#but I'd probably feel better if I'd made it to the other one

[solxamber]

Antinomy - Leo Kurosagi x reader

You and Leo have been at each other's throats for the past few years. So why does it feel so wrong when he shows up at your door bruised and bloody? aka the prompt: "I didn't know where else to go"

The knock is sharp, almost a thud, one that echoes through the room like the reverberation of some bad omen. It’s well past two in the morning, and nothing good ever comes from visitors at this hour. But still, curiosity gets the better of you, and you open the door with more force than you intend.

You freeze. It’s Leo.

He’s leaning against the doorframe, disheveled, one arm clutching his side. His usual smug demeanor is nowhere to be found; instead, his face is bruised, streaks of dried blood trailing from his nose. There’s a cut above his eyebrow, barely clotted, and his shirt is torn like it’s seen better days—like he’ seen better days. It’s probably the first time you’ve ever seen him so out of sorts.

“What the hell…” You can barely get the words out as he leans more heavily on the frame, gritting his teeth.

“Look,” he rasps, voice rougher than the usual annoyingly smug tone, “I didn’t know where else to go.”

You stare, unblinking, taking in the sight of him—your infamous rival, the bane of your existence, now standing battered and barely on his feet. A barrage of thoughts rush through your mind. The first: how the hell did he end up like this? The second: why is he here?

When you don’t immediately move or speak, Leo’s mouth curls into something resembling a smirk—though it’s weaker, a shadow of his usual arrogance. “Sho’s out of town… and as much as you love hating me… we both know you don’t hate me enough to leave me out here bleeding.”

Your jaw tightens at that. The nerve. But he’s right. Damn him, he’s always right when it comes to this—knowing just how far to push before you break.

“What did you do?” you finally snap, folding your arms, though it feels more like an attempt to shield yourself from whatever storm’s about to follow him inside.

“Picked the wrong fight,” he mutters. “Didn’t turn out quite the way I expected.”

“Clearly.” You look him up and down, incredulous. “And Alan? Why didn’t you just call Alan?”

A wince flashes across his face as he tries to straighten himself. “I'm already on thin ice with him. I'd rather not hear it from him right now.”

“You expect me to help you? You do realize who you’re talking to, right?” You bite out, though a part of you already knows you’ll cave. There’s something different about Leo tonight. Gone is the usual bravado, the mocking quips and cynical remarks. In their place, you see desperation—vulnerability. He wouldn’t have come here unless he really had no other option.

“Come on,” he breathes, his voice fraying at the edges. “As much as you’d love to see me suffer, you wouldn’t let me bleed out on your doorstep.”

You hate that he’s right. And you hate that some twisted part of you does care—more than you’re willing to admit, even now. With a sigh, you step back, allowing him entry.

“Fine,” you huff, “but don’t expect me to play nice.”

“I’d never expect that from you,” he says with a pained grin as he limps inside.

You close the door behind him, trying to ignore the pounding in your chest. You’re rivals—you hate him, really—and yet, here you are, letting him into your space, into your life when he’s at his weakest. It’s irrational. It’s stupid. But it’s Leo, and you’ve never been able to figure out why you care so much about someone who’s made your life extremely inconvenient for so long.

“Sit,” you order, motioning toward the couch.

He gives you a mock salute, then collapses onto the cushions with a groan, clutching his side tighter.

“What the hell happened to you?” You grab a first-aid kit from the kitchen, already mentally preparing yourself for a long night.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Leo mumbles, though the way he winces with every breath tells a different story. “Just got a little out of hand.”

“A little?” You raise an eyebrow, kneeling down in front of him to examine the damage. His knuckles are bloodied, the cut on his eyebrow still oozing slightly. His shirt’s soaked with sweat, and you can see the bruises spreading across his ribs. He looks like he’s been through a war.

Leo watches you with an unreadable expression as you start cleaning his wounds. “What’s with the concern, hmm? Thought you’d be celebrating right about now. Finally got me on my knees, and not in the way you imagined.”

You glare at him, pushing a bit harder on the wound than necessary. He hisses but doesn’t flinch. “Shut up, Leo. You’re lucky I don’t kick you while you’re down.”

He chuckles softly, though it’s strained. “You always had a mean streak.”

“Maybe I just hate you.”

His grin falters for a moment, something almost… hurt flickering in his eyes. “Yeah, maybe.”

There’s a beat of silence, the weight of the moment pressing down on both of you. You’ve patched him up as best you can and cleaned the wounds on his knuckles but they still looked raw and painful. But the tension in the air is thick, and neither of you seems willing to break it.

“You didn’t have to come here,” you murmur, sitting back on your heels, arms crossing over your chest again. “You could’ve gone to anyone. Your fans would’ve eaten this up. Why come to me?”

Leo’s gaze shifts to the floor. For the first time since you opened the door, he looks… unsure.

“I… I didn’t want them to see me like this,” he admits quietly, his usual cocky bravado nowhere to be found. “And Sho wasn’t around. You were the only one I thought of.”

Your heart skips a beat, though you fight to keep your expression neutral. “Why?”

“Because I knew you wouldn't let me bleed out,” he says, so softly you almost don’t hear it.

And there it is. The vulnerability beneath all the layers of arrogance and wit. The part of Leo you’ve only ever caught glimpses of. You’ve always known it was there, buried deep under his ego, but seeing it now, laid bare in front of you, feels… different.

“Dumbass,” you mutter, looking away. “You picked a fight, got yourself hurt, and now you’re here expecting me to fix it.”

“I don’t expect you to fix anything,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I just didn’t know where else to go.”

You take a deep breath, trying to rein in your frustration. He’s hurt, and despite all the history between you two—the constant bickering, the rivalry that’s lasted years—this is different. He came to you when he was at his lowest, and there’s something in that which makes your chest tighten.

You sit down beside him on the couch, careful to give him space but not too much. It’s a strange feeling, having Leo so close, especially like this—broken, vulnerable, his cocky grin now replaced by something far more human.

“Why do you always do this to yourself?” The words slip out before you can stop them, not exactly what you meant to say, but the only thing that comes to mind. “You pick fights you know you can’t win and rely on Sho to bail you out. What do you think will happen if he can’t make it in time?” You gesture toward his battered state. “And when he couldn’t, you showed up at my door?” Your voice trembles as you take a shuddering breath. “Do you expect me to pick up the pieces?”

Leo glances at you out of the corner of his eye, and for a second, you think he might laugh it off, make some snide remark like he usually does. But he doesn’t. Instead, he just sighs, leaning his head back against the cushions, eyes closing.

“I don’t know,” he admits quietly, and it catches you off guard. “Maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment.”

You shake your head, frustration boiling beneath the surface. “That’s not an answer, Leo. You’re reckless. You put yourself in danger just for the thrill of it, and then what? You expect people to be there to bail you out?”

“I don’t expect anyone to do anything for me,” he says, his voice sharp, but there’s an edge of defeat in it. “Not even you.”

“Then why come here?” you press, anger rising. “Why not just go home and patch yourself up like you usually do?”

He opens his eyes, turning his head to look at you. There’s something raw in his gaze, something you’ve never seen before. It’s unsettling, like he’s letting you in, showing you a part of himself that he’s always kept hidden.

“Because I knew you’d actually care,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

And there it is again, that vulnerability, the crack in his armor. It’s the one thing you never expected from him, and it’s throwing you off balance. You don’t know how to respond, don’t know how to deal with Leo when he’s like this—so exposed, so… real.

You swallow hard, looking away. “You’re an idiot, Leo.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, leaning his head back again, closing his eyes. “I know.”

Silence falls between you, thick and uncomfortable, but also strangely intimate. You can hear his breathing, slow and steady now that he’s stopped trying to act tough. His hand rests on his lap, knuckles still raw from whatever fight he got himself into. Without thinking, you reach out, gently taking his hand in yours, inspecting the damage despite just cleaning it.

He doesn’t pull away.

“You could’ve died,” you say softly, the words almost getting caught in your throat. “And for what? A stupid fight?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost pained. “Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if I had.”

Your heart stops. You turn to him, eyes wide, but he doesn’t look back at you. He keeps his gaze fixed on the ceiling, as if he’s afraid to meet your eyes.

“Leo…” you start, but you don’t know how to finish. You’ve never heard him talk like this—so defeated, so broken. It’s like you’re seeing a completely different person, someone who’s been hiding behind that arrogant smirk for years, and it scares you.

“I’m tired,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Tired of all of it.”

You swallow hard, trying to keep your emotions in check. “Then why do you keep doing it? Why do you keep putting yourself through this?”

“Because I don’t know how to stop,” he admits, his voice trembling. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and suffocating. You can feel the weight of them, pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. You’ve always known that there was more to Leo than the cocky influencer he portrayed online, but you never realized just how deep his insecurities ran.

You squeeze his hand gently, hoping to offer some kind of comfort. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know. You don’t have to keep pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “And who’s going to help me? You?”

You meet his gaze, holding it this time. “Yes. Me.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The tension is thick, but there’s something else there too—something unspoken, something that’s been building between you for years. You’ve always been rivals, always been at each other’s throats, but underneath all of that, there’s been this… connection. This thing that neither of you has ever been willing to acknowledge.

Until now.

Leo’s eyes soften, his usual sharp wit dulled by exhaustion and pain. He watches you for a moment, like he’s trying to figure something out, and then, slowly, he leans in.

You don’t stop him.

His lips brush against yours, tentative at first, like he’s testing the waters, waiting for you to push him away. But you don’t. Instead, you close the distance, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s soft, but filled with years of unresolved tension.

It’s messy and imperfect, but it feels right—like this was always supposed to happen, like this was the inevitable conclusion of everything that’s ever passed between you. And for a moment, it’s just the two of you, lost in each other, everything else fading away.

When he finally pulls back, he looks at you with something like disbelief in his eyes, like he can’t quite believe what just happened.

“You…” he starts, but he doesn’t finish. He doesn’t need to.

You just nod, leaning your forehead against his. “Yeah. Me.”

And in that moment, something between you shifts. The walls that you’ve both spent years building up start to crumble, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re both just… there. Vulnerable. Real.

It’s terrifying, but it’s also liberating.

“You don’t have to keep doing this, Leo,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “You don’t have to keep fighting.”

He closes his eyes, exhaling softly. “I don’t know how to stop.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” you say again, squeezing his hand. “I’m here.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t respond. But then, slowly, he nods and buries his face into your neck.

“Okay,” he whispers.

And for the first time in years, Leo lets his guard down.

Masterlist

[matrixbearer2024]

Just something I'd like to say about the Stan twins among other things I've seen here on tumblr and everywhere else. Also because I'm genuinely confused why this is even a thing. I don't really see the point in why people have to look at characters and say: good/bad, nuances exist and morality is mostly grey haha.

One of the reasons why I chose to write for Ford isn't really because I don't think he's a bad person, au contraire I know he's done really shitty things but I don't think he's bad. That would be an oversimplification.

If I had to be completely open about it, his situation is actually pretty similar to mine aside from the fact his sibling is a twin. My brother is two years younger than me.

But still, shit happens. Cornered by everyone and everything, one is labeled as gifted and special while the other is seen as stupid and useless, then the split between family and aspiration.

Granted, I've never made a deal with a demonic piece of geometry and I've gone through a different set of circumstances in a completely different time frame– but still. I get where his arrogance comes from and I get how being outcasted can make you prone to doing a lot of shitty things to chase validation.

God forbid someone comes to you and strokes your ego to death, that's the easiest way to manipulate someone with the picture of self-confidence and it's made of glass.

I can't say that what happened to me was a fortunate occurrence, but I was severely humbled at a young age and it's probably why I turned out differently. Ford never really did, he clung onto the idea of being special and being a coveted rarity.

Point is, I can kind of see where he's coming from and a lot of his fights with Stan I also kind of understand. I'm not condoning his actions, especially because I've had legendary fights with my brother before and remembering them all makes me feel like shit because there are things I've done I can never bring myself to forgive– but it's why I can understand why shit unfolded the way it did.

I'm not even going to go into grudges because I've held a grudge over someone for 12 years so I can also get why Ford would end up doing that for fucking 30– but yeah. I don't think either twin is really right or wrong. Stan got dealt a bad hand like my brother, and Ford got shoved into the limelight like me. I can understand the both of them well.

Also to those who wonder why Stan would even forgive Ford, I don't know what else to say other than it might be a sibling thing. I used to fight with my brother simply because he'd excel better in some of the things I do. I'd purposefully work harder to overshadow him and he knew. He would let me succeed and even rub it in his face because he saw that it made me happy.

Even after all this time he doesn't hold it against me so that's something I'm eternally grateful for. But yeah, he cared that much when all I did was be selfish. I still think it depends on some siblings but yeah, for these two they hit close to home just for doing what they do.

Not to mention, my brother's also had his moments where it looks like he's destroyed my things/projects on the sole reason that he thinks it's taking me away from him. That it's taking his best friend away from him.

One of those times was when I was creating a painting for a competition years ago, he got mad I spent so much time on it and accidentally knocked over the water container and it spilled all over my work. The painting was effectively ruined and I blew up at him for it.

Sound familiar?

Where Stan played off his destruction, my brother kept apologizing and owning up to his fuck-up. Where Ford refused to listen, I eventually just compromised with my brother and told him to help me create the new painting.

That painting didn't win any prizes but still ended up being exhibited, I'd show a picture of it with my brother and I next to it if I didn't like keeping my irl family private online.

Ford also being kind of unable to move on/deal with himself is something I do to detriment. It takes a lot to deal with that, much more overcome it.

Things change, time passes, circumstances shift. But yeah, this is just my two cents on it and kind of a window to why I also write Ford and Stan the way I do.

[thevalkyriesshadow]

😈 Spicy content under the cut 😈

Later that night, I laid in bed, the sensation of my finger in his mouth never left me. His words played through my head over and over – 

“You taste delicious, Priestess.”

“You are the nectar I thrive on.”

“You let me know if you need to – relieve – yourself, Gwyneth. I'd be happy to oblige.”

I threw my blankets off of my legs. It was near freezing outside and I was sweating. I needed relief.

My fingers moved of their own accord, sliding across my flushed skin, sending goosebumps skittering wherever I touched. I shouldn’t. Azriel was only a few feet away…

I glanced over at my bedroom door. Normally I would close it, but I had left it open for some reason. 

All was quiet. No sounds. No movement. He was probably asleep. I sat up just a bit more to get a better look and sure enough, past the see-through gauze divider I set up for patient privacy, I could see Azriel’s sleeping form. 

Falling back against my pillow I let my hands wander…let my mind imagine.

I imagined hands that weren’t my own roaming my body. Touching the most sensitive parts of me. Squeezing my breasts.

A soft sigh escaped my lips as the sensation of my fingertips brushed over my pebbled nipples. What would scarred hands feel like on my skin? What would it feel like if they flicked and pinched my nipples? What would his tongue feel like as he took my breasts into his mouth –

No…

I couldn’t think of him that way. He was under my care. And I –

But he had taken my finger into his mouth so sensually. Licked and sucked as if he was telling me exactly what he would feel like.

Despite my hesitancy, my fingers continued traveling. Down and down until I was brushing the delicate fabric of my underwear. I was already soaked through. The smallest touch made my breath hitch, my back arch. 

I slid my hand beneath the dainty fabric, tickling and teasing my coarse hair until I was bucking into my own hand. 

My middle finger swirled around my clit – once, twice – I dipped into my wet folds, just enough to wet my finger, then dragged it back to my clit in one long, slow motion. I did it again and again, teasing myself until my own sweet nectar was coating my inner thighs and fingers. Until I was panting.

The next time I dipped a finger in, I didn’t take it out. I curled it up to meet that spot inside me, my thumb circling my clit in a delicious rhythm. My mouth fell open and it took every ounce of my willpower not to moan out loud. 

I covered my mouth with my other hand as a small mewl threatened to escape my lips. 

I rolled against my own hand, the primal need growing and radiating inside me. The sensation grew and grew, pushing against my skin, begging to be released. 

I backed off, wanting to build this as much as I could, because my hand alone would not quell the desire burning inside me. I just had to ride it out and make every orgasm bigger than the next until this heat passed.

Again and again I teased myself, until my hair was plastered to my face, until I was writhing against my own hand. Until I couldn’t bear it any longer. 

I sat up, grinding against my fingers, biting down hard on my bottom lip. Trying to keep quiet as my orgasm crested and gods –

I whimpered. My eyes squeezed together. My hips stuttered -- and I was coming – the coil of heat exploded inside me, filling me with satiated desire.

My chest heaved as I stroked myself down from the high. I loosened my teeth’s firm grip on my lip. 

Then a noise -- a slight, small rustle.

I whipped around to peer out my door. My slick walls pulsed around the fingers still sheathed inside me as I discovered the source of the sound...

The prologue of Claim Me will publish October 1st on Ao3. Chapters 1-4 will post every Tuesday after. Chapters 5 and 6 will be posted on October 30th and 31st! At least that's the plan! 😅

[sysig]

Red Eyes and Evil Time, practically the same thing right (Patreon)

[oh-meow-swirls]

how does the raft not capsize.

[theflyingfeeling]

okay I'm not expecting anyone to care all that much, but I was looking at the prompts for the 18th Day of Gift-Giving for my Olli/Allu fic advent calendar and I'm between two options on what to do with them, so if anyone out there wants to put in their two cents...

(see the pros and cons in the tags of the original post)

[kyouka-supremacy]

—

[sskk-manifesto]

What a good episode. Maaaaaan

[icewindandboringhorror]

Everytime I face a new character limit on a website that didn't have them before/used to have really long ones... AUGHHhhh the modern social media world was not made for people like me (lovers of details, rambling, elaboration, thorough explanation, and nuance)

[skrunksthatwunk]

fuck that last fight against nightmare boooooo this shit is actually so stupid and evil and i don't like it >:(

[fingertipsmp3]

The slides for class today look deceptively simple. Should I be concerned

[youremyonlyhope]

Boy is it good I get to see my therapist tomorrow.

[relativelyfvcked]

"basim isnt a warrior so be careful" is a funny way of saying "we didnt give a fuck about the combat so all of your controls feel unresponsive"

[mrsbarnesblog]

the "it" couple

masterlist

requests are open

summary: you and Rafe being the hottest couple on the island

word count: 1.3k.

warnings: established relationship, mentions of sex, mentions of nude pictures, Rafe is reader's first everything, you're both lovesick

a/n: my obsession with soft and painfully in love Rafe is not curable at this point. but like could you imagine having him all to yourself?? ughhh the things i'd let him do to me😩

Everyone knew that there are couples that, at first glance, give you the impression that they just have really good sex. Like they are so hot and perfectly compliment each other, with a certain vibe oozing out of them, especially when they are together. 

You and Rafe were that couple. 

Before you started dating, no one ever considered that two polar opposites like you might even coexist. You were a kook, but still completely different from Rafe and his little gang. You were pretty, but more on the quiet side, never showing off or bothering anybody.

Rafe, on the other hand, was mean and sarcastic to everyone and everything. It was a good thing that you put him in his place the first time he talked to you, making it clear that you are not having his shit. And also making Rafe instantly interested and following you like a puppy.

You were annoyingly teasing and flirting with each other, and everyone tried not to get involved in whatever was going on. It was your first experience with a guy, because before that, nobody was really making their shots, or, at least, you never paid enough attention to notice it, choosing to focus on yourself. But with Rafe, it felt fun and so damn easy. 

Your first kiss set everything in its place because you finally gave in to your hidden emotions. It made sense why you were always arguing and pestering each other—you simply craved attention from one another and it was the easiest way to get it. 

Surprisingly, Rafe’s rough edges softened, especially around you, and he was so affectionate and craved you around him 24/7. Though, knowing that you’ve never been in relationships before, he never pushed you to do anything, just following your pace. 

But after your first time happened in the third month of dating, after the ice melted and your insecurities fully disappeared, Rafe almost got another version of his girlfriend. 

If he thought that you couldn’t be better, then he was wrong. 

He never understood his friends who said that they had to almost beg their girlfriends to have sex, mostly because Rafe had never been in actual relationships before. But it made even less sense for him because you, seemingly, had the same energy and high sex drive as him. 

The first few times may have been slightly awkward with you still learning and trying to understand your own body, but once you got confident, you became unstoppable. 

Whether it was early morning, the middle of the day, or way past your bedtime, you were ready to have sex right away, straddling Rafe's legs or luring him into a kiss while your hands slipped under his pants.  

It was crazy how much you both wanted each other. It was a perfect fucking match to have someone with exactly the same needs. You probably have been bent over every single flat surface in the house and not a single room was safe from the two of you. He wanted you all to himself and he could go hours just worshiping your body and fucking you into bliss. 

You were almost glued together, never coming to an event alone. Rafe was so obsessed with the way you looked, with your smell, and with the feeling of your skin on his, so he always had to touch you one way or another. His friends teased him that he was absolutely pussy whipped for you and he had never denied it. They also started calling you Mrs. Cameron because you acted like a married couple and neither of you were against that nickname.

To say more, the idea of that made Rafe so feral for you, so he didn’t let you get out of bed the following day. Not that you complained, though.

Rafe loved sneaking out with you. Whenever you two had to visit a gala with your families, he always snatched you from the main room to drag you to the bathroom or another hidden place to have a quickie or to burry his head under your dress because you were too hot to resist. Yeah, maybe other people noticed it, giving you their usual politely awkward smiles, but neither of you care. 

On his birthday, you gave him the best fucking gift, which was a stack of your naked polaroid pictures. You were really nervous to do that, thinking that Rafe might react differently, but he reminded you once again why he was your perfect match. After looking through the photos several times, he literally attacked you, throwing you back on the bed and giving you the best orgasms of your life. 

Since that day, one of the less explicit pictures of your ass has been placed in his wallet.

You were officially the “it” couple on the island, with everyone either admiring or being jealous of that spark, which never seemed to diminish. Everyone saw the way the Rafe Cameron gave you heart eyes, soft smiles and gentle kisses. The way he held you close to himself, protecting you, taking care of you, and treating you like a queen.

Some people told you that it was only the excitement of a new relationship, but after a few years of dating, with a promise ring on your finger, it was still there. You still craved each other's touch; you still craved being together whenever it was possible, always going on dates and trips, attending all of Kook’s events, but mostly spending lazy days in your shared house. Sex was even better than before—more passionate, fun, hot and full of unconditional love.

Despite the gossip on the island, Rafe didn't get “bored” of you. No, over time, he became addicted to you because you felt like home, and there was nothing better than being with you. 

He didn't need any other women. And he still couldn't grasp the idea of cheating. If he had you, then why on earth would he do that? Every time he came home, the best person in the world and the best sex of his life were in that exact location, so he never complained about anything.

You were his afrodisiac and whether you were in full glam, in a bikini on the beach or in his old t-shirt with messy hair, he couldn’t just keep his hands to himself and not kiss the air out of you. 

He liked how you stayed at home, doing whatever you wanted and treating yourself while he worked. You always greeted him with homemade food, but more importantly, you acted as if you had not seen him in months.

You were waiting on the porch or finishing up in the kitchen, but when you saw him, you ran and jumped into his arms and pulled him into a kiss. It always melted Rafe’s worries and bad mood away, as his shoulders sagged in relief from being in your arms again. 

You always ended up in your bedroom, with you on or under him, while your hands were tugging at each other’s closes. Rafe knew that it would eventually end up with him finally putting a baby in you—something that more and more flooded his mind—but for the foreseeable future, he first had to officially make you his Mrs. Cameron.

And the red box with the big ass diamond ring, which was currently sitting in the drawer, was just waiting for the perfect moment.  

[miyanagi]

the fact that shiki hardly got any official merchandise and most people i talk to about anime don't know what it is, yet it had collabs with brands like angelic pretty and metamorphose temps de fille is so crazy to me. how niche.

[maxwellatoms]

In one of your last answers, you said “series reboots are usually pretty gross and sad”, and I was wondering if you could expand on that? Assuming “reboot” covers any kind of continuation of a currently cancelled or finished show (and maybe that’s the wrong assumption!), from the outside looking in it feels like a pretty mixed bag. On one hand, if I love XYZ Show, it’s cool that I get more stories with these characters and another chance to support XYZ Show and its creators. On the other, it definitely feels like a lot of ideas can only get funding if they’re tied to something already, meaning creatives are having to now tie whatever cool idea they have to some reboot/relaunch/retread, which can feel pretty disheartening if you don’t want to do a reboot/relaunch/retread. Is that a similar feeling from your side of the industry?

Thank you so much for all your answers and insight!

Usually reboots and spin-offs are just cash grabs. It happens a lot in animation. In fact, I would argue that the entire industry is just one big cash grab now. In the 80s, everyone complained that cartoons were just half-hour commercials for toys. And they were right. And we're right back there, but now that you can't legally push toys all day, it's just general "IP". Mugs, posters, more spinoffs, whatever.

I was offered three show running gigs over the pandemic. All reboots that I would consider unwise to pursue because they were "of a different time" and didn't (in my opinion) have anything more to say. Two of them were properties created by notorious sex pests, so there's also that. The animation industry loves to prop up its sex pests.

I turned all of them down, partially because I didn't respect the original creators but also because none of them had anything going for them except just being "more of the same".

I don't think any of those projects survived the intervening years, so in retrospect I maybe should've taken the job. I'd probably feel a bit gross, but at least I'd have floors in my house.

The entertainment industry is in a bad spot. The whole thing. I've had I don't know how many pitch meetings in the last few years, and they all start the same way:

"Hey! Before we start, we just want to let you know that we're not actively producing anything right now. We think maybe soon, but we won't be picking anything up today..."

And then later:

"The little we are doing is IP, so if you have a new take on our IP or a new IP you're connected to that you can bring in, that'd be great."

I always wanted to make original stuff. There came a time when I'd had my fill of Billy & Mandy and wanted to do something else new and original. That never manifested, and I was constantly being offered IP to produce. I turned too many of those down, maybe, before deciding that it was probably better that I run the IPs that mean something to me rather than having some hack do it.

But now those jobs have all gone to celebrities and fallen live-action writers, who are also slowly being eaten by the system. WB was hot for Scooby stuff a few years back, so I pitched some ideas. A few of them were turned down for being "off-brand" in a variety of ways. WB has now made (I think) all of those off-brand shows (or something close) with celebrity show runners.

I was going through a whole Midlife Impostor Syndrome thing recently where I was wondering if maybe I don't just suck. Like, it's weird that for a couple of decades I'd have people calling me trying to get me to run shows, and now nobody will call me back about the possibility of a design job.

Talking to some friends and realizing that they were in a similar situation helped me feel like I wasn't alone. That was nice. Talking to some of the most talented colleagues in my industry made me made me realize that those people weren't getting jobs either. That was unnerving. Talking to complete strangers in other parts of the entertainment industry now has me thinking that the whole house of cards is coming down. That's real concerning, yo.

It's hard not to think it's purposeful, when deranged billionaires own the entirety of our media and want to shape a society where they can't be criticized. We're letting wealthy tech bros firebomb the very heart of our culture, and it's weird that no one is talking about it. Because (for now) we still have that capability.