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crushed-like-an-ant · 3 years ago

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how to calm down an angry billionaire

Step 1. Deflect.

Peter was good at deflection. Always had been. It was a skill he'd picked up after people constantly tried to ask him about his feelings after his parents died, then again when Ben died. Any questions he didn't want to answer quickly turned into an animated conversation about whatever his mind thought of first (there had been that awkward time he'd asked a fellow orphan how their parents were), an apology and fast excuse to get the hell out of there (mostly worked except when he was panicking and the best he could come up with was a cheese making competition, that had caused a lot of questions Peter would rather never deal with again), or just flat out running away (sometimes he ran into poles or walls which was always a bit embarrassing given he was literally Spider-man). Sometimes Peter had to use all three options. So Peter knew when Tony finally decided to have the dreaded conversation about the whole not-my-first-time-holding-up-a-building thing, he would be able to deflect it. Or so he thought. Turns out, Peter had drastically underestimated the sheer stubbornness of Tony Stark.

It was a lab day, around three weeks after the incident where Peter and Tony had been stuck under a building and Peter stupidly let slip that he’d held up a building before. Peter had thought Tony had forgotten about his words. He was comfortable, tentatively confident and optimistic that it wouldn't be brought up again. He had no idea how wrong he was.

"Hey kid?" Tony said, cutting the comfortable silence between them as they worked, tone slightly hesitant. Peter should've picked up on it. He should've realised. But he'd grown complacent. So Peter ignored the dread pooling in his stomach and lifted his head from the mess of wires in front of him to look at Tony.

"Mr Stark?" he replied with a smile that Tony didn't return. Nor did he try to tell Peter to call him Tony. And that was how Peter knew something was wrong. Nerves skittered down his spine, clod fingers of dread snaking around his neck as nervous energy filled him and he began to tap on the desk. Anything to distract himself from the sorrow and worry shining in his mentor's brown eyes.

"Look kid, uh, I," Tony fumbled for words. Shit. This was bad. If Tony Stark was struggling to say something, you knew it was serious. Peter just stared at him in silence,unsure of what to say, anxiety coursing through his veins at the grimace that clouded Tony's features. What could possibly have gotten him into this mood? Had Peter done something wrong? Was he gonna, oh god, was he gonna take the suit? "Pete, I need to know what you meant when we were under the building," Tony finally managed to say, Peter relaxing. Oh. That was all?

"I just meant that I'd lifted a lot of heavy things," Peter half-lied, looking Tony straight in the eyes and lying to his face, mindful to make sure his tells were carefully under control. Training with Daredevil - despite Tony's misgivings about Double D - had been one of the best decisions Peter had ever made. He felt a twinge of guilt as he lied to Tony but it's not like he could tell the truth. And he wasn't really lying. Just withholding the entire truth. He shrugged nonchalantly, "Anyways, you reckon you can help me with this? I'm stuck. My mind kinda decided to go and die on me." Peter chuckled quietly. Tony wasn't laughing.

"I want to believe you, kid," Tony told him, "I really do. But I can't. You had a panic attack under there. What aren't you telling me Peter? Whatever it is, I'm here for you. You can tell me anything. And I don't want to pressure you into telling me anything until you're ready but I-I just-I need to know what happened. I need to know what you meant." Peter's resolve almost broke as Tony's voice broke. No. He couldn't tell Tony. Not only would Tony think he was weak, but Peter knew that Mr Stark would blame himself because he took the suit. Peter couldn't let him do that. Option one had failed him, so it was onto option 2. Make a quick exit without raising any suspicions. Yeah, he didn't think that was gonna work. Worth a shot though.

"Hey, Mr Stark," Peter said after checking his watch and pretending to look shocked at the time, "I'm really sorry but I have to go. I promised Ned we'd work on our Bio project tonight and I'm already seven minutes late." Mr Stark raised an eyebrow and pulled up a picture of Ned on his holiday in California.

"Nice try kid," Tony replied drily. Peter sighed, shoulders slumping. Time for option three then.

"I-I don't really know how to tell you, uh," Peter deliberately stuttered, guilt eating him up inside as he put on an act for Tony. For option three to work, Peter had to catch Tony off guard otherwise he'd react too quickly and lock the tower down. His act work, Tony's features softening and body relaxing.

"It's okay, bambino, take your time." And if that didn't make him feel like a horrible person, nothing would. Peter stood and padded over to some machinery near the exit, pretending to be trying to busy himself as he worked himself up to answering Tony when he was actually getting closer to the door.

"I, uh," Peter stumbled. Tony was now far away enough that Peter could easily run without being grabbed and stopped. The door was right there. Peter took his opportunity. He ran. Out the door, down the hallway, flying to the elevator. Pressing the button frantically, Peter groaned when nothing happened. Great. Tony had stopped the elevators. Sighing, Peter pulled the mask from his pocket and pulled it over his head, sprinting at the window. Peter burst through the window in a shower of glass, activating his web shooters as he fell, quickly shooting a web and catching himself. And he was swinging, swinging, swinging. Allowing himself to smile at his escape, Peter was unprepared when he was grabbed from behind by two cold metal hands. Thanks for nothing spidey sense. Tony flew a sulking Peter back through the broken window and into one of the meeting rooms, setting him down firmly in a seat. Peter crossed his arms, pouting as he pulled off his mask, Tony's Iron Man suit unfolding around him and the man stepping out, an unimpressed look painted across his features.

"You done deflecting yet?" Tony asked, a single eyebrow raised. Damn. Peter wished he could do that. Alas, no amount of practising in front of a mirror had ever given him the talent to lift one eyebrow and not look like a demented monkey. Time for a different strategy. Deflection had failed him. But Peter would not go down easy.

~~~

Step 2. Deny.

The unfortunate thing about this step was that Peter would always over-deny. He would deny everything or nothing. There was no in between. For example, he was once denying eating the last bit of chocolate and ended up accidentally telling May his name wasn't Peter and that he was an alien from outer space with a severe lettuce allergy. Don't ask. Peter really didn't want to relive that trauma. So although Peter always tried his best with denial, it never really worked out in his favour. Honestly, it was through sheer dumb luck that he managed to keep Spider-Man a secret from his friends and family for so long. It was probably some good karma that had been waiting for the perfect moment to help him out. It was a little late but hey, better late than never right?

"No," Peter blurted in a panic. Shock splashed across Tony's face as he folded his arms.

"Kid, you know you can tell me anything, right?" Tony told him gently.

"No," Peter exclaimed again, hurt painting the billionaire's face. "I mean, yes." Shitshitshitshitshit. Peter was an idiot. He had to deny everything - but not everything, Peter, remember the lettuce incident - so Mr Stark wouldn't find out. But Peter had always been shit at denial.

"Look, I know this is probably hard for you to talk about," Tony continued on, oblivious to Peter's internal panic, "but I won't judge you. I love you, bambino. You know that right? And I'll support you no matter what but I can't help you if you don't let me."

"No," Peter said. It was the only word he knew. Any more and he would have another lettuce incident or he'd end up rambling the truth. He couldn't do that. So his current vocabulary was limited to 'no', 'no', 'no' with a side of 'no'. Which wasn't suspicious at all. Totally.

"What the hell, kid?" Tony asked, mostly confused, slight irritation colouring his tone. Peter was hyper-aware of the thundering beat his heart was drumming to, the way Tony's slightly picked up when he said 'no', the sweat covering his body like a second skin. Tony's sigh sounded like a bomb to his sensitive ears, the sharp intake of breath before he spoke like a blaring alarm. "What did you mean when you said it wasn't your first time?"

"I didn't," Peter responded, brain not quite computing, "nothing happened." Tony's gaze narrowed. Shit. Was Tony going to take the suit if he didn't tell him? But Peter just couldn't tell him. He couldn't.

"Fucking hell Peter, just tell me dammit!" Tony exclaimed, running a hand through his messy brown hair in frustration. Peter knew - with the certainty that he knew his own name or the colour of his eyes - that denial had failed him. Time for Peter's next strategy.

~~~

Step 3. Stretch the truth.

When Peter's other strategies failed him, he turned to stretching the truth. It was simple really, just take the truth and dial it down from boiling hot to freezing cold and give it to the person on a silver platter with a charmingly innocent - and only slightly nervous - smile. Half-truths were easy to fool people with. Someone had said that the best lies were the ones based on truth. Peter couldn't remember who exactly had said that. He had never been very good with that sort of stuff, unlike MJ. So although stretching the truth was Peter's third option, he'd always been surprisingly good at it. People seemed to believe he was too innocent to be able to lie. Which was absurd because he'd spent ten years living with his Aunt and her terrible cooking and she still didn't know he hated her walnut date loaf.

"Okay," Peter conceded quietly and the rage slowly left Tony as he deflated like a balloon, looking smaller without all the fury. Peter sat down in front of Tony. "It was back in the fight with The Vulture and he threw a wall at me. I caught it and threw it back at him but he dodged it with his super awesome flying skills." Tony looked him straight in the eyes for a few seconds, Peter holding his gaze before Tony leaned forward.

"Cut the bullshit," Tony whispered, dangerously quiet, tightly compressed anger stemming from worry swimming in his brown eyes. "A wall wouldn't stay together if it was thrown, caught and thrown back. Even then, you wouldn't say it wasn't your first time while holding a building up unless you'd held up a fucking building already. And you wouldn't have a panic attack from holding up a building about something thrown at you. So stop lying to me, Peter Benjamin Parker." Damn. The full name. Peter released a heavy exhale, knowing he was beaten. He had to tell Mr Stark the truth.

"It actually was in the fight with the Vulture," Peter began, "so I wasn't lying about that. And I did have to catch a few walls." Tony raised his eyebrows at Peter's weak attempts at defending himself. "I went to his warehouse and he sent his flying suit at me. It wasn't particularly good at attacking 'cause it hadn't even touched me. I said that and Toomes told me it wasn't trying to." Tony inhaled sharply, clasping his hands together to stop them from shaking, Peter trying not to listen to how Tony's hands still hit each other gently. Enhanced hearing sucked sometimes. "He had directed the suit to take out all the supports in the building." Tony gasped, expression contorted into one of such extreme guilt and sorrow that Peter wanted to shelter Tony from the world for the rest of his days because goddammit he's seen too much and been through enough and couldn't the world just give him a fucking break for once? No one deserved one more than Mr Stark did.

"I took the suit," Tony whispered, voice thick with emotion, "I took the suit. It was your only protection, damn it, and I took the fucking suit!" Tony was yelling now, self-hatred and rage dancing in his wild brown eyes.

"It wasn't your fault, Mr Stark," Peter tried to tell him.

"How?" Tony scoffed, laughing bitterly, "How was this not my fault. I took the suit and you got hurt because of my mistake."

"It's okay, Mr Stark, you didn't know," Peter said.

"But I should've," Tony replied, "I should've known." Peter's features hardened, spine turning to steel. He wouldn't let Mr Stark blame himself for this. The blame was on Toomes and only on Toomes.

"Did you pilot the Vulture suit?" Peter asked firmly.

"What?"

"Did. You. Pilot. The. Vulture. Suit." Peter repeated, staring defiantly at Tony.

"No, of course not," Tony replied, slight confusion clinging to his features.

"And did you cause the building to fall?" he continued.

"No."

"Then it's not your fault," Peter told him simply.

"Kid, I shouldn't have taken the suit," Tony began, dropping his head into his hands. He opened his mouth to continue but Peter cut him off before he could say anything equally self-deprecating.

"Maybe," Peter allowed, "but then I wouldn't found out I was strong enough to get back up again. 'If you're nothing without the suit then you shouldn't have it'. You told me that. I thought the suit made Spider-man and I lost sight of what Spider-man really meant. God, I started out in a fricking onesie. That's what Spider-man represents. Not a hero with a multi-million dollar suit, but someone with nothing but their will to save others. Without you taking the suit, I never would've remembered everything Spider-man stood for.; With great power comes great responsibility. You gave me that tough love moment and I needed it. Now it's my turn to dish out some tough love for you." Peter took a deep breath. "You, Tony Stark, are being a fucking idiot. The blame of what happened in the past lies with Adrian Toomes, and Adrian Toomes alone. So stop this self-deprecating bullshit and use your fucking brain for once in your life. It. Was. Not. Your. Fault." Tony looked up at him, the self-hatred drained from his features, a slight smile adorning his lips which Peter returned.

"You're right, kid," Tony said, "when did you get this wise?"

"I've always been this wise, Mr Stark, I just wanted you to feel better about your lack of common sense," Peter joked, Tony chuckling.

"It wasn't my fault," Tony repeated. Peter tilted his head, confused at the strange undertone in Tony's voice only to see a fire lit in his caramel eyes. "I'm going to kill that son of a bitch."

And it was then that he knew he fucked up.

~~~

Step 4. Try some breathing exercises.

Peter had always been shit at breathing exercise. He just didn't have the patience for them. While he was breathing, someone could be getting raped in an alley, a shop could be getting robbed, or a kid could be getting beat up. So - despite the constant reminders to just try the damn breathing exercises for the love of god - Peter had never done anything of the sort. How could he? With his enhanced senses, it was impossible to relax. Would you be able to sit there and breathe while screams rang in your ears and sobbing pounded in your mind? Naturally, this meant that Peter wasn't the most experienced when it came to said breathing exercises. Maybe he should've practised. Life always had a funny way of throwing Peter in the deep end headfirst and tied to a ten ton weight and expecting him to swim. However, he had once read in a self-help book that breathing exercises were good for calming people down, so he decided to hit fuck it for the sixth time in the last 48 hours and try it out. I mean, it was that or release an angry billionaire in a metal suit decked out with the most advanced weapons in the world (except for maybe what HYDRA had because honestly Peter knew better than to underestimate them and he mildly respected their cockroach-like survival skills) who was hell-bent on revenge and gave zero fucks into the world. The second option was beginning to sound quite tempting, Peter would be honest.

"Mr Stark, you need to calm down," Peter told the man gently, placing a hand on Tony's shoulder. Tony tilted his head up to look at Peter - rage splashed across his face, tension lining his body - before he shrugged off Peter's hand and jerked into a standing position. And the room was suffocating, suffocating, suffocating, because damn had Tony always been that scary. A cloud of darkness surrounded Tony, filling the lab up and winding itself slowly around Peter's neck, stealing the breath from his lungs. Tony stormed through the lab, footsteps like thunder, anger crackling like lightning. Desperately, Peter followed the billionaire. "Mr Stark, Mr Stark, please calm down," Peter pleaded with him.

"No," Tony spoke, voice cold and flat, tone totally devoid of emotion, so totally opposite to the fury painting his entire body like a second skin. "No I will not calm down, Peter. He dropped a fucking building on you. He deserves to die."

"But you don't deserve to live with the guilt of killing him," Peter begged, tugging at Tony's sleeve in a desperate attempt to stop the man from his warpath. Peter knew he could easily overpower Tony. But he was hoping it wouldn't come to that. "Trust me, I know how it feels to want revenge, I really do, but you have to let it go. Please, Mr Stark."

"Dammit Peter, he hurt you!" Tony shouted, whirling around to face Peter, features twisted and manically furious. "He hurt you a-and I wasn't there and you had to deal with being crushed by a fucking building and then you got up and kept fighting because of that sick son of a bitch so I swear to fucking god I will murder him." Tony's eyes held a frenzied wildness in them, chest heaving up and down, Peter could hear his heart racing.

"Mr Stark, try some breathing," Peter said out of desperation, completely and utterly out of ideas. "Just breath. In and out, in and out." Tony's momentary surprise shocked him out of his anger, confusion flickering across his face momentarily before the anger was back, stronger than ever. Tony pivoted on his heel and walked away from Peter, heading towards where he kept his suits and leaving a heavy sense of dread pooling in Peter's stomach and twisting his insides in knots. So breathing hadn't worked. Thanks for nothing self-help books.

~~~

Step 5. Hack the most advanced AI in the world.

When in doubt, do something potentially illegal. A mugger had once told Peter that after Peter caught her trying to rob a young man. That lady had been fucking badass. It was honestly a shame she's gone to prison but a criminal is a criminal. Turns out the lady had been responsible for a string of high-end bank and jewellery robberies. Peter wondered how she was doing. Probably not well, considering how shit the American jail system is. Peter always tried to find alternative ways to stop criminals, only really sending in the pedophiles, rapists, murderers and the more professional robbers. Sometimes people had no choice in the shitty hand life had dealt them and goddamn if Peter didn't get that. People were just pushed and pushed until they were left with nothing but desperation. Maybe if the government or any of the fucking American systems were better or did their jobs properly then people wouldn't have to steal just to keep themselves and their families from starvation. Maybe Toomes wouldn't have started his alien tech business and then none of this would have even happened. Peter wouldn't be in this situation right now. And Peter was now out of options. He had an angry billionaire on his hands and absolutely no idea what to do. So, he took the lady's advice and decided to do something potentially illegal. He hacked the most advance AI in the world. (What, like it's hard?)

"Hey FRI?" Peter called with a wince.

"Yes, Peter," the AI replied.

"I'm really sorry," Peter told her before bringing up FRIDAY's code. (A/N - I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT COMPUTERS SO THIS IS GONNA BE SOME VAGUE, QUESTIONABLE AF HACKING) Fingers flying across the keys of the laptop, Peter bit his lip in concentration, brows furrowed. He had to hurry and shut down Mr Stark's suits before he reached them and left to murder Toomes. Adrenaline coursed through his body, brain whirring to life like the computer before him as he deleted lines of code, rewriting and altering the code that created FRIDAY as he tore down the firewalls Mr Stark had built. Peter vaguely registered that this was probably illegal and that Mr Stark would most definitely be mad about this later but he quickly waved the thoughts away. He didn't have time for them, he didn't have time, he didn't have time. Barely registering what he was doing, Peter submerged himself into the world of numbers, immersing himself completely in the ocean of lines of code, fingers instinctively knowing what t do as though he'd been born to hack. Again, probably not a great thing that this was so easy. But computers had always made sense to Peter. After what felt like hours but was really only a few minutes, Peter was into FRIDAY's system. And with a few taps, Peter shut down the suits. Quickly exiting the browser, Peter dropped his head into his hands. He'd done it. With a long exhale, Peter relaxed, leaning back into his chair and running his shaking hands through his hair. An enraged roar broke the peaceful quiet surrounding Peter and he squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe if he ignored it, Mr Stark's anger would go away. He couldn't deal with this shit. Peter was too young to die.

"Peter Benjamin Parker I swear to fucking god-"

"You probably shouldn't fuck god, Mr Stark," Peter couldn't resist remarking with a shit-eating grin. "People might get a bit mad. And who knows, you may even end up pregnant which I can't imagine will be very fun."

"What the fuck?" Tony whispered into the silence that followed Peter's statement. "I don't even want to know what goes on in your brain." Peter hummed in agreement. To be honest, he had no idea what was going on up there half the time. He was just along for the ride. And hey, if it distracted Mr Stark from his anger then it was a win win situation right? (How Peter won in this scenario he didn't know but he didn't question it).

"It's the trauma," Peter replied flippantly, as casual as one would be if they were discussing the weather.

"The-" Tony broke off into angry, confused gibberish that Peter didn't even try to decipher. Crisis averted. Now to deal with the aftermath.

~~~

Step 6. Watch a movie.

Peter Parker wasn't good with emotions. Being a socially awkward sixteen-year-old genius had that effect on a person. Not to mention the fact that he had a crime-fighting, sarcastic alter ego. Yeah, he wasn't great with feelings. Especially not his own. And now he was attempting to help Mr Stark clam down after the whole Toomes-dropping-a-building-on-him-reveal thing. And the only way an emotionally stunted teenage genius superhero knew how to help an emotionally stunted adult genius superhero was something most people would not class as a healthy coping mechanism. Distraction. Preferably with a movie.

"Hey Mr Stark, wanna watch Empire Strikes Back?" Peter asked. Tony fell into a confused silence which Peter took as an agreement. "Yes? Perfect, let's go." Grabbing Tony's arm, Peter tugged him out of the lab and into the elevator, confusion splashed across Tony's features as they entered the movie room. Peter dropped onto the expensive yet incredibly comfortable couch in the centre of the room, pulling Tony down beside him. "Hey FRI? Can you please play The Empire Strikes Back."

"Certainly, Peter," FRIDAY replied, a hint of warmth in her robotic voice. The Star Wars theme filled the room, Peter lips kicking up into a smile at the familiar sound. And as the movie played, Peter reciting every single line with the characters, he felt the rage and tension slowly drain out of his mentor as he relaxed.

"Hey, kid," Tony whispered, interrupting Luke and Darth Vader's showdown. "I sorry for getting angry. I just... I just didn't know what to do. Instead of asking if you were okay I blamed myself and wanted to frigging murder a guy who's already suffering in prison."

"It's okay, Mr Stark," Peter responded with a smile, sincerity gracing his tone. "I get it. After Ben died, I found his murderer. I almost killed the guy," Peter chuckled without humour, Tony watching him with sad eyes, the movie forgotten. "Point is, I know how it feels to want revenge. Don't apologise for being human."

"You really are the best of us all, kid," Tony remarked, a smile adoring his face, features relaxed as he looked at Peter.

"I learned from the best," Peter replied with a shrug.

"Thanks, kid," Tony said, throat tight with emotion.

"I meant May," Peter joked lightly, the heavy emotion clouding the room vanishing as Tony laughed.

"Are you okay, kid?" Tony asked, seriousness settling over them again.

"Honestly?" Peter responded, "no. But that's alright. Because I will be." Peter held Tony's gaze, warmth blossoming in his chest at his mentor's caring eyes, as Darth Vader's voice filled the room.

"No, I am your father," Darth Vader spoke. Peter turned back to the movie, watching as Luke jumped and fell.

"You're gonna be okay, kid," Tony whispered, "we're both gonna be okay."

Because Peter would be okay. So Tony was okay too.

And if Pepper walked in three hours later to find them curled up against each other, fast asleep she never said anything. (She got FRIDAY to take a photo and saved it to Irondad and Spiderson - an unsurprisingly large file. She should probably get Peter to do a DNA test. They did look rather similar)

#fanfic #peter parker #spider-man #iron man #irondad #father-son #pepper potts #unhealed trauma #marvel #the avengers #spider son #bamf peter parker #tired dad Tony #tony stark #aunt may

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syms-things-5 · 4 years ago

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Clear The Area - Chapter Fifteen (Part Two)

**A Chris Evans Story**

Previous Chapter Here

Tags: @jennmurawski13 @kelbabyblue

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, strong language, generally a bit awkward

Notes: This is a long chapter, sorry. Any comments welcome, good and bad.

Chapter Fifteen (Part Two)

“Let me just bring up your booking here, one moment please.”

The lobby of The Langham was an ocean of grey and blue. The sun was shining brightly outside, the hottest day of the year so far, and it reflected in every surface of the space and accompanying bar. It was sparse on the usual detailing, instead preferring a minimalist approach; the check-in desk consisted of a mere iPad and one lily artfully growing from a tall, geometrical glass vase. Random art hung from all sides. One looked vaguely like a donkey, Sarah was sure. There was also what she thought was an ash tray balanced on a pillar to the left of where she was standing but she didn’t dare to investigate it any closer in case it cost the price of a small car.

It had the same over-perfumed odour as the fragrance section of a Macy’s. The tiled floor look so clean and fresh you could be forgiven for thinking it had only just been laid that very morning. Sarah felt a pang of guilt walking in wearing her scuffed Converse. She always felt so out of place in places like this. It was the kind of place she would run a mile from if she had the choice but Greg had an “in” with the manager and now here she was.

“So that will be four nights in our Executive Suite with Central Park view. You also have the bar allowance of $150 per night. You just need to take the elevator up to the 32nd floor and it’s the second door on your left. Would you like a hand with your bags, madam?” She motioned for the concierge to come over but held her hand up when she spied the puzzled look on Sarah’s face.

“I’m really sorry but I think there’s been some kind of mistake. I didn’t book a suite, just a standard double and I don’t think I pre-paid for any bar allowance. I didn’t even know I could do that to be honest.” Sarah chuckled awkwardly in an attempt to diffuse the tension but it fell on deaf ears. She handed the key card back to the lady, unsure of what else to suggest.

The lady showed practically no emotion at the possible mistake and simply took another look at her records before confirming that she was in fact correct with the initial room choice. “It’s definitely your suite, and...everything is paid for in advance. Could it have been made on your behalf? It looks like it was upgraded yesterday afternoon.”

Sarah wasn’t sure if she was asking her a question or telling her. She couldn’t believe she wasn’t biting her hand off but she hoped she hadn’t made some kind of horrific error her bank wouldn’t forgive her for. She could barely afford the double room she’d booked as it was and she’s sure the college wouldn’t have upgraded her without letting her know in advance. It made zero sense. They couldn’t have that kind of money going spare, putting students up in posh suites. She had no clue what could have happened.

Unless...Chris?

No, it wouldn’t be. He was less than pleased to hear she’d be away as it was. Except...well, who else? Sarah rolled her eyes a little too obviously before accepting the key card back. “That’s OK. I think I know what’s happened. It’s only the one bag. I can manage it.”

The lady nodded her thanks and, smiling politely, pointed her back towards the elevators. Sarah couldn’t move away from her fast enough.

Arriving at her floor, Sarah emerged from the lift expecting someone to come running up to her to confirm that they had in fact made a horrendous mistake. She slipped the key card into her door before pushing her way in to find her new home for the week.

The bedroom was large, uncomfortable so, with the bed positioned just off the middle in the room. Sarah figured the designer for a psychopath. It was big but not as empty as the lobby would have had her believe. In fact, it seemed reassuringly cosy despite the windows, so many windows stretching around the suite. There was a soft blue curved sofa opposite a screen that she’d seen smaller versions of in a cinema. Cushions fucking everywhere and fluffy white slippers she’d probably never take off again.

Everything seemed to be controlled from an iPad set in a stand by the bedroom door; the lights, the curtains, the air freshener, some background music for ambiance if she wanted. The windows tinted darker to block out the sunlight. Even the $1300 coffee machine was remote controlled; she had recognised it from the last edition of Home & Country Jocelyn had mailed to her, the exact one Shanna had been dropping hints about to Chris as a potential Christmas present.

The lounge offered her the clearest view of Central Park and with the light at this time in the afternoon, it was beyond stunning. She snapped a picture and considered texting it to Shanna but thought better of drawing attention to where she was staying. There was no way she could pass this off as a standard room even with her best efforts.

It was almost a shame to waste all of this on just herself. This room deserved romance, she thought.

Around the same time, Chris was on his third beer of the afternoon and lounging on his sofa. He had a new script in one hand, one he wasn’t particularly keen on but offered to read as a favour for a friend. He was so relaxed now that he had to re-read the last ten or so pages simply because it wasn’t landing. The whole room was lit softly by the sun outside. It had gone 4 o’clock when his phone rang disturbing the peace.

“Bernette! How was the journey?” he smiled into the phone as soon as he saw who it was.

“The bathtub is the size of my entire bathroom.” She announced, not giving him room to breathe. She heard him laugh heartily at the end of the line and could picture him looking smug and proud of himself, the dick. “I could have an orgy with the Patriots and still have room left.”

“Hey, don’t go getting any ideas.” he jostled with her. He placed the script down on the tablet to give her his full attention. “So, you like it, huh?”

“It’s...it’s absolutely gorgeous and utterly ridiculous. Seriously, dude, you did not need to do this.” She could sense his growing pride from here. “I’ve never stayed in anything like it. I have, like, a hundred towels.”

“That’s why I did it in the first place. Not for the towels, obviously, but just because you deserved something different. Something nice.” He enthused. “Don’t fight me on this, Bernette.”

“You should see the view. It’s so beautiful. I think I can see the museum.” She was stood on her tiptoes, pressed against the glass, looking at the tiny people milling around on the street so far below her.

“i know,” he responded. “You’ll be there for a week and best to be comfortable, right?”

She didn’t want to argue with him. She was tired and extremely grateful for the kind gesture. She’d be able to enjoy the place and her time in the City more if she could firmly separate her work from any space in which she could chill out. It wasn’t like she was going to be raving all night nor have much chance to see places at this rate, so more space was probably a good thing. She hadn’t had an unbroken night’s sleep in...she couldn’t even remember when.

“Thank you, Chris.” she spoke softly after a brief pause.

“You’re welcome.”

She put her phone down on the bedside table and set about removing her clothes from her suitcase. Well, “clothes” in the loose sense. What she’d packed was basically gym gear, sweat pants, t-shirts, nothing remotely attractive, and a simple paid of black trousers for the exam day itself. Who was going to see her anyway? Shanna had thrown a jumper in the mix without her realising, dismayed at her insistence that she was not going out to bars to hook up with someone.

“But you’ll be gone the next day! It’s. The. Perfect. Crime!” Shanna had said, exasperated and throwing her hands in the air in dismay.

The majority of space in her suitcase has been taken up with journals and textbooks, ones she hadn’t see since she left medical school and had long since expected she would never see again. Funny what opportunities life threw at you when you least expected it.

She was soon feeling the push and pull of the day and had planned on spending at least a couple of hours studying that evening, so she had a clean-up and threw on the first set of sweatpants that fell out of the closet. She tied her hair up and out of her face, pulled out her notepad and switched her Macbook on. The TV was showing some repeat of a gameshow with the sound on low, more for background company than anything else, and she finally figured out how to get the coffee machine working thanks to a small tome buried inside a drawer underneath the coffee table.

Chris 9.44pm: All OK? Need company yet??

Sarah 9.45pm: I love you guys bt I can’t tell u how amazing it is having space to myself. Been a looooong day

Chris 9.51pm: ah

Chris 9.52pm: OK maybe don’t look outside your door

Momentarily confused, she rubbed at her eyes trying to come up with a pithy response.

Chris 9.56pm: well this is awkward...........

Sarah looked at the door and then back at her phone. Looking up at the door again, she unfolded her feet from underneath her and slowly walked towards it. Pulling it open, she found Chris looking up at her through his lashes, sheepishness drenching his entire body.

“OK, funny story,” he said. “But I thought this might be romantic and then I got carried away and now I’m here and I can absolutely go if you need me to...?” He half-turned his body in the direction of the elevators. “I’m so sorry, honey. I just thought it might be nice and not at all annoying but it’s annoying, isn’t it? It’s OK, you don’t need to say anything. Dammit, I really thought I pitched this right.”

“Chris, it’s fine.” Sarah finally found her voice to speak. “Honestly. I’m...I’m just really surprised is all. I was not expecting you to...drive? All this way?”

He nodded. “Yeh, I just bombed it down the ‘95.”

Awkward silence fell between them as they stared at each other unsure of what to do next. Finally picking up on the fact he remained in the hallway, a backpack thrown over his shoulder, she moved out of the way and he entered the suite. Relieved, he placed his bag down and turned to see her close the door behind him. He looked mildly embarrassed and she was all too aware she wasn’t welcoming but it was getting late and her eyes had started to hurt a little as she rubbed at them with the back of her hand.

“Fuck, that’s a long couch.” he announced, taking his black suede jacket off and placing it over the armrest nearest to him. He glanced over and saw papers strewn over the coffee table, her laptop light blaring brightly and looked back to her. She was working hard and he had ruined it.

“I am so sorry. First thing tomorrow, I’ll go home, I promise.” He held his hands up by way of an apology but she shook her head in response.

“Stop apologising.” she chuckled. “Do you want a beer?”

He nodded gratefully and looked so adorable that any annoyance she might have felt finally dissipated. “How about I give you a hug and then leave you to it? I need a shower and I can amuse myself in there for a little while. I don’t know why I just said that.”

Sarah laughed again and a little more relief moved through him. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so nervous when he had been so confident of his decisions in the car all the way here. He’d rehearsed his lines and imagined her big smile when seeing behind the door. He had wanted to stop off and buy flowers but he was so eager to see her, he’d just kept driving. No daydream could live up to the reality of seeing her face up close.

He watched her from the bathroom doorway. She was cross-legged on the bed, studying the thickest textbook he’d ever seen with colour-coded notecards laid out across the duvet. He had earlier glimpsed a page over her shoulder but decided against pursuing medicine as a new career when he was faced with photographs of god knows what. He tried to remove the images from his mind by drinking another beer and thinking of Sarah in her scrubs. That tended to work well for him these days.

She looked so cute sat on the bed, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. He wanted to come up with a joke, calm the tension a little that had grown between them in the meantime, but she looked pretty hot. More hot than usual and it was distracting. Like a sexy Librarian and for the second time this month he discovered something else he was into.

One pen was stuck behind her ear but she’d forgotten she’d put it there and was now using a different one. Her hair was tied up at the top of her head in a messy bun that she hadn’t touched since she’d arrived, more and more strands falling loosely around her as the evening wore on, framing her perfect, round face. She seemed to engrossed in what she was doing.

He was still a little wet from his shower and pondered whether she would notice if he just whipped his towel off and offered himself to her. There really wasn’t anything he wanted more at this moment in time than to have her touch him, to have her run hands gently over his chest, to tease him a little bit. There’d be some time, he reasoned, and right not it was just was exhilarating to think of her being here alongside him knowing it would be just the two of them for a little while.

He perched on the end of the bed in front of her. She barely moved, barely seemed to notice him. He took one of her blank notecards and carefully placed it on the open page so as not to lose her place. She leaned back slightly, allowing him to gather up the papers and place them in a pile on the floor besides the bed before turning back to lean in towards her, one arm stretching out across her legs. She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes again. She wanted peace and quiet and he decided to rock up just because he could. He sighed to himself. He was such a dick sometimes.

“Do you mind me being here?” he asked her, fully resigning himself to leaving if she now asked him to as hard as that might be. He’d got so caught up in his idea of surprising her that he hadn’t fully registered just how important these exams were or how well she wanted to do. Passing them wasn’t an option for Sarah; she wanted to knock it out of the park. She wanted to do better for herself and the more he got to know her like this, the more it became his favourite thing about her. And he related. He related perfectly. He knew exactly what that was like. “Cos I can go if you need me to.”

“Chris, I’ve said it’s fine. It’s nice that you’re here. I would just hate you feeling bored if all I’m doing is studying all the time.” She nervously twirled the pen between her fingers while taking in how amazing he looked following a shower, a little steam rising off his skin.

“I won’t get bored.” he assured her. “It’ll be nice hanging out with you. Just the two of us.”

He plucked the pen from behind her ears and she rolled her eyes realising the mistake she’d made. He tucked strands of hair back and leaned in placing a quick, soft kiss to her lips. He smelled like her coconut shampoo and she just now understood how truly spontaneous his trip had been.

“Listen, there’s another reason why I’m here. There’s something I need to talk to you about and I couldn’t wait until you got home.” he stroked her arm gently, looking down into her lap. “It’s been going around in my head and I’m not entirely sure what to say about it to be honest, but...it looks like Jenny’s done an interview with a magazine. A full thing with a photoshoot and stuff and it looks like I might be involved.” He closed his eyes for a second before correcting himself. “Not might actually, it’s pretty much definite that I’m in there for a large portion of it.”

“OK.” Sarah nodded. He for sure seemed weary of the whole thing and she felt for him.

“I just, I know she can be pretty unfiltered at the best of times, so-”

“-but she won’t have said anything negative, right?”

“No, no, not negative. I’m not worried about that exactly. It’s just that...” He was struggling to find the words. “I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea about us, about me and her. I expect she’ll have this hyper-romanticised view of things and I guess I didn’t want you thinking it was some great love affair which is what I think she’ll spin it as.” He couldn’t quite meet her eye while he was talking. “I’m not proud of myself or of what I said or did at the time but I was low and she was there and it was...easy, I guess.”

He immediately regretted his choice of words. As much as he wanted Sarah to understand, he didn’t want Sarah to think he was dismissive of his relationships in this way. “Matt’s figuring out some damage control with them. Hopefully, it’ll go away as quickly as it comes.”

“You think he’ll be able to clear it up?”

Chris nodded. Matt was a formidable guy and he was assured things would look and read much better by the time it went to print. He placed his hand on her thigh and it was only now she registered just how close he was to surrounding her. “I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve all too often but when I do, they know about it. I want to make them aware of exactly how I feel about them and I didn’t do that with her.” He dipped his head to catch her eye line. “So, when I do something for someone, it means something, y’know?”

“Yeh, of course. You’re a good guy, Chris. Everyone knows that.” She took his hand and lightly interlocked their fingers together.

“I guess I just didn’t want you worrying about her ‘cos there’s absolutely nothing there for me. Never had been.”

“You don’t need to explain this to me, I’m not going to hold anything against you.” she stroked his chin with her thumb and felt him relax into her hand. He glanced down at the mess he’d made on the floor and started picking a few things back up.

“How much left do you have to do tonight?” he whispered as his lips closed upon hers for a fleeting moment.

“I could do with finishing some notes but...half an hour, maybe?”

“I’ll hold you to that.” he kissed her again and got up from the bed, lifting her books back on top. “Just come get me when you’re done, yeh?”

Finishing up in the bathroom, Sarah switched off the light and moved towards the bed. She kneeled alongside Chris who was lying flat out, naked except for the duvet bunched across legs, reading what she assumed was the hotel magazine only to find upon closer inspection that it was in fact one of her medical journals. She giggled as she grabbed the moisturiser from the bedside table and began rubbing a small amount up and down her arms, regarding him as his nose creased up in apparent disgust at something he’d just read.

“Did you know the body has ten times more microorganisms living in it than actual human cells?! That’s bacteria, Sarah. Living, gross bacteria. All over us.” he looked at her, shock and horror crossing his fine, perfect features. She wasn’t sure whether to pat him on the head or laugh.

“It’s mostly good bacteria, though. Only, like, 1% of it is bad for us.”

“And when exactly were you going to tell me about this?!”

She creased up laughing and flopped on to her side next to him. “It’s all information that’s out there for the world to see. Remind me not to tell you about eyelashes.”

“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever removed from somebody’s ass?” he asked.

“What? Why is that always a question people want an answer to?”

“I don’t know. It’s just weird. Humans are weird.” he muttered, turning back to the pages in front of him. She was glad he had chosen one without pictures. That was the last thing she wanted to see before falling asleep.

“So, have you learned something new?” she asked, curling her legs under the duvet.

“I have. I think you should test me and if I get a question wrong, you can do whatever you like to me. Deal?” he asked, smirking. She shyly smiled and he tossed the book onto the floor. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She repeated. She watched as his eyes slowly travelled down her body. It was unreasonable how much he managed to disarm her with only a look.

His hand reached out to gently caress the side of her thigh, nudging the duvet slightly down before moving back up to her hip, a ticklish area he’d picked up on the last time they were together. He leaned in and kiss her on the side of her jaw, so feather-like and soft she barely felt it if not for his warm breath she could feel on her neck.

“You smell nice.” he whispered, looking at her from underneath his eyelashes. “We could have showered together, y’know? Save the planet?”

As much as she was getting used to the little things he would do when they were alone, rubbing her arm, tucking hair behind her ears, saying nice things about how pretty she looked, having him here in such close proximity with no else around to distract them or force them into the light...it was getting risky. Not that Chris ever pushed her, mind. He’d been nothing but understanding and respectful and she was grateful for that but also growing concerned he was perhaps a little...bored. Why else would he drive over state lines to see her. None of this was normal and the more time went by, the more she became fretful of what they were doing.

“What are you thinking about?” he kissed her shoulder. “Is it dirty? If it’s dirty, I wanna know about it.”

Sarah smiled and placed her hand on the side of his face, running her fingers gently over his beard. He’d thoroughly given up shaving but she liked how soft it still felt under her finger tips and judging by the breath he released as he closed his eyes, so did he, relaxing into her hand. He kissed her again. She was hoping he’d take charge so she could put off talking to him a little longer but instead, he refrained from pushing them any further and leaned back a little, looking into her eyes. “Talk to me.”

She could feel his hand move slowly and deliberately up her arm until he reached the back of her neck, his fingers playing with the loose strands of hair that had fallen from her messy bun. There was no getting away from this.

“You know you can tell me anything, right? It’s OK for you to tell me what you want.” She could feel his breath on her skin, his voice low and rough. His fingers moved again and she felt them touch her lips, one of them running back and forth over her lower lip until she parted them ever so slightly and his finger softly dipped inside her mouth. He seemed to like that and kissed her again, a little harder this time.

“Just keep kissing me.” she whispered, relieved that se finally got some words out.

He smiled at her, satisfied with her response, and kissed her again. Slow, wet, a kind of kiss that was full of promise of what he wanted to do and it made her whole body thrum with anticipation.

One hand now resting on the bed beside her and the other moved from her cheek back down to her thigh. She was frozen to the spot, this man focussed on her so intently, prepared to give her whatever she asked for, whatever she needed, expressing so much in a kiss that she didn’t register when her hand began moving slowly, grazing a finger ever so slightly over the waistline of her shorts.

“...and what else?”

A little more, he moved his hand until his fingers dipped inside her underwear until he felt her skin, hot to the touch. She broke the kiss momentarily to let out a breath, one hand resting on the back of his neck for leverage as he continued tenderly moving his fingers until he got to where he wanted to be. Feeling her wet for him seemed to spark something inside and she felt him push her carefully until she was lying back on the bed, head just off the pillow, and he leaned over her. He adjusted his hand ever so slightly until she could feel his fingers pressing at her entrance before moving in small circular motions, riling her up.

“Look at me, honey.” he whispered, his voice rough and turned on as he wanted her grabbing at the covers as he stroked her. She tried to but she couldn’t stop her eyes from closing again, zoned out with only his smooth and confident movements to focus on. It was almost getting too much with him hitting her at just the right spot for her to lose herself completely when, just like that, he pulled his hand away and grabbed both sides of her underwear to pull them down and off her legs. The next thing she remembered was the feel of him skilfully grabbing her from underneath her thighs, his tongue swiftly taking over.

It didn’t take long for her to feel like was she coming undone and him feeling proud of himself. She couldn’t fight it and with one arm draped across her lower tummy, he certainly had not intention of letting her get away. Any feelings of awkwardness were soon a thing of the past as she let the gentle, unbridled bliss he was giving her wash over her completely. She honestly couldn’t remember ever feeling anything like this before, she was so out of it. He was covering her completely, her wetness mixing with his own, his beard rubbing against her smooth skin adding another level of pleasure.

She ran her fingers through his hair, messing it up. His tongue hit her clit again and again causing her to give him a short, sharp pull. His groan was so filthy and deep from within him, she felt it reverberate through her, raising goose bumps up and down her skin.

He wanted her on the edge as much as he felt he was. He wanted her to want him, to tell him exactly what she wanted him to do. He wanted her on fire. He wanted to hear her beg.

Just as she was on the edge for a second time, he stopped and blew softly across her wisps of hair. He chuckled when he heard what sounded like a quiet yet frustrated groan leave her lips, followed by a chuckle, something innocent and familiar. Her hands loosened from his hair as they stared into each other’s eyes, their mutual breathlessness the only sound they could hear.

“Does that feel good?” he whispered, the breath from his words scorching her skin. He moved his tongue just a little lower, not breaking eye contact, and she felt him dip ever so slightly inside of her, his arm wrapped around her thigh and the pad of his thumb taking care of the rest. He did this a second time, then a third, and when he returned to pressing his tongue over her clit, drawing her into his mouth, she was soon grabbing at him in any way she could in a futile attempt to take the edge off the orgasm that was coming at her like a freight train.

She was close. He knew she was so close now and he held his arms tightly around her to keep her close to him. One more swipe of his tongue right....there...and she was gone.

When her breathing even out, she slowly opened her eyes to see him move up and over her, placing soft, wet kisses on her hip, her tummy, her neck, and finally on her lips. He seemed cautious to kiss her, unsure of whether she wanted him to but she grabbed his face with both hands to pull him back down to her, kissing him as passionately as she could manage with what felt like no energy. She could taste herself and it was so much more erotic than she could ever have imagined.

She felt him smile into the kiss as he carefully settled his body on top of hers, allowing her to wrap her legs around him. He moved the hair that was sticking to her forehead and stroked her face with one finger, gently mapping her eye and her nose and her cheek. She couldn’t reconcile this being the same man who had minutes earlier been so dominant. He had so clearly wanted to say something at that point if only his hardness hadn’t been so distracting. He mover one arm under her neck, using the other hand to move hair from where it had clung to the side of her face. Holding her as close to him as possible and feeling blissful when he felt her legs wrap around his own, he entered her and held still, enjoying the moment.

“We should’ve done this years ago.” he spoke and for a brief moment, without realising, she was pulled from their intimacy, a pang of guilt taking its place.

He was too busy pushing into her, needing whatever she had left to give him. He grabbed at the back of her neck to keep her in place, his face buried into her hair. She felt her skin heat up all over from his breath as he panted at her side. It was more frantic than he’d wanted it to be as he groaned and moaned and pushed his whole weight into her with force. It was really all she could do to just hang on to him as he fucked her deeper, as he surged towards his own orgasm, then letting go when she felt him shudder insider her minutes later. He sounded helpless and as much as he tried to hold himself up from collapsing on her, he soon gave up trying and laid his head on her shoulder.

His warm breath continued covering her skin as she ran her hand gently over the back of his head. She felt him chuckle a vibration into the top of her arm before a wet kiss landed just underneath her ear, a place he had deigned his own after he realised how sensitive she was on that particular spot.

Finally rolling off her to lie on his back, he kept his arm stretched across her lower tummy and rubbed his fingers across the apex of her thigh. She wasn’t sure how long they stayed in this position but at some point he leaned over her to turn the bedside light off plunging the room into complete darkness and they continued to lie there in silence not really sure if the other was asleep or not.

He eventually turned onto his side to face her, keeping a firm grip on her waist. He was across her pillow and she could practically feel the flutter of his eyelashes as he watched her in the dark, a soft outline gradually appearing as his eyes adjusted to the blackness of the room, making out her features. she felt his hand move up and down her ribcage and over the inside of her elbow, another sensitive spot that made her shudder and him chuckle again when he realised she was in fact still awake.

She turned onto her side to face him and his hand moved to her lower back where it finally rested over her hip. She pushed her leg in between his and he seemed content and comfortable in how they were existing in this space, both aware they didn’t have to worry about getting up any time soon. He was running his fingers up and down her spine in slow, circular motions and it felt wonderful. Too wonderful. And there was that guilt again.

“What will you do tomorrow?” she asked.

He took a deep breath in contemplation at her unexpected question. “Gym looks pretty good. I have a book and a couple of scripts, too. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“I know.” she murmured but he knew she was dwelling on something.

“I wanna be here for you if you need anything and if you don’t, you won’t even know I’m around. I promise.”

“I know that, too.”

She could sense him smile at her even in their dark. “Good.” he said. “It feels nice knowing I’ve made a good decision for a change.”

#chris evans #chris evans fic #evans fic #fan fiction #clear the area #sarah bernette #chris evans x original female character

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maybankiara · 4 years ago

Text

PHONE SWAP (DREW STARKEY)

12: THE MORE THE MERRIER

summary: Addie Mallory is just your average economics student when she meets Drew Starkey at her local Target in Atlanta. This is where the story is supposed to end – a short meeting and a picture to go – except Drew accidentally leaves with the wrong phone, and the story begins, instead.

w/c: 3k

a/n: all questions and complaints to be sent to my po box, thanks

read on wattpad

previous part | series masterlist

Me | 6:12pm Hey! Do you know where most people are meeting up?

Winnie O’Connell | 6:12pm I’ve got no clue but Holden Wes and Marea are coming to mine at 6:30 and we’re leaving a little after 7, Wes isn’t drinking. You can come with us!! The more the merrier 🥰

Me | 6:13pm That sounds great!! Thank youuu

Winnie O’Connell | 6:13pm No problem girl ❤ Winnie O’Connell | 6:13pm You remember where I live right?

Me | 6:14pm Yep! I should be there a in 25-30

Winnie O’Connell | 6:14pm Can’t wait to see you!! 😘

Me | 6:15pm You too 😊

◇

Addie leaves the flat looking—hopefully—decent enough for a night out with colleagues. She’s aware of the fact that all these people have been on a fair share on nights out together by now, and she’s not entirely sure about the dress code, but she went with what seemed the most appropriate – a deep, dark green tube top and a matching high-waisted skirt, with a stylish leather jacket Marianne let her steal for the night. She managed to stuff all her belongings into the jacket’s pockets, even the strawberry-scented tinted chapstick that Marianne forced to take, even if her lips are too dark for the chapstick’s light pink to make the slightest difference.

The Uber picks her up and leaves her at Winnie’s address shortly after forty past six, just like she planned. Addie stands in front of the tall, expensive-looking building feeling insufferably small, despite her height and the platform shoes that are currently making her stand even taller. She smooths out the nonexistent creases on her skirt and tells herself she’s freaking out over nothing, then rings the bell.

Winnie lets her in within a moment and a minute later, the elevator has taken her to the top floor.

Addie stands in front of the entrance door, and hesitates.

The first and only time she’s ever been to Winnie O’Connell’s apartment was on the very first week of the internship. Their bosses were still trying to see whom Addie would work the best with, and Winnie was the first who had a case that involved economic matters that Winnie, as a recent lawyer, couldn’t do on her own. They spent the evening at hers, working through the case until they cracked it with enough Indian takeout to keep them going.

Winnie might’ve been the first person to offer her friendship, yet Addie refused it in favour of a strictly professional relationship she’d deemed necessary to work on that case, and any other. She’s lucky that Winnie doesn’t hold grudges and didn’t even act as if it was out of the ordinary when Addie asked to join one of their nights out.

Finally, with a deep breath, Addie knocks.

Winnie opens the door with a bright smile on her face. She’s taller than usual, sporting a pair of high heels that are a few inches taller than her usual attie, combined with a little black dress that accentuates her curves in all the good ways; Addie’s first thought is that Marianne would like this dress. Her second thought is that she nailed the dress code.

‘Addison, hi!’ Winnie pulls her into a tight hug, smelling of a warm floral perfume. ‘I’m glad you’re here, we’re just about to start a little drinking game.’

Addie smiles. ‘That sounds great.’

The girl moves to the side and lets her in. The door shuts with a click and Winnie’s heels make nearly the same sound across the wooden floor as she leads Addie into the apartment. She stops at the end of the hallway, right where it expands into what Addie recalls to be a massive living room.

‘I’ll just go and grab you a drink,’ says Winnie. She steps through the door on the side, closer than the living room, and Addie catches a glimpse of a silver, minimalistic kitchen. ‘The others are in the living room.’

With that, Winnie enters the kitchen, and Addie makes her way into the living room.

‘ADDISON!’

Her lips stretch into a large, toothy grin at Wes Tucker’s voice, enlarging as her eyes fall upon the boy. Wes is someone a person can’t help but notice – cheerful and always making a point to be the loudest in a room, with a talent for accomplishing the most by doing the least. He’s also yet another person whose friendship Addie refused, yet it doesn’t seem to matter to him, either.

He’s giving her one of the biggest smiles she’s ever seen on him, and he looks casually elegant in a simple black t-shirt and jeans. ‘We’re all very happy you finally decided to join us.’

‘Well, it was about time, right?’

‘Fuck yeah. Now get here, we’re about to play Charades and Holden needs a partner since Marea’s sitting this one out.’

Addie’s gaze drops to the girl sitting at the furthest end of the table, a phone pressed to her cheek and lips stretched into a slight smile. She waves at her, and Marea’s smile increases just a little, as she speaks to whoever’s on the phone. Addie doesn’t think it’s Italian (which Addie is pretty sure is her native language). With her dark locks and matching eyes, slightly tan skin, and a sharp jaw, she looks on edge and filled with kindness at once.

A chair screeches. Addie turns her head, and her eyes meet Holden’s.

‘Hey,’ he greets, flashing her a set of impeccably white teeth. ‘You ready to get this started?’

She nods, letting her face relax and shoulders drop. ‘Let’s get it on.’

‘Great!’

Addie takes a seat where Holden’s pulled the chair out for her, right next to him. Winnie comes a few seconds later and gives everyone a new round of drinks, which Addie suspects isn’t their first nor second, either. They clink them together (‘To the internship!’) and get started with Charades.

The sweetness masks the taste of alcohol, and Addie goes through her drink quickly. Marea leaves the room the moment they begin playing because Winnie is the one acting out in the first round, and the petite brunette holds a lot more vocal power in her than Addie would’ve guessed. When they finish, Wes high-fives her as they count the cards, and threatens Addie and Holden with fire in his eyes.

Addie laughs, and for the first time in three months, feels like she’s finally experiencing the full offer of the internship.

It’s her and Holden’s turn, and he offers her to pick, so she panic-chooses guessing. He groans and she learns soon enough that Holden isn’t the best at miming. The sand is out of the hourglass, and both of them are out of breath.

They’re still faster than the other two, winning the round.

Holden wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, shaking his head as he gives her a smile. ‘That was a lot.’

‘Mhm,’ says Addie. ‘The only reason why we won is because they’re worse, not because we’re good.’

‘Ouch. Let’s see if you’re any better.’

She ends up being better, after all, or it’s just the initial awkwardness of being partners outside of their workplace finally going away. Addie guessed they would make a good team, given how well they get along at work, but it’s still nice to get a confirmation. Also, Holden offers to buy her a drink when they get to the bar as an apology for doubting her, and she can’t really say no to that.

At the end of the day, Addie is just a girl who likes boys, and Holden just so happens to have swapped his usual three-piece with a navy blue t-shirt and a pair of fitted black jeans, losing some of the office stiffness, too. He’s more at ease than she’s ever seen him, with eyes that tell the intimacy of an inside joke, and there’s something oddly charming about him.

Her hands move a stray curl out of her face and she focuses back on Wes and Winnie, who are shuffling the cards, and she feels her breath flutter as she exhales.

i’ve been single for way too fucking long.

For the rest of the game, half of Addie’s focus remains on the boy sitting next to her. They get through a few more rounds, getting better each time. She’s aware of how close their knees are, of the bittersweet scent of his cologne, of the way he seems to pick up on her mannerisms quickly and easily enough to turn the game into child’s play.

Marea comes back a little before they’re supposed to leave. Wes leads them to his car, a silver Subaru, ordering Marea in the front and the other three in the back. The car’s big enough for them to fit comfortably with Addie in the middle, but not enough for them to not be touching.

Addie doesn’t budge for the entirety of the ride, but neither does Holden.

The bar where they end up meeting the rest of the people from the internship is located in the northern part of the city. It’s full of people roughly their age, drinking beer straight out of the bottle while playing pool or watching others sing karaoke at the back – basically, as Marianne would say it, it’s the “American bootleg version of an honest-to-god English pub”.

Their table is in-between the lousy bunch sitting at the bar and the loud bunch playing pool. Addie slides into the booth with Nadia to her left, and Mark and Diego a little further. The ones sitting beside them are the ones she doesn’t really know, as they’re from a different department, and neither they nor are among those few who travel from one to another given the occasion. Addie checks the time on her phone, seeing she’s got a text from Marianne, but chooses to ignore it for the time being.

Holden slides into the booth next to her, thigh against thigh. Addie feels her skin shiver where his knee brushes hers, and she takes an ice-cold beer out of his hand and nearly downs it in one go.

‘Damn, Addison.’

The bottle thunks on the wooden table and Addie taps the runaway drops out of the corners of her lips. It doesn’t miss her notice how his eyes follow the movement. ‘It’s Addie. For friends.’

‘Okay then, Addie,’ says Holden, grinning. His finger points at the phone that’s still showing her lockscreen – that undisputably dumb-looking photo of Drew one of the cast members took back when he had her phone. ‘That your boyfriend?’

Addie slides the phone back into her pocket. ‘Nope. Just a friend. Haven’t got a boyfriend.’

Holden nods as if he’s mulling the information over. His eyes light up and the corners of his lips tug into a playful smile. ‘Are you as good at playing pool as you are at Charades?’

‘Only when I’ve had more than two drinks.’

‘Well in that case, I can go get you the—’

‘IT’S CHUGGING TIME!’

Both of them are startled by Raiden’s announcement and about two dozen beers being slammed on the table. Next to her, Nadia laughs and makes a comment about how the next morning is going to be difficult, and Diego retorts by calling a pussy, to which Nadine informs him that technically, he isn’t wrong.

Addie nearly bursts into laughter. Nadine hears and then asks for her opinion on the matter, and Winnie ends up being included, too, until the entire group is discussing the weight of “dick” and “pussy” as insults.

Raiden tells them to pick partners. Addie goes with Nadia, Holden with Winnie, Wes with Marea, Mark with Diego. Raiden instructs them to intertwine their arms at the elbows, which Addie and Nadia do with ease.

Nadia bobs her head. ‘You ready?’

‘I was born for this.’

In the end, they end up being nearly the last for all three turns, because as it turns out, they’re not that good at this. But it’s a good laugh, and Addie feels like Nadia is someone she might get used to.

The realisation that the only thing they all have in common is the firm they intern for irks her mind a little. She knows that there’s people who get along with everybody, but the idea that there’s a dozen people bonding solely over the fact that they have a love-hate relationship with their job and bosses and actually making long-lasting connections is baffling.

Just... humans. Humans are baffling.

And Addie is starting to feel her five drinks.

She ends up leaving Nadia to go to the bar with Holden, who gets the two of them a drink each. He’s got a mouth made of honey and he talks Addie into playing pool with ease, except she gets Winnie and Wes to tag along, too.

Addie slams two sticks on the table. She’s not usually this confident, or this cocky, but one look at the curve of Holden’s lips is enough to get her to raise her chin high, bump shoulders with Winnie, and say, ‘Y’all are about to get smoked.’

The boys laugh. When it turns out that Winnie is indeed a master at pool (‘It’s a family sport, really’), they don’t laugh anymore.

Addie bends over the pool table, the stick between her index and middle finger. The alcohol is making everything fuzzy and smooth so it’s taking double the concentration – but Winnie says she’s got it, so she’s got it.

The stick glides between her fingers. The last coloured ball shoots into the side, then another side, until it shadows into the hole in the middle.

‘SMOKE THIS, BITCHES!’ shouts Winnie, raising a fair few eyebrows around them, and whispers a “sorry” hushed with a giggle.

Wes sighs. He puts one end of his stick on the ground and the other underneath his chin, eyeing Holden with disappointment. ‘We could’ve played better, dude.’

‘What can I say.’ Holden shrugs, taking the balls out from under the table. He throws a glance at Addie, wearing the same face he usually does when they figure out how to go on about a case. ‘I’m used to having a different partner.’

Winnie chuckles. Wes groans. Addie rolls her eyes.

‘Cheer up, big boy,’ says Addie. She comes from behind him and takes over what he was doing, aligning the balls into a perfect triangle. His stare is burning into her back, but she doesn’t budge. ‘Ready to lose another one?’

‘No, actually.’ he says. ‘Team switch up?’

‘Ugh, really? Wes?’

Despite Addie calling his name, the tall boy edges to Winnie, making a grimace. ‘Nah, I’m with Bradfield on this one. I’ve got a better chance at winning with Winnie. Ya know.’

The pun—intended or not, doesn’t really matter—earns him a light smack on the chest from Winnie, who ends up agreeing to the new teams.

Addie sighs. ‘Fine, then. Holden?’

‘Yes, Addie?’

She comes closer to him, leaning close enough that she’s sure he feels her breath on his cheek, and stage whispers, ‘We’ll get ‘em just like we got ‘em in the Charades.’

Both Wes and Winnie begin to protest so Holden slings an arm around her shoulder, as if protecting her from it all. Where his gentle fingers touch her briefly, Addie’s skin chills – she can only hope he doesn’t notice her shiver.

‘Hell yeah,’ he says. ‘Just you wait.’

His arm disappears from her shoulder and he’s over the table, pushing the stick, and the game has begun.

Addie’s head is beginning to spin a little, and she’s aware that she’s not aware of everything that’s happening.

Some time and two rounds of pool later (that they both still lose, because they’re the worst pool players she’s ever witnessed), they decide to try out clubbing. Mark drives Diego and Mareahome, Nadia leaves with Raiden (whom she has apparently been hooking up with for as long as they’ve both been a part of the internship). That leaves Addie, Holden, Wes, and Winnie with people whose names Addie didn’t catch – she blames it on her fuzzy mind being unable to hold onto any coherent thought.

The club’s lights are dim, and they’re all kind of dancing together. She’s mostly with Winnie, until Winnie leaves to chat with someone who’s just bought her a drink, and Wes is making out in the back of the room with a boy he met back at the bar, and it’s just her and Holden.

Addie and Holden.

He smiles, as if reading her mind, and takes her hand just to twirl her around, watching her gleefully as she throws her head back and laughs, freely. His hands travel to her sides, and soon they’re all she can focus on – their slight tug pulling her close, her hips swaying to the rhythm.

Addie knows it’s going to happen before it happens. Even under the dim neon light of the club’s dance floor, she sees Holden’s eyes flicker to her lips, before looking back at her eyes with a question. They look nice – deep and blue and full of something, and the lights reflected in the m are bright and blue and red and yellow, and that’s all a part of the reason why Addie tilts her head to the slide, her eyes flickering to his lips, now.

Holden leans in. Addie does the same.

His lips taste like beer, not honey. Surprisingly, he doesn’t taste like a mistake, either.

◇

Virgin Mary | 8:21pm so how’s it going?? Virgin Mary | 9:47pm I’ll just assume you’re having a great time 😂 Virgin Mary | 9:49pm anyway just remember to be responsible and don’t do anything super drastic from what you'd do when sober!! love youuu

Me | 00:22am i kissed holden Me | 0:22am or he ksised ke Me | 0:22am were gonna gi to his

Virgin Mary | 0:23am OK HOLD UP THAT CONSTITUTES AS DRASTICALLY DIFFERENT FROM NORMAL Virgin Mary | 0:23am how drunk are you

Me | 00:23am very

Virgin Mary | 00:23am where is he

Me | 00:24am talking to wes

Virgin Mary | 00:24am do you want to shag him

Me | 00:24am yes

Virgin Mary | 00:24am drunk?

Me | 00:24am yes Me | 00:24am no Me | 00:24am fuck Me | 00:25am shit

Virgin Mary | 00:25am do you want it to be a one night stand

Me | 00:26am wtf n0 Me | 00:26am ok ill just call an uber

Virgin Mary | 00:26am let me know how it goes!!!

Me | 00:31am wes is dringing me home Me | 00:31am be there in twenty or twentybfive

Virgin Mary | 00:32am I’ll wait up on you

Me | 00:37am thanks marinanen Me | 00:38am youre my best friend and i loge you dko kych

Virgin Mary | 00:40am lmao I love you too gal ❤

Me | 00:49am ❤❤🤡❤❤❤

Virgin Mary | 00:50am you know what... I don’t want to ask 😂😂

Me | 00:53am were here

Virgin Mary | 00:53am omw!!

◇

13: EVERYTHING GOES WELL

tagging. @jjmaybanksbaby @taiter-tots @sacredto @snkkat @drewswannabegirl @yeslifeofateen�� @rudypnkw @stfukie @x-lulu @drewstarkey @butgilinsky @solllaris @hyperactive2411 @chasefreakinstokes @surferkie @jroseron @k-k0129 @starlightstories

#drew starkey #drew starkey fic #drew starkey fanfiction #outer banks #obx #phone swap series

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

The Only Course of Action

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort Characters: John, Scott

John’s job is to watch and listen, but sometimes he’s also the last resort.

Another @badthingshappenbingo this time with the square “Cradling Someone in Their Arms” - featuring a non-Virgil brother (as requested by @melmac78).

I’m still taking prompts for non-Scott TAG characters for the other squares! I have at least one character per prompt for most of them now, but I’m always up for adding more (sometimes it’s that addition that gives me the spark I need!)

John was fully trained in the field, just like his brothers. He had to be – flexibility was a necessity in a small organisation like theirs. Like Alan, he specialised in space rescues, working in zero-g where one wrong movement, one accidental snare could kill him and the people he was trying to rescue in seconds, but he’d scraped up a respectable enough level of experience of Earth-based rescues, too.

That didn’t mean he ever felt as comfortable on them. Experience was the greatest teacher of all, and when it came to experience in the field, he ranked below even Alan now. Really, that shouldn’t matter. His primary role wasn’t Earth-based rescues. Those weren’t even his secondary role – space rescues took that honour, for when Alan needed a little bit of backup or the rescue was close and simple enough to Thunderbird Five that a little trip EVA would sort it.

No, John’s role in International Rescue was to watch and listen. Calls came in and he answered them, reassuring distressed, anonymous voices (not so anonymous, he remembered the names and faces of everyone who ever called) that help was on the way as he mobilised his brothers. Scott was commander, but John was dispatch – an arrangement that worked for both of them. Scott was impulsive, too impulsive to make the cold calls on which rescues to attend and which rescues were a lost cause. His elder brother knew that he didn’t mobilise them for every call that came through, of course, but John never gave him the details of the rescues they didn’t do and Scott never asked.

It wasn’t just the victims he watched and heard. He watched over his siblings every time they launched, locating potential issues and sorting them out before those on site fell afoul of them, and most of the time, that was enough.

Sometimes, it wasn’t.

Alan was on an asteroid mine with Kayo, helping a panicked crew repair their life support while Thunderbird Three supported them in the meantime. Thunderbird Two was in the Peruvian alps with Virgil and Gordon on board, assisting with a mudslide that had buried a village. Scott and Thunderbird One should have been with them, but another call had come in from the Himalayas – a small party had found themselves stranded on the peak of a mountain – and John had diverted his eldest brother to help them instead. The plan was for Scott to pick up the party, take them to safety, then go to assist Thunderbird Two with the long slog the mudslide would be.

John hated it when things didn’t go to plan.

“Scott!” he called, the direct line to his brother’s comm open. “Thunderbird One, are you receiving me?”

He wasn’t panicking. He wasn’t panicking at all. Panic was unnecessary, a hinderance in his role that he’d long since mastered. Except he was, because Scott was alone, approximately halfway down Malaku, and had suddenly stopped responding after letting out a single cry.

“The line!”

His altitude had dropped sharply, there had been a heart-stopping crunch from Scott’s end, and now there was nothing, no matter how much John tried to rouse a response. The comm channel was still open – John could hear slow, too slow, shallow, breathing – but that just made it worse. It was one thing being cut off by technology; it was another entirely to know he was getting through but still hearing no answer.

Thunderbird Two was almost as far away as it was possible to be, over on the other side of the world. Even at top speed, leaving immediately, it would take Virgil and Gordon two and a half hours to get there, but they still had their own rescue to complete – a long slog of a mudslide that would keep them tied up for at least another hour, if not longer. Alan and Kayo were even further away, time and distance wise, and likewise were tied up where they were until they finished the repairs. Between the two rescues, there were over a thousand lives at risk.

John wanted to say Scott was worth those lives, but that was the scared little brother in him talking. One life, no matter who it was, was not worth a thousand, and such a selfish act from International Rescue would jeopardise everything they’d worked for. None of his brothers would ever forgive him, Scott least of all.

He should contact the GDF, call in one of the many favours he had hoarded from Colonel Casey to get them moving, or even Lady Penelope and Parker, but the latter were in England and FAB1 would take too long, and the GDF – even with Colonel Casey on their side – couldn’t mobilise without a pile of paperwork and other red tape. They, too, would take hours.

It was, at minimum, two hours before anyone could realistically get to Scott and the party he’d been trying to save.

Scott’s suit telemetry told him two hours was too long. His heartbeat was too fast, his temperature too low, and red lights were flashing up all over the place, highlighting irreparable damage to the flight suit itself. He couldn’t get the full picture from it, but he could get enough to know that Scott needed medical attention urgently, and was highly unlikely to regain consciousness.

John’s role was to work as dispatch, surveying the availability of all personnel at his disposal and highlighting the most efficient solution from the options they had. Thunderbird Two was, at minimum, three and a half hours away from being able to assist. Thunderbird Three, ten. FAB1, seven. The GDF, depending on the speed of their bureaucracy, two. None of those were good enough.

Thunderbird Five, nine minutes to reposition, fifteen to descend. Twenty-five minutes total response time, accounting for the time it would take to enter and exit the space elevator.

Acceptable.

“EOS,” he said, already moving for the controls to move his Thunderbird. “I need you to take over space monitor duty.”

“Of course, John,” the AI agreed – her existence was a blessing; with two other rescues as well, one of which requiring constant monitoring, without her there was no way John would have been able to leave Thunderbird Five. “How would you like me to address the authorities?”

“Use my face.” They shouldn’t do that – it was dangerous, and Scott had forbidden her from ever impersonating him again – but it was better than letting her existence slip out to the wider world.

“Should I inform your brothers about the situation?” she asked, and John thought for barely a moment.

“Once they’re finished with their rescues,” he said. “Or if they ask.” They didn’t need the distraction.

“I understand.”

Strictly speaking, John should apply for permission to move his Thunderbird. There were many other satellites also in geostationary orbit, mostly GDF, and the shift from Tracy Island to Malaku was reasonably substantial.

There was no time for that. He’d pull strings later to deal with the fallout once Scott was safe. Thunderbird Five’s thrusters engaged.

He spent the nine minutes familiarising himself with the layout of the immediate area, memorising Thunderbird One’s current position, the location of the party, and his brother’s suit telemetry, before equipping himself with everything he’d need for the descent and whatever he’d find down there. Helmet, with a full supply of oxygen. Grapple lines, as many as he could carry. Emergency first aid kit, Earth-rescue version.

All the while, he stayed on the line with Scott, trying to get some reaction from his brother and wishing he could ignore the ever more alarming readouts from his suit.

He continued to stay on the line as Thunderbird Five’s braking manoeuvres completed and he charged into the space elevator, instructing EOS to lower it as fast as possible. The AI being Scott’s firm ally on anything regarding safety, it wasn’t much faster than his usual descents, but it was enough to cut a minute off of the predicted fifteen minutes as it latched onto a crag on the side of the mountain and the doors opened – only after some overrides, because it wasn’t designed to let him out anywhere that wasn’t deemed ‘safe’. He was glad Brains had agreed to those as he fired a grapple at the cliff wall above him, another safety line latching him on the space elevator itself for added security, and let gravity take hold of him.

EOS had homed in on Scott’s location signal when she’d lowered him, meaning that the crumpled blue figure was barely twenty feet below and to the left. Even for John, less experienced on Earth-rescues and general enemy of gravity, it was a simple enough feat to swing down onto the ledge where his brother lay.

Scott’s helmet was smashed open like an egg – one of Grandma’s eggs, where the shell went everywhere, rather than being neatly split in two. Instantly, John could see that that had saved his life, although with the air thin, it had deprived him of valuable oxygen in return. Blood stained the snow and protruding rocks. Head wounds always bled a lot, and as John crouched down by his brother he could see that this was another case of it looking worse than it really was.

That scale, of course, was subjective. There was still a large gash running along his temple and down his jaw, and a slight depression in the skull when John lightly probed through blood-matted hair with his gloved fingers. None of that was remotely good, but Scott wasn’t dead, and John clung to that knowledge as he continued his assessment, pulling out the medical scanner. He wasn’t Virgil, couldn’t diagnose injuries without the assistance of technology, but he was here and Virgil was the other side of the world, potentially still oblivious to what had happened.

Scott’s left arm was bent at several wrong angles, and even John didn’t need the scanner to tell him that there were multiple breaks. His clavicle had also snapped, but mercifully his spine and neck were undamaged, according to the scanner. His left leg had also broken – clean breaks to the tibia and fibula – but otherwise the flight suit had done its job well.

“Scott?” he called, scavenging a splint from his supplies to immobilise the arm and leg before he cautiously rolled his brother over, pulling him into his arms. Blood from the gash had drenched the right side of his face and it was with trembling fingers that John wielded antiseptic to clear it away. “Scott, wake up.”

It was an exercise in futility; Scott was well past regaining consciousness. His body was limp against John’s chest, across his knees, and they needed to move.

“EOS, remote pilot Thunderbird One to my location.”

She didn’t respond, but the roar of the VTOL was answer enough, Scott’s beloved Thunderbird soaring into view. There wasn’t room for her on the crag John and Scott were on, but the fast response craft was small and nimble enough to land on a larger area, about a hundred yards away.

“Is that close enough?” the AI asked him. “There is no closer landing location, but there is the option of leaving Thunderbird One in a hover closer to your location.”

John looked at the terrain separating them. It was rough, but not unsurmountable. Dealing with a Thunderbird One in mid-air, where the wind could gust around and dislodge her at any moment, was ill advised in comparison.

“That’s perfect, thank you, EOS,” he assured her. A twist and he released the line still clipping him to the space elevator, looming above him but fundamentally useless at this point. “Retract the space elevator and return to regular geostationary orbit before the GDF notice we moved.”

“F.A.B.” The thrusters on the bottom of the elevator engaged, and John hunched over his brother as the clamps released their grip on the crag and the entire thing lifted up and away. Now he had to get moving.

First priority: get Scott to Thunderbird One and finish administering emergency treatment.

Second priority: pick up the stranded group, thereby completing the rescue.

Third priority… “EOS, find me a hospital for head trauma.”

“Yes, John.”

Third priority: get Scott and any other injured people to professional treatment as quickly as possible.

It was a simple plan, but the first hurdle was undoubtably crossing a hundred yards of craggy and snow-covered mountain with an unconscious brother to reach Thunderbird One and relative safety. The route didn’t look too difficult, although the snow added an additional level of complication – Tracy Island had a wonderfully craggy volcano they’d all trained on, but snow just didn’t exist there.

Transporting Scott across the distance was the main complication. None of his injuries would be exacerbated by being moved, but he was still tall and muscular – and John was straight out of orbit. Still, there was no real choice and John was a Tracy, just like the rest of them. Giving up wasn’t in his vocabulary, not in any language, so with gritted teeth he slipped out from underneath Scott’s limp body and repositioned himself so that he could slide his arms beneath Scott’s shoulders and thighs.

A grunt of effort escaped him as he straightened, staggering backwards under the weight and colliding with the mountain behind him before he managed to find his balance. A trickle of snow slid down to land beside him, dislodged by the contact, and he froze, ears searching for any sound of further movement. Larger, heavier movement, whether it be boulders or snow.

There was none, and he dared to breathe a sigh of relief before looking down at Scott and readjusting him as best he could so that his head was cushioned against his shoulder rather than lolling limply, enslaved to gravity.

His head was still bleeding, fresh blood spilling over where John had cleaned the wound once already, and that was more than enough incentive for him to take a careful step forwards, staggering a little to keep his balance under the combined challenges of Scott’s weight and gravity, followed by another, and another. Hurrying wouldn’t do him any good at all; the terrain was treacherous and he’d proven several times at home that he could trip over his own feet if he wasn’t paying enough attention. Falling, dropping Scott, would be disastrous, so he ignored the instincts screaming that he had to hurry, that they were in danger, that Scott needed attention urgently, and took his time.

His line to Scott was, somehow, still open, his brother’s slow, shallow breathing providing both background noise and something to focus on. As long as he was breathing, he was alive. John’s grip on his brother tightened, pulling him in as close as he dared as he kept his slow, staggering pace towards the silver Thunderbird.

With the possible exception of Thunderbirds Four and Shadow, Thunderbird One was the Thunderbird John had spent the least amount of time in. Thunderbird Five was his home, and Thunderbird Three was often boarded for rescues, while Thunderbird Two was his ride whenever he did go out on an Earth-rescue, but Thunderbird One? That was all Scott’s, all speed and responsiveness. John was none of those things, had never cared for going fast or joyriding like his big brother did.

But for all that he hated gravity, he was surprisingly at home with acceleration – most likely because that was a necessary requirement to get into space in the first place – so in that regard, Thunderbird One didn’t phase him at all. Therefore, it was with less trepidation about handling his brother’s Thunderbird and more concern about his brother himself that he staggered his way up the boarding ladder and called up a jump seat to situate his still-limp big brother in.

The jump seats weren’t designed for comfort, or indeed anything other than short hops when Thunderbird One had to take a passenger, but they did at least have additional straps that the pilot seat didn’t. The Thunderbird couldn’t carry injured like Thunderbirds Two through Four did, with room for a stretcher and the full medical kit to go with it, but she did still have the basics.

Enough straps to keep the patient immobile, a rebreather to supply oxygen, and equipment for some field stitches to temporarily close wounds until the professionals – or Virgil – got at them.

Time was still vital, not just for Scott but for the party still in need of pickup, so John had to work quickly, mopping away the blood from the gash and cleaning it to make sure nothing had got in the wound before stitching it up and placing a large gauze over it.

Scott still didn’t respond, slack in the seat, and John swallowed once, allowing himself that one weakness, before he settled himself in the pilot seat and carefully brought them up into the air. Contrary to popular belief amongst his brothers, he did frequently train on the sims – or at least, their Thunderbird Five equivalent – and while holographic controls didn’t feel like the real thing, Thunderbird One responded to him contentedly enough.

Scott’s plan had been to remote pilot Thunderbird One above the mountain while he himself grappled his way to the party to assist them in boarding. John knew that he couldn’t do that – this rescue was not going to be as flawlessly smooth as perhaps the stranded people were hoping – so he was left with the slightly cruder option of taking Thunderbird One high up, until he was above the mountain, and lowering the cargo net.

Technically the cargo net wasn’t for humans, but there was nothing else in Thunderbird One’s arsenal that he could confidently use in the situation. He wasn’t Scott – or Alan, or any of his brothers with their Earth-rescue experience – but he was a problem solver. It was a bonus that none of the hikers complained about the unorthodox nature of their rescue – and that none of them were injured, just cold from the exposure to the elements for too long. Some foil blankets, warm drinks, and reassuring words (easier done from space, but John just pretended they were holograms and not living, breathing warm bodies until the stutter vanished) and he was back in the pilot seat, glancing back worriedly at Scott before punching the fastest Earth-Thunderbird in the fleet towards the local hospital.

They were expecting him, thanks to EOS, although there was some minor confusion when they believed it was him they’d been talking to and John scrambled to pretend he knew what their conversation with EOS-as-John had entailed while the AI filtered a recording through his helmet. The hikers disembarked under their own steam, being dragged inside by the kind doctors for assessment, but it fell on John to get Scott out.

It was easier to pick him up the second time around. Thunderbird One was a far more stable place to be than halfway down a mountain, so John had less to worry about with his balance or feet, and Scott being in a chair made him much easier to slip his arms under him and lift him up. He held him close, grip almost possessively tight as he carefully made his way down the boarding steps.

No longer wearing his helmet, Scott’s breathing wasn’t a steady sound in his ear. Instead he focused on the sensation of breath tickling his jaw from where Scott’s head rested in the crook of his neck and the rise and fall of his chest promising that he was still alive. A large part of John was reluctant to let go again, his hold lingering as he gently set Scott down on the offered stretcher; not because he didn’t trust the doctors to help Scott, but because letting go meant being left blind.

Normally when a brother was hospitalised, John was up on Thunderbird Five, obtaining access to the hospital’s cameras, systems, and keeping track of everything to do with his brother until visitors were permitted – at which point he either came down, if it was serious, or metaphorically handed over watch-duty to his family on Earth and began working out what had gone wrong and how to make sure it didn’t happen again.

John wasn’t on Thunderbird Five this time. John was in Nepal, watching his brother being hurried into the building, away from him, knowing that there would be no more news for him for some time. EOS was amazing, but John had always done that bit himself, and with her still handling two other rescues, hacking into a hospital would not be on her priorities.

Scott was taken inside, and John was left standing alone underneath his brother’s Thunderbird, unsure. What was the procedure now? What did his brothers do when they were left alone, unable to follow? Did he stay with the Thunderbird until someone else arrived, or did he go in and sit in the waiting room, closer but still too far away?

His comm sparked to life. “John!” Virgil. Worried Virgil. This was something he could handle. John took a breath and answered.

“Receiving you, Virgil.”

“EOS just told us about Scott,” his brother started, confirming John’s suspicions. “What’s his condition?”

“His left arm, collarbone and leg are broken,” John reported, feeling some twisted comfort in being able to fall back on facts. “He’s also suffered a head injury. The hospital staff have just taken him in for treatment.”

“Conscious?” Virgil demanded, and John shook his head. The worry on the holographic face deepened, frown lines clearly visible. “Gordon and I are clearing up here. We’ll be with you as soon as we can.”

“F.A.B.” Two and a half hours until they arrived. Two and a half hours of not knowing, of waiting in silence with nothing to distract him.

His glove was red. Scott’s blood. He swallowed.

He definitely wouldn’t get any information waiting out by Thunderbird One. Slowly, he walked out from under her shadow, bringing up the remote controls to lock her down and hearing the robotic hiss of the boarding ladder retreating before the cargo bay doors swung shut with a barely-there clunk. Satisfied that the Thunderbird, at least, was dealt with, he strode towards the main door of the hospital.

IR blue was a language all on its own. He didn’t even need to dredge up what little Nepali he knew without the help of a translator to explain why he was there or hope they spoke a mutual language. As soon as they saw him, he was ushered through into what was clearly a waiting area, complete with a machine that no doubt served bad coffee. John declined a drink before settling down in a corner, away from the doors but where he could see the entirety of the room, to wait.

Inactivity did not suit John at all. While his suit had the most technological capabilities out of all of them, it didn’t lend itself to some of the less authorised access he liked to obtain, and even if he could, hacking into the hospital while he was in it was just begging to be caught, no matter how good he was. Likewise, most of what he could do was based on the secret side of IR they didn’t let the public see, and even taking back mission control from EOS was inadvisable, leaving him with nothing to do but sit still and try not to stare at the blood on his glove.

In a way, he was glad that his younger brothers weren’t with him. While he wasn’t Scott, didn’t distract himself from inner turmoil by big brothering anyone he could, especially his own younger brothers, there was still a mild compulsion to put on a brave face for them, reassure them that things weren’t as bad as things seemed. On the other hand, if they were there, he wouldn’t be alone.

He didn’t even have his phone. He didn’t need it on Thunderbird Five, his Thunderbird linked in to everything without the need for something that needed frequent charging and didn’t like a lack of gravity. No phone, no tablet, just the limitations of his uniform-based comm and blood on his glove.

He should probably wash that off. Realistically, he knew there wouldn’t be any news yet; it took time to reset bones, never mind the brain scan and whatever would need to be done from that. The maximum five minutes it would take him to locate a bathroom and clean his glove would not run any risk of him missing some vitally important news.

John didn’t move.

He was still there, staring at the blood, when the roaring engine that could only be Thunderbird Two came into earshot. Virgil tore into the room a few minutes later, Gordon hot on his heels, and suddenly he was bracketed by younger brothers. Neither touched him, but something warm settled in his chest.

Not alone. He wasn’t alone anymore.

“No news?” Gordon asked, his voice telling John he already knew the answer.

“Not yet,” he confirmed. Gordon slumped, amber eyes flicking around the room as if hoping news would miraculously appear.

“Your glove,” Virgil said. He spoke quietly, his worry for Scott bleeding through, but his intent was clear. John balled the hand into a fist. “We’ll let you know if we hear anything.”

It was a clear demand, but it was what John needed to move, dragging himself to his feet and belatedly feeling the drag of gravity and his too-rushed descent. His hip hit a table and he stumbled, but Virgil was there, holding him up.

“You okay by yourself?” Gordon asked, openly concerned.

No. “I’ll manage.”

He made his way out of the room, hand trailing along the wall for stability, following the signs to the nearest men’s bathroom and sagging against the sink. His reflection looked back at him in the mirror, gaunt and pale. Nothing particularly unusual, considering his lifestyle. A lack of both sun and regular sleep, on top of his naturally pale complexion, frequently left him looking sickly. His brothers were reluctantly used to it. John didn’t spend much time in front of a mirror.

Tearing his eyes away from his reflection, he slowly put his glove under the faucet, letting the water gush out as his movement was detected. It quickly ran red, picking up Scott’s blood and swirling it away, down the drain. He watched it, not interrupting, for a minute before beginning to rub away where it had dried and clung to the ridges in his uniform. Only once it was clean did he stop, holding it out under the dryer to blast away the molecules of water clinging to it in the blood’s place.

News took another hour to arrive. By then, Virgil had poured himself a cup of the coffee, making a face but drinking it nonetheless, while John had played it safer with a teabag and hot water for a passable drink. Penelope wouldn’t have agreed, but John needed the caffeine. Gordon had stuck with water, and seemed to have the cup in his hands mostly to have something to occupy them with. The water was long since drunk, and the cup had been methodically torn to pieces.

“International Rescue?” The doctor’s English was halting but understandable. He was looking at John, presumably recognising him as the one to bring Scott in.

“How is he?” he asked, pulling himself to his feet. The doctor frowned at him in concern and he remembered the pale, gaunt face in the mirror. No doubt a point of concern for a medical professional. To John’s relief, he refrained from commenting.

“He will be fine.” Beside him, he heard Gordon sigh in relief, both his younger brothers sagging in his periphery. “We have set all the broken bones. The cut is stitched and his skull repaired. You can see him now.”

John knew better than to expect to see Scott awake, so he wasn’t disappointed to find his brother still unconscious when he was led into the room. Behind him, Virgil made a beeline for the medical information stored at the end of the bed, but John left him to it, instead approaching his brother.

A large chunk of his hair had been shaved off, which John knew his brother wasn’t going to be happy about, and what remained stuck out oddly from the bandages, giving Scott a dishevelled look. Stitches and gauze – no longer John’s field treatment, but professional grade – covered the gash down his face, while his arm and leg were wrapped in cast.

Somehow, he looked worse now than he had done on the mountain. John wasn’t tactile, not like his brothers, but he found himself reaching out for Scott’s uninjured shoulder. As he made contact, an arm snaked around his own shoulders. Startled, he looked sideways to see Gordon, a small smile on his face.

“He’ll be fine,” Virgil said from his other side, and John glanced across at him before returning his attention to Scott, motionless on the bed. “The brain scans all came up clear. Once he regains consciousness it’ll be safe to take him home, and then you won’t be able to escape fast enough.”

Virgil wasn’t wrong; John much preferred to tackle a grounded Scott from the safety of space, where he could mute him when he got too annoying.

That was in the future, once Scott was awake and John was fed up of his complaining. Right now, John was where he needed to be – by his brother’s side.

#badthingshappenbingo #bad things happen bingo #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #john tracy #eos #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #thunderangst #thunderwhump

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spiderwho · 5 years ago

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The Journal

Part 1 of the series Between The Chaos

Summary: Y/n is tasked to rob a well known business man who could also be someone very dangerous that y/n does not feel like quarreling with.

A/n: there is not much y/n x tom action in this chapter but don’t worry it’ll come in the second one

Warnings: curse words

Word Count: 3k

Part 2

“It’s just a simple job, in and out, you can do it,” Adrian reassured you from the drivers seat,

“Easy for you to say, you don’t have to rob a high class business man and possible mob boss,” you fired at him, clutching your bag close to your chest,

“You’ve done stuff like this before, just think about the cash you’ll have in your hands after this,”

Closing your eyes and concentrating on the relieving feeling of making this months rent and bringing down your debt was convincing enough to get you out of the car. The busy morning clutter of people on the street distracted you a bit from the task at hand. You had hardly slept last night, thinking about today and the early hour that you had to get up at.

Tom’s tower was intimidating to look at. Slick reflective windows boarded it all, reflecting your timid figure as you hauled open the glass door. Your heels echoed down the lobby, as your eyes quickly swept the area. You knew that to get in to his office, you had to get past a receptionist on his floor, and for her to let you in his office, you’d have to have a good purpose.

Thinking quickly, your eyes landed on a coffee station along one of the grey walls sitting underneath a blown up photo of a sports car. Typical men.

You walked up to it, grabbing one of the mugs and pouring some of the hot coffee in. A light breeze followed by a tall figure came to the small set up next to you. You tried your best to conceal your slight scare that they gave you. Glancing over in the corner of your eye, you caught the blonde man looking at you already,

“New here?” He asked, picking up a sugar packet.

Your mouth hung open, attempting to form words as you turned your head to look at him completely,

“Y-yeah, second day,” you stuttered,

“Oh, well, have fun,”

Offering a tight lipped smile, and shuffling away, you came up to the elevator, pressing the up button multiple times with impatience. Now that guy will remember you, since you spoke to him. You’ve started a trail, a bad trail. Since he’s never seen you before until today and something from the bosses office will go missing the same day, that leads a suspicious trail leading to you. You’ve already messed up

Luckily no one else was in the elevator and you were able to ride up alone and overthink. Every heist job that you had was the same; you’d doubt your abilities, come way to close to having a panic attack, and consider backing out and changing your name legally. You’ve stolen prized jewelry, ancient artifacts worth thousands from people you would’ve never guessed owned such goods. Only once did you ever fail, so the probability of succeeding is still in your favour.

As the elevator slowed to a stop, you fixed your posture, pulling your shoulders back and standing straighter.

There was a receptionist before his office just as you were told. You mentally checked that off your list of hurdles that you made. She was an older looking lady with fiery red hair, and a resting face that wasn’t entirely welcoming. Just as you were walking by, she looked up at you from her computer, you greeted her with a small smile and pointed to the mug in your hand, signaling that you intended to drop it off at Tom’s desk. She gave you a nod and buried her nose back in her work, but you didn’t make it much further,

“Excuse me, wait a second,” the lady called to you, her voice carrying a ringing drawl,

Stopping just before the door, it was almost bittersweet to make it thus far without anymore mishaps. Turning back to her, you walked over slowly, not trusting your knees to not give out before you. The red haired woman eyed you intensely beneath her quirky cat framed glasses, as if testing to see if you’d crumble beneath the weight of her stare. You were sure you had been busted,

“Mr. Holland doesn’t allow any bags or purses in his office when unattended,”

A shaking breath escaped your lips, and you hoped she hadn’t heard it,

“Right,” you exhaled, coming closer to her desk and setting your purse down on the end of it, noticing the name plate that spelled ‘Elaine Newman’,

“You new here?”

“Yes, it’s only my second day, and um, I’m on coffee duty this morning,”

“Coffee lady is everyone’s favourite lady,”

She put her attention back to her screen, dismissing you without saying a word. Finally making it in to his office, you let the door shut behind you. Not wanting to be in here any longer than needed, you ran over to his desk and carefully set the mug down,

“Journal, journal, leather journal,” you repeated to yourself as you began opening the drawers.

You’ve only ever seen it in photographs that Rick gave you to analyze. He made it very clear how badly he needed this book with subtle threats towards you that cemented themselves in your memory. An unpleasant scar on your thigh proves that he’s not above harming you, and you’re not stupid enough to think he wont do it again.

Opening the very last drawer, losing hope, you picked through it’s contents, at last holding a leather journal in your shaking hands. You felt so eased suddenly that you considered kissing the damn thing. But now wasn’t the time to celebrate, not until it was turned in to Rick.

Making Sure everything is the same as when you came in, you stuffed the journal behind your belt, so it was nice and snug between your back and pants and concealed by your black blazer. Using your hair to hide your face from the camera above the door, you made your way out. The receptionist either didn’t notice you come out or just didn’t care as she didn’t say anything else to you.

Just as you grabbed your bag, the elevator doors dinged open and out walked the one man you were never hoping to run in to. You had never seen Tom Holland in person until now, not at all prepared for how much more attraction he held in person.

Reluctantly keeping your head low, you stalked towards him calmly. Though not able to fight temptation as he came closer, you peeped up at him and time seemed to stand still when your eyes met. It made your heart beat impossibly harder. In his eyes held power, grit and a gleam that made you want to stop and stare in to them for a while longer. But you were only on his turf for business, and didn’t feel safe staying any longer. Once you were in the elevator, you kept watching him with a stern, unreadable expression, as the doors closed.

Tom twisted a bit to watch you step in the contraption, coming to a stop before the doors closed while holding eye contact with your soft orbs. He had never seen you here before, and he’d definitely remember a face like yours,

“She’s new,” Elaine spoke up from her spot, “and cute,”

“How new?” Tom asked, not turning around to face her, knowing she wouldn’t be bothered to look up at him,

“Two days. She brought your coffee,”

“Everyone knows I don’t drink coffee, Elaine,”

“Well, maybe they’re getting old, like me,”

Shrugged it off, he figured he’d see you again, and continued with his schedule, opening the door to his personal office. The coffee should’ve been his first clue that something was off. No matter who brought him his warm morning beverage, they all knew he only drank tea. But your fresh face was fogging up his thoughts, you left him wanting more.

Opening one of the two solid tall doors, he entered his spotless, modern office. Sun shone in all around from the picture windows, giving the room added warmth and glow.

Tom took a lot of pride in his empire, after all, he built it all on his own. To outsiders, he’s a prestigious and respected business man, but not all his business has seen the light of the public eye. He did well to keep a squeaky clean reputation, and his personal affairs hidden in the dark.

He took a seat in his chair, getting to work immediately, opening the bottom right drawer, lifting the files and other contents, searching for what he needed. All that he met was the stained oak the desk was furnished out of. Uneasiness began to settle in his gut as he pulled out all the junk in there,

“No, no,” he murmured in a panic,

“Problem?” Harrison asked, catching Tom in his frazzled state, strutting in the room with two black mugs in hand, one of them for himself and the other for Tom.

Tom stopped, looking at Harrison, his eyes glazed over in quick thought. You, someone he’s never seen before in this building, that also happened to walk by him to his office, claiming to be in here for a purpose, just stole from him,

“Start looking for the journal,” Tom ordered Harrison, then raced out the room.

You took deep breaths in an attempt to calm your adrenaline. Times like this, you picture yourself from others point of view. To everyone that passed by you, you were just another woman; this time a business woman, making her way out of the building and down the block. Adrian was waiting for you with the get away vehicle just a few more meters but the distance was killing you,

“Hey!” Tom shouted, darting in between passerby’s as fast he could to you.

You yanked the handle, and quickly glanced back to Tom. The look of distress on his face made you feel a tang of guilt, and it almost stopped you, almost. But you can’t afford to think like that with the position that your stuck in,

“Drive,” you told Adrian sitting in the driver’s seat. He took off, and you sighed, closing your eyes so that you don’t look in the mirror and see Tom,

“You got it?” Adrian asked, once he got comfortable on the road. To answer, you pulled the book from your purse and flashed it in front of him. He chuckled, muttering a victorious ‘yes’.

You met Adrian when you started doing work for Rick and since then he’s been your partner in crime, literally. It surprised you to meet some one within Rick’s gang that was actually kind and had empathy for you. This made you able to trust him and rely on him in times like these,

“What is so special about this book? I risked my neck for this thing, it better have riddles and clues to a buried treasure, like out of Indiana Jones,” You fired off, genuinely stumped about the hype around it,

“That’s pretty much it,” He said next to you, “It’s like the key to everything, a secret weapon, like a superpower,”

“All in a book,”

Tom stormed back in his public offices, vision red, and your distinctive face burnt in to his memory,

“Who was that woman?” he grilled the receptionist at the front lobby. Her eyes grew wide, throat suddenly dry unable to give an answer,

“I want surveillance, traffic and any other cameras you can get a hold of to find her, and call me as soon as you get a lead,”

Standing in the elevator alone, he took deep breathes, in and out. Your seemingly innocent face continuously flashing before his eyes, mocking him, until the doors dinged open. He found Harrison standing in his office, “Any luck?”

“None,” Harry responded, slipping his hands in his pockets.

Tom remained oddly calm as he strode to his own desk, and flung the nearest object resting on it to the wall, satisfied when it shattered to the ground,

“What the hell happened?” Harrison asked,

“Some woman, just waltzed in here, went through my shit and stole my journal,” Tom explained in an impatient tone,

“She had to know what she was doing. Why would she come in here for a book?” he continued,

“Maybe she likes to read?”

“This is no joke Harrison. Everything I did, every cheat code, every secret, every method that I built to get to my business to the top is in that book. If that lands in the wrong hands it’s over for us,”

Adrian walked you in to your small apartment and helped himself to your tight spaced kitchen as you gave Rick a call,

“Good, good. Now lay low for the next week or so, Holland’s gonna be sitting behind every camera in the city until he finds you. I’ll send someone over to collect it in two days just to keep everything low-key,” Rick growled through the line,

“Will they have my money?” you sassed, tossing the leather book down on the counter in front of you,

“Sure thing. Expect a big bonus, you did good sweets,”

You hung up without another word, not baring to hear him speak anymore. Groaning and rubbing your hands over your face, you rested your elbows on the cool surface of the kitchen island,

“It’s over with, don’t fret about it anymore,” Adrian attempted at comforting you,

“No, it’s not. I’m stuck with the damn thing till Friday and even after that I can’t go anywhere that I can be spotted,” you whined.

The end of your business with Rick couldn’t come soon enough. It took a big mental toll on you. But the only way for it to completely end is for you to move away after college, which is exactly what you were planning on,

“So, no celebratory drinks tonight I take it?”

You shook your head no to him,

“I’m gonna take off then, wouldn’t wanna spoil your exciting evening,”

Leading Adrian to your door in silence, he stopped before you, “Before I forget,” he began, while pulled what looked like a ticket of sorts from his coat pocket,

“There’s a Gala coming up in a few days. I can’t attend, and I know you’re supposed to lay low for a while, but I think you should go, it’d be a nice treat,” he offered you the black ticket with silver scripture,

“What kind of Gala is it?”

“Private, high class, formal, prestigious,”

“Sounds like something I shouldn’t go to,”

“I know for a fact that asshole Rick, wont be there, you’d have fun. I’ll even drive,”

Looking down at the card, you really did consider it. All you’ve been doing for the past year and a half is exhausting work on top of school. One night out shouldn’t hurt, you deserve it,

“Alright, I’ll consider it,” you told him, taking the ticket from him,

“Great, text me tomorrow,” Adrian patted your arm before heading out the door.

You turned and gazed quietly around your home. No matter how you decorated, or how many times you’d clean and rearrange it, it never quite felt like a home. Loneliness tainted the walls, and all the welcome signs and rugs in the world couldn’t bring any comfort. It was the best you could get with your budget, and you were ready to burn it down.

With a huff, you strode back to the kitchen and began making your self a cup of tea. Holding the warm mug and concentrating on the warm drink making it’s way down your throat helped to relax your tense muscles and racing mind.

In the corner of your eye, the journal sat mocking you. It made you think of Tom again, and how you hope you never see him again. If this really is all that everyone is talking, about then he wont rest until your head is on a platter.

Mumbling some curse words, you grabbed the journal from the counter, growing sick of looking at the damned thing, and took it to your bedroom. You had a special hiding place for sacred items that you’ve thieved, just as a precaution until someone came around to collect it.

Pushing your squeaky bed over a few inches, you pulled a faulty floorboard out from it’s place. It was a smart hiding spot that you discovered when you first moved in by stepping on the end it with your heel, scaring the shit out of you when the other end of it seesawed up towards you. The book fit perfectly in the crevice with the dirt and dust, and the board fell back in place like a puzzle piece.

Resting your back against your bed frame, still sat on the floor, you faced your full closet. In the very back of it hung a sleek black dress you wore to your prom two years ago. Things were simpler then in high school, back when everything seemed like it was going to be okay.

Shaking your head from the empty nostalgic feeling, you got up and hauled out the dress. The Gala sounded very tempting, and with no real reason to not go, you decided to leave your decision on your prom dress. If it fit, you’d go. If it didn’t, you’d stay home and wallow in your self pity for another night.

You laughed lightly at yourself for the silly notion, but tried it out, nonetheless.

You stepped in to the dress, and began pulling it up, struggling a bit when it got as far as your hips and required some twisting and tugging,

“What a bad idea,” you whispered to yourself in the full length mirror you shuffled over to. Once it budged from your grown hips, it slid with ease up to the rest of your torso, the zipper on the side securing it in to place, and bringing in your waist.

Turning back and forth in the mirror to inspect all sides of the dress, you smiled because it fit you better than ever.

It’s settled, you’ll be attending the Gala tomorrow night.

#tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland #mob!tom #mob!au #tom and harrison #tom holland gif #cute tom holland #mob!tom x reader #mob!tom x y/n #mob!tom x you

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gokul2181 · 4 years ago

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When a musician met the Mahatma

New Post has been published on https://jordarnews.in/when-a-musician-met-the-mahatma/

When a musician met the Mahatma

What is needed for art is to have the heart for it, said Bapu to Dilip Kumar Roy, who sang for him in a Pune hospital

Mahadev Desai, secretary to Mahatma Gandhi from 1917, when he first met Bapu, until his death in 1942, kept a diary of daily happenings in the life of the Mahatma. It is not a simple mention of events but a detailed record of every word spoken and written by Gandhi. One such entry in the diary shows what music meant to the man who led India’s freedom struggle.

Mahatma Gandhi with Mahadev Desai

Well-known musician Dilip Kumar Roy visited Bapu on February 2, 1924 at the Sasoon Hospital, Pune, where he had been shifted from Yerwada jail for an emergency appendix surgery. Desai notes in the diary: “It must have been about 8 p.m. when Sri Dilip Kumar Roy came. He had brought with him his sitar. Sitting on the sofa opposite Gandhi’s bed he sang, ‘Deendayala Gopala Hari.’

Moving rendition

The devotion in the bhajan and the soulful voice of the singer lifted the spirits of everyone around. Roy then sang the popular Meera bhajan, ‘Chakar Rakhoji’.

M.S. Subbulakshmi with Dilipkumar Roy

Desai writes: “All of us were ‘dancing on Love’s blue rill’ — that was the effect the performance produced. Profound silence prevailed for a while. Dilip Kumar Roy then touched a contentious topic. “I feel Mahatmaji, he said, ‘that our beautiful music has been sadly neglected in our schools and colleges.’”

“It has — unfortunately,” Bapu agreed. “I have always said so.”

“I am very glad to hear this, Mahatmaji,” said Roy, “because, to be frank, I was under the impression that art has no place in the gospel of your austere life. I had often pictured you as a dread saint who was positively against music.”

“Against music! I…!” exclaimed Bapu. “Well, I know,” he added , “there are so many superstitions rife about me that it has now become almost impossible for me to overtake those who have been spreading them.”

“I feel so relieved, Mahatmaji,” Roy laughed, “but may not your asceticism be somewhat responsible for such popular misconceptions? People would find it difficult to reconcile asceticism with art.”

“But I do maintain that asceticism is the greatest of all arts,” said Bapu. “And to think that I should be dubbed an enemy to an art like music because I favour asceticism! I, who cannot even conceive of the evolution of India’s religious life without her music! But indeed, I fail to see anything that passes much for art in these days. What is needed for art is to have the heart for it, not any intimate knowledge of technique or training. In my ashram we do not have art on the walls. Nature suffices for my inspiration.”

Roy agreed: “Yes. What man in his senses will claim that the artist’s handiwork is greater than life’s?”

Then Bapu, changing the Gita’s aphorism ‘Yogah Karmasu Kaushalam’ (yoga is skill in action), concluded: “Life must immensely exceed all the arts put together. For what is this hot house art plant of yours without the life, soul and background of a steady worthy life? What after all does that art amount to which all the time stultifies life instead of elevating it? No. Art has a place in life, but art is not life. Life, on the contrary, is art. Art should be subservient to life. It should act as its handmaid. Not master. It should be alive in life and the universe.”

Letter to Tagore

Art is life, said the Mahatma and earlier, in a letter to Rabindranath Tagore, he had suggested giving both Hindustani and Western classical music a place in Shantiniketan along with Bengali music.

Mahatma Gandhi with Rabindranath Tagore at Shantiniketan

When Gandhi was in South Africa, he had started evening prayers in the ashram. That collection of bhajans was published under the name, ‘Nitivam Kavyo.’ His idea of music was also connected to spirituality. In this context, he wrote a letter to Pt. Narayan Moreshwar Khare (music teacher at Satyagraha Ashram, Sabarmati) on October 7, 1924. “I have gradually come to look upon music as a means of spiritual development. Please try your best to see that all of us sing our Bhajans with a correct understanding of the sense.”

At Ahmedabad, in his address to Young India, on April 15, 1926 he had stated, “If many more people send their children to the music class it will be part of their contribution to national uplift.” According to the Mahatma: “In true music, there is no place for communal differences and hostility.”

The writer is a cultural activist and Gandhian scholar.

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roomformovement · 6 years ago

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Written Rationale Draft

Written Rationale

This project was about creating a satirical magazine posing as a manifesto for an abhorrent populist party of the type that is currently enjoying a resurgence. The far right went too far decades ago when Timothy Mcveigh detonated his car bomb in Oklahoma City, killing 168 people. It went too far when Dylann Roof killed 9 African Americans in their home church while they held bible study. Too far in New Zealand, too far in Charlottesville and too far in Norway. It went too far when Thomas Mair murdered MP Jo Cox as she held her constituency surgery.

Aside from the 2008 crash, I trace this turn to radicalism to a particular set of people – Alex Jones of Info Wars, Steve Bannon, ‘Tommy Robinson’, Richard Spencer, Rebel Media, Lauren Southern and Milo Yiannopoulos (to name a few). Then there are the ‘reasonable’ people who enable them: Ben Shapiro, Dave Rubin, Fox News, Nigel Farage & Ukip etc. My publication attempts to mock these people.

It seeks to send a strong message by highlighting common racist dog-whistles, hidden agendas and prejudices via the use of fashion and humour. I have tried to address these issues using collaging, styling and photography.

Each model plays a character – Roy Swett as party leader, Chastity Hollers for health, Ambrose Brown for industry, Webb Foote for immigration, Monty Blackshirt for housing, and Dirk Paul for education.

My publication captures each character looking shifty, or otherwise creepy. Getting the balance between a comedic picture and a satirical-but-still-stylised was very important to every shoot. I think this line could have perhaps been better tread in the headshot shoot – where even though lots of effort was put into styling selections – it could have been perhaps elevated to the level of fashion more effectively. Having said this, as images I do think they are very effective and have the satirical effect that I really wanted.

The collages (which are my favourite method of illustration and feature throughout my body of work) were produced from the mindset of some of my politicians. They attempt to complement their imagery and polices, and visually make manifest their words.

I think the world is getting scarier, with ‘men of the people’ either being scripted to the absolute hilt, informed by the latest (illegally?) attained public data or saying abhorrent things that have poisoned the discourse. ‘Telling it like it is’ mostly now seems to mean identifying scapegoats, attacking them and standing up for the ‘traditional working class’ (a dogwhistle for *white* working class), all with either a pint or a golf club in hand. Because this ‘honesty’ is poisonous and negative rather than constructive, I think it is important to not meet this with further negativity. This is often the reaction of well meaning people, but it creates tribes. Further, compassion is so important and I think in some respects necessary here. But validation of this movement is incredibly dangerous. This is why I have, therefore, decided to meet it with humour. To make these powerful figures look less powerful. I focused on distinct tropes, and each shoot was a response to these: ‘conservative women are the most beautiful’, climate change denial, a strong popular leader, pulling yourself up by the bootstraps and paranoid health concerns.

This is a publication for people who despair at our current political climate – people like me. Although this could be seen as ‘preaching to the choir’, I think it is important for people who want to fight the far right to feel empowered – less alone. This, in turn empowers the movement. And a movement, to be truly pervasive, should ideally come from all spheres. Maybe fashion is not the first thing you would think of, but fashion should be motivated by contemporary issues. And for me, this is the greatest, along with climate change. I feel like if you feel a gap for something, if you feel like the way you feel is not being represented, then there are at least a few people who feel the same, and as this is a global movement, and the zine does not focus heavily on one particular nation, it could appeal throughout the western world. The words from this publication are a new idea for me – normally I would include poetry and interviews – but in this circumstance, they come directly from the politicians themselves. To get a real feel for how these people think, I pored over Infowars.com, Alex Jones clips on YouTube, Dave Rubin gaffes (he genuinely wants to scrap building codes because he believes the market would ensure safe builds – NOT SURE THAT WORKS ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD…), Katie Hopkins, Sargon of Akkad, Stephen Yaxley Lennon, Breitbart and Dennis Prager etc. Among other things, I begun to realise just how depressing this worldview is. I lost a lot of hope and humour while submerging myself into this world, and can only imagine what it would be like to believe every word. I think it would make you very, very angry at the world.

I can see this publication on the shelves flanked perhaps by Adbusters and Eye on Design’s latest issue. The are both motivated by external political stimuli, which they respond to in an urgent, but lighthearted way. With more of a focus on fashion, rather than art (although I produced a lot of collages), I think this justifies the gap being left between them on the shelf for The Sovereign Advancement League. The target audience is the same – creative, liberal individuals who are politically motivated – from around 17-40. My unique selling point is the concept as it pairs with fashion. As hard as I looked, I couldn’t find anything similar, but really feel there is a need for it.

This zine will be sold over the internet (find at ellieedis.com/sovereign-advancement-league) at £20 (each costs £10 to print). I would like to make this a series of issues – either continuing with the same group of fake politicians, or with a different group each time focusing on the most pertinent issue of the day – perhaps a whole issue of climate-change-denial. It will be in print each time because, while I think online is a great space to promote, I think it is more likely that people will come across the issue by chance, and feel more of a connection with it in person.

I took all images myself apart from the headshot shoot and the picture that I feature in. The first was shot by Declan Creffield, an amazing professional portrait photo who I was able to collaborate with because I offered to model for him for free. He was great to work with and he really understood the kind of awkward feel I wanted. The second mentioned was a collaboration shoot between me, Lauren Davey (an illustration student) and Simi Kanda (a photography student). We got together to take some fairly simple shots (alternating photography/creative direction ideas) and then went on to edit them however we wanted. Lauren did all of the makeup, and I did the styling. As with most of my work, each shoot was very different from the other, but with a common thread. I like to do this because it keeps it interesting as you go through the zine. I kept the colour scheme (deep red, blue and cream/gold) throughout, to maintain cohesiveness. A lot of these shoots are innovative mainly through post-production, editing faces slightly to carry a sense of evil/awkwardness, changing colours or adding a sense of retro kitsch fantasy by changing the background altogether, as in the final collaboration shoot.

The stylisation of the shoots references a lot of 70s/80s, but the zine is hopefully self-aware enough to modernise these concepts. Further to that, these eras are back in a big way, evidenced by the famous Balenciaga A/W18 campaign shot by Robbie Ausberger. I mainly used lightroom and photoshop to achieve the effects I did.

When it comes to evaluation, as always happens with projects, there were a lot of hurdles to overcome, particularly the headshot shoot, where it was vital that I had at least 7 models showed up on the same day, at the same time. Three models I had planned all messaged last minute to say they couldn’t make it, so sourcing three people who were right for the shoot on the same day it was happening was stressful. Despite this, I actually think that it turned out for the best, and that the models who were able to do it in the end were actually even better for the party. This is the kind of thing you expect when you are asking people for favours, and you have to account for it. I do normally have shoots with two models and shoot them both, so that if one pulls out I can definitely shoot that day, but having backups for 7 people was a lot! I also got my publication printed too early, and noticed certain issues and so had to rejig it and print again. This was tough on finances, but was important to the final outcome. I have learned to be more persuasive and to double and triple check things before I send them off for print.

I am happy and proud of what I produced. I think if I were to do the project again, I might perhaps somehow focus more on the fashion element. I styled everything down to small details, but I think the images could look slightly more editorial (in a fashion communication context). I also produced a short promotional film (also viewable at ellieedis.com/sovereign-advancement-league). I am proud that I managed to turn a political issue I care about deeply into a fully realised, stylised project. The photographer I collaborated with is the most professional I have thus far, and I believe the models are also more relevant to my project than they have been in the past. I pushed myself in this module despite a few hurdles, and I hope it shows.

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yourmajestysworld-blog · 6 years ago

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Component, High Fidelity Designs and where to go next

So, with that done. It was time to then design the components themselves. I already had the style in mind, and with the layout of it all. The shape was already set up for the menu components, however for the display of the vehicles and courses, for visual clarity, I had to change to more rounded rectangles. It also felt a bit too basic to use the same shape over and over (to the point of being lazy than anything).

General Rules and Menu Buttons

The initial designs of these was done with a few rules in mind. All were to start in black and white. This was to make sure that they were suitable for those who were colour blind. As a result, the main way these were to be “animated” was they were either to make a sound, or they would be modified visually on the screen, subtle changes such as say, a buttons border becoming wider.

As these buttons all follow the same sort of convention, they’re effectively covered together (they’re the same functionality wise). If the only change visually, that the “colour” changes, this means that a sound will play when it is clicked. The reason for this choice was, at the time I had realized that the buttons were put somewhat close together, so having to add an animation, and then give screen space for it to play would result in me having to change the layout of the screens entirely. I considered this somewhat of a flaw at the time (this will be explained later on)

HandBrake

I started on the handbrake because the handbrake actually had two variations. The first one that you see here, is actually the lever of a handbrake. This is because in my mind, most people would recognize that it is a hand brake level, and push it to slide. The animation mirrors how a handbrake is pushed as well.

Hilariously enough, When I tested this with someone whom is an actual driver, they not only did not recognise the handbrake lever, they thought it was the track map. Said person then advised me to actually look at the UX for vehicles, and advised me to use the universal sign for handbrakes in the UI. This led me to heavily regret not doing something so obvious early on. Whilst I did take his advice and adopt this, I also feared that many would take this to mean its the brake sign (because not everyone drives), so I put handbrake to accentuate this. I also changed it so that instead of simply lighting up, it will now glow, like in a real car, but also shake slightly, because again, someone might be colour blind.

Nitrous

Nitrous is a fairly easy concept. The icon is a basic lightning symbol, which is a fairly common logo used for speed. Due to the instant drastic changes that occur when you hit the nitrous button, you do not necessarily need to “indicate” via the UI when the button is pressed. All that needs to be required of it, is that it is easy to get to and press. The reason for this is that it is not really the job of the UI to communicate when you have pressed it, that’s what the gameplay is for, as you’re speeding up drastically. This should be more evident in what’s happening on the screen than anything else. As a result, I put a very simple, understated animation of a ring appearing around it when pressed.

Speedometer

As mentioned before, the speedometer is placed at the top, with everything being labelled (again, not everyone will be able to tell what the gears are if they’re not labelled). Even though these were explained above, I still felt it important to actually talk about this a bit, as the speedometer to me is the most iconic part of a racing game UI, and the way its styled and executed, can be the difference between an average arcade racer and an iconic one.

Brake/Accelerate Pedals

These are fairly simple in my opinion. Once again, your interaction with these, affects what is going on in the world. As a result, I put the simple animation of the pedal going downwards when pressed, to indicate that the button itself is working, I have also put these as see through to make sure parts of the screen are not covered.

Tilt/Button Controls

Every racing game offers these options. So it is imperative that I offer them as well. A simple vector drawing depicting the control scheme works here. What needs to be noted however, is that these aren’t actually animations. These are just what is to happen when selected. As a result, I have made the border visibly bigger when it is selected, in order to let the user know they have selected it successfully, and of course a sound will play.

High fidelity wire-frames – Menu

Pictured: Language Screen

Pictured: Main Menu Screen

Pictured: Track Screen

Pictured: Vehicle Screen

Pictured: Loading Screen

Pictured: Controls Screen

For me, this is where the magic can start. The function is already in place and the menu conceptually, looks very simple. So the main problem that many game interfaces stumble upon in their UX is already solved (form over function) This gives me free reign to effectively be a graphic designer without having to worry about hindering usability. The joys of proper planning!

I decided upon a colour scheme of four colours. Two colours for the main interface, and two for the buttons. In the end I decided upon the following colours as seen below:

The reason chose these were fairly simple. The orange, was originally yellow, due to games like ridge racer type 4, but I eventually decided to change this to orange to avoid feeling like I had copied their entire style. Another change that I actually added AFTER the wireframe planning, was that I decided to actually add a shadow underneath the UI elements to make them look “elevated” and make them stand out more. One flaw that didn’t crop up in the planning, was that everything looked a bit too...level. This led to the buttons looking like they were part of the screens, and not actually sticking out to the user. I chalk that one up

to inexperience personally. I put the shadows and called it a day.

The two fonts that I used are fairly important, as of this time of writing, the project doesn’t have a full name a logo, so it uses a working title. Once again, the theme is fast and stylish. With the font choices I decided to go full on “stylish”, favouring calligraphy and brush styled fonts. For this I chose the following two fonts: “Infinite stroke” (the top one) and “Taken by vultures” (the bottom one)

Infinite stroke was brilliant, because it is stylish and bold. Taken by vultures is very thin in its styling, and this could easily lead to readability problems. Especially as mobile phone screens are very small in comparison to a pc screen. Infinite stroke is bold and large enough to not be too big for the UI components, but just small enough to not look unwieldy. As a result, Taken by vultures was relegated to use of the title screen, and screen labellings at the top right, where it’s not restricted in size by the component scale, meaning I can put it as big as I need to, without it looking blocky or poorly placed.

Pictured: In game GUI (Buttons)

Pictured: In game GUI (Tilt)

This is where my theory gets put to the test. As you can see, there is actually a lot of grey in the UI. The directional buttons and the accelerate/brake are the main parts i wanted in grey, as whilst they’re important buttons, they’re also the largest on the screen. Having them coloured with full opacity would easily obscure the screen too much. Another thing you will notice in the mockup, is the modified speedometer. In practice, when used with triple numbers, it was far too cluttered for triple digits. This was rectified during the high fidelity process. Thankfully it was rectified fairly easily with a few rearrangements.

Pictured: In game Options

Of course, every game needs a pause button. The first thing to take note of, is the pause button itself in the top right corner. The border is larger which indicates it has been selected, as well as the game stopping. This screen is fairly simple, you can either pause, change your control scheme or resume. I wanted to make sure the exit button was bright red (the only instance of bright red other than the handbrake) so that the user sees it immediately, and will not press it by accident.

Pictured: The control screen.

This is the control screen. What you are seeing here, is one of the control schemes being selected, which is why the buttons is the opposite colour.This is one of the few times where I almost always opt for a basic colour scheme or screen. Simply because the user doesn’t want to spend much time here. They want to select their option and then leave immediately and get back to playing the game.

Once looking at everything as a finished product, I noticed one major change I could have easily made. I could have easily chopped part of the rectangle off, and replaced with a small circular animation that plays when highlighted, and then the sound can play. This looks more asthmatically pleasing and it is still fits purpose. I also need to add a “are you sure you want to quit?” screen. It’s a small fix, but it’s one that shows polish and consideration for a potential mistake from the user regardless.

#ux #ui #game #component #gui #design #racing #games #graphic #adobe #illustrator #photoshop #screenshot #high #fidelity #drawing #portfolio #work #stuff #final #improvement #to #be #made

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edgysocial · 8 years ago

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New Post has been published on http://edgysocial.com/3-steps-to-suppress-adrenaline-and-stay-calm/

3 Steps to Suppress Adrenaline and Stay Calm

You’re reading 3 Steps to Suppress Adrenaline and Stay Calm, originally posted on Pick the Brain | Motivation and Self Improvement. If you’re enjoying this, please visit our site for more inspirational articles.

Picture a shy guy. This guy does not like speaking out loud, especially if there are a lot of people around. So, if this guy were to speak before a large group of people he would probably feel really frightened, resulting in high levels of stress, his heart rate rising and so on. Adrenaline, better known as the fight-or-flight hormone, is what causes these physiological symptoms to occur during times of stress, and happens naturally to prepare your body to deal with danger or unexpected situations. In addition to this, adrenaline boosts your awareness, and heightens your energy-levels to a great extent, resulting in restlessness and stress. You have probably stumbled upon a feeling like this before, and if you have, you know how uncomfortable it is. Indeed, adrenaline might ruin your performance. Therefore, theoretically, if you learn to control your adrenaline, you will be able to deal with such situations much easier, and consequently achieve better results at any field of your life. Although this might sound hard, it is actually quite easy to do. I have listed for you below, 3 simple steps to instantly achieve control of your adrenaline levels. Implement them to your lifestyle, and become more calm in an instant.

Practice Relaxation Techniques

There are several relaxation techniques specifically developed to decrease levels of stress. Most of which are based on handling the common symptoms of adrenaline. These techniques are simple, easy to learn and very effective. What is more, they are designed to work in an instant. Indeed, when these techniques are perfected (which is easy) you can reach a state of relaxation in any situation. All this taken in consideration, these exercises are great for lowering stress, which is why I have listed below my top 3 relaxation techniques and how to perform them. A. Breathe Deeply In times of stress it is favourable to take a quick break and start breathing slowly. Breath through your nose and let the air fill your abdomen. Truly feel the air rushing through your body while you focus on keeping a consistent tempo. However, don’t think too much about how long your inhale or exhale should be, as this might distract you. Just focus on deep breathing. Breathing like this stops the acute adrenaline shock by lowering your blood pressure and slowing down your heart rate. B. Be Present Stop what you are doing and take a moment to focus on everything that surrounds you. Pay attention to environmental details. Follow all movements you notice closely. Next, focus on how your body feels by paying attention to all of your senses. Take pleasure in everything around you and realize that you are just a small brick in this huge world. Reaching this state will make you feel a lot less tense. C. Progressive muscle relaxation. Slow down and take a moment to focus on the difference between relaxation and tension. Slowly tense and relax several muscle groups over and over again until you feel the stress leave your body. This will help you focus on the physical sensations and make you pay less attention to the thoughts that stress you.

Divert Your Mind

This is a special way of diverting the secretion of adrenaline and is inspired from the practices of hypnotics. The way it works is a little complicated, but it has to do with tricking your subconsciousness so that you remain calm. First thing you do is find an object that always seem to awake good memories. Something you used to play with in your childhood or a tool that helped you overcome tough times in your past. I for example, chose a glittering marble that I used to play around with whenever I was bored as a kid. The reason I chose this particular object is because it brings me a great deal of nostalgia, and for me that is a sweet and heartwarming feeling. When you have found your heartwarming and emotionally loaded object, you may want to properly connect it to your memories. To do that you will have to play with or use the object just as you did in the past. As an example, let’s take my marble again. I would have to play around with it while bored once again to reinforce the connection I have with it and reawaken forgotten memories. Until now you have connected a special object to a feeling. It is now time for you to put it into practice. What you do is take your object out with you out, and if a stressful situation occurs, be sure to hold it tight. Of course, If your chosen object is too big you won’t be able to hold it. In that case you will do fine by just thinking about it. If this is done right you will find that you experience greater calm during stressful situations like a presentation or job interview.

Take Magnesium

This is not an “in the moment” method. However, it is the best way to prevent a sudden adrenaline boost from happening at all, allowing you to keep your calm during stressful situations. Sadly, this is also one of the most underrated methods. I am talking about taking magnesium as a supplement. Magnesium has been proven to reduce your cortisol levels significantly (link to study: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3703169/ ) , and we all know how bad cortisol is for the body. Besides adrenaline itself, cortisol is the absolute worst hormone to be overexposed to and will stress you out. Therefore, getting rid of any excess cortisol production will elevate how relaxed you feel. What is more, when you produce less cortisol in stressful situations, it will also dampen the nerve wrecking symptoms of the actual adrenaline boost and thereby keep you calm. Luckily, you can easily find magnesium supplements online or in a health store.

Ryan Steele is a blogger on the field of masculinity, and the administrator for the image consulting website Enhance-Masculinity. You may visit the website here: https://www.enhance-masculinity.com/ The website seeks to inspire its audience to live life to its fullest potential through articles on lifting, identity, success and women.

You’ve read 3 Steps to Suppress Adrenaline and Stay Calm, originally posted on Pick the Brain | Motivation and Self Improvement. If you’ve enjoyed this, please visit our site for more inspirational articles.

Pick the Brain | Motivation and Self Improvement

#Adrenaline #Calm #Stay #steps #Suppress #Personal Development

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mumuen · 7 years ago

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Thoughts on Singapore Art Week

By Megan Lim

I was unable to attend all of the Singapore Art Week (SAW) events this year. In fact, I think it was physically impossible for anyone to attend all of the Singapore Art Week events this year.

Singapore Art Week is an “annual celebration of the visual arts” that is meant to represent “Singapore’s diverse and distinctive contemporary visual arts scene”. This year, it felt as though the Singapore Art Week had pervaded all our senses and flooded all our Facebook feeds - a total of 78 exhibitions are listed in the program, 4 night events and etc etc.

The three tenets advocated by the SAW publications were “Discover”, “Experience” and “Engage”, under which they categorise the different events that are organised across Singapore.

In “Discover” we seem to have “up-and-coming home grown artists” such as Kray Chen and Sam Lo, artists who have recently/not so recently exploded into the visual arts stage. Together with these artists we also have a collaboration with SuperheroMe, taking the definition of “Discover” a little further than the bubble of visual artists.

In “Experience”, the recurring, notorious Art Stage is labelled as an experience. Apart from Art Stage, there were events like Gillman’s Art After Dark and Aliwal Urban Art Festival. These are large-scale events that often occur in the night - filled with art fairs, overpriced alcohol and the promise of live music with local artists. Perhaps the weakest category of the three, “Experience” tended to devolve into an over-glorified night out with a side of art. A lot of its attempts to engage an audience felt flat, unenthused and half-hearted, with little but a few main attractions that drew the crowds but didn’t really bring much of an experience. Unless you count sweaty people and long queues as an experience.

Even in the Aliwal Urban Arts Festival, which was a little less capitalistic and meretricious - the events aimed at introducing or engaging in elements of street culture (skateboarding) became weirdly voyeuristic experience for those un-initiated (me), where we stood at the sidelines observing a culture that we had no reason to intrude upon.

In Gillman Barracks during Art After Dark, there were queues to go into galleries that would otherwise, and usually be empty. Strange too because the galleries that people were queuing to get into were usually collections or commercial galleries, filled with works and price tags. Overwhelmed gallery sitters had to double up as ushers, frazzled and counting people. Perhaps it was a good sales day for the galleries, I had seen a decidedly well-dressed man approach a gallery sitter who offered him an iPad for his promise of transaction.

Finally in the “Engage” section, there are the usual, talks and tours such as State of Motion 2018: Sejarah-ku organised by Asian Film Archive and The Current Convening #3 on The Oceanic in NTU CCA. Of the three categories, this is the one that I have the least firsthand experience for, perhaps out of my own personal disdain for the pseudo-intellectualism that can sometimes occur during these sort of things. Weirdly enough, the ARTWALK Little India tour is also lumped under here, in a blurring of definitions between “Discover” and “Engage”. I would argue that ARTWALK Little India might be the most accessible event of the three mentioned, ironic, seeing as the category “Engage” would imply some form of capturing of attention, making the inaccessible more known.

In total, there were “More than 100 events for Singapore Art Week 2018” (Straits Times, Nov 14 2017). An honestly impressive organisational feat. I only realised how many exhibitions and shows I had missed when flipping through the program booklet while planning this. It feels a bit wasted, a bit silly that we only had a week to “Discover”, “Experience” and “Engage” with so many things. In the frenzied mess of the week, smaller artists, exhibitions and talks seemed to have been unfortunately, inadvertently sidelined in favour of larger, louder, more garish events. It is unfortunate not only for the visitors, the viewers, the patrons and audiences but more so for the artists themselves. Commissioned, included in this gargantuan event might have seemed like a promising premise for exposure, varied audiences, larger pool of opinions. However, many of the smaller, fringe events had been reduced to single line descriptions of name, venue, duration that lack even a simple description of the exhibition or artist.

I have no issue with the idea of Singapore Art Week as a means to make art accessible to the general public. Rather than a sideline approach to the cultivation of a ‘vibrant arts landscape’, it is perhaps about time that these efforts are pushed to the forefront of public consciousness. SAW congregates many of these events and exhibitions in the span of a week or more, allowing for them to remain in the forefront of the media’s attention, and Facebook events. However, when overcrowded with so many events - some poorly executed, poorly conceptualised, some intriguing, exciting, some barely mentioned - I think there is a sense of complacency and safety in numbers. The spread of ideas and public consciousness over an oversaturated galore of events and exhibitions prevented anyone from ruminating on anything long enough to realise that it was unimpressive, or personally interesting.

Furthermore, if you add three mediocre exhibitions together you could kind of make up one interesting exhibition, giving even the organisers the freedom to focus on a few main events and chuck the fringe ones aside - they are not pushed to fulfil any of the three thrusts of the Art Week, not really tying together nor saying anything really new. It gets boring after a while. There is no greater conceptual push unifying the (even if they are disparate) practices of the artists involved in the Art Week, no greater challenge attempted by the organisers, or proposed by the organisers for the artists. If we see the organisers of the Art Week as essentially curators of a large-scale visual arts exhibition that stretches across Singapore, the Art Week feels a little like a cramped exhibition space where all the works concentrate in the centre and faceless paintings adorn the walls, far away from the center, lacking spotlights. And some of the works are classical paintings, some of them are pinch pots, some of them just Charlie Lim singing in the corner. The Art Week could be more cohesive, focused, less distracted with bits and bobs in its pursuit of creating an engaging visual arts showcase: to bring together differing practices and artists to create an (actually) engaging and cohesive program that introduces the public to different elements of the visual arts, but pushes the boundaries of their perception. Or tries to at the very least.

I am using Art After Dark as an example again; in the block of residency galleries, we went from exhibit to exhibit that were barely distinguishable from one another. Some form of anthropological, historical, geographical study. Printed texts from academia. Pinned photographs. An odd artefact or two.

In mass social media proliferation and marketing, I think that it also began to devalue the artistic value of the events in the Art Week. It makes the Art Week some form of social media frenzy, where pictures and images and videos and boomerangs are posted every day. The Instagrammability of art is widely debated and while I don’t really have an answer to the propriety of it - I do believe that it can have a detrimental or devaluing impact on the art that it showcases. This point is confusing, because on one hand, social media has made a huge difference in the exposure that a simple exhibition can receive, elevating an artist’s work way beyond their expectations. However, on the other hand, like in the case of the Art Week, a lot of exhibitions or works became Instagram backgrounds. While the Art week might have succeeded in getting the crowds to turn up, it has a little way to go in trying to cultivate a culture of appreciation. I don’t expect or desire for everyone to understand or appreciate all forms of art, but I think that there is a culture of appreciation that can be cultivated - even at a very superficial level. In that sense the Art Week failed in truly reaching out to its audience. It made the arts easy to access, but not accessible.

All in all, I still think that the Singapore Art Week is still a worthwhile cause and some of the criticism levied at it somewhat unfair. I’d rather there be a platform, albeit flawed or incomplete that brings the previously inaccessible, exclusive world of the visual arts (especially the visual arts in its somewhat varied nature from the performing arts) to the general public and invites them to participate and engage without feeling intimidated. However, with this foundation set and audiences already drawn to the program and what it might offer - the Singapore Art Week must dare to challenge their audiences, seek to expand the depth of their engagement and perhaps shock, tickle, confuse and challenge the average Singaporean to consider the arts as a little more than just a cultural signifier or additive.

Additional reads;

https://www.channelnewsasia.com/news/singapore/commentary-arts-festivals-in-singapore-a-fad-9898600

#writing #singapore art week

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mi5016simonelliott · 6 years ago

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Reflective Essay

Throughout this module, I believe that I have made it clear where I want to go after I finish university. When we talk about computer games, many of us picture something along the lines of Space Invaders or Pac-Man, something simplistic in its nature. Even though these examples are perfectly fine in their own right, they do not accurately represent my own opinions on the matter. Part of my appeal towards making computer games is their unique opportunity at being the only medium in which they are a completely non-vicarious art form. Computer games, just like animation, are a marriage of science, art and design and it is in this synergy where I find I would be most suited. Over the first and second years of this course I have found a niche skill that I find a lot of enjoyment in, and that is 3D modelling. Because of my personal interest in architecture and the world-building aspects of computer games, in my opinion one of the best ways for me to break into the computer game industry would be to get my start as an environment artist. This is what a lot of my research and branding has revolved around during this module.

Environment artists have the advantage of being a key (and thus a more permanent) part of a team of developers. A lot of this has to do with the fact that building modern games is a highly iterative process, environment artists and level designers are often kept on for the entirety of a given project and that gives me confidence that pursuing a career in computer games within the skills of an environment artist be would a good career option. That and I know that I find enjoyment in this kind of work, part of the appeal is that it is almost like solving a problem with the consideration that the solution has to convey a certain artistic style, so it certainly requires a more lateral approach to thinking. I think the reason environment art appeals to me specifically is because I like architecture and I like the way in which architecture and computer games crossover. I am interested not only in how an environment can serve the mechanics of a given game, but how that can help tell a story. To me this is a universal objective of many forms of entertainment but the way in which computer games can achieve this is radically different from other forms of media. When you truly think about it computer games are a well suited industry for budding environment artists because of the obvious lack of physical constraints. This is why I want to take a more specialised approach rather than being a 3D artist or 3D generalist, environment art already encompasses a wide range of technical skills and this isn’t counting the fact that you must have a good idea of free hand sketching, so I believe that I would be able to demonstrate a large amount of different skills within this vocation.

Computer games are a highly cooperative affair, there are so many moving parts and types of specific skills that go into making a computer game so I have made a concerted effort to ensure that I can effectively communicate in a group, I think that is evident from the fact that I collaborated with two other individuals in the first semester on a different module, to which we were given very positive feedback on the resulting work. To me communication is extremely important and I want to make a point of highlighting this fact, personally I would always rather work in a team as much like playing an instrument in a band, I feel that the benefit of being able to readily communicate with colleagues leads to a much vaster improvement in my overall skill. I feel that being able to work in a small team after I graduate as a full time job would be an ideal scenario, so the intent is to show that I have been thinking about this since the beginning of the module.

When I thought about how I would brand myself then, I made sure to include as much of this research as I possibly could. I looked at numerous computer game developers and publishers and what they looked for in an applicant, and I also looked at many examples of different environment art show-reels and portfolios and looked at how they solved various presentation issues. On the whole, I opted to present myself as extremely organised and focused on making my own work the main ‘point’ of my brand. I didn’t want to obscure my skills in any way but I made sure that where possible I could elevate its presentation through simple graphical and font design, effective use of editing in my show-reel and an overall consistent image across my web presence and branding materials. This is also apparent in my physical promotional materials, as I spent a large amount of time researching and designing business cards and personal logos. Evidenced on my Tumblr blog is a large amount of hand drawn designs, with an iterative design process showing how I progressed from my initial sketches to final design. I think this all speaks a lot to the actual level of quality that I strive for in everything I do and shows that when asked to, I put in a professional amount of effort.

This thinking also extends to how I constructed my CV when the time came. Obviously it is easy to outline the specific skills that you can demonstrate in your work, but in the sea of applicants that is game art development, it is imperative that you stand out so my thinking revolved around how I could show the way in which my creative skill is affected by my own thinking and how I have been actively developing different ways to solve problems. In an industry where everyone has the skills needed, it becomes more a case of who has the best ideas and not who has the best skills, meaning I focused more on demonstrating how I can think laterally. In my research on show-reels many of the interviewees that I watched outlined how valuable being able to think laterally was, employers want to see people who can solve a problem in a non-traditional way as most of the time, this ends up being the more favourable solution. During my 3D Games Design module I was praised for the way in which I had ‘Solved technical challenges such as simulated cloth physics to provide a crucial part of the effect.’ The actual method of this solution was initially difficult to figure out, but the resulting effect was something that I otherwise would not have been able to achieve through traditional means. The fact that tutors picked up on this is clear evidence that I have developed this recognisable skill, which shows I am making progress.

On the subject of presentation, I made sure to extend this sentiment to my online presence. To date I have six different areas in which people can discover my work. I have been thorough in the way in which I work on each social media account and website, everything has been kept consistent throughout the semester which I feel is another important aspect of this module in general. It has been repeatedly highlighted by our course tutors of the importance of maximising your discoverability on the internet, and I think I have definitely taken this advice to heart. I also made sure to consider the possibility of going freelance after I finish university. This comes with a lot of consideration and planning on my part but thankfully I have some experience. Various small pre-production jobs that I had worked on at the beginning of the first semester gave me valuable experience as a freelancer, to which I was then able to use this in my CV and respective social media accounts.

At the beginning of this module we were asked to outline what our interests and aspirations were and I knew exactly what I wanted to say. There are obviously downsides to being so assertive in decisions like this, but what I wanted to show is my level of commitment to attaining a serious and professional outcome. At no point in this module have I taken any piece of advice (from tutors and peers) lightly, this is pretty evident in the dramatic changes I made to my branding image. Every decision I have made has been made with that singular aspiration in mind, be it the company’s I wanted to work for, my CV, my show-reel. I have displayed that I have been able to work as if this was a real interview. Over the course of this module I have made significant steps towards attaining my career goals and developing crucial interpersonal skills, and I have a much clearer idea of how I will reach my career goals.

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bannatynes · 6 years ago

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Check out my package.

I had a question on Facebook the other day that made me feel a little uncomfortable. I can only imagine this was its intention. It was an accusatory question within a compliment. The kind that your mother would give you about the girls you used to date. It was a question about the recyclability of our clear packs used in some of our premade meals. I had previously searched the recyclability of the materials they are made from. Google says that one material was “highly recyclable” and the other was “recyclable”. Good to go. After being asked the question again, I thought I better phone our suppliers. He sighed when I asked. He said he got the question daily. Pressure to recycle is obviously a really good thing and one that we encourage. Recycling is even better. After our short chat, what I took away was that he just was not sure. He implied that he would be happier committing to the fact that it was not recyclable. He didn’t sound like a recycling expert. I am not a recycling expert. From the little research I have done It sounds like you could recycle the pouches and similar types of packaging, if you could separate the two different packing materials. You can separate the two materials, but it is uneconomical to do so. So they are probably recyclable, but are not being recycled. Clear as mud.

* Guilty Packaging

The thing is, finding packaging is already a very tricky ordeal for small producers. Particularly ones out in the sticks. How something looks is really important to being able to sell it. It also has a massive impact on the shelf life and storability of your produce. The volumes we do are a joke to most suppliers and as such, we are normally at the mercy of local suppliers or picking up on our delivery route. Packaging is tricky. Packaging is really expensive too. It is another example of losing out on economies of scale, all too mystical to small producers. I have never met anyone who has said that they would not like to use recyclable packaging, if they could get it at a reasonable price. We just don’t have that choice. Yet.

I love pets. Most of my pets are pet hates. One of my pet hates is selling something which has a net negative effect on the environment in a recyclable bag. It drives me wild. Supermarkets and restaurant who advertise how amazing they are because you don’t have the choice of a straw or their pre-peeled oranges in a plastic tub are fully recyclable, are detestable to me. I saw one the other day with a picture of a turtle on the bag that you can buy for 3 bucks, 600% higher than the normal price of a bag, they then pay you back your money in installments of 50c for every time you use your bag. It is prepaid advertised virtue. There is something wrong with morally superior boasting about things that, on the whole, matter very little. It does two things. It elevates themselves on a predefined tiny area of focus. You get articles written about which supermarket is winning the checkout bag war. They are the same supermarkets that bus in truckloads of feedlot meat, sold as premium-quality-farm-fresh-natural-A-grade meat. Or some other slick sounding alternative. It simultaneously waters down the effort of restaurants and marketers who are truly committed to making a change to how the world works. You would have to reuse a plastic bag more than 6 times to mitigate the impact of a single cow having been through a feedlot. That is a little bit of a misnomer, cattle don’t go through feedlots in singles.

* Not a feedlot. Pictures of feedlots are gross.

You see there are restaurants who don’t give away straws and some that do. Some of the ones that do, recycle those straws. They recycle as much of their waste as possible. They buy from people who produce their food with a conscience and a commitment to as little impact as possible. These guys are the ones you need to be supporting. I get it, change for the better is a step in the right direction. I could not agree more. I have no problem with the calculation that feedlot meat in a recyclable bag is better than feedlot meat in a non-recyclable bag. I just think it is like putting a plaster on the blister of your foot, severed from your limb, while you hop to the hospital with it in a recyclable plastic packet.

The reasons for this blog is hopefully to add to the argument in favour of trying to mitigate your impact on the environment. It is to show that it is not as simple as the recyclability of one of our packaging products. Take the example of our non-use of glyphosates. Using it is financially beneficial. If it wasn’t, they would have gone out of business years ago. How profitable the companies that produce it are a testament to the short term financial benefit to the farmer. From our anecdotal evidence we think it has a massive external environmental cost. We also think it has a long term direct cost. We choose NOT to use it at all. It is a choice that comes with huge opportunity costs and considerably more short term risks. It is one we are happy to have chosen. If I were to use glyphosate on our maize crop we would use about 160L of the stuff, roughly about 160kgs. I know right. In order to offset the loss of not using it we get the slightly cheaper packaging. As a result of not using it on our veggie garden set up, we recycled old silage plastic to lay flat to burn down the grass and weeds. It takes about 5 times longer. This year we used about 400kg of old plastic that was destined for the dump. By contrast, did I mention that the total amount of Doi Packs we use is about 10kgs a year. I’m not saying that this is the best or final solution, but it does give a little perspective.

It all goes back to our philosophy of knowing who is producing the food your family eats and having a relationship with those people. The idea of uncomfortable questions does not bug us, we are confident that we have already asked and answered them when making the decisions we make. That calculation is perhaps is the biggest difference between how we value things. We would be happy to answer any questions you may have.

#bannatyneslittlefarm #reduce #reuse #recycle #plastic

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riekaerina · 7 years ago

Photo

Favor Fries. I call this my favor fries. Simple picture, taken from that slightly elevated angle just like how most people post their food photos. But this is unlike any other food documentation. This is a reminder of God’s favor and grace for us. We were in a rough state that day due to some mistakes we made and we said things to each other that was hurting us so bad. I was fumed and helpless, in the midst of crowd, at the mini explosion that happened several times that day. Then we were looking for a place to eat just so we can cool down although the atmosphere was so cold. You know how sometimes you have some expectations of some days and has been looking forward to it, but this day wasn’t turning out anything like my expectation at all. Treated coldly by the wait at the first restaurant we went and thus decided to make a move elsewhere when I came across this and told him let’s just settle here. We were received with a warm welcome by a friendly waiter. Less than 5 minutes into settling down, he came back and requested for us to move to another table that’s in the corner as there’s a family with baby that would benefit better to sit at our table. We agreed. After we move, ordered our food, sat comfortably at this new and better seat snug in a secluded corner, this favor fries was presented to us. “Fries on me, thank you so much for moving.” Woaaaaahhh, God this is how You show me that You can easily turn my situation in a snap of a finger. Through this person, You really turned my sorrow into joy! God can so easily turn our situation around and at that point of time I can only say thanks to His mercy and favour. Leading me to be the first to apologise and forgive too, despite being so difficult to do it at first. He supplied me with more than that fries, He supplied me with a flood of unending love ❤️

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underthewingsofthblackeagle · 8 years ago

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Chapter 1: Finding Freedom from Oppression, Part 4

Of Questions and Answers (1)

"So you have seen the estate and I told you what I expect of a man who wants to work for me. Do you have any further questions?“

"Yes, Sir. If … I … may … ask …”

"Yes?“

"Do you … do you have a wife, a family?”

"No. Is that of any importance for your decision?“

Fraser looked down and thought.

"Don’t be afraid, tell me honestly and frankly what concerns you,” von Trebitsch demanded.

"I had some … uh … very unpleasant encounters with an Englishmen, a captain of the English army, who… was … not in favour of … the natural way with women, if you …"

"Ah, I understand. You can spare me the details. Follow me I want to show you something.“

The Baron rose from his seat, led Fraser to the other side of the hall and opened a large door.

"Come in, this is my study, my office.”

Fraser followed von Trebitsch into a large rectangular room. In left half of it stood the Baron’s desk, behind it a large chair with rich carving. The wall behind the desk was completely filled with shelves reaching to the ceiling. The shelves were filled with books. There were porcelain or bronze figures in some places; stones or other things lay on others. To the right, behind the desk, stood a flag as it was hoisted over the house, and a sword hung on the wall beside it. The sword was outwardly worked. The scabbard stuck in a simple black shaft. This resulted in a fine gold-coloured handle, which had the shape of a lion’s head. Two rubies formed the eyes of the lion. From its mouth the underside of the handle came out. Two pictures hung on the walls of the room, right and left from it. The image that the viewer saw first when he entered the room showed a man in profile and hung on the left side of the desk. The man in the painting was wearing a blue uniform, and above it the cuirass of an armament. A red sash stretched over the man’s breast. On his head he wore a wig, whose long braid stood back. Apparently a cloak was suggested in the background. A heavily carved and gilded frame surrounded the picture.

On the right side of the desk there hung a portrait of a beautiful young woman. She wore an elegant blue dress. Beneath her high forehead laid observant dark brown eyes. Her small, delicate nose was surrounded by slightly elevated cheekbones, under which her smiling, fine mouth became visible. A small but distinctive chin closed her face, which was framed by brown natural curls that fell on her shoulders. This painting, too, was enclosed by a large, carved and gilded frame. Fraser looked at the picture with astonishment. Then he heard von Trebitsch say:

"My wife Martha. We were married for nearly six years. She longed desperately for a child. But for years nothing happened. Then suddenly she became pregnant and we were so happy. But she died at the birth of my son and he also lived only for one hour.“

The Baron paused for a moment, than he said:

"I know that others have married again after the death of their wife or husband, sometimes even very quickly. I do not judge anyone who has done so. But I could never do it. We had an unspeakably profound relationship and I do not think I would have found something like this again with another woman. So I stayed alone.”

He turned his gaze from the portrait and looked directly at Fraser:

"I am a widower, Mr. Fraser. You do not need to worry about having ‘unpleasant experiences’ in this house.“

Fraser looked down at von Trebitsch:

"Forgive me for asking.”

"Why? You did nothing wrong. You couldn’t know and in face of your bad experiences, your question is only understandable. Your questions are welcome. Don’t stop asking."

After pausing for a moment, von Trebitsch went on:

"You should also know that we have laws in this kingdom that deal with people who commit such and other crimes. If the man is a normal soldier, we will hang him - in front of his whole regiment. If the man is an officer, perhaps a captain, we will shoot him - in front his whole regiment. But before that, we’ll tear off all his insignia from his uniform - in front of his whole regiment. He who lives a dishonourable life will also die a dishonourable death. That is the way we treat criminals here in Prussia.“[1]

The Baron saw something flashing in Fraser’s eyes. He looked serious but also very satisfied. Then he asked:

"And if the man is a Duke?”

"There are not Dukes in the kingdom of Prussia, but suppose a nobleman, a Baron or a Count, would be guilty of a crime. Then he would be judged and executed likewise.“

"But do noblemen do not have special relations, for example, to the Royal House?”

The Baron laughed out loud.

"You don’t know our King yet!“

Fraser remained silent and waited for further explanations.

"My family has had very good relations with the Royal House for several generations. But if I were to commit a crime, I would never again be permitted to appear before the King. Because then my friendship would be a disgrace to him, a defilement of his honourable name. Our King says - and I agree with him -: 'Every state in which virtue prevails will live out others in the long run.’ But this presupposes that all citizens live virtuously. Therefore, anyone who violates the law is severely punished by the law. And be sure, be very sure Mr. Fraser, it does not matter if he who breaks the law is a simple farmer or a Baron or even the King’s son. When our King was still Crown Prince he had a quarrel with his father and tried to dessert to England. The plan became known. The King had his son arrested and imprisoned in the fortress of Küstrin, nearly one hundred miles away from home. A man, a friend of the Crown Prince, who had made a decisive contribution to this plan, was executed. And the execution took place exactly under the window of the cell, where the Crown Prince was imprisoned. It was ordered this way by his father the King. All the other people who were part of this plan were severely punished. The Crown Prince himself lost his royal rights and was relieved of his military ranks dishonorable. For a time the King even thought of letting his own son be executed. In the end he condemned him to penalty work. Afte learning his lesson, the King put him back into his rights. But the Crown Prince had to serve as a punishment in a special regiment for a time. This King knows that each of our actions bear consequences. He has learned it the hard way. You see, in this kingdom before the law we are all equal. It does not matter if you are a beggar or a Crown Prince. Our law will protect your, Mr. Fraser. But if you don’t follow the law, it will punish you. Do you have any other questions?”

XXXXX

"No, this is not my father. But in a certain way this man is a father, it is the King, the father of our nation. On this painting he is still young, at that time he was still the Crown Prince. Now his appearance has changed. The burden of government and the worries about our nation have left their mark on his face. You must know, Mr. Fraser, we are a young and small nation surrounded by great and ancient powers that are not well-disposed towards us. But our King does everything to preserve our freedom and to increase the prosperity of our nation. I do not want to be misunderstood: He is a man like any other, not every of his ventures is successful. But once you see what he has done and what he does right now for us, you will understand why people are so grateful. Then you will understand why people come from many other nations to work and live here. Have you ever heard that the King of England, the King of France, or your Scottish Prince, calls himself 'The first servant of the state?’ Our King calls himself so. And I can assure you these are not just words. This is what this man lives unto. But now let’s get back to our sandwiches.”

The men remained sitting in the hall until ten o'clock and agreed that Fraser should decide, until breakfast the next day, whether he wanted to work for von Trebitsch. Than the Baron handed Fraser a lamp and said good bye. When Fraser arrived at his room he sat down on the bed and looked around him.

(”Laterne” by Sabrap59)

"How fast things can change in a man’s life! This morning I still did not know how I would endure the next few weeks and now I have a fresh bed and the prospect of work, wages and accommodation,“ he thought.

Then he got up and knelt down before his bed to thank God.

At the same time Paul von Trebitsch was sitting on the edge of his bed. He thought of the red-haired young Scot, whom little Max had brought here this afternoon. His knowledge of human nature told him that this man stood for more than he had shown in the talks of that day. Could it be that this man was the answer to his prayers? He turned to bed and pulled the blanket over him. Then he folded his hands to pray.

Notes: [1] At this time, in Prussia and other German states the Constitutio Criminalis Carolina, a criminal code of 1532, was still in force (parallel to the law of the respective Kingdom / Duchy etc.). For crimes such as the "English captain" and the "Duke of Sandrinham" were guilty of, the CCC demanded even more cruel punishments (to stalk the condemned, decapitation etc.) Under the rule of the Prussian King Friedrich Wilhelm I (1713 - 1740) the punishment of the condemned was "reduced" to hanging or shooting.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #jamiefraser #prussia

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