#it's not beta read@!!

[zombieefish]

um…mightve borrowed from another story but…

“dont you ever think you must do something for my sake.”

fantasy is all i think of while reading this

#love and comfort moment

— ★ —

He lay against the trunk of the tree, coughing out what only could be the obvious – blood. It splattered all over his clothes and arms, as he looked down at the wound in his chest. How could he be so stupid, so naive? Now, he probably had her worried.

But it was for her. He did it for her – simply because he loved her.

"Great job, Sharpie.." He muttered to himself, his head laid against the tree trunk, sighing with as much energy as he could muster up.

His arms grasped the grass below him, breathing heavily – was this what it was like to be on the verge of death? He wasn't exactly sure.

"Sharpie? Sharpie!" A voice would call out into the woods, his eyes glancing to the side. He couldn't see anyone, but he could hear.

Footsteps would soon approach, the faint sound of a gasp being heard. Sharpie averted his gaze to face the person, and it was none other than her.

Ahem, TV.

A shrill, high-pitched cry would pierce through the silence of the woods, as she fell to her knees almost instantly, clutching at his stained shirt.

Agony was the only thing she could feel. She knew he wasn't dead, but it still crashed through her heart like a train, as she began to mumble and scold.

"What is wrong with you? Do you know how late it is?!" She yelled right in his face, and all he could do was muster up a weak smile in response. Her yells were like a song he'd heard countless times, yet he still replayed it in his head.

He shook his head.

"You already had a broken arm, yet you still choose to come out here, with nothing? I told you that–" He cut her off almost instantly, looking at her with a blank expression.

"I had to, what else was I supposed to do? Just let them snatch your wand like it was theirs?" He'd mumble out, coughing out more blood in the process.

"Sharpie, you listen to me." She narrowed her eyes at him, grabbing his shirt like her life depended on it – looking him in the eye.

"Don't you ever think you must do something for MY sake." TV didn't want to admit it to herself, but she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes.

No, she thought – shaking her head to dismiss them.

"But I.. I have to. I love you." He coughed out, his shoulders slumping downwards, as he felt weaker by the second, attempting to lift a hand to touch her cheek.

"No, no you don't.. you don't have to do anything for me. You're already enough." Her forehead would soon press against her partners, and she felt his hand touch her cheek – and she did the same.

Was he crying?

He was, and now she was. They were crying together.

"You need to stop getting hurt.. What are you gonna do if I can't heal you?" She would speak through her faint cries, not wanting to let go.

"I'll be fine."

"I don't want you to end up like.. nevermind. Just.. be careful, okay? I love you, and I can't lose someone else." TV said quietly, before taking hold of his hands, slowly chanting out healing spells she knew by memory. It would take a while to come into effect, but she knew it would work.

Or, so she hoped.

"Love you too," He leaned his head back against the tree trunk, breathing quietly through his mouth.

– ★ –

[tanjir0se]

Disclaimer these are just a small sampling of some possible writer traits I’ve noticed either in myself or in fics I read. Also consider a rb for sample size !

[rheas-chaos-motivation]

Questions to ask beta readers

General:

Were you confused at any point of the story?

What genre would you say this book is?

When did you put the story down?

Is the ending satisfying?

If you had to cut 3 scenes what would they be?

When did you feel like the story really began?

What was the last book you read before this story?

Characters:

Do you get any of the characters names confused?

Which character is your favorite?

If you had to remove a character who would you and why? (you don't have to remove the character, just make sure their role is meaningful)

Which character do you relate to the most?

Which character do you relate to the least?

Do the characters feel real?

Are character relationships believable?

Are the goals clear and influence the plot?

Are the characters distinct (voice, motivations, etc)

Setting:

Which setting was clearest to you?

Which setting was the most memorable?

Am including enough/too much detail?

Plot and conflict:

Are the internal and external conflicts well defined for the main characters?

Are the internal conflicts and the external conflicts organic and believable?

Are there enough stakes?

Are the plot twists believable but still unexpected?

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Part 2/2

By the time Stanley had realized he wasn't as alone as he believed himself to be entrapped in this ravenous abyss; he had honestly begun to suspect that he was finally starting to properly lose his mind.

In all the ceaseless miles that Stanley had journeyed during his apparent permanent residence within the dark devouring void, not once had he encountered another conscious, walking, talking being similar to himself. Every other formerly living creature that he had crossed paths with had been so... silent. Empty. Dead, in every sense of the word. It was as though the very essence of life itself had been sucked out of their bodies with a straw, their forms slowly falling apart piece by piece under the vicious gluttony of the darkness that surrounded them. They looked like they actually were supposed to be there, unmoving and comatose, unlike him.

So, when Stanley first began to encounter the twins, all of a sudden, he wasn't the only one in the dark.

When meeting the first pair of them, he found himself standing in a lake.

He hadn't even noticed the changes at first. It felt as though he had been walking for weeks on end, his body moving purely on autopilot and his aching legs leading him towards a destination only it knew. A thick fog of forgetfulness and flickering memories had descended upon his brain like a heavy blanket of numbing static as he had traveled. In this absentminded state, he hadn't even realized that the ever-present undulating, buzzing darkness surrounding him had begun to gradually shift and morph to form a horizon line; stretching into tall looming cliffsides that almost seemed to close in on him. Once the nonexistent floor beneath his soles abruptly began to ripple and warp, like the disturbed surface of a shallow puddle; only then did he finally notice his transformed environment.

The transition was seamless, almost dream-like. One moment, he was still surrounded by that filthy, overwhelming abyss; and the next, his boots were suddenly plunged deep into the cold, dark lake water.

The silence didn't leave, however. It still choked and stuffed its way into Stanley's ears to clog up his mind with thick cotton; the eerie quiet not quite matching the calm, almost serene scenery the void seemed to have abruptly transformed itself into. Like a movie with its sound cut off; leaving only the unsettling hum of the projector to fill the empty air.

It was odd. The lake was surely incredibly deep. He could obviously tell from how thin and pathetically small the shores appeared all the way from where he now unceremoniously stood in the middle of the lake. Stan could look down and see the darkness below his feet swallow what meager light that managed to break through the murky waters. The overwhelming black almost seemed to beckon him, gaping and haunting; a bottomless underwater pit of pitch black that never seemed to end.

And yet, he didn't sink. Stanley remained perfectly level, the almost ink like waters stopping just at ankle level, as though he were held up just above the surface by some invisible force. Even the writhing waves seemed small and low, as though the waters were shy to climb up his legs further than that. It was odd, so very odd.

However, it wasn't nowhere near as odd as the sight that greeted him when he finally lifted his eyes from the waters.

Stanley had crossed paths with truly unbelievable sights in this strange somewhere; from bursting, collapsing stars; to the imploding heat death of entire universes, but none of them seemed to hold the candle to what he saw then when he lifted his eyes:

Children.

Two, to be exact. Two, nearly identical looking children stood motionless before him; completely soaked through to the bone as though they had taken a plunge into the frigid water that pooled around their ankles. It was a girl and a boy, both adorned with twin expressions utterly devoid of emotion, their wide eyed stare seeming to burn holes into his thin jacket. Their drenched clothes sagged off of their scrawny frames; thin rivulets of water dirpping off of them and disturbing the glassy surface of the water at their feet. The little girl's hair had messily stuck to her face in thin sodden strands, her cheeks still full and round with youth just like the boy's. They looked young. Too young to be in a place such as this.

Oh, but their eyes; their eyes.

They burned with such anger; such injustice, brighter than any dying star or galaxies he had ever seen. Anger towards the world, to fate, to whatever cruel deity that had deemed them fit to be sent to this wretched place so prematurely. They were too young to be here; to be entrapped like he was amongst this hungry darkness. And yet, here they were, sheer denial against their own untimely deaths being the only thing keeping them awake and conscious amongst the dead and rotting. A show of juvenile defiance to nature itself so vehement even the all-consumign darkness seemed hesitant to devour them whole just yet.

It saddened him. It saddened him to know that they belonged there, that they were supposed to be there. He could see it, he could feel it; they were dead. No amount of determination could deny that universal fact.

When they spoke, Stanley could hear anger:

Stan chuckled in a futile attempt to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere that threatened to crush him whole. "A lake monster? You kids and your imagination," he teased, hoping to somehow rid the poor kids of the haunted look that seemed to whirl in their glares. No child should have been burdened with such a knowing look; such eyes that looked like they had seen everything there was to see about the world, the horrid and the good.

Clearly, it had been the wrong thing to say, and Stanley's faux pas was rewarded with a scowl from the little boy. A world's worth of sour contempt etched into every contorted groove that his grimace seemed to dig into his much too young face. Stan suddenly felt guilt squeeze at his weary bones for having caused that.

"That's what they all said," the boy spat out, eyes shining with a sheen of wetness Stan wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with.

Stan left that first interaction with the twins with the feeling of guilt and sorrow still clining to him.

He couldn't have known, at the time. He couldn't have known that this wouldn't be anywhere near the last time that he would meet the pair. He hadn't realised just how many of them there were. After that first pair, his endless journeying within the Abyss was hardly be spent alone anymore. Countless more times, he came face to face with the exact same two young and impossibly worn faces; forced to meet one pair of beaten and bruised kids after another.

Not one pair had died the same death as another. Some had gotten lost, prey to whatever threat that had snatched them up out in the open; some had fallen from high up; some had been crushed under an incredible weight; some had burned; some eaten alive; some zombified. Some didn't even seem physically harmed at all, body perfectly intact, and yet that same faraway, distrubed look in their eyes remained.

He thought the worst ones were the ones he found alone. A little girl or a little boy, left all lonesome without their other half there. Twins, he remembered a pair of them telling him once.

Once, he had come across a town full of silent, stone statues. It was a rustic, shabby, almost nostalgic looking town- odd and strangely familiar. The sight of it had tugged at an aged memory that had long since wasted away in the back of his mind. It was serene, almost deceptively so. The sun shone; the air smelled crisp and fresh; numerous waterfalls continued to crash down from the tall cliffsides; and a soft nonexistent breeze whistled through the thicket of pine trees that blanketed the outskirts of the town. None of it seemed to match the gruesome scene of the hundred wailing statues that littered every inch of the town.

He had found the boy's statue on the other side of town, deep within the green forest and toppled over the gnarled roots of a towering tree. Like the rest of the townsfolk, he too, was frozen mid-shriek; his stone face twisted and contorted into a mock impression of a silent scream as his body lay paused in a writhing struggle. He made sure to be gentle when he carried the boy's statue over to place it beside the girl's, whose statue stood far deeper into the forest, sporting the same rictus grimace of terror as her brother's. It somehow felt wrong for them to have been so far apart from one another, even in death.

He had come to dread meeting of the twins. He hated every second he had to confront yet another pair of dead children that did not belong here, but fate had decided they did. He despised having to listen to their tales of woe as they wept about the injustice of the world, of having died young; he despised himself for being unable to do more than weep with them.

"We don't belong here, Grunkle Stan," he would listen to the little girl weep, calling him a title he didn't recognize. He never remembered if they had ever told him their name, but they all seem to know his, without a fail. "If we're dead, then what about you? What about Grunkle Ford? Mom? Dad? What about them? We can't be dead, we can't be," they would say, confusion and frustration written all over their faces. They didn't understand. They didn't understand why they had come to the darkness so early, so unfairly.

He never knew what to say, he'd never been good with words.

All he could do was kneel down to their levels and engulf them in his arms, hoping he could somehow squeeze the pain straight out of their bodies in his embrace. He hugged them, because what else could he do?

[fictionalsownme]

smash???????? who said that?????????

engineer doesn't get enough love on this blog considering how much I cannot express my devotion to him, so I’m working to fix that :) this is similar to what I did for damien but it took foreverr!! iswm lighting is so so pretty which makes it impossible to get right ;;u;; the saturation is really high and there's multiple light sources so in terms of rendering it, its like it was personally designed to leave me dead on the floor :))))) either way,, I'm happy with how it turned out!! he’s very prettie :))

also bonus:

[fir3flytv]

Jason Todd can kill a man with his bare hands, but with you, they're as delicate as possible, like you're a porcelain doll, able to crack at the slightest touch. His fingers hover over your skin, a light as a feather you would think you were imagining things. He's cautious, carful, thoughtful. Everything else in his life has broke. Even him. But not you, never you. You can't. You're untouched. Perfect, never to do wrong. He worshipped you like a goddess, like you created heaven and earth. And you did.

You created his earth. His world. You were his heaven. When he died, he swore he saw you. You were his everything, his reason, his purpose, his love, his hope. He was so in love it hurt. Every look shared between you, his mind swirled with possibilities. He couldn't live if something happened to you because of him. He couldn't live without his world. It was an odd place to be stuck in. Scared of staying, scared of leaving. He kept his distance. Touches were never long. Lips ghost against yours. It's like he's never fully there. Every night, the cold side that was suppose to be his haunted you. It's hard to love a ghost. It's like being in love with a figment of your imagination. You find yourself questioning if he's even real. Every time he comes home, he proves to you that he is. That brought upon its own set of questions, heart crying out for more of what it was deprived. Were you not enough reason to stay? Were you not enough? Was he yours like you were his?

You felt like the moon, forever revolving around the Earth, compelled to, even. Always at a safe distance, longing for more. That is, until one night. He comes home, smashing his helmet to the wall. The landlord won't like that, but a problem for another day. Without thinking he crashes into your arms, head buried into your chest. The Earth crashed into the moon. Hell will follow, you both knew that. But it didn't matter. You had him. He had you. that was enough.

[omega-e123]

Dinner date tonight. Shadow told you that he was picking you up 9pm sharp.

Picking you up.

To your knowledge Shadow didn’t have a vehicle. The mode of transportation you’ve seen him take is chaos control or running. Is he going to carry you to the restaurant? Not that you’d mind being carried but it didn’t seem like something he would do. It’s be more plausible to take you by the hand and teleport you to the entrance.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a roaring engine. Shadow pulls up on what appears to be a custom made motorcycle.

“Get on,” he commands you and so you do.

“Since when have you had this?”

“That explanation can wait until we get to our destination. For now, just hold on tight.”

Loosely, your arms wrap around his waist. A foot of space between his back and your chest is left.

“Do you want to fall off? Tighter.”

Taking a few seconds too long Shadow forces the bike to lurch forward. Brakes are immediately applied after and your body slams into his. Instinctively you shut your eyes and squeeze him.

You can feel his chest jerk as he playfully chuckles. For a moment Shadow’s gloved hand rests on top of your arms. “Better,” he states.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

During the ride, he was a tad distracted by you nuzzling into his neck and back followed by content sighs. While you’re not able to see it, it’s undeniable that a sly smile is plastered on Shadow’s face, clearly proud of himself that Rouge’s his little plan worked.

[kenobers]

magic hands | Jason Todd x Sionis!Reader

but first free palestine !! Your regularly scheduled hook-up session with Jason Todd is rudely interrupted by the arrival of your period. As tragedy strikes, you have to ask Jason to buy you pads, perhaps throwing a curveball in your still emerging relationship. this installment comes before this one; you don't know jason is red hood in this one (not that it really matters to this particular story) tw: periods, mentions of drugging, reader having issues with acts of service, afab readera/n: i'm writing additions to this story completely out of order because i can. don't worry - you're gonna be the one comforting jason soon, just stay tuned. and if you're following me for the obi-wan content, i promise you'll also be fed soon. the sionis!reader concept was inspired by this ask on gilverrwrites' blog! In hindsight, it might've been kinda weird of me, but i couldn't get the concept out of my head. thank you to gilverr and anon! please check out their blog!

Yo

You cringe a little at your choice of words, wishing you'd thought harder before sending the text. Well actually, you cringe at the entire situation. You despise having to ask for help, but you're a little desperate.

Would you-

Too entitled.

Would you mind-

Passive aggressive.

Will-

Your phone buzzes before you can finish typing.

yo.

That was fast.

You take a deep breath. Jason was coming over anyway and it wasn't like you were in any position to have sex like you were planning to. And this constitutes as a bit of an emergency, considering you're currently sitting on a wad of toilet paper.

Can you pick me up some pads?

You hit send and drop your phone on your bed. This is so embarrassing for no reason. Jason's a good guy, he isn't going to judge you for being on your period of all things. He's not going to hold it against you if you can't have sex either.

It was just that you weren't sure your relationship was...like that. Acts of service and all that. A month ago, you wouldn't have even considered asking him to do this. But you'd been a lot more personal with one another lately. Making dinner, staying the night, being physically affectionate while your clothes were still on.

Your phone vibrates and you frantically feel for the purple case in the grey and white sheets. You'll deal with that giddy feeling later.

i don't know, can i?

Fucker, you think, glaring at your screen. You start furiously forming a response about how you aren't in the fucking mood for this when your phone buzzes again.

yeah, of course i can. need anything else? painkillers? chocolate?

You eye the empty bottle on your nightstand. Your stomach cramps painfully.

I'm out of ibuprofen

Then you consider for a moment. With a sigh, you bite back your pride. Well, if he's offering.

...and maybe some ice cream.

you got it babe.

Babe. Heat rushes to your cheeks as the corners of your mouth twitch upwards.

Ten minutes later his name flashes on your screen again, along with a photo of a wall of pads.

which kind

Damn, he was kind of good at this. A flare of jealousy burns through you at the thought of Jason doing this for some other girl. Another feeling you'll deal with later. You circled your preferred brand and send it back.

check. headed your way shawty.

After another ten minutes, the rumbling of a motorcycle echoes through your street. Nine minutes and 45 seconds later, the sound of your living room window sliding open lures you from your bed.

You fight back a goofy grin at the sight of Jason's large-than-life frame slipping through the window, two plastic bags balanced in one gloved hand. Leaning against your kitchen island, you allow yourself a second to admire the curve of his ass in those joggers.

"Hey," you greet, shivering as a gust of wind followed the man. He gives you a toothy grin, sliding the window shut. With a dramatic flourish of his arm, he presents the drugstore bag to you.

"Your essentials, m'lady."

"Oh, my hero," you giggle, taking the bag gratefully. You eye the second bag suspiciously, although the telltale red thank you print and the smell of fried rice give the contents away. "Chinese?"

"Chinese," he confirms. "And before you say anything, I was already picking it up when you texted."

You purse your lips. He was starting to know you too well. You would've said something, would've lied about how you weren't hungry. The idea that he'd already thought to do something nice for you before he even knew about your situation makes your stomach twist.

Jason takes a step closer, trapping you between him and the island. He reaches behind you to set the food on the counter, green eyes trained on your face. It's hard not to shrink below his quizzical gaze. Goosebumps cover your bicep as the leather of his jacket rubs against your bare arm.

Bastard.

"That okay, pretty girl?"

Fuck, he's handsome. He knows it too, know to flick his dark hair just so. Knows how to look at you so that any "oh, you shouldn't have" argument you can conjure up falters before it can reach your tongue. It certainly doesn't help that he's flexing the arm reaching behind you just so.

"Perfect, even," you purr, uncrossing your arms to play with his jacket zipper. "How much do I owe you?"

"Don't worry about it." You try not to roll your eyes at him, reminding yourself that you were opting to be nicer to him tonight. He is your hero after all. His hands fall to your hips, his thumbs running along the bone. "How you feeling?"

You shrug, suppressing another shiver as his pinkie pokes below the length of your shorts.

"Shitty. Like everything hurts," you answer honestly. Your lip twitches and you abandon his jacket zipper in favor of the strings of his sweatshirt.

"'m sorry we can't, y'know, do what we planned." The apology floods abruptly from your lips. "I would offer to do it anyways, but I just, I-I can't with these cramps." Your hips twinge with pain to emphasize your point. "But, I mean, I can blow you if you really want-"

"Hey."

Two fingers tilt your chin up, tough leather juxtaposing soft skin. You hadn't even realized you'd stopped looking at his face. He's smiling at you.

"Don't worry about it," he says for the second time. "Lemme make you feel better. It'll piss Roman off just as much."

You both look pointedly at the bookshelf you're fairly certain your father had hidden some sort of recording device.

"Besides," he continues with a wolfish smirk. "I've become accustomed to a certain level of performance from you and I'm not sure if I'd receive that if you're not at your peak."

"Fine, only because you insisted," you sigh. "And I'm gonna do you a favor and ignore that last part." You turn away from him, fishing the package of pads and the ibuprofen out of the drugstore bag. "I'm gonna go...yeah."

You wave the package in the air as you head for the bathroom. With your back turned, you don't catch Jason saluting you.

When you return, you notice one of the books on the shelf has been inconspicuously placed over a Wonder Woman knick knack. Part of you is relieved to know your father can't spy on you tonight. Another part of you feels a pang of anxiety knowing that means tonight is just for the two of you to enjoy each other's company. As people. Not fuckbuddies.

This is still casual. Professional, you tell yourself. It's not like he's my boyfriend.

You turn to the kitchen, where Jason is pulling plates out of a cupboard, and ignoring the smaller voice that wouldn't mind him being your boyfriend.

He hands the plates to you, letting you dish the both of you up.

Jason sidles up behind you, pressing his chest to your back. You lean into him, letting him support your weight.

"Chinese was a good call," you say. He hums in response, dipping his hands under your shirt to rub your sides. You yelp in alarm as something wet hits your skin.

"Dude! What the fuck!"

Jason backs up, holding two cream covered hands in the air. He looks apologetic enough, but still smirks at the way you glowered at him over your shoulder. It's an awful cute look when it isn't coming from behind an ugly ass skull mask.

"It's just CBD."

You spin around, pointing your spoon straight at his heart.

"CBD- what, are you trying to get me high?"

It's all Jason can do not to double over laughing. He'd take a picture if he wasn't certain you would find a way to lodge that spoon in a major artery.

His laughter has you fidgeting nervously, trying to maintain your hard stare.

"Don't laugh at me."

To his credit, he stops almost immediately. He straightens his posture and gestures to a small round container on the counter.

"It's just a lotion. Helps with joint pain, I use it all the time. I thought it might help with cramps."

You blink. That was...incredibly thoughtful of him.

"Oh."

You turn back to the food, continuing your task sheepishly. All you ever do in front of this man is embarrass yourself. And orgasm.

He creeps back to his spot cautiously. You glance over your shoulder, briefly meeting his eyes.

"You can...continue," you tell him, your tone much softer now. He presses a kiss to the exposed junction of your neck and slides his hands back under your shirt.

It does feel nice to have him massage the cool lotion into your aching body. His fingers seem to know exactly where to go, undoing the built up tension and leaving a light buzz in its place.

"I'm sorry I snapped like that," you whisper. "I overheard some of my dad's idiots talking about some kind of lube that's infused with LSD or something. Apparently it's becoming a popular method for people to get what they want so...little on edge."

After a moment, Jason speaks again, "I wouldn't drug you like that, you know."

"What, topically?" You scoff, dividing the orange chicken equally.

"Without your consent."

You pause. You suppose you hadn't given much thought to how much Jason respected you in that regard. To be fair, you'd never really been around men that respected you at all.

"Well, that's good to know." It's not the most sensitive response, but you're sudden determined to move on from the conversation before you start oversharing. "Let's eat, big guy."

After dinner, Jason applies the lotion again. This time, you're sat on the couch between his legs as he drives the stuff into a knot on your hip. The TV drones with some black comedy series the two of you have been watching at the recommendation of one of his brothers.

"Do you get a lot of joint pain?" You ask suddenly, looking back at him. He doesn't tear his eyes away from the screen.

"Huh?"

"You said you use it a lot on your joints. Do you get a lot of joint pain?" Now he looks at you, one slit eyebrow raised. For a moment you watch him try to remember when he told you that. Then he smirks, a silly view from upside down.

"I do whenever you get through with me," he says, his chest vibrating under you. You give him a look. "Sometimes after the gym, yeah."

You're not quite sure you believe him, but you let it slide, turning back to the TV in time to see your least favorite character earn a smack to the face.

"It was nice of you to bring it."

"'s helping?"

"Mmh," You sigh as he works a particularly tough spot. Your relief is short lived however as the small of your back cramps up. A small gasp escapes you and you squirm and swear in Jason's arms.

He pauses his work on your hips.

"Where's it hurt?"

"Back," you whimper, turning over so he can get to it. He obliges immediately, rubbing the butt of his palm into the sore spot. You groan into his chest, melting beneath his magic hands. "The fuck did I ever manage this shit before you."

He snorts, "very bravely, I'm sure."

You smile at his answer. Clever boy. You reward him with a kiss, pleased when he returns it in kind. His hand doesn't stop its work on your back as his soft lips move gently with your own.

"You sure you don't want a blowjob?" you murmur against his mouth.

Jason nods, giving you another chaste kiss before pulling away. "You're in pain, sweetheart. Let yourself rest."

He moves his lips to your ear, lowering his voice.

"Now, how about that ice cream, hm?"

Absolute professional.

[unformula1]

promises - 1 (ln4)

part 2 || you and lando used to be best friends, but you two drifted apart. (1464 words) a/n: im back ! should i make a part 2?? || masterlist

You and Lando used to be friends. Best friends, one might say. The two of you were inseparable. Every Friday night, without fail, both of you would meet up at the playground near the central district of your hometown. The playground would usually be empty, with most children staying in with their parents. This gave you and Lando the whole playground, all to yourselves.

It was perfect to make the purest memories. Just two kids, pure innocence and naivety, and a friendship which felt like forever. You’d talk about which toy cars were the better ones, he’d always say the orange ones. You two would laugh about the silliest things, and promise each other to be friends forever. 

You two grew up together, went through the teenage years with each other, there in the highs and lows. Every Friday night became every night. You two would see each other daily, at the same playground. As both of you matured, so did your conversations, you two started talking about your love lives, your future.

Both of you sat on the ground, leaning against the wooden base of the slide which both of you used to ride together.

~~~

“I mean… It seems pretty cool.” You tell him.

“It is.” Lando confirms, “I’ve been doing it since I was a small kid, just zooming around.”

You chuckle as Lando mimics driving a go-kart.

“You see yourself driving them forever?” You ask, shifting closer to him.

“Hell yeah.” He replies confidently, not a single ounce of doubt in his voice.

“Alright then.” You smile, “Go for it.”

“You’ll be there right?” He asks you.

“I will. You’ll remember me right?”

“Yes.”

~~~

Both of you made promises, whether they were the shallowest things or the deepest feelings. He never left you alone, you never made fun of him for the quirky things he liked. He stood by you when the worst was brought upon you, when you cried about some stupid boy not liking you back, when you lost your only ticket to your dream university.

~~~

You sat on the floor of his room, wiping away the dried up tears on your face. You’ve never felt this vulnerable to anyone. He lays down next to you and props himself up onto his elbow, looking at you. You glance back at him as he fiddles with his hair. 

“Are you gonna keep staring at me?” You ask, letting out a soft chuckle as you continue to wipe off your tears.

“Sorry.” He replies, laughing a little, “They don’t deserve you anyway.” 

He sits up and shrugs.

“You could do better.” He deadpans.

Your lips curve up ever so slightly.

“Well-” You sigh, “I guess I’ll stay here forever.”

Both of you laugh again.

“So will I.”

~~~

But he didn’t. Lando Norris left the town in pursuit of greater things.

“You’re leaving?” The realisation hits you.

He sheepishly nods.

Your emotions are all jumbled up into one big mess, everything just engulfing your heart as tears start falling.

“Oh-” Lando says before hugging you tightly.

You hug him back, your tears staining his sweater.

“C’mon now… don’t get all teary on me.” Lando says, clearing stifling down sobbing sounds.

You can’t let out any words.

~~~

It finally came a few months later. You stood in the airport, face to face with Lando. You felt the overwhelming feeling of nostalgia, letting all the memories from the youngest ages of childhood flow through your head as you closed your eyes, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes.

He looks at you with his stupid little grin, his eyes getting watery as he purses his lips, taking in deep breaths. 

You run up to him and hug him, for what might be the last time ever. It’s a tight hug, one surrounded by years of friendships and years of memories all building up. He sobs on your shoulder, jerking slightly each sob as you grip tightly to him, never wanting to let go.

But you have to. Both of you take a step back. Lando takes out a necklace for you.

“For you.” He says, “I have a matching one.”

You sob violently and take the necklace, immediately putting it around your neck and holding onto it with a deathly grip.

He reaches out for your hand. Both of you hold hands for a few seconds, he closes his eyes once again as the tears traced his cheekbone and clung onto his jaw, trickling down slowly.

“We’ll stay in contact.” He says softly in between heavy sobs as he pulls you in one last time, patting you on the back.

“We better.” You crack a joke which makes him giggle. He nods more and pats your shoulder.

The moment has to come to an end eventually, with a heavy heart he takes a step back. He looks you in the eyes one last time and you stare at his brown-blue glistening eyes which sparkled.

You’ll miss those.

You’ll miss him.

You’ll miss all of this.

As he enters the boarding gates, he looks back at you again, smiling slightly at you as he waves slightly. You look back at him, wishing you could be there with him, flying somewhere same. Something wants you to run up to him and hold on tight to him but you stay put, waving goodbye to him. 

He holds up the necklace and smiles at you, you smile back at him, choking through the tears which suffocate your lungs as the sting in your throat resurfaces. You hold the necklace up to him too and for the last time, he nods at you, turning around and slowly disappearing from your view.

You stand there. 

What do you do now?

What are the weekly nights reserved for now?

Will you ever see Lando again?

———

The nights felt empty and missing a piece, because they were. You missed sitting with him in the cool breeze of the evening or in the dim lights of the nearby stores, talking about things that you would never tell anyone else. You missed all of it, every single angry, sad, happy, nostalgic moment. It was hard to change your entire life, you called him and texted him every single waking minute of your life and he did so too. However, it never felt the same. Sometimes you’d wake up in the middle of the night just to imagine he was there with you again and your tears would involuntarily come trickling down again. 

Eventually, you got used to it, like you do.

The years past much quicker than you imagined. You watched Lando grow from a young karter to Formula 1 driver. Sometimes you catch yourself watching his races and other times you see his face in the billboards across town.

You don’t know if he remembers you but both of you practically lost contact after you two stopped texting a few years back. It was rough. Both of you made each other the world, you made him your world. Absolutely nothing was going to stand in your way, but time took its path, and fate drew its sword. It was something that you could never change no matter how hard you tried. Even with empty days and sleepless nights just pretending and wishing and hoping that something would happen. It wouldn’t. 

So you had come to peace with it, he was just another passing chapter in your life, meeting once and never again, ingrained in the stone of life.

You were proud of him, for making it this far. You really were. Nothing would ever make you wish anything but the best for him; after all, he was the biggest boy in your life at one point, and nothing would change that. You were incredibly happy for him, for how much effort he’d put into this, he deserved everything. You even watched him win his first race in Miami.

You shed a tear or two. The memories of everything flooding back into your head, just remembering Lando as a young kid saying to you he’d take over the world. He did. You were proud.

But you weren’t there.

Were the promises you made all empty? Just passing in the moment to be carried by the wind and never to be seen or heard ever again?

You sat on the couch watching him take the top step of the podium, holding up the trophy as the sunlight serenaded his face. The familiar sparkle of his eyes stood out to you, it was like when he left. This time his tears were happy ones. 

Your tears were bittersweet.

A few hours pass and a chime from your phone gets you off your couch and reaching for your phone.

You got an Instagram DM, from landonorris.

[targaryenheretic]

᯾ WINTERS COME AND GO, BUT YOU’LL ALWAYS END UP IN EACHOTHERS ARMS. ᯾

Jealous!cregan x fem!reader

Warnings: mostly smut and no plot!! But a build up fight to it 😼. Slight breeding kink (can’t help it ALL stark men have it). Jealous Cregan, mean Cregan if you squint (really squint). Oral f!reciving, loving Cregan. Big cregan (yes that’s a warning).

Word count: 1.3k

“Your hand traces shapes into his chest. “I love you.” He says. “You know that?” You nod. “I love you too, Cregan.” And you always would. Because every night, you both only felt each other, and that was forever enough. “

𐦐

A/n: first (mini)fic out!! I’m working on a much longer one but I wanted to give you guys a taste of my writing before posting a big one!! Enjoy <3

You're not sure what had gotten into your husband. He's never acted this way. “Gods, Cregan! Are you hearing yourself right now?” you scoff, running a hand through your hair as you try and calm yourself down, turning to face away from Cregan who was sitting at his desk, he didn’t even look at you, his eyes skimming over a scroll.

You loved Cregan, you really did. He was sweet, caring, and he loved you with all his heart. Yet, he never usually acted like this. Never acted jealous. He was always secure in your relationship with him.

“Yes! I am listening to myself!” Cregan snaps at you, his hands dropping the scroll, the parchment noise against the wood was loud with the silence after his last words. “you've got to see how that man was looking at you! Like a piece of meat.”

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. “He was being nice! Not everyone wants to fuck me like you so much like to think.”

He looks at you incredulously, before practically leaping from his mahogany desk towards you. his hands go roughly to your cheeks, certainly not enough to hurt you. He would never, but enough that you could feel the rough calluses on his palms and fingers rubbing against your skin.

“Believe me, when I say this, sweet girl, everyone wants to fuck you.”

Your breath involuntarily hitched. A heat pooling in your stomach, for a second, the anger faded, and all you could feel was Cregan, your only thoughts were Cregan. Heat rises to your cheeks; as you try and continue the argument. He still wasn’t right.

“Cregan, I—“ you try to start, but he obviously doesn’t wish to argue, his lips cut you off with a searing kiss, his hands still roughly rubbing your cheeks, as you try to navigate out of your anger.

But this was your husband. Who you loved very much, it’s not like you didn’t want this, so, Your hands tangled into his chestnut hair, begging him closer even though he wasn’t physically able too.

His tongue invades your mouth, soft, muffled mewls and gasps leaving your mouth as he walks you back towards his bed, gently pushing you on top of it, without breaking the kiss. His hand starts to go up your dress, his fingertips leave a fiery feeling wherever he touches, and you feel your arousal get thicker.

His hands remove his tunic, throwing it somewhere in the room, your hands trace down his muscles and abs, but he gets distracted taking off his clothes looking at you,

“Cregan.” You pant out, as his lips split from yours and start moving down your neck, sucking and biting, claiming you as his.

“you married me.” He mumbles though the biting and sucking of your neck, and you let him. Your body was now his. His hands in your dress, pull your undergarments down, his finger teasing the slit of your heat. A soft mewl leaves your mouth. “Not them.”

“Yes—fuck, Cregan—married you.” his hands rip your underwear, you went to scold him, but he’d get you more, but your complaints died out as his thumb rubs small circles against your clit eliciting soft whimpers to involuntarily leave your mouth. “Seven gods—“

You heard him chuckle, so deep and hearty, that it makes you feel like you're floating on a cloud.

He manhandled you to where now you were sitting up for a second so he can quickly undo the strings and pull the dress off, his fingers rake through the bodice strings, shivers running up your spine as his fingers touch your bare skin to gently push it off

“Gorgeous, all mine.” You hear him murmuring under his breath, you were about to reply, a blush on your cheeks from his compliment, when his head dives between your thighs. A teasing stripe licked up your slit.

“What are you—oh!” A soft moan leaves your mouth. This feels heavenly. Your eyes flutter shut, living in the feeling, in the moment. Your hands thread though his chestnut locks, curling and pulling when he sucks on your clit especially well.

“Cregan.” You moan loudly, hips bucking into his face, lewd slurps filling the room. He sticks two digits in, curling in sync with his sucks on your clit. You tasted heavenly to him. He’d never want to part from your sweet cunt. “I know, I know, sweet girl. I got you.” The mumbled words, the vibrations, against your clit cause the knot in your stomach to snap.

“Oh shit—I’m—“ your voice turns into a low sob as you felt like you were exploding, clenching around the two fingers like you needed it to live. Your body works on a different scale than your brain, loud profanities mixed with cregan's name spill out of your mouth like a prayer.

He helps you ride out your orgasm, mumbling sweet nothings into your skin, kissing gently, as he moves up, his face covered in your slick, a lock of his hair fell into his face. “Made for me.” He mumbled into your lips.

You taste yourself on him. You let out a soft breath, still coming down from your high. He splits apart to quickly remove his dark breeches, undoing the thread. His cock springs out against his stomach, the trail of coarse hair, was down right murderous.

“Cregan.” You pant, he strokes his cock a few times, rubbing it against your clit, and a soft grunt came out of him, his arousal clearly taking over him. He pushes himself in.

You took his girth like you were fucking made for it. squeezing around him with every inch you took. your hands clasps around his neck, a gasp leaving your mouth as you feel the initial stretch. his eyes pear into your soul.

He gives you a bit of time to adjust, before you squirm a bit, practically begging him to move. “Please.” Your voice is hoarse from moaning.

“Always. My love. Always.” He gasps out as he does a particular deep thrust in you. His eyes trained on yours.

He continued these intense thrusts, but started to get a bit more jagged as his orgasm built, the sounds of the skin slapping was louder than thunder at this point. He wouldn’t let you look away, his eyes on you. “Can’t look away, eyes on me.” His hand grabs your face, making sure you look at him as you start to go over the edge,

“Cregan—fuck.” You can barely get out; practically crying. eyes half lidded with heavy lust and overstimulation. Cregan wipes the forming tear. “Let go, sweet girl.” He murmured as his head went into your neck, gently nipping.

Again, the high washes over you like a train crash. Like waves over rocks, glass shattering from a rock. it was so much but so little at once. You could feel yourself being undone and remade again,

Cregan follows you into his high quickly, groans leaving his mouth and he stuffs his cum into you. He can’t wait to see you swollen with his babe. Perhaps two if he’s lucky. It would get all of those men who love to stare know you were his. All his.

You both came out of the throes of pleasure relatively at the same time. Panting heavily, he gently pulls out, watching your juices mix together, he gently pushes it back in with a finger. “Shhh, sweet girl. Gotta make sure it takes.” He murmured, kissing your ankle before gently letting you fall into your natural spot on his chest.

Your hand traces shapes into his chest.. “I love you.” He says. “You know that?” You nod. “I love you too, Cregan.” And you always would. Because every night, you both only felt each other, and that was forever enough.

[kokokoula]

mornings (birthday special)

a/n: i legit sat down and spent a whole day to pull this one out of my ass. i just wish i could post this earlier. if i fail my exams, i swear-- quoting sei: "i'm the reason why i'm stressed." (btw this is not the soft spot fic just something for tsukki's birthday.)

---

tsukishima remembers akaashi mentioning that the dullest way to start a story is a character waking up to the sun shining.

"it's so overused, and there's nothing hooking the readers. writers really need to up their game..." akaashi had complained, something really rare. guess the stress can really get to people sometimes.

tsukishima cracks his eyes open and sees your figure, though blurry, sleeping peacefully beside him the first thing in the morning, with the sunlight spilling onto the bed and adorning your face. it's so ethereal yet fragile, this moment; maybe this is what the writers were trying to capture.

tsukishima can't remember when the last time he woke up before you was. he's used to seeing your eyes gaze up at him and hearing your giggle when his meets yours. "good morning" will be softly whispered follow by a light kiss on the cheek.

he knows that he might wake you, but kei still entangles his legs with yours and shifts closer to wrap his arm around you. he presses his lips against the the crown of your head, taking a second to breathe in the familiar scent of the shampoo you always use.

adulthood is never easy, especially if you have to juggle both a museum job and a volleyball career. tsukishima loves what he does, seriously, but sometimes it gets exhausting. it's running errands, running on court, and repeat. emails. blocking. artifacts. spiking. records. training--

kei finally catches a breath when he sees you at the end of the day, wearing one of his shirts and half asleep on the couch, waiting for him to return. he'd kick off his shoes and leave his things by the door, stumbling into your embrace that feels more like home than this house can ever be.

you stir awake. his arm around your waist tightens. he feels your hand coming up to the nape of his neck, running through the strands of blonde hair. it feels good.

"morning, kei." he responds with a hum and another kiss to your head. you pull away and he groans, but shuts up when you kiss him on the lips. it's long and lazy, he loves it.

"happy birthday, beanpole." oh right, it's the twenty-seventh.

"thank you."

"you're getting old." you say and stifle a laugh. he clicks his tongue in mock annoyance. "that just means i'm wiser than you."

he pulls you in again. comfortable silence settles, with the occasional sounds of the busy world outside. he could stay like this.

suddenly, you tap on his arm urgently, sitting up.

"shit, we're meeting tadashi and the others, remember?"

"do we have to?"

"obviously."

just when you are about to leave the bed, he catches onto your hand and kisses the back of it.

"you owe me strawberry shortcake later." you both know he'll end up paying anyways, and you'll bicker about it like an old couple.

"okay, you big baby."

tsukishima smiles.

[adobe-outdesign]

forever screaming and crying about the unused Mega Blastoise and Venusaur designs

[nats--sw]

Inherited Talent | Leah Williamson

Leah Williamson x reader Leah has finally convinced you that it’s time for your daughter to take her first steps into the world of football. This is based on this universe hey, so, Olivia has grown up a little my masterlist

“There are a lot of girls here,” Olivia murmured, squeezing your hand a little tighter.

“Well, it’s the first day,” you replied, trying to keep your voice cheerful despite the fact that, just like Olivia, your nerves were getting to you.

Leah, on the other hand, was in her element. She moved through the crowd with ease, greeting everyone, posing for pictures with some of the staff, and even a few of the girls who were there for the same as Olivia. Out of the three of you, she was definitely the most excited.

“Why are there boys too?” Olivia asked, hiding behind you as you both followed Leah.

Leah, catching up to Olivia’s question, smiled warmly. “It’s good for boys and girls to play together when they’re young,” she explained. “Once they’re older, they split the teams, but don’t worry, you’ll be on an all-girls team.”

You bit your lip, feeling a bit uneasy. Some of the boys and girls looked a lot bigger than Olivia, who was just barely on the edge of the minimum height for her age group.

This wasn’t new, it’s something you and Leah had talked about for months. Leah had been buzzing about Olivia joining the academy for ages. You, on the other hand, had always tried to push the idea off for as long as you could. But as soon as Olivia turned seven, Leah had come home with the Arsenal academy program in hand, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

And today was the junior tryout, and as Leah had reassured you the night before, all the kids would be accepted. After all, they were still so young, just children starting out.

“Okay, they’re about to start,” Leah said, hands on her hips, eyeing the pitch, which was noticeably smaller than a regular one. “You ready, Livy?”

But Olivia had backed away a few steps, her attention caught by a group of older girls across the field.

“Love, are you sure this is a good idea?” you muttered, lowering your voice as you shot Leah a slightly worried look.

Leah turned to you, her expression turning serious. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just… Livy’s still so little.”

“Darling, when I was her age, I was already playing with boys older than me,” Leah said, waving it off like it was no big deal. “This is nothing. Don’t worry.”

“But-”

“The doctor said more physical activity would help her, right? This’ll be good for her. Trust me.”

You opened your mouth to push back, but Leah had already wandered over to Olivia, gently nudging her along to join the other girls in her group.

You sighed, dropping down onto a nearby bench, keeping a bit of distance from the other parents. Leah could be so stubborn sometimes, and when it came to Olivia, she was far from objective. It didn’t help that, honestly, Livy wasn’t all that great at football.

Sure, Leah was the pro here, but you’d watched her play every week for over a decade, so you knew enough to tell when someone had that spark. And Olivia… well, let’s just say she struggled with her coordination.

Like most kids her age, she was a bit of a clumsy one, always tripping over her feet or bumping into things while running around the house. But she had it worse than most.

“Where’s your head at?” Leah’s laugh snapped you out of your thoughts as she sat down beside you, her face still full of excitement.

You gave her a sideways glance. “You really think Livy’s up for this?”

Leah’s smile faded, and she let out a sigh, clearly tired of the conversation. “Darling, Olivia’s not going to become a footballer overnight. It’s going to take work, that’s why we’re here. Trust me, no girl here is better than our daughter.”

How wrong Leah had been.

She cringed as the other girls darted past Olivia, barely noticing she was even there. Your daughter had hardly touched the ball once, and when she did, she ended up on the ground, tangled up in her own legs.

At this age, they didn’t really bother with positions in football, it was just a swarm of kids chasing the ball around, trying to kick it into the net. And there was Liv, hanging at the edge of the group, her attention everywhere but where it should’ve been.

Then came the shootout practice. Leah couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably each time it was Olivia’s turn to kick. It was either painfully slow, that the ball didn’t even reach the coach -who was standing in as the goalie- or a wild shot that flew wide of the goal altogether.

“What do you think now?” you muttered under your breath as you both made your way down the bleachers. Maybe this was the reality check Leah needed, seeing other girls Olivia’s age and finally accepting that football might not be Liv’s thing.

Leah shrugged, clinging to her optimism. “Just nerves, the first day and all” she said, then her smile softened the moment Olivia came running towards her.

“Hi, mommy!” Olivia panted, looking absolutely adorable. Her kit was a bit too big, even though it was meant to be her size, and her cheeks were flushed bright red, just like Leah’s after a long match in the sun.

“There’s my little star,” Leah grinned, scooping her up and brushing stray hairs off her forehead. “How was it, love?”

Olivia shrugged, looking a bit worn out. “Can we go home now?” she asked, glancing at you with those big, tired eyes.

“Yeah, let’s get you home,” you said with a smile.

Leah was just about to put her down when the coach approached with a man holding a camera.

“Excuse me, Leah, would you mind if we...?” the coach gestured to the camera.

Leah sighed lightly but waved her hand. “Sure, go ahead,” she said, setting Olivia down gently.

“We’d love to get a few shots of you and your daughter,” the camera guy chimed in. “It’s important for the academy, you know, showing that one of our top players, who came through the programme herself, trusts us to guide her daughter too.”

The coach smiled, but Leah’s stomach flipped after watching Olivia out there on the pitch.

“Of course,” she said, managing a nervous smile as she pulled Olivia close for the photo.

“You know, plenty of footballers' kids don’t end up playing football,” you said as you slipped into bed that night. “Look at Becks’ kids, for example.”

“You’re really not helping,” Leah grumbled, eyes fixed on her phone as she replied to a few messages from her teammates, who’d been buzzing after seeing Olivia’s pictures from the academy.

“Lee…”

“Livy likes football,” Leah said, finally putting her phone down and turning to you.

“Yeah, she does,” you agreed, scooting closer and resting your arm over her stomach, head on her chest. Leah’s hand instinctively found its way to your hair, gently playing with the strands. “I just don’t want you to think you’re forcing her into it or something.”

“I know that’s exactly what you’re thinking tho.”

“Leah, I just want you to realize that Olivia’s not you... at least not yet.”

Leah sighed, a little stubbornness still hanging in the air. “Fine, but she’ll keep training, on her own terms. No one’s born knowing how to kick a ball, you know?” she said, determined as ever.

You let out a quiet sigh, knowing this conversation was far from over, but you’d let it rest for now.

Almost two months had passed, and honestly, there wasn’t much progress.

You were the one driving Olivia to practice during the week, which she actually enjoyed. But on weekends, it was Leah’s turn, unless she was busy with a match. Those were the days Olivia wasn’t too keen on, since Leah would often stick around at the academy for an extra half-hour, kicking balls with her.

“Mummy!”

You were getting ready to take Olivia to the academy, even though there wasn’t any training today, Leah's team had a league cup match, and the academy kids were going along to watch.

“What’s up, love?” you asked, looking up and feeling a bit concerned when you saw she wasn’t in her jersey but in her everyday clothes.  “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” you said, setting your stuff aside and guiding her over to the couch.

“I’m not sure if I want to go see mommy today,” she mumbled, fiddling with her fingers.

“Why not?”

From a young age, Olivia had understood Leah’s celebrity status- her mother was practically famous in the sports world, always on tv or the radio, with people constantly asking for photos. Olivia had always had to share her mom’s attention with adults and teens wanting selfies or autographs when they were out. But now she wasn’t handling it well with her teammates getting so much of Leah’s attention too.

“Is something wrong, love?” you asked.

“I don’t want to see mommy if my teammates are there,” she said, tears starting to brim.

“I don’t quite follow, sweetheart…”

You tried to remember every time you’d been to Olivia’s practices. None of the other kids were ever mean or annoying, and Liv seemed to get along with most of her teammates.

“Mommy doesn’t like me that much...” she sobbed, and it broke your heart to see her so sad.

You scooped her up and settled her on your lap, rocking her gently. “How could mommy not like you?” you said, managing a sad smile as you wiped away her tears. “You’re the most important thing in the world to both mommy and me,” you reassured her, but Olivia just shook her head.

“Mom prefers Millie”

You looked at her, a bit confused. “Who’s Millie?”

“My teammate, number 10,” Olivia said, and you vaguely remembered one of the taller girls from her group. “She’s always playing with mom and me, but mom ends up playing with her more because I get tired first.”

Ah, now you recalled a bit of a late night chat with Leah, where she’d mentioned a little girl who played really well. At the time, you’d just thought it was Leah going on about football again.

“Sweetheart...” you whispered, pulling her into a tighter hug. It’s okay if you don’t want to go. We don’t have to.” You gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. “What would you like to do instead?”

“Can you play with me for a bit?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. She then hopped off your lap and grabbed one of the many balls lying around the house. “Can we?”

You nodded and got up from the couch, following Olivia to the backyard where Leah had set up a goal. You kicked off your shoes to keep them clean and watched Olivia’s face light up with excitement. It had been a while since she’d looked that happy, even though she played regularly with Leah after school. You had a feeling that what used to be a fun activity was now feeling more like a chore, and let’s be real, no one really wanted Leah Williamson as their coach all the time.

“Well, you know I’m not exactly like mom,” you said, giving the ball a nudge with your foot. “So don’t judge me if I’m not that great.”

“I know you’re not like mom,” Olivia giggled, heading for the goal. “Can you kick the ball from there?” she asked, getting into position.

“Do you want to play like that?” you asked, tilting your head, thinking she’d just want to run after you with the ball.

Olivia shook her head and giggled as your shot went off towards the garden.

“I did say I’m not like mom,” you said, going to get the ball.

When Leah got home, Olivia was already tucked up in bed, fast asleep and ready for school the next morning. You were still with your laptop, wrapping up some work.

“Love?” Leah called out, dropping her bag on the floor. “Hey, how’s everything?” She leaned in for a kiss, but when she noticed you didn’t return it, she pulled back. “What’s up? Is Livy still feeling sick?”

You’d told Leah a small lie about Liv having a stomach ache earlier, which was why you both had missed the game in the afternoon.

“Livy’s fine, it was nothing serious,” you said, shutting down your laptop and patting the spot next to you on the couch. “We need to talk about something…”

“About what?” Leah asked, looking confused.

“I think you’re being a bit too… hard on her,” you said gently.

“Are we still on about this? Look, if Olivia didn’t enjoy playing, I wouldn’t push her. But she likes it, you’ve said it yourself, she now has new friends and she’s improving, even if it’s just a bit.”

“It’s not just that, Leah. Liv’s a really sensitive kid. She’s not like you.”

“What do you mean?” Leah asked, her face getting serious.

“Liv’s more like me- she’s sentimental and emotional. She picks up on things.”

Leah pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a frustrated sigh. “Love, can you just be straightforward, please?”

“Olivia knows she’s not the best at football, and she can tell it... bothers you.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Leah shot back quickly, but you just shook your head.

“Maybe not directly, but you’d like her to be more like the other girls at the academy.”

Leah went quiet and shuffled a bit on the couch.

“My point is… Liv needs you as her mom, not just her coach.”

“I think you’re overreacting,” Leah said, a hint of irritation in her voice.

“Leah,” you said more firmly this time. “Olivia’s always craved your attention, and not just-” you raised a hand when you saw her about to interrupt. “I’m not saying you don’t give it to her, but she needs more. Especially now that she’s worried if she’s not good enough, she might lose your attention to another girl.”

“It’s not-”

“I’m not done,” you said. “And I’ll say it again: she doesn’t want your attention as a footballer. She wants your attention as her mother. So, from now on, football is banned in this house.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I don’t want you chatting about football at the dinner table or chasing Liv around to play, and no more academy talk unless it’s absolutely necessary. She’s already feeling insecure about it, and you’re not helping.”

“Darling, how can you ban a hobby I share with my daughter?” Leah asked, looking upset.

“There are plenty of other hobbies out there. Find something else.”

Leah dropped her head in defeat, now looking a bit embarrassed.

“Is that why you both didn’t go today?” she asked, her voice tinged with sadness.

“Yeah, I think she didn’t want her teammates reminding her of how good you are. She’s a bit scared of being compared to you.” you said softly. 

Leah shook her head, her expression softening.

“And I spoke with your mum... and I’m sorry, but she was a bit angry with you. Said you were being a bit of a jerk.”

Leah shot you an offended look. “She was no better than I am now.”

“But she used to get a more positive response from you,” you pointed out. “You two are just as stubborn as each other, so if you wanted to train before school, she’d have just gone along with it.” You rested your hand on her thigh as you saw her processing this.

“And Olivia isn’t like me,” she finally said quietly.

“No, she’s not,” you agreed.

“God, I’m such a terrible mother,” Leah said, burying her face in her hands.

“You’re not a terrible mother, Lee,” you said, gently taking her hands away from her face. “We’re still figuring this out. It’s not easy, and we’re going to mess up now and again, and probably a lot more.”

Leah, with a distant look in her eyes, let go of your hands and leaned back on the couch, resting her head on your lap.

“Now I’m feeling pretty sad,” Leah said. “I was all upbeat coming in because we had a win-” she cut herself off. “Can I still talk about our win today, or is that banned too?”

You shook your head, rolling your eyes a bit.

You heard Leah take a deep breath. With one hand, you gently stroked her hair, which was still damp from her shower before she came home.

“So what do we do now?” she asked.

“Now, we need to take a step back and chill out,” you said. “We need to give Liv some space. Maybe we should find some other stuff she might enjoy besides football. Remember how you used to spend all day watching movies and eating in bed? Maybe she’d like to do things like that with you again. I just want her to know she’s enough for you, no matter what. I know she is, and I’d never doubt that, but she’s a kid and needs to see it more clearly.”

Leah nodded, though her gaze seemed a bit lost as she reflected on everything that had happened over the past month. 

“I just wanted her to feel strong, you know? To have that fire in her. The world can be harsh, and I don’t want her to get hurt…she’s so tiny.”

“I know…” you murmured softly, gently tracing the contours of Leah’s face, something that always helped her relax.

“Football made me tough as a kid and taught me to stand up for myself, fend for myself- I wanted the same for our daughter…I didn’t think it was the wrong way.”

“There are other ways to show her that, love. We’re here for that, and we need to help her see her worth for who she is, not just as a mini version of you to earn your respect and attention.”

As you traced your finger down Leah’s nose, she let a few tears fall. “I feel awful… I never meant for her to think I’m disappointed in her or that I prefer other kids over my own daughter.”

“I know,” you said, pulling her close, the same way you had comforted Olivia hours earlier. “But you sometimes have a hard time showing certain things, so you need to make the effort to really show her. Tell her again how much you love her and how proud you are of her.”

“You’re a better mum than I am,” she said with a sad smile.

“Not at all,” you said, making a face. “I’ve messed up too, and you’ve been the one to help me fix things. We’re a team, Lee. We’re here to support each other, especially when it comes to Liv.”

“Let’s just say we’re both doing our best,” Leah said, laughing a bit as she wiped away her tears. “I’ll have a chat with her tomorrow after school, no talk about football, just us.”

You smiled, giving her a gentle push to get her off your lap. “Sounds good,” you said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

Leah sighed again, and you could tell she wouldn’t be at ease until she talked to Olivia.

“Thanks for helping me see things clearer,” she said, looking a bit awkward, knowing this could have been avoided if she’d listened to you earlier.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you said, standing up from the couch and offering her a hand to help her up.

“I love you,” she said, giving you a kiss.

Even after all these years, Leah Williamson’s kisses still had that same spark.

“I love you too,” you said, taking her hand as you started walking. “Let’s get to bed. I’m definitely not forgetting to celebrate that amazing assist you pulled off in today’s game,” you said with a cheeky wink, making Leah smile.

The next day, Olivia burst into your home office, chocolate smeared all over her face but grinning from ear to ear.

“Hi, mummy!” she exclaimed, running up to give you a kiss on the cheek, leaving a chocolate streak behind.

“Did you have ice cream before dinner?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Mom said it’s a special treat just for today,” Liv replied, as Leah walked in with some wipes in one hand and Liv’s school bag in the other.

“Just for today,” Leah repeated, making sure you weren’t in a meeting with your camera on before leaning in for a quick kiss. “You smell like chocolate,” she laughed, noticing the ice cream remnants on your cheek.

“And you taste like vanilla,” you said, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand.

“Me? Vanilla? I don’t think so,” Leah said with a cheeky grin, and you just rolled your eyes, trying not to smile.

“Idiot.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Leah said, turning around to grab Liv’s arm as she tried to sneak away. “Hey, no, no, no,” Leah said firmly.

“But, mommy-”

“Let me get the chocolate off you first,” Leah said, pulling out a wipe and gently wiping it from Olivia’s mouth.

It was absolutely charming to see Leah’s motherly side; it was something you never tired of seeing.

“There, now you’re all clean,” Leah said proudly. “My precious girl,” she murmured, stroking Liv’s cheeks as she wrinkled her nose. “What would I do without you, huh?”

“You wouldn’t be a mommy,” Liv said, shaking her head, and you chuckled.

Leah shook her head and let out a giggle too.

“Exactly, Liv,” she said, giving her a kiss on the forehead. “Now go and do your homework, okay? Then we can watch some movies.”

Liv sighed dramatically and dragged her feet and backpack out of the office.

You and Leah exchanged a look, admiring the dramatic flair your daughter had.

“She’s definitely your daughter,” you said with a grin, turning back to your work.

“Darling!” Leah came rushing over, weaving through the crowd of parents trying to find a spot in the stands. It was the last game of the season for the kids' teams, and the place was packed.

Leah had just got off a plane from a friendly match abroad, so she arrived only minutes before kick-off.

“I didn’t think you’d make it,” you said, moving aside to let her sit.

Leah shook her head and gave you a quick peck on the lips. “I promised Olivia I’d be here... though I was a bit surprised at how insistent she was that I come,” she said, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness that she tried to cover with a smile.

Olivia had asked you a few weeks ago to start taking her to her training sessions instead of Leah, and given the sensitive nature of the situation, Leah didn’t want to intrude.

“You do know your daughter doesn’t hate you, right?” you said quietly, resting your hand on Leah’s thigh. “You’re still her favorite mom, actually.”

Leah just hummed and avoided your gaze, as if the empty field had suddenly become the most interesting thing.

A few minutes later, the girls appeared on the field, and Leah’s face dropped when she didn’t spot Olivia.

“Where’s Livy?” she asked, looking a bit worried.

“She’s over there,” you pointed to the little girl standing second, wearing a black cap and a goalie’s kit. Leah clearly hadn’t recognised her because she had no clue her daughter had changed positions.

“W-what?” Leah asked, surprised, but her face brightened when she saw Olivia giving her a small wave.

“It was a surprise,” you said, trying to hide your grin.

“But Liv’s never played as a goalie,” Leah said, a bit confused.

“Well, it turns out she’s actually quite good. She saves all my shots that go all over the place,” you said, remembering how Olivia would bounce around, not caring about scraping her knees whenever you threw the ball in the wrong direction.

Leah was lost for words. She didn’t want to seem biased because it was her daughter in goal, and she was trying to overlook the fact that the girls trying to score on Olivia weren’t the best, but she loved Olivia’s determination to catch every ball, even if it meant taking a few hits in the face.

“We are calling Mary as soon as we’re out of here,” Leah said, her eyes still glued to the game.

“Alright, let’s put that on hold for now,” you said, trying to soften the intensity in your wife’s gaze. “Let’s remember, this is supposed to be pressure-free.”

“Yeah, alright, love,” Leah said, sounding distracted. You could tell she wasn’t really listening.

“What was that?!” Leah exclaimed, opening her arms as Olivia came running towards you both with a small trophy shaped like a glove and a medal hanging around her neck.

“Did you like it, mommy?” Olivia asked with excitement.

“What, of course I did! Even Alessia couldn’t score on you if she tried!” Leah said, showering Olivia’s cheeks with kisses in exaggerated enthusiasm.

Normally, you wouldn’t join in with Leah’s exaggerated praise, but right now Olivia needed a confidence boost.

“I’d say you’re even better than Mary,” you whispered against her cheek. “We’re so proud of you.”

“My daughter’s a superstar,” Leah said, pulling out her phone. “Alright, now smile for the camera. We need to get these photos for grandma before she scolds me again, besides she’s still mad at me”

Leah and Olivia had gone to the car while you had to run back because Olivia had forgotten her cap in the locker room. By the time you got to the parking lot, it was almost empty, with just your car and Leah’s left. You saw them standing by Leah’s car.

“…You don’t have to come back next season,” you overheard Leah saying to Olivia.

“I like coming here now, mom.”

“Are you sure? We can look for another sport... or any other activity you’re into. It doesn’t have to be football,” Leah said softly.

“But I like it.”

“Aren’t you just saying that because I like football too?”

“Yes, but I like it as well, mom.”

“Right. But remember, if you decide you don’t like this anymore, I won’t push you. I don’t want you doing things just to please me, or anyone else. Do you understand, love?”

The tenderness Leah showed in her conversation with Olivia touched your heart. You knew Leah could be a bit much at times, but you were certain she’d always put your daughter’s happiness first.

[rheas-chaos-motivation]

Create your characters voice

Write one to ten pages (I usually do 5 for major character, 1 or 2 for side characters) as your character. Anything they would say, opinions, diary entries, complaining, etc.

Ooooh I have collected some helpful things to maybe include:

adopting slang from people they are close too/love interest

do they have a raspy voice? High pitched? Overly sweet? Commanding? Figure that out.

to make characters have their own voice vary rhythm, word choice, use of profanity, how much they talk about themselves or others, their politics.

Take some dialogue and ask if readers would be able to tell who is speaking with no context.

Write an AITA post from their point of view.

Identify what role your character has, a leader? a follower? a disrupter? a rebel? an antagonist? a peacemaker? How does that change the way they speak?

The character traits will tell you what your characters will say or how they will say it.