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becauseicantthinkwritings · 7 months

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Never Quite Enough

Part 5

Billy Russo x Reader

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Warnings: Angst, insomnia, more angst.

"Can I confess something to you?" Matt asks.

You look up from your phone in surprise, blinking like a deer caught in headlights. He's dressed in his crisp white shirt and suit pants, his jacket somewhere nearby.

He looks pristine, but you know you prefer his undressed look even more, the sight of his bare chest was a soothing balm on the open wound that was your life.

You wait patiently for his words.

"I think... he really likes you. Genuinely."

You let out a long sigh.

"That sounds like his problem. I am done with him." You say quickly, on a harsh breath.

"Are you?" He challenges, with a calm tone.

You swallow, honestly, you didn't know.

It's been weeks. Nearly a month and a half since you broke up with him, the same amount of time you'd been together.

Why was climbing out harder than falling in?

Something tugs in your chest, you let out a soft breath. You feel bad for letting one person comfort you for another person's actions.

"Matt." You say his name slowly, looking up at him, the space of his countertop between you.

You swallow.

"I'm sorry." You finally say.

"What for?"

"If I've- lead you on, or made you feel uncomfortable- please just tell me. I'd rather you tell me you're tired of me, than being forced to tolerate me."

He lets out a harsh breath, moves around the counter swiftly.

Before you can process it, your face is buried in his clothed chest.

He smells like the gentle lavender soap he uses, and you're too stunned to do anything other than breathe it in.

"You're not leading me on. I promise, and I'm not just tolerating you. I like you."

A little sob hiccups from your throat, the strength of his adoration pours into you, fills, overflows.

"I've been tolerated my whole life." You say into his chest, tears falling freely, "The first time I felt like I could exist was with him, and even that had been a lie." You grip the back of his shirt, sobbing into his chest.

He shushes you softly, his stubbled cheek pressed to the crown of your head.

His body tightens around you, it makes you feel worse, like you're forcing him to comfort you in some way. You cry harder.

Matt holds you through it, and when your violent shaking turns into little hiccups, he leans down to kiss your forehead, his thumb swiping at one cheek, to push your tears away.

"He's hurt you so badly, and It's up to you to decide whether that damage can be fixed or not. But you need to know that you're not tolerated, you're appreciated. By me...and by him."

"How do you know?" You protest, looking into his unfocused eyes.

"I heard him say it. To his friend, Frank, that day at the gala. I heard him tell Frank that he loves you."

You blink, drawing your head back in shock.

Love?

You sniffle, Matt's words have knocked the sadness right out of you, replacing it with surprise.

You reach for a tissue sitting on the countertop.

"That can't be right." You hum, wiping at your nose, and dabbing at your cheeks. You'd have to re-do today's makeup before work.

"His actions were awful, and the things he did do not deserve forgiveness. But his feelings now are genuine." Matt says.

Now?

Your shoulders drop.

They hadn't been genuine before?

When he'd offered you one of his shirts to sleep in, on the very first night you'd slept over, the hidden eager look in his eyes... that had been fake?

Of course it was, your mind supplies, you feel like you're sinking lower with each thought.

Like a full tub being emptied, you feel the emotion drain right out of you.

You spend a solid moment like that, in disbelief at the emotion just leaving you, rejecting Matt’s last words without another second of consideration.

You part your lips, finally sucking in a deep breath that doesn’t hurt.

Your mouth parts wider in relief.

For the first time, you feel true nothingness, and not the numbness of the refusal to process emotion that you were used to.

It's liberating, you close your eyes in bliss.

Somehow, you'd managed to turn your turbulent emotions off.

Like a switch, flipping inside you, centred around your confused feelings. Your brain doesn't know how to feel, so it stops feeling.

You know Matt wasn't the type of man to lie to you, it wasn't even in his nature to stretch the truth. He was a man that could only speak fact, and something said with this much surety could only be true.

But that didn’t mean you were capable of accepting his words. Instead you smile at him, wiping at your tears.

“I should get to work.” You respond, looking up at him with a small smile on your face.

The world around you is interesting, when you can’t feel a thing. Nothing matters, at all.

You smile at Dex easily, engaging him in conversation, a past version of you would probably be feeling absolutely hollow inside. Instead, you simply exist, only answering questions when you’re asked, smiling along to small talk.

There’s no sadness, or despair, or hate for yourself.

There’s nothing.

And nothing had to be better than everything all at once...right?

It’s peaceful now, your work gets done much faster, headphones on to help you focus, you feel like pushing yourself to see how much you’re capable of, only stopping for a few short breaks throughout the day.

It feels good, getting things done ahead of time, it makes you feel like you’re being efficient in a space you’ve only felt desolation for a long while.

You only realise how late it is when the night cleaning crew shows up.

Only then you decide to amble on home, a bowl of ramen in your arms, tucked into your couch in the dark of the night before bed.

You don’t see Matt that night, probably busy at his own job, and you’re okay with that, knowing that you shouldn’t be using him as any type of emotional crutch in the first place.

The problem comes when you try to go to sleep.

You find that you can’t, you don’t feel sleepy.

You toss and you turn and you sit up and you have tea and press the heels of your hands against your eyes and struggle with being awake when you should be asleep.

You have nothing to help you sleep, so you curl up in bed and close your eyes and pretend that you’re asleep until morning when your alarm goes off for work.

Silence and nothingness are your associates now, and however inconvenient, you prefer it to whatever was there before.

He loves you, your mind tries to interject during your morning routine, and you stop comically while brushing your teeth to stare dead ahead at yourself in the mirror.

Love… I barely know what that is, you answer.

You resume brushing your teeth.

You’re acutely aware that at some point, you’re probably going to crash. People aren’t made to be awake for long periods of time and feel this fine about it.

Being at work is pretty okay, and you don’t feel like ripping your hair out at the first inconvenience.

It’s your second day of working late, and you’re dealing with it well. You’ve put your phone on do not disturb and with your headphones in, you’re lost in your own world of report reading and analysis.

Really, you should have known that letting your guard drop would tempt fate too much. The fickle way life tended to work around you should have had your walls up permanently.

But in your exhausted state, leaning against the wall gripping your bag with one hand while waiting for the elevator, it was hard to keep any sort of defense up.

So when someone says your name in mild surprise, the only response you can give is a raise of your head.

He looks as exhausted as you feel, and you wonder if he sees something similar in you. His jacket folded neatly over one arm, phone in his palm.

“Hey Mister Russo.” You say softly in greeting, straightening to take a step into the elevator.

He doesn’t say anything for a second as the doors close.

“It’s late.” He comments, and you turn your head to glance at him.

“Yes it is.” You agree, unable to stay steady on your feet, you lean against the wall of the elevator too.

“You look tired.”

You let out a slow breath.

“I’ll live.” You answer.

“We should talk.”

You groan, tilting your head back.

“You’re making me wish I’d taken another elevator.”

“Let me drive you home.” He answers as if you hadn’t just expressed your distaste for him.

You raise your head to look at him angrily.

There were so many things you wanted to say. Leave me alone. Take a hike. I don’t want to talk to you. I’d rather chew nails that get into a car with you. Why are you looking at me like that? Do you love me?

In the end, you say nothing, and the doors to the elevators slide open, and you step out without even a goodbye.

The lobby is quiet, dimly lit, very much somber and lacking the life that there usually is during the daylight.

You only get a few steps out of the elevator before he’s blocking your path with his tall frame.

You huff, looking up at him, willing him to go away.

“Can we please talk? Please?”

You were so irritated with having to experience him and his constant persistence of you. You blink, angrily clenching your teeth together.

“Why? Why should I even give you a chance, Billy? So you can lie to me more? Hurt me more? What’s it going to take for you to realise that we’re over?”

He lets out a sharp breath.

“We have something. You know we do. There’s a voice inside you that tells you we’re right for each other. I hear it too.”

“You’re wrong,” You answer softly, “There’s no voice.”

He shakes his head.

“Don’t lie, don’t act like-” He cuts off, letting out a slow breath.

“Like what?” You prod.

“-Like you don’t care!” He hisses, “Stop acting like this was nothing.” He says, gesturing to the space between you.

“This was nothing.” You clarify.

He looks frustrated, all you can do is observe him with a casual tilt of your head.

“What you did was unforgivable. What could you possibly want from me now?” You follow up, after he’s unable to speak.

“Another chance.” He utters.

You raise your eyebrows.

“To do what?” You felt like you had to break this down for him like a child.

“To prove to you that my feelings were real,” He takes a step forward, getting closer to you and forcing you to tilt your head up to keep looking at him.

“To show you that I think you’re the best person on the planet. That we have something,” Billy’s hands raise to cup your face, his eyes dark, a void pulling you in, “worth fighting for.”

He leans in, and it only just registers in your tired brain that he’s going to kiss you.

“I have a boyfriend.” You whisper out in a rush in an effort to deter him.

His only response is a small smile.

“Break up with him.” he answers simply as his mouth meets your in a soft kiss.

It melts you, like it usually does. His bearded face creating tingles as it scratches against yours and for a moment you feel so whole.

And then you’re pushing him away, because you don’t deserve this, because you are not someone you believe is worth fighting for.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur, unable to meet his eyes, “I just don’t believe in us the way you do.” You step to the side, and dodge his hand when he tries to grab your wrist.

He calls your name behind you as you leave, the sound is soft, pleading.

You don’t look back.

When he touches his lips, he can still feel you there.

Like you own his mouth, and now every kiss is yours, and every smile is for you.

He needs you, so badly that it hurts him.

There’s also a sober part of him that wishes he had the capacity to leave you alone, let you heal from him, leave him behind and move on with your life. But the selfish part of him, the part that fought for scraps in a house of too many people, that part of him clings to the love he has.

In many ways he’s still a child, he acknowledges, always quietly hoping that someone could want him, listen to him, talk to him about every useless topic on the planet.

He’d found that in you. Someone to listen to him, not just give a vacant smile when he spoke, or roll their eyes, exhausted at his small, unpracticed attempts at conversation.

He loved the little niche tidbits of information you knew, he was always learning something exciting, or something that made you light up when you spoke.

And then he’d- done that.

The little boy that never had anything, sabotaging his one chance at love because somewhere deep down inside, he didn’t know if he was really capable of it. Maybe he wasn’t. He’d never had it aimed in his direction really.

Who had loved him? Ever in his life?

Frank was the closest thing he had to a brother, Billy had no doubt that the Castles loved him.

And it was good, but it wasn’t enough.

Now more than ever he knew that, lying awake, fingers pressed to his mouth where he could still feel the softness of your lips. He knew what being enough to someone had felt like.

He knew he’d do anything to have that again.

You can’t sleep at all.

It’s way worse than before.

Things had been okay when you couldn’t feel anything, but one kiss had brought it all back. Now, you were just sad all over again.

Each time you kissed him, pulled you together, and each time you left him behind, you shattered even more.

Like glass that had been broken once, being hammered into splinters. You didn’t know how much of yourself had been damaged, beyond hope of repair already.

And yet still, you couldn’t forget him.

The soft heat of his touch, the sound of his breaths. You spend the entire night thinking about him, and wishing you could think about something, anything else.

There’s a box waiting on your desk when you get in the next morning.

It fits in your palm, wrapped in blue floral gift paper with a black bow on top. It screams Billy.

“That from Matt?” Dex asks, as he’s walking by and observes your handling of the gift.

“Probably.” You lie, tugging at the bow.

“Hope it’s something nice.” He wishes as he steps away, going back to whatever he was doing.

His wrapping is precise, no fold is haphazard, the bow sits right in the middle, perfectly equidistant from all edges.

It pulls a smile to your face. You almost don’t want to open it, the effort put into wrapping is a gift in itself.

You doubt Billy had given many gifts in his life- or even gotten them. He’d only mentioned it once that he didn’t have parents, and that he grew up in the system. You’d wanted to ask about it, but you’d never gotten a real chance.

You wanted to know how many gifts he'd gotten, how many happy birthdays.

You shouldn't care, it shouldn't matter to you, but it did.

You take the wrapping off carefully, wanting to preserve every bit of this, something that could be remembered later, savoured when you needed something to think of in the darkness of the night.

You tug the lid off the box quickly, eyes locking onto the shimmering gold in the box.

Your mouth parts in surprise.

It’s a simple present, butterfly hair clips in a gold colour. Each wing of the shiny butterfly is attached to the clip with a few small springs, it means that every slight movement makes the wings appear as though they’re fluttering.

All of a sudden, you’re a little girl again, staring at similar clips in someone else’s hair. You gulp, looking around for a note, an explanation as to why.

You’d only asked your parents once for them, and then never again.

His note is lodged beneath the lid of the box, and you take your time prying it out, opening it.

‘Saw these and thought of you.

-Billy

x.'

You blink back tears, looking at the delicate clips once more.

You don’t take them out of the box, despite how badly you want to. You settle for just running a careful finger over the fluttering wings, a quiet appreciation of something you’d forgotten you wanted.

The clips are so shiny that they were bound to catch attention, which was the last thing you wanted here. Maybe later, after everyone was gone, you could indulge yourself in trying them on.

It was a brilliant gift, something small and seemingly unimportant, and yet, an item that he hadn’t known you’d desired from the moment you first saw them.

Warm, something trickling into the very depths of you, a feeling you want, a feeling you yearn for.

You reach for your phone, with calling him in mind, his extension seared to your memory and you just want to talk to him-

You slam the phone down just as fast. A few coworkers looking over at you in your peripherals.

Dread spills over inside of you, a paralysing fear that you were playing directly into his game, that this was a ploy, or even if it wasn’t, you couldn’t just go back to normal with him. He’d done something unforgivable, and you had to be rigid in your inability to absolve him of his actions.

He’d made a bet, with his friends, to see if he was capable of being in an exhausting relationship with you, because everyone thinks that you were annoying.

Because he thought that you were annoying.

You tuck his gift into the top drawer of your desk, letting the pain of his betrayal reorient you.

Billy Russo did not like you.

“Shit.” You curse, glancing at the time on your phone. You’d been so zoned into your computer that you hadn’t even noticed that the work day had been officially over for a while now.

You sigh, leaning back, opening your top drawer to grab a page marker for the document you just sent to print.

You spot the little gift box tucked into the back of the drawer and you can’t help the smile that pulls onto your face.

You drop everything you’re doing, reaching for the box happily.

You take your time, pinning one clip to either side of your head to pull some of your hair back, opening your front camera to admire the little fluttering clips.

You loved the little things, delicate in your hair, glittering with the movement and the lights and you make a mental note to avoid the possibility of getting it tangled in your hair as best as possible.

You get distracted by the sound of the printer beeping in the distance to signal your print was completed and you get up to grab the file.

A few hours later, you hear the elevator nearby make a small sound as it stops on your floor. You look up, alert and the awareness of how late it is makes you a little scared.

It’s him that rounds the corner, crisp suit, his jacket tucked under his arm. He pauses when he notices you, your eyes meeting, before a little smile pulls onto his face.

“I figured you’d be here.” He hums, approaching you.

You huff, glancing back at your computer screen.

“You just can’t seem to leave me alone, can you?” You bite back.

When he’s quiet for too long, standing beside you, you turn to look up at him.

There’s a strange expression on his face, something that washes the coldness inside of you away with gentle warmth.

“What?” You ask, trying to keep your voice harsh.

Why are you looking at me like that?

“You’re real fuckin’ pretty.” He answers.

You make a sound of annoyance, turning back to your computer to continue working on your excel sheet.

Do you love me?

Your fingers freeze on your keyboard when he kneels in your peripherals next to you.

What in God’s name was he doing?

You let out a harsh breath.

“Billy-”

His hand reaches to touch something in your hair, it’s only then you remember that you’re wearing the clips he gave you.

“-These look so much better on you than I’d imagined.” He whispers, turning a strand of your hair over between his fingers.

You look down, unable to meet his eyes.

“I’ve always wanted them, since I was little. My parents fought a lot, and I could never work up the courage to ask for them. Then, when I got older, I could never find them.” You glance up at him for a moment before looking away, “Thank you, I love them, but that doesn’t change anything between us.”

His eyebrows pull together sadly, a reflectiveness to his eyes that wasn’t there before.

Do you love me?

“You should go home, it’s late.”

You give him a tired smile.

“Yeah, I know, I just have a little bit more to do.”

“Do it tomorrow. You shouldn’t be here so late.”

“I don’t know why you’re complaining,” You mutter absentmindedly, “I’m making you money.”

He grips your chair, turning it quickly away from your computer until you face him.

You meet his gaze with an annoyed look of your own.

“I have enough money.” He answers with a teasing expression. The corner of your lip twitches in amusement.

“Whatever.” You say, trying to turn your chair back to your computer, but he only grips it tighter to keep you in place. His eyes dart to your desk, and then he reaches for something, grabbing it off your desk and moving away quickly.

When you look back at your desk you notice your wireless mouse is missing.

“Hey!” You stand, taking a few steps toward him. He mirrors your movement, taking a few steps back as well.

“Give that back, Russo.” You warn, approaching him again, this time he doesn’t move, encouraging you to try getting closer to him again.

When you’re within grabbing range, he grins, hiding his hands behind his back.

“Shut down your computer and go home.” He tries again.

“Or what?” You challenge, reaching around to grab at his hands. He shifts the mouse from his left to his right hand quickly, forcing you to get even closer to him, to try grabbing it.

“Or I throw this thing out the window and unplug your computer.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” You argue, gripping his fist in yours and trying to pry his fingers open.

He pulls his hand away from you easily, giving you an evil grin before raising his fist with your mouse above his head where you couldn’t possibly reach on your own.

You don’t even try to jump for it, only crossing your arms and looking up at him.

“I could knee you in the balls. I’d get it really quickly that way.” You threaten.

He tips his head back and laughs, and you find yourself smiling too. You take the chance, using the distraction to jump and grab his fist.

But your attempt seemed to be exactly what he wanted because in the next moment his hand is on your waist, using your own momentum against you to spin you, switching positions so that he can press you against the wall that was just behind him.

You gasp, looking up at him in bewilderment. His scent floods your nose, reigniting an ache inside of you, one that yearned for him.

He watches you carefully, doesn’t do anything more than uncurl his fingers, so that you can get the mouse sitting in the palm of his hand.

You look at the mouse, and then back into his eyes, letting out a slow sigh, wishing for something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“Thank you.” You say, taking the mouse from him, and ducking under his arm to slip out from between his body and the wall.

Sitting at your desk once again, you groan in annoyance as he grabs a chair from a nearby desk and sits himself near you.

“What now?” You ask, barely looking at him.

“I’m not leaving till you do.” He answers simply.

"For a CEO, you seem really bad at getting the message." You grunt out.

He sighs, leaning forward to prop his elbow onto your desk, and then after a moment, he rests his face in his hand, looking at you calmly.

"I'm sorry." He says softly.

"So I've heard." You answer, deciding to save your work before he actually unplug your computer.

"Have you been sleeping?" Billy asks on another soft breath.

"Yes." You lie.

"You haven't. It's why you're here so late. Because you go home, and you lie awake, staring at the ceiling." He says, and you get the feeling that he isn't only talking about you.

"Can you blame me?" You snipe, trying to focus on your screen so that you can pretend that this conversation isn't happening.

There's a long silence before he speaks again.

"I hate myself."

Your chest squeezes harshly, brain halting any thoughts of work. You stare at the computer screen, feeling pressure build behind your eyes.

You wipe an unsteady hand over your mouth for comfort.

"Yeah well, that makes both of us." You reply shakily.

"I've always kind of hated myself," he continues, and you peek a look over at him to find that he's shifted, his hands in his lap, bending a paperclip out of shape while he speaks, "Even when I was a kid, I told myself that there must be something very wrong with me for my mom to not want me."

You take a deep breath, listening to him, finally hearing him open up about himself for the first time.

"I almost got adopted once, interview with a family had gone well, they let me move in with them for a trial period. I almost had what I wanted most, and then-" He gives a shake of his head, to knock the memory loose and you want so badly to reach over and take his hand, to stop him from worrying the paperclip out of shape, only to try to reshape it again, "-I punched their son in the face for something so dumb I can barely remember it. They dropped me back the next morning without a goodbye."

You watch in your peripherals as he puts the paperclip back into shape, except it doesn't look quite right, a little misshapen after his touch.

"My therapist says I've always had a penchant for self sabotage. Always worried that something good will be taken away, so I ruin it, so that at least it's ruined on my terms." He grins, "What a nutjob."

"You? Or your therapist?" You ask.

He huffs out a surprised laugh, looking up at you for a second, watching you return his laugh with a wry smile of your own, before glancing away.

Do you love me, Billy Russo?

"Sorry. I don't mean to force your forgiveness with a shitty story of growing up in the system. I just- well- I was hoping it would help you… understand me a little more."

“Don’t apologize. I get it. We’re all just trying to heal from something.”

“What are you trying to heal from? Besides me?”

You turn away, unsure if you want to tell him, unsure if you can speak for so long without shutting down.

You rub your knuckles against your lips absentmindedly.

“It’s stupid.” You whisper.

“It’s not. I promise.”

You feel anxiety flutter in your stomach.

“I’ve always felt like I was too much. Too loud, too clingy, too unattractive. Like if I was just tolerated, everywhere I went. I made friends, and then after a while, they’d leave, without explanation and with the number of times it happened, I kept thinking to myself that it had to be my fault.”

You try to swallow the lump in your throat.

“It’s the only logical explanation, that I’m okay to befriend and talk to a little, but I’m not enough to maintain a friendship with. I’m not enough to be held on to.”

Why weren’t you enough?

You stop talking now, taking a deep breath and holding it to fight off your tears.

He reaches for your hand, and you let him, you can feel the paperclip pressed between your hands.

“I see how badly I fucked up now.” He says softly to you, “And I want you to know that every inch of you is worth fighting for, and I fully intend to show you that.”

You close your eyes, shaking your head with a sad smile.

“Billy-”

“-no buts, you’re about to see some of the most desperate grovelling of your life.”

You laugh in disbelief.

“You’re insane, Russo.”

“Yeah. Don’t tell my therapist.”

He wants to hold you so badly. Wrap his arms around you, and feel you lean against him.

In the elevator now, he keeps glancing at you, his eyes drawn to the little fluttering clips in your hair and his heart clenches so tightly in his chest that he swears it stops beating.

“Let me drive you home.” He offers, hoping that you’d let him, instead of taking a taxi at this hour of the night.

He watches the clips flutter more as you shake your head, a smile pulling onto his face at how adorable you look.

“We’re not there yet, Russo.” You respond.

Yet? He thinks hopefully.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #my writings #the punisher #never quite enough #fanfic #angst

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themthrfkinprincess · 5 months

Text

Astro observation . . . TWO!!

Whenever I see someone has a prominent Scorpio or Capricorn placement I always notice and see how sweet and overlay considerate they are. These people I’ve noticed are very helpful and there for people, sometimes they don’t think about themselves that much and contain themselves too much. They also are like nonchalantly funny? It’s not hard for them to make me laugh I’ve noticed.

But yeah strong Capricorn and Scorpio placements remind me of the giving tree idkkk

Like also Capricorn’s and Cancers be goofy as shit im crine😭

WHEW. This is from my experience but when I have seen a fair amount of Virgo or Cancer influences in somebody chart THEY ALWAYS GET ON MY NERVES LIKE GIRL DON'T DO ME LEAVE ME ALONE😭 I swear I have always had little moments with them- they can be quite annoying but guess what. I often spend so much time with them and we are right back on track maybe two seconds later it’s so funny. We switch up so much it funny. And this is funny because well I am a cancer myself and well there are more than three cancers in my family who I adore. You guys are really aggravating though.

And like also Geminis freaky foreal like YALL LIKE BOOTY FOREAL😭

also its a double whammy if you have eros or venus in gemin lol. I have both 😈👅

so come here . . . .

GIVE ME THAT BOOTY😈

lol😭

AND YOOOO Like geminis and Leo’s can be so embarrassing at times? They’re very suspect to be very lollygagging individuals and I can say this because I have a Leo stellium. Sometimes I look back and be like girl no. It sad. ☹️ like girl you 36 how long you gon be doing this😕.

They remind me of this liam dancing gif. Its not that they are embarrassing over big things- its just small stuff they can do and say which makes you go wtf???😭 Sometimes i feel they try to impress you over small weird things that no one really gives a fuck about like okay right . . . right . . .

Leo, Cancer, Gemini, and Virgo can be really corny at times- it reminds of that gif of drake doing the dougie. They can be corny in a cute way though😭but leos can get genuinely embarrassing as a mentioned beforehand

Also Geminis talk too much 🦧.

They will run their mouth and run it- i have no problem with it though I like to talk a lot lol. They are ( of course!) good listeners too! I had a friend she was so chill- I could talk to her about anything’s like- if i wanted to speak gibberish she would speak gibberish back to me. She was so random too. They are kind of silly whimsical beings at times I will not lie. Like it would not be wild to catch them froliciing in the fields randomly- its kind of expected of them in my own opinion. In my eyes they really be in their own world at times. 💀

AYE.

And yo!? Tell me why Aries are so cute what the hell!?!?

LIKE THEY ARE SO CUTE!!

CYUTSIE PATOOTSIES!!!! I imagine them trying to rob me at a gas station I own or something. Like I don’t know imagine them pointing a gun at you and trying to rob you LMFAO. I WILL BURST OUT LAUGHING. They might shoot you tho idk😞 they really be standing on business and they intimidate me a lot once they start talking- and they could be totally be happy/polite while they are talking. It’s just their aura feels forceful? Lively? Out there? I don’t know how to explain it but yeah. Also they are so sweet too!!! These people are cheerleaders- people say that Leo’s are cheerleaders but the biggest cheerleaders I see are more often Aries. My cousin is one and she is very VERY sweet. She listens to you deeply and she really pushes you. Sometimes it’s annoying at times cause like GIRL LEAVE ME ALONE I DON'T FEEL LIKE IT 😭 I love aries though 💖😭 You guys are so cute. AND WHY THEY ALWAYS LOOK LIKE CARTOON CHARACTERS 😭

LIKE WHY HE LOOK LIKE RODDY😭

And of course we know Pedro looks like chicken little

Also Aries women are GORG!! No seriously! Look at Halle!!! Miss Mamas is GORG!! She is STUNNING! It’s like 💥WAPOW!!!💥 getting struck and hit by her beauty😍💖

Also David tennant so cute he's sort of like kind of my man😍😍 if you have a crush on him your so real I totally get it fren 😋💗🤭😁

Like dude come on he's so freaking cute. His eyes are so intense it makes him look like a crackhead sometimes but it doesn't even matter HE'S SO CUTE. And his Scottish accent is so 🫦🫦🫦 I don't know what he be saying sometimes though in his TV shows like huh🗿

Cancer Mars are literally the Scarlet Witch idk dude. . . . like people can go completely BONKERS. These hoes kind of crazy. If you been wronging one for quite a while you better sleep with one eye open when you sleeping👀

Like these people are kind of punks☹️. They retreat often when something is wrong- too much actually. They really do not want to fight or have any problems foreal. They can be very indirect at times when bothered it can get annoying. But when enough is enough its over💀 its like one fart and your dead💀

Like that Aries and Cancer energy is not mixing well and shit can get REAL unstable there like don't do them patna!!

Uhm i totally had a million more things to say and I really did not get to re-read this. So there may be many typos- and also im kind of lazy and wish i decorated this post better. But that's besides the point- I hope you liked this post or whatever!!! I was totally honestly rambing to myself, if you found these accurate to you then great!

Peace out!!!💖💗

#astrology #astro observations #cancer mars #cancer #aries #leo #virgo #scorpio #gemini

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sardonic-the-writer · 5 months

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭

↳ warning: supernatural elements

↳ notes: requested by anonymous. was going to be headcanons but ended up turning into a one shot. enjoy

↳ song: ghostbusters—ray parker jr.

masterlist | commisions | carrd

This really wasn't supposed to happen.

It was supposed to be a simple job. One of the easier ones you all had gotten hired to do all month. That's what Ray had said to you as you zipped up the front of your uniform in the firehouse, and you believed him.

A customer had called in last week, sounding out of breath as they complained of a room in their house that always felt cold when they walked into it. You could practically smell the incense through the phone, and your suspicions were confirmed when you later stepped into their house.

After Peter had sarcastically made sure it wasn't just a problem with their AC unit, Janine penciled them in for an inspection a few days later, and that was that. You and the rest of the Ghostbusters went to the nearby Chinese restaurant that night and forgot all about it.

Now, you were hiding behind an overturned table as an apparition whizzed over your heads, shrieking in a language none of you could decipher.

"I thought you said this was a class one spook!" You shouted at Egon as he fumbled with a trap nearby. He shot you an irritated look through the rims of his glasses, as if to say 'what am I supposed to do', before going back to tinkering with the trap in his hand.

"Someone's gotta get out there and distract it!" Peter yelled over the noise of plates being smashes. You winced, imagining that the client wouldn't be too happy to hear that their kitchen was ransacked during the procedure. If you could even call it a procedure.

"Ray! You're up!" Winston called from his place next to you, shoving his coworker out of the hiding spot just a little.

"No way! It was my turn last time!" Ray griped. As he said that, a stray fork flew by his head, nearly missing the side of his face as he yelped and ducked further under the tables cover.

"I'll do it." You volunteered whilst reaching for the proton pack at your back. You were sure that if you looked over at that moment, you'd see Ray sending you the most grateful look you'd ever seen.

The others waited for Egon to finish preparing the trap, Peter mostly yelling at him to hurry up, as you rose from your place on the tiled kitchen floor.

The ghost turned to look at you as you let out a wolf whistle. It's hair floated wildly around its head like a crown of thorns, and you heard one of the guys from behind you gulp with difficulty.

"Hey Casper!" You grinned with what you hoped was a considerable amount of bravado. "Why don't you don't you pick on someone your own size?"

You wouldn't remember falling onto your back after the ghost charged straight at you. Nor would you remember how it slimed down into a fine mist, slipping into your mouth with a hissing noise. Bruises covering your spine would leave the evidence of a fall later on, but that was the only sign that anything had happened.

The boys watched as your eyes rolled back to reveal a milky white gaze. Peter nearly dropped the nozzle to his proton pack as you began to levitate; your chest rising and falling at a rapid rate. For a minute, it reminded him of when Gozer had possessed Dana. Although, you were his friend, not fiancé, and wearing a jumpsuit instead of a dress.

"Uh guys?"

"I'm seeing it, Winston." Ray replied without taking his eyes off of you. Wind began to pick up in the house, blowing his hair to the side as he watched you with wide eyes.

"Egon!" Peter yelled over the noise. "The trap??"

"Done!" He finally announced. "Someone hold them down!" The scientist shouted, forehead beaded with sweat as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He stood up with shaking hands, nearly dropping the trap as he stepped around the table and towards you.

Ray and Winston both grabbed your arms and legs, pulling you down from your spot in the air with a considerable amount of force. Peter attempted to push you by your chest, but was headbutted by the ghost and sent flying backwards. You, or rather the ghost occupying you, made a sound between a cackle and a scream.

"I've never wanted to punch a ghost more than I do now." Peter groaned from the floor as he hauled himself back up. He'd have to get Dana to check him for a concussion later.

"I need a stream, Venkman!" Egon stepped away from the Muon trap as if it was a live bomb. "Ray, Winston, on our count let go of them and duck!"

"Don't have to tell me twice!" Winston said as he avoided yet another kick from your boot.

The sound of an engine powering up filled the room as Peter and Egon switched on their packs, directing the end of their nozzles at you. The two men glanced at each other nervously and Egon's foot hovered over the traps pedal anxiously. You just continued to flail.

"You sure this won't hurt them?!" Ray yelled. He brought his head back a significant amount as the ghost inside of you attempted to bite at him.

"No idea!" Egon fumbled. His glasses were nearly flying off of his face with the wind, but he pushed on. "Now, Peter!"

Ray and Winston made a dive for it as two multicolored streams encased you in a bright light. The spirit inside howled with discomfort, kicking its legs in an attempt to escape.

Without warning, Egon stepped on the trap, releasing a beam that shot into the air and struck the ceiling. He knew from experience that there would be a faint singe mark left on it later, but that was the least of anyone's concerns. The client would just have to deal with it.

Taking careful measure not to bump your body into any stray debris, they guided the spirit closer and closer to the trap until its form began to separate from yours. The horrible sucking noise it made nearly coerced Egon to drop his gun to cover his ears.

One moment, you were floating in the air, speaking tongues and way too close to a piece of dangerous machinery. The next, you were laying in a pile of broken china plates as your eyes rolled back into place.

"Hey. Hey, bud, come back to us." Peter said, slapping your cheek slightly to bring you back down to earth. He had been the first to drop to the ground next to you, lifting your head up to make sure nothing had scraped it in the fall.

Ray came next from his hiding spot behind a now splintered chair, then Winston's wide eyed form, and finally Egon holding a smoking trap.

"Vitals appear to be steady." Ray said. He pulled his fingers away from the spot on your neck he had been checking, looking at the rest of them. He sighed like a ten pound weight had been lifted off his chest.

"You worry too much Stanz." Peter said, jesting. But his usual playful tone was dampened, and he didn't look up until you groaned.

"Did anyone catch the number of that bus that ran me over?" You hissed, shielding your eyes from a nonexistent bright light.

Silence.

Winston broke out into laughter first, with the rest following suit. Egon smiled as Peter giggled, and Ray was practically rolling on the floor.

"Trauma response." Egon said between baritone chuckles, only able to get one word out at a time. "Surprised this is the first time we're having one."

"Do I even have to ask what happened?" You said while pushing yourself up on your forearms. Winston just shook his head at you, and slapped you on the back.

"We'll tell you back at the firehouse, kid." He said with a shake of his head. You frowned at the nickname, but eventually let a smile crack.

The five of you sat in each other presence for a little bit, letting the laughter die down as the mood came to a stop.

"So—" Peter cleared his throat.

"—who wants to be the one that talks to the client?"

You were left sitting on the floor as they all scrambled to get out, surrounded by broken glass.

"Assholes."

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sugar-omi · 2 months

Note

good lord I was trying to study but out of nowhere I know where🩸this came into my mind:

having a night in at ur grown up house w cove derek and baxter (only dating cove) and everyone gets wasted asf so they sleep over and late at night the other two can hear u and cove in ur bedroom 👀 ykwim?

the smut and angst potential of them getting off to listening to u two from their respective guest rooms and the irony of both ur guests doing it omggggggg 🫣

in the morning neither of them can properly look at u two out of shame and u and cove r just embarrassed cause u think it’s just cause they heard u (and ofc ur only half right)

these ideas fr come to me at the worst time lol

-🗑️

I AM SCREAMING. YOU'RE SO BRILLIANT I CAN'T.... derek would really try not to, but i feel like it'd end up seeping into his dreams and he just can't resist. and baxterrrr omg... he'd be so embarrassed n ashamed, i dont think he'd be able to sleep the rest of the night at all, even once you n cove are done... pls you sent this at the perfect time bc i was about to start writing n i cannot focus until i write this now, i must have this in a fic.. n ik it isn't what you're talking about, but this is also so good n i instantly thought abt this scenario. i will take ANY chance for derek n baxter to fall in love or into bed LOL

tags : NSFW, baxter x derek, one night stand (UNLESS), you and cove drink, auralism*, oral (derek receiving), top/dom baxter, bottom derek, derek has a crush on you/MC, baxter has a thing for both of you or maybe he's just a kinky bastard

*to be aroused by sound. (can be compared with voyeurism)

synopsis : baxter and derek are staying with you for an extended vacation (much needed for both of them.) and while you two have been considerate and lovely hosts, you're a bit loud... not that it's a problem. quite the opposite actually..

imagine baxter is pouring himself a glass of wine, unable to get your and cove's muffled moans out of his head.

he's generous with his pouring, since everyone already had a lot to drink during dinner, being reserved is unnecessary.

baxter tips back his cup, licking his lips, savoring the sweet taste of this wine, humming at the taste. not bad..

he's checking the label, wanting to remember the brand so he can add it to his shelves at home.

"oh."

baxter looks up, tired eyes wide at the sudden guest. he's met with derek's wide eyes, equally tired..

baxter gives a lopsided smile, trying to be friendly with his new friend. he gestures to the barstools across from him, "care to join me?"

derek rubs his neck shyly, "ah, i wouldn't want to impose. i just came for some water.."

baxter shakes his head, leaning back on the island, taking a sip of his wine. if he knew he'd have company, he wouldn't have poured so much at once.

he licks his lips, trying not to eye his glass to see if it looks like an reasonable amount of wine. trying to preserve his put together image is fruitless anyway, baxter is a hot mess walking and you could probably smell his issues all the way from france.

"nonsense, i wouldn't mind company. the best conversations are best shared under the stars, i'd say. although, i won't blame if you're going bak to bed." baxter laughs to himself humorlessly. "probably a better idea than getting drunk again."

derek laughs, "well, if you don't mind the company then.." and goes about grabbing some water before sitting across from baxter, trying to be quiet when he drags out the barstool.

there's a stretch of silence between them, the two of them sipping their drinks and baxter plays off his awkwardness by admiring the photo collage in the hallway, visible through the wide doorway.

baxter turns back to derek, who's holding his water with both hands, dozily looking into the glass. he looks up and is surprised to meet baxter's sharp gaze, but plays it off with a smile.

baxter speaks lazily, his movements languished and his bones heavy. he's feeling warm from the wine, and a bit chatty. "couldn't sleep either, huh?"

derek laughs, "that obvious?"

baxter shrugs, speaking around the lip of his wineglass. "i figured we're in the same boat."

derek stills, his cheeks slowly filling red, and he looks up, trying to figure out if he's trying to say he also heard you and cove doing... it. the other night.

baxter bounces his eyebrows, and that makes derek flush brightly, looking down. "y-yeah, i guess we are.."

he laughs, covering his mouth to muffle the noise.

derek seems to relax a bit at his amusement, and eventually they relax a bit more, and baxter goes on to tell derek more of his wedding horror stories when he asks.

they're laughing, trying to muffle the sound with their hands when they get too loud, and baxter is leaned over the counter, rambling to derek as softly as possible.

baxter signs and shakes his head, a smile still on his lips as he takes another sip. he's definitely getting buzzed again.

and at some point baxter even sits next to him and derek seems to greatly enjoy baxter's open laughter and his wide gestures as he narrates his stories, even throwing up his own chaotic stories about what it was like growing up with his brothers.

"hey.." derek calls, and baxter hums curiously in response. "does that taste good?"

baxter raises his brow but tips his glass towards derek. "it is. it has notes of peach and honey... wanna try?"

derek glances between baxter's eyes and the wine, nodding, taking the glass from his hands and taking a long sip...

baxter's eyes are stuck on derek's lips, his eyes following how his throat bobs when he swallows and his tongue dashes out to lick the wine running down the corner of his lips..

baxter snaps his eyes back towards derek's, who's already looking back at him.

the silence seems long, and the distance between derek and baxter's lips seems even longer, and he feels antsy even though they're both leaning in, their lips meeting in the middle in a soft kiss.

derek deepens the kiss, leaning into baxter, and humming into the kiss when baxter starts rubbing his thigh, his fingers sliding down th fabric of his sweatpants until he's touching his inner thigh, dangerously close to his bulge..

a moan echoes, and baxter and derek break apart, panting and their lips wet and swollen. then they hear it again, and some muffled talking.

they look into each others eyes, unable to move. they're both wide awake now, both because of that hot kiss and the sounds of cove's deep, and futile muffled moans.

their chests rise and fall, tension in the air, mingling with something else...

derek speaks first, taking baxter's hand before he can pull away. "do you... should we go to your room?"

baxter blinks owlishly, shocked and flustered. but really fucking turned on.

"yes, yeah, yeah okay.." he stumbles his words, totally knocked off his feet by the way derek looks at him, his green eyes deep with lust, and the whole turn of events.

derek leads him down the hall, and baxter is grateful he didn't somehow knock over the barstool or the flower vase in the hall.

they walk past your shared bedroom, baxter's designated room for his stay, at the end of the hall.

baxter tries to ignore the way his cock throb when he hears cove curse and growl, "fuck, you're so warm..." he tries not to think about it, but the idea of what you two are getting up to, how you both look and sound, what you're doing to each other...

he's trying not to let his mind run away with him but he's admittedly, a weak man. and so is derek, if the way he clutches his hand tighter and all but shoves baxter through the door and closes the door a bit louder than he should.

you and cove always drown out all other forms of life when you're together, and baxter doubts it's much different in the bedroom, if not "worse."

derek pushes baxter to sit on the bed, standing over him, his legs on either side of baxter's lap and he pulls off his shirt, throwing it on the floor.

baxter licks his lips, his hands sliding up derek's waist and stomach, his body thick and toned with muscles... "goddamn..." baxter exhales, all but drooling at the sight.

derek laughs shyly, lifting his arm to rub his neck (a nervous tick baxter has come to realize) and the muscles in his arm stretches and flex. baxter has a distant thought about derek being able to manhandle him...

"is this okay?" derek asks, suddenly shy now.

baxter nods, leaning in to kiss along derek's bronze stomach, his lips trailing down his happy trail to his bulge. "more than okay.."

baxter tugs on derek's sweatpants, looking up at him. "let me know if you want to stop..."

he tugs down derek's pants and underwear, letting his cock spring free. baxter strokes his cock to full mast, and derek holds onto baxter's hand for support, his other hand coming up to muffle his moan.

baxter wraps his lips around derek's flushed tip, sucking and circling his tongue over the head.

"b-baxter..." derek gasps, his thighs shaking.

baxter takes him deeper down his throat, keeping eye contact as he swallows around his cock, reaching down to palm his own bulge through his satin pajamas.

he groans, the vibrations sending shivers up derek's spine and derek mumbles, his fingers finding their way to baxter's hair, clinging onto the already messy locks.

baxter tears his hand away from his hard-on, to undo the buttons on his pajama shirt, the buttons slipping through his fingers until his shirt is wide open.

"mhm-!" baxter startles, gripping onto derek's thighs, his hips bucking up into his warm mouth.

derek moans shakily, "oh f- i'm sorry. sorry.." he babbles, pushing back baxter's fringe, his thighs twitching and his muscles clenching under baxter's hands.

baxter hums around derek's length, patting his thigh. his tongue drags along the underside of his cock, baxter's lips pulling off him with a pop, his lips wet and puffy.

baxter's sharp, lustful eyes meeting derek's equally horny gaze. derek's flushed cheeks are a feast for baxter's eyes, he can't wait to have him in bed..

"do you.. wanna go further?" baxter asks, his hand making obscene wet noises from all the pre-cum and spit, as he strokes derek's cock in his fist.

derek nods, his throat bobbing as he tries not to fall to his knees or cry out and alert you and cove to what they're doing in here.. "yes, please.."

baxter pulls away, standing up to tug off the rest of his clothes while derek tugs off his pants, almost tripping when the leg gets stuck on his ankle but baxter ignores it since he's not very elegant either, the wine still buzzing through him.

he throws his clothes on the floor, all but throwing himself into the bed with derek, straddling his lap as he captures his lips in a kiss, his tongue slipping past derek's lips, guiding his tongue to move with his own.

derek grips baxter's waist, his hands pulling him down to grind him into his lap, their cocks sliding together.

baxter breaks the kiss, his lips falling to derek's neck...

"cove- cove- cove!" your cry is heard through the wall, followed by muffled moans and whimpers.

"ah!" derek moans, his fingrs digging into the plush of baxter's hips when he bites down on his neck.

"oh- sorry. did i hurt you?" he worries, kissing the area soothingly. he didn't expect you to.. cry out so loudly. not that you aren't allowed to be loud in your own home, or anything like that. he just didn't think you'd sound so hot.

he's trying not to think about if he wishes it was his name on your lips, or what cove is doing to make you call his name so loudly and lewdly...

derek shakes his head, or tries too with baxter under his chin. "i mean, it hurt but.. it wasn't bad..." derek admits shyly.

baxter smiles, pulling off his neck to kiss his lips again, smiling too much to kiss properly but they have all night for that anyway...

he leans over the edge of the bed for his bag, fumbling through the open inner pocket for a condom and lube.

it's not that baxter planned to get laid on this trip, it's just bad to be unprepared.

"do you want to be on top?" baxter inquires, pointing the condom at derek.

he flushes, licking his lips and glancing off to the side. "um.. if you don't mind, you can be on top..."

baxter raises his brows, a blush high on his cheeks.

ohh derek really is interesting.

"not at all." baxter purrs, fixing their position so one of derek's legs is on his shoulder, and the other over his thigh.

he slowly sinks one, then two, then three digits into derek's hole, scissoring his fingers and rubbing derek's thigh soothingly. he's such a mess just from his fingers alone, derek's face half buried in the pillow and his hips bucking up and his thighs shaking.

"that's-" derek pants, swallowing thickly. "that's enough... put it in.. please..." he gasps, peeking at baxter through his lashes.

"fuck..." baxter curses, his stomach dipping with lust.

he fumbles, trying to open the condom but his fingers are covered in lube and he ends up ripping it with his teeth impatiently. baxter rolls it over his length, leaning over to pull derek into a kiss as he sinks into him.

"hmmn!" derek mewls into the kiss, his arms coming to lock around baxter's neck.

baxter slams his hips into derek, a loud slap sounding through the room from baxter's hips meeting his ass. baxter breaks the kiss, hissing.

that was definitely too loud, but it's also been so long since he's been with someone, and derek is so charming, that he's not sure he cares..

derek moans, trying to stifle it by biting his lips.

they pant, letting derek adjust to his length and for them to catch their breath, baxter feels like the air has been knocked out of him with how derek's hot walls are wrapped around him, his hole clenching and flutter around him, trying to take him deeper.

"mn, y/n-" cove voice is muffled, keeping them from hearing the rest of his sentence. although it was probably cut short, if the deep groan they hear through the wall is anything to go by.

baxter pants, "i'm.. i'mma start moving..." he gasps, moving so he's sitting up again, his hand pushing derek's knee up towards his chest.

derek covers his mouth with his hand, baxter's cock dragging so slowly against his walls, his eyes rolling and fluttering shut when his tip bumps against a sensitive spot in his walls, dangerously close to his prostate..

"harder!- ha- oh fuck!" you curse and moan unabashedly loud, followed by your bed frame thumping against the wall.

it quiets down to some creaking, with dull thumps every now and then.

baxter picks up the pace of his thrusts, spurred on by all your sounds from the other room and derek's lewd expressions.

derek whimpers, his moans and cries barely muffled by his hand and when baxter's hips slam into his repeatedly, he can't hold onto his barrage of moans and whines, babbling nonsense.

baxter leans over him, forcing his legs against his chest so he can whisper in derek's ear, stuffing his fingers down derek's throat, his middle and ring fingers pressing on his tongue.

"shh, darling. they'll hear us..." baxter purrs, although he laughs and nods his head to the side, "although, i think being quiet is a bit useless for all of us at this point."

derek whimpers around baxter's fingers, drool pooling in his mouth. he closes his lips around the digits and sucks, swallowing, dragging his tongue along baxter's fingers seductively..

"god." baxter grunts, his face scrunching up in pleasure.

his hips thrust up into derek's g-spot, his thrusts shallow as they both get closer and closer to finishing.

baxter pulls his fingers from derek's lips, a string of spit connecting derek's lips to the digits before it breaks, his hand slipping between their bodies to stroke derek's weeping cock, pre-cum pooling along the valley of his abs...

baxter captures derek in a sloppy kiss, neither of them really trying to hold back their sounds anymore. and from the sounds of it, you and cove aren't worried about being quiet either, your moans more frequent and totally unrestrained.

"i'm gonna-" derek pants, his nails dragging down baxter's shoulder.

"go ahead. cum. cum for me." baxter growls, his hand abusing derek's sensitive tip, making short strokes.

derek's legs shake on either side of him, his eyes rolling as he cums into baxter's hand. baxter groans, his hips stuttering as derek clenched around him, filling the condom.

they melt into each other, their chests rising and falling, and their heavy breathing match.

baxter turns his head to the side, seeing the sky turn from night to early morning..

"i'll.." he pants, pushing himself off derek's chest. "i'll run a bath... wanna join me?"

#olba #our life: beginnings & always #cove holden #cove holden x reader #smut #baxter ward #baxter ward x derek suarez #derek suarez #derek suarez x baxter ward #baxter ward smut #derek suarez smut #derek suarez x baxter ward smut #baxter ward x derek suarez smut #cove holden smut

92 notes · View notes

coralinnii · 1 year

Text

Tall!MC who loves bear hugs feat: Vil · Floyd · Kalim · Jade genre: fluff note: gn!reader, tall!reader, no pronouns are used, comfortable but unestablished relationships,

beluga whales are better than dolphins and I will fight anyone on this,

my coworker and friend is also a tall hugger and she literally starts the day hugging anyone she sees the moment she walks in.

Some may think that Vil would disapprove of your pension for bear hugs but I don’t think so. Vil is a beautiful man who knows beautiful people when he sees them. To him, your height is one of many strengths in terms of your beauty and your loving personality just adds more to your charm.

Also, Vil is not surprised by your urge to hug him. I mean…look at him. “Given my radiant allure, I can hardly fault your overwhelming desire to touch me.”

That is an actual canon voice line

Honestly, he would probably be more impressed than anything. Vil may be on the leaner side physically but he still has a decent amount of muscle mass and he himself is pretty tall so it’s quite a sight to see you embrace him, lifting him like he’s a giant doll.

Sure, he may not be pleased if you crease his clothes or ruffle his hair too much but he’s not going to reprimand you for how you show your love (unless you’re in Pomefiore…or Epel)

To make it enjoyable for both of you, you may make compromises to maintain Vil’s public image. He is still a man constantly viewed and judged by millions, so Vil would request that you refrain from literally lifting him as you go for a hug in public (you can still hug him with his given consent) but when the day is done and you two are alone, you’re free to hold onto him for that much-needed intimacy recharge.

Vil truly enjoys your hugs, just be a little considerate for his sake.

“Am I truly too irresistible for you? Very well then, I shall indulge you”

Loves it. L.O.V.E.S IT

At first, he would be absolutely in shock. No one would be crazy enough to do this to Floyd. Except you apparently. You walked right up to him and before he could question you, you wrapped your arms around the eel merman and gave him the warmest hug he’s ever had, lifting his feet of the ground.

Floyd smiles in manic glee everytime you lift this 191cm pillar of a man without a problem. He’s addicted to the closeness and warmth of your hugs. He prefers that you hug him tight, really squeeze him a bone crushing embrace so he can feel the rush of adrenaline from the force (this crazy lovable weirdo)

At some point, it becomes a game between you two to see which one initiates the hug first. Sometimes you would catch Floyd in your arms and other times Floyd would be the one to surprise you with hugs.

Floyd doesn’t care how tall you are, he’s going to encase you in his arms and spin you around for the fun of it.

So good for you, you have a man who absolutely loves your bear hugs. Not so good (or maybe still good?) for you, Floyd would be cranky the entire day should you forget to give him your sweet hugs or just haven’t had the time.

And a cranky Floyd is an unhelpful Floyd, so add a frustrated Azul demanding you to solve this problem you started with your affectionate hugs.

I wouldn’t recommend hugging someone else before him either…just a warning.

“Neh…where’s my huugg? Who cares if you’re busy, gimme my hug”

Another lover of your hugs. Kalim is the canon hug monster of NRC so of course he’s gonna reciprocate your hugs. A full on advocate for warm fuzzy hugs filled with joy and love.

The first time you hugged him, his boisterous laughter rings out the hallways when he feels his feet leave the floor. He trusts you completely and he was right to. You knew what you were doing.

Just because you can lift him off your feet, doesn’t mean it’s painful. Different from Floyd, Kalim loves the tender energy of your hugs where he feels safe in your arms. He knows you won’t hurt him, you’re a seasoned hugger like him.

He returns your affection with his own warm hugs, his soft cardigan wraps your tall form the moment he sees you. If you let him, he might just cling onto you like a koala. Imagine spinning around with the sunshine Housewarden wrapped around your waist and neck.

Jamil will have to literally pull him away from you.

If you’re taller than him, he would enjoy the way your body envelopes him like a warm burrito, snuggling between your arms with a soft grin on his face.

Be warned, these hug sessions may go for hours. Kalim might get too comfortable in your form and he might just forget about his duties, much to Jamil’s chagrin.

“Your hugs are so cozy, I can stay here forever!”

Coming from the ocean, Jade is still learning and experiencing things that can only come from life on land. Man is just getting used to walking and barely getting by those flying lessons.

So it’s understandable that suddenly being lifted off his feet in a hug came as a surprise to him. With how often you did it as well, he initially pondered if this was a greeting custom for humans on the taller side to partake in.

Nope, you just love giving bear hugs and when Jade realized this, he found it amusing. Despite how tall you are, you are as friendly and lovable as a beluga whale.

Jade would stifle his laughter as he sees you smiling towards him with your arms wide open. He of course welcomes your affectionate ways, opening his arms for you. Like Vil, he’s quite impressed with your strength to lift a 190cm man like him.

The merman finds himself looking forward to your hugs. While not the type to initiate the hugs, Jade was always the one to greet you and he watched as your face lit up and proceeded to wrap your arms around him to give a hearty hug.

Watch out for his crocodile tears however. He might just shed a few tears to get some comfort hugs from you, especially if you start hugging your other friends in front of him.

“I quite enjoy your ways of affection. Is that surprising?”

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland x reader #twst scenarios #twst x reader #twst fluff #twisted wonderland fluff #vil schoenheit #vil x reader #floyd leech #floyd x reader #kalim al asim #kalim x reader #jade leech #jade x reader

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rats-the-bat · 4 months

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Virgil's Gift: An Analysis on It's Symbolism and Possible Foreshadowing

Obvious spoilers for Thomas' newest Sander Asides video: What Makes the Perfect Gift? Go watch it if you haven't.

So the yearly Sander Sides Christmas special dropped hours ago. (Yippee!) And there's a surprisingly large amount to be said for it to be a 13 minute long Christmas special. In fact, I'd say it's the most story focused episode since Can Plushies Improve Our Health?, and that was an ad for the Sander Sides plushies. There's just so much to talk about this episode. There's the implications of Janus and Remus being invited to play Secret Santa; the mystery to what Thomas' message was with his gift to Nico; the underlying tension between all the sides that reminds us of the angst we've already seen and how things still aren't completely alright and that the worst is yet to come; and, most notable of all, the question as to WHY THE HELL REMUS WOULD WANT TO F*CK ANDREW JACKSON??

But the most interesting thing to me is Virgil's gift to Logan, his reaction, and how it reflects Logan's current situation.

Virgil gives Logan a newspaper, claiming that it seems like something he would like. Logan however, does not read newspapers and is very disappointed by the gift. Remus and Janus make some comments on how unthoughtful Virgil's gift appears. But at the end of the episode, Logan finds out that the newspaper actually has a secret message and is the first puzzle of an entire scavenger hunt, which excites him a lot.

This is by far my favorite part of the episode. Not only is it heartwarming, it also symbolizes how Logan has been treated as a whole, and may even foreshadow future events in the series.

When Virgil gives Logan the newspaper, Logan is very confused, and asks him why he would give him a newspaper. Virgil replies, "Cuz' you're the Mr. Smarty Pants of the group. You like reading and all that." Logan is still confused though. Yes, he likes to read, but that doesn't mean he will read anything. Roman chimes in with Virgil, reinforcing that they think Logan will like it. Logan says, "Is that all I am to you? The reading guy?..." And Virgil replies, "I don't know man, give it a read! I'm sure it has something you like."

This entire interaction represents how Logan has been ignored and misunderstood throughout the entire series. Virgil gives Logan a newspaper, something he doesn't actually want, because he assumes he will like it since he likes to read in general. He made an assumption on Logan's personality based off things he already knew, something Thomas and all of the other sides have been doing since the beginning. Throughout the entire series, Logan is considered the smart one of the group who always provides information and exposition, and little else is expected of him. In ACCEPTING ANXIETY part one, Thomas assumes that Logan knew what his problem was because he provides, "the explanatory exposition in [the Sander Sides] videos because all the other characters are too zany or relatable." And in Selfishness v. Selflessness, Logan is benched after providing information that supports both Patton and Janus' sides because they assume he has nothing else to offer. Time and time again Logan is reduced to his function and the traits that go along with it, such as liking to read. And why these things about him are true, he is far more complex that who they see him as. But, as Virgil didn't seem to care to get him something he would actually like, they don't seem to care to learn more about Logan...

They do care though. And that's shown through the twist at the end. When Logan discovers that it's a puzzle, Virgil jokes, "And you thought I would just get you a newspaper. Tsk. What do you take me for?" Though it appeared Virgil didn't put much consideration into the gift, and though Logan believed Virgil didn't, he did, because he truly cares about Logan. And throughout the entire series, though they don't always listen to him, Thomas and the sides show that they care about Logan. Patton is always nice to him, Roman, while the most harsh to him, does secretly respect him, and Thomas, as shown in the song, "Incomplete," is not only aware that Logan has feelings and is more than just logic, he wants Logan to accept it as well. He also seems empathetic when Logan is disappointed with his gift. This represents how Logan's insecurities get in the way of him being fully accepted. Logan is convinced that Thomas and the sides will only ever see him as his function, and that they do not care about his other traits. This is one of the reasons he represses his emotions, and is shown by how quickly Logan believes Virgil got him a newspaper simply because he likes to read. Though Logan may not realize it, Thomas and the sides love and accept him fully, and Logan needs to see that.

However, it seems that someone doesn't want him to see that...

And that's where the foreshadowing comes into play.

After the conversation Virgil gives Logan his gift, Janus chimes in, saying, "Wow Logan, looks like Virgil put a lot of thought into that one!" He emphasizes how little consideration Virgil's gift seemed to have. In doing this, he reinforces the idea to Logan that Virgil didn't care enough to give him a gift he would like, even though that's not actually true. And if he his doing this intentionally, he may also be reinforcing the idea that they don't care about him.

And Remus soon after joins in, proposing, "Kinda makes you wanna scream, huh?" This is obviously a callback to Logan's outburst in Working THROUGH Intrusive Thoughts. In that episode, Remus showed great excitement towards his outburst, implying that Remus wanted him to get upset. And now again, he suggests that Logan should get angry about it. It is very clear that Remus is trying to make Logan lash out on purpose.

Based off this, I believe that in future episodes, we will see the dark sides, or Remus at least, try to manipulate Logan into believing that Thomas and the sides don't care about him. In doing this, they'll persuade him into joining their side. Perhaps they'll make him a puppet for the Orange Side, or if Logan is the Orange Side, they will make him embrace it. Of course their plan won't work out though. Because even if the do get Logan to join them for a little, the other sides will show that they care. And perhaps if they do, Logan will finally be able to see that, and he will finally be able to accept himself.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #tss #logan sanders #ts logan #logan sanders angst #virgil sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #ts sides #tss theory

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dpr-stay · 10 months

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Super-Fan | MV33

Max Verstappen x Badminton Player!Reader

No Warnings except a few swears

WC: ~4.5k

Oh boy, i love writing unserious fics about fully grown men like they’re awkward teenagers! They're just funny fellas your honour! Also can you tell I like writing dialogue?

Didn't edit and the writing style changed like six times, sorry!

The life of a professional badminton player can be described as a war between two factors: bankruptcy and passion. Well, less passion and more talent, to be completely fair. It didn’t matter if you had passion if you didn’t have any talent. The reason for this being it was virtually impossible to make any money as a professional badminton player unless you won tournaments or were able to take on thousands of brand deals.

Now, as a player with a considerable amount of talent but a huge lack of money, you had two options. You could either win more tournaments or take on thousands more brand deals. Of course, considering you were winning as many tournaments as you can, you had to choose the second option.

This meant you had taken brand deals with clothing brands, food delivery apps, animal shelters. In a time of desperation when you couldn’t even afford a coach you had even taken an opportunity to be an ambassador for a garbage collection agency, riding around on a garbage truck for a few days.

All of these deals meant you were moderately well known by the general public but incredibly well known in the small world of professional badminton players. Not only because of your brand deals though, but also your incredibly quick rise to being first place in many professional tournaments, even earning an Olympic Gold Medal for your country.

However, you still had to take on more brand deals. So, when your rich cousin came knocking on your door with a proposal to film a video for his F1 team about teaching him how to play badminton and you how to drive, you of course said yes.

I mean, who the hell would say no to Mercedes?

This is of course all build up to your current situation. Sitting in a badminton hall, which was full of people with cameras and various filming equipment, with your cousin sitting across from you in a chair. One of those fancy fold out chairs, you know, that should say director on the back.

You weren’t exactly sure how you were going to teach a professional driver how to be competent at playing badminton enough to where he’s good enough competition just as you weren’t actually sure how you were supposed to learn to drive in around an hour.

But that was a problem for future you, you thought as the camera men gave thumbs-up and George turned to the camera, PR face on.

“Hello everybody. I’m sure you’re wondering who I’m joined by and the answer to that is the most recent gold medalist for women’s singles badminton! Otherwise known as my cousin.” Ignoring the slight tease, you held up two thumbs up and smiled, albeit awkwardly, at the camera.

“Today I am hopefully going to become a pro badminton player.” He said and then turned to you. You both made eye contact and he signaled by moving his eyes for you to say something. You turned to the camera and clapped your hands together.

“And I’ll hopefully learn to drive and get my license.” You finished with a closed mouthed smile.

“Wait… you don’t have your license?” George asked and you turned back to him. Now aware of his shocked face, you slowly turned back to make eye-contact with the camera.

“No.” You slowly said. His large hand gently came into contact with your shoulder.

“You’re twenty five years old and you can’t drive?” He asked incredulously, you turning your head to now make eye contact with him.

“I’m a badminton player!” You tried to excuse, gesturing out with your hands and he shook his head, his mouth slightly open. His expression prompted you to try and explain.

“I can drive! Like I promise I can, I just don’t.” You tried to save, glancing between the camera and George.

“Yeah, because you don’t have a license!” He said, throwing his hands out, a grin threatening to spread across his face.

“I can leave. I can leave right now and cancel this whole thing.” You threatened, pointing down to the ground with what you hoped came across as power. George took a second to respond, steeling himself from laughing.

“How exactly would you leave?” He said, beginning to laugh. Your expression instantly changed into a stone cold one in response to his joke and you turned to the camera with a fed-up look on your face.

“Do you want a badminton lesson or not, you bastard?” You questioned him and he finally relented.

“Fine, fine. Shall we start?” He said and you nodded. After the cameras cut you both were quickly praised for how well you get along and your entertainment value before quickly being ushered onto a badminton court and handed rackets. The director quickly counted down before the lights turned on and the camera started recording.

George turned to you.

“We haven’t been given much direction so you’re just going to have to start teaching and hope it works out.” He smiled and you shot back a smile filled with as much joy as you were feeling.

“We haven’t been given any direction, so we’ll just get this out of the way. You know how to hold a racket, no?” You asked and George smiled guiltily.

“Maybe.” He shrugged, letting the racket drop from his grasp as he brought it up and clatter to the floor. You sighed and picked up the racket before giving it back to him.

“This is going to take a while.”

After roughly 45 minutes of the camera capturing you both making jokes and doing little Jim-from-the-office-esque cut away’s to look at the camera (and teaching George how to play badminton), George was ready to play a match.

You ducked under the net onto the other side of the court and held up the shuttle.

“I’ll take it easy on you, yeah? Can’t have you giving up the racket already.”

“Nah, I’ll be able to take it.” He dismissed, showing a smirk and waving his hands around. You deadpanned him.

“I think we should at least do one practice match.” He blew out air from his mouth in a mocking gesture and scrunched up his face.

“Nope! Do your worst, I’m sure I'll be able to beat you.” You raised an eyebrow.

“Or at least get a few points.” You tilted your head in question. He narrowed his eyebrows and sighed before admitting.

“I want to teach you to be able to drive.” You ‘ahh-ed’ and nodded before raising the shuttle again and nodding at him. He nodded back and you dropped the shuttle and hit it as a singles serve. George quickly moved closer to the net before gently hitting it over to you.

You, bearing in mind that he told you to do your worst, advanced quickly in footwork you’d practiced for over twenty-two years to quickly smash it straight onto the floor within bounds.

You made eye-contact with George through the net and saw him visibly gulp. You, then, turned to the camera and gave it a thumbs up before turning back and reaching under the net to scoop up the shuttle.

“I feel as though I’ve made a mistake.” He said and you huffed out a laugh.

“You asked an olympic gold level athlete to beat you at their game, it’s not going to go in your favour.” You fixed him an incredulous look and he just accepted what you said with a raised hand.

The game continued on, George not doing any better and you only continuing to prove your prowess at your sport. The ways in which George lost became increasingly more difficult to watch as the game went on, staff behind the camera having to muffle their laughs into their sleeves as George flailed around trying to return your hits.

It was down to the last serve of the match (score 20:0) and you geared up to do a fancy serve, aiming to land it just in the boundary line in order to make George run over to get it. Just as you released the shuttle, the door to the entrance of the gym slammed open, making both of you turn your heads to look at the intruder.

Max Verstappen was standing, still in shock, as he took in the sight of the Mercedes camera crew with many cameras pointed his way and the two players in front of him. He blinked as though coming out of a daze before awkwardly laughing.

“You alright mate?” George asked, focused on the guy in the doorway. While he was distracted you quickly tried to scoop up the shuttle, hoping George wouldn’t notice. “Oh yeah I’m fine.” The guy responded, his Dutch accent shining through in his words.

“I was just looking for Y/N.” You snapped your head to face him, ignoring George’s incredibly questioning look.

“Uhh yeah? Is something wrong?” You asked and the man bashfully (you read that right) turned to you. He seemed almost hesitant to speak.

“Can I talk to you after you’re done?” He asked, looking at your forehead to avoid looking at your eyes.

“Sure?” You said, questioning why the stranger who was also a world champion wanted to talk to you, and why he approached in the way a teenage boy approaches his crush.

He nodded and entered the gym, the door slamming behind him. He lumbered over behind the camera crew, holding some sort of bag and then just stood there and George made eye contact with you. You shrugged at the question in his eyes and the director cleared her throat, causing you both to look at her.

“We’ll start the take again, yes?” She asked and you nodded as did George before he paused.

“Wait, didn’t it fall to the ground?” All movement on the set stopped. You chuckled, albeit nervously.

“No, what are you talking about?” You asked, prepared to start gaslighting, a disbelieving expression on your face.

“I could’ve sworn you let go of it before… that happened.” He said, vaguely gesturing to the door, a grin beginning to spread on his face. You exhaled air and widened your eyes.

“Mate, I think we need to get your memory checked because I didn’t even let go of it.” You said, shrugging and George quickly glanced over to the staff.

“I’m not hallucinating this, no?” None of them replied. He frowned before saying. “We’re colleagues, you guys should have more allegiance to me than to my cousin.” He pleaded as you coughed whispering “Badminton Gold Medallist” very obviously into your fist.

He turned to fix you a glare.

“I am not hallucinating this. I think you’re lying.” You shrugged at his words, smirking.

“I don’t think so. I genuinely think you were hallucinating.” You said as you shook your head, staring at him in pity. He sighed before saying,

“How would your mum feel if she knew you were lying to me like this?” Oh he brought out the big guns.

“Ok, you’re right, I was lying. Please do not tell my mum.” You quickly admitted, holding up your hands and bowing your head. He started laughing as you quickly looked to the camera.

“My mother did not raise a liar.”

“You just lied.”

You snapped your head back to him.

“Irrelevant.” You pointed a finger in his direction and he started smirking, causing you to groan.

“Does this mean I get a point?” You groaned again and George started laughing as did the staff and camera crew. There was one loud laugh and, as you glanced in the direction of the camera crew, you realized it came from the intruder. What a weird turn of events. You had no idea why he was there or why he wanted to speak to you.

After his brief stint of feeling superior, George quickly served the shuttle in a way you could only describe as dramatic, only to hit it too short so that you got the point and you won the game. You shook his hand under the net, sarcastically thanking him for a fair game.

“Hey, I got that point fair and square.” He said, eyes wide and pointing at you.

“Sure you did, buddy.” You said and patted him on the back. He laughed and the camera crew cut the cameras. The driving part of the video wasn’t scheduled for another hour and it only took 20 minutes to get there and get set up, so the director called for a 30 minute break.

After this was announced George gestured at you to walk to Max Verstappen rather vehemently, so you did, cautiously approaching the man. As you approached he looked up from where he was focused on his phone, quickly turning it off and standing up to shake your hand.

“Hi.” He said, sounding almost breathless as he grasped your hand and shook it almost violently.

“Hi?” You responded, thoroughly confused but letting him continue his assault on your hand.

“I’m Max Verstappen.” He introduced, his eyes shining as he looked at you. You nodded, a small, disbelieving smile growing on your lips.

“Yes, I know who you are.” You replied and he inhaled air audibly.

“You do?” He asked, leaning a bit closer.

“You’re a bit hard to avoid.” You said before carefully tacking on “Not that I go out of my way to avoid you.”

“I’m kind of surprised you know who I am to be honest.” He said and you almost laughed at his humbleness. After a few seconds of him continuing to hold your hand he seemed to come to himself and let go of your hand. He cleared his throat before continuing.

“I don’t know if you know, but I’m a huge fan of yours.” You had not known that and wouldn’t have been able to guess that in a million years. But it definitely explained a few things

“Oh really? That’s cool, I’m flattered.” You smiled, realizing his incredibly odd behavior was him being star-struck.

“Uhh thanks.” He said before taking a deep breath.

“We started our professional careers around the same time, I don’t know if you know.” He started. “I know your parents always wanted you to be a badminton player, like how my dad always wanted me to be a driver, so I kinda connected to you on that.” You were surprised the man had so much to say, knowing of his usual reservedness or, in George’s words, ‘passive-aggressive-ness’.

“And then, when we started at the same time, I thought it was cool how we both kinda matched each other at how well we did in our sports. Like when I won the championship, you won gold. Yeah. I just thought it was cool.” After that huge speech he went back to looking at his feet.

“So you’ve been a fan for a while?” You prompted, finding his outburst cute. He looked up again to continue speaking.

“Yeah, I actually watched your Olympic final before the Hungarian GP, like before I had to get in the car!” He said happily and you paused for a second, a confused expression taking over your face.

“Didn’t you crash in that race?” You asked, a slight hesitation in your voice. Max frantically shook his head, laughing awkwardly.

“Uh no. Someone did crash into me though.” He said, emphasizing the ‘into’ as if trying to make sure you knew that he wasn’t a bad driver. You definitely knew though, the many texts you’d received over the years from George about the older man making sure that if you knew one thing about Max Verstappen, it was that he was a damn good driver.

You both descended into awkward silence as you sucked in air through your teeth and rocked back and forth on your feet. He wasn’t helping, after his correction he’d taken to clearing his throat and scratching the back of his neck. You opened your mouth to speak before closing it, having nothing to say except that this might’ve been one of the most awkward situations you’d gotten yourself into.

“I was wondering if you could sign some merch?” He quickly blurted out, snapping your eyes from the roof to his face. You could only nod as he took off his bag and opened it, revealing probably the biggest stash of your merch you had ever seen. You let out a quiet ‘wow’ as he started pulling stuff out and putting it on the chair he was previously sitting on, choosing not to comment on the way he flushed at your words.

His collection was expansive, there was team shirts from your first team, caps with your name on them, your country’s badminton jersey from the olympics with your name on it, a few banners, a badminton bag part of a collection you’d modeled for, and even more merch from all your brand deals. Did you know that you had a special edition of a garbage bag from that garbage company series or a pair of socks from a luxury sock brand? No, but Max definitely did.

He wouldn’t look at you as you took in the scale of all the items. He was probably single handedly paying your rent with the amount of stuff he had bought. You could only look on in awe at the magnitude. You kinda felt bad, you only had a cap with his name on it from a lame attempt to tease George at Secret Santa that backfired when the cap was launched at you and nearly knocked your teeth out.

“It’s not all, if you were wondering.” He said as he quietly stepped back from the pile and you turned to him, an heavily incredulous look on your face. You took note of George in the background of your vision, playing suspiciously on his phone, almost looking as if he was recording.

“Wow, you really are a fan.” Was the only thing you could manage to say as you stared at the array, stuff falling off the chair and onto the floor. You took a deep breath before slapping your thighs as you crouched down, grabbing one of the hats. You turned to look at Max.

“You got a pen?” You asked and he hastily retrieved one from his pocket and handed it to you. You chose not to address the way his hand lingered as it touched yours barely as he handed you the pen.

You signed the hat before reaching deeper into the pile, grabbing a shirt and signing it too. The cycle continued for a few items before you must have grabbed something that upset the pile and you were suddenly buried in your own merch. It’s always those closest to us we can’t trust.

The darkness encapsulated you and you tried to shake off the large mass, but your attempts proved unfruitful. After a few seconds you just resigned yourself to being buried in assorted items with your name plastered on it. I mean, when did you sponsor a lamp company and why was there a lamp with your badminton racket holding the lightbulb? How the hell did Max fit that in his bag?

After 30 seconds you saw light again, Max’s mortified face staring down at your splayed out form. His head was encapsulated by the stadium-grade lights and it was almost as if an angel was looking down at you from the heavens.

You tried to haul an arm up to hopefully pull yourself out, but you couldn’t move your arm. It was pinned down by a… was that a BearBrick version of you? You really have got to pay attention to the contracts you sign. Max eventually got the memo by the shifting plastic (?) and pulled the bear off of you, leaving you to sit yourself up rapidly with a gasp, like a swimmer getting their first breath after nearly drowning.

It took you a second to regain your senses, but when you eventually came back to normal you could hear three things. The silence that was permeating from the film crew who could only stare in barely-concealed horror, George’s raucous laughter as he struggled to hold his phone properly to capture you both, and Max’s rushed apologies, repeatedly muttering how sorry he was as he took your hand and hauled you so you were standing.

You took a second for your iron to stop fucking with you before you patted Max on the shoulder, him letting go of your hand in response and you leaned over to put your hands on your thighs, hanging your head forward before lifting it to see the catastrophe of your merchandise all over the floor.

Max hadn’t stopped apologising and you feared he might combust if you didn’t address it soon. You turned to him, taking in the way he was glaring at the floor and hadn’t stopped fidgeting with his hands, and you sighed. That only seemed to make him shrink in on himself, still apologising before you took his hand and almost dragged him across the hall, out towards the door he had entered the hall through.

There was a small paved walkway outside the hall, the pathway separated from the tin walls of the hall and the road beside the hall by two nice patches of greenery. There was a railing on the outside of the pathway and you leant back against it as you let go of Max’s hand and surveyed his form.

For a world champion, a man who should walk around full of pride, he really presented himself as quite small. Maybe that was just because of the circumstances, but he should be more confident in himself, you couldn’t help but think to yourself.

The way George had described him in his ranting sessions contrasted heavily as to how he was acting in front of you, all shy like. You wondered where the ballsy man who pushed people off track and didn’t really care went. If you were a two time world champion you’d walk around bragging about it everywhere you went.

‘Hey pretty lady, you want to go out? I’m a two time F1 world champion and I can make all your dreams come true!’ To be fair, that probably wouldn’t work on any self-respecting woman, but hey! There’s a lot of women in the world, Max could definitely pull at least one of them.

How did you get here? Your mind was just wondering about, you guessed. The man was attractive, so it did make sense you’d be thinking along these lines, but normally you have a three hour grace period where you decide if a man is a creep before thinking along the lines of if you want to… respectfully ponder his relationship status.

Max, unfortunately and probably against his wishes, had kinda come off as a bit of a creep, though you knew that if you told him that he would probably shrink in on himself like before and disappear. However, you still found yourself thinking about him like that. Maybe you found it cute, the way he was such a fan? Maybe you were just really flattered that such a famous person liked you so much? Maybe you just found his mannerisms really cute?

You didn’t know.

At this point it had been a minute or so of you both quietly standing there, Max having finally stopped apologising as you took his hand. You breathed out and Max’s eyes snapped to you.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t know that would happen, I wouldn’t have brought everything if I’d have known. I shouldn’t have brought everything, it was too much. This is our first time meeting, this was probably so weird. I didn’t mean to weird you out, I’m sorry. I probably just embarrassed you in front of all of those people, you didn’t deserve that.” The unspoken ‘I just embarrassed myself in front of you’ was heard loudly in your head, as you stared dumbly at the man who had just poured out all of his worries in front of you.

He went silent again, leaving you with time to process all he had said. While yes, it was definitely a bit much for a first meeting, why did you find it sort of sweet? And, to be quite honest, you didn’t really care about embarrassing yourself in front of the crew. As despondent as it sounds, you’d done worse for less. You decided to tell him as such.

“Nah, you’re fine.” You said and he looked at you again.

“To be honest, I just pulled you out because I didn’t want you to be embarrassed.” He opened his mouth to speak but closed it at your words. A pause.

“I’m still really sorry about this whole thing, I shouldn’t have stopped by.” He said quietly.

“How would I have known that two time world champion Max Verstappen was my biggest fan then?” You teased and he shook his head, a small smile appearing on his face.

“It was cute honestly.” You said, and his head jolted up to make eye contact, shock plastered all over his face.

“It’s kinda sweet to know someone so respected has such respect for me.” You said quietly, looking to the floor, a smile spread across your face.

“Uhh yeah, I definitely have a lot of respect for you.” He said, clearing his throat. You then looked up at him, like really looked at him. You took a moment to decide something before continuing to speak.

“Would you like to go for dinner at some point?” You asked and Max looked as if he had been shot for a second before jolting out of it.

“Pardon?” He asked and you winced. Alright, message received. You just awkwardly waved it off.

“Oh nothing, just something stupid.” “No please, what did you say?” A tone of desperation took over his voice and he grasped your hand. You looked at his eyes, genuineness shining through then. Ok, one more shot.

“Would you like to go for dinner?” You asked and he immediately started nodding his head violently.

“Yes, I’d love to! Can I have your number so we can talk about it?” He asked, and reached into his pocket to grab his phone before coming back empty-handed. He groaned, realising his phone was still in the badminton hall and you laughed.

“Of course, you probably need your phone though.” Max looked over to you as though to say something sarcastic but stopped as he saw your smile. You pretended not to notice and went to open the badminton hall door.

“Are you ready to go back in?” You asked and he groaned.

“We’re going to have to pack it all up and face Russell.” He said, resignedly, and you laughed.

“Sounds like a good prelude to a dinner.” And he smiled, looking back at you.

“It does."

You did eventually learn how to drive, by the way. It just wasn’t from George teaching you.

get the title now (i don't know how to embed spotify links so this is what you get, sorry) also probably my worst work but oh well

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x y/n #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula one x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen one shot #formula one fanfic #formula one imagine #f1 fanfic #GEORGE RUSSELL AS YOUR COUSIN #i'm tired LOL #this is so bad lmao #don't call me out on mischaracterization #Spotify

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sgiandubh · 9 months

Text

Pretzel logic

I never liked funerals - who does? - and I have always tried to avoid them, under different pretexts. This is one of the moments we meet the Great Beyond and we are at our most vulnerable. It's only fair and it is not something to be taken lightly, ever.

August 10, 2022 happened a few days before I decided to give OL a try and by the time I landed in here, that YouTube live had already been taken offline, perhaps with good reason.

That people watched it should come as no surprise to anybody: it happens in all cultures and societies - Death fascinates us and makes us curious, even if it's a questionable, voyeuristic kind of curiosity. It was posted for everyone to see, on the biggest content streaming platform on planet Earth. It was posted in consideration of the ending peak moment of the COVID pandemic, to allow for more people to attend, with the family's prior consent. It was most probably shot from the organ balcony, at a respectful distance and I am being told the streaming was blurry: a good thing, if you ask me. People screeching for "more clarity" of those screenshots should, in my humble opinion, think twice: context and taboo and all that.

That people saw something bizarre in the front pew was unavoidable. That the said detail (Occam's Razor would help us conclude that ambiguous things are usually anything but...) was screenshot, edited and made its way in here and elsewhere - impossible to control. However, I have not read any disrespectful comments about the event. Nobody snarked. Nobody grinned. A hole in the plot was pointed out, adding to the whole array of inconsistencies and if I remember well, it was almost missed out entirely (a taboo is a taboo, after all) and started its career online only days after.

Was it shared ad nauseam? Maybe - but who the hell am I to judge? Again, not something you can control, unless you set yourself up as the Torquemadas of this fandom and slap everybody on the wrist with your twisted righteousness. When your people discuss the Data Lounge findings in great, lewd detail, that is called having fun and (I love that one, don't you?) gossiping, as if you were just talking about Miss Scarlett's new petticoat, not a man's reputation. When our people dare to post pictures from a public event, or published for public consumption, that is immediately taxed as being insane or snooping.

A neutral person venturing in here would call out the bias immediately. I call out your hypocrisy and have no problem doing it in writing. And I never peddled neutrality, in here: I simply peddled decency and I remind everyone I have probably never posted any pictures from August 10, 2022 (I will triple check later, but I am pretty sure I didn't). It is a personal choice and, as you know very well, I am not alone in the Shipper community. Far from it.

That you chose August 10 to post the largest, most consistent amount of content I have read on your blogs during the last six months, shows me once more what I already knew: you simply can't help yourself, can you? It's all about slap-a-shipper day, even if this community remained remarkably silent and collected, yesterday. Extremes exist, they are a fact of life: silencing them is useless and unproductive, at least as far as I am concerned.

You have once again showed me your true colors, Mordor. At the end of the day, you do not really have a problem with the pictures floating out there. What you do have a BIG problem with, is the person sitting in the front pew and you would go to great lengths - to any lengths, for that matter - to disguise it under a thick sanctimonious cloak of civic disgust. Your shrieks backfire: if anything, they confirm, not deny. And for the sake of politics, anything goes. It is, therefore, ironic, that in order to post your reasoning, you did look, in great detail and for a consistent amount of time, at the same exact screenshots and pictures you send to hell so gleefully.

Spare me the dramatics.

#fandom

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 2 months

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I'm the anon who asked that one ask you didn't make. Let me rephrase that, just in case the first one was too much.

How about the M6 who saw MC burying their head underwater when they cry? MC has this habit of hiding their problems and always keeps a strong persona in front of everybody. But when they breakdown, they go to a stream, a lake, the bathhouse, whatever place that has bodies of water so that they can put their head in the water and scream out their tears and inner conflicts. Because when they do this, nobody can hear them cry underwater.

Hopefully this one is more acceptable than the other one. Thanks, Brainrot. I'll try to be more considerate for the others :)

Hi anon,

I want to be clear from the beginning of this that what I'm saying is not coming from a place of anger or hate. Rather, there's been a small but growing trend in my inbox lately that I want to address, and this request is one of the clearest examples of it. I intend no harm against you and I'm not requesting any kind of apology, I'd just like to give some boundary reminders.

I understand your frustration with your first request not getting written. The opportunity to have content for a favorite set of characters custom made to your ideas is exciting! Much of the time that it doesn't happen, it's because there's more mini-hcs in the inbox than I can write, or it's because due to the amount of traffic through it some of the asks get lost. (I still write well over 90% of the prompts that come in, though, which is how my current posting output is roughly 2 full headcanons, a Vesvuvia Weekly prompt, and 21 mini headcanons a week!) It's why I usually don't mind receiving a request a second time in case there wasn't space for the first one ^.^

However, I still have the right to pick what I do and don't write. While my guidelines are written with the comfort and safety of my readers in mind, they are primarily there as my own personal boundaries. Writing about things like waterboarding, torture, child abuse and neglect, toxic relationships etc. without a context of healing, recovery, and personal growth is and always has been off the table. I chose not to write your earlier, more extreme prompt because it would violate the boundaries I outlined in my pinned post, and I'm choosing not to write this one either for the same reasons. I don't judge you for wanting to consume content with those themes (we all have our tastes, and that's okay!) but I'm not going to compromise my own boundaries or mental health to write something that's meant to be a free gift of my own creativity. There are other authors you can ask for those themes who would be happy to provide.

I don't bring this up often because I don't want to ruin the chill vibes, but I do in fact do this for free. I clock easily 30+ hours of work a week putting content on this blog alongside my full time job - and that is work that I am happy to do! I'm privileged enough to do this without needing to monetize it, and I find my reward in being able to share my writing with people, make friends, and create joy where I can. Even if I did depend on this for my livelihood, that still wouldn't entitle anyone to my services. I'm immensely grateful to the people who send me their ideas and support my work and give me feedback, but the work I do for the people on my page is out of joy and love, not obligation.

For the few anonymous requesters who send me prompts with disturbing content outside my guidelines, I understand that not everyone has an interest in checking my boundaries (listed in my pinned post) first. I'm not angry about that. However, I in turn have no interest in writing for requests that disregard those boundaries. Those requests are not entitled to being fulfilled or responded to.

To the vast majority of my readers and requesters, thank you!! Your ideas are a constant source of creative delight and your feedback and interest and joy light up my page. You guys are the best and have a special place in my heart :)

Cheers,

brainrot

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana game

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 4 months

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🤽‍♂️ WIBTA if I broke a pool rule made specifically about me? 🤽‍♂️

Long story short, I (27M) am a freediver and work as a lifeguard at my local pool. I'm one of the few adults who work there, and most of my coworkers are either in highschool or barely out of it.

To be perfectly honest, I would not trust a good number of them to save me if I were to drown. And thats not just because they're teenagers, some of them have some seriously dangerous bad habits that they've been warned before about.

So now that winter has started and I can't go out to the lake, I've been practicing my breath holds at the pool to stay in practice. But I do NOT do this when one of the problem guards is on duty. I only ever do it when there's a good guard on, it's not too busy, and they're at least some level of aware about what I'm doing.

Shortly after I started doing this, big "No Breath Holding" signs went up.

Of course none of the guards were told about this because communication is sometimes a problem at this pool. So I have no other information other then there wasn't a sign, and now there is.

But I'm reasonably sure the signs are specifically because of me. I guard there pretty frequently, and I've never seen anyone hold their breath for a concerning amount of time. Its mostly kids who do, and none of them can hold their breath more than 15 seconds and they pop right back up, so other than keeping an eye on them, I've never been legitimately worried about them. That's one of the things I'm least worried about while guarding tbh, there are a LOT of other dangers.

Frankly, I think the rule is silly. I'd think it were less silly if we had a problem with patrons holding their breath for long periods of time, but I've never seen it happen. So unless it happens in the hours I don't work, I can only assume the rule is specifically about me.

Maybe I'm being paranoid or having main character syndrome, but from what I see, I'm the only one who would actually be affected by this rule.

Now since I only dive in front of a handful of guards anyway, I figure there's a decent chance that if I warn them about what I'm doing ahead of time that they wouldn't raise a fuss about it.

But it IS a liability issue for the pool (a lot of our rules are mainly to do with liability tbh), and I worry that very explicitly breaking this rule is an AH move and I should just accept I'm going to have to retrain in the summer from scratch.

NOTE: The lake does not have any lifeguards, but I never dive alone. But it is CONSIDERABLY safer to practice at the pool where the water is clear and there's a lifeguard right there. I'm comfortable practicing for longer at the pool for this reason, while at the lake, I'll usually only do 2 practice dives to warm up, a few shallow dives, and one big dive.

YES, I recognize that freediving can be a dangerous hobby. NO, I don't need to be told that. Most outdoor hobbies are on some level dangerous, and so long as you actually know what you're doing and have a spotter, I honestly think it's at least as safe as something like horseback riding or biking on roads next to cars - either of which can kill or maim you in a heartbeat if something goes wrong. Dangers in freediving usually (not always) occur when pushing yourself too far, and I'm incredibly cautious about my limits for that exact reason.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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s1ater · 2 years

Text

crybaby.

pairings. louis partridge x fem!reader

about. you’ve been hurt by louis many times, but you don’t want to let him go.

warnings. foul language, lil millie slander 😁, crybaby moment (not bad)

ricky rocks. this story was written at different points in time so 😭 forgive if it don’t make sense

you should have let it be.

ignorance is bliss.

but you weren’t ignorant. you never were and never would be and louis knew that since day one, but he always chose to ignore it, always hoping your love for him would blind you enough to let things go.

but he mistakes your love for something it isn’t, and time after time it kicks him in the ass

11:45 am — y/n: dinner at my house at six

he really only got back to you at later hours of the day due to his life conducting of sleeping, drinking, and sometimes working out if he really wanted; which was rare and almost never till his boredom killed his brain.

4:27 pm — lou: got it.

he didn’t show up. you weren’t surprised, but you still had hoped you would have caught him at a time where he was feeling considerate. guess not.

you didn’t see him for awhile after that, mainly because you were pissed and wanted to give him the silent treatment. otherwise you usually would have been at his house and in his bed within the same day he ditched out on you. the only thing that was different this time was the fact that he also ditched out on your mother too.

it was always hard to explain your dynamic with louis to people, especially your own mother, and even as she loved him dearly, she hoped better for you and urged you to end things with him. you had thought about it many, many times, but it just never happened.

you were attached to him, no matter how many times he broke your heart.

he called a week later, a call you missed, but lucky for you he had left a voicemail.

“eh, love, i’m going to be away from the next couple of days, don’t wait up on me, alright?” he laughs and you smile shamelessly at the sound while it echoed out from your phone for a good second. “i know you will anyways, but yeah, see ya, love ya.” the message is close to cutting off until it seems he remembers something just seconds before he’s about to hang up. “sorry about the other night. tell your mother i love her and your house is the first stop when i get back.”

lie. you knew he would forget that promise, but at least he apologized this time.

lou was an interesting person to say the least; he had no problem saying i love you, he said it before you did, but he hated affection outside of closed doors. any of it, there was a rare chance to ever catch him in such a touchy mood around friends, family, and in public.

he was shitty at communication, but almost couldn’t go a day without you when in the same rural area. he liked to flaunt your relationship all over the internet but got fairly embarrassed whenever the two of you went out on dates.

it was borderline hell.

sometimes you wondered if he even liked you, and you almost doubted it if it weren’t for times when you hung out and the reassurance was there… until he left again. you felt anxious without him.

when you first ever met louis, you tried hard for him. you were always on your toes about how you looked, what you did, what you said—all to make sure no bumps were hit. you spent a significant amount of time crying in the beginning, still did.

“lou, i’m calling,” you bit your lip hard, wondering whether or not you should even be calling. “calling, just wondering if you’re alright, it’s been a week and i just haven’t heard from you… bye love, call me.”

please call me.

he didn’t call.

“louis, calling again, please pick up.”

no pick up.

“i’m starting to worry for you, love. just send a message or something, bye.”

no message.

“louis, i have your life360 location on, you bimbo, answer your fucking phone.”

oh you were crazy.

things escalated fast after you recalled that you had his location, where you immediately checked to see that he was exactly at his house... and then her house.

millie, of course.

you had always had speculation that there was something going on between the two of them ever sense you had first met her and she could barely stay away from him for more than a minute.

he always denied, but you didn’t trust it. especially not now. millie was one of the most flirty girls you had ever met; she spoke with her hands, and could barely keep hers off his arms or shoulders, and even face.

they way he spoke about her never eased your thoughts. it seemed like he didn’t like her, but yet he always found himself at her house whenever he wasn’t with you. it was a punch in the face.

“louis, this is the last time i’m going to call you. i can’t do this. i know what you want, and it’s not me anymore.”

you were cursing at yourself for giving up already, so easily; without a second thought—but the thing was, you had given him so much time. you just didn’t want to let him go, no matter what.

the knock on your door was the answer to your prayers; because two days later, there he stood on your doorstep, smiling softly.

you were losing your mind at the sight, surprised, even though you should have expected him.

“hi, love.”

“oh, louis,” your hand pressed against your forehead, your eyes stinging from embarrassment knowing damn well that the only reason he was here was because of the voicemails.

“don’t cry,” he stepped in without invitation, pulling you to him with a sympathetic smile, “you’re worked up over nothing, baby,”

“oh, my god,” you shook your head, “i’m sorry.” you could feel your heart aching.

“don’t be sorry,” the hand he didn’t have around your waist was pressed against your cheek. his smile was soft but pressed into a thin line, not knowing what to make of you. “don’t be a crybaby, you’re okay.”

crybaby.

“you break my heart sometimes, lou,” you had your head pressed in the crook of his neck, regaining your composure. he held you, rubbing circles on your back as you spoke lowly.

“i know, sweetheart.”

navigation.

@aliyahsutherland @ioveisabel @multifandom-obsessed @cryinginsanity @rebbyr @cc13723things @heyitsmeimdead @thehuntress09 @black-rose-29 @rrosecar @instabull @rudypankowisdaddy @lukewearingbeanies @kiramdd @highkeygolden @kitkat-mini @spencybear @w0nderr @deadbeatbarb @phantompogues @i-love-scott-mccall @greengarsstuff @rowena-ravenclaws-diadem @felixulvr @demigirl-with-problems @whoreforpsychopaths @siriusspuppyy @mxsmwndr

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hero-israel · 6 months

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I was relating it to something so know. YOU do not want to risk living in a majority Arab or Muslim country because of past actions, you point to these actions as proof that you need to have a form of control over them. So you are okay with their murder. You are okay with the fact that you moved yourselves onto their land and kicked them out. You are okay with the fact that you basically have them behind a militarized wall. Going through all that does not mean you are incapable of doing the same. Or that just because you have not done the exact same or the same amount of time that your actions are not bad. I am ethnically Jewish (not practicing) tho it’s not significant enough in my life for me to claim it as a cultural identity on my father’s side and my step father is Jewish but he’s now anti-religion (He’s on Israel’s side). My cultural upbringing… well I’m a poc and I spent years going to Holocaust memorials, I learned Jewish customs, our family friends were Jewish, and I read Jewish stories/watched the films. Media consumption? All the media I’ve consumed said that Palestinians where the problem because they refused to accept Israel and that Muslims where all terrorists (I grew up post 911). At no point did I ever say I was okay with the massacre of Jewish people or that it was understandable. I feel fine being critical of what you tell me because I know you aren’t saying the whole truth. You are still playing the role of the perfect victim. Everything has been done to you and you have done nothing back.

just because you have not done the exact same or the same amount of time that your actions are not bad

The amount of history that this sentence attempts to wave away.... No. No, that simply won't do.

I showed you dozens of examples of centuries of torture, oppression, and massacres of Jews in Arab / Muslim societies, culminating in the complete and recent destruction of 3,000-year-old Jewish civilization in all MENA countries, and you just breeze by them with no real consideration at all. You have repeatedly mentioned slave revolts because the slaves had good reason to defend themselves. Does the need for self-defense vanish when it's Jewish self-defense? Why can you tolerate violence in slave uprisings, but not in Jews trying to prevent their extermination? Cut us, maybe we don't bleed.

Your final comment of "Everything was done to you, you have done nothing back" likewise disregards the lopsided history and unequal stakes of oppression and loss. There are exactly zero countries where Arabs or Muslims have been reduced to nothing and their histories ended by Jews. Israel has a 20% Arab minority, in most MENA countries you can't even find 20 Jews. Israel is the only regional country that has any diversity, pluralism, and tolerance, instead of an unnatural Nebraska-cornfield ethnic monoculture. How much structural racism, how much systematic violence and hate, does a country need to have for it to EVEN BE POSSIBLE to physically wipe out a minority? With all of America's fucked-up racial problems, do you think they could physically push out the African-Americans or Latinos today if they wanted to? Yet you look at the Middle East and, one after another, the Jews are gone, the Jews are gone, the Jews are gone. You say you are not okay with Jewish massacres, well, I'm glad to hear that, but you don't seem to appreciate that those were the actual stakes. If your enemy says their goal is your extinction, and you survive, then yeah, maybe you do put up a wall and they have to stay on their side of it. Boo and furthermore hoo.

As for "being okay with murder" - forget slave revolts, I'm certainly fine with abolishing slavery altogether and I suspect you are too. That required killing over 600,000 people in 4 years. The combined all-sides grand total death count of the Zionist / Arab conflict is about 120,000 in 140 years. Are you "okay" with the American Civil War taking place, even though Lincoln suspended habeas corpus and all the other imperfect, morally compromised things Confederate LARPers complain about?

Overall I detect a strongly binary way of thinking, that Jewish people / institutions can only be seen as worth physical protection if they are perfect, if they have never harmed anyone, even if the options the world presents to us are Jewish people / institutions as they are or their continued, repeated disappearance. You were never promised better Jews or a better Israel, and you may not shift the goalposts on how we resist those who would repeat our genocide. I am fully comfortable in saying we are morally superior to our enemies. The fact that we still have living enemies proves that.

#israel #palestine #jumblr

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dduane · 1 year

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Hi there! I'm not sure if this is something you've talked about before in another post, but I just finished the first draft of my first novel, and I was wondering if you could talk about what your experience was like getting your first novel edited and published. I have this story that I'm excited about but no idea what to do with it now that I've reached "The End," do you have any advice on what my next step ought to be towards eventually getting it published? Thanks in advance!

First of all: thanks for asking. ...And now I have to warn you that I am possibly one of the worst possible people to ask about what their first novel's publication looked like... as it was completely atypical.

Not that that's going to stop me, mind you. (And you know what? I'm inserting a cut here, because this goes on a bit. Warning: contains [calculated] dissing by old friends, pulp non-fiction, unexpurgated language, unexpected awards nominations, and advice that's worth just what you're paying for it.)

What happened with me and my first book goes like this:...

In the late 1970s I was starting to burn out on psychiatric nursing, and was offered a job as assistant to the novelist and Star Trek ["The Trouble with Tribbles"] writer David Gerrold. I took it happily, as I was in a place in my life where I really needed some kind of change. The work with David was part-time; I also occasionally did special duty nursing shifts to help make ends meet.

Now during this period, I was writing for my own amusement (as I'd been doing all my life from about age eight onward). Right then I was working on a project I'd been tinkering with from my late high school years right through college, nursing school, and my first couple/few years of practice as an RN. This was the background worldbuilding for a vaguely Tolkienesque, somewhere-between-late-Medieval-and-early Renaissance fantasy scenario featuring a couple of moderately unusual magic systems, a sexually diverse culture, and a pair of "These Two Idiots"-style protagonists with complex interleaving problems.

While I was working for David, I had a lot of opportunity to observe, close up, what the life and workflow of a career writer looked like. Slowly, over a year or so, the realization crept up on me that what David was doing, I could do too. And it was at this point that I finally admitted to him that I thought I might want to write as well.

David's (as I later discovered, extremely calculated) eyeroll could probably have been seen from space. "Oy, not another one," he moaned. After which I went away from the abortive conversation pretty much resolved never to speak to him about this again... but also with a single thought filling my brain: You fucking supercilious sonofabitch, I'm going to show you that I'm not just another one.

...I'll never be able to thank him enough for that. Fury can be so motivating. :)

In the aftermath I got busy pulling together my background material with much more focused intent, and beating the most significant parts of it into something that started looking like a plot. It came together with surprising speed and unnerving insistence—one of the very few times in my career when a project, once begun, has simply flung me into the writing chair and insisted that it was the most important thing in my life and needed handling now. And when in the fullness of time David went on vacation, leaving me to house-sit at his place in LA, I immediately started using his very early computer to transcribe my novel's so-far-only-handwritten draft material.

I took what I thought was considerable care to cover my tracks... but not quite enough. On his return from vacation, when he was putting out the trash, David found some of my discarded draft pages, read them, and confronted me (with a certain amount of friendly teasing) about what had been going on. Then he said to me, "What I've seen of this thing doesn't look too bad. Let me see it when you're finished, and if it looks good enough, I'll ask one of my publishers if they want to take a look at it."

So that's what happened. I finished my first draft and a polish of it in about six weeks, and passed it to David. He read it and immediately handed it on to his editors at Dell, who were just starting a fantasy line for which they needed product. Two weeks later, they said they liked the novel and made an offer, which I accepted. Not a vast amount, but respectable enough. So there it was, my first sale: this book. Which then got me nominated two years running for the Astounding Award, and opened the door for the sale and publication of So You Want To Be A Wizard, as well as my earliest Star Trek work and my entry into the animation world.

I remember very little about the editing process, except that it was painless. What was not exactly painless was the book's cover, about which...well, the less said here the better. But the book came out to generally good reviews. So, with this series of events behind it, you can see why as regards first-publication stories, I'm a first-class outlier and should definitely not be counted. (Also to be avoided by new writers if at all possible: the experience of having half their strongly-selling first novel's initial print run pulped in the warehouse* because it was taking up room needed by a new book by a world-famous novelist.) (Whom I have long since forgiven, since it wasn't his fault, and...well, what can you do? Shit happens.)

...Anyway, that's more than enough about me. Now let's talk about you.

My first advice about what to do with the novel you've just finished? Stick it in a drawer (literally or figuratively speaking, whichever suits your case better) and don't look at it for at least a month. Two would be better. You can spend those two months thinking about your next moves... because you need to give those some consideration before you do anything else.

The question that you first need to answer is going to at least partially shape what you do next. And it's this:

Are you seriously considering making a career out of writing?

It's not that it can't be done! Of course it can. But it won't be easy... not at all. Anyone who tells you it will is either just outright lying through their teeth, or trying to sell you something. ...Or both.

Be honest with yourself as you consider this. If you aren't, you may be letting yourself in for considerable pain over a prolonged period... and I'd sooner you were spared that, if you can be. In particular, be clear about the difference between the statements "I want to write" and "I want to be a writer." Often enough people like the sound of the lifestyle and what they see as going with it—the signings, the book tours (physical or virtual), the interviews, the best-seller lists—without any real concept of the grueling, day-to-day, weekends-are-for-other-people, why-am-I-making-less-than-minimum-wage-most-of-the-time labor that underpins it.

If you simply want to write and be published—without the concept of a career necessarily being involved, or the lovely shimmering dreamlike vision of Giving Up The Day Job—you now have work pathways available to you that would've been unimaginable in the previous century. Self-publishing makes it possible for you to get your work in front of many, many eyes without necessarily having to submit yourself to the specific set of trials that go with achieving the initial stages of an intended career. Selfpubbing still has significant unique challenges of its own, of course, which have to be evaluated so that you can tell (as the commercials say) if they're right for you.

But if you're thinking of a career in what's usually being referred to these days as "traditional publishing", then you face a number of challenges that don't necessarily come with the self-publishing end of things. In particular: many publishing houses no longer consider manuscripts that come to them un-agented. So you're going to need to find an agent who's willing to represent your work... and this is a task that no longer looks anything like what it did when I found mine. (Or rather, when he found me, having been recommended to me by one of my editors. I've been with him for even longer than I've been with @petermorwood... and that's saying something. But this is yet another way in which my career's been wildly atypical.)

There is so much that could be said about this subject alone—the business of researching agencies to see which one seems like a good fit for you, the art of writing the perfect query letter to get their attention focused on a given book, and so much more—that I could hardly begin to even skim the surface of it here. There are whole websites devoted to shopping for agents, not to mention how to pitch yourself and your work to a given literary agency.

Let me leave this whole subject here for the moment. We can come back to it another time, because right now you need to be thinking this through. ...This I'll say, however. For the past six to nine months I've been pulling together links to various online resources that can be beneficial to new writers just getting started. These will be available as posts over at the FicFoundry.com site that I'm going to be bringing online before summer. I'm hoping to build that into kind of a compendium site or clearing house for online resources on this subject. We'll see how it goes.

Meanwhile, thanks for inquiring about this. You're standing at the first branching of what I'm hoping will be, for you at least, a fascinating variant of the Choose Your Own Adventure genre. :)