#i can think of twenty-seven right now and i'm not even trying

[maxwellatoms]

Do you think were any kind of specific aspects of the culture, industry, economy, etc that made making cartoons in 90s / 2000s better or worse than trying to make them today?

They're literally different worlds.

As a 22 year old neurodivergent, I was able to pitch show ideas directly to executives. Part of that was because TV Animation wasn't a glamorous profession (quite yet), so the higher-ups were genuinely passionate about the medium. I earned good money for the time and was generally trusted to run my show and tend to the crew. I would periodically be handed portfolios, which I would personally review and pass on to other show runners. For the networks it was always corporate, cutthroat, and ultimately about the money, but as an artist you could still have a voice and make art while being paid a living wage.

The pay for a freelance storyboard in 2005 is almost exactly what it is today, but now you're likely to have less time and be required to do an animatic on top of it. Portfolios are online, and (beyond metrics) you'll probably never know if anyone looks at it or not.

Animation got big. Too big. The executives got "glamorous", then the talent got "glamorous". By then you probably wouldn't get a pitch meeting unless you were a celebrity or knew one willing to be connected to your project. Animation eventually got so big that it popped. And that's where we are now.

Most of the people I know from Kid's TV Animation are currently unemployed. I have been off Jellystone for over a year, and I'm starting to get genuinely worried. Like, "move away to save money" worried. Most of the employed artists I do know are on long-running legacy series, and they're concerned about their futures when/if those series end. Right now is not a fantastic time for "animation as a money-making profession". The "glamorous" part popped years ago.

That being said, there are still opportunities out there. If you're just starting out, apparently there's a planned surge in adult and pre-school animation. It's also a great time (as long as YouTube remains sane) to be crafting your own content. But I think that the time of Big Studio Patronage is over for most of the industry. It's up to the individual artist now more than ever, not only to make but to promote their own content.

Back at the height of Billy & Mandy, we mostly pulled fours and fives in the Neilsen ratings, but we occasionally got a seven. For reference, E.R. consistently got eights. It's difficult to say exactly how many people that actually was due to how those ratings work, but it was a big deal for the time. Millions. Enough people that if I had a dollar for each person that just watched that one episode, I would have been set for life. Now, nobody gets a seven. A four is huge. Back then there were maybe fifteen or twenty channels of programmed content as opposed to the streaming smorgasbord we were all just enjoying (and which now also seems to have popped). Point being, even though I wasn't paid-per-view, I was able to use those views as justification for an eventual raise. In modern times, streaming numbers are seemingly deliberately kept secret. You'll never really know how well your show was doing until it's over. Or maybe never.

In modern times, a million views on YouTube is enough to get you noticed online. It's a lower bar for entry in a way, but you've got to get there all by yourself. Once you're there (hello Hazbin) a network may indeed come and scoop you up. Even if they don't, you can probably make a decent living with numbers like that if you're savvy and willing to take the time.

I feel like I could go on all day, shaking my fist at the sky, gray-ass beard blowing in the wind. Was it better or easier making cartoons in the past? It seemed that way to me, but that was a world I knew. There was no AI to sell you out to, and the media was more of a "Wild West" than it is today. I do think that AI is going to continue to displace artists (and soon others), making it even more difficult to get anyone's eyes on anything at all.

Culturally, we lack the common touchpoints that bonded our society in the 20th Century. I suspect that the media landscape will continue to become more "bubbly" and disjointed unless some powerful force swoops in to mandate a common viewpoint. Those are two very divergent, uniquely tiring futures, each presenting a different challenge for an artist's survival.

Outside of whatever our modern world is, animation was made for a century by photographing drawings. If Émile Cohl could do it in 1908, you can do it now. It's a lot of labor, but maybe that's part of what makes it special.

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Treat You | Jeon Jungkook | One Shot

Summary: You wanted to take Jungkook out this time around but things don't go according to plan Paring: f!reader x Jungkook (established relationship) Word Count: 1.6k~ short and sweet Warnings: Just some suggestive language but nothing crazy p.s. I wrote this in one sitting so hopefully it's okay lol Requested by an anon 💜

"Baby" Jungkook answers the phone, his gravelly morning voice sending shivers up my spine. "Did I wake you?" I coo, not expecting him to be sleeping this late making him hum in response. "I should probably get up now though" he says as I start to hear movement in the background. 

"Did you work late?" I ask, knowing he like to put in overtime when he can. "Yeah, just a few hours though" he says, making me hum. "Can I take you out today?" I offer, my heart fluttering even after all this time we've been together. "You wanna take me out?" he chuckles, the sound making me bite my lip. 

He's so fucking sexy in the morning and I'll never get over it.

"Yeah why not? It's been a while since I treated you" I say, hoping he'll bite. "You sure? You don't have to spend your money on me love" he says and I shake my head before remembering we're on the phone. 

"You always pay for everything so I wanna pay this time" I say, making my argument and he chuckles again, telling me he's giving in. "How could I say no when such a pretty girl is asking me out?" he agrees making me smile, the praise unexpected. 

"I'll pick you up at seven" I say but he tries to protest. "I can pick you up princess" he offers but I decline right away. "No. I'm taking you out so I'm driving" I say and he sighs. "I guess I forgot that my girl is so independent, letting me take care of her all the time" he says, his tone laced with something dangerous making me blush. 

"Um, I'll see you then...bye!" I rush to end the call, not wanting to give into asking to see him sooner. 

I want this date to be perfect, I want everything to be perfect.

~~~~~

After getting ready and giving myself a once over one more time I check my purse and see that I can't find my wallet. I furrow my brows, trying to remember the last time I saw it leaving me digging through my closet but after twenty minutes of searching I still come up empty handed. 

I pace back and forth in my room, trying to figure out where I could've left it if not in here but I can't seem to figure it out, leaving me huffing in defeat, looking at the clock and seeing that I'm gonna be late. 

I check inside my purse to see if I have any cash but only manage to find a twenty which is nowhere near enough to take him out to the restaurant I placed our dinner reservations at.

I do another once over and decide to admit defeat, seeing that I'm gonna have to make a change of plans and see if I can manage to take him out with what I have...

~~~~

"I was beginning to think you forgot about me" he chuckles when he sees me standing outside my car and holding the door open, showing up thirty minutes late. "You? Never" I tease leaving him giving me a kiss before sitting down, giving him the passenger princess role for the night.

I close the door once he's all settled in and take a deep breath, giving myself a small pep talk about how everything will be okay even if I can't take him where I wanted to. 

Once I get in I look over at him, the brave face that I told myself I would sport is replaced with a slightly pouty one making his brows pop up and immediately going to caress my face. 

"What's the matter baby?" he asks, brushing his thumb along the apple of my cheek. "I'm sorry, I should've been more responsible but I..." I start, cutting myself off, completely embarrassed that this is happening. "It's okay, just tell me" he coaxes me, making my eyes water. 

"I can't take you out tonight" I say, my voice so quiet he could barely hear it. "Why? What's wrong?" he says, worried that something might've happened. "I...I don't know where my card is so I don't have enough money to pay" I admit, looking down at my lap, trying to hide how upset this made me. 

I wanted to do something nice for him, something to show him how much I appreciate everything he's done for me but I couldn't even take him out for a nice dinner.

"Hey, it's okay" he says and brings my face back over to him. "No it's not okay. I wanted everything to be perfect! I wanted you to have a good time and I just messed it up. Now all I can afford to get you is some fast food burger like this is so embarrassing" I groan, slumping back in my chair and covering my face, hating that something like this is making me so upset. 

"Get out of the car" he says making me look at him like he's grown two heads. "Wha-?" "Come on get out of the car" he urges me and I do as he says. "What are yo-" "Switch places with me" he says and I follow without much of an argument since his behavior has caught me completely off guard. 

"Get in" he says, making me sit down and closing the door for me just like I had done for him a few minutes ago, completely motionless and confused, waiting for him to get into the driver's seat. 

"Jungkook what are you doing?" I ask he he hands me his phone. "Put in the address" he orders, his directions short and to the point. "Jungkook I don't have enough money to go there" I finally argue back. "And I don't care" he says making me question what's gotten into him.

"I don't wanna see you that upset over money ever again. I'm your boyfriend and I work hard to take care of you" he says and when I go to argue back he stops me. "You're my girlfriend and I take care of what's mine. We both dressed up to go out tonight so we're going out and that's final" he states but when I go to try tell him I don't want him to pay he jumps over top of me again. 

"End of discussion" he finishes, his jaw set and his eyes dark, daring me to argue with him but I just gulp and put in the address. 

~~~~~

The car ride is a bit quieter than normal after that, the low hum of the engine and the melody of our playlist coming through the speakers being the only sounds to keep us company. I turned to face away from him this time, my legs resting against the door instead of the center console making it impossible for him to rest his hand on my thigh, not wanting to give in after the way he talked to me. 

"Baby what's wrong?" he finally asks once we pull up to the restaurant, my silence going on for a lot longer than he had expected. "You didn't let me say anything" I mumble and he sighs, knowing he was definitely a lot more harsh than he needed to be. 

"I'm sorry honey I was...I was just really mad seeing you so stressed and upset over something that I could easily solve for you" he says and I hum, understanding his perspective but not appreciating the way he went about it...even if he did look really hot doing it. 

"You always pay for everything though. It makes me feel useless, like I'm just here to spend all of your money" I huff, finally admitting what's been bothering me for a while. 

"I don't see it as you spending my money. If anything you hardly ever ask me for anything so whenever you do say something I jump on it. I like getting you things and seeing that adorable look on your face when I know you love it makes it all worth it. Taking care of you makes me feel like I'm doing right by you so, please let me" he asks, explaining himself now, making me see things from his perspective. 

After taking a second to think about it and seeing the sincere look on his face I nod, accepting defeat because he'd do it anyways even if I said no. "Okay, just don't do it all the time" I say, poking his cheek and making him smile. 

"Deal, now let's go have a nice time together and forget about all of this. Then after we're done you can treat me tonight" he says, confusing me again. "But I told you I don't have money right now unless you want a milkshake or something after dinner" I say, offering that up but he chuckles darkly. 

"I wasn't talking about money princess" his eyes scan my body, taking in each and every inch of it making my skin crawl. "Did I tell you you look really pretty tonight?" he asks and I shake my head, unable to breathe with this heated tension that's grown between us. 

"You'll look even prettier on your knees for me tonight" he says, running his thumb across my bottom lip before getting out of the car and coming over to open my door for me.

"You can't just say things like that and expect me to sit through a whole dinner afterwards" I mumble before getting out of the car. "But I just did" he taunts and pulls me in by my hips before shamelessly feeling me up and kissing me before taking my hand and leading me towards the entrance. 

"You're impossible" I grumble making him laugh and snake his arm around my waist instead. "Impossibly handsome" he teases and kisses me on my cheek making me roll my eyes. "That too" I grumble and spend the rest of the dinner mentally preparing myself for the very, very long night ahead...

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[sluts4matt]

y/n cops an attitude with Chris while they argue so chris bends her over the table and fucks it out of her by overstimulating her? idk. just an idea.

ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT

pairing: rough!dom chris x latina!reader

summary: chris had been a bit jealous of yours and matt's relationship lately, the two of you seeming closer than before. this irritates you however, and you're not afraid to voice it.

warnings: SMUT, pet names, slight praising if you squint, degradation, spanking, hair pulling, slight dumbification (sorry not sorry)

word count: 1207

author's note: boys being jealous of another guy and fucking you so good as a reminder that you're only theirs will never NOT be attractive to me. (if you saw this poll this was originally called attitude problem 🤪)

"are you serious right now?" you ask walking into the kitchen. chris is sitting on a stool by the counter, a can of pepsi in front of him while he scrolls through his phone.

chris looks up at you, a neutral look in his eyes. "what?" he mumbles as if he didn't hear you.

"are you seriously jealous of my friendship with matt?" you ask, annoyance rising in your tone. he scoffs, "when did i ever say this?" he asks.

you walk closer to him, crossing your arms. "you don't need to say it for me to see how fucking obvious it is," you groan, "i mean shit, kids your fucking brother and the only thing i hear anymore when i'm around is snide remarks and comments that don't actually need to be said."

the look on chris' face irritates you even more, "its the fucking passive aggressiveness towards him for absolutely no reason."

"he's not the one dating you," chris snaps, "he shouldn't have your twenty-four-fucking-seven attention," he states, "but guess what? he fucking does," his voice growing louder.

"and you wanna know why?" he asks rhetorically, standing up, towering over you. "because he's the perfect gentleman. he's fucking nice to you, and kind to you, and does all this stupid little shit that he knows you fucking like."

you kept your mouth shut, craning your neck to look up at him. "if you like him so fucking much," he states, "why don't you go fuck him instead?"

he was trying to piss you off, and it was working. you felt yourself get annoyed. "maybe i will since my actual boyfriends being a little bitch," you snap.

it took a minute for chris to respond, the look in his eyes showing anger. he was pissed, and you didn't know whether to feel satisfied or afraid.

he leans closer to you, and your back presses against the table, the corner digging into your skin. you didn't move, staring back at him with a similar glare.

"you wanna run that by me again, sweetheart?" he asks, his hands going to the edge of the counter, trapping you between his arms.

"maybe i will since my actual boyfriend being a little bitch," you repeat. the look on his face darkens and before you knew it, he flipped you around, bending you over the table. his hand lands down on your ass, hard. a whine escaping your lips at the sensation.

"is that a fucking attitude i'm hearing?" he growls, leaning down to your ear, "because if so, i think it's time someone gives you an attitude adjustment."

you whimper, feeling his crotch press against your ass. his fingers grip your hair, yanking your head back, "you know, maybe i should call matt in here, since you love him so fucking much."

you didn't respond, feeling his other hand slip underneath your skirt, pulling your panties aside. he was pissed, and the way his fingers rubbed at your cunt were proof of that.

"chris-" you start, only for him to cut you off. "shut up," he growls, unbuckling his belt. you felt his hard cock pressing against your pussy, "if i'm not getting my girl, no one else is," he states, the tip of his cock teasing your hole. "'specially not fucking matt," he growled.

he slams into you without warning, and you scream, not expecting it. "fuck!" you yell, feeling him immediately start to pound into you. the sound of skin hitting skin filling the room.

"yeah, i forgot to tell you, baby," he grunts, one of his hands holding your hips, while the other gripped your hair, "i'm gonna make you forget everyone's name but mine."

you felt tears pool in your eyes, his fingers tugging at your hair, and the feeling of his cock repeatedly ramming into your tight cunt making you cry out in pleasure. "who's your fucking boyfriend, huh?" he asks, the hand holding your hip moving to your ass, landing a harsh slap. "you," you pant, "it's you, chris," you cry, your orgasm nearing.

"damn fucking right," he grunts, his cock thrusting into you with reckless abandon, "and what's matt?" he asks, spanking your ass again. "n-nothing," you stutter.

"that's fucking right, baby," he states, his hand letting go of your hair and slipping between the table and your body, rubbing at your clit. "shit," you curse, a sob escaping your lips, "i-i'm close," you whine.

"then cum slut," he states, the coil in your stomach snapping as your release takes over. "oh, fuck!" you scream, chris' thrusts never slowing.

"we're not fucking done, sweetheart," he states, continuing to slam his hips against yours. "fuck, chris, its s-sensitive," you whine. "shoulda thought about that before saying you'd fuck matt," he grunts, grabbing at your wrist with his large hand, holding them in place behind your back.

your eyes roll to the back of your head, his cock slamming into your g-spot over and over again. the sound of skin against skin, and your moans filled the room. "fuck, fuck," you moan, "please, chris, please," you beg, not sure what you're asking for.

his hips slam into you with a newfound aggression, chasing his own high. "i'm close," he groans, his hand making your hair a makeshift pony tail, just to yank back, your back colliding with his chest. "look at you," he cooed condescendingly, he placed sloppy kisses against your shoulder blade.

"getting fucked so good by the little bitch boyfriend, hm?" he asks, his cock still slamming into your dripping cunt, "you just love when i treat you like a fucking whore, don't you, sweetheart?" he asks.

you were unable to form any coherent thoughts, his thrusts hitting deep within you, the overstimulation making your body go limp. you let out a series of babbles and cries, begging for him.

"i'm cumming," he states, his voice low and gravely, his teeth sinking into your shoulder. you could feel his cock pulsate inside of you, the feeling of his warm release coating your walls triggering yours.

you could feel him pulse, your walls clenching around him, milking him for all his worth. your head rolls back onto his shoulder, your breath coming out in heavy pants.

"did i hurt you?" he asks softly, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your hips, and back. you hum, "a little," you squeak out, "but it was nice," you reassure him, and you could feel him kiss the shell of your ear.

"i didn't scare you did i?" he asks, and you could tell he was concerned.

"no," you state, "not at all," you add, and his hands go turn you around, lifting you onto the marble counters. "i'm sorry, i didn't mean to hurt you," he states, his lips ghosting over your bruised neck, from the previous nights.

"i know," you state, smiling up at him. "did it work though?" he asks, his finger tracing your bottom lip, "forgot about matt?" he questions.

you smile, wrapping your arms around his neck, "wasn't a thought in my head anyways," you whisper, your nose nudging his.

"good," he smiles, "i'd hate to have to do it again," he adds, pecking your lips.

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[jelzorz]

210.

The thing about being king is that it's hard.

Ez doesn't know why this surprises him so much, but every day is something else. It's always some new treaty to negotiate, some new budget proposal to review, some lord causing trouble for the peasants working his land, and that doesn't even touch on any the Aaravos stuff. Now there's this.

There were six of them this morning. Six! Ez has been seventeen for all of two weeks and the letters are already coming in droves, each more insistent and presumptuous than the last.

"I don't know how you've been dealing with it," he whines to Aanya. He is in Duren today. If he's honest, he's in Duren every other day these days, and when he's not, she's in Katolis because, Duren-Katolis alliance aside, they're friends. Ez likes her company, not just because she's fun to be around, but also because she's the only other person who really gets it, y'know? The complexities of being a monarch. The weight of being a child.

"I've been burning them," says Aanya frankly. She is peeling an orange over her desk and the smell of citrus wafts pleasantly over Ez's nose. "I've been getting them for months and I gave up sending responses after the first couple of weeks. Every suitor bold enough to try is an automatic no from me."

Ez snorts a little at that. "No one's been on your case about it?"

She shrugs without looking up. "A couple of my advisors disapprove but what are they gonna do, really? Why? Is Opeli giving you grief about it?"

Ez barks out a laugh. "Yes... No. I don't know. She just keeps saying it's something I should consider, which feels kind of like a double standard because Callum and Rayla only got married when they were both twenty-one and Soren's almost thirty and I don't see her bothering him."

"Mm." Aanya clucks her tongue and dusts the peels into the bin under her desk. "To be fair, Callum and Rayla were basically betrothed by the time they were our age and I think we both know why Soren doesn't get any trouble from her." She snorts a little and proffers half the orange at him. "Just say no."

"What, you think I've been saying yes?"

Aanya laughs. "I'm just saying, you're the king. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

"That's a lie and you know it."

"About getting married, I mean," she chuckles. "It's low priority and there's other stuff we have to deal with right now. Other problems on the horizon."

Ez grimaces, and she doesn't have to say it but he knows she's talking about Aaravos and his impending return. Their seven years of peace and prosperity are almost up. It makes Ez's stomach roil with dread.

"Do you think we've done enough?" he asks quietly after a moment.

"We've done what we can," says Aanya. "I don't know that anyone can promise more than that. Our alliance feels pretty secure and we've got all the Fire Rubies on standby, you've got the Nova Blade, Callum's been researching the whole time... We're as united a front as we can be. There's no point worrying more about it until it's a problem."

Ez lets out a sigh. "You're probably right," he mumbles. "The only way we could be more united is if you and I—"

He stops. He flushes. Aanya looks up and Ez finds himself infinitely grateful that the darkness of his skin doesn't let him visibly blush.

"Is if you and I...?"

Ez flushes more and looks away. "You can forget I said that."

"Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting, Your Majesty?"

"Stop, oh my gods."

"Are you adding yourself to my list suitors, Ezran?"

Ez tosses an orange segment at her, and Aanya laughs in an uncharacteristic display of her age. "What would be the point?" he says, his cheeks warm. "Any suitor bold enough to try is an automatic no, isn't it?"

"I mean." Aanya looks away this time, and Ez thinks he can almost see pink in her cheeks. "I'd think about it. If it was you."

A pause. A breath. Ez presses his lips together and wills his breathing and his heartbeat stay even. "You wouldn't burn my proposal if I sent it?"

"I wouldn't burn any letter from you, Ez."

"Oh."

The silence that settles over them borders on awkward, but Ez lets himself chuckle and reaches across the desk for her hand. "That's something worth considering, I guess," he says.

Aanya chuckles shyly and takes it. "Indeed."

[mikareo]

“ ࣭⸰ ★ HE'S JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU . . . ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ 呪術廻戦 ; gojo satoru x fem reader (1k)

⊹ ⠀⠀ valentine's day is approaching; and with a valentine comes love...or for worse...heartbreak.

contains; gojo satoru x fem reader, angst, mentions of fluff idk, there’s some swearing i think author's note; happy (almost) valentine's,, i’m projecting

1 day, 9 hours, and 47 minutes.

your last conversation wasn't anything out of the ordinary. there was no dry spell. no plateau. no failure to communicate. just you and satoru, plus the typical banter, talking about something as simple as what you were planning on making for dinner; to be more precise, what you were trying to make for dinner. you're a pretty awful cook according to him.

everything seemed to be going so well...really well...almost perfectly well— and with valentine's day right around the corner, you'd instinctively assumed that he'd ask you to be his. instinct is a difficult emotion, though. is it even an emotion? you're not quite sure, but your heart believes it is. your heart— which is practically pounding out of your chest at the current moment, stretching your skin, eager to feel the limitless fresh air and freedom that comes with floating on cloud 9— instinctively wants to believe satoru is your soulmate. you love him don't you? is the answer yes? it should be no.

you've known him for...what? four months? four months of your twenty years of life is seemingly small. that's only one point six-seven percent of your entire lifetime...one point six-seven percent of your life that you wish you could relive forevermore.

...he isn't going to text you back is he?

2 days, 2 hours, and 15 minutes.

each second passing is another flicker of hope that misses the candle wick. instead of lighting the path that leads to your eventual relationship, it lights a fire beneath your feet. your socks feel warm. there's coal beneath them. hot, burning coal withering away the sense of feel in your toes; breathing in the aroma of heartbreak until it becomes a roaring fire that consumes all of you.

why is he doing this? what did you do wrong? you haven't done anything wrong. he's just a man. a man who can't seem to stop playing with your heart.

you can hear his voice in the back of your mind. the part of your mind that connects to your heart. "can you facetime, right now? i'm having a bad day and i just want to see your face." he had to have meant that. "you don't need to apologize for talking over me, i love hearing what you have to say." a guy wouldn't just say that to say that. "don't be too hard on yourself, i know you'll figure everything out becuase you're you. you always know what to do." it couldn't have all been bullshit.

it can't have been bullshit.

because if that's all it was, then you're just a fool in love.

and fools in love are no better than clowns.

3 days, 14 hours, and 22 minutes.

you did what you hate doing. the thing that makes you want to scream into your pillow at the mere thought. the very thing that screams desperation and neediness and clinginess and insecurity all in one. you sent another message.

in the past, you've never had feelings strong enough to elicit such a response. your heart hasn't tied itself to another person's with a red satin bow. the fated string of fate hadn't found you yet. it allowed you to maintain a stable head and remain grounded with no hopes of love on your radar. you hadn't yet learned how to fly; until that day you met satoru and suddenly you had a hundred pilot lessons lined up day-after-day.

it was so easy being with him. everything was so easy.

for the first time ever you had no doubts. you weren't afraid of waking up one morning to find him gone. disappeared. nonexistent. you full-heartedly believed he'd never leave; and you believed he reciprocated those thoughts. now, though...now you may never know what bits and pieces he reciprocated— because your plane crashed. turbulence flew beneath the wings and drove the flight off course. the oxygen masks bellowed down upon the passengers, every seat being filled with your pounding heartbeats, and each and every one of them blew out of the window with no parachute. he didn't even try to cushion the fall.

4 days, 1 hour, and 39 minutes.

if there's one message you never expected to receive, it's surely 'seen 14 hours ago'.

you'd given him space and assumed he'd been busy with a million other things and hadn't had any time to send you a quick message. your last text wasn't even anything out of the ordinary, just a quick "are you okay?", you think that's pretty reasonable. it's reasonable, isn't it?

something could be seriously wrong with him. why else would he leave you on read? he's never done this before. usually, you're the one who's more distant between the two of you. that's how your relationship began, after all. he'd send five texts in comparison to your two; which later evolved into five rivaling five, and now to zero rivaling two. the scales have tipped. how do you rebalance them?

you trust satoru. there must be a perfectly good explanation for this odd irregularity that's occurring in your otherwise perfect relationship. after all, all of your friends love him— they think he's the greatest catch of the 21st century. he's never done anything in the past to warrant such strange behavior. this is simply a difficult week for him...and you'll be there whenever he's ready to vent.

5 days, 22 hours, and 7 minutes.

a broken heart isn't for the weak...but unfortunately, you're not one of the stronger warriors.

he's at another girl's birthday party. he hasn't messaged you back in almost six days...and he's with another girl? celebrating her? he could be holding her close and you wouldn't even know, because god knows he wouldn't tell you. he won't even say good morning anymore. he won't even answer your fucking three word message that you sent out of desperation and concern for his well being. instead, he's at the club with his friends, getting drunk and taking shots, having the time of his life; and you're sitting in your room watching his social media stories...believing that everything that went wrong is all your fault.

but it's not your fault.

it's not your fault you fell for someone like that.

someone like satoru gojo.

[writingmeraki]

i heart u !

a min ho drabble !

genre : fluff. ( disgustingly cute )

pairing : minho x gn!reader, established relationship.

warnings : none except Minho is a menace but he's your menace :D ( not edited or proofread. )

author's note : this was a pretty random idea I got 😭 but also a little gift as a celebration to xo kitty getting a season 2 !!!! 🥳 ( praying for more minho screen time but also dae my boy deserving better :( confused on yuri & kitty endgame 🤞or minho & kitty ) anyways enjoy this minho brainrot i offer u and let me know what you think !!! let's also ignore the quality of the minho pics thanks xx also this is my third time trying to upload this i will cri if this doesn't upload now

word count : 1.1k

It'd been exactly two hours, twenty seven minutes and four seconds, five seconds, six seconds…

"You know I can feel your eyes burning into my face."

Putting down your biology textbook aside for a minute before you turned to face the one who’d been looking at you as though you’d disappear at any given moment.

Minho stared at you, now narrowing his eyes as he scoffed lightly,

"I'm not staring."

You deadpanned him as you raised an eyebrow.

"Okay then, do what you called me here to do. Study."

You nonchalantly said, ignoring the slight pout forming on your boyfriend's face because today you definitely didn't need to waste any time.

"Oh come onnnn it's been almost 3 hours!"

He said in a whiny tone that even if you didn't want to, made you bite your inner cheek to prevent yourself from grinning.

You wouldn't think he would complain about not getting attention because he didn't ever have to actually. If he wanted it, he'd get it unasked, be it from your friends or you.

But lately, both Q and Dae had been busy with their own studies, hence that also meant spending less time with their other best friend.

And as for you, you weren't one to deny your oh so lovely boyfriend of attention, in fact you'd welcome him with open arms when he would suddenly hug you tightly or when he'd kiss you at any given moment.

Unfortunately for him, you'd also been busy with your own studies, having to work a bit harder since you struggled in a few subjects.

Still, you paid no mind as you continued to read over the text about chromosomal disorders even if you could see from the corner of your eye that Minho had moved closer to you.

You had both decided to study together, having done your studying alone in your dorm but on his insistence to study together, you agreed to come over to his place, currently sitting at his desk with all your necessary items laid out.

"Why do you even need to continue studying when you have the most handsome, amazing, fantastic and bloody hot guy right by your side?"

Snorting at him, you turned your gaze to look at him from the corner of your eye,

"Please, I'd never say bloody hot, that is such a…British thing to say."

"So you do admit everything else is right?"

He smugly said as he smirked at you.

"I don't have time to feed your ego, I'm busy."

Sighing, you turned away from him as you now moved your chair to have your back facing him.

If you could have been able to see his expression, you'd probably have laughed because he just puffed and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. He felt even more frustrated because frankly he was tired of studying now.

Suddenly he got an idea that he knew would make you give in to him and as much as he found your current ignorance appealing, he'd never admit that to you, he wanted your attention then and there, and with him.

Scribbling on a piece of paper, a cheesy equation he'd found on instagram while scrolling on his explore page, yet he knew you'd find it adorable.

9x - 7i > 3 ( 3x - 7u )

9x - 7i > 9x - 21u

-7i > - 21u

i <3 u.

Lastly, finishing it off by drawing a small heart and adding a " ;) " at the end.

He folded the paper and quietly moved behind you, putting his hand above your head and slipping the note on the page you were reading.

Your gaze shifted to the sudden movement, curiously eyeing the note that was laid in front of you.

Putting your book on your lap, you opened the note with a little suspicion, Minho's face having a small grin upon successfully diverting your attention.

The second you opened the note, you read over the contents still keeping a straight face up until you saw the small "i <3 u” with a little winky face.

Snorting at the cheesiness of the note with an equation you were pretty sure you’d seen saved one of your plenty Pinterest boards,

“Love, we don’t even have a maths exam next, we have biology.”

Turning your chair you faced him, you bit your lower lip to prevent the grin from showing on your face.

It was Minho’s turn to now deadpan you,

“Even after I wrote such a…such a meaningful message portraying my true feelings, yet you’re still worried about studying when it’s almost been three hours already and you’re not even paying attention to me or what I want to say.”

“Babe I’m pretty sure I already saw this on Pinterest...and not to mention this is just 8th grade algebra.”

He glared at your words after his overdramatic speech to which you couldn’t help but burst out in giggles, he seemed like an angry little puppy when he glared at you like that.

“Okay okay fine, what do you want to do? I should take a study break anyways”

You asked putting aside the book, making sure to carefully place the note between the pages acting as a bookmark you’d always cherish.

With those words, it was as if a switch was flipped on his attitude and his eyes lit up as he grinned,excited to finally have your attention.

“So what I'm saying is we should…”

[ A few hours later, still, your “fifteen-minute break from studying suddenly extended to hours, as usual. ]

Laying on Minho’s bed, you’d both finished watching the final episode of a show that you binged on together, the laptop going into sleep mode since having been ditched after a while.

Minho laid down with his head in your lap, you sitting upright as you caressed his hair, something you loved to do and well who was Minho do deny his lover's affection when he admittedly loved it just as much, maybe even more.

"You know, I know I say you should be lucky to have me but honestly I got lucky having you."

He said randomly while looking at you, a gentle smile on his face and gaze shining with sincerity.

Even if it was quite a simple sentence, your heart still fluttered at the sincere tone and you too now had a small grin forming.

You hummed, now smiling at him, nodding as you pushed your fingers through his hair strands, gently patting them down as well.

"I meant it though. What I wrote in that…note." He said grinning up at you.

"Though I'm sad you didn't take me seriously at first." He slightly pouted to which you giggled at how offended his tone was.

"That's because you're an absolute idiot." You told biting your lip and just as he was about to protest, you leaned down and pecked his lips to shut him up, smiling at the way he complied so easily to you.

Moving back a bit, you whispered so tenderly as if the words should only be between you two.

"But you're still my idiot and I love you too."

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.

writingmeraki Ⓒ 2023

links : main navi !

[ageingfangirl2]

Size Does Matter! Red Hair Pirates (One Piece)

Part 1 (Never Have I Ever) Red Hair Pirates x Reader (female)

After the eventful never have I ever game the crew are nicer to you, less teasing and pranks because Shanks was right about you knowing secrets because you were kind and trusting until you were crossed.

You walk onto the deck after documenting a recent attack that went in the crew's favour, and like de ja vu the crew were gathered around. The only difference was that it was the middle of the day and they didn't seem drunk. Before you can turn around and head back inside you catch your captain's eye and he motions you over smirking.

You sigh loudly, 'What fresh hell do you have for me this time?'

You stop in your tracks and raise both eyebrows in shock and surprise, 'err why aren't you guys wearing shirts?' you question, only now noticing the bare torsos of the crew. There was never a dull day on this ship.

Shanks clears his throat, 'We need you to judge and tell us who has the best chest because you have no bias.'

You bite your lip and feel your cheeks heat up, 'and what triggered this contest?'

Yasopp slings his arm around your shoulder and it's not lost on you when he flexes, 'Honestly couldn't tell you, but now we need your help.'

You casually remove his arm and shake your head, 'I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings.'

Shanks chuckles, 'We won't judge your opinion. How about a top three instead of one?'

'Make it a top five,' Hongo interjects.

You nod, 'okay I think I can do a top five. I'll start with five and work my way up to one.'

Benn snorts, 'That didn't take much convincing doll. You have been looking?'

You shove Benn and pout, 'You guys use any excuse to strip, so yes I've looked. Do you want to be taken out of my top five?'

Benn's grin reaches his eyes, 'So I'm top five, I'm flattered doll.'

Shanks frowns and sticks out his lower lip, 'This is about physique, not friendship, so no favouring smoking buddies.'

You salute your captain, 'Fine no bias, but there's no denying Benn turns heads.'

'Let's get this show on the road,' Lime Juice calls out.

You take a deep breath and try not to laugh when they line up, 'Okay starting with number five...' you pause for dramatic effect, '...Building Snake because whenever he lifts me up I'm impressed.'

Building Snake winks at you, 'I'll take five.'

The rest of the crew stares at you eagerly.

'Number four would have to be Lime Juice because he works really hard,' you say nonchalantly.

Lime Juice and Building Snake fist bump.

You smile, getting into the groove, 'taking my third spot is Hongo because he's more subtle but catches your eye.'

Hongo beams with pride, 'Only two spots left captain, do you think you've made it?'

Shanks glares at Hongo who immediately shuts up.

'My number two chest goes to my smoking buddy, I mean look at him,' you laugh.

Benn salutes you, 'I'll take second.'

You eye up the remaining crew before pointing at Yasopp, 'Yasopp has the best chest, especially when he gives me gun lessons and holds me close.'

Yasopp rushes towards you picks you up around the waist and starts to spin you around, 'for once I beat the mighty Shanks, he didn't even make the list.'

Benn pats Shanks's shoulder, 'Better luck next time captain.'

Yasopp puts you down and you stumble a little, 'do you want to know why I didn't pick you, captain?'

Shanks nods, 'tell me.'

'Because your chest is on show like twenty-four seven and you have a little too much pride that comes across as boastful,' you answer honestly.

Shanks runs at you and you yelp before running away, 'Leave me alone.'

Mischief flashes behind his eyes and you take a step back out of fear, 'I'm going to make you change your mind love. Come here and touch your captain's chest.'

Shanks chases you around the ship while the others leave you two alone knowing how the chase will end, and it ends as everyone expects with the captain catching his prey.

You giggle loudly as Shanks wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you against his chest, 'touch my chest and tell me I'm not top five,' Shanks taunts playfully.

You place your hands on his chest admitting to yourself that his chest is equally impressive as the others, 'Top six at best captain, can't show bias towards my captain.'

Shanks growls, 'I'm going to climb your ranks mark my words.'

You pat his chest and smirk, 'Game on captain.'

You knew this wasn't going to be the end of this little competition. Maybe to avoid these situations in the future you should lock yourself in your room more.

[captainsophiestark]

Dance Like Nobody's Watching

Dick Grayson x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2024!

Fandom: DC

Day Twenty-Seven Prompt: "Let me remind you."

Summary: Dick's SO is having trouble adjusting to the new scrutiny of attending Wayne galas as his date, but thankfully, he has an idea to help with that.

Word Count: 1,449

Category: Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I sipped my champagne, trying to get a handle on my nerves. I could handle fighting the Joker and Scarecrow with no problems, but attending a Wayne gala as the partner of Dick Grayson was throwing me for a loop.

I fought the urge to scowl about it. If one thing could make this night more awkward, it would be some person I barely knew finding me making faces in the corner.

What irritated me the most was that this was by no means my first Wayne gala. I'd grown up with Dick and spent countless hours in the manor with him and his family. We'd been each other's primary entertainment at these things as kids. But being here as his date, and as an adult expected to do more than turn the banquet tables into a fort, was turning out to be surprisingly stressful.

When we were kids, nobody seemed to care what we did much beyond just noticing and thinking we were cute. Now, it seemed like everybody in this room wanted something from Dick, and either saw me as a threat to their ability to get it or as a secret backdoor to him, if only they could get me on their side.

I was seriously on the edge of losing it and going back to the buffet tables kid-style.

Dick had done his best to stick with me, but people kept showing up to pull both of us away from each other for a conversation, and we hadn't been able to do much without being incredibly, obviously rude. I'd finally managed to extract myself enough for some breathing room, but I could see Dick still in the middle of things, a group of old men who almost certainly wanted money from Bruce talking his ear off.

Even from here, I could tell Dick was barely paying attention to them. His eyes scanned the crowd, and after a moment, they landed on me. He raised an eyebrow, and I gave him a reassuring smile. Unfortunately for me, he knew me too well and was too good of a detective to believe it.

Dick quickly made his excuses to the men around him, and didn't take no for an answer as he left the conversation and headed in my direction. He crossed the massive room quickly to stand before me, and this time when I smiled at him, it was much more genuine.

"Hey," he said, returning my smile and leaning in to kiss my temple as soon as he reached me. "How are you doing?"

"Good." I tried to strengthen my smile, but Dick saw right through it. He raised an eyebrow at me.

"...Are you sure?"

I sighed. "It's just... this all feels a little weird. I've known you forever, you know it's never been important to me that you're the famed son of billionare Bruce Wayne. But it seems like that's all anybody else here can think about, and they all either hate me because they want to be with you or want to be my new best friend, all so they can get to you and Bruce. It's fine, none of their opinions matter to me, but... I just didn't expect to feel so weird coming to one of these things again."

Dick took a step closer to me, reaching out to take my arm with a concerned look on his face. He spoke quietly enough that, even if someone had been intentionally eavesdropping (which had happened more than once tonight), they wouldn't be able to hear him.

"Do you want to go? I'm happy to leave if you want to. We don't have to stay here."

I shook my head before he'd even finished his sentence.

"Running and no-showing Bruce's galas isn't a long-term solution. And seriously, it's fine, I'll adjust. I just... I don't know. I miss the days where we hid under the punch bowl giggling out of sight of everybody, you know?"

My boyfriend grinned. "I mean, if you really think about it, there's nothing keeping us from doing that again."

"I can think of a few things," I laughed, swatting his shoulder lightly. He hummed, but sobered quickly as he scanned the room, clearly thinking.

"Well... if you're sure you don't want to commandeer the space under the desert table?"

"I'm sure."

"Then why don't we try dancing? That's a little more... socially acceptable than hiding under the tables, but it's one of the things we used to have the most fun doing at these things. Remember how we'd just take over the entire floor to do whatever we wanted when we were kids?"

I laughed. "Yeah, of course. Although it's a little harder to remember the feeling that inspired us to just run out there before."

Dick smiled softly and extended his hand to me.

"Let me remind you."

My heart did a little backflip, especially when I met Dick's sparkling blue eyes. I huffed a little laugh of disbelief, especially at the thought of stepping into the center of the spotlight when I knew just how many people were going to be watching. But then I looked at Dick again, and I decided that, as long as I was with him, they didn't matter.

I took his hand, and he didn't waste a second before pulling me after him to the dance floor. I laughed, unable to hold back a smile even as heads turned towards us. Dick ignored them completely. He pulled me to his chest when we reached the center of the floor and wrapped an arm securely around my waist, the other taking one of my hands. I rested my free hand on his shoulder, and as we started swaying together to the music, his eyes didn't leave mine for a second.

"You know..." he started after a moment, drawing my attention back from a glance over his shoulder to where people were watching us. "This is nice, but a slow dance wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

I gave Dick my full attention and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm almost afraid to ask, but... what did you have in mind?"

He grinned. "Something more like this."

Suddenly, Dick was spinning me out and away from him, twirling across the floor before pulling me back. We'd know each other long enough and spent enough time as vigilante teammates that his steps were easy to follow, even as he started something closer to swing that didn't match the music at all.

I laughed, a warm feeling spreading through my chest as I shared a smile with my partner. In the back of my mind, I knew more people were probably watching and judging than ever. But suddenly they didn't matter like they used to.

Dick swung me around again, then pulled me close and into an exaggerated dip. If I didn't know he was a superhero, I probably would've been a little worried about him dropping me. Instead, it just made me laugh, especially as Dick grinned and led me into something way too close to something you'd do to Cotton Eye Joe.

With every second that passed on the dance floor with Dick, everyone else in the room faded further and further away. It felt like when we were kids, just me and the most important person in the world to me having the time of our lives.

"Feel any better?" asked Dick, whispering in my ear as he pulled me close again, both hands wrapped tight around my waist. I smiled, running my hands up his arms and across his shoulders.

"So much better. Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me. We're partners, you know I'd never leave you hanging."

I pulled back enough to meet Dick's eyes, and found their familiar sparkle and a smile waiting for me. I gave him a soft smile back.

"I love you, Dick Grayson. So fucking much."

Dick beamed back at me. "I love you too. Now come on, the band's finally catching on to what we want. I want to dance with the love of my life to music that's actually fun for dancing."

I just laughed as Dick swung me out and away from him again, the two of us twirling across the floor, this time in sync with the now-faster music. Suddenly, after a few minutes with Dick, the propsect of all these Wayne galas didn't seem nearly so daunting anymore. Sure, I might have to deal with a few unpleasant strangers whose opinions didn't matter to me. But I'd also get to do this, laughing and dancing and having the time of our lives, with my favorite person in the world.

Worth it in the long run, as far as I was concerned.

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

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21

DC Taglist: @gaychaosgremlin @v1ckycheesue @lavender-dinos @g0atmansbridge182

[frombloodandfire]

Indigo

“I used to shine bright like gold, now I’m all indigo.”

A woman who tries to escape her past with no hope for the future, ends up on an unknown place playing childhood games to win. A man from her past happens to be there for the exact same reason. Will they escape their haunted pasts? Or they will end up dying in vain?

Just a pilot first chapter to see if you all like this series! It will be an oc x Cho Sang Woo, but I will try to not use her name much either (im avoiding y/n so I’m keeping it simple). Also English is my second language so forgive me for any mistakes and please correct me! Some things are left unknown for later chapters. <3

Warnings: blood, depression, heavy language etc.

She woke to the soft sound of rain tapping against the window. The night had been rough, and the day promised to be no easier. She was already late for a job interview, probably another one she'd never hear back from, just like all the others.

The phone rang, pulling her from her thoughts. She scrambled across the tiny room, pulling on her clothes as she went.

Who could it be at this hour?

"Can we talk?" came the voice on the other end, low and urgent.

"I'm late for something," she replied, trying to rush through the words.

"Meet me at seven tonight," the man said, cutting her off. "I finish work early."

Before she could respond, he hung up. Not that she wanted to, but she knew she’d go. But why would he want to meet on a random Thursday evening?

The interview had been a brief glimmer of hope "We’ll call you in the next few days.”they said to her. The school was only twenty minutes away from her apartment, a dream job. Maybe this was the universe’s way of throwing her a bone.

The rain had stopped by the time she arrived at the metro station, and she smiled, because maybe it was her lucky day finally after so many years. But as she waited for the next train, a tall man in a business suit, carrying a small case, approached her. She ignored him at first, assuming he'd ask for money or try to sell something, but then he spoke.

"Ma’am."

She glanced up, annoyed, then quickly turned away. She didn’t have time for this.

“Sorry, I’m busy…” she muttered, standing up and moving toward an empty seat.

But the man followed her. “I’d like to offer you a great opportunity.”

She paused, narrowing her eyes. "A great opportunity?" she repeated, confused. What was this some sort of scam? Was he a cult recruiter? Either way, she wasn’t interested.

“Want to play a game?” he asked, his voice smooth.

“A game?” She raised an eyebrow. What was he talking about?

Without waiting for her response, the man pulled out two small pieces of paper, one red, the other blue.

“I'm sure you've played ddakji before, right?”

She shook her head. "Not really..."

"It's simple," he explained, handing her the papers. "Try to flip the one on the ground, and you win."

“What do I win?” she asked skeptically.

He ignored her question entirely. "Pick a color."

Reluctantly, she chose the red paper, placing it on the ground and attempting to flip the blue one. It didn’t move.

"Yeah, not gonna happen..." she muttered, a bit embarrassed. The man, without a word, picked up the blue paper and flicked it with ease. It spun perfectly, landing on its edge.

“You have to pay now," he said.

“Pay? What do you mean, I have to pay?” Her heart skipped a beat.

She had a sinking feeling she was being played.

“How about you pay... with your body?”

“Wh—?” Before she could react, he slapped her hard. The force of the blow almost made her stumble, but she managed to steady herself. Rage bubbled up inside her.

“What the hell? That’s it. I’ve had enough.”

Without thinking, she grabbed the red paper, anger fueling her strength. To her surprise, it hit the blue one and it flicked.

“Ha! Take that!” she shouted, feeling a rush of triumph. “So, what do I win? I get to slap you back?” She was now laughing.

The man laughed, unfazed. Then, to her shock, he pulled out a stack of cash 100,000 won and handed it to her with a smile.

“Congratulations. You were great for a beginner!”

She froze, staring at the money. There was no way this was real. A stranger had just handed her cash for a childish game.

“Take this. There are other games you can make much more.” he said, before giving her a small card. It was marked with a triangle, a square, and a circle. When she flipped it over, a number was scribbled on the back.

What the hell? Should I call this? What does it mean?

By the time the evening arrived, she was standing outside his apartment, exactly at 7:00 PM. Three minutes passed. Then five. She hesitated, unsure if she should have come. Maybe she should’ve just gone home.

"Lyanna!" a voice called from the door.

She turned to see him rushing toward her, a sheepish grin on his face. "Sorry for the wait. Let’s get inside. My mom’s not home."

It had been so long since they'd seen each other.

“It’s been a while, Jun Ho. How are you?”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hard time at work, but... I’m doing okay. What about you? Did you find any job?”

“I can’t say things are great,” she admitted, feeling a lump rise in her throat. “But... I got a job. They accepted me today.”

He laughed, a sound full of relief. “Ah, finally. After all this time... That’s great news. What about the debt? Will you stay in Seoul now that you got the job?”

She hesitated. “The debt... it’s still there,” she said quietly, looking down at the floor. "But, yeah, I’ll stay in Seoul for now. Until I can make enough to get out of here.”

He studied her with concern. The silence that followed was heavy.

“I don’t know why you called, Jun Ho,” she said, breaking the stillness. “Maybe it’s better to forget the past.”

He reached for her arm, his grip tight. "I can’t. I need to find him, Lyanna. You’re my last hope. You’re the only one who can help me."

Her heart tightened. She wanted to help him, but the past... it was too much to carry. "I can’t help you, Jun Ho," she whispered. "I’m just trying to rebuild my own life. I want to find him too for my friend’s sake... but—"

“She would help if it was to find your husband.”

At the mention of her old best friend, a cold shiver ran down her spine. She thought about her every day, ever since she’d passed. The woman had been everything to her.

“This hurts still, you know? Even after all the years…” She said, her voice trembling. “Maybe one day we’ll find him. But I can’t right now, Jun Ho. I’m not in a place to help you. Not when I can’t even help myself.”

She stood up, her hands shaking slightly. “Give my best to your mother,” she said, turning toward the door. But then she stopped, looked him in the eye one last time. “Thank you for calling. I missed you. And I’m glad you’re doing well.”

“Wait!” Jun Ho called, rushing to her. He bent down, picking something off the floor. “You dropped this.”

Shit. The card. She’d dropped it without realizing.

“Oh no. Thank you! I’m such an idiot…” She smiled, forcing herself to laugh. “Stay safe, okay?”

With that, she stepped out the door, her heart heavy with uncertainty as she walked home.

If you wish to participate, please state your name and birthdate.

Lyanna Collet, 1986.

A/n: let me know if you are interested!! It would help me to express your opinion ❤️

[shouyuus]

hi not a request but I want to know how you got to be such a good writer. Practice? Or maybe writing exercises? Did you fall inlove with writing? If so, when and how? Has it always been, i don’t know, a thing you like to do ever since you were a lil kid? Or were you inspired by other pieces and authors. (mind-boggling curiosity is driving me rn)

ASDLFKJSD thank you ?!?!?! so. this is a question that i sometimes got on my old blog as well, and i've always dithered on how to answer bc there's no like... magic potion, right. there's no secret sauce.

unfortunately (and super boringly), how you get "good" at writing is just... practice. just hours and hours and weeks and months and years of practice.

i've been writing almost every single day since i was about 10 years old. i'm 30 now so that's twenty years of practice -- neigh on SEVEN THOUSAND DAYS of practice. i also majored in comparative literature, so i paid like insane amounts of money to an higher education institution, for people who are objectively considered experts in this field, to teach me and help me and coach me. i can't discount at all how important that was in like getting my writing to the next level (i can name the specific professor and course in my freshman year that changed me as a writer like that's how deep of an impression it left on me)

that being said, you don't need to do all that to become a "good" writer. and i think that's the best thing about this craft is that anyone can decide to pick up a pen one day and #Nike Just Do It. (also, good is subjective and like blah blah blah all that stuff)

but if you want actual tangible things you can do to improve your writing, here's some things that have helped me:

read. read alot. read everything. think of your body like a car. you need to put oil in to run. you need energy in to put energy out. in the same way, you need to intake good writing to output good writing. ive always been a voracious reader, and for the longest time, even when i was actively writing fanfiction (both online and just for myself), i wouldn't read any other fanfics, i would only read published books, and published books either from authors that i know i like, OR published books that i've vetted (ie read the first few pages of and said okay, this is a style i like and a story that's interesting to me)

it's impossible not to be "inspired" when you take in a lot of good writing. so read. but don't limit yourself to just fiction or whatever. read narrative nonfiction -- some of the most moving stories and well-written things i've ever read are actually essays, or longform journalism stories -- try a bit of everything and see what you like, and make note of the things you like to read

then, dig a bit deeper. if there's a sentence you find particularly moving, take it apart, try to figure out why you like it. i rmbr in elementary school we did "sentence diagrams" and it seems strange but getting really technical with writing is a good thing! and i'm the kind of nerd that loves stuff like this so u__u. BUT BUT the point of this is -- once you figure out how a "good" sentence is structured, you can take that structure and plug your own words in! and voila! it's another good sentence!!!! kind of like a super nerdy advanced version of mad-libs LOL

i went thru a phase of my life where i thought it was super cool to memorize famous first sentences of novels LMFAO (yes. again. my parents should've KNOWN i had adhd as a child holy fuck) but i did that for a while and i think that also just... ingrained in me specific sentence structures and turns of phrase that have stuck with me to this day.

if you read a thing and you don't like it, try to pause and ask yourself why -- was it the pacing? the structure? the characterization? what about it was offputting? try to be a more active/critical reader.

COPYWRITING. okay OKAY so this is a thing that i discovered only.... a few years ago? i think? but its a writing exercise wherein writers will literally copy out word for word writing that they like from another author -- not to publish, mind you, but just for the FEEL of writing it themselves -- NOW. i know what ur thinking "what the fuck why" but think about it this way -- classical musicians spend their entire lives playing pieces written by other musicians. dancers learn dances from other choreographers -- even choreographers start by learning dances by other people right like. why should writing be any different?

this does a few things -- it makes you an "active" participant in the writing. don't knock it till you've tried it -- reading a sentence (even deeply) and having to write/type it out yourself are two totally and completely different things. the way you pay attention to pacing, cadence, punctuation, line breaks, shit that you don't even think about when you're reading, suddenly, you're paying attention to it bc you're the one typing each and every letter, every comma, every exclamation mark.

i have a whole separate folder in my notion just for copywork. for the days that i don't feel like actually writing anything, i'll pick one of my favorite books from my favorite authors, and pull it up on kindle, and just copy out a few paragraphs, sometimes an entire chapter. and you'd be surprised at how different you feel after!

read/listen to poetry. this is more of a personal thing for me but i love the cadence of poetry -- i love internal rhymes and spoken word, i love limerence and sibilance and alliteration. i love IAMBIC PENTAMETER GODDAMNIT. lmfao but like. alot of times, prose is more "forgiving" in a way -- you have more space, more words to do the thing. poetry is (i think) the essence -- especially metered poetry, or specific forms of poetry where you have to write within a super rigid set of rules -- and sometimes, i think that creativity flourishes the best under "stress" aka under a strict set of rules. the shit that people come up with in very strict poetry is INSANE and sometimes i copy those out too, over and over again, just to feel the words and the rhythm

read your favorites over and over again. i used to never re-read books, but as i got older and my tastes became pickier, i find myself going back to reread my favorite books over and over again -- and it's fascinating because every time i go back, i find something new to marvel at, a new aspect. and i think that's the lovely thing about media after it's been put out in the world -- you can consume it over and over and over again, and each time, because of the way your brain is wired, of your physical setting, your mindset, you'll notice sometime different.

if you want a list of my fav books/authors, i can def make one! or i'll just reblog the list i made on my prev blog but yeah! lemme know if that's of interest to you! and i think you'll find that if you read any of my fav authors, you'll see immediately how they've inspired me LOL

and FINALLY be kind to yourself! you do not have to be good at every hobby you choose. if writing is something that just gives you joy and you don't want to become 'better' at it??? then that's perfectly okay! also, there are TONS of different styles of writing -- and not all of them is for everyone! you might like super dialogue-heavy writing, some other ppl might prefer really rich prose! it varies by person, and you'll never please everyone. so the best you can do is just write the stuff that makes you happy and that makes you giggle (lord knows thats what i've been doing on this blog) and if you want to put it out into the world, then do! but if you wanna keep it just for yourself, then that's good too!

just because you don't put it out into the world, doesn't make you any less of a writer!

[monsterswithimagines]

Undisclosed Desires - Part 9

Joe Goldberg x female!Reader

Summary: Twenty minutes before he would have met Guinevere Beck, Joe meets you instead. You intruige him, but it will soon become clear that there is something off about you.

Words: 1184

Masterlist

I hate your coworkers. I really do.

They're like the people from the books you love, but exactly the wrong kind. Not Shadow Moon but Henry Winter and Richard Gansey III. Rich assholes, all of them. They think they're working hard, but all their wealth was just handed to them.

And you? You think you belong among them.

I don't like this side of you, (Y/n). You live in a shitty apartment in one of the bad parts of town. You read books that make you feel something and go on unplanned walks and turn your face up to the sky when it rains. You're not like these people at all. Yet when you're around them, you act just like them. You drink too much. You laugh too loudly. And you get way too close, pressing yourself against your male coworkers like they have a shot with you.

You barely look at me.

These people aren't so hard to find out about. They all think they're very important, so they all have a huge online presence.

There’s Jasper Merrit, the guy who talks to you most and whose arm you keep slapping when he makes a joke. He's twenty-nine, comes from money (who here doesn't?), owns two houses and has a wife who isn't here and a girlfriend who is.

There's Kim Wheeler. She's tall and angry-looking. Thirty-seven without kids. She is your boss, and you are far too eager to be noticed by her. You make light conversation with her and tell jokes that aren't funny and really, (Y/n)? I didn't figure you to be the type who has mommy-issues.

There's Dana Morrison, who gives you the cold shoulder and who you give the cold shoulder back. Her Instagram has pictures of you together, though. The rift must have been recent. She is pregnant but has no husband or boyfriend - IVF, according to her Twitter. She wants to be a single mother - and owns a car that's worth ten times as much as your apartment.

There’s also Nick McKinnon. I guess I like Nick. His social media (LinkedIn only) tells me almost nothing about him, and he has no particular presence on Google, either. He's not from a rich family as far as I can tell and, more importantly, he talks to you without eying you like a piece of meat. He seems devoted to his girlfriend, who is trying desperately to befriend you even though you don't seem to notice. If we get a moment alone together, I might point it out to you.

We've been here for two hours now. The music is too loud, and you're definitely not enjoying it, but you're acting like you are. You're dancing with your coworkers and drinking another beer - you don't like beer, though. You told me so - and you're getting kind of drunk.

But then, suddenly, you're hanging around my shoulders, and in an instant I forgive this entire day.

“I need a break. Come somewhere quiet with me?” you shout in my ear.

I nod.

There is nowhere quiet to go, but at least there's somewhere quieter, away from the main stage and between the food stalls, where there's currently almost nobody because apparently the guy performing his shitty songs right now is kind of a big deal.

It doesn't matter where we are, or that I have a headache from all the music. I take the fact that we don't have to shout at each other as an absolute win.

You stumble and I catch your elbow. You laugh quietly, the way you usually laugh. I feel relieved because it means the way you've been acting today is all just that: acting.

“Sorry,” you tell me. “I’m a lightweight. I probably should have warned you.”

“It's okay.”

You turn and stumble into me. You could stand on your own, but you want to be close to me. You press your face into my shirt.

“You hate this, don't you?”

“I'm okay,” I say.

You snort. It would be an unattractive sound, but I like it because it means you see right through me. You know me, and I love that.

“You've barely said a word to anyone. You've just been on your phone this whole time.”

“I'm… nervous.”

“I shouldn't have brought you today.” Your hands run up my arms. “I knew you probably wouldn't like it. I don't know. I thought I might have more fun if I brought you along.” You pause. “You're so good, Joe. Not like these people at all.”

“Oh?” I say. I don't want to sound like I'm fishing for compliments but I really, really want you to elaborate.

“They're all so… None of them are real like you.” You sigh. “With them, I always feel like I'm saying or doing exactly the wrong thing. Kim always just stares at me like I'm a child and Dana… you know she told me I try too hard?”

You do try too hard, (Y/n). At least with these people. Why do you even want them to like you? They're not worth your time.

“And it's, like, of course I try!” You continue. “She just doesn't get it because she's never had to try at anything in her life. Everybody just automatically likes her and if they don't, she has enough money to buy their affection.” You pull away from me. “Sorry, I'm sorry.”

“What for?” I ask.

“I'm venting at you. I shouldn't do that. You didn't consent to that.”

“Consider this me, consenting,” I tell you. “That's what…” I pause, deliberately. “Friends… are for.”

“Right, well…” You step away from me, just slightly, and wring your hands together. “God, I'm such an idiot.”

“If you want, we can just leave.”

“We could do that, couldn't we? It's not even like I have to be here. Ninety percent of the company isn't.”

“Let's go somewhere else,” I suggest. “Get a cheap burger, some coffee, sober you right up.”

You smile. But then, you shake your head. “It's only been two hours. It'll seem weird.”

“It can totally be my fault,” I say. “'Oops, sorry guys, my bookstore's being broken into. We gotta go.'” I shrug. “I'd have to take you with me because I'm the sober one. I'm supposed to get you home safe.”

You consider this.

“Maybe.”

I can't push you. It needs to be your choice to go with me. You need to choose me over these assholes, or this won't work. Let me just make that clear now, (Y/n).

“We can stay if you want,” I say, trying to sound reassuring. “I'm just saying, we don't have to if you don't want to.”

“I want to leave,” you decide. “But no lying. I'm a shit liar. They'll just figure it out at work tomorrow. I'll tell them we're going and meet you back here.”

“Okay then,” I say. “Are you good to walk on your own, though?”

“I'm fine,” you say. And you're right: you are a shitty liar.

I mean, you manage to walk on your own, but it looks pretty funny.

[toomuchracket]

haunted house (dad!george x reader fluff)

more promptober! just a fun fic about you and the kids making plans for when george gets home. enjoy! <3

the bell for the end of the day rings just as you make it through the school gates, wet autumn leaves on the ground and the wriggly three-year-old in your arms doing nothing but hindering an already-running-late you. panting slightly, you carefully set cara down and try to catch your breath, ruffling her hair as she clings to your leg.

you're not really sure why you rushed, to be honest; connor's the most laid-back five-year-old you've ever heard of, with a habit of swanning out of school a few minutes after most of his classmates have bolted out of the playground, and you know you would have been there waiting for him in plenty of time had you walked from the car instead of running. still, you don't want to chance it, you'd rather wait for your son than have it be the other way around.

and you do wait - seven minutes (and three games of hopscotch with your daughter) after the school day ends, connor finally deigns to leave the building, chatting away to dylan as they wander over to you. at the sight of her brother and for-all-intents-and-purposes cousin, cara speeds over to them to say hello; when the three of them walk closer to you, you can see the smug little grin on her face at getting to hang out with the “big kids”, even though there's barely two years between her and them.

you grin back at them, amused at the (classic daniel/healy) height difference between the two five-year-olds. “hi, munchkins. y'alright? took you a while to leave school today.”

“dyl couldn't find her water bottle, mum,” connor throws himself into a cuddle, which you reciprocate eagerly. “but i helped her.”

your goddaughter corroborates this, giving you a hug of her own in greeting. “yeah cos we have the same one and no-one else has it because they're from our dads’ work. but mine has an sticker that's pink,” she almost whacks you with said water bottle in her haste to show you the barbie sticker half-stuck over the 75 logo. “it was at the sink and not my seat.”

“oh, well, that's good you got it,” you pat her head. “did your dad tell you this morning that it would be me picking you up because mummy's not feeling well?”

“yeah. he said baby's making her tummy sore, so i'm going home in the car with you.”

“that's right,” you take cara's hand, heading out towards the almost-empty car park. “let's go to the car now, babies.”

“mum!” connor looks aghast. “we're not babies. i'm five.”

“i'm nearly six,” dylan says proudly. “when baby gets here i'll be six. and lena will be four. and you too, cara.”

your youngest looks at you, brow furrowed; you have to stop yourself giggling at how much she looks like george. “i'll be four?”

“yes, angel. you and lena won't be the tiny babies any more, will you? we'll all have an actual baby to look after.”

cara hums, too preoccupied to be excited about the thought of a new friend. “will i get a party when i'm four?”

“oh, i think so,” you unlock the car, scooping her up with a kiss to her cheek before settling her into her carseat. “you know what dad and matty are like. any excuse to celebrate! right, dyl, you get in there, darling, watch your step,” fastening her seatbelt, you shout across the girls to your son. “you alright, con?”

“mhmm!”

you check anyway - he's fine - before getting in yourself. “alright, munchkins, home time.”

what should only be a ten-minute drive to the healy house actually ends up being twenty-five because of traffic, but it's pleasant enough - the kids are good as gold, patiently playing i spy, softly giggling the whole time and warming your heart. you knew all along that your babies would be best friends with your best friends’, but seeing dylan - tiny for her age, shockingly tentative from birth - yap and laugh along with your two like this is a heartwarming (and only slightly terrifying) indication that the kids will genuinely end up being as close (read: codependent) as their fathers are.

their fathers, who are still at the studio working diligently, you learn when your friend waddles (there's no other word for it) out to the car to get dylan despite you yelling “stay there! i'll bring her up!” repeatedly when you reach her house. she rolls her eyes as she tells you, absentmindedly rubbing her baby bump, an air of vague exhaustion hanging around her. “according to matthew, they're working on until half 6 tonight, so they can take the weekend off and do final tweaks on monday, and that's them done,” she scoffs. “can you believe that?”

“of course not. george has been promising to be home at half 4 for the past three weeks,” you snort. “and as for final tweaks…”

“oh, another month, at least.”

“literally. that baby girl of yours might arrive before they send that final mix off.”

“don't, i'm actually nervous about that,” she giggles, cradling her stomach before pulling you into a hug. “i'd better go before elena tries to cut her own hair again. d'you want to do dinner next friday, us and the kids - and the boys, if they ever unchain themselves from that mixing desk?”

“i'll bring starters and dessert,” you kiss her cheek. “take it easy, alright?”

“yeah. hope you get to see your husband this weekend, babe!”

“you too!”

you really, really hope you do; after an hour in tesco, you and the kids get home well after george's originally-planned home time, and your heart sinks when you unlock the door to the lights still off and no sign of him, other than the half-drunk coffee he left this morning and a couple of cigarette butts in the kitchen ashtray. moments like these are sometimes harder than when he's actually away touring, you think - it's less upsetting missing george when there are oceans between you than it is when you're ships in the night in the same house.

still, you've got the kids to keep you distracted from being melancholy; it's impossible to be anything other than overjoyed when your sweet babies insist on group cuddles on the sofa while you watch another episode of balamory, or when the two of them run to get their stepstools so they can watch you make fajitas for dinner with genuine interest (well, connor more than cara), or during dinner itself, when connor collapses into contagious giggles at the sight of his little sister’s face covered in guacamole. but they miss their dad, too, despite all the happiness, as admitted by cara while she's clinging onto you in piggyback while you do the dishes. “when's daddy home?”

you sigh, doing your best to keep the sadness out of it. “m'not sure yet, angel. he'll phone when he's leaving his work, though.”

“‘kay,” she digs her little chin into your shoulder, only slightly uncomfortably for you. “will he read me a story?”

“i bet he will,” you put away the last plate, wiping your hands before swinging her round to hold her in front of you; once her laughter subsides, you speak again. “daddy loves reading stories to you and connor.”

cara nods. “and he hasn't done it in ages.”

well, four days, but to a three-year-old… that probably feels like an eternity. the thought brings a lump to your throat. “he will, though, soon, munchkin. daddy will be home soon, and he'll read you a bedtime story,” biting back a sniffle, you spot a parenting advantage. “that is, if you brush your teeth extra well once you put your pyjamas on. yeah?”

“yeah!”

ironically, coincidentally, whatever you want to call it, the omw home text from george flashes up on your watch during cara's bathtime, the last step in what her dad likes to call “the ‘pre-bedtime routine’ routine”. she squeals when you tell her, kicking her little legs with such enthusiasm that half the bathwater ends up over you, and her brother rushes into the room in a panic. “what's going on? why is cara screaming? is she ok?”

wriggling even as you lift her into a cosy towel, cara answers. “yeah! daddy's coming to read us a story!”

“oh!” your son's face lights up. “really, mummy?”

“yes, darling, he just sent a message,” you confirm. “d'you want to go and choose a book while i get cara into her pyjamas? and then we can wait for him together?”

“mhmm” connor moves to leave, but turns back in the doorway to look at the two of you. there's a familiar smile on his face, and you're not sure whether to be worried about whatever sneaky thing he's about to suggest or pissed off that both of your kids look nothing like you. “or…”

you brace yourself. “or what, con?”

“we don't wait and we hide and then jump out and surprise him.”

the laugh escapes your lips before you even realise. fuck it. “alright. let's do it…”

the cheers you get in response are deafening.

“... but,” you raise your eyebrows pointedly. “only if you pick a book for your bedtime story now, connor,” matching his nods, you turn to your youngest in her towel cocoon. “and you brush your teeth properly, like we agreed earlier.”

cara nods so excitedly that the towel falls off her head. connor laughs, and you can't help chuckling either. “okay, babies - don't get stroppy, con, you're gonna be my babies forever, alright? anyway,” you ruffle his hair. “we'll hide in the wardrobe in your room. d'you want to wait there for me and cara, munchkin?”

“yeah!” he darts off, and seconds later you hear him rifling through the little bookshelf in his bedroom. “i picked a book!”

“good boy!” you call, before turning back to your still-beaming girl. “will you be good, madam?”

she nods sweetly. and she really is - there isn't a peep of a complaint at all. not while you're drying and dressing her, not during teeth-brushing, not even when you've got her sat on the bathroom counter as you brush and braid her hair, which is usually something she prefers george doing “cos it's not sore when daddy does it”. 

whatever. at least you still have hair.

hyper-aware of the fact that time is of the essence, you comb through cara's fringe once more, before scooping her up into your arms and kissing her little cheek. “what do we think, munchkin - d'you think you look good?”

“hmmm,” cara squints at her reflection, then grins. “yeah!”

“i think so too. shall we go and get connor and wait for daddy?”

a nod against your shoulder, and off you go on the short jaunt to your son's room. connor's already sitting in the massive built-in wardrobe, book in hand and an eager smile on his face. you smile in return, settling down beside him and pulling the cupboard door almost fully-closed; you're careful to leave a crack in front of you, so you'll be able to see your husband when he arrives. which, actually, should be imminently, so you'd better come up with a game plan. you tug your kids close to you. “so, when daddy gets here-”

“mum, why are you being quiet?” the confusion is evident on connor's sweet little face even in the minimal light. “dad isn't here yet.”

he's got a point. you blink. “true. anyway, like i was saying, when he does get here… wait for me to open the door, and then you can jump on daddy, yeah?”

“can we shout too?”

“i don't see why not. but no bad words, you - just because you've heard matty say them doesn't mean you can,” you point at connor, before turning to cara. “and no screaming from you, you hear me?”

“yes, mummy.”

“good,” your eyes widen at the sound of the front door opening, closely followed by george shouting a greeting as he dumps his bag, and your voice shifts to a whisper. “quiet, now, alright? let's see how long it takes daddy to find us.”

there's a whispered chorus of agreements, and then - miraculously - your kids go silent, aside from the quick little huffs of air signifying silent giggling; these get more frequent when you all hear george wandering around downstairs, calling your names in turn and humming to himself in bewilderment. when his footsteps become audible on the stairs, cara practically wraps herself around your arm, all but shaking with kinetic energy and clutching her brother's hand as they hear their father reach the landing. 

you, too, are laughing to yourself as you listen to george opening and closing doors in search, monologuing as he goes. “nowhere to be seen and they've left every bloody light in the building on. s'like blackpool illuminations,” comes the gravel grumbling so characteristic to the love of your life, as he wanders into what you know is the bathroom; he sniffs loudly, and you have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from cackling. “strawberry shampoo… cara's bedtime routine. maybe everyone's in,” another door opens. “here! oh. empty. must be in connor's room, then.”

three strides across the landing, and there he is - george, his tiredness obvious even through the tiny crack between wardrobe doors. he turns slowly, taking in the emptiness of the room (and making your heart glow when you catch a glimpse of his pretty face), and - as if by magic - stops with his back to the wardrobe, muttering “where are they?” to himself.

partially out of slight guilt for putting him through this, but mostly because you think connor and cara might explode if you make them wait any longer to surprise their dad, you push the wardrobe doors open. the kids fly out, little voices shouting “hi dad!” and “we're here!” as little bodies land on george's massive one; he gasps in shock, and you're extremely thankful for the victorian high ceilings in your house, because your husband's head (and the rest of him, probably) would absolutely have hit anything lower when he jumped in abject terror. he sinks to the floor, head in his hands. “jesus christ,” he sighs, before standing and tucking a kid under each arm, swinging them around and filling the room with laughter. “you meanies, surprising me like that. i thought you'd all run away and left me!”

“we would never,” you step forward, taking cara into your own arms and pecking george on the lips. “we like playing tricks on you too much.”

“yes, that one's obvious,” george rolls his eyes; his face breaks into a big smile, and he kisses your nose. “hi, by the way, angel. thanks for the interesting welcome home.”

“i wish i could take credit.”

“oh? it wasn't mummy?” george dramatically looks from kid to kid. “who's the evil genius among us, then?”

cara giggles, nuzzling her head into your neck. “connor.”

“reeeeeeeeally?” george cocks his head to look at his boy, who's grinning from ear to ear. “s'that right, munchkin? it was your idea?”

connor giggles. “yeah.”

“in that case, then,” george tickles your son through his t-shirt, smiling at the raucous giggles that follow - from cara, too, actually. “say sorry, and i'll stop.”

“sorry! sorrysorrysorry!” connor's laughs fade to little hums, and he snuggles into his dad while they both catch their breath. “mummy planned it though. tickle her!”

george winks at you. “oh, i will, later. but first,” he flicks your son on the nose. “bathtime? and then a bedtime story for the little ones?”

cara nods. “and then mummy and daddy bedtime?”

“once i've redone your hair, munchkin? i think so,” your husband smiles at you, eyes twinkling. “of sorts, at least. you up for that, sweetheart?”

“oh, absolutely.”

[ladysomething]

hello! so i reread lazarus rises and now i'm curious about one thing

Max probably wouldn’t care, but younger Charles would never let it go. To know that his first kiss with Max would never really be his, never really remembered; he’d be ridiculously jealous. He’d probably not talk to Max for weeks over it. 

so at the end older charles did kiss younger max, so i'm wondering about younger charles' reaction when he found out?

kind of wanted to revisit these two, so ....

Charles' mouth drops open, when Max nervously tells him that he's kissed him before.

"You didn't see his face," Max tries to hurriedly explain, so obviously stressed about having to tell him the truth. "And I didn't think you'd ever get here. I just--I wanted to kiss you, at least once. And he wanted to kiss me, for maybe the last time."

Charles gets that. He's not completely heartless.

And, clearly, Max is upset about telling him, and scared of his reaction. He could probably have told him sooner, because they've already been tentatively dating for months, but he's not entirely sure how a topic like this would ever even come up.

But now Charles will never get Max's first kiss. It's just . . . gone. Taken from him, before he ever even had the chance to want it.

And, worst of all, he's now lived several months thinking that their kiss in the hallway after Monza was Max's first chance at this, too. Had thought that the fear in Max's eyes had been because of his anticipation of it being the first time; had thought that his sigh into Charles' mouth had been because he also felt the world tilt on it's side, like everything finally felt right.

Instead, Max had already felt all of those things. He'd already tasted Charles, already felt him, already licked into his mouth and wanted more.

And Charles will never get that back.

"You could've said no," Charles says through gritted teeth, face flushing. He can't stop thinking that he'll never see the look on Max's face after he kissed him for the first time. "That Charles--he's going to die, anyway. I'm the one who's here with you."

Max flinches back, like Charles has slapped him.

And Charles--he's too angry for this conversation. He can't believe that they did this to him.

So he gets up, and he walks out.

He comes crawling back, of course, only a week or so later. When Max opens the door, his face looks drawn and pale, like he's barely been sleeping. Guilt knocks into Charles full force, because the truth is, he's not really angry at Max.

Max, who was all of twenty two years old and given his wildest fantasy on a silver platter. Max, who was only trying to do the right thing by a man who came to him broken and bleeding. Max, who was dealing with his own heartbreak and being told for the first time that he's not as alone as he feels.

No, Charles understands exactly why Max kissed older Charles.

Charles is angry at himself.

A little because his older self took something from him that can never be returned, but mostly because he gets it. As much as he wants it, wishes for that first kiss, he gets to kiss Max for the rest of his life--whether that's seven years or seventy (and Charles plans to make it seventy).

Older Charles . . . well, he gets nothing. Maybe, maybe, Charles can let him have this.

"I'm sorry," Charles tells him, and it's not even hard to pry the apology from behind his teeth.

Max shakes his head. "No, I'm sorry. I should never have--"

"No, don't," Charles interrupts, voice shaking. "I'm not . . . good at sharing. Even with myself. But I am greedy, so I probably should have known that he'd have done this."

"But--"

"Max," Charles says, sighing sharply. "Just . . . don't, okay? We're making new memories now. And I'll get all of his eventually, anyway."

Max purses his lips together, because they both know that's not exactly how it will work. But he says nothing else, just lets Charles back into his life openly and easily.

Seven years later, in the lead up to the final race of 2025, Charles doesn't eat, and he doesn't sleep. He can barely make himself function outside of F1, and that's only because he knows this is best chance at a Championship.

He tries everything he can to convince Max to sit out the race. He knows Max is scared of dying, the quickly approaching possibility shaking him to his core, but it's Charles who has the obvious breakdown.

"But I'm the one who gets left behind!" Charles shouts, one particularly vicious night. Tears have been tracking down his face for so long that he doesn't even feel them anymore. "How can you be this selfish?"

"Because you'll come back for me," is all Max keeps saying.

"Why are you making me? We're supposed to be partners, and you want to leave this all to me? You saw him, you saw what this did, and you're happy to do that to me? You don't even care?"

"You just have to trust me," Max pleads. "You have to trust that I can fix this."

Charles throws up all morning on the day of the final race. Max's hands shake and shake and shake, but he doesn't back down.

And when Max gets in the car, and Charles is already crying because he's so scared, he's so fucking scared, Charles thinks that if he does have to go back and save Max, then he'll kiss him, too. There is no way that he won't.

By the time older Charles has come and gone, and left a diary full of entries sharing his life and love, Charles doesn't feel angry at himself anymore. He reads older Charles' recount of what happened with young Max, Charles' Max, and he thinks, I'm so happy that you got to have this. You got the first, but I get everything else. And I'll take care of him, I promise.

[knuxadowmumbles]

I'm just curious what other ships do you ship and do you have fankids for them.

Good evening! Thank you very much for this ask!:] I apologize for taking so long to answer! This question in particular was a rather thought-provoking, and I practically had to draw every single child that came to mind (rather than Shard, Opal, and Cobalt)

Below, you will find one of the worst ship master lists you may ever see in your entire life.

—————

Knuckles x shadow

Blaze x Rouge

Mephiles x Silver

Sonic x Metal sonic

Sally x Amy

Espio x Mighty

Tails x Charmy

Scourge x Sticks..?

Fiona x Surge

Vector and CREAMS MOM (Vanilla)

——

Now, one may ask why these remain the main ships of the blog. To that, I say it is because I want to make an attempt to branch out to a few more found ships, followed by some rarer pairings. I want to make things more interesting and see what I can experiment with, and from my personal perspective, some of these are quite endearing.

And with shipping comes many fan kids. Why? Because they are a joy to create. (Offspring will be ordered from youngest to eldest)

——

Tick The Bee

Tick the Bee is about five years old and is the creation of Charmy and Tails. Before I explain his origin, I’d like to address something upfront—if someone says, “Tails would never even try drugs!” you’re absolutely right. He never would under normal circumstances. However, in this alternate universe, I’ve placed him in situations that changed him significantly as he grew older.—even how his mind works

In his early twenties, on one fateful night, Charmy convinced Tails to try a drug, and the two ended up crashing at Tails’ lab. While under its influence, Tails—driven by his genius, yet impaired state—created an entire child using his own fur and a bit of Charmy’s fuzz. When he woke up the next day, he was met with the shocking sight of the child floating in a large tube.

But this test tube child, Tick, didn’t just inherit his fathers’ DNA—he also absorbed the remnants of the drug in the process. As a result, Tick is extremely hyperactive, chaotic, and twitchy (He also tends to hallucinate almost constantly). He remains mentally unstable in various ways, though it’s difficult to tell, given the ever-present joyful smile on his face.

And no, I have not decided what the drug is yet

Extra Note: He can fly for short distances, and has a stinger at the tip of his tail.

——

Rascal The Badger

I honestly can’t even explain what made me think Sticks and Scourge would be a good ship in the first place. At first, I was going to write something like, “Oh yeah, Scourge and Sticks have a kid, then Sticks gets ditched,” because, let’s be real, Scourge is a terrible partner—just look at how he treated Fiona. But that just sounded like an horrible Ken Penders fan fiction, so I conjured something worse (but happier?)

The more I thought about it, the more I asked myself: What if I created a dynamic where Sticks doesn’t take any of his crap and, in some way, actually straightens him out? (At least when it comes to how he treats her.) So, that’s exactly what I did, and thus, Rascal was born.

Unlike some of the other kids, Rascal wasn’t lab-grown or artificially created—he was conceived the normal way. And let’s be honest, if Scourge ever had a kid, he’d absolutely pick a name as ridiculous as Rascal, and someone like Sticks would totally go along with it.

Now, at seven years old, Rascal is a spunky, adventurous kid who loves the outdoors more than anything else. He’s fast, athletic, and full of energy, but he’s also reckless when it comes to safety. Nearly every piece of clothing he owns ends up torn to shreds—though Scourge actually thinks the look is pretty cool. Despite his destructive tendencies, Rascal has a knack for finding hidden treasures, always digging up interesting things whenever he explores the forest.

——

Cobalt

Metonic fanchild. I’ve always loved the concept and endless possibilities of Metal Sonic being shipped with Sonic. And, as I tend to do with most of my ships, I wanted to give them a child they would never have under normal circumstances. Thus, Cobalt was created—his name taken from the deep, striking shade of Cobalt Blue.

But his creation wasn’t exactly straightforward. Cobalt was actually commissioned by Sonic himself, with Tails tasked with building him. Originally, he was meant to be a combat-ready robot, trained to fight and ultimately defeat Metal Sonic. However, his development was riddled with malfunctions, the worst of which was his AI model. Instead of a simple combat program, Cobalt ended up with an extreme level of self-awareness—one that panicked at its own existence.

As a result, Cobalt became a nervous, self-conscious, overthinking, anxiety-ridden boy failure of a robot. Despite his intended purpose, his training took an unexpected turn as he found himself interacting with both mentor Sonic and accidentally…Metal Sonic. And, over time, the two realized they had unintentionally formed a parental bond with him. (This confused metal the absolute fucking most)

So, in the end, they both quite literally became his fathers.

God. I am worse than Ken Penders. This would never happen. There’s an huge chunk of lore missing—trust me. THESE ARE BRIEF-

Extra Note: His limbs can stretch out very long and he remains with a function to see in the dark— followed with various others that sense body heat, help with aid,

——

Shard The Echidna

I don’t even know where to begin with the Knuxadow fanchild. She was the first Sonic fanchild I created when I got back into it. Shard was completely accidental—her existence wasn’t supposed to happen. Elsewhere in this blog, I’ve already provided a biological explanation for how and why she was born despite it being impossible.

Shard is about ten years old, possessing Knuckles’ immense strength but inheriting the absolute shit death glare of her other father. Her personality is cold, calculating, stubborn, and serious. Oh, and I also gave her a complex.

The circumstances of her birth left a heavy impact—her very existence was an anomaly, something that shouldn’t have happened. The happening of her egg completely shattered Knuckles, sending him into a spiral of identity crisis, and body and gender dysphoria. Watching her father struggle with what she represented even some years after, had created an internalized the belief that she was a burden, that everything about her was inherently wrong.

As she grows older, she starts noticing something troubling—she’s becoming increasingly impulsive, more short-tempered, and, at times, physically harmful toward others… even toward her own dads. (These Impulsive and intrusive thoughts will get worse.)

——

Opal The Cat

Opal’s creation is a bit unique—she’s essentially a collaborative effort between me and my roleplay buddy. I designed her and occasionally contributed to certain aspects, but I’d say my buddy truly shaped her personality and plays as her.

Opal is a smart, witty, playful, mischievous, and sly tween who happens to be Shard the Echidna’s closest friend. She absolutely adores her mothers and is very affectionate with her family (a trait she picked up from Rouge). However, if anyone points out her affectionate side, she’ll immediately dial it back.

She also possesses the ability to manipulate light and excels at jumping and climbing to high places—making her just as agile as her parents. (How was she created? I have yet to decide)

——

Isaphah the Hedgehog

Isaphah the Hedgehog was, hands down, one of the most challenging designs I’ve worked on. Given that Mephiles essentially looks like Shadow, I had to make sure he didn’t come off as just another Shadilver kid.

Isaphah was created through a combination of DNA, Chaos energy, and magic, essentially making him a demigod. At only about 15 years old, he has an ego the size of the universe and speaks with a confidence that borders on arrogance. Snarky and prideful, he carries himself like a young dark prince, with dreams of one day ruling the world.

His powers are nothing short of extraordinary—he can control antimatter and form it into building blocks that he uses as weapons. But he’s also learning to create black holes and even manipulate the stars themselves. He enjoys maintaining an air of elegance and indulges in the finer things in life. In fact, he once tore a hole in space, filled with tiny sparkling stars, and now occasionally wears it as a cloak.

Mephiles thinks this kid is kind of fucking awesome.

Silver, on the other hand, has absolutely no idea how to handle a child who’s going through the most intense power trip imaginable (MEP IS NOT HELPING)

——

Spike The…Im even gonna try to pronounce what I—you know what? Spike the Armadillo or Chameleon. Either works.

This design was a horrid process.

Now one may ask—How was spike made? Surrogate. (They would never do that)

Spike was one of the eldest kids I created. At eighteen, she’s almost like the mom of the entire group, always looking out for those around her, especially the more reckless ones like Tick and Rascal. As the child of Mighty and Espio, she combines a blend of stoic strength, laid-back attitude, and the occasional hint of sass.

When she’s not using her strength in combat, Spike has another ability—she can curl up into a ball, perform a spindash, and spike someone with the sharp spines that run along her body. She may seem calm on the surface, but don’t underestimate her when she decides to let loose. Spike isn’t without her flaws. Despite her laid-back demeanor, she’s not exactly the brightest in certain situations.

She can be a bit hot-headed, especially during arguments, and when she gets riled up, she tends to say things she might regret later. Her strong sense of protection for others can sometimes cloud her judgment, making her react impulsively. But in the end, her heart’s always in the right place, even if her words don’t always match her intentions.

——

Serenity The Hedgehog.

Serenity the Hedgehog was created with a very specific goal in mind: I wanted to make a character who’s deeply focused on all things organic—especially the healing powers of nature—without relying on traditional medication. This is slightly based on some people I’ve met before…At 19 years old, Serenity is obsessed with the magic of crystals. In the Sonic universe, crystals and gemstones do hold magic, but Serenity goes beyond that. She focuses on magic-less crystals, claiming they have the ability to cure various illnesses. (Way to fucking go)

Her claims can be pretty wild at times, like insisting that certain medications don’t work or are unnecessary. But while her approach at life is an utter a weakness, it’s also a strength. Serenity’s knowledge of herbs is extensive—she’s able to identify them on sight and knows their true healing properties. Occasionally, she even finds magical crystals that offer specific benefits.

And, on top of that, she’s got a talent for cooking. She’s known for her “watch me make brownies with black beans” gimmick, which she uses to make delicious recipes. These are especially helpful for those who need to restrict their diets for medical reasons or those looking for healthier alternatives. Serenity may be a little unconventional, but her heart’s in the right place, and her skills can be surprisingly useful!

Extra Note: She doesn’t use a phone often and normally keeps it on airplane mode with the claim that: “The EMF’s will give you cancer. Trust me bro”

[bigfan-fanfic]

You May Sanctuary Find (Winchester!Reader x Winchester Bros [PLATONIC])

A sequel to Brother Mine and Back Into Trouble

The title this time comes from "Little Brother," a poem by Robert W. Service that really, I think, epitomizes the relationship between the eldest Winchester and his brothers, especially the last verse: "Little Brother, how I pray/You may sanctuary find. /Peoples of the world succumb . . ./Fly, poor fools, the WRATH TO COME!"

Anyway, this time, the story takes place after the 1st episode of Season Two, right after John's death.

He's gone. After all that, it wasn't even a direct kill from a monster that did it.

It had been hard - you hadn't been able to see him at the end, because since you actually had insurance, you were able to get some better care. It was only after that you learned about how Dean had nearly passed and John had apologized to him before... taking care of things himself.

Neither one of them is willing to talk. Which makes sense.

This family has never been very good at communication.

Even if he tried his best to make peace at the end, it's still hard not to hate him for what he's done.

Even to save Dean, you hate that he's still messing up your little brothers.

You hate that he never even made an effort to talk to you before it all.

But while you're raw, you know how to deal with this. You've mourned the father you knew better than Sam and Dean ever got to, the one before your mom died when you were seven and he disappeared forever, stolen and replaced by a grieving, vengeful hunter of monsters.

It's rough for Bobby to see you all like this, brought so low after you all had hope that something would change.

That you'd get a win for once.

You call in from Bobby's phone, let your assistant know that you've been in a car accident, that you'll be on the way home soon to recover.

"After all this?" you hear Dean say. "You're still leaving?"

"We did this to find Dad. We found him." you reply wearily.

"What about Yellow Eyes? You're not going to help us take down the son of a bitch that got both our parents?"

He's shouting now, approaching, clutching his side that still hurts from the bruising from the accident.

"I'm tired, Dean."

"Tired? You don't get to be tired! You don't get to leave us again!"

You turn away from him. Trying not to lash back. He's allowed to be angry. It's reasonable for him to be angry...

"You're just scared! You're too damn scared to own up and be part of this family. You never loved Dad like I did! Did you even care that Mom died?"

In a scarily fluid movement, you have him pinned to the wall, an arm across his throat and a hand holding down his wrist, already preventing the counterattack before it happened. The wind is knocked out of him, and for a moment, the hunter you were is back.

Such anger, like it was never dealt with. Like it never left. Like you're still the seven year old who lost his mother. Like the fourteen year old with monster blood on his hands. Like the twenty-one year old who hugged his brothers goodbye without the strength to even pray they'd meet again.

Rage and hate, rage and hate. Monster after witch after demon after trickster after monster.

You let him go. The final monster you kill is that hunter inside you.

"I wrote you letters for your birthday every year. I dunno if Dad gave them to you. I would ask you to visit. To stay." you say, almost whispering. You don't even know if it's loud enough for him to hear. "I sent money for Sam. For college. For a house. For you to settle down."

He's trembling. Anger? Remorse? Sorrow?

"I never wanted to leave you. You're my brothers. And after Mom died, and Dad went hunting... someone had to look out for you. Not just your health, but your futures. I still put money away for you. I keep a couple of rooms ready in my apartment for you two. I can't force you two to come with me. I just have to wait. And hope that I can someday protect you again. It's the hardest thing I've had to do."

You look at him, in the eye, forcing him to look back. "I can't do this anymore. Hunting. It brings out a part of me that... that I fear. A part of me that is angry and hateful, and who likes that because it's easier than facing what he fears. I'm done."

Dean turns away from you, face contorting, and you grab his arm.

"But I will never be done being your big brother, Dean. And when you're finally done too, when you're ready to just fucking rest...

"I will be there. I will be there with a home, and peace, and a life. I promise."

He looks at you, on the verge of breaking. "I can't. I have to do this. I have to protect Sammy."

You pull him into a hug. "Then I'll wait for you."

He melts into you, crying and holding on to you tight.

You remember back when you left, all those years ago - Dean had looked at you with such hate. You were dead to him then, for cutting off the family, for breaking Dad's heart.

And now he holds on, because now he knows what you've tried to do. What you're still doing.

"You do what you have to do, little brother." you whisper. "But when you're done, you come home."

"Okay. Okay, I will." He says, voice distorted with emotion, teeth gritted to try and stop crying.

"C-can I still call?" Dean whispers, when you let him go.

"Of course. I insist on it." You smile at him through tears. "I love you, Dean-o."

"Love you too, big brother."

Dean watches you go to find Sam, to say your goodbyes, and he lets himself cry. Bittersweet. He knows you're growing, that this is good, but already he misses you terribly. How is he going to handle this all alone? This terrible task Dad gave him, to protect Sammy, or take him out.

But though he is full of fear, there's a new sense of hope.

You'll only be a phone call away. You'll be waiting for him.

And to a man that has never once had an alternative, that makes all the difference.

[krirebr]

I Know I Should Know Better 4

Pairing: Curtis Everett x Female Reader, references to past Colin Shea x Female Reader & past Johnny Storm x Female Reader

Word Count: ~3.5k

Summary: Curtis has been working as your body guard for almost two years now. Standing by and watching you work and party your life away is becoming more and more difficult, but is there anything he can do about it?

Warnings: Angst, adult themes, complicated power dynamics, minor age difference (not explicit in this part, but reader is mid-twenties and Curtis is early thirties), drinking & implied drug use, explicit language, bad boyfriend (Colin continues to be awful, even though we haven't actually seen him since part 2), self-destructive behavior, anxiety, negative self-talk. She's still having a bad time, you guys. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Well, here it is! As I currently have it planned, this will be seven parts, so we're officially past the halfway point now. This part's a little shorter, but I'm hoping you'll think it's worth it.

Big thanks to @drabblewithfrannybarnes for helping me nail down the new character here! (If you don't remember doing that Carly, it's because it was ages ago 🤣)

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Even if it's just screaming at me. 😄 As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

The drive to the restaurant was uncomfortable. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just you. Sitting in the backseat alone, while Curtis and Jensen quietly conversed in the front, you felt ridiculous. You should learn how to drive. You were a grown woman who couldn’t even get herself anywhere—just another way you didn’t know how to be responsible for yourself.

You stared at Curtis in the front seat. It’d been a few weeks since your boundaries conversation. You hadn’t spoken to him much since. He was right. It was better. Cleaner. But you missed being able to talk to him.

Something had changed about the way he watched you though. You would swear that it was more intense now, the way his eyes followed you around the room. And it always seemed like he had something to say, he’d just never say it. He didn’t make any sense.

You took a breath. You were nervous about this lunch. You weren’t entirely sure what the purpose of it was, aside from the fact that Marnie Reynolds had wanted to meet. You hadn’t seen her in years and then she just texted you out of the blue two days ago, asking if you wanted to have lunch. You assumed she was going to pitch you something. Why else would she want to talk? You hoped it’d be something easy to agree to. It would make Wilford and Tanya feel better if someone actively wanted to work with you, at the very least. 

The restaurant wasn’t the kind of place you normally went to. It was nice, but tucked away, not designed for those who wanted to see and be seen. Marnie had chosen it. She was waiting for you at a small table in the back, even more private. She stood as you approached and enveloped you in a warm hug. She was just as glamorous as you remembered, suddenly hit by memories of sitting in her trailer while she let you try on her jewelry. She’d always been so nice to you. “Oh, honey, it’s so good to see you,” she said as you both sat down. 

You smiled and nodded. “It’s good to see you, too. How are you?” 

“Oh, good, good,” she said with a big smile. “Just got back from a shoot in Greece. Happy to be home.” Her eyes lost a little of their luster as she asked, “How are you, darling?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” you said. You could tell she wanted you to say more, but you just nodded and shrugged.

“Well,” she looked at you carefully, “I can’t get over how grown up you are. I know it’s silly, but I think I’ll always see you as the sixteen-year-old I met at the table read ten years ago.”

 “You and all of America,” you said dryly before you could think better of it.

Instead of chastising you, she just nodded. “I’m very grateful I didn’t have to grow up so publicly and then have to make that transition to being an adult. I can’t imagine how hard that is.”

You shrugged again. You didn’t really know what to say to her.

“Which, speaking of, I owe you an apology.”

Panic rose in your chest. Oh, god. Had she sold a story about you? Said something private in an interview? Blocked you from a new role? You weren’t sure you could handle one more thing right now. “Oh?” you asked shakily.

She nodded, seriously. “I should have done a better job of keeping in touch with you after we’d finished the movie. I owed you that much. I’m sorry.”

You furrowed your brow, confused.  “That’s fine. You’ve been so busy. I didn’t really expect you to remember me. I mean, you won an Oscar. I know how much work that takes.”

“Mmm,” she said, “and you sent me flowers.”

You shrugged. You just kept shrugging. “Well, you were always kind to me, and I was so happy for you. It seemed like the least I should do.”

 “You were always so sweet. I’m so happy to see that hasn’t changed.”

At the sincerity on her face, you looked down at your menu. You didn’t know what to say to that. 

“How’s your mom?” she asked, her tone strangely cautious. “Is she still your manager?”

“Oh, no. Wilford helped me get a new one when I turned 18. He thought I needed someone more experienced.”

She let out a breath, almost like she was relieved. “I have to admit, I’m happy to hear that.” You gave her a confused look and she continued softly, “She was always so hard on you. It was part of why I always invited you to my trailer. It seemed like you could really use a break from her.” She gave you another impossibly warm smile. “Plus, you were such great company. I loved making that movie with you.”

You couldn’t hide your relief when the server chose that moment to take your orders. You didn’t know what to do with the fondness in Marnie’s eyes. 

Once you were both done ordering, you decided you were ready to talk business. “So, what’s the project?” you asked.

She looked confused. “Project?”

“Uh, yeah. Whatever you wanted to pitch me? The reason you asked me here.”

“Oh, honey, no, I’m sorry. There’s no project. I just wanted to see you.”

That didn’t make sense. That she didn’t want to work with you again made sense. No one did, so of course she didn’t either. But then why else were you here? “I don’t understand,” you said quietly.

She let out a sad little sigh. “I’ve seen some of what’s been going on with you, online, and it just seems like you need a friend. I want to be that for you. I think about you more than you know.”

“Oh,” was all you managed to say.

She grabbed your hand over the table. “There’s so much going on for you right now. I can’t imagine how hard it must be, and then to have to deal with it in public too.”

You didn’t say anything, just looked at your joined hands on the table. Then, finally, still looking down, “Uh, yeah. I’m having a pretty hard time.”

She squeezed your hand. “I’m so sorry. I’m here to listen if you ever want to talk about it.” 

You finally looked up and nodded, but didn’t say anything else. You weren’t sure you could.

She looked at you carefully. “Have you thought about taking a break at all?”

You were reminded of Curtis, sitting on your couch, looking at you so earnestly, talking about taking a year off. You shook the image out of your head. “No,” you said. “It isn’t a good time. My reputation isn’t great right now, so I need to get back out there and show people that I can do the work. I need to fix it.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, “that sounds like agent speak.”

“Well,” you shrugged, “he’s right.”

“Remember, though,” she said, slowly, “that you’re a person, too. Not just a career.”

You just looked at her, blankly. Your career had been the most important thing about you since you were nine years old. You didn’t know how to separate the two. Luckily, that was when the server returned with your food, and Marnie graciously took it as a sign to take over the conversation for the rest of your meal. She talked about the movie she’d just finished, how her kids were doing, and the large garden she was planting at home. It was nice. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a meal out with a friend like this.

Still, you left the restaurant feeling raw and restless. You weren’t sure what to do with that conversation, the hard parts of it. The way she looked at you like she actually saw you. There was an itch in you now that just made you want to run.

Instead, as soon as you got home, you poured yourself a glass of sangria from the pitcher your housekeeper kept in your fridge and took the latest script Wilford had sent you onto your deck. You could feel Curtis watching you as you moved through the glass doors. That was his job, you told yourself. It was just his job.

The script fucking sucked. It was awful. The opposite of what you wanted to do. But you knew what Wilford would say. Beggars can’t be choosers. This was your fault. You were the one who’d destroyed your reputation. You had to be the one to fix it. And if making shit like this would fix it, then that’s what you had to do. Too many people relied on you for you not to do whatever you could, take whatever paychecks you could get. You hated it. You hated it so much. But you would do it.

You picked up your phone. You hadn’t realized how much time had passed. It was well into the evening now. There was a text from Michelle an hour ago, letting you know she’d left. And a few minutes ago, one from Nikki, a girl you partied with sometimes, that just said ‘Fuck them both!’

What the hell did that mean? Panic began to crawl up your throat and your hands started to shake as you typed your name into Google and clicked on News. Your stomach dropped.  Johnny Storm, that snowboarder you’d barely dated over a year ago, apparently had a podcast now. And the latest episode, posted that day, featured Colin Shea as its guest. Shit. Fuck. You couldn’t even look at what they’d said. There was no point. It was all just the same old bullshit.

You felt tears start to prick at your eyes. Why couldn’t everyone just leave you the fuck alone? You weren’t even that interesting. How could they possibly have anything to talk about?

Fuck that, you thought, as you stormed back into your house. You distantly registered Curtis calling after you, but you didn’t pay any attention. You were too focused. You headed straight up to your bedroom. They wanted something to talk about? You’d fucking give it to them! You charged into your closet and grabbed the sluttiest, shiniest dress you had. Fuck yeah. You could do this. You would be exactly who they wanted you to be. If they wanted a show so fucking badly, you’d give them one.

You ran back downstairs, looking for a particular pair of earrings that a costar had given you as a wrap gift a couple of years ago – huge dangly ones that said Fuck on one ear and You on the other. There was nothing subtle about what you were going for tonight. 

You’d have to think of someone to call, too. Someone suitable for the kind of scene you wanted to make, the kind of big mistake you wanted to fall into. You were so fucking tired of holding it all together. You were done. Your mind immediately landed on Lucas Lee, your costar in that dumb action movie last year. He was awful but so hot. Nothing but trouble and always up for whatever. Perfect.

As you entered your living room, your eyes landed on one of your jewelry boxes on the coffee table. There they were! As you picked up the box, you realized Curtis was sitting by himself on the couch. You saw him take in your short, sparkly dress and grimace. You weren’t in the mood to analyze it. “I’m going out,” you announced. “Have Jensen get the car ready.” 

You were already moving through, headed back upstairs when you heard Curtis rasp, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

You turned on a dime. “Excuse me?”

“I think,” he said slowly, so calmly you wanted to break something, “that going out right now, in the sort of mood you’re clearly in, would be a very bad idea.”

What the actual fuck? “Since when,” you asked, your voice quiet with seething anger, “is it your job to tell me what to do?”

He shook his head and you didn’t know how to react to how sad he looked. “I’m not telling you to do anything. I’m asking you to stay home tonight. For your own safety, which very much is my job.”

You just stared at him, dumbfounded. You didn’t understand him. He told you you weren’t friends. He was the one who said he was just your bodyguard. So what the hell was he doing now? 

In the moment you stood frozen, just staring at him, he took a cautious step forward. “Did something happen?” he asked barely above a whisper.

You shook your head furiously. You felt like you could barely form words. You were so angry and lost, and scared, and sad, and confused. You were feeling more than you thought your body could contain. And you knew, you knew, the only way to get these feelings out would be to go out and get as wild as you could. And here Curtis was, not letting you. You were afraid you were going to explode. “That’s fine,” you finally got out, ignoring his question. “You don’t have to come with me. Jake neither. I’ll get a fucking Uber.” You took a step towards the opening of the room. “Go home Jake!” you shouted through the house. “I won’t need you tonight!”

Curtis sighed your name. “I’m not going to let you go out by yourself,” he said firmly.

You threw your hands in the air. “Then make up your goddamn mind!” 

Jake appeared in the doorway, looking confused and Curtis turned to him. You took the opportunity to get back to the safety of your room, leaving your security detail to figure their shit out. Once back in your room, you dug through the jewelry box until you found the earrings you were looking for. You heard your back door open and close. Good. Jake, at least, was gone. You knew Curtis would be harder, but you were fucking determined. 

Just as you were opening Uber on your phone, Curtis appeared in your doorway. “What,” you growled.

“Would you just listen to me for a minute?!” He said, not quite a yell, but not not that either, as he barged into your room. All of his practiced calm from downstairs was completely gone. “Something bad is going to happen if you go out tonight! It is, I know it is. And I know you can feel it too!”

“Why do you care?!” You shouted at him. “No one else does! Why do you care so much?!”

“You know why!” he shouted back, and took another step toward you, but then suddenly stopped. Much, much quieter, much softer, and with eyes so pleading, he said “You must know.”

You didn’t. You really don’t think you knew until that moment, when the realization slammed into you. Every look, every sigh, all of the moments of him that hadn’t made sense. You took a step back. “What?” you breathed, barely realizing that you were shaking.

He took a step forward to follow you, then stopped. He opened his mouth to say something, but you shook your head at him. “No,” you said. “You can’t.”

“I can’t?!” he asked, incredulous and upset again.

“No!” you shouted, but it was so much weaker now. “I just– Why would– I’m such a fucking mess!” You were starting to cry, the adrenaline of the last half-hour finally leaking out of you, replaced by that same bone-deep exhaustion that you’d had for too long. “I barely have a high school education. I don’t know how to do anything for myself. No one wants to work with me. I am barely keeping it together and everyone knows it. I’m a trainwreck! Why would you–” You couldn’t bring yourself to say the words that you knew he meant. “Why would you have feelings for someone like that?”

 The sadness was back in his face. You looked away, unable to bear it. In your periphery, you saw him take a cautious step forward, then pause. When you made no move to run, he eliminated the distance between you, standing directly in front of you. He slowly, gently, carefully brought one hand up to touch your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “I know,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I know all that and I still love you. Because I also know that somehow, despite everything, you are one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met. You are so kind. And thoughtful. You let everyone see your soft spots, even when all they do is hurt you. You have every reason to be awful or bitter or mean or any of a thousand things. But you aren’t. It’s all of it, it’s all of those things and the ones you said too. All of it together, that’s why I love you. I love you because you’re you.”

You wanted to sob. No one had ever said anything remotely like that to you before. Not anyone in your family, or a single one of your exes. No one had ever cared enough to say any of that. Except for Curtis. He’d always cared, hadn’t he? Since that first day he’d showed up, when you’d been so scared about the possibility of a stalker, he’d taken such care with you. He was the most caring, thoughtful, beautiful person you knew. You took a deep breath and looked into his eyes.  You could see his worry, but also the deep conviction with which he’d just said all that to you. You couldn’t help yourself anymore. You surged forward and you kissed him. 

He made a noise of surprise—you didn’t know how he could possibly be surprised after all that—but after just a moment he was kissing you back, bringing both hands up to cradle your head. You were getting your tears all over him, but he didn’t seem to care. He was soft and gentle and passionate. You needed more. You needed all of him.

You took a step back, breaking the kiss. You did what you could to brush the tears off your face. You grabbed the bottom of your dress and pulled it over your head, then tossed it on the floor. You stood in front of him in the lingerie you’d picked out to fuck Lucas Lee of all people and couldn’t understand how you’d ever been able to think about anyone but Curtis. But you did know how when you stopped to think about it. You’d never been able to fathom that you might deserve this man. That he might actually want you.

He stared at you. “Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re–” you braced yourself for what might come next. So hot or fucking sexy. You’d even gotten beautiful once or twice. He only took a second before he finished his sentence “–incredible,” with such awe on his face that you actually felt your knees go weak. You had to look away. He was too much.

He took your face in his hands again and placed a soft, short kiss on your lips. “But would it be ok if we slowed down?” he asked.

You couldn’t keep the disappointment out of your voice. “Why?” 

“This is real for me,” he said. “And if we do this, I want it to be real for you too. I want you to be sure. And for now,” he stroked one thumb over your cheekbone, “right now I just want to hold you. Is that alright? If I just hold you tonight?”  

You didn’t know how to respond to that. Sex had always been the best, most important part of any of your relationships. It’d been the biggest thing that any of your previous partners had wanted from you. You weren’t sure you knew how to do it any other way. But he was holding you so gently, looking at you so softly, all you could do was nod. 

He kissed you once more. Then stepped back and started to take off his clothes. You made your way to your bed and got in, watching him as he shed his clothes. He really was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. Nothing on any movie set you’d ever been on, any party you’d ever been to could compare to him. 

Once he was down to just his boxers, he crawled in next to you and pulled you close. Your lips touched his shoulder as you asked, barely audible, “You really love me?”

He kissed your forehead. “Yes,” he whispered. “I really love you.”

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