#i think a lot about anatomy its just a passion of mine | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

royallyprincesslilly · 2 years ago

Text

Title: Star-Crossed: #HFT {1}****

Professor Chris Evans x OFC University Student Calliope “Cali” Jamison AU

Warning: NSFW, Cursing, 18+ Content, PLENTY OF WORDS, Plot,

Word Count: 12.2k

Synopsis: Look out for it in chapters 3 or 7.

Note: Another one because I can't stop thinking about this idea. I have been sitting on this for MONTHS because I wanted to wait until I wrapped some things up BUT life is short and I wanna share this. I have been thinking about this trope a lot. I am in no way condoning teacher-student relationships especially if said student is a minor and/or not of sound mind. However, I am a lot more open to a college professor-college student relationship. I prefer this trope to any in its subgenre/sub-trope even though it may not be ethically proper, depending on the debate you listen to. That being said I’ve wanted to tackle this idea of mine for some time and dipped my toes in with “Anatomy 101” which I wanted to expand on some time in the future. Now, I am going to remix and expand on this professor-student trope. Hope you guys enjoy it.

Note II: Included is some Moroccan Arabic/Arabic in general. The translations are provided by Google.com. If the translation is incorrect, I apologize, please don’t hold it against me. Feel free to correct me, I don’t mind.

As always, thank you for reading, liking, commenting, reblogging. I appreciate it!!!!

If you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!

****Characters in this Fiction Story are of legal age, sound mind, and are consenting through no dubious means. ****

**NOT Edited/Proofread**

***Interactive***

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Derived from but not really a continuation: Anatomy 101

Chapter One: Desert Rose

“Cali, try not to wander too far tonight.”

You looked in the mirror at your father who was rustling through a folder of papers on his right while an ancient-looking book rested in front of him. It was his latest acquisition on yet another one of his excursions. His face never looked up from the papers. It was classic for her father, the man who was able to do ten things at once with two eyes, and two hands. Sometimes you thought his brain was a super machine that none other could rival. He always amazed you. Not just with his intellect or aptitude in his field but with his passion for what he did and how he lived his life.

It was him who instilled in you the desire to travel and find the answers to the world and humanity through travel, languages, literature, and love. He believed we were all connected through those three things and through those things could we better understand each other. He and these trips were probably the reasons you’d decided to transfer colleges and switch majors while tacking on a few more for good measure. If any little girl ever felt like their father was their hero, you were that little girl. He was yours.

He looked to you, and you took in his appearance with his glasses lodge on his nose bridge and his forehead crinkled from deep thinking. He was no longer a young man, but the years had been kind to him—very kind.

“Understood young lady?”

You rolled your eyes at his faux authoritative tone then sighed, “Dad, I’m twenty-two. I think the days of me being a young lady are long gone.”

“Twenty-one. Your birthday hasn’t come yet. We still have three months.”

“Two months and twenty-nine days, thank you,” you corrected.

He scoffed then shook his head. “You have your whole life to get old Calliope. Don’t rush it. One day you will be my age thinking where the time went.”

“I can take that as long as I am exactly where you are in your career,” you replied.

He smiled and put the papers in his hand down. “As long as you remember career isn’t everything. Living is most important.”

You thought about his words for a moment then continued applying your lip color. A silence that stuck for a few minutes befell the room. Once you were satisfied with your bold makeup application, you stood.

“Where are you off to tonight?”

“There is this lounge I wanted to check out before we left. It’s supposed to be real chill.”

“Ah, a lounge. All right, just remember our flight is tomorrow at five, and you cannot be late,” your father drilled.

“I know dad. I won’t be late.”

You readjusted your dress, smoothing your palms over the thin creases your sitting had created, then walked to your purse. Beside it, the vase of vibrant colored hibiscus flowers caught your eye. You traced your fingers along a delicate petal and plucked a red one out of the mass to arrange in your hair just behind your ear. Pleased with how it complimented your dress and the exotic look it gave you, you nodded to your reflection. When you got to your father you kissed his cheek.

“Don’t work all night dad. It’s our last night here. Who knows when you’ll be back. Take some time to smell the desert air.”

He sighed and looked up and through the panoramic window before him. No doubt the desert was calling his name.

“Don’t wait up,” you whispered before you scurried to the door.

“Don’t drink too much,” he called out just as you closed the door behind you.

You planned on drinking too much, taking part in some of the unspoken draws of Morocco, and dancing until your feet hurt. This was your last night of fun before the next chaotic and rigorous stage of your life began. You didn’t expect to have any free time to accompany your father on his work trips for the foreseeable future. As you waited for the elevator to open into the lobby of your hotel you took a quick selfie with the gold backdrop of the elevator wall. That and the warm lighting only enhanced your look.

By the time the elevator opened, you’d posted your selfie with a simple caption of red-painted kissy lips and a hibiscus flower. Less was more after all. As you walked across the lobby, you felt eyes flit toward you. You received several head nods and pleasing smiles that said the look was much appreciated.

“Can I get you a car ma’am?”

One of the hotel valets stood outside in his red and gold uniform waiting for your reply.

“How far from here is Shaida?”

“Hm, maybe a fifteen-minute walk or a five to eight-minute car ride.”

You weighed your options while looking up and down the street. The night was beautiful, the weather divine, and part of you wanted to take it all in.

“If I may ma’am, I suggest a car. After a two-minute walk, the heat will make it impossible to not sweat.”

You smirked then shrugged. “You might be right. Thank you.”

He stretched his arm out and seconds later a black car pulled up with one of the hotel’s drivers behind the wheel. The valet opened the backdoor for you then waited as you climbed in.

“Enjoy your evening ma’am.”

You thanked him just as the car pulled off. Settling into the seat you kept your eyes glued to the views that passed the window. Morocco was a favorite destination for you. This was your eighth time coming and each time still felt new to you. The truth was, Morocco held a special place in your heart, it was the land of your maternal side. Your father had met your mother twenty-seven years ago while he was fresh out of grad school while studying for his doctorate. He’d always said she opened him up to a whole different view on life. It was a view that influenced everything he did after meeting her whether it was professional or personal.

The savory scent of street foods cooking all around you made you moan and your stomach rumble, but you ignored it not wanting to get sidetracked. Only a few minutes passed, and the driver was pulling up to the entrance of the lounge. From the looks of the street, it didn’t look like it was a well-known place because it was so nestled off of the beaten path, but you didn’t care. After thanking the driver, you stepped onto the sidewalk and walked the few remaining feet to the door. Standing outside was a man dressed in street clothes with a makeshift bandana wrapped around his head. He looked you over once then averted his eyes back to scoping out the street.

Once you stepped inside you realized that the exterior looks were deceiving. It was a full house. The heady scent of flowers, incense, smoke, and a mixture of snacks hit you like a train and you immediately felt transported to a different time in history. The hypnotizing sounds of an Arabian Flute and the Bendir played cohesively together to make you feel like could have been transported back to the time of King Idriss of the Idrisid Dynasty.

As you walked through, you scoped it out impressed by the sultry red décor that screamed both royalty and sin and taken aback by how smoky the place was. It didn’t take long for you to feel as if you’d made the right choice for the night. Finding a place at the bar you sat and adjusted to the vibes of the establishment getting lost in the music. You understood now who the man outside was, he was a scout. This was one of the few places one could come and enjoy Morocco with a touch of both modern and ancient. A man passed you puffing from a tube and from the scent of the smoke you knew the risk this place was taking. Hash.

“You have the distinct look of both a tourist and a local.”

You spun around to the woman behind the bar whose curly hair must have been the envy of everyone she knew. She had a mischievous smile that only highlighted her kind eyes.

“I guess I can be classified as somewhat of both,” you said.

The woman took you in a bit longer, fully assessing you.

“Ah, I see. Our blood flows through you but you are American.”

You smiled and nodded.

“In that case welcome. Blood is what matters here.”

She took a glass down and poured a clear liquid into a glass then placed it in front of you.

“What is this?”

She didn’t look as if she were going to answer so you did the only hospitable thing—knocked it back. Instantly, you knew what it was, Mahia. This was your traditional welcome.

“Mm, thank you.”

She nodded. “So, tell me, are you here for business or pleasure?”

“Me? Well, the business is done so I’m all about the pleasure.”

The bartender smiled widely and refilled your glass. “Then you have come to the right place. We have drink, music, dancing, snacks if you choose, and—substances.” She nodded to a passing woman who was also puffing from a tube.

“Let’s start with the first three and see where the night takes me.”

She smacked the bar, “I like you.”

She walked off to tend to another customer and your eyes followed and watched her pour another man a drink. Just behind her, you caught sight of a man who seemed out of place but also looked like he belonged. The glass in his hand was almost empty and the way he held it said a lot about him. Where everyone else would hold it fully, with the palms of their hands, he held it with just his fingertips. Nine out of ten people at a bar would hold the glass in the middle, he held it closer to the rim and the icing on top was him holding it with his pointer out instead of his pinky.

You’d been around a lot of men in your life -thanks to your father and his line of work- that you’d taken a large interest in your own life experiences, and you’d come across them all. Men who were meek and soft-spoken because they never fully asserted themselves and preferred for things and people to come to them. Men who were boisterous and presumptuous and assumed everything was meant for them and attempted to claim it all regardless of what anyone else said. Men who were easily overlooked because of their non-threatening disposition, and even men who were hard to miss because of their titillating mix of all of the above.

From the way he held his glass, to the way he sat on the battered wooden stool you could tell there was something different about him. You didn’t know what yet. You watched as he drained the glass, placed it on the bar then tapped the rim while making eye contact with the soulful-eyed lady bartender. She topped off his glass without a word then busied herself with the patrons around her. With the glass firmly between his fingers again he took another long sip while his eyes remained glued to his phone. Your curiosity piqued as an urge to know what he was doing overtook you and you got lost thinking of all the possibilities.

Heavy Arabic speaking drew your attention to your right. When you turned, an attractive man with deep-set brown eyes, a full goatee, and a man bun of lustrous locks. He looked like a blend of an old-fashioned but modern local. His full lips moved again.

“Aljamal almahaliyu.” {Local beauty?}

You smiled. You’d always found the Arabic language beautiful.

“American?” He lifted his brow as a look of uncertainty filled his features.

You snorted and took a sip from your glass.

“Aljamal almahaliyu wulid fi 'amrika,” you replied. {Local beauty born in America.}

The man smiled widely as surprise and satisfaction filled his eyes.

“Your Arabic is very good,” he complimented in damn near perfect English. The only thing that gave him away was his heavy accent.

“And your English is quite good.”

He held out his hand to you, “Deladim.”

You shook his hand.

“Cal.”

The softness of his hands contradicted the ruggedness of his outfit. His clothes said he could have been an explorer, but his hands said he was a masseuse. “Interesting name,” you followed up.

“Well, my full name is Abdeladim, but Deladim is what my friends call me, and Dim is what my lovers call me.”

His words were like a lite tap against your cheek out of the blue, shocking.

“Wow.”

Every time you’d come to Morrocco with your father, you’d been approached by plenty of smooth-talking locals who all thought they could snag an American for the night for their stories with their buddies. You never fell for it.

“Very bold of you.”

You turned your body back to the bar and continued nursing your drink as Deladim continued to give you his best lines. By the fourth line, your eyes slipped to your left to find the same man from before now watching you. His drink was ever present in his hand, but the screen of his phone was now dark. You had his undivided attention. There was something in the way he looked at you, something in his eyes that made you feel like he darted an electric current right through you. Your skin tingled and that slight curiosity about his reading preferences had not transitioned into full-blown wonder over who this man was.

You didn’t know how long you’d stared at each other, but he was the one to look away first and when he did his luminescent blue orbs went right back into his phone. Before he lifted it to his face you glimpsed words. Was he reading a book in a bar?

“Took care of it,” the lady bartender said before you as she nudged her head to your right.

The seat beside you that was filled a short while ago, was now empty.

“A blind man could tell you weren’t interested,” she filled in.

You smiled, raised your glass to her, and took a mouthful of the strong liquid.

A short while later and a handful of drinks, you’d drifted over to the lounging area of the business where men were smoking and chatting up a storm, mellowing out to the soft sounds of Moroccan wooden instruments. The smoke in the air only heightened the hedonistic vibes of your surroundings and you didn’t mind one bit. Feeling like wanting to take a walk on the wild side for your last night in town, you decided to partake. After a blend recommendation from the bartender, you got comfortable in a slightly secluded corner that was draped in red silk and shadows and lit up the hookah contraption. This was by no means your first recreational excursion.

Upon your first inhale, you moaned gratefully for the choice. Its aroma was similar to flowers but there were hints of fruit and smoked nuts but those did not distract from the strength of the drug itself. You leaned back, closed your eyes, and let everything that you’d been worried about earlier drift away. Nothing mattered, not the looming start date of your third year of college, not the stress of moving from one top tier university to another top tier university in the middle of your degree program, not the double stress of changing said degree program and adding two more on for a full-on double major with double concentrations. You knew the next two years would be your most rigorous and though you’d never admitted it out loud, you were slightly worried you wouldn’t be able to pull it all together.

A few more puffs and your mind was as empty as your glass. Across from you, your eyes met the stranger from earlier, and again his eyes were on you. Under this light and in this atmosphere, you itched to touch him. Seconds away from blurting a likely thirsty comment, you bit your bottom lip hoping that would stop the words. It barely worked; the urge remained.

“You look like you have something to say,” he said.

You instinctively turned to look behind you, but only came face to face with the wall. When you looked back at him, he smirked, lifted his glass then took a puff from his own hookah-like contraption. When he blew out you watched the smoke drift up in a hypnotizing swirl-like spiral. This wasn’t his first recreational excursion either.

“Cat got your tongue?”

His eyes met yours again while you sat there dumbfounded.

“Feeling jealous about it? Would you rather have my tongue instead?”

His smile was wider and again that spiral of smoke escaped. “I don’t know how easy you think I am, but I’m not that kind of man.”

You snorted then giggled unable to keep it in. He sounded like one of those women who used that as a defense to throw the man they were interested in off the fact that they really were that kind of woman -a liberated woman who never needed to make excuses for her behavior and was damn proud of it- but they didn’t want them to know that.

“Then what kind of man are you?”

He didn’t answer right away. He sat there watching you. His eyes roamed over you in the sultriest way, in a way that no others had traveled you. A small flame lit at the nape of your spine that made you sit up even more. Your body was on full alert for something impending, something that would change your life. Was it him?

After a long pause, he spoke, “You’re welcome to find out on one condition.”

Interested, you took a long drag from the tube and slowly swallowed before making an “o” with your mouth to huff out the smoke in a series of o shapes. He softly smiled before sipping his drink.

“What condition?”

His smile stretched. “You have to throw in some Arabic here and there.”

You smiled and that small flame at your spine went up a notch in intensity and location. You patted the seat beside you and waited to see his move. It didn’t take long for him to stand and walk over with his hookah contraption and drink in his hands. The closer he got to you, the more you could make out his outfit. The black appearing jeans he wore had rips at the knees and gave the peekaboo effect showing off his flesh and outlining what looked like slim but strong thighs.

As your eyes raked up his body, the semi-tight white shirt he wore gave you an idea that he either had a six or eight pack and that was when your teeth sank into your bottom lip. He placed the hookah down beside yours then sat in the seat that you’d patted seconds ago. The rush of air gave you your first whiff of him. He smelled like the incense that was currently surrounding you but also musky scents that were so similar to cedar or hickory and a touch of sweetness. It was completely masculine, completely unique to him with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on, something different.

“How did you know I was speaking Arabic?”

He smiled, leaned forward, and took another long drag from the Hookah. As he blew the smoke out, he looked at you. “I know and can recognize tens of languages.”

“Do you speak it?”

He shuffled his head then shrugged, “Conversationally. I’m by no means a local beauty.”

You smiled hearing him tease you with what the man from before had called you.

“Cute.”

You took your own pull from your Hookah and allowed several moments to pass in silence.

“He wasn’t wrong though. You are a beauty.”

Your eyes met his but only for a moment before he looked down and into his glass. He swirled the liquid then downed the rest.

“Thank you but I’m sure you must say this to all the girls you meet in underground Moroccan clubs while smoking semi-illegal hash.”

He checked and it was deep, and it made you wonder what his actual laugh sounded like.

“I don’t meet any girls in underground clubs in Morrocco while smoking semi-illegal hash, much less talk to them. You would be my first.”

Your eyes lingered and you couldn’t ignore the thrill that raced through you.

“Oh I do so love exclusivity,” you said while batting your eyelashes.

It was an action he snorted at. A few more moments passed in comfortable silence.

“So, tell me, what is a Moroccan rose doing here? Business or pleasure?”

“Moroccan rose?”

A small shy smile spread across his lips and for a second you didn’t think he would clarify.

“It’s uh—your scent. You smell like Moroccan roses.”

You stared at him surprised he could smell you in a place so filled with so many smells.

“I didn’t know you could smell me.”

“I smelled you since the moment you sat down at the bar. Moroccan roses with a slight hint of hibiscus,” he said nodding to the bud still in my hair. “You’re quite distracting.”

He went right back to puffing from his Hookah as if he hadn’t dropped two very important facts. One, he noticed you as soon as you walked in and two, he found your scent distracting. Those were very good signs.

“Uh—pleasure, strictly pleasure,” you replied.

His head snapped to you, and you glanced at him with a coy smirk.

“I came for a bit of business, but it’s really been only for pleasure. This is my last stop and tonight was supposed to be the culmination of that fun. Sort of like my last hoorah.”

“Ah, a wanderer?”

You leaned back and sighed. “I have been known to wander a bit but not all those who wander are lost.”

The smirk on his lips disappeared and his head cocked to the side.

“Tolkien.”

You smiled and nodded, “A favorite quote.”

He didn’t speak for a few moments, instead, he just stared at you, locking your eyes. The look that flashed across his face made you curious. He looked like he’d just discovered something rare, seen something he couldn’t understand or explain. As soon as the look came, it went, replaced by one of awe.

“Gorgeous chaos, he mumbled in a hypnotized daze.

“What?”

“She’s a mess of gorgeous chaos and you can see it in her eyes.”

The way he said it made your heart race so fast you could have sworn it was audible over the instruments in the club. He looked as though he were looking through you, either right to your soul or to every little atom that made up your aura and all the stars of your being. In all your years you’d never been looked at like this. He looked at you like the reflection of the universe, and all of the galaxies could be seen through your orbs like he was so transfixed that if he dared look away the world itself would crumble around us casting us into oblivion, like dreams were made of this one moment and his dreams were all about me. Every woman wished someone would look at them like this and right now you didn’t want this moment to end.

“Let not light see my black and deep desires,” he added.

Fuck, you thought. You felt like he’d just cast a spell on you that pinned you right where you were. You watched his hand lift and move toward your face but before he touched your cheek his hand froze. Shaking his head, he dropped his hand while clearing his throat.

“God, I’m very sorry. I don’t know what—what came over me,”

He took a deep pull from his tube and kept his eyes forward. You cleared your throat and took another pull of your hash. “It’s okay. No harm no foul. Let’s just consider the effects of Charles Bukowski and Shakespear. A two-hit quitter.”

“You know those quotes?”

Blowing out the smoke, you nodded, “Yep. Charles Bukowski and Shakespeare, Mcbeth.”

He looked impressed.

“Wow, many would get Shakespeare because he’s a classic but not Charles Bukowski.”

“You shrugged. “What am I say, I’m a total literature snob.”

“All literature or just American?”

“All. The thoughts and writing practices around the world have always fascinated me. Did you know in some parts of the world the style often reflects societal beliefs of love?”

You could feel yourself running to the edge and prepared to jump off it though you remembered the looks most of your exes and flings gave you whenever you went off on a tangent about literature and love. It didn’t stop you.

“Through research and travel I find that though every area in the world relates to love, African and Middle Eastern literature whether novels, memoirs, or even poetry showcase it in such a way that one cannot miss the sentiment of love.”

Without giving him a moment to interject, you continued pointing out things your father had shown you on this trip. Things that were from well over two hundred years ago. You’d spent hours lost in the texts just immersing yourself in what life and love were like then. By the time you stopped speaking and your eyes returned to him, you’d realized you’d done it again.

“Uh--,” you awkwardly began trying to find the words to smooth things over or show him you weren’t so bookworm. However, the words escaped you. Sighing you continued, “I’m sorry I just—do that sometimes. I’ll stop.”

“Don’t ever apologize for your intelligence and passion for learning. A well-read mind is a beautiful mind and yours I can already tell would make many drunk off its beauty.”

He had a way with words—a beautiful, sensual, and sweet way, a way that made you eager to know more about him. A slow smile spread across your lips before you dipped your head feeling the full weight of your self-consciousness.

“Um--.”

“I’m Chris.”

He held his hand out to you waiting for you to take it. After a few moments of contemplation, you took it.

“Cali.”

Shaking his hand, you allowed yours to linger for a bit longer than necessary, as did he. It was your turn to get lost in his eyes, his impossibly deep eyes that somehow in the dark shone bright blue. You both released each other at the same time but your hands rested on the seat between you, so close but so far.

“Tell me more about literature steeped in love.”

You smiled then continued not needing any more of an invite. The next several hours passed with the two of you in an enthralling conversation about literature of all sorts and the differences between cultures, beliefs, and even society. You tapped into your knowledge from your major and all that you’ve learned over the last two and a half years on top of the things you’d discovered while traveling with your father. The more you talked about the topic the more you realized you’d made the right decision in changing your major and eventual career path.

When Chris tuned in and added his own findings and experiences you couldn’t help but sit there mesmerized by his intellect. You’d always had a weakness for a smart man. This man happened to be blessed with brains and beauty—a deadly combination. All you wanted to do when he spoke was listen and pay attention. There was something commanding about him, something that demanded attention.

“Am I boring you?”

“Huh? What?”

He smirked then bit his bottom lip and your eyes dropped to them.

“You’re staring like you’re lost,” Chris explained.

“Oh, no. I’m sorry. I was listening to you just—lost in thought.”

“What were you thinking?”

You looked around the room and realized that there were plenty more people who’d wandered in and the new additions made the club louder. You knew then that you’d been sitting here much longer than you’d thought. You roamed your eyes over him resigning to your fate. It had to have been fate. A man who looked like him, who was your type in every way that mattered, who checked every intelligence criteria box you had and made you want to do such bad, dirty, nasty things too. Talking to him had only intensified your desire for him.

“Highly inappropriate things,” you said before grabbing your freshly refilled glass to take a sip.

“Care to share with the class?”

Resting your hand on the back of the seat, you nudged your jaw in your palm and gazed at him trying to decide if you were drunk enough.

“What if your highly inappropriate thoughts match mine?”

Your belly fluttered. Was he saying that he has also been having inappropriate thoughts about you this whole time? You were at a loss for words and that was rare. His amusement twinkled in his eyes but there was something else there—seduction.

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

His lips quirked before he tipped his glass to them.

“Me?”

He scoffed. “I don’t think I have one seductive bone in my body.”

He had to be kidding. You’d been trying to find one unattractive thing about him for hours, just one and every attempt was a failure.

“I’ve been sitting here with you for the last few hours, and I doubt that very much.”

Chris smiled and under the colored lights, you could have sworn you saw him bite his bottom lip. It was a quick action but done in such a sensual way that goosebumps pricked your skin.

“Have I seduced you, Cali?

“It could be that you have, or it could be these never-ending drinks, or the hash and whatever else is in the air. Who’s to say.”

“See, told you, not one seductive bone in me. You on the other hand--.”

“What about me?”

Chris looked like he was weighing the pros and cons of divulging this information.

“Foreswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night!”

A giddy giggle escaped you and you clamped your hand over your mouth a tab bit too late. Chris laughed joining in with your laughter.

“Oh my god,” you said before an abomination came out of your mouth in the sound of a snort, straight-up Steve Urkle style.

Horrified your eyes widened but Chris only laughed harder, clapping his hand over his chest. He didn’t look to mind. “Cute”.

As if the compliment was the incantation to opening King Midas’ doors, you slid closer realizing somehow your bodies had naturally drifted closer to one another already. Now he was only a few inches from you. Again, Chris’s hand rose and traveled to you, this time he didn’t stop until he was centimeters from you.

“May I?”

You nodded. The back of his hand touched your jaw softly, then he slowly trailed It up to your ear before turning it so he cupped your cheek. The heat from his palm seared your skin in the most delicious way making your teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“Are you saying my beauty has seduced you?”

Chris didn’t speak at once; he just allowed his thumb to skitter across your cheek in feather-lite touches, but they couldn’t be missed. Your skin tingled, heart raced, and stomach knotted. His effect on you was so instantaneous that you couldn’t help but be confused.

“Cali—I dare say that you have bewitched my mind--.” His thumb slid across your bottom lip.

“--My eyes--.” Now it was pulling your bottom lip down ever so slightly feeling.

“--And my curiosity with far more than your beauty.”

On instinct, you caught the tip of his thumb between your teeth and but down—not enough to hurt though. A deep groan fell from him, and holy hell did it sound sexy as fuck. Not only did your brain think so but so did your body, the evidence was the slickness between your legs. You watched his face drift closer and closer to yours but when he was a few inches from your lips he stopped and waited. You were confused for only a few seconds when it dawned on you, he wanted you to have equal say in how this moment played out. He wanted to know that you wanted to kiss him as much as he wanted to kiss you.

Chris's eyes were on yours searching but patiently waiting. They flited between your eyes and your lips, and you wanted to know how patient of a man he was. As if he heard your thoughts, he smirked.

“I am a very patient man, Cali. I could make you break before you me.”

The cockiness coming off of him only heightened your attraction to him. Any other time when it hadn’t been over six months since you’d been with someone or with any other man that didn’t look like him or think like him you would have enjoyed making him eat those words. Tonight—you’d rather him eat something else. With a smirk of your own, you crashed your lips to his and showed him how much you wanted to kiss him.

Chris moaned on your mouth, allowing you to lead the action. His lips felt at home on yours, a perfect fit, and the electricity crackling through you said they were possibly meant for yours. That electricity is what made you pull back to look at him. Did he feel it too? The look in his eyes said he had felt it and it was having the same effect on him.

“Holy shit,” you said.

A wide smile lit his face and this time both of you took lead slamming your lips together again. His hands were on you in seconds, one pulling you flush against his upper half, the other cupping your skull, holding your head in place as he kissed you senseless and into the most frenzied state of arousal you’d ever been in. You wanted this man—this man you only knew a handful of things about—this man you’d only known for a few hours. You wanted him more than you’d ever wanted anything.

Dipping your tongue into his mouth, you wrapped it around his, but he beat you to what happened next. Chris sucked your tongue in a slow sensual rhythm. With each one, you moaned and with each moan, Chris held you closer. You didn’t know if the rapid pounding against your breasts was his heart or yours and you doubted it mattered. When Chris nibbled your bottom lip, you whimpered and gripped him at his waist, crumpling his crisp white t-shirt. You didn’t know when it happened but when you felt the hard rippled ridges on him you realized your hand had somehow made it underneath his shirt. His body quivered while a shudder slipped from his lips.

“The way I react to you and you to me,” he croaked out, his voice husky, raw, and full of desire. “It’s intoxicating.”

You smiled and tipped your tongue out to trace along his lips. He sat there still letting you explore the taste of him. The more you tasted the more you wanted and without warning, he bit your tongue and sucked it into his mouth pulling you into another soul-swapping kiss.

“Christ! Do you want to go somewhere else?”

You moved your face until there were a few inches between your lips and peered into his eyes. You were met by the same patience, the same self-control but now it was not as tightly bound. You nodded first, then spoke, “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded again with a smile. “Let’s go.”

Both of you stood and went into motion in unison, him making a move to the bar to settle both of your tabs while you to the restrooms to touch yourself up. A few minutes later, you met him at the door then dipped into a waiting taxi. You got lost in the view once it pulled around the corner to show the darkened beach but when you felt a large hand rest just above your knee at your thigh your attention went right back to where it belonged.

Sitting beside you, he looked like a man who’d made up his mind to seduce you, his eyelashes were low, eyes a mixture of bright blue in color but heavy in headiness. If seduction was a person, he was sitting across from you. Biting your bottom lip, you sucked it into your mouth. Chris’ hand inched higher and higher until it was halfway up your thigh with his fingers kneading the fleshiest part of your inner thigh. A soft moan escaped you.

His reaction was a pleased smile that instantly made you feel shy. Pressing your fingertips to your lips, you turned your head from him to the window and giggled behind it. His fingers never stopped kneading and the more they moved the more you wanted to moan. You liked them on you. suddenly you felt his nose nuzzle your ear.

“God, you’re sexy. I can’t wait to hear that moan loud and clear,” he whispered.

If the eyes of the taxi driver weren’t steadily peeping into the rearview mirror at the two of you, you would have stuck your tongue down his throat. Keeping some equanimity about you; you put your hand on his thigh a few inches from his inseam and squeezed. His groan was guttural and filled with so much yearning your belly did backflips from anticipation.

Before you knew it, the car stopped. Chris thanked the driver, then came around to open your door. With his hand held out, he waited for you to place yours in it. Giddiness took over and you took his hand. He then pulled you out of the car flush against him. You giggled again and allowed him to wrap his arms around your waist as he dropped a teasing open-mouthed kiss to the nape of your neck. He cupped your skull and kept you right where he wanted you as he tasted your neck. You easily got lost in the sensation and the way his lips sent tingles all through you.

“Moroccan rose will be my favorite scent for the rest of my life now,” he mumbled against you.

“Such a sweet talker.”

Chris yanked the back of your neck and crashed his lips to yours, rolling his tongue with yours and nipping at your lips. Moaning you wrapped your arms around him his neck and sagged against him. He began walking backward but he held you tightly never making you feel like you would fall. You felt sand between your toes and that fact was so startling you broke the kiss. When you glanced around you saw the desert before you.

“Oh my god, I thought we were going to your hotel.”

“I didn’t book one. That’s where I’m staying,”, he said pointing off to the right.

A large tent was pitched, and it bellowed with the gentle night breeze.

“A tent? Are you camping?”

“With a view like this, I couldn’t bear to have walls separating me from it. Trust me it’s not as rustic as you’re thinking. Come on.”

Chris took your hand and lead the way to the wood-planked walkway. As he led you, you took notice of the other pitched tents in the vicinity. They weren’t miles away, but they definitely weren’t close enough to be nosey. When you got to the entrance, he unzipped the flap and lifted it allowing you to go in first. When you stepped inside it was like stepping into a little piece of ancient Morocco. This was glamping.

The lanterns around the space were lit and decorative images danced around the roof and walls of the tent. It was beautiful.

“Wow.”

“Like it?”

You nodded. He took your hand again and led you to the back through another flap. To the back, there was a deck, and it showed the vastness of the desert. Where sand touched the sky, the indigo glow was breathtaking. Here the stars were the most visible.

“Wow—incredible.”

You got lost in the stars searching for your favorite constellations.

“Wow, I can see Hercules,” you said pointing out the constellation to the right. “And Canis Major, my god you can clearly see how it resembles a dog. Look.”

Your voice betrayed your excitement. That excitement was how you didn't realize how close he was until you felt his arms wrap around your stomach. His bearded chin nestled in the crook where your shoulder and neck met.

“There is Altair and over there is Vega. Do you know their story?”

You shook your head. Before he spoke again, he kissed a path from your neck to your ear then back down.

“Vega was a celestial princess, one of the goddesses of the sky. That meant she was immortal. Though she was immortal that didn’t stop her from worrying about what everyone else in this world desires--.”

His teeth grazed your shoulder and snapped the thin strap of your dress. With his teeth, he pulled it off your shoulder and then brought kisses back up your shoulder.

“She was worried as it seemed she would live in eternity alone without an everlasting love. Love that she’d watched plenty a mortal obtain.”

He trailed kisses along the back of your neck to your other shoulder and mirrored the same actions. With your straps off your shoulders, the material began to sag off your body. Your skin was cool thanks to the breeze but just beneath the surface you were sweltering, and it was his doing.

“One day Altair, a mere mortal, caught the eye of Vega from her celestial perch. She was so besotted with his beauty and his form that--.”

His large hands slipped a little higher to untie the strings just underneath your breasts. From there it was an easy slide for the dress to fall to your ankles.

“She descended from the heavens to greet him--.”

He turned you to face him then stepped back and slowly looked over your naked body. The heat in his eyes could have ignited sand itself.

“They fell deeply in love. It was a love poetry and plays were written about. A love so all-encompassing, so passionate, so life-altering. They lived every day of his mortal life together until they both retired to the skies to never part for all eternity.”

His voice alone could give orgasms, it was that hypnotizing, that enticing. That coupled with the way he was looking at you in this moment it was impossible to not squirm.

“You give Byron’s words new meaning. She walks in beauty like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies; all that's best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes; thus, mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.”

Fuck, you thought as a fresh gush of moisture dampened your panties.

“You’re beautiful Cali—so beautiful.”

The wind blew but before you could shiver, he was there shielding you, holding you close, caressing your skin tracing a path of fire and desire up your stomach and between the valley of your breasts. When he cupped your jaw, you knew you couldn’t wait any longer. He kissed you softly and slowly teased you. When he broke the kiss, he tailed his lips to your neck and sucked then dipped down. When he stood again, he had you in his arms.

When you felt his lips on your nipple you exclaimed, throwing your head back. If his lips on your neck felt good, now they felt like heaven. As he licked and pleased your flesh, he sat on the reclining chair. With you straddling him, he took your other breast into his hand and kneaded it.

Instantly your back arched; “Mmmm.”

“So receptive of me.”

For emphasis, Chris pinched the nipple that was just between his lips. You sucked in a sharp breath and angled your back further. His hand at your tailbone stopped you from squirming too far. To intensify the sensation, he pinched your other nipple and latched his lips onto your throat.

“Oh god,” you whispered.

“You smell like roses, taste like spun sugar, feel like heaven, but tempt me like a seductress. You’ll drive me mad.”

He licked the swell of your breast and the valley between then shook his head in between your breasts. One second you were relishing the wanton feelings bubbling within you, and the next your fingers were laced in his hair yanking his head back so you could feast on his lips. His moans echoed into the desert behind you enhancing the sultry vibes of the moment you were sharing.

Abandoning his hair, you lifted the hem of his shirt anxious to see the rest of him. Chris sat up, lifted his arms, and allowed you to peel his shirt off. With his chest bare, your eyes dropped and took in every detail. The lite dusting of hair right below his collarbone was inviting. Normally you hated chest hair on men, you found it sloppy and cumbersome especially when it ended up in your mouth. With him, right now it was anything but. Unable to help yourself, you plastered your hands over his chiseled pecs and smoothed your fingers over them. He looked like he worked out every day.

The myriad of tattoos that were scattered across his chest and abdomen made you do a double take. You hadn’t expected it at all. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip you resisted the urge to rake your nails down his chest.

“Your eyes are glazed over, you okay?”

Embarrassment washed over you and you blinked away from his chest to his true blues.

“Perfect,” you said before kissing him again.

Seconds later, Chris stood holding you against him carrying you inside. When you felt the mattress underneath you, you perched your legs on the bed and watched him stand before you. His eyes roamed over your body again and it was like he was looking right through you.

“Did I lose you?”

He scoffed. “Not a chance, sorry I zoned out for a second.”

“Ah, not doing it for ya’ huh.”

“What? Are you kidding me? Have you seen yourself?”

He grabbed your ankle and pulled you closer to him at the edge of the bed. Keeping his hand on you, he brought your foot to his lips and kissed the bone just there. He then led kisses a little way down your leg while his other hand swirled a path along your leg. Every few kisses, he bit your flesh making chills race through you.

“Have you heard the thoughts your brain forms? God, I don’t think I have ever been this attracted to someone in my life. I’m not just attracted to your beautiful face or your incredibly sexy body.”

His lips were now at your inner thigh, and you watched him sink to his knees before he kissed that bone right beside the most private of your body, just where your thigh and pelvis met.

“Mmm.”

Chris then draped one of your legs over his shoulder while pushing the other down flat against the bed.

“This devastatingly sexy body,” he repeated before he placed a kiss at the top of your mound. “I’m attracted to your mind. This entire night I haven’t been able to help the thoughts I’ve been having like we’ve met before--.”

He hooked his fingers in your thong.

“Spoken before--.”

He pulled the material slowly down your hips then legs, then tossed it behind him.

“Touched before, kissed before.”

With that, he dropped an open-mouthed and sloppy kiss on your clit.

“Uuugh, fuck!”

“This can’t have been the first time I’ve done that.”

He led small kisses across to your pelvis then inner thigh and back again. Every kiss made you squirm, your back arch, and your fists ball the fabric on the bed.

“Are you talking about previous lives now?”

“Maybe.”

You bit down on your bottom lip then angled onto your elbows.

“Careful sounds like you’re awfully close to saying something as cliched as destined mates,” you teased.

He smirked.

“Cliched? Would I be wrong?”

Before you could answer, he delivered a long stroke of his tongue across your sex stopping any thoughts much less words. Your gasp echoed around you as you slammed your back to the bed. With your fists balled beside you, your thighs raised trying to press together to deliver the pressure you needed. However, they didn’t meet. Chris pushed them back to the bed keeping you wide for him.

“What was that Calli? I couldn’t quite hear that.”

You opened your mouth to speak but again his lips found your folds. The slow but precise flicks he delivered make goosebumps freckle your skin as if it were cold trying to preserve its heat when in truth, your body was on fire and steadily reaching the point of combustion.

“Ah, you sighed when he sucked your clit nether lips into his mouth fluctuating the pressure he gave you. When you felt the tip of his tongue dip into your entrance your hands abandoned the sheets and grabbed hold of his hair keeping his head right there.

The feel of him dipping his tongue in and out of you felt so good. He started slow and gradually sped up before he swirled his tongue within you. He slurped and you nearly levitated off of the bed.

“Mmm, you taste incredible, Calli.”

With your nails dug into his scalp, you held tightly to his hair as you felt the beginning stirs of your orgasm. Fuck, already, you thought in pure shock. He’d barely begun. Sure enough, without warning your crescendo came and your grip tightened before your thighs trapped his face between your legs with his mouth just where you needed it.

“Oh my god! Oh god, oh god, oh god! Yesss!”

Chris moaned as he pried your thighs open. Feeling bold and strong from the orgasm you were still riding, you tugged at his hair urging him up. As soon as he was close enough you kissed him, swirling your tongue with his tasting yourself. The distraction was enough to make you roll onto him to straddle his body.

“Mmm, you’re right I do taste good.”

Chris’ grip on your hips tightened as he groaned and kissed you fiercely, stealing whatever breath you had left within you. Pulling away, you traced kisses down his jaw to his neck. His hand slinked down your back to grip your bare ass. It was such a strong grip that you gasped, then groaned when you became wet all over again. You sank lower and kissed his tattooed chest, taking care to tease his hardened nipples. Every groan, moan and fluctuation in his breathing fueled your desire for him making you want to please him even more.

When you made it to his waist you began undoing his belt, then his pants. Within seconds, you had them undone but before you could make the move, Chris flipped you onto your back and crashed his lips to yours. Not having it, you rolled right back onto him but again he flipped you onto yours. The two of you giggled together realizing that neither of you was going to have your way with this one and someone had to yield.

Chris caressed your cheek and gently kissed your lips leading a path of soft kisses down your body. You watched as he trailed the flower that had been in your hair down your flesh. Everywhere it touched goosebumps appeared and everywhere it went it left behind a trail of yearning. He rotated the bud around your nipples, then slowly brought it between the globes of your breasts. When he went down your stomach, he went around your belly button taking his sweet time knowing that every second only made your desire burn hotter and hotter. He then traced the flower to your core, making you flinch.

“Sensitive or hungry?”

You groaned and sucked your lip into your mouth. He then traced the number eight across your sex. After he finished m

“I could watch your body react to this flower all night,” he uttered eyes never leaving the flower. Once his face dipped down and he found himself right back between your legs, eye level with your sex you reached for him.

“I want you.”

“And you’ll have me but not until I have you screaming my name, writhing and dripping begging for me.”

He didn’t wait for your reply, instead, he buried his face between your legs and feasted as none had feasted before. Your moans spilled from you one after the other at varying decibels. You didn’t care how loud you were being. Normally you got a little self-conscious when you expressed your pleasure. You never felt one hundred percent comfortable with any of your exes or partners and it wasn’t due to any fault of theirs. It just was how it happened. With Chris, right now, you wanted him to know just how good he was making you feel, how much you wanted him.

The flower he held never left your body and somehow, he managed to ravage your clit and folds while circling your breasts and nipples with the flower. Just when you thought you were going to come apart and shoot into the night sky above, he bit your inner thigh while pinching one of your nipples.

“Fuuuck!”

With that, you came again, and again, he slurped every single drop like it was the most precious commodity.

Chris then rose and stood in front of you. His pants were open showing off just a smidge of the snug-fitting black boxer briefs he wore. You gave him your full attention as he removed the remainder of his clothes. As the pants dropped, you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip still picturing what he had hidden behind those things.

“The way you’re looking at me is only making this harder; harder being the operative word,” Chris said.

Your eyes dropped to the prominent bulge at the juncture of his thighs. Your tongue snaked out to slide across your lips anxious for him. Chris groaned then tore the underwear off revealing all of him to your eager eyes.

“Wow,” you marveled.

He didn’t move, he stood there allowing you time to take him in, and take him in you did. He was buff, but not in an overly done way, in an everyday guy who was active in his life way. The tattoos on his skin only added to his sex appeal.

“Like what you see?”

You smirked and dropped your thighs back to the mattress and just as expected his eyes fell to just where you wanted his full attention.

“I bet I’d like what I feel even more.”

Chris chuckled, shook his head then stalked toward you. With ease, he nestled himself between your open and welcoming legs and bit your nipple before lowering the weight of his body on you.

“I felt you liked to tease, but I see teasing is just the tip of the iceberg, huh?”

You felt the thick, heavy mass pressing against your sex and you could barely hold yourself back from bucking up against him. His groan was rich, and it sent such a thrill through you. You couldn’t believe you had this strong an impact on someone and that he was freely letting you see it. It’s like he wanted you to know that you had him wrapped around your finger.

Chris softly kissed you once, then twice. Each kiss gave you a glimpse at something deeper, something tender, and sweet. He could be a seducer but that wasn’t all that he was. You rolled onto him again and kissed a trail down his sculpted frame taking care to kiss all the parts of him that tempted you. You kissed each nipple, raking your nails through the dusting of hair on his chest, each defined ab, and his obliques where those mouthwatering indentations resided. At the touch of your lips on that part of him, you felt a heavy thwack against your chin. Glancing down, you saw the offender. Up close you took notice of the violent veins protruding along his shaft and the thick and swollen head that glistened with a long drop of his desire.

“Planning on drawing it?”

“I could if it would make you harder.”

Chris scoffed. “Honey, I don’t think I could be any harder right now.”

“Open for debate,” you replied before tipping your tongue out to lightly swirl around the bulbous head.

He groaned long and loud while arching his head back. The veins in his neck bulged showing you just how desperately he was trying to cling to control. You repeated the action a few more times before you sucked his tip into your mouth applying more than a little pressure.

“Christ!”

You moaned. He tasted like mint and something else—vanilla maybe. Whatever it was, you were sure it was a taste unique to him and a taste you found subtle enough to enjoy. Slowly, you dipped your mouth lower and lower taking half his thickness before you sucked up. His hiss and the slight miss of his hands as they aimed to the top of your head no doubt to hold you in place told you everything you needed to know. He was open. You licked from the base to his tip like he was your favorite flavor lollipop. Another groan was your reward.

“Do that again.”

You licked him again. “That?”

You knew that wasn’t what he meant. The muscles in his jaw jumped then his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“No,” he struggled out.

You smirked and dipped your mouth over him again this time taking him a little further until you felt he was close to the back of your mouth. Chris groaned and fastened his hands on your head keeping your head there trapped. You moaned on him and without warning, he brought your head lower so you took him deeper. With him nestled right where he could feel the vibrations most, you moaned again. His grip loosened as he pulled you off of him.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell. I swear ta gawd, you’re gonna make me cum right now.”

You could pick up an accent and it was the hottest thing you’d heard. He wasn’t the only one that was close to coming.

“Your mouth feels incredible.”

Feeling bold, you took him into the mouth he liked so much and showed him incredible was the beginning. By the time you were finished with him, you’d have him listing off every synonym of the word. As you pleased his flesh, every hiss, gasp, moan and groan became more and more desperate, more and more emphasized and the more he lost control, the more powerful you felt. That didn’t mean that giving him pleasure meant you felt none. You were so turned on it took everything in you to not drop your hand between your legs to inch yourself to the release he was creeping up on.

Quicker than lightning, he’d flipped you onto your back and pressed your thighs apart making enough room for his bulky body and stealing your breath in the process. The way he looked at you as if you were his prey and he the predator only made you want him more.

“Fuck,” you whispered out.

“If you insist.”

His lips pressed to yours and his tongue swirled with yours. The man was a kissing connoisseur and magician, and this was the way he cast his spells—this was the way he bewitched. When you felt the tip of his intrusion brush against your inner thigh you shook and immediately felt embarrassed. Chris’ smile was soft.

“The feeling is mutual, believe me.”

He kissed you once, twice then a third, and on that third kiss, he joined your bodies in one slow, torturous, and impossibly delicious feeling thrust. Every inch he filled you with made your back arch and every arch pressed your breasts onto his hard chest. Chris tore his lips from yours first then buried his face into your neck and whimpered.

“Oh—you feel--.”

It was a sentence he never finished—not with words. Instead, he shuddered into your ear and let his body mirror it with a shiver. With him buried to the hilt, you felt impossibly full, but you still wanted more. Wrapping one leg behind him to rest at the crest of his ass, you lifted your hips to meet his next thrust. The movement was unexpected and his snapped to yours. With your eyes locked, you clenched around him and circled your hips.

“Fuck!”

Chris pressed one hand to the bed and brought the other to your throat, but no part of his grip hurt. It was the motivation he needed to speed his movements. With every connection, your breasts jerked, and every retreat your leg around him tightened as your muscles.

“Uuugh, you’re going to kill me gorgeous,” Chris croaked out with every thrust.

“Then return the favor. I think death by fuck would be a good way to go.”

His eyebrow crooked and you saw the moment something shifted within him. His jaw twitched and then with his next bruising thrust he clasped both your wrists in one of his hands and pressed them above your head. From then, his thrusts became rougher, harder and so damn wild. The pattern her set was one of chaos and your body responded to it. He kept you guessing, needing and whimpering until you were sure that the other tents nearby could hear just what was going on and you didn’t care. You hoped they were listening.

No matter how you tried to free your hands to touch him, it was no use. He held you right where you were taking everything he wanted while giving you just as much. Soon, the pit of your stomach tightened, and your legs trembled, you were close and the grin on his face said he knew it.

“I think death by multiple orgasms sounds like a better way to go.”

Chris thrusted forward hard then circled his hips sending you over the edge. You screeched and allowed your body to shake as it wished. You had no control over it, he did. You panted and bucked against him needing more and having too much all at once. When his thrusts continued, he’d released your hands and grabbed your thighs keeping them apart and you slightly elevated in both his strong arms. This new angle told you that you’d be crashing over the edge in seconds.

Sure enough, you came again and again with him showing no mercy nor giving you any reprieve. Instead, he changed the pattern again, slowing things down. The sudden change sent your body into hyperactivity and your hips bucked again. Chris groaned and moved his hands to your hips. He held on to you like he was riding a bucking bronco trying to control you. With a groan that sounded so close to a growl, he pulled out of you then flipped you onto your stomach and sheathed himself once again.

“Aaaah! Fuck, yes!”

The action was so quick your head spun but not for long. When you felt his hand at the back of your neck and the other coming down on your ass you lost your shit.

“Oh god—Chris.”

“Mmm. Still sound like a good way to go?”

He dropped his lips to your back and kissed a path along your spine until he reached your shoulder. Once there, he sank his teeth into your flesh. You dropped your head back and for the first time, you noticed that this particular part of the tent was see-through, and it gave you the perfect view of the stars. As another orgasm claimed you, you felt yourself transcending to touch those stars. Chris slowed his movements and brought his kisses to your jaw, then your lips. This kiss was different, it was languid, teasing, but filled with longing. It was a different longing than before; it was a longing for more time.

“You’re perfect, Cali,” Chris mumbled on your lips. “So fucking perfect.”

Your belly fluttered. Mustering all your energy, you pulled from him, then pushed him onto his back. He stretched his arms behind his head with a wide smile as if he couldn’t wait for the show. You stood on the bed giving him a full view of your body then stood over him legs wide enough that he could see just what was in store for him. As he licked his bottom lip you saw a spark of worry in his eyes.

“Scared?”

Smirking he stretched his body and groaned. “Should I be?”

“I don’t know. I could do whatever I want to you.”

“I’m counting on it.”

His cockiness was too damn attractive, and you couldn’t believe you liked it. Scoffing, you lowered yourself over him. His eyes dropped between your legs and watched with bated breath. He looked like he was mumbling an incantation in his head drawing your body to his. Just before you sank onto him, you stopped hovering just out of reach. Chris groaned then cracked his neck.

“Are you afraid?”

“Not at all.”

“Then sink that gorgeous, deliciously tight pussy on this cock.”

“No please?”

He smirked.

“Oh, so you want me to beg.”

“Are you above it?”

Chris brought one hand to his mouth, licked his thumb then brought it to your clit. The first stroke was feather-lite.

“Mmm.”

“Are you?” He dipped his thumb lower swiping your slit coating his finger before bringing it back to swirl around your bud. You moaned again but made a silent vow to not give in.

“Try as you will, I guarantee you will not hear me beg for anything.”

“No?”

For emphasis he gently pinched your clit sending a sharp electric charge through you and right back to your sex. Unconsciously, you dipped lower, your folds brushing the tip of his cock. You both groaned at the same time, both bucked your hips together, but you were the one to rise back up.

“Stubborn huh.”

“More than you know. However, I would have mercy on you if you said the magic words.”

“What words may they be?”

His finger was now going back and forth and round and round in a synchronized show of skill. It was becoming harder and harder to resist. You wanted him to fill you as much as he wanted to be nestled in your heat.

“Please—take this—dick.”

Again, your body dipped lower and brushed his tip. This time you didn’t lift up, instead, you rocked your body back and forth like a wave coating his bulging appendage. With each swipe of your sex, Chris softly grunted and subtly lifted his hips. You didn’t know if it was an involuntary movement or if this was a ploy.

“God, you’re so wet for me, Cali.”

“Mm-hm. Dripping.”

His finger sped and you knew you were close. You just hoped he gave in before your body betrayed you. Circling your hips, you took a few centimeters of him giving him the impression you were giving in but when his hand came to your waist you lifted up denying him the satisfaction. The groan he let out was one of frustration. You saw the veins in his neck protruding and wondered how much longer he could hold out.

“Still so tight,” he whispered.

“Do you want to stretch me out?”

He scoffed, smirked, and angled his head back.

“You are playing a dangerous game, Cali.”

The authority in his voice made you straighten your spine. He sounded like he often gave orders, and you wanted him to command you.

“This dangerous game has consequences. Can you afford them?”

“Like?”

The pressure he applied to your pearl increased and you knew your face betrayed how much you liked it.

“Loss of voice, sore muscles, raw throat, inability to sit properly for a week or two, among others.”

“What about the consequences for you? Can you afford them?”

“Such as?”

“Inability to think of anything else but this tight, dripping pussy, hallucinations of seeing me everywhere you go but when it isn’t me wishing it were, daydreams that take you back to this night for months on months, frenzied wet dreams every single night, and the fate of inadequate self-pleasuring where it never is good enough because it is not my hand, my mouth, my tight delicious pussy. Your punishment for tonight will be a lifelong one. Can you afford the price of your pleasure?”

He looked at the end of his rope like he was about to release the beast any moment. His jaw ticked, throat bobbed, and breath shook.

“Cali—please—take this dick so I can fill you and stretch you so perfectly that weeks from now you will not be able to have another because you will only see my eyes.”

As the victor you dropped onto his cock, taking him fully into your body and loving every second of it. Chris grunted then gripped your hip. He didn’t move you though, he wanted you to take control. You instantly set the pace bucking against him with quick swipes. Chris sucked in a breath and watched you move, in complete awe. Rather than sticking to one pattern, you swirled around him before you began bouncing on his hardness.

“Fuck!”

He matched every move you made with an upward flick of his hips. Every time he did it, it threw you off until you’d stopped moving completely and allowed him to jackhammer up into your core.

“Fuck! Chris, yes, right there. Oh my god, I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum for me—cum with me.”

His thrusts became more and more aggressive and the sharp twinge of pain at your hip from his fingertips said you’d have a bruise to remember this night. It was a bruise you wouldn’t mind. Chris sprang up, held your hips more firmly, and rocked you against him as he fucked you. You could tell by the glazed look in his eyes that he’d lost control and was chasing the same thing you were—a release.

“Yes, Yes, God Cali.”

Your eyes locked and you felt the same longing he did. If only tonight wasn’t all you had. Before you knew it, you’d crescendoed over the edge pulling him with you. Both of you rode the wave of pleasure that kept producing sparks of fire and thrill straight through you making neither of you want to break apart. You kissed him allowing everything you were feeling to spill into him.

If tonight was all you had, then you would take it and press it to memory.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged/untagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!***

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TagList:

@chaneajoyyy @caplover22 @kikimiyazaki @bellaamor88 @toniilaney @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @ajspencer1892 @ashanti-notthesinger @90sinspiredgirl @titty-teetee @evemej @areubeingserved @theskullgoddess @caramara3 @champagnesugamama @minton131 @pananegra @scoop93535 @try-n-pronounce-it @momobaby227 @alyxkbrl @dumbchick @behindthesehazeleyes27 @blackmissfrizzle @chris-butt @nervousninjatheorist @give-me-a-million-dollars-pls @swinchestersgirl @angrybirdcr @d1ff3r3nt-b34uty-official @twinx007 @a-dizzle777 @ab-baybay @patzammit @anandalambert @kreolemami @aysha1447 @cutewylie @disaster-rose @wondersofdreaming @lo-cheu @livinglifeformemyselfandi @magdelen69 @snowpiercer21 @renfrewscorner @thevelvetseries @mery-be @hakunalive4eva @lovebittenbyevans @piscesgyalinit

@youurkryptonite @mizcaptainphoenix @bobbdylann @amennariee @emilykjh @littlepreciousangel @ssaarroonn @thummbelina @sweetlittlegingy @art-estrange @torntaltos @rynabarnesrogers @rororo06 @coldmuffinbanditshoe @likesfairytales @anotherblackfangirl @bernie-k @deathstroke-terminated-deez-guts @theonewithherheadintheclouds @hista-girl @thejemersoninferno @jennmurawski13 @mrsbarnes- rogers @maxcullen @shadyskit @itsallyscorner @someone-really-bored @cristinagronk16 @shakemeupthanks-blog @productofchina @acciolove724 @straightforwardly @zsuzstyina @acevansss @amelatonin @evansgirl7 @vintageembrace @maverickabull @almosttherebutnot @jd-now-jq @periodtcevans @est1887 @deadlymistress24 @thotti3par7on @sunkissedebony97 @turn-thy-paige @nerdybitchpudding

@priya212 @sadishdelray @jesseswartzwelder @pivictorious @anat2507 @raveviolet @rdjparker @actorinfluence @sadishdelray @ljstraightnochaser @winterboobear11 @awaywithtime @evermcfearless @tashawar @dwights-new-plague @renfrewscorner @euphoric05 @baby-iyania @041802 @marvelatthis30 @martinafigoli @spxcecxramxl @brownskinafro @ani808 @creolemami @queenwinchester2 @dragonballluver @kailyndavillier @thelilbutifulthings @problackasfwilson @miss-jackson500 @ibe-erynn @mizzzpink @thejeneralvicinity @siempremamita @theladybiers @literaturefeen @richonne4life @scifi-fantasist @tenaciousperfectionunknown

@disconectedswift @i-lie-here-charmed @bamakakechick @chuckbass-love @captainchrisstan @dragonballluver @buchanansebba @timotheessoleil @onetwo3000 @letsdothemonstermash @euh-say-what-now @dragonballluver @myakai13 @jillanaholland @queenwinchester2 @likesfairytales @kemkem101 @cessamjrmr @letsdothemonstermas @blackmissfrizzle @melanicia @badkittybang @queenwinchester27@chrisevansfanfic @jd-now-jq @doublesidedscoobysnacks @sophiealiice @mirmirmur @redhairedfeistynerd @nico-diangelo-grey @amazonian-strap-queen @imaslutforcaptainamerica @ibe-erynn @wintermoons @tstark-94 @shining---h somethin @cookinggurl43 @shar74nett @deadpixie22 @jasmindaughteroftheworld @smediumsmeatbae @letsdothemonstermash @almosttherebutnot @mauvecherie @blackgurlkillinit @madixii @guardian-tn @sohalia01@xoxloaveasre @lickmymelaninn @crist121 @jovanaprime @tashawar @rainbowkisses31 @live-laugh-love-ki @wonderlandfandomkingdom @partypoison-00 @rynabarnesrogers-reading@danna-wana

@queenoftheworldisdead @reveviolet @pretendlifeisnormal @dragonballluver @southerngracela @fanfictionaffair @sullyosully @naturalthrone22 @kittykatlow @peggyslegion @readerforwocfics @almosttherebutnot @yourroyalthickness @beccacupcakesxo @rhyrhy462 @littlepreciousangel @queenshikongo3 @simply-heaven @chezdricks @mangos4u@toni9 @cltex84 @petty-bitch-akira @buchanansebba @cevans-fics @ukmkhan @littleheavensangel2 @niquemorris @pretendlifeisnormal @liquorlaughslove @derogatorylanguage @leopardandpink @chuckbass-love @sweetst24 @imaslutforcaptainamerica @offrostandstarlight @jillanaholland @musicallyinclinedthings

@ramp-it-up @october505 @k347 @liquorlaughslove @thotti3evans @reignandrain @shar74nett @littlebabexdebby @laricebabe @est1887 @songtoyou @disconnectedswift @msblkfire84 @bforbbgirl @acciolove724 @shipatheart @captainchrisstan @ramp-it-up @brownskinafro @jhayes6984 @badbo1-evans @ak329 @msblkfire84 @jovanaprime @poshgirl2 @marvelatthis30 @cleopatra-knowles @littlepreciousangel @youremysuperstar @alookintohersoul @xsweetdellzx @cxmfort @i-just-like-fanfics @storiestoldbyjazz @jennmurawski13 @imthewarmpenguininthemiddle @helenasmirkedno @labella420 @roseasweet @jovanaprime @6lackfiction @chezdricks @krrose3 @parkker-barrnes @lilac-tea-time @elisaboricua

@secretswiftymarvelfan @kaiya-ch4n @zeelmol @maeleeme @7soulstars @talley84 @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss @kalesrebellion @msblkfire84 @queenshikongo3 @tantricevans @harrypotheadnerd @mrs-captain-evans @cevans-fics @pretendlifeisnormal @tenaciousperfectionunknown @fanfictionaffair @blackgurlkillinit @cessamjrmr @sarswilltakeyouout @basicchelsea @denisemarieangelina @keytodespair @dontbescaredtosingalong @kenequa @enthusiastic-french-toast @yinx1 @why-wait-4-eventually @gardenwonders2 @sweetlikecoffy @deepintothenature @dillie60 @ivorylei @lolabelle757 @sophiaedits

@evans-sims @dontbescaredtosingalong @nunya7394 @ivorylei @deepintothenature @heroine-of-color

#starcrossed: hft fic #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x ofc #professor x college student #college fanfiction #black fanfiction #chris evans smut #starcrossed 1

225 notes · View notes

38sr · 2 years ago

Note

#industryQs

What do you think should be in a animation or storyboard portfolio? Like should it be project base or a general portfolio? I’m struggling trying to find out what I should put in mines - Oort Anon

Ooooh! So when it comes to making a portfolio the most important advice I've taken away was the following: • Make it easy to find your work and contact you

• Curate your work to the job you are applying for

• Showcase strong foundation skills

• Do not be afraid to create samples that speak to what fulfills you creatively as an artist Point 1: I think this is self-explanatory. Make sure your website, portfolio blog or whatever is easy to find for recruiters and always make sure your contact information is included. A lot of people miss this step and it's the #1 thing recruiters look for when looking at potential hires. Point 2: Curating your work. Now I understand you might think, "If I show that I can do multiple things then that will widen my chances of landing a job." This isn't the wrong line of thinking (will explain in part 2) but on the recruiters' end it might be confusing for them to discern what you want to do. In 2D TV animation, there really isn't a generalist role (in 3D there might be). So it's best to clearly broadcast the specific skills you have for a specific job so recruiters can place you into a production easier. So if you want to be a board artist, focus on a good storyboard portfolio. It would be confusing for them to get a board artist applicant and then review a portfolio that isn't storyboards or is just a hodgepodge of different skills not pertaining to storyboards. Part 2 of Point 2: So while I do suggest you should focus on one thing rather than a generalist portfolio, there are cases of industry professionals in having portfolios with multiple disciplines (I am one of those people). So if you want to do 2 disciplines I think that's fine since I do the same...but from what I've learned working in these studios is that it's just easier for recruiters to know instantly what you are going for if you're trying to break in. As you gain more experience in the industry and learn more about the pipeline, it does become easier for you to try out different jobs when those opportunities arise. For example if you're a board artist who wants to try BG design, you can ask to join a design breakdown meeting or ask the art director to see what kind a tests are given to potential hires for the BG design team. Those are few ways you can start to learn/try different jobs in the pipeline while also getting a better understanding of the full scope of an animated production. It's one of those situations where once you get over the first hurdle (breaking in), it's easier to jump over the next hurdle and so on. Point 3: Gosh, this is probably the second most thing I suggest when it comes to portfolios. Foundation skills make you a more versatile artist and you will be able to adapt quickly to any production (regardless of its visual style). And I don't just only mean anatomy, color theory, perspective and such. I'm also talking about staging, screen direction, composition, acting and cinematic language. Showcasing that you have a strong understanding of both set of skills makes your portfolio stand out more. You provide your team a strong foundation (haha get it) that they can work with and build off from that making it easier for you to adapt to the show and work on your assignments. Point 4: "So what kind of boards should I make then?" Make samples for genres you would love to work on! If you want to work in comedy, make comedy boards. If you want to work on a show similar to ATLA, make an action adventure board. If you love a type of storytelling, make samples of that! It's also good to showcase you can work in multiple genres but what catches eyes most is when you create work about things you are genuinely passionate about. Don't be afraid to make a sample about your own personal stories (I did that and that's how I got selected for the Nick Artist Program). A lot of people in this industry love to see original ideas. And it doesn't have to be some grand epic. It can be a short scene, no more than 200 panels (unless it's like a chase sequence or something). Give them a little golden nugget and make them ask for more. Showcase who you are as an artist and what stories you not only want to work on but also stories you want to make. Woof that was a lot. I hope this was helpful and it answered your question!

#ask #anon #send #industry qs #animation industry #storyboarding #portfolios #how did i not hit the word limit

50 notes · View notes

alfredosauce50 · 3 years ago

Text

The anatomy of the obsessed artist [2p! Italy x reader]

Synopsis: You have the golden opportunity to display your art at a newly opened gallery. Nobody stops to look at your work until an eccentric connoisseur praises it, even asking you if he can buy it. Touched and fascinated by his personality, you agree to meet him over coffee. Now that he’s no stranger, he keeps inviting you over to his lavish estate until he realizes it’s not the art he’s so obsessed with. It’s the artist. Wordcount: 3, 686 The reader is referred to as she/her. “Nihilism represented a crude form of positivism and materialism, a revolt against the established social order; it negated all authority exercised by the state, by the church, or by the family.” - Encyclopedia of Britannica

“It's hideous.” He murmured, his eyes narrowed with contempt. They were a hot magenta hue, quick-moving and critical of everything they fixed on. How much he wished to say he was standing back to admire a masterpiece. Tossing his paintbrush into the kitchen sink with a sigh, he sauntered to the couch and plummeted down on it.

A loud clang was heard, but it never fazed his companion, who barely dodged the trajectory of the brush. “Oh, really?” They snorted. “It looks the same as every other painting you've done.”

He whipped his head to him and glared.

“Like you'd have an eye for these things, Lutz.”

Said man gave a shrug. This was probably the hundredth time they had this conversation, so he could practically predict what Luciano was about to say—and how he would wind up listening unwillingly to his passionate spiels.

“Just listen to me speak for once.”

Lutz scoffed and poured himself a hot cup of coffee. “Here we go again...” He grumbled with a distinct droop to his features.

Rolling his head back to the pristine, white ceiling, Luciano threw his hands up in emphasis. “It's the only damn thing that gives this room some color. I need to do better, Lutz. Otherwise, I'll tear this whole place down!” Even then, his animated movements were minuscule compared to the tall walls that surrounded him.

The other sipped on his mug. “If you're so stuck—” He smacked his lips. “—how about going to the new art gallery downtown? Anything to get you to shut up.” Lutz grinned at that, half-expecting him to launch a few throwing knives his way. But he never did. Instead, he jumped up and extended an index to point at him accusingly.

“You think you're so smart, huh, cazzo? Well, I might just go. Just to prove you wrong.” Grabbing his coat hanging over the couch, he threw it on and marched downstairs. As the echoes of his footsteps faded, he gave one final reckoning. “You can't rush art, dumbass! I'll turn the place upside down, and I still won't find anything worth my time.”

The volume of his thoughts had never been so loud. It was the only thing he heard in this quiet institution during its downtime. Nobody was around, save for him, but that allowed him to ramble to himself--whatever he was staring at, it was everything he had been looking for.

“This was definitely worth my time.” He muttered with a pistol grip on his chin. As he scanned over the canvas to take in the brushstrokes, he shook his head. “I hate to think he said something smart for once.” They were so violent, yet so gentle. A unique balance of nihilism and faith. Reaching up to his dark maroon hair, he dug through it and laughed in awe. “This is magnificent. Bellisima!”

“I hope you mean what you say, sir. That means a lot to me.” He turned to the voice ended up gawking at a woman. As he processed the words, he was at a loss for his own.

“Oddio--you don't mean you painted this, do you, signorina?”

She nodded coyly, much to his delight.

“Mhm. The name on the label is mine.”

At the sound of that, he gleamed and took both her hands into his own. “How much?”

She blinked, unsure of whether she heard him correctly. Was he offering to buy her work? “Sorry?”

“How much do you want for your painting? I'll pay you handsomely. One grand. Ten grand. However much you desire! I just need this in my living room. Whatever you ask for, it's a done deal!”

In your short career, you never imagined capturing someone's attention so passionately with your work. Your initial impression of the man was a rich art collector of some kind--an eccentric enthusiast--and not a connoisseur by any means. He even dressed the part, having adorned himself in a loose, silky blouse with a coat tied around his waist. His fashion was flashy and exuded confidence, though nothing else could have suited his personality.

As you talked to him over a coffee, however, it became clear to you he was much more than that.

“I've never seen somebody use color like that! You must've done lots of practice to get that good, eh?” He mused, watching you light up at his praise. There was no denying the sincerity in his voice, so you couldn't help being drawn to him and his zeal. “I'll be honest with you, bella. I'm not letting you run off before we settle on something.”

He could tell from the way you leaned in so subtly, never once breaking your eye contact as you listened to him. And knowing this did wonders--he slowly found himself drawn to you.

“Thank you, Luciano. I'm really flattered, but I can't just sell it to you. It's part of the gallery now.” You smiled gently, curling your fingers around the cup handle. Even as you sipped on your beverage, your gaze on him never faltered. And before you could catch any disappointment on his part, you waved your hands at him.

“I don't mean anything by it, honestly. I'm glad that you understand what I'm trying to say--like, you could've interpreted it completely differently. I wouldn't be able to stop you, either. But the fact that you didn't...” He followed you attentively with those sharp and mysterious orbs, but you were strangely comfortable under his scrutiny.

“Maybe we have similar minds.”

The man had been studying you as you spoke. While he did, this one, singular thought occurred to him. There was nothing in the world he loved more in the world than being heard.

“Hearing you talk is the same as being listened to,” Luciano admitted with a small laugh. Deep inside, he knew Lutz always listened. Unwillingly, that was. But being heard and understood was another story. “You take the words right out of my mouth, bella. I don't know how you do it, but you have to stop reading my mind. It's invasive.” He darted his eyes over your expression that morphed into dumbfoundedness--which served as a prelude for embarrassment.

So he couldn't help but smile flirtatiously. “Take me out to dinner first. Only then will I let you finish my sentences.”

You furrowed your brows together, but his smile was far too contagious to be staved off. The end result was an endearingly stupid face that was a cross between a frown and a grin. “Does lunch count then, you impossible little man? I mean, it's around noon.”

He shook his head, amused. Luciano expected you to pull away, but it seemed like he bit off more than he could chew. You were a handful. He was never a fan of handfuls or really anything that required his energy, but he'd be damned if this was the last time he saw you.

“But seriously, (F/N). I need your paintings. And it doesn't have to be something you've already painted.” Standing up at that, he neared your side lowered himself to your level. He settled a hand on your shoulder, much to your surprise. But you never tried to pull away. “I want you to paint for me at my place. I'll do whatever it takes. I'll drink my weight in this mediocre coffee if I have to.”

With his intoxicating personality, all he needed was a few more espressos to do the convincing.

“I can tell from your taste that you're pretty nihilistic.” You commented with a hint of disbelief. “But this is just crazy! What do you even do for a living?” All the expensive decor and extravagance of his stupidly large mansion must have costed a fortune! Lifting your head to take in the sheer size and height of his living room, you then shot him an incredulous look. “Well? I'm curious.”

Luciano leaned against the couch and folded his arms. “Oh, you don't want to know, trust me.” He grinned devilishly.

“What, are you in the mafia or something?” You joked.

He craned his head from right to left.

“Eh. Something like that.”

You blinked, not expecting him to be so frank. Then, you laughed sheepishly, suddenly feeling as if you've walked right into a trap. “... Are you serious?” The man sensed your uneasiness and walked over promptly. Before you could react, he held your arm, but it was much too gentle to stir any panic.

“Don't worry. Nobody would go after an artist I hired.” He leaned in to keep you hostage to his piercing eyes. The close proximity only heightened the tension you didn't know existed. What he said next, however, would have you blushing like a bride. “To have a target on your head means you're a liability. So unless we were an item--”

He smiled contently at the sight of your reddening cheeks. “--nothing will happen.”

Fortunately, your mortification was short-lived as you remembered your circumstances. Giving him a light shove, you walked off to his hallway. While your back was turned to him, he bit back a sharp grin, but to no avail. Man, were you feisty.

“Stop being such a womanizer and show me your studio, Luciano.” You mused, pausing in the doorway to glance at him over your shoulder. Was that playfulness he saw in your eyes?

“It isn't very professional.”

He hung his head and threw his hands up. Being scolded and ordered around was his worst pet peeve. But when you did it, he was only more compelled to misbehave.

“Mi dispiace. But I was only kidding. If I was part of the mob, my windows wouldn't be this big. Nor this abundant.” Making his way to your side, he walked with you to the said studio.

“And Luciano is a bit of a mouthful, no? You call me Luci.”

Unbeknownst to the two of you, someone else had entered the kitchen to pour themselves a drink. And boy, were they in for a show.

“You got it, boss. You call the shots.” A voice spoke in a gravely-exaggerated mobster accent.

“You're milking it...”

“I'm just joking, Luci. Let me have this moment.”

“Fine. Maybe I should've kept pretending. That'll get you to be a little more obedient.”

“And where's the fun in that?”

“Hmph.”

Lutz narrowed his eyes once the voices faded into silence. And he thought he hated being called Luci.

A mischievous smirk plastered across his face.

“Looks like somebody's found their inspiration.”

A few hours later, he appeared in the studio with a canned beer in hand. Even in such a lavish estate, no form of entertainment could beat pestering an old friend. Waltzing inside like he owned the place, he grinned toothily at what he saw. You and Luciano were busy working on a painting. But rather than using brushes, you both used your fingers.

“Hey.”

Luciano glanced at him and immediately felt the beginnings of anger simmer inside. “What do you want?”

Lutz laughed breathily. “Heh. No knives today?”

“If you don't get out, there will be!” The other whisper-shouted.

You stopped painting and turned to the newcomer with nothing short of curiosity. “... Hi. Are you Luci's henchman?” The joke was probably long dead, but you couldn't resist. Not when the stranger was built on six feet of pure muscle. “Nice to meet you.”

So this was the mysterious artist who managed to tame the bastard, huh? Lutz flattened his lips thoughtfully. “... In a way.”

“No, he's not. Now, get out. Your presence is ruining the mood... And killing my brain cells.” At the sound of that, you exploded into a burst of hearty laughter. Seeing Luciano push him out and leave colorful handprints on his tank only intensified those laughs. Once he managed to get his henchman out of the room, he whipped his head to you with a flustered glare.

“What's so funny?” He frowned. For one, he was rather taken aback at how he wasn't annoyed at you. At all. If someone like Lutz pushed their luck by teasing him, there would be more than one scar marring that punchable face of his.

“Nothing, nothing. I just thought... Maybe we could ask for his top and sell it. That was definitely a masterpiece.” You sighed, catching him off guard yet again. “It's the best work you've done today...”

The blush on his face deepened. A comment like that should've ticked him off, but he only found himself thoroughly infatuated. But that was preposterous! He was only letting this slide because you weren't that German bastard of a bum. That had to be it. But no matter what you did, he didn't have a single mean bone in his body for you. And he was about to test that theory.

“If you thought that was a masterpiece, I'll make you some more.” Marching over and undoing your apron, he wiped his fingers all over your once crisp white shirt. Looking down with a gasp, you weren't prepared for him to clap your cheeks and leave two brown handprints.

“You bitch!”

In his whole life surrounded by the worst potty-mouths, himself included, he'd never heard somebody cuss with so much sincerity. So the most logical reaction was to return the favor, if not be a little annoyed. But even as you ruined his blouse, which happened to be more expensive than everything in the room, he was cackling hysterically.

By the time you both calmed down, he had settled his chin atop your head and wrapped two arms around your neck. The paint on his face was drying up, but he was in no hurry to wash it off. Giving you a squeeze, he leaned down and pressed his cheek to yours. “You're coming tomorrow, aren't you?”

“Mhm.”

“And the day after that?”

“I don't see why not.”

“Then what about the day after that?”

You faced him and pinched his cheek affectionately, but he never complained. “If I was, what's the point of leaving, hm? I have something on that day, but I'll update you.”

Standing up at that, you felt his arms slide off of your shoulders. Luciano pulled away reluctantly, and as you left his studio, he found himself trailing after you against his own will. As quiet as he was, inside, he was tearing himself apart, torn between asking you to stay in the guest room and driving you home. But in the end, he got in the car.

Once he arrived outside your house, his body acted out unexpectedly when he shot his hand out to grab yours. The sudden contact startled you, though you could only gleam at his paint-smeared face that stifled back a thousand words. “What, do you miss me that much already?” You chuckled, much to his pleasure.

“You're just missing me too less.” He closed his eyes for a satisfied look. When he opened them again, he added this. “I'll pick you up here. Same spot. 9 am. If you don't show up in five minutes, I'll break inside and pull you out of bed.” Only then did he let you go.

“You got it, boss.”

With that said, you waved at him and made your way inside. Once the door clicked shut, he returned his gaze to the dashboard and shook his head with a defeated smile. “Oh my god.”

When he climbed the flight of stairs to appear next to the kitchen, the hiss of an espresso machine was heard. Rolling his head to it absently, he dropped his keys on the island and dug his hands through his sticky hair. Without addressing the blonde, who took an obvious interest in his disheveled appearance, he sauntered to the couch and flopped down on it.

“... Luciano.”

“What do you want?” He muffled his voice into the cushion.

Lutz walked over with a mug in hand and sipped it. Pointing to his own face, he swirled his index in circles. “You have a little something there.” When the other rolled his head to him, so did their colorful face.

The next two days saw steady progress in the project he paid you to do. While the painting moved closer to completion, he cared less and less about the finished product. At the same time, his eagerness for you to come grew exponentially. He could never admit it, but that didn't mean Lutz couldn't see right through him.

A single glance at him working in the studio was more than enough to deduce the conclusion that he was hopelessly head over heels for you. For one, it wasn't right to say he was even working anymore. Instead, he was staring at you, and sometimes, for twenty minutes or more if you were particularly immersed in your art.

This was only confirmed in due time.

Trotting downstairs to the cellar, he discovered that over ten bottles of wine had disappeared. And the culprit promptly made an appearance when he returned to the living room. Luciano was holding an empty bottle when they bumped into each other, the contact on his shoulder causing him to drop it. When it shattered on the marble floor, so did his patience.

“What the fu--watch where you're going, you fucking idiot!” He hissed, giving the other a strong shove back.

Beer fizzed out of the can and splashed onto his white tank. Lutz couldn't care less about ruining his clothes, but wasting beer? He pulled back with a growl. “I could say the same for you. I'm not the stumbling drunk here cuz' I can actually hold my weight.”

Luciano rolled his eyes and inhaled a deep breath.

“You know what, just leave me alone.” He huffed, kicking the shards on the ground. Once he scattered the glass all over the hall, he stormed off to his studio. Letting out a frustrated string of colorful words, he tore through more canvases than he cared to count. Punching a hole in one, then using another as target practice, half of the artwork was completely destroyed by the time Lutz showed up.

“I don't get it! Why am I so angry? Why can't I paint something like this?” Luciano exasperated, gesturing forcefully to the painting you were working on. Then, he marched up to the man and gripped the front of his tank. “Am I just that shit? But that can't be!”

At this point, Lutz was done with arguing.

“... You know what I'm about to say.”

Luciano threw his hands up as they chorused the same line simultaneously. “It looks the same as every other painting you've done--yeah, I know! I didn't really expect you to give me any useful advice. I just wanted you to listen to me.”

“Don't I always listen to you?”

“No--”

“Wasn't it me who suggested for you to go to that art gallery?”

“Yeah, but it's not like--it's not like you knew she was gonna show up! (F/N) being there only happened once in a blue moon. You were just lucky, so don't think you're a genius or anything, ha!”

Lutz scoffed, but his unimpressed expression quickly morphed into a shrewd one. “Accept it, liebling. You're down bad. Down astronomically. Just invite her over, and when she comes, you'll know what I mean. It's not the paintings you're making a fuss over.” He watched Luciano's hair spike up like a cat, then him light up like a Christmas tree. That little man was many things, but an honest person was not one of them.

“You think you're so smart, huh, cazzo?” Luciano pointed at him accusingly. “Well, I might just do it. Just to prove you wrong.”

When he left, Lutz clicked his tongue with raised brows.

“That's what you said last time...”

And invite you over he did. When he spotted a silhouette on the other side of the blurry glass, he sprung up from the couch and swung open the door with great gusto. There you were, as effortlessly charming as he remembered, and a little startled. You never had the chance to knock, nor process his scruffy appearance.

“Luci--hey! You look... A little more tired than I remember.”

Without a shred of hesitation, he grabbed your hand and pulled you to his bedroom. Yet again, his body was acting against his will, but perhaps, this was what he wanted in the first place. He just never admitted it. As he slowly came to terms with it, his eyes widened to dinner plates, and his heart pounded obnoxiously in his chest.

“Hey, what're you--”

He pointed wordlessly to the bed.

You shook your head, unable to figure out what he meant. “What do you want me to do?”

Luciano glowered at you, but it served as a stark contrast to the softness in his voice. “I'll pay you. As much as you want. Just stay there.” Seeing that you had yet to go along with his requests, he marched over to you and laid you down. Before you could object, he threw the blanket over you and tucked you in.

Sliding himself in from the other side, he scooted in and coiled his arms around your stomach. “Now, sleep.”

Breathing out a soft sigh, you rolled to him and brushed his mussy bangs back. “For someone so straightforward, you're not very honest, are you?” Sitting up to unzip your jacket, you proceeded to take your shirt off. When you stripped down, blood rushed to flush his cheeks as he came to realize he was completely love-struck.

“... Holy shit.”

Climbing onto his lap, you laughed over his lips and squeezed his neck. “You're really bad at hiding things. But like you said, I can read your mind.”

Luciano knitted his brows together. Then, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your mouth. “And it's very invasive. Please stop it.”

“Only if you promise to pay me in the morning.”

“... You're not a prostitute.”

“Oh, but you are one too. We're all whores, if you think about it. We just sell different parts of ourselves.”

“Go to sleep, idiota.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

#hetalia fanfiction #hetalia fanfic #hetalia x reader #x reader #reader insert #xreader #2ptalia #2p! italy x reader #2pitaly #2p italy x reader #2p!italyxreader #2p hetalia #hetalia world series #aph #axis powers hetalia #request #ask answered #alfredosauce50

151 notes · View notes

taofarren · 3 years ago

Text

Tina The Cortina

It was December in Cape Town and the South African president decided to surprise us with the gift of additional lockdown restrictions. Alcohol was banned, and spending time on the beach or sea in any capacity was suddenly highly illegal.

With our surf plans turned on their head, my girlfriend, Renske, and I decided to head in the opposite direction of the forbidden ocean, and celebrate New Years Eve in the Cape wine lands. It had been a debate in my mind between taking my mom’s plastic, yet reliable car, and returning before she got home from holiday the next week, or taking Tina, my 1969 canary yellow Ford Cortina, and having the freedom of cruising home when we wanted to. We chose risk, pleasure and freedom!

Renske had always accepted my car without too many questions, but during this particular trip she teased me each time we drove up the smallest hill. “Babe, are you sure we can make it up this one?”.

Of course I defended Tina the Cortina loyally. For a 52 year old lady, she had taken me on many successful adventures, and could surely handle a slow cruise to the wine lands. I was almost offended that Renske was teasing her. It didn’t cross my mind that it came from a place of real concern.

Half way through the journey I realised this was my longest trip Tina and I had taken in the three glorious years we had spent together.

My previous car had packed out after surviving me through the madness of my late teens. There were only terrible replacement options available within my very limited budget at the time. A ridiculously bright yellow car constantly popped up within the Gumtree search results, and I browsed the pictures as a joke. Yellow was my least favourite colour, and I wouldn’t dream of having a car that obnoxiously bright. Curiosity, and lack of a better option lead me to a test drive with the owner in Grassy Park. Despite my terrible driving and constant stalling of the old clutch, I instantly fell in love.

Just the feeling of sitting in the car felt so right. There is instantly a connection when driving a machine that old. The low seat, the thin steering wheel, having to throw my entire body weight into each turn of the power steering-less wheel. This was a real car. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew I had to have her.

We agreed on a straight swap. His keys for mine at the traffic department. As happy as I was, I was too scared to tell my parents. In our initial chats about potential new cars, they shot down any idea of something classic and dangerous. I knew she was exactly the match that they were dreading, and I hid her from them until it had truly sunk in, and there was no turning back for me. They had to meet and accept her whether they liked her or not.

Even though she caused my mothers head to shake in disappointment, everywhere else she went, people would whip their heads around and smile. Whether a passenger or an observer, it instantly made you happier.

From the beginning, this car was surrounded by an invisible force-field of love. This came in handy, as rather stupidly, I think I only wore the stiff seatbelt a handful of times.

1969 must have been a time of minimal accidents, as this particular model had no headrests, and there was no such thing as an emergency stop. Stopping would require you to jump on the brake about 30 metres in advance. Surprisingly (most probably due to the colour), I never had a single accident other than driving very slowly into a few walls.

Contrary to popular belief, owning a classic car is not about self-image, and in this case, most definitely not a “chick magnet”. To most women it was just an old yellow car. Once they had their photo for Instagram, the reality of the journey would set in, and it would be a true test of their level of “maintenance”.

It was in fact more of an old man magnet. Or rather every man. From the day I got her, old men asked me complicated questions about her regularly. I learnt about her anatomy by rushing home to Google what on earth they had asked me.

Almost every day I had offers to buy her. Even though these were mostly from car guards, petrol attendants, and a few times from a persistent garbage truck driver, I would obligingly take down their numbers, knowing I would never sell her. I knew that Tina enjoyed the attention and got the ego boost she deserved.

I wasn’t the only one to feel an emotional pull. It seemed to be the car that many people’s parents had, and seeing it triggered fond memories of their youth.

I was once approached timidly approached by an elderly lady who I mistook for a Jehovah’s witness:

“Excuse me!”.

“Good morning?” I enquired, squinting up at her, while flashing my most realistic, fake smile. She stooped in closer - Her wide eyes magnified by thick glasses, grey hair exploding out from underneath a Christian hat.

“Did you know that my mother had this car when I was younger?”

She blinked at me expectantly.

I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to have known that, but I decided to humour her.

“Uh…. Good memories?”

She leaned in closer with a crooked grin;

“Yes… especially on the back seat!”

She giggled and walked off with a vacant smile

A few days later, the memory of that lady’s grin still fresh in my mind, a beggar at a traffic light told me that his father had the car when he was younger. Cheerfully, I responded along the same lines, saying that he must have been a great man, to which he responded:

“No, he was a horrible man”, and walked away sadly.

Despite constantly threatening to overheat in traffic, she dominated the city roads. To get across a busy intersection, I would slowly drive into the middle of the road, and people would smile and let me in, just to stare at her beautiful square bum with glassy eyes.

She had a knack with roadblocks too. On a particular incident, with the car filled with mates drinking beers after sundowners on the beach, I was pulled over with a lit joint in hand. I panicked and stalled diagonally across the road.

“Fuck fuck fuck”

I tried to casually stamp the joint out with sandy feet as the policeman walked over with a serious look on his face. Smoke hung in the sweaty interior and the beer bottles on the floor clinked to a halt as he leant down to the window.

“Excuse me sir… what year model is this?”

“Uhm,1969” I replied nervously

“Yoh, look after her hey!” He smiled as he waved us through.

One of the main reasons I had rationalised the choice of a classic car, was that I would learn about how cars actually worked, feeling so detached from my previous modern car. Over the years I learnt intimately what was possible to break in a car, as everything slowly fell apart.

Electrical faults, numerous flat tyres, the radiator exploding in the middle of a petrol station, ball joints seizing, the floor rusting through to the road, using torches as flashlights to get home at night. I got really good at putting my ego aside and asking people for help.

For summer there was definitely no air con. The beautiful black pleather seats became stove plates against your skin, and the only fan was created by the draught rushing through the holes in the bodywork.

This cooling system, so useful in summer, became a freezer in winter. Long johns, extra hoodies, a beanie and gloves were always packed in the trunk. To this day, the usually comforting sound of rain outside the window shocks me awake. I would lie in bed as it poured down, dreading the inevitable puddles filling up the car floor through these holes and the aged window seals.

Strangely enough, the lack of headrests and questionable seatbelts made me feel more alive. The constant struggle to keep the loose steering wheel in a straight line, while listening to every sound in case of a problem, forced me into complete presence.

I saw so much more while travelling slowly. It felt like a leisurely stroll while on holiday, compared to a frantic run. Even if I was late it was literally impossible to drive faster. I learnt that at this point, it wouldn’t help to stress. Pushing the car further than its current 90 km/h top speed would most probably result in something breaking or flying off. I was forced to relax and enjoy myself in every situation.

Every ride, no matter how short, felt like an adventure, a real road trip. Each time I arrived at my destination, I was overcome with gratitude for having accomplished a magnificent feat.

On the streets I was instantly respected. I would pull up to traffic lights next to the latest luxury cars in elite places like Bantry Bay, and have the driver wind down his window to tell me how much he loved my car. When I’d ask them to swap, they would chuckle and zoom off while I tried not to stall.

We also received major street “cred” within the more alternative communities. This came in most useful when working on a documentary with the Ocean View Spinners, a community who passionately (and illegally) spun their cars until their tyres burst. I eventually realised it was safe to park inside the actual spinning parking lot, and upon seeing Tina for the first time, their perception of me shifted. Even though I refused their offers to spin her, I became one of them.

I was invited to an event in a township in Paarl to shoot one of their sessions. When we met at sunrise, their car was too full to take me, as it was a big family affair. The young pit crew boys fought over who would join me in my car for the journey, and eventually all piled in. Their excitement and pride of just being a passenger in Tina filled me with an ovewhelming sense of gratitude as we cruised past the grannies of Fish Hoek main road. A white boy driving while they hung out the window, hooting and hollering to their rap music blaring from a portable speaker.

At the Lavender Hill traffic lights, a notorious crime hotspot, the fun spluttered out along with the engine. Dead. In the worst place possible. Literally a bright yellow sitting duck with doors that couldn’t lock, and a boot full of camera gear. Even though they were the pit crew for the spin car, they were youngsters, and didn’t have any tools or the right knowledge. Internal panic kicked in as I ran through unrealistic solutions in my head. My internal spinning was interrupted by someone pulling in behind us. Sweating, I reached for the locking mechanism that didn’t exist on this model. Hijacking clearly wasn’t a problem in 1969 either It was a member of the Ocean View spinners convoy and most importantly, a mechanic.

They all crowded into the bonnet and fiddled until she begrudgingly returned to life. A few hundred metres of relief, before another cut out. Another stressed session of heads crammed together and hundreds of theories thrown around before we were back on our way.

During the event in Paarl, I was so overwhelmed by the deafening sound and smell of the cars being whipped around the “pitch”, that I completely forgot about my own car troubles. As the sun began to dip, it was advised that we leave the township and start the long drive home. Tina was towed out in amongst the traffic jam of exhausted spin cars and we started the painful process of resuscitation. The Spinners were just as tired as the cars, but they kept their patience with the old lady. An eventual tow-start and I was instructed to not let her cut out, whatever I do. No stops allowed on the hour long journey home.

Night shortly fell, and as we rattled along the road, one of the headlight fuses bumped out of place. The two headlights in their full glory hardly lit Tina’s path, now we were reduced to a single headlight. I couldn’t risk stopping to re-adjust it as I was sure she would cut out wherever she rested. I tuned out the passengers as they animately debated the events of the day, and zoned into the sound of her unhappy engine. We had lost the rest of the convoy on the highway, and this time I didn’t even want to contemplate what would happen if we broke down in the middle of nowhere in the dark. I stressed us the whole way back to Ocean View, and as soon as we turned into the road and Tina saw our destination, she cut out.

This time she was done for the day, and nothing would bring her back to life. After everything she had been through that day, she had to spend the night in Ocean View. I got a lift home from the spinning crew, and arriving without a car, and a black face full of tyre particles, I wasn’t quite sure how to explain the day to my family. “Good, thanks” had to do.

After a few weeks of rehabilitation, Tina was returned by a mechanic in Ocean View but still wouldn’t run properly. For more than a month she sat in the winter rain, while I desperately tried to figure out what parts she needed, and from where I could source them. Because she was so old, it was difficult to find someone that understood her.

She sat there limp and lifeless. My only form of freedom in those lockdown months, dead without much hope.

I eventually found the part that would get her moving and to Uncle Wasief, the world’s most reliable mechanic. He delivered the news that it had finally come to the crucial moment we had both been expecting: Very soon, I had to either let her go, or give her a complete makeover.

He fixed her up as best as he could until then, and we were temporarily back in action.

That day, I made a promise to her to give her the love she needed. I wouldn’t just take from her, but would listen to her requests.

I had all the windows and seats fixed, all the little odds and ends that I had previously dismissed as “character” and saved the quoted amount for a full restoration. She would be booked in at the end of January.

Over the howl of the wind though the holes, the disappointing sound of the portable speaker’s battery dying, brought me back to Renske, and our current journey to the wine lands As we arrived in Franschhoek, I think we both let out a secret sigh of relief, happy that we had made the right choice after all.

After a peaceful week of unnaturally green grass and far too much bootlegged wine, it was time to return to the city, reality, and the new year. As usual we were running late. This time for the last available Covid test appointment before Renske flew to Kenya for a job. If Tina travelled at full speed with no stops, we could just make it to the appointment on time.

The impressively spacious boot, as well as every other surface of the back seat, was crammed to full capacity We had both of our lives packed into the car: Camera gear, laptops, and weeks worth of clothing.

Driving down the first hill and taking in the beauty of the passing vineyards one last time, Renske abruptly turned to me: “Hey man, I think your car is smoking”.

This wasn’t completely unusual, and I attempted to sniff a few times with my hay fever impaired nose. A few metres later the engine cut out completely. She’d done many strange things, but this was certainly out of character for the old gal. We sat in silence, and heard the usually soothing sound of crackling flames, confusingly out of place on a sweaty 30 degree day.

The smell of smoke quickly formed a grey cloud as I ran around to the bonnet, lifting it to reveal a healthy fire. Right in the middle of my engine bay.

��Uhhhmmm…”

Renske hopped out as my brain struggled to compute the next step.

The only knowledge I have of burning cars is from action movies, where they quickly explode in a ball of fire. The passengers are generally running away, or flying through the air in slow motion. Sometimes both. Not interested in the flying option, we started to grab all our bags, and run them up the hill.

During each frantic trip, we tried to figure out which bags were the most important, as we took them higher and higher. If we can only grab a few bags before it explodes, what do we take? My beach umbrella rolled down the hill and my toothbrush flew through the air as unzipped bags vomited our lives out.

“Tao, your laundry!”

Your mind gets a bit muddled under that life or death pressure, and you start to ask yourself important questions about attachment. I was aware that Renske kept running back for random things that seemed unnecessary, yet I couldn’t help worrying about Sunny, the dashboard Hula girl.

After the toothbrush was successfully rescued, Renske remembered that her laptop was right in the front near the flames. Without a second thought, I sprinted to the car and grabbed it. As a video editor, my fear of losing saved work will always be far, far greater than potential death of any form.

We eventually sweated our hundreds of bags to the top of the hill and we stood to truly take it all in. It really was a beautiful sight that I will never forget. There was not a breath of wind on the perfect summer day. Plumes of smoke billowed out of the bright yellow car, framed by lines of vineyards and a perfectly still lake. Not a single part of me could feel sad while taking in such a surreal scene. The sight of this paradoxical beauty was enhanced by the anticipation of it exploding, and lighting up the nearby crops. Realising that this was not the ideal way to thank the farm owner for the lovely stay, I quickly called her up.

“Hi Ginny, quite a strange one, but my car is on fire. Ya… my car…. We were driving and it lit up…… Ya….. I was wondering if there was any chance you could please call the fire department?”

A few moments later, Francois the farm manager roared past. He barely parked before sprinting towards the burning car, wielding a fire extinguisher in each hand. In the shock, I had forgotten that I was a photographer, and I quickly grabbed my camera, and ran to join him. I was now filled with a different sense of urgency: to capture the tragedy.

A few photos, yet still no explosion as Francois and the fire extinguishers quickly snuffed out the flames. The dodgy wiring in the bonnet had reacted to some leaked oil, and everything in the engine bay was toast. The interior, which was the only part of her that hadn’t fallen apart in our love affair, was completely untouched. During her last dashboard hula dance, Sunny’s dress had been partly undone, yet not entirely removed by the flames. Her dignity was proudly intact as she obliviously continued to play her ukulele in amongst the smoke.

Once the curious farm workers cleared off, and the insurance company was notified, I found myself sitting alone with Tina’s burnt carcass in the shade of the vineyard.

Strangely enough, the only thing that came to my muddled mind was regret that we didn’t ever have sex in her extremely comfortable back seat.

Nothing could have prepared me for the many life lessons learnt by owning a classic car as my daily runner.

It’s amazing how adaptable we are as humans, and what we can overcome for love. Broken window? No problem, open the other one. It’s just how it was.

Their age allows you to understand and accept their imperfections, and this understanding leads to love and compassion.

As we all struggle to come to terms with our own constantly changing and ageing bodies, would it be possible to treat ourselves with the same level of compassion?

I was snapped out of my reverie by the tattooed tow truck drivers from Bellville arriving. A quick elbow bump and signature, and they winched her onto a flatbed truck.

I watched as she was towed away on her last ever journey; a burnt chunk of bright yellow metal to everyone she passed.

If only they knew.

Dear old Tina the Cortina . My friend, saviour, teacher and true love.

#vintagecar classiccardailyrunner storytelling creativewriting journal

6 notes · View notes

bookfreaky · 3 years ago

Text

LOVE DOING - The Analysis

Intro:

I try to never analyse my work while still working on it, because I believe that the painting must be born from an image in your head, or a feeling, and not from a concrete idea. That is the foundation of abstractionism. Then when you’re finished and you are kind of star-gazing your own work, you try to find what made you create all that, what made you use that colour or this shape. I did that and I saw that all the dots were connected in the same theme: Love.

Love as a broad concept and my experience with that. I think love is a very liquid sentiment, like water, it takes the shape of its every container you put it, but pretty much it’s still love. That same impulse is there. It can be like water also in the way it reflects the sun light, how it changes colours and distorts shapes. Love can be illusory; it can be lysergic but it can also be the answer to many simple questions in life. In its gas form it can be contagious and performative as it inhabits imagination, but it can also become solid when under pressure, just like water becomes ice under high pressures. In difficult situations, the love you feel for that person may be the only thing that keeps you going. I experienced that, and I think many people did too with so many people getting ill and dying during the Covid pandemic.

Like water it nurtures, like water it drowns. Love can be represented as a substance, like it just did, but also it persists as an action, an abstract action at so, an actual verb. In abstractionism, it’s to be said that colour is verb while shape is noun (I won’t remember to said that), for that reason I focused in this collection mainly in two colours in their variations, red and blue. Without the political branding aesthetic, red is seen in psychoanalysis as a active colour, the colour of human blood. Blue could be described as a “calmer” colour, but not so lacking in action. As Rebecca Solnit said, I quote:

“Water is colourless, shallow water appears to be the colour of whatever lies underneath it, but deep water is full of this scattered light, the purer the water the deeper the blue. The sky is blue for the same reason, but the blue at the horizon, the blue of land that seems to be dissolving into the sky, is a deeper, dreamier, melancholy blue, the blue at the farthest reaches of the places where you see for miles, the blue of distance.”

So I dedicate this four paintings to the people I love and whomever loves things, but also to all the feelings that come about with love. Some of these paintings are capable of calming me and I could keep looking at them for hours, forgetting about myself. Others make me feel angsty, uncomfortable and looking at them oblige me to think about my own existence and fear my future.

I really hope you look at the paintings before you read the whole thing, and suffer through the same. Thank you.

Love Escaping Into the Blue:

This one was the first painting I made, before I imagined it to be a collection, and it was born from the experience of decompressing love from a place of deep passion; where you are taken by this sudden and enormous sadness but also relief. I felt free, really. I read this biology paper from the Monterey Bay Aquarium, called “Light in the Deep Sea”, and it explains that there’s some uniformity of colour in the ocean animals according to how deep in the water they inhabit. Animals living in the great depths of the sea, between 6,000 and 11,000 meters deep, have commonly a very vivid red colour, but closer to the surface of the water, between 200 and 1,000 meters deep, most animals are silver and grey. That’s because in this depth the brightness of sunlight is fragmented into a blue colour, and grey reflects the blue light creating the illusion that the animal is, in fact, blue. A Blue Whale is actually grey, not blue.

[Seadevil Fish (Cryptosaras couesii), left. Blue Whale (Balaenoptera musculus), right.]

The painting shows a leak of red coming into blue and bluer space, which is this feeling of infatuation and selfish desire, possession, fear and jealousy that is very red in colour and has connotations of violence and anger, moving into a place that is not so deep in the water but clearer and wider as the open sea, illuminated by this navy-blue light. It’s like you can finally breathe and see that your love is still there, but it has changed. In hope by being closer to the atmosphere it is also somehow closer to the divine. I imagine some people might feel lost when love escapes into the blue, and I get this sensation too, but it’s about loving freely, learning how not to feel love so deeply into ourselves, but widely like the ocean.

Love Growing in the Pit of the Stomach:

When I looked at this painting in particular after it was done, I had this sensation of angst that was difficult for me to name. It’s about desire, it’s about this feeling growing inside of you that you know it will be something more than what you want, but what you need. I’ve become obsessed with the image of holes, looking like they are piercing the canvas; I think they show this emptiness I feel, like a window showing how hollow I am inside, but also, they give me this satisfying feeling by looking at them, like opening a wound and poking a bubble. I think this emptiness comes from the idea most trans women cannot take away from the back of their heads, which is if you do or do not have a “female genitalia”. Gender in our culture is very centred around genitals and biological sex, for centuries being a woman has been defined by the person who’s able to carry a man’s child. There is this little fantasy of mine where women have this little hole in them that can swallow the world. The idea of it, for me, has grown into a very real desire very much like the desire for sex. Actually, very close to sex too. But the roots growing out of the hole, in green and blue, represent pain and fear, because I’m not sure if I’m okay with the idea of having to undergo a surgical procedure to fulfil this fantasy, neither I am sure if it is a fantasy or a need.

Most of my work resembles yonic shapes (resembling the form of a vulva), either in this work or in former ones, and it’s never intentional, it sort of just slips from my subconscious. I believe that the vulva, as well as the womb, are under-shadowed symbols of power. Phallic shapes are very common in art and what-not, they are usually associated with offense and aggression. Like when school boys draw a dick on the toilet stalls as if marking their territory. The vulva, however, is never quite portrayed like that.

I read about this Japanese visual artist, Megumi Igarashi, who made several pieces of art shaped after her own vagina, including a yellow vagina-boat (which I absolutely loved) and she got arrested and fined for “obscenity”. I think that for her subversive art-form she should be considered a national hero. Many man-made constructions are phallic images, look at the Washington Obelisk, or the Eiffel Tower, but in nature we most commonly find yonic shapes, like the Grand Canyon.

There is a profound violence in desiring this, feeling as if a part of your own anatomy is lacking, but you can’t grow it naturally, you can’t do it in a god-intended way. The bright red colour represents violence and sex, and in this case both. It’s way more complicated than the concept of having kids and being a mom, it’s a lot more than to be seen as sexual beings, and sexuality, and to feel loved; it’s about symbols of power and somehow getting that denied. It’s about learning how to love this new body, a body that is foreign, infertile, obscene and unconventional. That love is hard to achieve and it is violent because women, and especially trans women, have been taught to hate their bodies.

Love Falls In The Bathroom:

This one took the longest to finish and left me with the most unsure brush-strokes, much perhaps because it isn’t based off on an idea but on a memory, on dream. In three more years I’ll be the same age my mother had and she had me, 29 years old. Somehow it feels like a looming date. Having kids and getting pregnant, specifically, have been sporadic subjects of therapy sessions – the antithesis is always the same: you are not lesser of a woman for not being able to get pregnant, you can still be a mom through other means, you are not even sure if you want kids or marriage, you can always adopt – Those answers feel reasonable, but none of them ever could appease the deep feeling of something missing in me, like something is perpetually wrong with me. Then I understood that in this painting, I was trying to evoke these feelings. Love and grief.

[My mother, pregnant with me, in the 90s.]

My friends tell me I seem to be older than I actually am, and sometimes I wonder if that’s not because I had never been a happy child. I feel like I had my childhood robbed from me. I mean, I had an okay, comfortable childhood, and a problematic teenage-hood, but I never had a girlhood. I am still grieving it. I had been assigned male at birth, I’m still grieving that too.

In July of this year, I experienced a very vivid dream, in which although short all the images and the sensations were, felt very real. I was taking a shower in my bathroom, I close off the water, wrap myself around a towel, my usual pink one, and when I’m stepping out of the shower stall I fell. I hit my right elbow against the toilet lid as I fell with my legs open in opposite directions, a sharp pain struck me under my thighs, close to my groin, and a light string of blood followed right after that. It wasn’t menstruation blood, thin and clear red, but thick and dark. It was all very quick but I knew, right then, right there, exactly everything that was happening. I was pregnant, 13 weeks, alone in the bathroom floor, surrounded by blood. I wonder how many days of my recent life, how many hours a day, I am really just sitting down alone on my bathroom’s floor surrounded by blood. I woke up and it still felt very real. I had spent the next two days very quiet, not wanting to speak to anyone. I wanted to tell someone as soon as I was back from the dream, but I couldn’t do it. I wanted to call someone, a friend, anyone, and say “I lost it. I lost my baby”. I realised then, in that post-dreamy state, that I have been silently grieving for a lot of things, things I haven’t yet allowed myself to grieve for. Things I still did not have a chance.

Love Lost In Imagination:

This one is the only one what doesn’t forecast red and blue colours, but instead in red and blue paint mixed together in a royal purple colour. It was the last one I made, and it’s the one that differs the most in shape. I like to imagine it was love in it’s gas form, vaping inside your brain like Nitrous-oxide, with white-coloured cloud shapes and yellow peacock eye-feathers. It’s about how sometimes love can only exist in imagination, how we often elaborate better scenarios in our heads, and we think “what if things were different?”. I believe to be okay to fantasize, anyway the utopia is what moves us towards a reality, but sometimes we can get lost in imagination, and in questioning the same questions over and over. “What if I hadn’t done this and done that?”; “What if I hadn’t said no?”; “What if I had stayed longer to watch that movie?”; “What if had come out as trans earlier?”; “What if I had become a professional writer?”; “What if I had born a woman?”. Is love real if it perpetrates only in thought?

I would be more than happy to quote some of Saint Augustine here, and his theological virtues, love being one of them, but I wouldn’t like to make this essay even longer and complicated.

I think to myself sometimes, when was it that I started to prefer having peace then pleasure. My head has always been very noisy, very noisy, and I wanted it to stop. Now it feels like I’m constantly too quiet about everything. That somehow, like the Little Mermaid by Hans Christensen Andersen, when transitioning into a woman I exchanged my legs (my body) for my voice, and now I can’t voice or even pinpoint what I want. I’m just so tired. So, so tired. My mental health hasn’t been great for more than one year, and the pandemic didn’t help. I’m constantly anxious around people, even the closest ones to me (especially the closest ones to me), I’ve been eating like a bird and sleeping like a cat. Still, sometimes I imagine what future I would like, and I imagine myself living somewhere with open space, trees, breeding horses just like my grandfather did, space for dogs, musical instruments and the kids. Space for being big.

The painting makes me think that sometimes I can only love myself in this imaginary place. Otherwise, it just looks slightly like a chicken’s head. You decide.

- Original work, G.L. Alódio.

#art #art analysis #art essey #personal #my own #painting

5 notes · View notes

mc-slowwalker · 3 years ago

Note

MULLET MULLET MULLET YES

philza being 100000 years old is something I can get behind tbh. my least favourite age hc, which I think I actually hate with a burning passion, is the tommy and tubbo were 9 during the first l’manberg wartime actually ignites a visceral rage in me

yeah!! I managed to make it to pink’s bedwars stream the other day and it was great. yeah lol I was lowkey upset too when foolish was added cause I had no idea who he was but he’s super fun so that’s cool! I like high energy stream more too cause I zone out super easily. unless it’s dream, he can stream anything and I’ll try my hardest to pay attention the whole time

ooooh vet that’s cool. oh my god c!dream going into the dentist after months in prison😭😭😭 I’m imagining c!techno as a beefy pig sitting in the kind of small couch/seats we have in the waiting room. Tommy would 100% bite and then get really mad about getting a toy that we give to little kids after their treatment lol

omg the pet wars 😔😔😔 so sad. everyone in the dsmp is emotionally attached to their animals than anything else and what can I say, I’m the same

oh yeah I also tend to take c!dream criticism to heart more idk why. I’m definitely way more defensive of c!dream apologists than any other they get so much unnecessary shit. though from your other anons it looks like c!sam apologists are getting more shit too which sucks but solidarity ig. oh man I get you I have to tell myself to like take a step back and not take everything so personally. another thing on twitter is that people who vehemently hate c!dream will sometimes just refuse to use /dsmp /roleplay tags like it’s not that hard, tweets without that have already been misinterpreted to hate on cc!dream which just pisses me off like you can have your shit opinion just tag it properly. and like when people tell them to include it they’ll be like “ohh the dream apologists harassed me.” and yeah people genuinely go around calling c!dream apologists abuse apologists and it’s terrible. like I don’t care if you have your bad takes and aren’t willing to discuss them, just tag it properly and don’t shit on c!dream apologists it’s not that hard. though it’s funny the other day, the first time I replied to some shut take on twitter, in a lighthearted manner too, I got instantly blocked and there’s this on person on twt, they’re also on tumblr, that blocks anyone that even slightly disagrees with them. oh well ig

also did you see about that lore that foolish did? it was certainly something

sorry for the late and shorter reply I got halfway through writing this then went to do something then just fell asleep and I just got a notification that ponk is live! and I’m awake so Imma go watch them

Jack Mulletfold I’m on my jack manifold mullet truther arc

The 9 year old thing was bad and I also hated the c!dream was 13 during the l’manburg war thing too like no this is all so much funnier if they are the ages that they are now. And like father like son fundy tried to set a timeline up too (his it’s been a year comment) like no dude stop time doesn’t exist unless it’s real world

With watching streams I’m the exact same way but I usually tune into quackity and tommy’s chill streams as well. I think it’s because I know them enough to care about what they’re saying so the lack of mental stimulation is made up for by my want to care

Wait fuck with the dentist thing would c!techno actually have to go to a vet instead because of anatomy stuff or-

C!Dream is probably missing a few teeth and after not brushing so long ugh

I would joke that c!sapnap’s done nothing wrong but I haven’t forgiven him for henry

I simply don’t user twitter I tried to post a shit post but I don’t understand the tagging system so it flopped. Stopped using it there and then. say what you want about me but you guys gotta know that I’m a petty bitch first and foremost. With the “harassment” stuff I’ve had my fair share of sending anons asking people to tag stuff right and half the time they just say why and then don’t do it. You wanna know why? Please thats why. I have a real issue with the abuse apologist stuff because like bro that’s a serious accusation and it’s overall just seems super inappropriate. It usually doesn’t get to me but if I’m in the wrong mood it can really fuck me up. When cc!wilbur said that every character was morally gray and that c!dream apologists were right & wrong about somethings I was kinda like “oh thank god a streamer I like doesn’t hate me for liking c!dream” and was hella embarrassed that I even let it get me that far skdhfk. Oh yeah about people blocking you there are so many people who have me blocked on here and while I totally encourage using your block button liberally and often I still notice and its like aw man… creeper…… so we back in the mines…….

You’re gonna have to be a little more specific I feel lije foolish has done a lot of lore, though I think I’ve missed most of it. Are you talking about truing to break into the prison? Hilarious that every character despite their opinion on c!dream has at one point attempted to break into the prison. If only c!dream knew that the only common enemy the server needed was a building they were supposed to stay out of

dont say sorry that’s illegal (/j) also the thing I like about anon is that you can come back and respond when ever is best for you? Makes me feel like an old western bar tender who is just vibing. That’s the dream social interaction tbh

#anon #ask #long post #ponk tired from the first vaccine #phizer buddies though #also how they promounced ohio is a+ I think we should all pronounce it that way from now on

1 note · View note

phantom-le6 · 3 years ago

Text

Episode Reviews - Star Trek: The Next Generation Season 5 (4 of 6)

Time for another round of episode reviews from season 5 of Star Trek: The Next Generation.

Episode 16: Ethics

Plot (as given by me):

During an inspection in the cargo bay, Lt. Worf is hit from above by a falling cargo container, and he awakens later in sick bay to learn he has been paralysed by the accident. With no cure for the condition immediately to hand, Worf asks Commander Riker to assist him in a ritual suicide known as the Hegh’bat something all Klingons do when faced with such injuries. Riker is appalled by the idea, and Dr Crusher likewise refuses to give up on the idea of Worf recovering, bringing aboard neurologist Dr Toby Russell to consult on the matter.

Riker seeks advice from Captain Picard, who asks him to consider the matter from Worf’s perspective; as a Klingon, Worf is part of a warrior culture that, by its very nature, would disdain physical infirmity and cannot abide life with a disability as humans can. Eventually, Riker finds a way out of assisting Worf by noting that the ritual should be performed by a family member, namely Alexander, and when Worf tries to use Alexander’s age and part-human heritage as excuses, Riker calls him on it, accusing him of being afraid to fight for his life as many of their fallen comrades have done.

Meanwhile, Dr Russell notes that Klingon anatomy is heavily over-designed, possessing a redundancy for every vital physical function to ensure that if a primary organ is damaged, a secondary one can always compensate. She suggests using a genetics-based replication therapy that could create a new spinal column for Worf, but it is still experimental and Russell has only a 37% success rate in holographic simulations. Dr Crusher suggests they’ll stick to conventional methods, but when these prove insufficient for Worf, Russell offers him her experimental treatment. Later, the Enterprise assists survivors from the transport ship USS Denver, which has been damaged by a Cardassian mine. When Crusher learns Russell tried an experimental treatment on a patient who subsequently died without considering the use of conventional medicine, she has Russell relieved of duty.

Worf ultimately opts to undergo Russell’s procedure against Dr Crusher’s advice, and Picard has to convince Crusher that while normally her normal medical philosophy would be the more valid option, in Worf’s case a high-risk operation is better than either a life being disabled or ritual suicide. The operation initially appears successful, but Worf goes into cardiac arrest moments after his vital functions are taken off life support, and he apparently dies. A heart-broken Dr Crusher has to break the news to Alexander and to Counsellor Troi, who Worf named as Alexander’s guardian if he should die during the operation. Alexander insists on seeing his father, but when he does, Worf shows signs of life. It turns out Worf’s brain has a back-up for his synaptic functions in the same way that his body has multiple back-up organs.

While Dr Crusher is thrilled that Worf will recover, she condemns Dr Russell for putting her research efforts ahead of the lives her patients, pointing out that proper medical research takes time and intensive study, and that Russell is ‘taking short-cuts, right through living tissue’. Meanwhile, Worf begins his recovery and allows Alexander to help him, having previously tried to keep the boy away during his paralysis.

Review:

This episode is one with a very apt title, as there’s actually not one but two issues of ethics being tackled. The first is around the idea of euthanasia of the permanently disabled or terminally ill. For me, this is the least well-handled of the two because it’s being tackled via a character from a warrior society, and those tend to be the most barbaric around the differently abled. Consider the film 300, and what that showed us of how the ancient Spartans would kill at birth any child who was not physically ‘perfect’. For all that it makes sense from a strictly tactical and militaristic perspective, assuming you’re only looking for physical prowess on the battlefield, the idea of trying to get anyone to kill themselves over a bum leg or deformed arm or anything like that is discrimination and murder, pure and simple. To put someone out of their misery when facing a painful degenerative illness with no chance of a cure before the end whatsoever, that is one thing, but to euthanise the disabled just for being disabled? That is simply barbaric and inhuman, and frankly an attitude no one on the Enterprise should have been trying to endorse. Frankly, I lost some respect for Picard and gained a lot for Riker looking at how they acted; Picard is all but giving an all-clear to his tactical officer topping himself, and Riker is the only one trying to make Worf fight for his life like a real warrior.

The other ethical debate revolves around the question of medical ethics, and whether the end justifies the means when it comes to short-cuts and other unsound research methods. In this, it’s clear Crusher is the one in the right, because the validity of Russell’s argument is founded on the idea that Worf is from a culture where the high-risk experimental operation beats the immediate alternatives. If, like me, you see Worf’s attitude as typical of the regularly abled acting like spoiled, whining babies because they’ve been made part of the differently abled community, then Russell’s arguments cease to carry weight. Research should take time where it needs to, especially in case you’re proceeding from a false supposition that the research actually disproves. The biased results of improper research into vaccines and autism resulting in autistics being vilified as a result of vaccine science when they’re actually nothing of the sort is by itself reason enough that improper research should not only be banned, but treated as a criminal offence.

Perhaps the biggest undermining element of this episode, however, is that it centres on something happening to a main character of the show and not a guest character. Anytime issue exploration on an issue like this involves a main character, especially on a show like Next Generation which doesn’t really do overall story arcs even by this stage, you know the character will somehow recover and all will return to status quo. Had the show done this with a guest character, they could have gone a different way and perhaps avoided potential advocacy of some very, very morally questionable stances on these issues. It’s great drama and good issue exploration, but I think the show should have been more opposed the idea of killing off the disabled just for being disabled than it appeared to me. For me, the episode only gets 6 out of 10, and it’s lucky I don’t mark it down more than that.

Episode 17: The Outcast

Plot (as adapted from Wikipedia):

The Enterprise is contacted by a humanoid race called the J'naii, who as a species have no gender. They ask the crew for help in finding a shuttle which has gone missing. It is theorized that the shuttle disappeared into a pocket of null space, a type of space which drains energy rapidly. In short order, a rescue mission is planned, for which Riker volunteers to pilot a shuttle to retrieve the shuttle crew. A member of the J'naii named Soren insists on accompanying Riker, acting as a co-pilot. Soren proves to be a good pilot. Riker and Soren share a meal and become more comfortable with each other. They are interrupted by another J'naii, and Soren leaves quickly.

While the pair is charting the null space, the shuttle is damaged, and Soren is injured. While being treated by Dr Crusher, Soren asks her several questions about female gender identification. While Soren and Riker work on the shuttle, Soren confesses that she is attracted to Riker and states that she has a female gender identity. Soren explains that the J'naii are an androgynous species that view the expression of any sort of male or female gender, and especially sexual liaisons, as a psychological perversion. According to their official doctrine, the J'naii had “evolved” beyond gender and thus view the idea of male/female sexuality as primitive. Those among the J'naii who view themselves as possessing gender are ridiculed, outcast, and forced to undergo "psychotectic therapy". This is a form of conversion therapy meant to remove any desire for gender-specificity and allow acceptance back into J'naii society.

The affair between Riker and Soren grows and eventually is discovered. Soren is put on trial, but before she answers to the charges, Riker bursts in and attempts to take the blame for the situation. Soren foils his attempt and proceeds to passionately defend herself and express her outrage at what their society does to those who express male or female identities. J'naii diplomats force Soren to undergo psychotectic therapy, citing reformed citizens' newfound happiness and desire to be normal. Riker's emotions and love for Soren grow and he decides that he cannot leave Soren to this fate. He tries to explain the situation to Picard, who is sympathetic to Riker but says that he cannot sanction a rescue mission as it violates the Prime Directive, not to mention Riker throwing away his career. Worf visits Riker in his quarters and offers to go with him on an "unannounced visit" to rescue Soren, since he is unwilling to let Riker face the task alone. When Riker and Worf beam down to the planet to rescue Soren, he realizes that the therapy has already been performed. Soren refuses to go with him, claiming that she is now happy and was “sick” during her affair with Riker. Soren apologizes to Riker, who returns dejectedly to the Enterprise with Worf.

Review:

‘The Outcast’ is one of those episodes where Trek aims to represent one thing, misses by miles and hits something else issue-wise instead. The idea of the episode was to finally remedy the fact that homophobia and same-sex relations had never been dealt with by the franchise. Apparently, this is something Roddenberry had very much been in favour of, as he was a big believer that 24th century humanity wouldn’t have the same kind of prejudices we have now around non-heterosexual relationships. As such, the intended premise of this episode was to tackle the issue through the metaphor of an alien race.

However, the race in question is one that abstains gender, and for whom picking a gender such as male or female is seen as a kind of deviancy by the wider society. As a result of this, and the alien Riker falls in love with choosing a female identity, the homosexuality metaphor is very much weakened. Instead, the episode becomes of an allegory about transsexuality and transphobia, which is even less well-tackled by the entertainment industry than concepts of homosexuality. As such, Trek inadvertently went a bit ahead of its time.

It’s great seeing Riker honestly try to get his head around the language issues that can be brought up dealing with someone who doesn’t apparently identify with a binary model of gender, but at the same time apparently lacks easily understandable substitutes. In many ways, that’s probably one of the key reasons why it’s so hard for film and television to effectively deal with gender identity concepts. How do you right about the many genders that apparently exist beyond male and female when they’re often not fully defined and perpetually being redefined? Physical sex and the societal construct that is gender get over-simplified and baked into the mainstream of our society at a very young age, and we’re leaving the wider scope of both out of the picture until too late in the lives of many people. If we are to make society more inclusive to people from the LGTBQ+ community, I think that over-simplification needs to be reversed and the simplification process adapted so that all gender constructs can easily be taught at an early age and then built upon. Unlike some, I don’t believe that gender itself is a problem, but how we let it be defined and taught is.

This episode apparently got a lot of LGBT criticism back when it initially aired, mostly around the belief that the show was somehow condoning the conversion “therapy” Soren was being subjected to. Looking at it from the objective perspective of an LGBTQ+ ally who knows his TNG, that’s not what the show was doing at all; otherwise, Riker would never have tried to rescue Soren from that fate. The fact is that in any exploration of how the LGBT community was treated back then, and still is now in many parts of the world, you can’t always paint a rosy picture of how things should be and be done. Sometimes you also have to show the reality, and the reality is that conversion therapy was still something that was forced on people back in the 1990’s. The fact that this practice is now going to be banned in the UK makes this episode now a cautionary tale of what we could revert to if we’re not careful. For me, this episode is a good episode, worth about 8 out of 10. It would have got higher had it actually tackled the issue it aimed for, or dealt more directly with transgenderism.

Episode 18: Cause and Effect

Plot (as adapted from Wikipedia):

The viewer is shown through the episode that Enterprise is caught in a time loop (referred to in-universe as a "temporal causality loop"). The loop begins with the senior members of the crew playing poker and continues for about a day when they discover a spatial anomaly. While studying the anomaly, a ship suddenly emerges from it. Commander Riker suggests decompressing the main shuttlebay to move the Enterprise out of danger, while Lt. Commander Data advocates using a tractor beam to push the other ship out of the way. Captain Picard chooses Data's option, although the tactic does not succeed and the other ship strikes one of the Enterprise warp nacelles, causing a critical warp core containment failure and the destruction of the Enterprise moments later, at which point the loop restarts.

Initially, crew members are unaware of the loop. However, Dr Crusher begins to hear noises before she goes to bed following the poker game. Having a sense of déjà vu during the poker game and able to predict the cards Data will deal during a subsequent loop, Crusher takes a tricorder with her to her room, records the voices, and later Data analyses them to discover they are the panicked commands and broadcasts of the crew. The senior staff work out that they are stuck in the loop; the voices they are hearing are those of themselves from the previous loop just prior to the destruction of the ship. They evaluate the voices to determine that the loop is restarted due to the collision of the two ships but do not know how to avoid that collision in the first place. Data suggests that his positronic brain can be used to send a short message to himself in the next loop which may help them to avoid the collision. When they arrive at the anomaly, and after the collision, Data sends the message.

On the following loop, Crusher again has a feeling of déjà vu during the poker game, but when Data deals the next hand, all the cards are threes, followed by a hand where all players have three of a kind. The number 3 begins appearing throughout other parts of the ship's operations while, again, they determine they are stuck in a time loop. When they reach the anomaly and the ship appears from it, Data suddenly realizes that the 3 stands for the number of command pips on Riker's uniform, and realizes that Riker's original tactic (decompressing the main shuttlebay) will work. This allows Enterprise to safely clear the oncoming ship. The anomaly disappears and the time loop ends, and the crew realizes they have been trapped in the loop for over 17 days, while the other ship, the USS Bozeman, has been missing for over 90 years. Picard welcomes the Bozeman's crew to the 24th century.

Review:

While the concept of the loop in time would be made famous more generally through the Bill Murray movie Groundhog Day, this episode of TNG was written, produced and aired well before that, and if the TNG staff are right in believing such an approach to time travel hadn’t been done before, then this episode is quite ground-breaking. It’s certainly not one that would have been easy to make, as Riker actor Jonathan Frakes directed the episode and was under orders to direct each pass through the time loop differently. In essence, the episode uses a combination of alternate camera angles and changes in the events of each loop to try and avoid any appearance that you’re watching the same act multiple times. Now I say try because apparently when the episode first aired in the US, a lot of viewers phoned in to report a possible broadcast problem.

Watching with the benefit of advance knowledge of what the episode is about, it’s much easier to appreciate that you’re not just watching the opening act multiple times, and it gets more interesting on the later loops due to the crew’s growing awareness of what is happening. However, I think we could have done with just three loops, as by the fourth one, we’ve worked out what’s happened and I think an extra loop at that stage is almost redundant. It’s also a shame that Ensign Ro has so little to do in her recurring guest role this time round, as does Kelsey Grammer right at the end. It would have been a much better idea if they could have saved a guest appearance by Grammer for something with more substance and less of a techno-babble problem episode. Still, all in all it’s a good episode; I give it 8 out of 10.

Episode 19: The First Duty

Plot (as given by me):

As the Enterprise returns to Earth for Captain Picard to give the year’s commencement address at Star Fleet Academy, the Academy Superintendent Admiral Brand informs Picard that an accident involving Wesley Crusher has occurred. Picard subsequently relates the news to Wesley’s mother Dr Beverley Crusher; apparently, Wesley has by now become a member of Nova Squadron, a much-revered part of the Academy flight team on campus lead by cadet Nicholas Locarno. The squad had been practicing a flight demonstration for the commencement event at the Saturn flight range when a collision occurred, resulting in the death of squad member Joshua Albert.

Picard puts the Enterprise at Admiral Brand’s disposal if it should help the subsequent investigation, and while visiting the Academy Picard also looks up the groundskeeper Boothby, who once gave Picard some hard advice as a cadet that helped him out of a problem of his own. Picard tries to thank Boothby, but he notes that Picard having turned his life around well enough to become captain of the Enterprise is thanks enough. At the investigation hearings, Locarno claims the crash resulted from Joshua panicking due to his being a nervous flyer, but satellite footage of Nova Squadron’s flyers reveals a discrepancy between the squad’s account and what actually occurred. Picard later talks further with Boothby about the squad, who reveals what a high image they’ve established for themselves and the influence their leader Locarno has over them.

An analysis carried out by Lt. Commanders Data and La Forge suggests the squadron were trying to ignite their plasma trails; combined with the squad formation depicted by the surveillance satellite, Picard deduces that Nova Squadron was attempting a different manoeuvre to the one they claimed; specifically, a Kolvoord Starburst, which involves the ships passing within metres of each other at a central point before igniting their plasma trails. The manoeuvre has not been performed at the Academy in over a century because the last time it was, an accident occurred that killed the entire squad trying to perform it. Picard confronts Wesley with his deductions, and when Wesley refuses to answer, the captain tells him that a lie of omission is still a lie, and the ‘first duty’ of every Star Fleet officer is to the truth.

Faced with an ultimatum by Picard to either admit the truth himself or be turned in by the captain, Wesley goes to Locarno, who refuses to even consider joining Wesley in abandoning their cover-up. To him, the team comes above everything, and tells Wesley he should resign from the Academy if he can’t live with getting away with the accident via cover-up. As Admiral Brand brings the investigation to a close, noting that she cannot prove any dishonesty on Nova Squadron’s part and preparing to give them a minor punishment, Wesley speaks up and admits the truth. Initially, Locarno says nothing, but it is later revealed to Wesley by Picard that Locarno makes a plea to take full responsibility, noting that he abused his position as squad leader to not only make the squad attempt the prohibited stunt, but also to cover it up. As a result, Locarno is expelled while the rest of the squad will have all of their academy credits for the past year suspended, preventing them from advancing with the rest of their class.

Picard warns Wesley he will have a hard time ahead now the whole Academy knows the truth, and Wesley thanks Picard for his advice as the pair bid each other farewell.

Review:

While Data episodes tend to be my favourites among TNG episodes, I honestly believe this is probably one of the show’s most iconic episodes, if not the most iconic Trek episode ever. It’s Wesley’s second guest appearance since actor Wil Wheaton left TNG, and to date it’s his best appearance, but it’s also the episode where we get to meet Boothby, who is a remarkably influential and iconic character for the series despite his relative lack of appearances. Through in future Voyager cast member Robert Duncan McNeil playing Nick Locarno, and it’s well on its way to be being a very good episode before you factor in Patrick Stewart delivering some truly iconic acting as Captain Picard, especially the Ready Room scene with Wesley that makes the episode so iconic.

Now apparently, executive producer Michael Piller had to do some pushing back against the original intentions of this episode’s writers to get us the episode in its final format. Apparently, the original idea was that the incident was far more serious, and by not owning up the whole squad would have been kicked out of the Academy, with Wesley remaining silent to honour his word to his friends. However, Piller didn’t like the idea of Wesley doing something that severe, and as a parent he wanted to push for Wesley to be responsible and eventually admit the truth, to correct his mistake in the end by owning up even if it meant making things worse for himself and his friends.

In both versions, the character conflict remains the same; to stand by one’s friends or by one’s duty to be truthful. Now granted, there will be other occasions where the circumstances require discretion and loyalty to one’s friends simply because most people would misunderstand the truth. However, in most cases I think admitting the truth is the best thing to do, even if it does mean you and others close to you may get in a bit of trouble, and this is for two reasons. First, true friendship means being willing to call your friends out if their behaviour is morally wrong, and making sure they do the right thing.

Second, we’re all human and we all make mistakes; that is a simple, irrefutable fact of life, and most of the time if we do make mistakes, we can stop ourselves from repeating them by learning from them. However, in some cases people can’t learn from their mistakes if they avoid taking responsibility for them, and some people may not take that responsibility alone. Sometimes they need help, whether through being called on it like Picard did for Wesley, or owning up on behalf of those involved like Wesley did for his squad-mates. Moreover, a ‘friends before authority’ attitude backfires in other areas; it’s how bullying gets to be so prevalent in schools and work places, and it is why concepts of ‘playground’/’locker room’ honour codes should be systematically obliterated from our society.

Friendship, true friendship, is not based on secret codes of silence that enable bullying, encourage lying and that are dishonourable and despicable to say the least. It is based on honesty and trust, including the trust that your friends will hold you to account if you betray yourself and that you will do the same for them if they need it. True friendship means sometimes being a bit harsh, a bit tough, and any friendship that can’t stand such tempering probably isn’t really friendship to start with. Overall, I give this episode 10 out of 10.

Episode 20: Cost of Living

Plot (as adapted from Wikipedia):

Lwaxana Troi arrives on the Enterprise, announcing that she will be holding her wedding there with a man that shares many interests with her, as judged by a computerized matchmaking system. Captain Picard, initially wary of Lwaxana's plans, is relieved that all she wants from him is to give her away as the bride. Privately, Counsellor Deanna Troi talks to Lwaxana about the marriage, and while she is happy that her mother is marrying again, she is surprised and concerned that she will not follow the Betazoid custom of being a naked bride at the wedding. Lwaxana informs her that such customs offend the groom and his people. Deanna notes her decision to abandon her own custom is strange given the pride she normally takes in her Betazoid heritage and the high rank that she holds in their society.

Meanwhile, Lt. Worf is having difficulties in getting his son Alexander to complete his obligations such as homework and chores. Deanna offers the idea of creating a contract that would allow Alexander to have time to play after completing his tasks. While this initially seems to be acceptable to Alexander, Lwaxana arrives and downplays the idea. Lwaxana makes friends with Alexander, taking him to a holodeck simulation of the Parallax colony despite Worf's orders. Lwaxana encourages Alexander to be a free spirit, but Deanna believes that Lwaxana's message is confusing Alexander.

Eventually, Campio, Lwaxana's husband-to-be, arrives at the Enterprise, and Lwaxana finds that he is not as perfect a fit for her as the computer match suggested, being stricter and more demanding than she was led to believe. She evades Campio by taking Alexander to the holodeck. There, Alexander reiterates some of the advice she had previously given him. Taking it to heart, Lwaxana arrives at the wedding naked as per Betazoid custom, and Campio, offended, leaves her at the altar. Lwaxana winks at Alexander, who smiles in turn.

During these events, the Enterprise becomes infected with an undetectable parasite that feeds off nitrium, a component used in most of the starship's materials. Though initial system failures are attributed to normal wear, they become concerned when warp and life support systems begin to fail. The crew is able to identify the parasite, and as life systems fail and cause the crew to pass out due to lack of air, Lt. Commander Data, who is able to function without oxygen, navigates the starship to a nearby asteroid field rich in nitrium and coerces the parasite to move there. Ship systems are quickly restored to normal before the wedding.

The episode ends on an amusing note with Lwaxana relaxing in the Holodeck simulated Parallax colony mud-baths with Deanna, Alexander, and Worf. Lwaxana admits she made a mistake with Campio and thanks Alexander for helping her out. Meanwhile, a confused and irritated Worf asks, "You're just supposed to sit here?"

Review:

As ever, throwing Lwaxana Troi into an episode proves to give us a rather poor showing, because the character is so over-the-top in her supposedly comedic antics that you end up feeling as annoyed by her as most of the Enterprise crew. It’s only when she’s forced to drop that façade that you get anything of worth out of the episode’s main plot. Basically, Lwaxana is trying to re-marry out of a desire to avoid loneliness, and ends up trying to live vicariously through Alexander because her intended husband is the total opposite to her. It’s not the best approach to the situation, nor does the B-plot about parasites endangering the ship fit in well with that, or with Worf trying to teach Alexander about responsibility. A better use of these elements would have been to have the intended couple each having trouble accepting the other’s perspective on life, and so they’d each take sides in the Worf-Alexander dispute to try and indirectly keep the argument going. Worf might then be convinced to give his duties a rest for a bit to see things more from Alexander’s point of view, only for said dereliction of duty to endanger the Enterprise. Getting through the danger, father and son would see the value of compromise and balance, and in so doing demonstrate the idea to Lwaxana and Campo, who would follow suit. As it is, the episode is just another cringe-worthy instalment more worthy of the show’s earlier seasons, and I can only give it 4 out of 10.

1 note · View note

palettememoriesofyou · 4 years ago

Note

Um-- hello! I'm new to this, but I think it's a really fun idea. So I guess my question for Namine is... What is your favorite thing to draw?

Naminé Answers

Oh, hi! What a lovely question. Gosh, that’s hard. I could probably talk about that for hours. I love to draw so many things! It’s hard to choose, but I know that’s probably not what you want to hear.

When I was little, I used to watch my mother draw and paint quite a bit. It was mesmerizing, the way she handled a paintbrush was like poetry in motion. Everything I’ve ever learned about composition, lighting, texture, and coloring all came from her. Everything she created, I would try my best to copy with my crayons on construction paper. At some point, she encouraged me to start drawing for myself and putting less focus on trying to be just like her.

“True art is personalized,” she said. “You take inspiration from mother nature and add your own touch. You have a unique voice, Naminé. Trust that voice and let it guide you.”

Honestly, I didn’t fully understand what she meant at the time, but I took it as that I needed to primarily focus on drawing whatever I wanted. It took me a while to figure it out until I started finding myself immersed with the outdoors. I remember whenever the family would go on picnics, while my sister, Kairi, would running around like a loose cannon, I’d be sitting next to my mother drawing the tall oak trees with splotches of light leaking through its openings, the beautiful meadows, the quiet ponds, the flocks of birds, the butterflies, the sun... I love the way it connects together so harmoniously.

S-Sorry! I get... really passionate about nature.

The point is that landscapes are my favorite thing to draw. Being able to capture those moments in time... it’s just beautiful.

Of course, there’s other things I love drawing like my cat, Mocchi. That little fur ball. I used to draw my sister and I together a lot as well. Sometimes I like to paint my friends and give the final results to them as gifts as well.

This is a little embarrassing, but... well, I’ll let you in on a secret, just to show my appreciation to you for reaching out to me. There’s something else I love to draw. And, um, well... it’s a guilty pleasure of mine.

Sometimes when I’m... in the mood... I might draw something a little, uh... risqué to indulge myself a little while dealing with the pent-up frustration. This usually happens when my boyfriend isn’t around, but it’s a nice way to practice anatomy. I get a little shy when it comes to telling Roxas about my, um, needs... so, I kind of use this as a crutch for indirectly letting him know. I was really nervous the first time he caught me in the act, but now I’ve grown used to it. But it qualifies as something I enjoy drawing from time to time - it’s good fun!

Just... don’t let Roxas know I told you. I’ll never hear the end of it from him...

With Love,

Naminé

#rokunami #namine #kh namine #kingdom hearts fan fiction #kh roleplaying

17 notes · View notes

calzona-ga · 5 years ago

Link

Beginning with Thursday's episode, titled "Save the Last Dance for Me" and directed by Jesse Williams, ABC's long-running medical drama welcomes deaf actress Shoshannah Stern to Grey Sloan for a multi-episode arc as Dr. Lauren Riley, a renowned diagnostics expert recruited by Dr. Andrew DeLuca (Giacomo Gianniotti) to help heal a supposedly incurable patient, played by Suits alum Sarah Rafferty.

Stern's introduction on Grey's is a monumental one, as her character marks one of the only times a deaf doctor will be prominently featured on primetime television. (Previously, deaf M.D.s have included Heroes' Emma Coolidge, a file clerk at a hospital, and ER's Dr. Lisa Parks, who appeared in two episodes.) For Stern, who co-created the deaf dramedy This Close alongsideJosh Feldman and has appeared on shows like Supernatural, coming onto Grey's was an opportunity to shine a light on a community that hasn't been given its time in the spotlight.

"I think having a deaf doctor on a show like this could change, even save lives. But I think what’s most incredible about it is the level of collaboration that happened behind the scenes in order to make this come to life," Stern tells ET. "Grey’s didn’t just collaborate with me, they also reached out to several other deaf doctors to make sure that what they were writing was accurate. I really don’t think Dr. Riley could or should have happened any other way. Maybe that’s why she is one of the first. Maybe that’s how she had to be brought to life."

In an interview with ET, conducted over email, Stern revealed how a chance conversation with showrunner Krista Vernoff landed her with a guest arc on Grey's, her experience being directed by Williams and what she hopes the introduction of Dr. Riley adds to the narrative of deaf storytelling and deaf characters on television.

ET: In 16 seasons of Grey's Anatomy, we haven't seen a character quite like Dr. Lauren Riley. How did the opportunity to join the season come about? Was the character written with you in mind? Shoshannah Stern: I’ve always wanted to be a doctor on Grey’s. Always. And when I got the opportunity to meet Krista Vernoff, the showrunner, we talked about inclusion because Grey’s has done really wonderful things with that. One of the reasons I love the show is because it really embraces using the platform it has to educate people. A lot of other shows are afraid of doing that, but not Grey’s. And Krista is brilliant. I think she’s the kind of person who would rather listen than talk. One of the other things we were talking about when we met, was how I was personally affected by the writers' strike. She asked me if I needed a job in the writers' room and in a moment of complete stupidity I said to her, “No, because I want to be a deaf doctor on Grey’s.” In my defense, I was stupid delirious on cold medicine at the time, but the moral of this story might be that I need to be more stupid, because she invited me into the writers' room as a result. I got to sit down with her and all the writers and talk about our ideas for this character for a few hours. It was incredible. I know I’ll never forget it.

This is one of the only times a doctor who is deaf will be featured prominently on primetime television. How does it feel to be at the forefront of crucial cultural moments like this one? I couldn’t believe it when I found out Dr. Riley was going to be one of the first deaf doctors not just on Grey’s, but on all of television. I was like, "No, that can’t be right?" There is a whole organization for deaf people in the medical field called the AMPHL that I followed even before I did this, because I’m a nerd like that, so it’s something that is very real but hasn’t been represented before. And they work tirelessly to make real and exciting change in the field. I’m so incredibly honored to help shine a light on what they do. I think having a deaf doctor on a show like this could change, even save lives. But I think what’s most incredible about it is the level of collaboration that happened behind the scenes in order to make this come to life. Grey’s didn’t just collaborate with me, they also reached out to several other deaf doctors to make sure that what they were writing was accurate. I really don’t think Dr. Riley could or should have happened any other way. Maybe that’s why she is one of the first. Maybe that’s how she had to be brought to life.

What conversations did you have with the producers and writers about making sure Dr. Riley's experiences and abilities were portrayed accurately? Did they seek out your guidance throughout the process? Grey’s was the most collaborative experience I’ve ever had on a show that was not mine. Apart from that initial two-hour-long conversation we had in the writers' room where I brought folders of research I’d done and the ideas they’d inspired, I got to share thoughts on the scripts when they were ready. It didn’t matter if they were bigger character thoughts or tiny things like me not being able to pronounce a specific word and needing to swap it out, they were always super-receptive to them. Jesse Williams, who directed Dr. Riley’s first episode, also asked to meet with me before we shot to map out not just how Riley would communicate, but also the kind of stuff I’d need from him blocking-wise as a deaf actor. He honestly blew me away. I’ve never met someone who understood the deaf experience as immediately and viscerally as he did. Krista even allowed me to work with the editors in order to give visual notes on the cuts. It was next level amazing.

What was important to you in your portrayal of this character? It was important to me that rather than Dr. Riley overcoming this insurmountable obstacle of deafness in order to be great at her job, her being deaf actually made her better at what she did. It was also important to me that her being deaf wasn’t central to her character, and that she didn’t have to continually explain to everyone else that she was a deaf person existing in this world. A lot of times when deaf characters are shown on television, they show the struggle and that’s not authentic. It’s not because it’s never a struggle, but it’s always executed as if it’s something that’s happening for the very first time. And most of the time, deaf people have already been deaf for a very long time, so they’ve got this. In reality, it’s the other people around them who struggle because they’re like, Oh, OK, I have no experience communicating with this person in this particular way. That’s what the new experience actually is, and I think we got to show that in a very organic way.

You've been vocal about your desires for deaf storytelling and deaf characters to be written and approached in a respectful, fully-dimensional way. How do you think the introduction of Dr. Riley adds to the narrative?She’s an incredible example, hopefully, for how collaboration can and should work when incorporating deaf characters, or really, any character from a minority community. I think a lot of times, people are afraid to collaborate because they don’t want to give up ownership. And as a creative, I totally get that. You feel like the characters and the stories you create are your babies. But ultimately collaboration is about empowerment. And empowerment is not about sacrificing power. It’s saying, “I don’t know about this because I haven’t lived it for myself, so please tell me more.” And doing that makes the project stronger as a result. I didn’t write, produce or direct any of the episodes that Dr. Riley is in. But I think the common goal all of us had was simply that we had the project’s best interest at heart, so I was allowed the space I needed to make Dr. Riley as authentic as I possibly could within their parameters. I didn’t come in and set these parameters. It’s not my show, it’s their show, and I’m so honored and grateful to be on it. That’s really the model of how it should be, and that’s so incredibly important. Can you set the table for how Dr. Riley comes into the fold at Grey Sloan? We met Suzanne Britland, played by the awesome Sarah Rafferty, a couple weeks ago. She’s been in and out of the hospital and nobody can quite figure out what’s wrong with her and it’s kind of haunting DeLuca. So he decides to turn to this master diagnostician who’s a genius at what she does to help him figure out what’s going on with the case, and that’s Dr. Riley.

You work closely with Giacomo Gianniotti on a medical case involving Suits star Sarah Rafferty, and you even share a moment with Ellen Pompeo. How would you describe your experience on set working alongside this cast? It’s the craziest thing because when Giacomo was introduced on the show, he resonated with me because he spoke Italian. That episode where DeLuca and his sister, Carina, argue in Italian in subtitles and nobody around them understands them, as well as him dating someone who didn’t know his native language and was learning it for him, all that reminded me of This Close. There was just a feeling I had about that character, so when Krista told me that DeLuca would be the character that Dr. Riley would work with, I was just like, "OK, yeah." It was almost like something that had already been written. I have to say I was totally shvitzing about working with Ellen just because she’s a legend, but she’s so refreshingly and passionately invested in what she does. She asks a lot of questions and was super great to work with. Sarah is a dream. She’s so cool and talented. I had just started watching Suits when I was sick in bed a couple months before, and so I asked her lots of questions about all her awesome outfits! This is just the beginning of your time on Grey's. What is in store for your character beyond this episode? I think her first episode is a lot about establishing her as a force because Dr. Riley is a fighter. I think a lot of that is because she knows she has to be kind of like a dog with a bone with the sort of job that she has. If she spent her time educating everyone in the room about how they should communicate with her or making sure that everyone was OK with her personality, the patient would be dead by the time she finished. She literally doesn’t have the time for that. But I think the more Dr. Riley hangs around, the more we’re going to learn about who she is beyond that initial impression. She’s had a lot of practice with advocating for herself, so she’s definitely someone who’s not afraid to speak her mind or stand up for herself and others. I think that might end up having an impact on other people and their interpersonal relationships in ways that may be surprising.

#grey's anatomy #scoop #Shoshannah Stern #etonline #16x13

14 notes · View notes

coeurdastronaute · 6 years ago

Text

Titan 4

Previously on Titan

From the elevator, the guests could hear how busy the penthouse grew with every ding and opening of the doors. Every light was on, and every door was opened leading out onto the balconies and patios. Albert slept uneasily on a pile of coats on the guest bed, and no one knew as they were distracted with re-welcoming the returned lovebirds. The murmur of friends and family, mixed with the music and the evening and the summer breeze that whispered in from the balcony.

The dining room table was full-- glasses of mixed levels, empty and full bottles of wine, lots of amazing food. The faces around it all laughed and talked over and across of each other, while the evening grew long and deep into the night, unnoticed by anyone at all.

While it was once very empty, despite Kara’s best attempts, the penthouse warmed with its new furniture and nicknacks. After just a month back, it all felt still new and familiar at the same time. The city was the same, the work was the same, and yet everything was skewed slightly, and they were different people.

As everyone finally sat down, as Kara finally finished fluttering around the table, and Lena finished topping off glasses and chatting with Eliza about some shared research methods, as Jss mocks James for his cover story, and earns a laugh from Kat who yells down the table for Lucy to recall a time in Budapest, and so on and so forth, the couple finally found themselves sitting close together at dinner.

Kara winked at Lena between a smile and a talk with her sister. Lena smiled at all of it and decided that she needed more nights like that.

“Thank you everyone, for coming to this dinner, and I guess a welcome back party,” Kara stood from her chair after earning a slight nudge from Lena.

The voices chattered their approval, clapping their hands and making the host blush slightly.

“But we didn’t invite you here just as a re-house warming.”

“Are you leaving again?” Alex interrupted.

“Adopting?” Eliza smiled over her glass of wine.

“Engaged?” Nia squealed.

“Close. Um,” Kara gulped and looked at Lena. “We wanted everyone here to tell them-- well… we had to explain-- about how… see--”

“What Kara is trying to say,” Lena stood and rubbed Kara’s shoulder. “Is that before we came back, I asked Kara to marry me.”

“I knew it!” James shook his head as he wagged his finger, leaning forward at the table. “I told you Lucy.”

“And we got married,” she continued, the shock registering quite quickly. “A very quick afternoon trip to the courthouse, and a honeymoon planned for the summer.”

The quiet was a noticeable difference from the hubbub of the party. Kara gulped again and sipped her wine more eagerly. She felt Lena grip her shoulder and then hug her bicep tight as she could. It was an anchor when Kara very badly wanted to float away and disappear.

At one end of the table, Eliza looked to J’onn for confirmation, earning a slight nod as he smiled into his glass. In the quiet, the mother looked at both of the girls, the same ones she watched grow up together and face some of the most difficult things anyone could imagine-- and she saw how right it seemed.

With a small movement, the matriarch pushed out her chair and made her way around toward the center of the table, where she paused near the couple.

“I am so happy for you, both,” Eliza smiled, eyes growing glasses. She hugged Lena and Kara to her.

The table lashed out with its energy, disbelief and joy raged together in smiles and hugs and jokes and cheers. Down the line, the gobsmacked members of the makeshift family shared in on the celebration because they were too surprised to do much else.

“Welcome to the family,” Eliza smiled as she held Lena’s cheeks. She hugged her tightly and Lena clung to the motherly figure as tightly as she could, burying her nose there.

Among the hugs and all, the mother swallowed Lena in an embrace and kissed her cheek before whispering how much she loved her and wanted her in her family. Lena cried, she couldn’t help it and she hated how happy it made her.

“Does this mean no wedding?” Alex furrowed. “I thought you would want the whole wedding experience.”

“Um,” Kara squinted slightly and looked to her wife. “I think we’re okay without it. It was more important that we just committed, to be a team.”

“But the fancy dress, and the reception, and your family?” Maggie offered, swooning at the thought of her own as she looked at the ring Lena put on.

“We didn’t think you all would mind missing a rather large swaray,” Lena shrugged.

“It’s just something to think about.”

Kara offered a smile and wrapped her arm around her wife’s waist.

“A nice dress would be fun,” she shrugged.

When she was seventeen years old, Lena Luthor fell in love with two things at the exact same time. One, was her beautiful, kind, funny best friend, who had hair like wheat and eyes like the ocean, who ate all of the snacks she set out and still wanted more, who liked to sit and soak up the sun until her skin was burnt.

The second, of course, was the complex system of nerves that connected the bran to the rest of the body. During an anatomy class geared toward mechanical studies, Lena fell absolutely head over heels for the way the body worked and how it could heal and adapt, and more important, how tiny impulses that fired at alarming speeds operated the simplest of movements at a near constant pace. It was a computer, and she was obsessed with computers.

It became her life’s mission to love and understand each of her passions, one she took up very eagerly.

“We had a deal, Sam,” Lena shook her head as she dug into the open guts of a computer-esque system that took up a rather large desk in the corner of the building.

“We did, and you were supposed to be living a stress-free life in South America, but we’re compromising.”

Big brown eyes waited anxiously, surveying the working hands as she leaned against the desk. She was reluctant to admit her job was easier with Lena back. The mega-corporation was a multi-headed beast that required many skilled wranglers, and Lena wasn’t apt to hire many of them, because that would involve trust.

But she had a weakness for the ones she did.

“I’m supposed to be planning my honeymoon, just so you know.”

Lena didn’t look up from her work as she spoke, but rather surveyed after soldering.

“It’s a quick trip, and then you can get back to being ridiculously adorable with Kara. I can’t make it there and to the conference in Paris, where I was summoned.”

“I’d rather answer to the EU assembly than go to Metropolis.”

“And I’d rather go speak at the university, but they settled for you, and it’s commencement. Think of all the impressionable kids that need to hear your words.”

Flattery wasn’t as effective as it was on most, but Sam knew it got her somewhere with her boss. She also knew that Lena was fighting it for reasons other than wanting to stay home all of a sudden.

“The deal was, I do busy work and help with the management side of my company, in exchange for two uninterrupted days of research,” she reminded her appointed president of the company that bore her name. “You do your thing, and I get to do mine. I keep strict hours. I’m learning to cook.”

“Kara can order out for a night,” Sam reminded her. “She can take Ruby for pizza. Then both of them are fed, and hopefully one will keep the other out of trouble.”

“That’s too much responsibility for Ruby.”

“Fly in for the evening, do your speech, shake some hands. The press will be fantastic, and after your marriage news broke, we kind of need something else in the headlines.”

“First, Eliza guilts me, and then Maggie. I didn’t expect you to also be in on this conspiracy to make me have a wedding.”

“No one is making you, I think we just would have liked to have been there,” she shrugged. “And the press loves a good story.”

“There’s no story,” Lena grumbled, exasperated and annoyed. “She’s not some stranger I picked up on the street.”

“A quickie marriage, a swift and quiet return after fleeing in the night-- it’s a very particular story.”

“I’m going to go on this trip, just to get away from all of you.”

“You’ll go then?” Sam didn’t wait. She hugged her friend and earned a grimace before melting. Lena Luthor wasn’t the hardest person to convince when she felt something. “Think of it as a pre-honeymoon,” Sam sang as she wiggled her eyebrows and made her way back towards her own office.

The penthouse was alive as Kara trudged her way home, slightly sloppy from the sudden shower that popped up on her commute home from a long day of hunting down a lead to a very old story she hoped to turn into a rather long article. She expected a few hours of quiet. Thursdays were Lena’s night at the lab, but after her day, Kara was excited to see her wife.

She hadn’t necessarily gotten used to that word-- wife. Kara wrestled with her coat as she tugged the sticky fabric from her arms and fiddled with the ring on her finger. Lena Luthor was her wife. They were forever. The seventeen year old in her was still kind of surprised by it.

Two months back, and they were a married couple that lived in the same city that was nearly torn apart because of them, and that was challenging. Maybe Lena planned n the joys of the first year of marriage as the thing that helped them get over the hump.

“Son of a --”

The pans rattled in the kitchen, blurring out the inevitable swearing.

“How hard is it to make a damn lasagna?” Lena complained as she stared at the mess in the pan.

The rest of the counter was covered in food and bowls, and the smell was a little different, not exactly what Eliza or even Alex could mix up.

“Hey, honey,” Kara muttered as a particularly despondent Lena furrowed at her mess. “I didn’t expect you home… and cooking?”

“I really wanted some comfort food, and Eliza’s lasagna is my favorite, but I can’t get it right,” she pouted, swirling the goopy mess in the pan. “And Sam is making me go to Metropolis.”

“Hm, okay interesting.”

The former hero slowly circled, avoiding her wife only to reach around and fill up two glasses of wine from the half empty bottle on the counter. Sometimes there was no really understanding Lena and her moods, there was simply surviving them.

“Did you see that article?” Lena asked, taking out more things to chop and cook.

“Mhm.”

“Prison paroles employment and education plan.”

“Mmm,” Kara nodded into her glass of wine as she sipped and watched.

“He’s an ass. I should have burned that house down in Metropolis. I should have emptied his accounts. All of them.”

“Yeah.”

“And I have to go to Metropolis. I didn’t even want to come back to National City.”

The pan clanged into the sink as Lena gave up her struggle and tossed it aside, distraught at her failure and everything else.

She was new to the marriage thing, but Kara knew better than to point out the fact that her wife wanted to come back-- felt the need to come back, were the exact words. She definitely wasn’t going to point that out though. She definitely wasn’t going to take the brunt of the pent up anger that was evident toward the lasagna.

“Hey, look, I poured you more wine,” Kara offered, kissing her wife’s cheek and handing over the new cup.

“I have to go to Metropolis, and I have to learn how to make lasagna.”

“Sit, yeah, sit down and drink,” she tutted.

“Why did you make me come back?”

“Because I am a terrible person, and I am only happy when you’re miserable,” Kara explained as she started to dig through the cabinet.

“Don’t say that, you’re spectacular,” Lena disagreed eagerly. “You’re my wife. You can’t say things like that.”

“Before I could though?”

“Well no.”

On the space she cleared, Kara began her work as best she could, prepared to provide sustenance to her worried wife. Sometimes, she was learning, making a peanut butter sandwich after a long day and drinking a very expensive bottle of wine was all that being married meant.

“I’ll go with you, if you want,” Kara offered as she cut the sandwich in half.

“It’s just for a night.”

“Still. I like a night away. A fancy hotel with the good soaps and all that privacy.”

With a smile, Kara handed over half of her sandwich to her wife.

“Are you…. Do you want to spend money?”

“Shut up.”

Lena smiled into her glass while she picked at the sandwich. She didn’t worry about the mess and she didn’t think too hard about much else than a trip with Kara. That was how she survived most of the time.

“We came back here as a team,” Kara explained, her blush moving to her ears as she spoke with conviction. “I’d go anywhere with you. You don’t have to do it alone.”

“Thank you.”

“Good. I’ll thank Sam for giving us a vacation,” she smiled before taking a big bite.

“I have to work.”

“Right, yes, but hotel sex.”

“Today was a really shitty day before you came home,” Lena sighed contentedly as she shared the rest of her sandwich after her wife inhaled her own part. “And you’re slightly damp still.”

“The hazards of marrying a Luthor-- perpetually damp.”

100 notes · View notes

wildflowerrambles · 6 years ago

Text

Flare

Author’s Note: I am a Luke girl. I am a Luke girl. I am a Luke girl. But apparently I decided to take the scenic route that belongs to Calum Hood SO

This idea popped into my head & I mean, who doesn’t enjoy the thought of Calum as a firefighter? Yes please. Also, I’ve apparently been watching too much Grey’s Anatomy lately.

I would love to hear your feedback and I really hope you enjoy! Happy reading! <3

Pairing: Firefighter!Calum Hood x Reader

Word Count: 6,149

Warnings: mentions of death, alcohol

I trudged my way across the grassy surface of the park, ignoring the ‘Please Do Not Walk on Grass’ signs. I shoved my keys into the front pocket of my pale green scrubs. The morning had been rather hectic, starting around 5am when my pager went off. Thankfully, it led to an opportunity to scrub in on a procedure in the OR.

I would be even more thankful when this surgical internship was over and I could hopefully move forward into residency. With the test coming up in a few weeks, it’s all I could think about.

Calum waved at me from the picnic table where he sat with a few of his coworkers, laughing as he realized I was avoiding the sidewalks. He and the others were dressed identically in black pants and tshirts with the fire departments logo across them.

I was just grateful to even get a lunch break and I imagine he was, too. Which was another reason I chose to ignore to silly signs littering the park.

I plopped down next to the brunette as the rest of the crew greeted me. Dumping the content of my lunchbox onto the table, I felt a little like I was back in elementary school, which was when I met Calum.

My older brother and I played soccer at the same sportsplex that Calum did. During the majority of my brother’s games, I found myself running around kicking the ball with the boys my age rather than braiding hair on the bleachers with the girls. I only knew him as one of the dudes who kept stealing the ball away from me back then.

As I entered high school, my brother was deployed overseas and my world continued to somersault after that. My parents picked us up and relocated across town before dropping me into a new school. I remember seeing Calum’s familiar face during lunch and was relieved when he didn’t shoo me away. We bonded over our mutual passion for soccer and common disdain for literary essays.

Since then, we had graduated high school and were dropped into adulthood. Calum honed in on his soccer skills for a while before choosing to pursue a different avenue. He had been volunteering with the local fire and rescue team and decided to do it full time.

I, on the other hand, pursued medical school - surgery, to be more specific. Science had always been my niche in school and something about human anatomy fascinated me. I wanted to cut things open, mend the broken; I wanted to be a surgeon.

I wrinkled my nose as I sniffed Calum’s shirt a second time.

“You smell like.. Is that kerosene?”

“And you smell like hospital,” he retorted. I nudged his elbow with mine as he cracked a smile. “We’ve been running drills in the warehouse this morning.”

I hummed, taking another bite of my sandwich.

“Why do you smell so hospital?” he asked.

“I got to help with an aortic valve replacement this morning.” I sat my sandwich down, knowing I was about to go all out talking with my hands. “I got to watch a heart beat right in front of me, okay. Not from the gallery. Not from a cadaver. But with my own two naked eyes. Do you know how cool that is? I-”

“Mm,” one of the guys across the table waved his hand, “Not at lunch.”

I chuckled, rolling my eyes a little. It amused me that these big, burly men could rush into burning buildings and be first responders but couldn’t handle a little anatomy talk. I suddenly heard the pager clipped to my waistband begin to beep. Pushing my top out of the way, I checked it.

“Sorry. I have to go.” I said, stuffing my food back into my bag. “Oh, and don’t forget - it’s another night of Shark Week, so I’ll see you after work.”

Calum gave me a thumbs up as his mouth was too full to speak. I jogged a few steps before turning back to the table to yell one last thing.

“And the boys are welcome to come!”

There was a knock on the door at a quarter until seven. I skipped away from the kitchen where I was making dinner, opening the door to find Calum standing on the other side. I apparently made a face which was his cue for explanation.

“Ashton’s family is in town. Michael is deep into a video game. And Luke-”

“Is running a little behind,” Luke chimed in as he appeared from the apartment stairs, “but brought a bottle of wine.”

I laughed, “Fitting.”

I bolted upright from sleep when I heard the familiar beeping going off somewhere in the distance. I untangled my legs from Calum’s lengthy ones from where he had fallen asleep opposite me on the couch. Stumbling through my slumber, I found my pager at the bottom of my purse. As soon as I stopped it from beeping, I heard Calum’s begin to go off in the living room followed by the creaking of the couch cushions.

I stepped into the laundry room to grab a clean pair of scrubs, tugging them on as Luke groaned from where he lay stretched out on the rug.

“You people need to get better jobs.”

“You’re welcome to go sleep in my bed,” I replied, looking up to see him already halfway there as I pulled on my tennis shoes.

Calum snatched his keys off the counter and headed out the door ahead of me. It was still dark outside. I glanced down at my watch then to realize it was 4:22am. Opening the door to my car, Calum did the same a few spaces over from me.

“Have a great day!” he yelled.

“You have a great day, too!”

Pacing down the hall, I watched as several gurneys wheeled past.

“Multi-car pile up,” one of the nurses said, shoving a clipboard in my hands, “Go find Dr. Bridges. I think she has some scans for you to look at.”

Clicking through the slides again on the computer, there were no signs for concern. Dr. Bridges had been paged back to the ER and left me with Alison, a fellow intern like myself. She told us to notify her if there were any concerns and thankfully, we couldn’t pinpoint any.

“Why do you smell like a boy?” Alison asked, snickering a little under her breath.

I raised a brow and shrugged. My clothes were clean.

“Oh,” I paused, “Calum fell asleep on my couch last night. His scent always seems to linger for some reason.”

She grinned at that.

“Wipe that look off your face before I smack it off.”

“Rude,” she laughed, “He’s at your house a lot. That’s all I’m saying.”

“He lives with three other guys. I would want to get away sometimes too if I were him,” I took the clipboard from Alison’s hands, scribbling down some notes in the patient’s chart. “Luke was there last night too. He’s probably still asleep at my house.”

I sprung up from my chair, heading to give the chart back to be signed off for release. Alison fell in beside me.

“I wasn’t implying anything. Just, given the history between you two-”

“Which was months ago,” I interjected.

“I was simply checking, that’s all. You can calm down.”

I shook my head at her as I tried to ignore the flush feeling in my cheeks.

Calum and I had kissed after a party several months ago. Liquid courage was my nemesis, and it seemed as if every time it entered my system after that night, the kissing kept happening. Things had gotten hot and heavy several times, but we drew the line at sleeping together.

After avoiding it for a while, we finally talked about it and hadn’t kissed each other since. He was my best friend, but the feelings that needed to correspond with such actions just weren’t really there.

I leaned against the nurses’ station, passing the clipboard to the nurse behind the desk and grabbing another one.

“She’s all good.”

“That’s what we like to hear,” the nurse smiled.

I flipped through the pages at hand as another round of gurneys burst through the double doors. I whipped my head around to the commotion. Dr. Bridges was already at the side of one stretcher as it wheeled past.

“Alison, go ahead and book an OR. You,” she nodded to me, “Catch Dr. Oliver when he comes in.”

I nodded as I heard the paramedics coming through the doors talking.

“Another round of the first responders were called in for backup and there was a collision on the way to the scene of the pile up. An engine and two police cars.”

My ears perked up at the man’s words. “Excuse me, did you say that a fire engine was involved in the accident?”

The man nodded.

“Do you happen to know which one? Uh, a name or number or something?”

He stuttered for a second before the guy next to him spoke up.

“I thought I overheard someone say Tabasco maybe,” he shrugged.

I felt my heart begin to beat faster.

“That’s Cal’s,” I mumbled, tossing my clipboard to the counter and taking off past the double doors. I made it outside as another ambulance had just pulled up and was opening its doors. I saw Calum sitting to the side as they pulled down the stretcher that I was relieved he wasn’t on, but my concern grew.

“Cal!”

His shirt was streaked with blood, a gash on his bicep oozing crimson.

“Calum!” I bounced to his side as someone handed a gauze to press against his wound.

“I’m okay,” he reassured, “The blood isn’t mine and I just need a few stitches. But that’s Cameron in there. That’s Cam.”

It was then that I noticed the tears in his eyes as he pointed in the direction of his friend and continued to ramble out of panic.

“Y/N!”

I turned to the source of yelling, seeing Dr. Oliver waving me in his direction.

“The patient’s spleen has already ruptured. We need to get him to surgery now. You’re scrubbing in.”

I glanced back to Calum who squeezed my hand.

“He’s one of my best friends. Please take care of him.”

I nodded, tightening my grip on his hand before darting off with Dr. Oliver.

I stood, holding the instruments in hands steady as Dr. Oliver worked across from me. Once inside, there had been much more damage than we initially suspected. The monitor began to beep frantically.

“His bp is dropping,” the doctor called out. There were people rushing around, supplies being passed back and forth, a whirlwind of things taking place around me in the crowded operating room.

I took a deep breath as I followed Dr. Oliver to the waiting area. I saw Calum sitting in the far corner, his arm freshly stitched and bandaged. He was surrounded by a few other guys from the station. He was the first to look up, locking eyes with me almost immediately.

His brows furrowed and I shook my head the slightest amount. His eyes fell and I stayed behind to allow Dr. Oliver to deliver the devastating news. I watched as their heads fell into their hands and tears began to run down my best friend’s face.

Calum gave up on fidgeting with his tie and walked over to where I was applying lipstick in the mirror. I pushed the black fabric into place, straightening his collar to lay flat.

Cam had started at the station the same day that Calum did. They had been placed on the same team since day one and had fought many fires together, ran into many smoldering building alongside one another. A few day ago, Cameron had been laughing at our lunch table and then I had to hear someone call his time of death.

There was no way I wasn’t going to be by my friend’s side and let him squeeze my hand so tight I thought it might break.

I looked up as Calum’s heavy lidded eyes stared down at my concentration. His eyes always reminded me of a fresh cup of coffee. The kind you would drink on a cool morning while the wind blew through your hair, peaceful and pleasant. But today they were filled with sadness.

“Ready to go?” I asked softly.

He nodded, grabbing his coat.

Calum was making small talk by the time we made it back to my apartment, which let me know that he was going to be okay. He had been incredibly quiet the past few days which was beginning to worry me, but little pieces of himself were starting to show again.

I had taken the morning off to be with him. Once he had fallen asleep on the couch, I decided to go on in for the evening shift. I covered him with a blanket and tip toed out the door.

I was still wearing my black dress and heels when I got to the hospital. Alison was waiting for me when I entered the locker room, sitting on one of the benches.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“Hard,” I sighed, unzipping my dress and pulling my top over my head, “But Cal’s gonna be okay.”

I slipped into the bottoms, lacing my tennis shoes before shoving my belongings into the open locker.

“Why didn’t you just change before you got here?” she asked, handing me my badge as I worked my hair into a ponytail.

“He fell asleep on my couch,” I waved a finger in her face when I saw a smirk begin to tug at the corners of her mouth, “Don’t even start.”

I tread lightly into my house a little after midnight, startled by the noise. Ashton and Michael sat on the couch, yelling at the video game on the tv screen. Calum balanced on the arm of the couch, screaming along with the other two.

“Um, hi?”

I kicked my shoes off at the door and tossed my keys next to my purse on the ground. They paused the game briefly to say hello as Calum pushed himself up and followed me into the kitchen.

“Where’s Luke?”

“He was in one of his moods where he plays music too loud and sits in the shower,” Michael answered bluntly, “We had to get out.”

I laughed as they went back to playing. Grabbing a water from the refrigerator, I turned to Calum who was leaning against the counter.

“Have you been drinking?” I asked.

He grinned, “What gave it away?”

“My house smells like popcorn. You only eat popcorn when you’ve discovered the stash of beer in the back of the refrigerator.”

“Guilty,” he shrugged with a grin, “How was work?”

I turned my back to him, reaching for an apple from the basket of fruit. I began cutting it into bite sized slices.

“Not too bad actually. I got to scrub in on an appendectomy and a cholecystectomy.”

As I continued slicing and rambling on about my evening, a pair of arms found their way around me, hands resting against the bar. I noted the familiar initials inked on them and before long felt Calum’s chest against my back. His lips ghosted over my neck, leaving a delicate trail behind. I bit away the tug of pleasure on my lips as I laid the knife I was cutting with down.

“What are you doing?” I mumbled under my breath. He reached for the ponytail holding my hair in place and tugged it loose. I spun on my heels, taking the stretchy band from his fingers and sliding it onto my wrist.

“You’ve had a long day,” I took the apple slices and wrapped them in a paper towels, “And I have rounds first thing in the morning, so I’m gonna head to bed. You guys are welcome to stay up. Just be sure to turn everything off before you go to sleep.”

Calum nodded before I headed to my room, shutting the door behind me.

I looked over at the time again before returning my eyes to the ceiling. I had been laying in bed for almost an hour and had yet to fall asleep. I could hear the boys still playing video games in the living room, but that wasn’t why. I could fall asleep just about anywhere. Noise didn’t bother me.

I kept thinking back through all the times Calum and I had locked lips over the past few months. And then to the conversation we had about keeping the recreational smooches to a bare minimum. We knew we weren’t trying to send each other mixed signals; it was best if we just cut out that bit so our friendship didn’t stand the chance of getting weird.

So why was I so put off by his advances tonight? It wasn’t the drinking. We’d been tipsy in every other occasion. I didn’t want to blame it on the fact that he’d just lost a friend. Typically in emotional situations, he’s light a cigarette and get back to business, which I’d seen him do lately.

Was it because the other boys were in the next room?

I turned on my side, burying my face in the pillow with a groan. I desperately needed to fall asleep, like an hour ago.

Life was back to being fast paced.

I sat across the table from Calum outside at a local coffee shop. It was well past 10pm and I was trying not to choke on my food from laughing so hard. There were very few people out at this hour, most of them like us with jobs that had chaotic schedules.

“I can’t believe he did that,” I wiped my hand on a napkin, shaking my head, “Actually, yes I can. It totally sounds like something he would do.”

Calum let out an audible sigh as laughter died in the back of his throat. He rubbed his thumb over the glass of his cup that was accumulating moisture. I pulled my knee into my seat, resting my chin against it.

“Gotta stay at the station tonight?”

“Yep. I’m on call.” Calum checked his watch before scooting his chair back and gathering his trash. “I should probably head that way.”

I followed suit in cleaning up my area, stalking next to the tall boy as he walked me to my car. Like the gentleman Mrs. Joy and Mr. David raised him to be, he opened my door and motioned me inside. He paused to lean against the open door.

“I think we’re planning to meet Mali for drinks tomorrow night if you want to come.”

“Heck yeah,” I grinned lazily, “Just let me know when you get off work.”

“I will,” he nodded as he forced himself to stand straight. “Drive safe.”

The buzzing atmosphere of the bar smothered me the moment I stepped inside. I managed my way through the sea of people over to the corner where I saw the boys standing around.

“Hey,” I cooed excitedly as I tugged on the arm of Calum’s leather jacket. He greeted me with a beaming grin as he turned around, drinking sloshing in his hand. His eyes wasted no time scanned the length of my figure.

“Well, don’t you look extra nice tonight,” he noted.

I bit my lip, running my fingertips along the fabric of the tee he wore underneath, pinching the material lightly.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, mister fireman.”

I spotted Mali walking back up from getting a drink at the bar and waved. Wiggling my way through to give her a hug, I noticed Calum place his hand in the small of my back to allow me past him. It lingered a little longer than I felt necessary, and I caught him doing it randomly throughout the night. It was a small gesture, one that felt foreign yet familiar all at once.

As the night drew to a close, we each caught an Uber in groups to head back to our respective homes. My face tingled from the alcohol in my system as I peered out the window. Mali was still talking animatedly with her brother next to me.

Her place was the first stop. The two of us waved goodbye and promised to meet up again with her soon. Next was Calum’s house. From the looks of it, the other three boys had already made it back, several lights being turned on throughout the place.

“Thanks for inviting me out tonight,” I said, leaning into his side.

“Anytime,” he smiled, “Let me know you make it home safely, okay?”

I nodded, his brown eyes staring down at me. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to my cheek before scooting out the door.

Turning my gaze forward, I noticed the driver looking at me in the rear view mirror.

“What?”

He shrugged, his voice pleasant, “You guys are cute.”

Instead of arguing the fact, I allowed myself to not fight the heat rising in my cheeks, a grin daring to creep up with it.

“Thanks.”

I met Luke on the sidewalk as I made my way to their front door, Petunia’s nails clicking as she walked happily next to him.

“Cal should be clothed but I make no promises about the others,” he said. Always reassuring, I thought. “But fair warning - he’s not in the greatest of moods.”

Upon entering, I could hear piano chords being played from the back of the house but no voices. The other boys must be upstairs. Dropping my keys in a nearby chair, Calum’s dog rounded the corner and made a b-line to me, wagging his tail enthusiastically around my ankles.

“Hey there buddy.”

Duke always did bring out the soft side of me, causing me to talk to him in my baby voice. It was a little embarrassing at times. After satisfying him with pets, he trailed along beside me as I made my way through the downstairs.

Calum sat at the piano, still dressed simply in black shorts and a white tee with a black cap over his messy hair. They must have drilled today at the station.

Sneaking up behind him, I poked him gently in the side. His body flinched slightly before he turned his head to find it was just me. I leaned against the edge of the piano as his fingers continued to roam across the black and white keys until he finally came to a stop.

“Not a great day, huh?” I asked softly.

He rubbed his eyes as he let out a single chuckle; he shook his head.

“It was the new guy’s first day.” he paused as I took a seat on the piano bench beside him. “I remember what it was like to be new and not really know what I was getting into. And I know he’s coming in under unfortunate circumstances, but.. He’s not Cameron.”

Calum let his index finger hit a key lazily at random. I could tell he was still deep in his thoughts.

“What’s the first thing I do when I meet a patient for the first time? Or when I’m reporting to an attending?”

He looked down at me, his brows knitting together.

“Their name,” I answered, “I say their name. It helps us to establish a sense of relationship with the patient. What’s the new guy’s name?”

“Uh.. Graham.”

“Greet him that way,” I let me fingertips tuck themselves away underneath his arm, his hand gripping the seat. I leaned a little closer. “You said you remember what it was like, and he probably feels out of place. But he will never take the place of Cameron. You know that.”

He nodded subtly as his gaze fell to my finger tracing the horseshoe inked on his forearm. I stared at his solemn expression, his weary eyes.

“Go get your cleats,” I stated. He looked up at me with confusion.

“What?”

“Go get your cleats.”

“Why?”

“Just go grab your cleats!” My tone was more demanding than either of us expected, but he stood up and headed for the stairs. “And meet me at my car.”

“Is this considered breaking and entering?” Calum asked as I fumbled with the lock on the gate. There was a large enclosed field a few blocks from the hospital. It was dark now and the stadium lights had automatically switched on.

“I know the lock combination. We use this place all the time for events, and I work at the hospital so I’m taking my chances.”

He chuckled, tossing the soccer ball back and forth between his hands. Pushing the gate open, he darted around me, dropping the ball to the ground and kicked it forward. I dropped my belonging to the grass as I heard a low rumble of thunder in the distance.

I rolled my eyes as Calum showed off some of the many tricks he still had.

“Are you gonna pass me the ball or not?” I yelled.

About that time, the ball zoomed past me. My mouth fell open. Calum laughed.

“You have to be ready at all times!”

I shook my head and turned to chase the ball. I stared down at the purple and turquoise cleats I’d gotten back when I first started college as I passed the ball between them.

Calum had always been so good at soccer. I remember envying him in high school and thinking he was absolutely insane when he gave it up. But he was also an insanely good fireman so I guess I couldn't give him too much grief for it.

Calum bent forward, resting his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. I took advantage of the moment, kicking the ball past him and snatching the hat off his head along the way. He threw his hands up; I grinned, pulling it on over my head, the end of my ponytail hanging rather loose around my neck. I did a little dance as I kicked the ball into our makeshift goals.

“You have to be ready at all times!” I mocked. He placed a hand on his hip before pulling the hem of his shirt up to wipe sweat from his forehead. The dark curls he had concealed were now on full display.

I felt a bit of moisture run down my arm. Thinking it was sweat, I ignored it until I felt it again. And again.

Calum and I both turned our faces to the sky as raindrops began to pour. I noticed the droplets begin to drench his already sweaty tshirt. He’d chosen a great day to wear white.

I wasn’t phased by a little rain and darted down the field while my friend was still distracted. He snapped out of it pretty quick, sprinting in my direction. He managed to snatch the ball from underneath me.

Quick to act, I stuck myself in front of him. I managed to steal the ball back but he immediately intersected and got it again. I snarled lightheartedly, sticking my arms out as he tried to get around me.

“Hey, that is not fair,” he said in my ear. I giggled as he continued to struggle, watching mud that had begun to form hit my socks. “Y’know what?”

I felt Calum wrap his arms around my midsection and lift me up. He kicked the ball as hard as he could to send it out of my reach before spinning us in a circle; chuckles fell from our mouths.

My feet finally planted the ground as Calum’s became tangled with mine, sending us tumbling to the soggy grass. Another wave of laughter escaped us as I sat up and looked over to Calum who was laying on his back, letting the raindrops continue to cover him.

My breathing began to steady as he peered up at me. Sitting up, he plucked the black cap off my head that I’d stolen earlier, pulling it over his saturated locks. He flashed me a grin as I shoved his shoulder.

We took the opportunity to race for the building just outside the wire fencing that provided an awning to escape the rain. I plopped down on the cement, stripping free of my cleats and dirty socks. Cal hung his hat on his knee and ran a hand through his hair. I listened to the rain fall, peaceful and steady; it had picked up a little now.

“Cam was planning to propose to his girlfriend,” Cal mumbled after being quiet for a while. “He had a ring and everything.”

I scooted back to lean against the wall next to him, sadness washing over me.

“Tragedy makes you question a lot of things. I know we stare death in the face almost daily, but it’s different when it hits so close to home,” he paused and I nodded in agreement. “I like you.”

His statement caused me to stop rubbing at the dirt on my hands and look at him. I saw his jaw flex before he continued to speak.

“And not in the ‘it’s 2am and I’m stuck trying to fall asleep in an uncomfortable bunk bed by myself at the station’ sense. But the.. ‘2 in the afternoon when I have to run errands after an early morning call’ kind. I find myself wondering if you were able to finish your breakfast before rounds, or if you skipped lunch and settled for a cup of coffee so you could scrub in on some awesome surgery.”

He finally looked me in the eyes, “I like you, and I’ve only ever kissed you when I was drinking because at least I’d have something to blame it on if things went wrong. And I am strangely sober right now.”

I stifled a laugh as he smirked. His gaze went back to his feet, playing with a loose string on the hemming of his shorts. I took a moment to admire him. I was also strangely sober, and he apparently didn’t know I had been fighting the same feelings.

As my eyes flickered down to his lips, my hand reached over and took his chin. I leaned over and pressed our lips together. After a moment, I felt him relax into the unexpected action. His hand found my waist and gently drew me closer.

It wasn’t like the kisses we shared before that were sloppy and erratic. It was purposeful, filled with intent and emotion. He nipped at my bottom lip a little which caused me to smirk a bit.

Another roar of thunder is what pulled us apart, the sound closer than it had been before. Calum bit at his lower lip, trying hard not to grin so wide.

“We should probably get going,” he muttered, his forehead resting against mine.

I pushed myself off the ground as he did the same, bending over to pick up my things. He stepped out into the rain to head back to the field to grab the soccer ball we’d left behind. I noted the amount of mud covering the back of his shirt from when we’d fallen earlier.

“Hey,” I called. He paused just inside the gate to turn my way. “You better not get the inside of my car muddy!”

He smirked with his tongue between his teeth before reaching over his head and pulling off his shirt, tossing it for me to catch. I shook my head as I caught it, warmth rising in my cheeks as I watched him jog off shirtless.

The hospital had been insane as of late with long demanding shifts and people competing for surgeries. But I still smiled a little when I thought about the fact that I had passed my exam and was finally a first year resident.

I dropped onto the couch the second I made it home. I probably hadn’t slept in about 40+ hours; my feet were killing me and I was beyond exhausted.

Nearly asleep, I heard the knob of my front door being turned followed my heavy footsteps. Calum’s scent hit me before he ever did. I groaned when I felt his body weight press down on me, his arms on either side of my body as he pressed a kiss to my cheek.

“I was almost asleep,” I whined.

“I’m sorry,” he answered, giving my cheek another peck. He sat up and began to strip off his jacket, laying it on the coffee table. Next, he moved to his shoes, kicking them off. He took an extra second to pull my own shoes off because I’d been too lazy to do so before he settled back on the couch with me. I snuggled my back closer to his chest as he brushed my hair away from my face.

“Are you going to be free Friday night?” he asked low in my ear. I nodded, eyes still closed. “We’re having a banquet in memory of Cameron, and I would love for you to come with me.”

“Of course I will,” I rested my hand on top of his, “But for now - snuggles and sleeps.”

He let out a low chuckle in my ear and I felt chill bumps forming on my skin.

“Yes ma’am,” he said, pressing his lips to the base of my neck.

Calum stuck his arm out and I happily looped mine through his. As we made our way to the front of the venue, he caught me checking him out again. He looked so handsome in his button up tucked neatly in his black trousers. I couldn’t help myself.

I placed a quick kiss on his lips before rounding the corner with him to the entrance. After greeting the chief and finding our table, he slipped off to speak to a few colleagues. I wandered over to the refreshments to grab each of us a drink. I got in line behind a lady who looked to be around my age. She looked familiar but I couldn’t put a name with the face.

“Hi, I’m Amelia,” she said sweetly, offering her hand to shake, “I was Cameron’s girlfriend.”

Was. That’s why I recognized her. I introduced myself and I could tell she was trying to place me as well.

“I’m Calum’s girlfriend,” I added. That was the first time I’d really said those words aloud to someone and I couldn’t contain the extra bit of enthusiasm. I just hated that she happened to be the recipient of it.

She laughed, “Ah, yes. It’s about time. The few times Calum and Cam hung out, he would mention you. Cam always tried to get him to make a move. It’s a pleasure to finally meet the young lady he spoke so highly of.”

“Well thank you,” I was flattered. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.”

We got our drinks and went our separate ways back to our seats. Calum had already made it back and glanced up as I sat his drink in front of him. He gave a grateful smile before taking a sip. He caught me staring again, but this time it wasn’t just because of his dashing looks.

“Are you checking me out again?” he asked, taking another sip. I snickered, lacing our fingers together.

“I adore you, y’know that?”

His features lit up gradually, a smile reaching all the way to his eyes. He squeezed my hand and brought the back of it to his lips.

“I adore you, too.”

We turned our attention to the stage as the lights began to dim and the chief began to speak.

“Thank you so much to each of you for coming out tonight in memory of someone very special to us. I’ve actually asked a close friend of Cameron’s to come speak a few words. Please give a warm welcome to Mr. Calum Hood.”

I joined in applause with the other guests. Calum hadn’t told me he’d been asked to speak, which was probably to ease his nerves a bit. I watched as he took the stage and began to recap certain moments in his friendship with Cameron.

Unfortunately, tragedy often does make us rethink our own lives. It puts things in perspective.

I realized that my life was now filled with pagers and surgeries and schedules that screwed up my sleep. Before long I’d be taking on a fresh set of interns that had the same high hopes as me, and I’d get to come home to Calum in a way I hadn’t before.

I realized that this was my life, and that was my man.

And I couldn’t be more grateful.

#calum hood #calum hood imagine #calum hood fic #5sos imagine #5sos fic #5sos #wildflowerrambles

340 notes · View notes