't even know was there but spotted me talking to Charlie from another line!)#Charlie did indeed stay until WAY late signing everyone's stuff so that no one missed an autograph #he said his estimation of Charlie just shot way up because even hours later he was still taking his time with each fan that came up #Charlie has absolutely solidified as my favorite actor and one of the nicest people I've had the pleasure of meeting

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