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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 days ago

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A Curse [Chapter 2: Harbor Gateway]

A/N: Thank you for the warm welcome you have given this series!!! I am sick with bronchitis currently so this has been a big bright spot in an otherwise miserable week 😅 I can't wait to show you where this story is going, I hope you're ready for it 🥰💜

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

Chapter warnings: Language, a tiny bit of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap relationship, entertainment industry misogyny, some body dissatisfaction/dysmorphia, ice cream, judgmental parents, aggressive Akitas, we're literally in Minnesota!!!

Word count: 6.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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

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

Afterwards, Mason pulls his clothes back on as you are absentmindedly drawing stars in the steam on the windows of his Chevy Silverado. On the other side of the glass is inky Minnesota night, a full moon dissolving away, glowing freckles of constellations. You’re staying with your parents and Mason has roommates, so the truck was the expedient choice. It was good, not that you finished; you didn’t say anything, he didn’t ask, but even if he had you would have told him not to worry about it. It can take forever, especially with an audience. You’d rather wait until you’re alone.

Mason glances down at the used condom on the floor of his Silverado, hastily discarded, viscerally slick in a way that becomes sickening in the letdown, as the endorphins and the adrenaline slip away and the blood pumps slow and unclouded. He smirks as he asks: “You sure you don’t want to get back on the pill?”

You sigh, drawing another star. You are still naked and sprawled across the back seat, glistening with sweat in the moonlight. “Well I tried three different prescriptions and had three miserable experiences, and I’m really not interested in playing side effect roulette again. And I can’t risk my skin going insane and random bleeding when I’m running around all over L.A. trying to get parts.”

“What about that little sperm assassin T-shaped thing?”

You look at him. “An IUD?”

“Yeah.”

You wince, engraving another star into the steam on the window. “I don’t think I like the idea of having a piece of metal shoved up inside me.”

He laughs. “But you’ll get silicone implants?”

You shrug; you can’t deny the irony. “I don’t need an IUD to be an actress.”

“Look, I’m not complaining about the tits thing,” Mason says, holding up his hands. “Obviously I’d enjoy them too. And you’d still have them when you move home, so it’s not a waste even if the acting thing doesn’t work out.”

You already know he feels this way, and yet still, it hurts. “When I move home?”

He smiles and crawls back on top of you, his Carleton College hoodie whispering against your belly and chest, soft royal blue cotton on damp skin. He had been a Political Science and International Relations major who took Theater Arts 195: Acting Shakespeare for an arts credit. He was beyond terrible and had no appreciation for the field whatsoever, but he was tall and strong and jolly, an earnest corn-fed Midwestern boy, and when one day after class he’d asked if he could take you to Culver’s for a burger and frozen custard, you’d said yes.

Here and now, in the back seat of his Chevy Silverado, Mason kisses your forehead. Then he ghosts his thumb over the ridge of your orbital socket and cheekbone, where your dark glittery eyeshadow has smudged like a spreading bruise: Galaxy by Anastasia Beverly Hills, Elysian by Natasha Denona. “I’m not saying you aren’t good. But how many people on this planet get to be movie stars? It’s just not realistic. And it’s about so much more than talent. It’s about who you know, and luck, and chemistry, and looks, and a bunch of other things that are mostly out of your control. You’re never going to be the type of girl who’s an influencer or winning Miss America, you’re just not. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t very, very pretty. And I loved you anyway.”

Loved, past tense. You and Mason stopped using that word a year ago; now the nostalgia is painting memories like the walls of an old house. His memories, anyway. You sit up and start yanking on your clothes: oversized yellow Santa Monica crewneck, black sweatpants with elastic cuffs at the ankles. “I think I’m going to get the gummy bear implants.”

Mason licks his lips. “Yum.”

“They’re a type of silicone, but they’re supposed to feel more natural and be less dangerous if they rupture.”

“Will you have scars?” he says as if the notion has just occurred to him, troubled, perhaps a little revolted.

“Well yeah, they have to end up under my skin somehow.”

Mason shudders, then he has another thought. “Who’s going to take care of you after surgery when you’re all sore and zonked out on opioids?”

“My roommate Baela said she would. She’s had friends who have gone through it already.”

“Okay, good. I wouldn’t want you to be alone out there.” Mason touches the back of your head, a quick fond gesture. He’s the only man you’ve ever been with, and even that took a while, months of trying to envision him undressing you before you were sure you could do it without flinching, without being afraid or shy or bewildered. But in the end it had been easy, always easy, which is why you keep coming back to him like a comet. Your elliptical orbit takes you far away and then close again, and such natural patterns are effortless to keep.

You say, the edges of your lips curling into a furtive smile: “I’m definitely not alone.”

Mason groans. “You’re going to hook up with that new agent guy, aren’t you?”

“What? No! No way, he has a fiancée.”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s more amused than annoyed. “Okay, whatever.”

“You know I don’t date anyone.” Which is why each time you’re home visiting, Mason gets a text: Want to get lunch at Culver’s? or Can you drive me to Target? or Pick me up around 9 p.m.?

Mason smirks and taunts: “I don’t know, with the way you talk about him you sound kind of obsessed.”

“I’m just grateful. Someone finally gave me a chance.” You look to the window; the steam and your hand-drawn stars have evaporated away. “And yeah, he’s interesting and he’s cute, and he’s kind of mean but then unexpectedly caring sometimes, and I think he’s one of those people who are really good at what they do but only when they’re inspired…but that doesn’t mean I’m into him romantically.” A pause. “And even if I was, there’s no harm in a super-secret, one-sided crush.”

“Okay. Have fun with all the adulterous sex.”

You chuckle. “Thanks, but that is not the plan.” You slip on your flip-flops, shimmy out of the back seat, and trot around the Silverado to the passenger’s door. Mason climbs into the driver’s seat and turns his key in the ignition. You ask: “What happened to that ballerina girl who was in your Instagram stories for a while?”

“Had to ghost her, she got super clingy and controlling. She was texting me at work all the time and got pissed off when I was putting a ton of hours into that election thing for CNN.” Mason is a political analyst. He turns to you. “You ever feel like people are the best versions of themselves before you really know them? Then you get too close and all the cracks start showing.”

“I think people are wonderful. You just have to find the ones you click with.”

“I should have figured you’d say something like that.” He steers his truck out of the otherwise empty parking lot in Lac Lavon Park. “I’m looking forward to you being home again.”

“I’m not.”

You both laugh, and then Mason drives you to your parents’ house.

At the dining room table, Mom and Clara are researching wedding venues, vast countryside estates and metropolitan historic hotels. Clara got engaged two weeks ago during a vacation to Turks and Caicos. In the living room, Dad and Tripp are watching commentary on the NBA Finals. Tripp’s name isn’t really Tripp; he is the third James in a row, named after your father and grandfather, and Tripp is short for triple. All over the house, there are Akitas lolling in plush dog beds and clicking around on Brazilian Cherry hardwood floors. They have faces like teddy bears, but their dark eyes track you mistrustfully, as if you are an intruder.

No one asks where you have been. They barely acknowledge that you are back. “Hello, dear,” your mother calls distractedly from the dining room, and that’s all. You jog upstairs to the bathroom you share with Clara before anyone can notice your smeared makeup and the unsavory post-car-sex sweat gleaming on your skin. You get into the shower, turn on water so hot it is nearly scalding, and close your eyes. With your back pressed to the jade green tiles, your hand wanders down over your belly and stops between your legs. Your mind cycles through fantasies, but nothing seems to be working.

It’s not real. It can’t hurt anybody.

You imagine that Aegon is the one touching you, and in under a minute it’s over.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I want there to be horses,” Clara says, scrolling through her phone and ignoring the food on her plate: roast chicken, homemade mashed potatoes, green beans sauteed in garlic and olive oil, panzanella salad. Mom prepared it all herself, not because there was no help available—your parents have a housekeeper named Angela who comes by several days per week—but to prove she could. In the living room are shelves heavy with books by Martha Stewart, Ina Garten, Cat Cora, Julia Child, Nigella Lawson. You hear echoes of ambient clicking, Akitas meandering down hallways and staircases.

“Horses?!” Tripp replies with a mouthful of mashed potatoes, gesturing to the sliding glass door. “Don’t you get enough horses in your everyday life? Don’t you have like five right out there?” Your parents’ house sits on ten acres of land, including a barn and several paddocks for Clara’s rescued Thoroughbreds.

“I want beautiful horses,” Clara insists. “Unusual, photogenic, so they can be in the background of all the photos. Maybe Friesians or Haflingers?”

“I’m not sure we can sort the venues by types of horses available, dear,” Mom says. All that’s on her own plate is a heap of green beans and a few pieces of skinless white meat chicken.

Clara moans and drops her face into her hands. “It’s so overwhelming!”

“You’ll find a place you like, Clara Bear,” Dad says mildly, painstakingly slicing meat off a drumstick with his fork and knife.

“And Owen is no help at all. Every time I ask for his opinion he just tells me to do whatever I think is best, but I don’t know what’s best, that’s why I’m asking him!”

Your mother pats Clara’s shoulder reassuringly. “Guys don’t care about weddings,” Tripp says, twisting around in his chair to see the television in the living room. On a rerun of E! News, the hosts are discussing Chris Hemsworth’s rigorous fitness regime and Meghan Trainor’s “mommy makeover.” You peek under the tablecloth. One of the Akitas, Yuki, is glaring as she waits for you to drop something for her to eat.

“You could do something like that,” Mom says to you, and you realize you haven’t been listening to the conversation.

“Sorry, do what?”

“You could be a wedding planner or a real estate agent. Those are actual careers, but there’s more creativity involved, isn’t there? And didn’t you take a design class in college? That would certainly come in handy.”

“Hm,” your father says with a frown, still dissecting his chicken. He would rather you go to law school like Tripp. You would rather lie down in traffic.

“I took a set design class, Mom. Because I was studying how to be an actress. And that’s what I’m doing right now in Los Angeles, trying to be an actress.”

“You could become an architect!” Mom bursts out with sudden enthusiasm. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

You titter evasively. “I can’t draw, Mom. Or use the modeling software, or do math.”

“You know, you don’t need any specific degree to get into law school,” Tripp says, and your father gives him a nod of approval. “You could have majored in dance or bagpiping or Egyptology, it doesn’t matter. All they want is a high undergrad GPA and a 168+ LSAT score, and I bet you could get that if you studied. You can even retake the test a few times if you need to.”

“Why do you do that?” Clara snaps at him. You eat your panzanella salad and pretend not to be listening. Beneath the tablecloth, Yuki growls. You toss her a few cubes of Italian bread so she won’t bite you.

Tripp shovels mashed potatoes into his mouth. “Do what?”

“Why are you always wasting your time trying to convince her to grow up and get a real job? If she wants to embarrass herself, let her. I have problems that I’m trying to solve, so how about applying yourself to those instead?”

“Are you serious? You think I should be calling around to wedding venues asking about their selection of exotic draft horses?”

Clara aggressively stabs at her green beans with her fork. “Fuck off, Tripp.”

“Hey, hey, kids, no swearing,” your mother says. “It’s Father’s Day. Be respectful.”

Dad turns to you. “You could be an entertainment lawyer, how about that? You could work in intellectual property or negotiating contracts.”

You smile warily. “I’ll think about it, Dad.”

Clara says to your parents: “Well I hope all the money you’re throwing out the window to support her in California isn’t coming out of my wedding fund.”

You close your eyes and think: I can’t spend my life in a cubical. I can’t spend every minute of every day trying to forget who I am.

“Shh, shh,” your mother pleads, rubbing the back of Clara’s clenched hand. “You will get exactly what we promised you, that amount is still set aside for your wedding. Nothing she does affects you.”

“And it’s only until the end of the year,” your father adds. “Then the vacation is over.” Then the meager allowance they are funneling to you will stop and you will be ordered to return home to pursue an honorable course of existence. You have six months to succeed in Hollywood, or the dream dies.

Your father is now asking Tripp about his summer associate position at Latham & Watkins in Chicago. Your mother is advising Clara to get a wedding dress with a corset back so it can be adjusted in the event she gains or loses weight at the last minute. Underneath the table, Yuki is growling again; she noses your knees threateningly.

“I got an agent,” you say, and everyone looks at you.

“Really?” Mom asks, sounding a little perplexed.

“Who is it?” Dad says.

“Aegon Targaryen. He has a small office in Elysian Park.”

“Oh, I think I recognize the last name.”

“His family is in the industry.” You are beaming; you can feel the heat rising in your face. “But Aegon kind of does his own thing and tries to stay out of the limelight. He was an actor when he was my age. And I guess he thinks I can get roles, so that’s really exciting.”

Your mother seems concerned as she nibbles at a shred of white meat. “Is he an older man?”

“Not that much older. He’s thirty-five.”

“Well, be careful, darling,” your father says gravely. “Who knows what his intentions are.”

Clara evidently agrees. “Men can be so creepy. I had this one professor in pharmacy school who cheated on his wife with one student, then cheated on her six months later with a different student. And then he retired to Boca Raton and was never heard from again.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Tripp says to your father. “We read about Clinton v. Jones in torts class, it was wild, I didn’t know he was such a freak even before the Monica Lewinsky thing…”

After dinner, while your father and Tripp are flipping through television channels in the living room and Clara is upstairs on the phone with Owen, you go to the kitchen where your mother is washing dishes in a bubble-filled sink. Again, she doesn’t have to do this; Angela will be here to clean the house tomorrow. But it’s part of being a perfect homemaker, and if she’s not good at this then she’s not good at anything.

She glances over when she hears you come in. “Did you get an appointment with one of the doctors your father recommended?”

“I did, yeah. I have a consultation on Friday.” You lean against the marble countertop and cross your arms so you don’t fidget nervously. From a dog bed on the floor, Mochi glowers at you. “Do you think I should get the surgery?”

She shrugs; you’re not certain if she is more indecisive or apathetic. “Your cousin Madison had a nose job the summer before college. Your old classmate Emma got a blepharoplasty and then met her husband three months later. Practically all of my friends have had breast augmentations, and I’ve certainly never regretted mine. I think if you’re going to get anything fixed, it makes sense to pick that.”

You try again to elicit a strong opinion, whether an endorsement or objection. “I don’t think I’d want to do it if I didn’t feel like it was necessary to be an actress.”

“Well, regardless of whatever you have going on in California, you’ll either have to get them done now or after you have children,” Mom says. “I love you and Clara and Tripp, but you destroyed my body. At least doctors can repair breasts. My bladder is still useless.”

You stare at Mochi distractedly. The dog huffs, unwelcoming. “What was the recovery like?”

“Oh, hell,” your mother says. “But once you heal up it’s worth it. I can wear square necklines and strapless dresses again.”

“Technically, you could have worn whatever you wanted.”

She gives you an impatient look, a you’re too old for that sort of frustration. “No one wants to see some sad flabby woman.” She is including your father in this statement. You remember being home for Thanksgiving Break during your freshman year at Carleton and inadvertently stumbling upon emails from one of the hospital interns when you used his laptop to buy movie tickets: indecent inuendoes, flirtatious photos, no smoking gun but certainly more than was appropriate between colleagues. You had tried to tell your mother, and she had deflected over and over again until you realized that she didn’t want to know; it was easier to be carried by the currents of momentum than to rock the boat until it sank. “This agent of yours…is he celebrating Father’s Day with his family?”

“No, Aegon lost his dad when he was in college.”

“That must have been difficult,” she says vaguely as she scrubs a pot with a green Scotch-Brite dish wand. Your parents are now at the age when their friends have begun to succumb to strokes and heart disease and cancers, and the lurking specter of mortality both horrifies and fascinates them. “What did he die of?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Mom?!” Clara shouts from upstairs. “Osaka is puking in the hallway!”

Your mother sighs and dries her hands on a dish towel, then leaves you alone in the kitchen. You linger there for a while, listening to the faint drone of CNN from the living room television, then leave the house through the sliding glass door in the dining room. Outside the sun is setting, and you gaze westward as the aging daylight turns the tall green grass and silhouettes of horses to gold like the mines that first brought settlers to California. You slide your phone out of the pocket of your denim shorts and take a photo, then post it to your Instagram story with the caption Home and a smiley face emoji.

A minute later, you receive a DM. Aegon has typed: This explains the big horse girl energy

You laugh and respond: They belong to my sister, I am personally very anti-horse

You hope he’ll continue the conversation. You don’t have to wait long. How’s Minnesota? Aegon asks.

You stop and consider how to answer, then decide not to overshare. Devoid of palm trees…but good!

There is a pause—perhaps thirty seconds—and then Aegon types: How’s the ex-boyfriend?

Is he curious or jealous? You smile. Still not standing in the way of anything :)

Aegon reacts with a heart emoji, then immediately switches it to a thumbs-up. You cannot ignore the wave of warmth and fondness and exhilaration that overwhelms you. Logically, you know he’s engaged to another woman. Emotionally, it doesn’t seem relevant.

You think: It’s just a crush. It can’t hurt anybody.

Then you remember what your mother asked, and as you stand outside in the fading dusk light you Google Aegon’s father Viserys Targaryen. He has his own Wikipedia page. You scroll to the bottom, where it reads in nondescript black letters: On October 27, 2009, Targaryen passed away at his Malibu residence after a long illness.

~~~~~~~~~~

You have just finished ringing up a Like It-sized Apple Pie A La Cold Stone when Josh says: “Hey, there’s an old guy asking for you.”

“What?” You look towards the ice cream freezer and there he is, dark jeans, green Nike Killshots, a yellow Hawaiian shirt that’s too big for him. “It’s my agent!” you shout as you rush over to meet him, loud enough that everyone in the shop turns to stare.

“Shh,” Aegon says, but he’s laughing.

“What are you doing here?” you ask from behind the counter.

“I got some good news, and I wanted to tell you in person.”

“Cool! Should I make you ice cream first?”

“Um, sure.” Aegon surveys the menu of Signature Creations. He seems overwhelmed; he actually looks a little panicked.

“Are you usually a chocolate or vanilla person? Or peanut butter, or coffee? Or mint?”

“Strawberry,” Aegon says.

“Strawberry,” you echo, surprised. “Okay, I think you’ll like Our Strawberry Blonde.”

“Neat.”

“Because, you know, it has strawberries and you’re blonde.”

“Sounds literally perfect for me,” Aegon says, smiling.

“What size?”

“Uh…” He reads the labels on the cups in the display case. “The big one.”

“No, you have to say the real name.”

He chuckles. His cheeks are pink, his turbulent blue eyes sparkling. “I’m not saying that.”

“Then I’m not making you ice cream!”

He groans. “I want an Our Strawberry Blonde in the size Gotta Have It.”

“Cup, cone, or waffle cone bowl?”

“Stop asking me questions or you’re fired.”

“Waffle cone bowl,” you decide. Aegon studies you as you work, his head tilted thoughtfully to the side: scraping a mound of strawberry ice cream out of the freezer with your metal spatulas, taking it to the cold countertop, and smashing in graham cracker pie crust, caramel, fluffy whipped topping, and fresh strawberries. You use one of the spatulas to expertly scoop the mixture into a waffle cone bowl, not spilling a drop. Then you hand Aegon his ice cream and ring him up at the cash register. He pays in cash.

You ask Josh, the manager on duty, if you can take your fifteen-minute break now. He frowns. “I thought you were going to refill the yellow cake and Oreo cookie mix-ins first.”

“Hey,” Aegon says. He waves a ten-dollar bill in the air to show it to Josh and then dunks it in the tip jar. “Do it yourself.”

“Fine,” Josh mutters to you. “But you don’t get a second over fifteen minutes.”

There’s no time to waste. You hurry to a small table by the window. It’s 8:30 p.m., and outside the world is indigo-dark and threaded with inorganic sparks of headlights, streetlights, kaleidoscopic neon signs. Your eyeshadow is vibrant and pink, because no one cares about that when you work at an ice cream shop: Push by Natasha Denona, Coax by Urban Decay.

Aegon takes his first taste of his ice cream as he sits down in the chair across from you. “You were right, this is delicious. A bop, not a flop.” Then he notices the bruise on your right wrist. “What the hell happened to your hand?”

“Oh. One of the Akitas bit me. Don’t worry, I can cover it up with concealer.”

Aegon is irritated. “Why is your mother letting her Akitas bite you?”

“It was my fault. I forgot that Oni doesn’t like when people pet his feet.”

Aegon sighs, stirring his Our Strawberry Blonde. “You want some of this?”

“I can’t,” you say reluctantly.

He raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean you can’t?”

“I already had a little cup when I got here this afternoon so I have regrettably hit my ice cream quota for the day.” And then, when Aegon clearly does not approve: “I try not to restrict too much but obviously staying the same size takes effort. That’s not a disorder, it’s just reality.”

Aegon seems to debate arguing, then instead scoops up a heaping spoonful of ice cream and holds it out across the table. “Come on. It doesn’t count if it’s on my spoon.”

You smile sheepishly and open your mouth for him. Your lips close around the plastic spoon: coldness, sweetness, the grit of pulverized graham cracker pie crust, the infinitesimal black seeds of strawberries that catch between your teeth. When Aegon begins to pull it away, you grab his hand and don’t let go until you’ve licked the spoon clean. He laughs hysterically as he watches you. “I haven’t had strawberry ice cream in forever,” you say.

“Don’t tell me you’re a vanilla girl.”

“I am,” you confess. “I know the joke. But I really do always get the vanilla-adjacent flavors. Cookie dough, French vanilla, sweet cream, cheesecake…”

Aegon smirks playfully. “Pathetic.”

“So you’re an enlightened being because you eat strawberry ice cream.”

“Boring people like vanilla. Kids like chocolate. Interesting adults like strawberry.”

“Do you actually have good news for me or did you just come here to be a ghoul?”

“I got you a part.”

“What?!” you squeal, and people are gawking again. This time, Aegon doesn’t tell you to be quiet. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he replies, grinning like he can’t help it.

“A part in what?”

“It’s small,” Aegon warns. “It’s an episode of Grey’s Anatomy.”

You scream; Josh scowls at you from behind the counter. “Oh my God, no way, no way!”

“You’re going to be the wife of a guy the doctors kill with negligence. Three scenes, two are pretty short and unremarkable but then you get to yell at the surgeon in the last one. Gives you the opportunity to show some range and make an impression.”

You can’t believe this is happening. “They aren’t going to make me audition first?”

“Well…it’s very last-minute,” Aegon says. “The actress who was supposed to do it has a drug problem or something, I guess, so she ghosted and they were scrambling for a replacement. And I completely fabricated your credentials.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah, I typed up a resume and sent it over and they loved it. So try not to talk about your actual experience because none of it will match.”

You shake your head, stunned, amazed. “What if they try to contact one of my alleged former employers?”

“Then they’ll be talking to Aemond, and he will lie and say you were an absolute pleasure to work with.”

Aemond Targaryen: Aegon’s younger brother, a screenwriter, a philanthropist, a well-respected entity in Hollywood, and you know this from the Googling that preceded your first meeting with Aegon last week. “And Aemond doesn’t mind helping you commit fraud?”

“It’s not a favor I call in very often.” Aegon finishes his ice cream, then begins breaking apart the waffle cone bowl and shoving shard-like pieces into his mouth.

“When’s the shoot?”

“Very very early on Thursday, that’s the bad news.” Thursday is two days from now. “So I’ll have to pick you up at your apartment at like 5 a.m.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be ready.”

He smiles, gnawing on a chunk of his waffle cone bowl. “I figured.”

“You’re going too?” The hope is unmistakable in your voice.

“Of course I’m going.”

“I didn’t think agents usually went to film shoots.”

“Well, fortunately for you, your agent is imminently fleeing Los Angeles and has already parted ways with most of his clients and really has nothing else going on besides hiding in his office and playing a Nintendo 64, so I figured I could make it. And also if I’m going to be enthusiastically recommending you to people, I should probably see you work at some point.”

You wiggle your eyebrows flirtatiously. “Do I get to make out with my fake husband?”

Aegon is amused. “From what I understand, you get to chastely kiss him once. They’re sending the script over to my office first thing in the morning, so you’ll only have a day to learn your lines.”

“That’s enough time. I’ll make it work.”

“Always so agreeable,” Aegon muses. So desperate is more like it.

Thursday. “Is the shoot just one day?”

“Yeah, they should be able to get everything they need from you on Thursday morning. Why?”

“I have a doctor’s appointment on Friday and I was just wondering if I’d have to reschedule it.”

Aegon is immediately vigilant. “What kind of appointment?”

“Uh…” You smirk guiltily. “It’s just a consultation. No slicing yet.”

“And you’re going to cancel that,” Aegon says flatly.

“Seriously?”

“Do you want implants because you want them or because you think other people want you to have them?”

You hesitate. “Both.” That’s probably a lie.

Aegon leans back in his chair and studies you. “Yeah, you’re cancelling that appointment.”

“Why?”

“Because when I agreed to sign you, you told me that you’d do anything I say. And I’m telling you to cancel it.”

“But why don’t you want me to get implants? Everyone gets implants.”

“Because once you begin to treat scalpels and needles as prescriptions for everything you don’t like about yourself—or everything that other people don’t like about you—it’s very difficult to stop. First it’s your tits, then it’s your eyes and your nose, then it’s your chin and your cheeks and your neck and your ass, and it’s just this revolving door of painful, dangerous, unnecessary procedures that are condemning you for being mortal, that are carving away your humanity one incision at a time. I’ve seen it happen to more people than I could count, and I don’t want it to happen to you. Because you seem very, very human, and I’d like you to stay that way. Which means you don’t cut yourself up because some agent or producer or casting director told you to.” Then he adds, perhaps as an afterthought: “And anyway, you don’t need implants.”

You smile, then reply quietly: “You’ve never seen me.”

Aegon grins. “I don’t care if you have twelve nipples under there like a fucking beagle, you don’t need plastic surgery.”

You both laugh, and the tension evaporates, and even if you don’t cancel the appointment—Aegon is one person, the entertainment industry is omnipotent and eternal—you are glad he seems to like you the way you are. Behind the counter, Josh is waving manically to get your attention and summon you to return to work. You pretend not to see him.

Aegon asks: “Why don’t you like horses?”

“They freak me out. They’re all teeth and legs and they’re huge, I’m always scared they’ll step on me.”

“Your dad’s a doctor, right? I thought all rich girls had horses.”

“Where I’m from, a lot of women ride horses to distract themselves from the fact that their husbands are riding their receptionists or interns. I’d rather have no horse and no awful cheating husband.” And Aegon stares at you and turns serious, because perhaps you’ve inadvertently addressed the elephant in the room: he has a fiancée, and neither of you are acting like she exists. You swiftly pivot. “I’ll make an exception for you, though.”

He appears startled. “What?”

“The Chinese zodiac. You’re a horse. So you’re the only horse I like.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Aegon chuckles uneasily and gets up to throw his trash away, then stands under the florescent lights with his hands in his pockets, his blonde hair falling out of its gel and hanging over his forehead. He gazes down at you pensively; you are still seated at the table. “When does your shift end?”

“I’m closing tonight, so I’ll be done around 10:30 or 11.”

“Okay. Can I come back to pick you up and drive you home?”

You are puzzled. “Why?”

He gestures to the inky dark window, incredulous. “Because obviously you shouldn’t be walking alone in Harbor Gateway at midnight? You know there was a shooting a block from here last week. I looked it up.”

“I walk home all the time.”

“You really need to stop doing that.”

“You are being very dramatic for a non-actor.”

“Listen, I can’t go to my house and try to fall asleep while I’m wondering if you’re getting mugged or murdered.”

You look at Aegon. He does seem genuinely worried. “You can drive me home.”

“Great. See you in two hours.” He strides away and shoves open the glass door; the little metal bells hanging there jingle.

“Aegon?”

He halts mid-step and turns around. “Yeah?”

“Does Becca know where you are right now?”

His face is some amalgamation of emotions you can’t read, and this is unusual.“Why do you think I paid in cash?”

And before you can reply, he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

On Thursday, June 19th, Aegon picks you up in his white Chrysler Sebring convertible while the city is still asleep. The sky is dark, the streetlights passing by overhead, infinite pinpoint supernovas. There are hardly any other cars on the road. Aegon’s hair is a mess and his eyes are bleary; he’s sipping a Starbucks coffee with one hand and holding the steering wheel with the other. He is wearing a suit, but he still manages to look unpolished, his white shirt half-untucked and his black tie too skinny. He sets his coffee down in one of the cup holders and passes you something venti-sized and iced.

“I got you a vanilla latte, vanilla girl.”

“Aw, thanks! Skim milk?”

“Nope,” he says, smiling. You smile back and take a gulp of it, cold and sweet and bracing. “What’s your hype song?”

“I can’t tell you,” you say, embarrassed.

“Why not?”

“You’re going to terrorize me.”

“Don’t Stop Believing? Don’t Stop Me Now? I Gotta Feeling?”

“Lose Yourself.”

Aegon throws back his head and cackles, his hair flying in the wind. “That’s definitely a fireable offense. I’m ditching you the second we finish this shoot.” But he taps around on his phone and plugs in the aux, and then Eminem is thudding through the speakers as the Sebring sails north and the red-gold dawn rises on the horizon, a celestial message from the East Coast, an omen from the future.

Aegon drives you to Prospect Studios in Los Feliz, just east of Hollywood. Filming will be indoors on a soundstage. You spend what feels like forever in hair and makeup, and the costume designer—who had prepared for a different actress—dresses and redresses you over and over again, frowning at your chest and waist and thighs, and you have a sudden pang of nauseating panic and dread: I don’t belong here. What the fuck was I thinking?

Then you are in the scenes under intensely radiant artificial light, and just like it did in your roles back in Minnesota, the real world vanishes and all that exists are these characters, these moments, and your body and mind become theirs, and perhaps even your soul too. Your husband is handsome and kind, and here in this liminal fictional space you love him, and when the surgeons wheel him off to the operating room you are full of blind naïve surety. Then the doctors update you on his condition and you are still hopeful, but it becomes a fragile thing, like something that shatters when it’s dropped from a height. And then he is dead, he has been taken away from you, he has been stolen, and you are eclipsed by a blood-red wrath that is animalistic and unforgiving. After each take when you are ripped back through the veil and into reality, you can’t remember exactly what you did or said, and the director doesn’t have many critiques so you aren’t sure how it’s going.

But when it’s over, while you are still standing on the soundstage with the other actors, Aegon puts on his sunglasses and smiles at you from across the room; and you remember what he said outside his office on the day you first met—you are so bright, sunshine—and you know you’ve done a good job.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #aegon ii x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon fanfic

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darksturnz · 25 days ago

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BACKWOODS

CONTENTS:・fluff-heavy plot ・star!reader ・substance usage ・artist!chris・smooch・pls more actual weed smokers write about it, i’m tired of the random ai generated terminology ppl use😅+ more. WC:2.5k

random blurb-ishy short filler chapter ? idk i’m smoking and can’t decide how to fit in the next events LOL as always, on repeat or don’t !!

The trailer felt foreign as Star stepped inside, the weight of the past few days pressing on her chest. The air was stale, like the space had been holding its breath in her absence. The hum of the fridge and the faint groan of the trailer settling were the only sounds, underscored by the low murmur of the TV from the living room. She glanced toward Danny, slumped in the recliner, one arm hanging over the side, a can of beer precariously balanced on the edge of the table. He stirred slightly as the door clicked shut behind her but didn’t wake, his face turned away, lips parted in a soft snore.

Something about the sight made her stomach twist. Maybe it was the stillness, or maybe it was the way the room seemed frozen, like she had stepped into a moment she wasn’t meant to see. Star lingered in the doorway for a second longer than necessary before making her way to her room.

Comet greeted her instantly, winding between her legs, his loud purr vibrating against her ankles. “Hey, baby,” she murmured, leaning down to scratch behind his ears. He meowed in response, his big eyes gleaming in the dim light from her bedside lamp. The small moment of normalcy grounded her, but only slightly. The room felt off too, like a part of her hadn’t returned with her.

Star settled onto her bed, the mattress creaking beneath her weight. She kicked off her battered Converse, watching as Comet pounced on a stray hair tie and began batting it across the floor. The distraction was welcome, but her thoughts didn’t stay quiet for long. The past week replayed in her mind—Madison’s hesitant glances, the way her words had started to feel edged with something Star couldn’t name. It had been subtle at first, a quiet discomfort that grew louder with every passing day. By the end, it felt like she had overstayed her welcome, even if Madison would never say it outright.

Her leaving had been abrupt. Madison was at church, and Star hadn’t wanted to wait for another awkward conversation. She’d cleaned the treehouse thoroughly, leaving a note on the small table near the window—a simple “thank you” that felt both too much and not enough. She hadn’t said goodbye.

Now, back in her room, she wondered if she’d made the right call. The trailer wasn’t any easier to be in, not with Danny’s presence looming, even in sleep. Her mind was spiraling, the weight of everything pressing down on her chest when Comet’s sudden meow broke through the noise.

He stood at the dresser, pawing at the space behind it, his tail flicking in frustration. Star frowned, sitting up. “What is it, Comet?” she asked softly. He meowed again, louder this time, his claws scraping at the wood as if whatever was back there was the most important thing in the world.

She sighed, pushing herself off the bed. “Alright, I’m coming.” The dresser was heavy, the carpet catching under its legs as she strained to pull it forward. “Calm down, it’s not that serious” she muttered. Her fingers reached behind, brushing against a piece of paper.

Her heart stopped.

She pulled it out slowly, the edges slightly crumpled from being wedged behind the dresser. It was a drawing—smoke-like hands reaching toward scattered stars, delicate and haunting. In the bottom corner, small and nearly illegible, were the words: Can we talk?

Star’s breath caught in her throat. Chris. He’d told her about the drawing, how he’d slipped it through her window, thinking she was home. Her fingers trembled as she held it, the memory of his hesitant confession from a few nights ago rushing back. Comet meowed again, impatient, and she quickly tossed the hair tie for him before grabbing her Converse. She didn’t bother tying them, didn’t even grab a jacket. Her damp hair clung to the back of her hoodie as she bolted out the door, the drawing clutched tightly in her hand.

Danny was still passed out in the recliner, the faint scent of beer hanging in the air as Star slipped past him. The cold night air bit at her cheeks and nose, but she didn’t care. Her legs carried her on autopilot, the path to Chris’s trailer etched into her bones. The drawing crinkled in her grasp as she reached his door, her heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the sound of the world around her. She knocked softly, hesitating for only a moment before the door creaked open.

Chris stood there, his hair a mess, his eyes puffy like he’d just woken up. He blinked at her, confused, and for a second, neither of them said anything. Star’s gaze drifted to his hoodie—a ridiculous unicorn crop sweater that caught her off guard and made a small smile tug at her lips despite herself.

“Hey,” he mumbled, his voice low and raspy.

“Hi,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes flicked over her, lingering on her damp hair and the way she was shivering despite the thick hoodie she wore. He frowned, his hand hesitating before reaching out to hers. Their fingers brushed as he intertwined them lightly, tugging her gently inside. The warmth of the trailer enveloped her instantly, and she let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

The living room was dimly lit, the soft glow of an action movie playing on the TV casting flickering shadows on the walls. Chris led her to the couch, his hand slipping from hers as they sat down. The distance between them felt intentional, cautious. His gaze fell to the paper in her hand, and a flicker of something—shyness, maybe—crossed his face before he masked it with his usual guarded expression.

“You found it,” he said, his voice even.

“Yeah,” Star replied, holding it up slightly. “Behind my dresser. If comet wasn’t dramatic, I probably wouldn’t have seen it.”

Chris nodded silently, his lips twitching into a sheepish smile. “He found it? was pretty stupid of me, huh?”

“Not really, fell behind my dresser but it was thoughtful,” she said softly, her fingers fidgeting with the strings of her pajama pants.

They sat in silence for a moment, pretending to focus on the movie. Star could feel Chris’s eyes on her, his gaze heavy and unyielding. When she finally turned to look at him, he didn’t look away. Their eyes locked, the tension between them almost tangible. Slowly, Chris raised a hand, his fingers brushing her hair back behind her ear. The touch was featherlight, but it sent a shiver down her spine. His hand lingered by her jaw, his thumb grazing her skin before he pulled back, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“You wanna roll up?” he asked, his voice quiet.

Star nodded, her voice caught in her throat. She watched as he pulled out a small tin, his movements fluid and practiced. The way his fingers moved, precise and deliberate, was almost hypnotic. When he handed her the blunt to seal, their fingers brushed again, the moment charged in a way that felt both fragile and electric.

A few minutes later, they stepped onto the porch. Chris grabbed a blanket on the way out, tossing it at her with a muttered comment about her damp hair and the cold. She wrapped it around her shoulders, sitting at the top of the steps while Chris settled a step below her, his shoulder brushing her knee. He lit the blunt, taking the first puff before turning to hand it to her. Their eyes met as she took it, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away.

“Why do they call you Star?” Chris asked suddenly, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.

Star exhaled, the smoke curling in the air between them. “It’s a silly story,” she said with a small laugh.

Chris took the blunt back, his gaze steady. “We’ve got all night.”

Star hesitated, then smiled. “Alright,” she said, her voice soft. And so, she told him.

By the time she finished, the blunt was nearly gone, and Chris’s gaze had grown droopy with the effects of the THC. “Can’t really imagine Danny being thoughtful like that,” he murmured.

Star snorted. “Me neither. I was there, and I still can’t believe it.”

Chris laughed quietly, pushing his hoodie off his curls and running a hand through them. The movement caught Star’s attention, and before she could think twice, her fingers were in his hair. Chris melted into her touch instantly, his jaw resting against her knee as he looked up at her with half-lidded eyes.

“Can I ask you something?” she whispered.

“ ‘course,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

“What was your dad like?”

Chris tensed, his body stiffening slightly before he peeked one eye open. “He was cool… till he wasn’t,” he said with a shrug.

Star didn’t push, sensing the shift in his tone. Instead, she let her fingers continue their gentle path through his curls, the silence between them growing heavier but not uncomfortable.

The night stretched on, the stars above them shining faintly through the haze of the shared blunt and the quiet intimacy they had created. For once, Star felt like the world had stopped spinning, if only for a moment.

Star’s fingers slowed as she brushed them through Chris’s curls, letting her hand rest lightly on the back of his neck. His jaw stayed nestled against her knee, his eyes fluttering closed again, and for a moment, it felt like the night itself had paused around them. The warmth of his skin against hers grounded her in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.

Chris broke the stillness first, shifting slightly and sitting up. His movements were slow, almost reluctant, as if pulling away from her touch took more effort than it should. He stretched, his hoodie riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of his torso, and Star’s gaze lingered for half a second too long before she caught herself. She bit back a smile, but Chris noticed anyway.

“What?” he asked, his voice lazy, a faint grin tugging at his lips.

Star shook her head, letting out a quiet laugh. “Nothing. Just… your hoodie,” she said, gesturing vaguely at it. “It’s very… you.”

Chris glanced down at the unicorn print and shrugged, his grin turning playful. “Bug got it for me,” he said, his voice softening slightly at the mention of Lila. “Said it’s ‘comfy and cool,’ so who was I to argue?”

Star’s chest ached at the thought of Lila, her sweet little voice echoing in her mind. She tightened the blanket around her shoulders, her lips twitching into a smile. “I miss her,” she admitted quietly, almost to herself.

Chris nodded, his gaze softening. “She misses you more. Keeps asking when you’re coming back.”

The sincerity in his voice made her heart squeeze. She shifted on the steps, her eyes meeting his for a moment before drifting up to the stars above them. “Maybe tomorrow,” she murmured.

Chris arched a brow, leaning back slightly to study her face. “Tomorrow?” he repeated, his tone teasing but with a faint edge of disappointment. “Why not tonight?”

Star turned to him, her lips parting in a soft laugh. “Because I live, like, ten feet away,” she said, motioning vaguely toward her trailer. “and she’s sleeping, I can just come over early.”

Chris rolled his eyes, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Fair,” he said, his voice mock-dismissive, but there was a glint of amusement in his expression.

They lapsed into another comfortable silence, the quiet hum of the night settling over them. Chris’s fingers drummed lightly against his knees, his movements slow and relaxed. Star watched him out of the corner of her eye, her gaze lingering on the curve of his jaw, the faint scruff that dusted his skin.

“You should keep it,” she said suddenly, her voice breaking the silence.

Chris glanced at her, his brow furrowing. “Keep what?”

“The scruff,” she clarified, motioning toward his jaw. “I like it.”

Chris huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing a hand over his chin. “Ma says it makes me look bummy.”

Star grinned, her teeth catching her bottom lip. “Evelyn’s wrong,” she said softly. “It suits you.”

The compliment hung between them for a beat too long, the weight of it pressing gently against the air. Chris’s eyes flicked to hers, his gaze searching, before he nodded slightly, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “Noted.”

Star adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, shifting slightly to face him. “How is she?” she asked, her voice quieter now. “Your mom.”

Chris’s expression sobered, the lightness fading from his eyes. He hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. “Better,” he said finally. “Some bacterial infection in her lungs. They’ve got her on meds, and it’s helping, but…” He trailed off, his shoulders lifting in a faint shrug. “It’s a process.”

Star nodded, her chest tightening at the weight in his voice. “That’s really good, though,” she said softly. “She’s getting better.”

Chris met her gaze, his expression unreadable for a moment before he nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

Star stood then, letting the blanket slip from her shoulders as she held it out to him. “You take this,” she said with a small smile. “I should probably head back.”

Chris took the blanket, his fingers brushing hers for a fleeting second. He didn’t move to stand, though, his eyes lingering on her face. The quiet between them shifted, growing heavier, and Star felt her pulse quicken under his gaze.

“Stay,” Chris said softly, the word almost a plea. “Just for the night.”

Star let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “I will come over tomorrow,” she said, her tone teasing.

Chris rolled his eyes, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “You’re being difficult, you know that?”

“You are,” she said, her grin widening.

He studied her for a moment longer, his eyes tracing her face like he was trying to commit it to memory. Then, without warning, he leaned in, his hand brushing lightly against her hip as he kissed her. The contact was soft but full of unspoken emotion, his lips warm and steady against hers. Star melted into it, her hands coming up to cup his face as the world around them faded into nothing.

When they pulled away, their foreheads rested together, their breaths mingling in the cool night air. Chris’s hand lingered on her hip, his grip hesitant but firm enough to ground her.

“You sure you don’t wanna stay?” he murmured, his voice low.

Star smiled, her lips brushing against his as she whispered, “Goodnight, Chris.”

She pulled back slowly, her heart racing as she turned toward the steps. Chris didn’t move, watching her as she walked across the lot and up to her own porch. She glanced back once, her gaze meeting his, and she caught the faintest hint of a smile on his lips before he finally turned and went inside.

AUTHORS NOTE: no shade or anything but it’s just really incredibly obvious if your only smoking experience was hitting a burnt disposable in the school bathroom or if you’ve never even seen it irl 😿

TAG LIST: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @mattsmunch @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken @mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @bluestriips @sturniolo-fann @chrisslut04 @owensbabygirl1987 @sturnslutz @sturniqlo @sofieeeeex @jadasmp4 @ncm9696

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dangoren · 1 year ago

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⚠️ WARNING: LONG POST (no complete works)

Yo look at what I found sitting on my computer. Drew this half a year ago and never bothered to finish.

Hi guys, I don’t usually write a lot (nor post that frequently), but I just wanted to let you guys know I’m constantly drawing even when I don’t post a lot.

For every finished drawing, there’s at least 3 unfinished/abandoned ones, or stuff I just didn’t post.

(There are many more, but I’m too embarrassed to show them)

I’ve been experiencing burnout and I wanted to give my unfinished projects a chance to see the light of day.

If this post gets enough notes or enough feedback, I will give some of these projects another go, so please tell me which ones you like.

Or if you don’t like any of them, if you have any ideas in mind you want to see, please make a request. I would love to try them out.

I want to thank the people that have stuck with me for these past 50+ posts over the span of 4 years 😅. I also want to thank the people that left likes and comments. Your feedback and support is much appreciated and motivates me to push forward.

I hope my drawings can put a smile on your face, and I hope you have an awesome day.

Myself: Hey! You haven’t posted any new clone wars stuff lately, only yugioh crap. And now the only clone wars related thing you post are half baked ideas and loose sketches??? You have no shame. And this post is hideous.

Me:

I’m working on it!

#commander cody #cc 2224 #obi wan kenobi #clone wars #unfinished

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redheadspark · 7 months ago

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Hi, this is first time I am asking someone for a story, but your prompts are so fun... Well my request is for Benedict and can you pla make a combo of prompt #2 & #19 (did you know its going to be this hot, write it to confirm 😅) and when its about Benedict it will be fun to read something smuty 😉

Hope I am not being very demanding ... Thanks in advance 💮

A/N - This was great to write, I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for the request!

Distract

Summary - Benedict knows how to distract you, even on a hot day

Warnings - Just fluff and a HINT of steam ;)

“Are you sure all the windows are open, dear?”

“Trust me, darling. I have every single window open in attempts to give us some relief with the breeze,”

You hummed, using the fan as much as you could as your husband, Benedict Bridgerton, was working away at his canvas and trying his best to finish the latest piece he was working on for a month. You loved watching him work, it was a peaceful time when you two would be in his art studio while you would be working on your correspondence and Benedict was painting. It was what you two would do every Sunday before you would have to start your hectic weekly schedules again.

You’ve been married to Benedict for almost 5 years now, you two have known each other since you were young and were madly in love with one another in your teens. Of course, you both had to wait until you both were old enough for Benedict to properly court you, then propose to you. It was rather silly since you both knew even as early teens that you would be married to each other for all of your lives. It was also a perk that your families were close friends, both sets of parents were already inwardly planning on your courtship when they saw the spark between the pair of you. It was safe to say that his mother, the sweet and kind Violet Bridgerton, was beyond happy to gain another daughter in her household and with her name.

You were glad too.

Having a small apartment in the Bridgerton Estate was an immense blessing, having new siblings to get to know and be social with, your own space to share with Benedict, and simply have your time as a wife with him. He was beyond an amazing husband, making things light in diet times, knowing when to make you laugh when you were sad or simply hold you when you needed physical contact. You both had flaws, but talking through them together as a team made it all worthwhile.

But now there was a minor heat wave that came through the area, and even the massive Bridgerton estate would not bring any relief that would help you anytime soon.

“Did you know it was going to be this hot today?” You asked nonchalantly as you were scanning the stack of envelopes on the desk for you to peer through.

“I wish I did, then we would have planned a better outing,” Benedict answered.

“Perhaps we should have escaped to the lake, like Kate and Anthony,” you hummed as you looked over another ball invitation while fanning yourself, Benedict chuckling from his spot at his easel while he was drawing a long stripe of blue on the canvas.

“I’d rather be in an audience of their…love for one another,” Benedict replied with a snort, making you giggle as you looked over in his direction. He was still dressed somewhat formally, you both coming back from a luncheon with your mother-in-law. His blue coat and undershirt brought out the shine in his eyes and the flushness in his cheeks, making him look even more enchanting than ever.

Every once in a while you would get lost in his appearance: whether he was working deep on a piece of art and his skin was stained in ink or charcoal, or even when you two were chatting during dinner and he was ranting about a family story. He had a way with you, a way to make you lose your train of thought or make time stand still.

“Darling?”

You blinked, seeing that Benedict stopped his painting and was watching you with a hint of concern, “Are you well?”

You smiled and blinked slowly, placing your fan on the desk and resting a hand on your cheek as you tilted your head at him, “More than well, since I get a marvelous view of my husband being a marvelous artist,”

Benedict grinned, the smirk he showed you was enough to make your stomach flip. You knew that look, something reserved for the pair of you out of the public eye. He may have Benn posted as a gentleman when it came to his name and how to conduct himself, but it was a different scenario when you two were alone. He knew how to make you cave from a simple look or sweet talk. Benedict has always been a flirt, before you got together and then after. But most of the time you were the object of his flirtations.

Which you would never object to.

“Just marvelous? Oh, you wound me,” He replied, you ruling your eyes as he continued, “The words I would use for my wife would be far more expressive,”

“Oh would they?” You asked, taking the bait that he was dangling for you. Benedict could only smile, placing the paint brush on the easel before he walked over towards you. He went around the desk, his eyes still drilling into yours with a signature smile as his fingers traced along the top of the dress, almost making a mess of your letter pile while he was getting closer to you. It felt like you were frozen in your spot in the chair, your fan staying still in your hand, Benedict reaching over to take the fan from your hand delicately.

“Divine…exquisite…intelligent….kind….angelic….” He laced every word with love and affection, inching closer and closer to you as he was now perched on the top of the desk, his eyes twinkled in the sunlight and your breath was lost in your throat. You felt every single one of those words hit you along your chest, making you feel so loved and almost as light as air.

As soon as he was close enough to have his lips brush against yours, you felt your stomach summersault as he eyed your lips for the briefest of moments.

“Just to name a few,” He whispered, you eyeing his lips in return as you finally grinned widely at you.

You dived in, kissing him deeply as he was perched over you on the desk. You both kissed, leaning into each other smoothly and with no hesitation while it felt like you couldn’t get closer than ever before. This was nothing new for you two, especially when it came to the throws of love. Benedict was an amazing lover, knowing which buttons to push and where to touch you with both his lips and hands. There was never a dull moment with your husband when it came to pleasure, and he would surprise you in the best way possible.

“Take off your jacket, the hell?” You huffed against his lips as you reached to push his blue jacket off. Benedict laughed, kissing you deeply as he threw off the jacket to toss it to the floor you spoke again, “You’re making me hot just by looking at you,”

“Just by my looks?” Benedict asked in a breath, you laughing as he reached to undo a bit of your dress with his nimble and skilled fingers, “I must be lacking then. Perhaps I should brush up a bit more,”

“Yes you must,” You hummed in return, almost in a growl. You both let the rest of the world slip away, just like your dress slipping to the floor as well as his trousers.

That hot day was bearable after all.

The End

July Prompt Session

#benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict x reader #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fandom #bridgerton #fanfiction #writing

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luckyartdrawer · 29 days ago

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100 Follower Milestone Poll! 🎉🎉🎉

Heya lovelies!!! This blog hit 100 followers oh my goodness!!!

I really can't believe it, it's so awesome to see you all here! <333 Whether you're new or old around here it doesn't matter, I am electronically hugging and/or patting all of your heads in great thanks! ✨💖✨💖✨💖✨

To celebrate, I have some options in a poll for y'all to choose what you would like to see for this milestone! I HIGHLY suggest reading the explanations of each option below the break! It clarifies some important details. Its down there so any of y'all just scrolling by won't have to worry about a wall of text! <3

Please feel free to vote even if you aren't following me!!!

Poll Options explanations:

Drop early chapters of EYED / Dreamlike: This is a Moon-centric x reader fic I've been working on for several months now and I originally planned to start posting it when I finished it or got really close to doing so. I dropped a sneak peek of it here! I find myself currently on a standstill on it's later chapters, which is why it hasn't been finished yet, but otherwise I am reallllly happy with it's messaging and pacing. (Rn I have plotted out 15 chapters but it's looking like it could be longer with how I write oops-)

The first chapters have been pretty polished at this point, so if people are really curious about this one, I don't mind to start posting the chapters up to a certain point. If this wins, I'll post the first 3 chapters for 3 sequential days, then 4 and 5 will come out in the next week, and then the last week I'll post ch. 6 for no particular reason mhmm yup I am not planning anything nefarious-

Drawing requests: This would be my first time doing something like this, and while I know I can pop out some bangers for y'all I also don't want to dig myself into a hole and leave y'all waiting for a long time. 😅So if this wins, I'll take the first 10 requests and draw them out! If I feel capable of doing more I may open some more slots for y'all, but I need to test my speed and my capabilities here first. Expect some lovely rendering bc I love it so, but I won't be doing backgrounds (besides simple colors) for the sake of my sanity.

Drabble requests: Most of ya here probably see me as only an artist, but I do write and actually started out as a writer first for this fandom hehe. ✨ I've been doing well recently with short stories so as long as y'all want em, I can hopefully dish em out at a reasonable pace! I, again, haven't done something like this before. So if this wins, I'll take the first 10 requests, but I feel more confident that I can do this at a reasonable pace, so if things go well I'll open up 5-10 more slots for y'all!

Rendered drawing of a dca AU: Hehe, my forte /J. I've drawn some whacky crossovers, cute sillays, and horror stuff at times, but some of y'all also know I love soooo many AUs in this fandom, hehe! I definitely do not mind drawing AUs, there are MANY I haven't drawn for, but I will be avoiding drawing other's specific AUs. I love making fanart, but this is going to thank y'all for being here, so I would like to keep from using someone else's AU -- it would feel like I'm stealing them e3e.

Plus, this is from me to thank you! And so will the goobers! I'll try to be as detailed as possible with both the characters and location <3

If this wins, I'll set up another poll to last for 3 days. It'll have some general au options like Mer, then I'll list out some crossovers I have done like Submas! Sun/Moon, and I'll add my own AUs! There will also be an option to suggest an AU/crossover! (Please don't be afraid to do so, as long as enough people have an interest in the option, or even if it doesn't win I may still make it if I really like the suggestion! <333)

Rendered drawing of Biblical dca: This means the drawing will be as realistic to the original as I can get it! Gonna do my best to do material rendering and all mwehehe! Though, I may make him extra polished/shiny to not only play with reflections, but to also say how sparkly y'all make me feel hehe ✨✨✨

If this wins, I'll try to finish the drawing within a week or 2 after I make the announcement of the poll's winner! I'll also throw out a really quick poll for 1 day to let y'all pick who will be our biblical goober: Sun, Moon, or Ruin Eclipse!

Something else: This is pretty self explanatory, but if you have ideas, comment below! (You can even if you didn't pick this option!!!) And if you see an idea you like or that you wanted to comment already said below, please reply to that person's comment to keep things easy to track! You don't have to say anything if you don't want to, just drop something simple like ✨ in it and I'll know that means ya voted for it. :) (I'll be checking to make sure people didn't vote on the same comment more than once! But you can vote for multiple ideas <3)

If this wins/has enough interest, I'll choose the most popular suggestion! Depending on what suggestion wins, I may actually do BOTH that suggestion and the winning/2nd place option on the poll!!!! ( Woah 2 for one what :O )

My choice 💥💥💥: I typically don't like making choices actually, but in the case y'all are indecisive I will step up ✨✨✨ If this wins, I'll likely choose whatever sounds best to me in that moment hehehe, you'll never be 100% sure what I'll do >:)

Moon's bald and we love him for it: Oh yeah we do! <3 This is just a joke option to let people who don't want to vote to see the results. If this wins... Uh... We'll go for the 2nd place vote! And also I'll add a bald Moon doodle as a bonus goodie. (I'm so good at making incentives to get people to vote, I know I know ✨✨✨)

Thanks again for all the love guys!!! This fandom has been so good to me and I cannot thank y'all enough for making it as awesome and welcoming as it has been! <333

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goldsnek · 3 months ago

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So, I saw the question about tips for aspiring comic artists and it actually reminded me that I am curious about the topic as well😅

I like to write stories and I like to draw so it seemed logically for me to try my hand at comics as well but I'm struggling extremely with the layout.

It's seems very daunting when you sit in front of the empty page and you have to consider how to arrange the panels.

I'm the kind of artist that sometimes does big changes to almost finished works, so the idea of having to make a final decision before I even start with the actual drawing process, is kind of terrifying for me.

Long story short, how do you put your drawings into panels?

Do you really have to make a final panel layout at the beginning, the way I've been attempting to, or are there other possibilities I simply haven't thought of?

Last but not least, I want you to know that I absolutely love your comic, both because of your spectacular art and the amazing story! ❤️

Hello! Okay this is going to be long but I'll try my best to explain and be concise (and truly sorry for the english!) So, the first rule you need to have in mind is that you don't imagine the scene PER PAGE but PER SEQUENCE. What I mean is, you don't have to imagine a comic (like ''what I'm putting in this page'') but you have to imagine it as a video in your head, like you're directing a movie ( movies and comics are a lot more similar than we think as a media) For example, try to imagine someone waking up and going to open their window, that's a full sequence. it can be done in various ways, depending on what your character is doing and what's the ''mood'' of the scene. Remember always that your character emotions sets the mood for the entire scene. A thing that helps me a lot is ( like I said XD) watching movies, I focus on the mini sequences, a kiss scene, a fight, I pause the movie and rewatch that scenes various times, trying to understand the mood of the scene and how is shot. A sequence can even take 3 or 4 pages or even 10, it depends from whats happening, even more if it's a fight! But like I said the number of pages comes later. another importart thing to remember is that your characters needs ''a place to live'' If you make a story and never show a single panel with a background, the story is gonna lack something 100%; and I know... backgrounds are hard (I hate them) but you need at least 1 panel where you show the places your characters are living in. That is called establishing shot and it needs to be used when your character are moving to other locations. (or if you're talking about other characters in your comic and they are somewhere else) I'll show u some establishing shots now:

Took 3 different comics (narratively and stylistic speaking) Bone, Batman and TinTin to show you that even if the setting of the panels is extremely different, they still all have an establishing shot. Now, of course you don't have to put this in EVERY page, but like I said at least at the start of your comic, or when the characters are moving somewhere else, it's very important to show that. Also remember that the biggest panel you need to have in your sequence is the one where the most important action is happening. For example, if two people are fighting and someone gets slapped, that's the most impactful scene, so that's the scene that will need the biggest panel on your sequence, because it's the most important. Another rule is to make the camera breathe. Let me explain this properly, you, as a comic artist, are like a movie director with a camera. You need to turn the camera in various ways, up and down left and right, but always remember this : Never make a page of faces only. example, here are character A and B having a conversation, a page like this is extremely wrong, because the camera is basically attached to the character face and the viewer/reader is going to feel like they're suffocating in the room with the story characters :

You as an artist have the power to zoom the camera in and out, showing extremely tiny details or making a big panel that shows how Idk... beautiful or eerie or mysterious the background is. The biggest advice I can give you is to read a lot of comics, try to find series you love and study them, see how they make the panels, how the sequence are shown etc. The last rule (there are a lot more so if you have more specific questions just ask) I can give you and this is about your question in specific is that: Yes. Unfortunately you have to make the structure first and that has to be your final decision, if you make a 10 pages comic for example and you decide you don't like some stuff anymore and decide to change all the pages, you're just gonna end up in a endless cycle of always fixing and fixing and never be satisfied. Remeber this: The sketches and layout of the pages are the MOST important thing in a comic. The coloring, lineart, etc... it's just decoration. So hang on and start making layouts, and focus only on those for a period of time and then when you're 100% satisfied with the structure, you go and start adding the ''decorations'' Hope this helps! I'm not very good at explaining , especially in another language, but I tried my best XD

#askboxx #tutorials? kind of

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creatingblackcharacters · 2 months ago

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Hi Ice! This one is maybe a little on the outskirts of 'creating Black characters', but it is related to the introspective questions you posted a little while back, so I thought I'd ask for your opinion. I'm sure this isn't an one-easy-answer thing, so I'd love to hear from any other Black people reading this as well!

I'll try to keep it short.

I'm seven years and 300k+ words deep in a fanfiction about anthropomorphic animal characters, and your introspective questions made me face the fact that I've been the ignorant fandom racist. I wrote my main character as white. Now, 7 years later, I stumble over a post pointing out ... those are locs

I don't know if the authors intended for this character to be Black (nonblack voice actors, supplementary material also clearly doesn't draw him this way, though that stuff was all over the place re: consistency) and I frankly also am not sure if they Should have, given his role in the narrative, but a) that's not really up to me to speak on and b) he's got locs and mostly black fur and was inspired by Anubis. I've been whitewashing, there's no way around it.

I briefly considered going back and just straight up changing the story to make him Black, but I quickly realized that I have been writing him from a white-centered narrative and just slotting a Black character into that would arguably be Worse. Or at least racist in a brand new way. I can change how he takes care of his hair, but not the themes on which the entire narrative is built upon. I've been writing about a white man and I can't just pretend I haven't.

So my question to you is ... what now? How do I best acknowledge this? Do I just quietly come to terms with the fact that this story is racist and do better next time? I would like to acknowledge it in some way, I have a small but loyal audience and if I could use that platform to start a conversation (or just put out a 'hey, don't be like me') that would ... maybe at least be better than nothing? Possibly?

I know there's not a simple solution here that will Fix It, but I thought I'd ask an actual Black person who's open to educating what might be a good next move. Maybe avoid making another, new White Person Blunder. Here's to hoping.

I really appreciate all you do, your blog rocks and so do you.

Is that Shadow?

Okay, so I had to have a conversation with Hot Chocolate on this one because this one's a doozy! I appreciate that you're willing to stop and reflect though. Most people wouldn't be willing to do so this far in!

Admittedly, the fact that you're seven years into this means this will require a lot of effort. And, tbh, I might be confused bc I cannot tell what that character is 😅 So! After some thought, here's what we came up with:

Take a hiatus. Point blank period. Take a BREAK, do not pass go, do not collect $200! Idk what lore you've written, but you've written a lot of it. Take as long as you need to reread your works, and see if at any point you ever made it clear that this was a white person, or anything other than the Black character you now think they should be. If it feels undefined, where you can turn "hair" into "locs" or add in small details, then that could be your smooth way out. It doesn't have to be massive changes, but it could help. It'll take you time, for sure! But you dug seven years in, it's gone take you time to dig out. Maybe if you skim 15k words a week (or ctrl-F it for hair, for examples), that's... 20 weeks? Go at your own pace, faster or slower.

Unfortunately this happens a lot, where influences for characters will be taken from cultures of colors and improperly represented (the "African" god from Genshin). That's just a fact. So I don't necessarily blame you for the confusion, but... Now you know.

If possible, get a sensitivity reader! Preferably a Black one. Ngl, given the massive amount of work, you're likely going to have to pay them. Maybe give them half and you take half. Idk, but let another pair of eyes look at your work. Or maybe there's a Black reader that you could speak to and see how they feel about the potential change.

Should you choose to keep going, just try to be more purposeful and intentional about that character's Blackness. Definitely tell your readers what you figured out, why it's important to you, and then move forward from there.

Now, RECOGNIZE that many of them will NOT be pleased! That's kind of the thing about opening your eyes when it comes to racism in media! A lot of people will NOT be happy that you decided to be more intentional, especially if they've been imagining their favorite white guy for seven years. You're going to have to weigh your integrity and your will to create against that. People might leave, people that you thought were cool AF until it was time to show true colors. Be ready for that.

But that's just what I would do 🤷🏾‍♀️

#creatingblackcharacters #thatsjusttips

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lilliril · 24 days ago

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the last thing a poor scientist saw was a black hedgehog and a little angelic girl somewhere in the depths of the Ark station

I like very protective Shadow and cinnamon roll Maria dynamic, it makes so many sense

They deserve the whole world🥺😔

Idk, who is that dumb scientist who entered the wrong coridor🗿😅

Please someone write a fic😔 I have a sketch, if it helps

"It was an unexpected power outage throughout the 2nd compartment of the station, the generator that had failed at the wrong time had stopped all work in 5 laboratories and one substation. Now he had to go down to the level below, the breakdown had occurred near the living compartment and he planned to get there as quickly as possible. His superiors, in the person of the well-known and respected Gerald Rabotnik, didn't like delays and failures and he, a minor scientist with a technical education, absolutely didn't want to anger this "luminary of science". His career was more expensive than anything else. Therefore, with a habitual movement, he threw back the panel, took out the key card and...

He was met by a dark corridor, the scientist stood, letting his eyes get used to the darkness. Large panoramic windows made of tempered glass alloy gave almost no light. The cold emptiness of space and the light of distant dead stars cast only ghostly glare on the walls.

A sudden movement at the end of the corridor distracted him from watching the window. There was someone at the end of the corridor. The scientist tensed up, the entire floor was blocked off, everyone was moved to another section.

He shook his head. Maybe he imagined it. The darkness and emptiness of space play even more dangerous games with the human mind. Inopportunely, he began to remember a recently watched stupid horror movie about a space station.

The sudden sound of a closing door made the scientist emerge from his memories and stare straight at two barely distinguishable figures in the darkness of the corridor. One figure was slightly shorter than the other, but that was not so important...

Damn... The scientist cursed, a strange black hedgehog and his boss's granddaughter. How did they end up here.. He urgently had to report this to his superiors.

Apparently noticing his intention, the black hedgehog threateningly moved forward. The scientist's gaze quickly darted to two glowing red eyes, there was something strange, unearthly and frightening about it. He couldn't understand at all how Gerald allowed this creature to be near his granddaughter"

Sorry for my eng, I'm lazy and low educated rattt

Special thanks to @twisting-echo 🩷🖤

Well, my graphics tablet was broken, so I use my phone and ibis paint to draw some stuff🫠😭

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic fanart #sonic x shadow generations #shadow the hedgehog #maria robotnik #sketch #vip #shadomari #shadaria #shadria #シャドマリ #shadmari #shadow x maria

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lace-coffin · 10 months ago

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Hi im that person that asked for the stufed toy thing and oh my god i loved it so much i loved everything and onece your requests are open sorry im asking while they are shut i had this sudden idea for a request sorry😭😭 ive also kinda got 2 ideas soooo sorry😅

But like a reader that is obsessed with drawing and loved to draw cute and sweet drawings to give to asa to do with their hyper fixation or every time they are with him they start ranting to him about it or them i dont know but he would be so educated on their hyper fixation unless its bugs then he would already know everything haha

Or idea 2

The reader likes to lick things randomly for no particular reason they just like to do it or they love physical touch and cant get enough of it always cuddling with asa at night as close as they can and just imagine them cuddling and they just lick him then he just gets confused that would be so funny to imagine😭😭

Or the reader for the same type of thing as the plushie one but instead music to calm them down and they would have like a tiny crying fit for their headphones bc i have had alot of meltdowns over not having my headphones its crazy i love your writing so much hope u have a good day❤️

Asa Emory x Autistic!Gn!Reader with a new hyperfixation

Requests are open!

Hi I hope you like this! I totally crammed my last two fixations into this < 3

Call Asa old but he wasn’t exactly up to date on video games. He defiantly was now at least, not that he had much choice. You were always flipping between interests, intensely talking and interacting with one topic for weeks or months at a time and then switching to another that catches your interest. It’s been Sonic The Hedgehog for atleast 3 weeks now.

He didn’t exactly picture his desk to be filled with pictures of anthropomorphic hedgehogs but here he is, he kinda signed up for this when he stuffed you into the trunk, knowingly or not. As long as you’re happy then he’s happy, even if he thinks you’re spending a little too much time on that GameCube you begged him to bring to hotel..

A few weeks pass and it’s now the Saw franchise. Victims being “tested” in disgusting gory traps by a man that fancies himself to be god? This is more up to his speed..pun unintended.

A series of excited knocks sound from the door of your masters workroom. Stretching his taught shoulders and neck he takes inventory of his aching muscles, he supposes he can take a break to spend some time with his puppy. Slumping back in the chair and swinging it to face to door Asa calls you in. “Enter”

Keeping your eyes pinned to the floor until given further permission you enter the room, shuffling over to drop to your knees in front of your owner, waiting for the order. The currently unmasked man drinks in your appearance, oversized jumper falling to sit on your neatly pressed together thighs and the collar he places on you every morning slightly twisted, the tag not where it should be.

“Eyes up pet” he says firmly, snapping his fingers to emphasise the point. Jumping a little at the suddenness you snap your eyes up to meet a fond look on master’s face, you relax a little, letting out a sigh.

Shuffling to prop his chin up with his fist in interest, Asa continues.

“What can I do for you pet?”

Visibly perking up and practically vibrating on the wooden floor you push the paper into Asa’s face, defiantly too close, there’s no way he can actually see it like that. Realising this you settle to put it in his lap and stare back at him hopefully.

“I drew more pictures! I wanted you to see..” you reply a little shy, suddenly realising how loud and excitable you had been, insecurity creeping in. Asa recognises you shrinking in on yourself and tuts. “Can I see, cricket?” He adds softly, prompting you to show him what you’ve been working on, he never wants you to feel ashamed about you’re passions even if you’ve been taught in the past to ‘tone it down’

Asa wants all of you, he accepted that from the moment he hoisted you into the box, to the moments when he firmly settles the collar around your throat every morning.

Soft smile settling onto your face you hand over the paper, not ignoring the way your knuckles brush against your masters during the exchange.

You wait with baited breath as he looks the paper over, you know he would never say anything demeaning about your art but you can’t help feel a little anxiety when letting someone in on something special to you. Todays drawing is a rough sketch of your for a saw trap, it’s grisly and frankly disgusting, you don’t envy anyone that would end up strapped down and desperate on the other end of it. Obviously you have no need for a contraption like that, but it’s only an (admittedly) sick fantasy.

After flicking through the diagrams and reading the notes as best he can (it’s not your fault he can’t read you’re handwriting well 🙄) a strange look crosses his face..it’s almost like you can see the cogs working in his brain. this could either be fantastic or a disaster, Asa isn’t one to do things half assed, it’s always all or nothing.

“Can I use this?” The silence is suddenly broken, his sclera eyes raising to meet your own, not any less eerie than when hidden behind his mask.

A strange feeling begins to pool in your stomach, should you feel exited? Proud that he wants to use your plans? Or disgusted? Sick to your stomach that the plans you never envisioned actually coming to fruition will be used to torture some poor individual? Unsure how to feel or respond you stare back at him, lips slightly parted as if trying to muster something up.

“These are wonderful cricket, they may need a little tinkering to make them functional but regardless this design is…fascinating.” A sickly sweet smile sits on your masters lips as he hands the paper back to you, ruffling your hair and placing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head.

Stunned and with a pit in your stomach you nod dumbly, leaning into the affection and practically purring. The idea that you’ve just essentially sentenced someone to their painful and unethical demise is soul crushing…but also a little thrilling? Has your owner really rubbed off on you this much? It’s not like you don’t know what he does day in and day out but it’s never been this..personal.

Asa slaps his knees (like the old man he is) and rolls back over to the desk, pushing away his current projects and random hardware to make room for your (his) new trap.

“Can you bring me the paper please, doll?. I would like to get started as soon as possible.”

Shaking off the ever building dread you pull yourself up, a little unsteady due to the burning in your thighs from sitting in one position so long. Placing the paper on his desk you stare back at him, waiting for further instruction. you’re not sure when he ended up ingraining that response into your mind but at this point it’s not worth questioning, it’s not hard to see that the pair of you are living in your own little world outside of normal society by now.

“You’re welcome to either sit by me as I work and give input considering it’s you’re design or you may sit on your bed and wait for me to finish”

You glance over at the cushy pet bed across the room from Asa’s desk…a lay down does sound ideal right now, maybe a nap will help clear your head? Or swallow the guilt.

“I’m gonna lay down sir, maybe nap a little, promise I won’t snore and distract you” you tease, giggling and feeling a little better in yourself.

Asa huffs out a chuckle at your joke. “I’ll be sure you don’t little bug.” He says, smiling gently at you. You turn to leave before being stopped in your tracks.

“One more thing, pet”

Cool gloved hands slide around your neck making you shiver at the contact, the small misplaced silver tag is slid back into its original place, proudly stating your name and owner on the front like a brand.

“There we go, much better”

Blushing a little you thank your owner and wonder off to the dog bed, curling up and lazily watching him work from afar.

#slashers #slasher x reader #slasher headcanons #writing #asa emory #asa emory x reader #my writing #the collection #slasher fucker #slasher hcs #slasher horror #horror fan #horror

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